I wrote this little piece of flash fiction for a competition. I didn’t win, But I’d never heard of flash fiction before, so I learnt something new.
“Look, son! Merlin!”
Dad pointing at the sky, excited.
Me, sun-dazzled, looking up, searching for a swirling cape, a flash of magic.
“You’re looking in the wrong place. Over the tree. There he goes!”
After-images burn my eyes. Is that him, the golden streak on the edge of my vision.
“Yes! I see him!”
“Keep your eye on him. He’s coming down.”
My heart swells.
“Where is he?”
“On fence post, son. Look, over there.”
I can’t see the wizard.
Only a small bird, like a pigeon, sitting by the gate to the cow pasture.