By Fiona McKay
Three kinds of sugar, slowly mixed, left to infuse, mixing, melting, cooling, sugar, sugar, sugar.
Mix the sugar together with creamy nights and sweet days; divide between available years.
Slide under gentle heat to bloom: growing and swelling.
Add more sugar, always more, sugar days blending into sugar nights. Hours whisk by like speeding trains, pulling memories behind, sucking them down like milkshake through a straw, thick and dreamy, then gone. Hours, minutes, years, seconds, eons, nanos. Everything in equal measure.
Beat away the family and friends that just want to help you, just want the best for you, just want, just want, just want. Ice them out. Break free of the mould they try to fit around you. You know better; you know sugar; sugar knows you.
This is not too hot for you to handle.
Fiona McKay lives and writes beside the sea in Dublin, Ireland. She started writing Flash fiction this year and is also querying a novel. Words in various places, now or soon, including: FlashFlood Journal, Sledgehammer Lit, Tl;dr Anthology, Reflex Fiction, Retreat West, Cranked Anvil Anthology, Janus Literary, EllipsisZine, Scrawl Place. Tweets at @fionaemckayryan