January 16, 2024

Why My Daughter, Ellie, Is Not Living Up to Her Potential as a Reader

By Coleman Bigelow

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Because both my wife and I are writers. Because when I’m thinking about a story, Ellie says I’m hard to reach. Because when my wife is on deadline, I’m the one who does the cooking, and it always turns out burnt. Because Ellie would prefer takeout. Because she says we look down on graphic novels, even though my wife and I absolutely admire creative ingenuity, but we still prefer a story well told, and Ellie says that kind of line is proof that we just don’t get it. Because we tell her books are windows into whole new worlds and she scoffs and rolls her owl eyes and mutters under her minty breath, which I’ve just started to notice is minty because Ellie’s using mouthwash more and more after she goes to the bathroom and sometimes, I find sick when I do the cleaning. Because Ellie’s always been too thin. And because, when I bring it up, my wife, Rachel, turns as white as the page and asks me when did I first notice and I say maybe a few weeks and Rachel says we’re terrible parents, and we agree we need to talk to Ellie, and we plan to do it together just as soon as Rachel files her latest article, because there’s no way I’m doing it on my own and because I just thought of a new ending to the story that’s been tormenting me for weeks and I need to get it down before the words leave me.

About the Author

Coleman BigelowColeman Bigelow is a Pushcart Prize and Best MicroFiction nominated author whose work has appeared recently or is upcoming in Cosmic Daffodil, Dribble Drabble Review, Heavy Feather Review, and Jake. Find more at: www.colemanbigelow.com or follow him on Twitter and Instagram.

Related Flash
table for pinball

Pure Michigan

By Jace Brittain

“When pinball was illegal, there, still, still. 1970, 1971. All five of us juniors under Arts and Letters, various: Classics, Mathematics, History, History, Theology. Sundays, we’d slip across the border from South Bend, Indiana for a cold beer.”
Rusted metal plate

Mulberries

By Jon Doughboy

“June in the rustbelt and we’re raving drunkenly down the street trying to catch mulberries in our mouths as they fall, chomp chomp chomp their bloody juice and save them from the sidewalk.”

Woman in silhouette near the Taj Mahal

Once in our home in Agra, the monsoon was over

By Tara Isabel Zambrano

“we took off our PJs, and became the afternoon—our earlobes and neck, our limbs and nails turning pink from the syringe of the sun, asphalt gritting our feet, downstairs our mothers calling our names circled red with curses…”

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This