It's Still Life

The Copse

“Copse,” whispered the small barefoot boy.

“Where?” His friend looked about. “I don’t see any cops.”

“Copse. Trees. Limbs. Great for fishing poles.”

And so they went about bending and twisting and tugging at long, straight limbs until two finally gave up and broke into their hands, while the sun climbed to noon and a catfish big as a man’s shoe blew bubbles from the safe, silty bottom of the lake, where he had every intention of staying.

Flash fiction written for Crispina’s Creative Challenge 105 based on her featured image above in one-hundred-fifty words or less. ©Misky 2006-2026