by Emma Phillips
“How does the sun roll across the sky?”, my brother asks as he hurls his ball against the yard wall. I tell him the Ancient Egyptians believed it was carried on the back of a scarab. We don’t mention the thunder in our stomachs or how Ma won’t rise until dusk or that if the big kids borrow his ball, he’ll be kicking bottles. We put our lips to the tap to ease the drought. “Later,” I tell him, “Ma might fry eggs.” I think of us dipping our forks in the orbs of their yolks to taste the summer.
Author: Emma Phillips spends time at home, in a primary classroom and distracting herself with stories. Her work has been placed by the Bath Flash Fiction Award, Free Flash Fiction Competition and Best Microfiction 2022. She loves chocolate, crisps and exploring new places with her husband and son.