There was a bonfire but instead of Guy, they torched an effigy of you. My mother’s hot dog lips fixed in a grimace as your straw goatee fizz crackled. The Waltzer churned my stomach; I vomited apologies into the grass.
When they ran you out of town, they thanked the Almighty for my release, as if God could ever take me Ferris wheel high.
You were the devil’s own, pinking my cheeks until I was spun to candy floss. They hollered good riddance to flames as you burned. I licked my lips, longing for that toffee crunch of the apple.
Author: Emma Phillips grew up by the M5 in Devon, which led her to big cities, then Asia, before she returned to her roots in 2013 to bring up her son. Her work has been placed by the Bath Flash Award, Best Micro fiction 2022, Free Flash Fiction Competition and her words appear in various places in print and online. Her flash collection Not Visiting the SS Great Britain is forthcoming from Alien Buddha Press. She tweets @words_outwest.