"This Is Not A Story" by Karen Crawford

You stare at the blank page, the cursor cursing. 

You type; this is a story about anxiety. A story about the time the wind screamed until the sky grew orange and the clouds choked on ash and where do you go? Where do you go? 

You backspace; this is a story about the doctor who gave you someone else’s diagnosis. 

You backspace again; This is a story about the hand that bites, words that chew. 

You backspace. Again. Again. Again. 

This is a story about a flag your family wants you to fly, about the neighbor who wants to know why the light in your garage is blue, about the ice running through a government's veins, about a school on lockdown and how do you breathe? How do you breathe? 

This is a story about the cracks that deepen every time the house shakes. This is a story about a cursor that won’t stop blinking.

Karen Crawford lives and writes in the City of Angels. Recent work has been included in Best Microfiction Anthology 2025, Gooseberry Pie, Tiny Molecules, Switch and elsewhere. Find her on Bluesky @karenc.bsky.social and X @KarenCrawford_