Her name was Cube Clear, and she was nought less than that. A woman whose womb cracked a churchman’s windpipes. Whose workbooks carried the windbreak.
Her middle name was Clasp.
Management fell on their knees when she looked their way. Childminders forgot about their lost tracheas and flocked to her.
Her eyebrows shone like millipedes of supernova.
“I am contingent,” she said, to no one in particular.
She settled down on a soft hill and calculated her tolerances.
A bird sang in terror beside her.
MORALITY IS A THUMBTACK WE ALL NEED TO MASTER
Chuck Lancet ate the moralist.
Chuck Lancet ate the moralist because he was 47.
Chuck Lancet legislated.
Chuck Lancet remarried.
Chuck Lancet vanished in and out of Hiroshima.
Chuck Lancet had opened his mucosa to merriment and now he was dying, ready to headmistress his way up to the pearly white gates.
Chuck Lancet bought a small housecoat.
Jonathan Cardew’s writing appears or is forthcoming in Wigleaf, Cream City Review, Passages North, Superstition Review, JMWW, Smokelong Quarterly, People Holding, and others. He is the fiction editor for Connotation Press and contributing books reviewer for Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine. He’s been a finalist in the Best Small Fictions, the Wigleaf Top 50, the Bath Flash Fiction Award, and he won a travel toothbrush once at a boules competition in northern Brittany. Originally from the UK, he lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.