Dragonflies can’t walk. They can only stand.

I never feel sad for them. They can fly.

But I feel sad for him. He’s not struggling to escape my widow’s web.

Seeing his torn wing, I know he wasn’t caught. By some accident, he’s been doomed to a life of standing. He chose my web.

But I won’t let him die.

I help him out of the trap and carefully mend his wing.

We live quite comfortably together. I carry him so he feels what it’s like to walk, and he carries me so I feel what it’s like to fly.

Author’s Note: I recently read that most dragonflies can’t walk. Whether this is true or not seems to be the source of a bit of confusion, but I decided to write a story based on the assumption that it is true. Sorry if I’m wrong.

Categories: Fiction, Jessica Armstrong | No Comments »

She’s coming upstairs.

I push back my matted hair, staring into the mirror at my porcelain reflection. My fingers trace the crack that runs down the center of my face. One of the results of the countless times she’s dropped me.

I hear her singing quietly to herself in the hallway.

I walk from the vanity table to the edge of the shelf and look down, fingers smoothing my dress hem. The drop is eight feet. Enough to crack me for good, I hope.

The doorknob turns.

I breathe in.

Then I jump.

The child will drop me no more.

Author’s Note: It’s the bad side of Toy Story.

Categories: Fiction, Jessica Armstrong | 6 Comments »