Category: Flash Fiction
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In Okopowa Street Jewish Cemetery, Warsaw, Poland
It is not an easy thing to come upon a monument to such loss in the middle of a cloudless November afternoon when your thoughts are on the joys of life. To witness the horrible beauty of green moss thickening over the memories housed here. The terror of names and dates steadily vanishing from human knowledge.
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Cocoon
His way of extracting laughter from us floated immediately to mind. His bursting into our after-worship classroom, imitating our rector's Harvard yard accent: "Jes-a-us say-ed to he-as disc-ah-ples...," never failed to leave all present in stitches. Learning he'd convinced his fellow high school students that his name was Barrack, like the current president, set something in us free.