Behind a plastic door, I arrange a plastic mother and son in a cardboard basement. It’s the best I can do for dioramas.
The mother has little yellow eyes, blonde hair, and a starched little smile.
The son has black hair, mouth open in an O, questions spilling forth. What are our odds? What if you die? And the unspoken one. Say you love me?
Mother’s binging on Netflix. Laughs at Sam Elliott’s f-bombs, marvels at his mustache.
The son tries to speak, but she silences him with a smile. Again.
I can’t convey that.
How do you convey loss?
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart. Yash currently lives in Idaho.
See more of Yash's work in 8.2 and 8.2 and 8.2 and Special Flash 50/50