The men are dying.
We’re the boys who see them. In tabloids, on news bulletins. Faces pocked with purple lesions, bodies ravaged by weight loss. Their abandoned eyes, their hollowed-out stares, hold us.
We’re told it’s a plague of our own making. Our fathers – both Holy and holier-than-thou – say it’s unnatural, say their boxes are wired wrong. We sit to these comments daily; as everyday as pouring the last remains of dust from a cereal box.
Read the full flash at Reflex Fiction, where it was longlisted for the Winter 2022 competition.