a collection of micro-fiction by Liesl Jobson
([email]jobson [at] freemail [dot] absa [dot] co [dot] za[/email])


At 19, the gold band on my child-thin hand was a ligature binding an artery of joy.

A gangrenous bomb ticked under my skin as the sharp metal chafed my swelling flesh.

Before the surgeon (sterilized in righteousness) removed my finger I visited the jeweler — and smiled as he cut off instead my wedding ring.

After a Fight

Defeated, I speed read books, thrash through webzines, hum mournfully and dive into debt.

When I’m spent and broke, my conqueror says, “Write”. The echo returns unbidden and involuntary, “Right!”

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription, and Basic Member members.
Log In Register
%d bloggers like this: