Sunday
Sunday Micro Fiction: Fifty Words, One of Them Oedipus
Riddled
The son asked me who ed-a-push was.
A king, I answer. He thought he knew it all.
Like you? he asks.
My son says it without sarcasm. Really, it is he who’s Oedipus, how little he knows of his father—eyes blind, tiny, like those pills hidden among the Skittles.
The son asked me who ed-a-push was.
A king, I answer. He thought he knew it all.
Like you? he asks.
My son says it without sarcasm. Really, it is he who’s Oedipus, how little he knows of his father—eyes blind, tiny, like those pills hidden among the Skittles.
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