Reserved

by Cheryl Snell

Just before Dad died he sent me to the lab for blood work. I felt fine, so I was annoyed – two days before Christmas and my shopping wasn’t even finished! I don’t know why he arbitrarily had to pick tonight, I complained in the car, partly to break the silence between my brother and me. “It wasn’t arbitrary,” he snapped. “Dad marked it on his calendar a while ago.” We turned into the parking space marked with his name, never imagining we’d turn back years later to find exactly where the future had been cordoned off, our father’s name mounted on a plaque, rising into the air.

6S

Cheryl Snell has recent stories in Potato Soup Review, New World Writing, Entropy Squared, Five Minute Lit and Dorothy Parker's Ashes. Her books include novels and poetry and she is at work on a collection of micros.