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My goal is to write one flash fiction (~1,000 word or less) per week on or about the Friday at the end of each week of the workshop.
I’ve lived in caves. I’ve lived under rock ledges. I’ve lived in the hollows of banyan trees. I’ve spent entire lifetimes in the holds of trading ships stocked with spices, with whale blubber, with screaming men. I’ve raised families in horsehide tents on the Mongolian plain, and in wattle and daub huts on the banks of the Nile. I’ve lived among my descendents for centuries, watching my little babies grow into doddering old men and gnarled crones. I’ve sat beside them as they died in sickbeds surrounded by family, on battlefields amid plumes of gun smoke, and in the back alleys of teeming cities. I’ve seen death pay a thousand visits, mourned tens of thousands of lives, recycled entire oceans through my tear ducts. Death has taken nearly everyone I’ve ever loved, and everyone else besides. But she’s never taken me.