by Kate Horsley

Your husband says he’s sleeping on the couch again, and that’s when it happens. You wake to find soot scarring the walls of your room from when you exploded. Ashes that were bedsheets twirl in the air. You walk through the door’s embers, the corners of wallpaper shrivelling as you pass. Downstairs, you toast bread for the kids with your flaming wing-tips, juggling crusts to distract them. When your coffee cools, you warm it with your breath, and when your husband growls that none of his socks are paired, you shoot straight out the window and perch on a lamp post. The sky’s so blue you want to lick it. Up in the clouds, you swim air laps, circling the watercolour city. Returning to your kitchen that evening, you find your husband sitting at table with his head in his hands. He says that suddenly you’re different and he doesn’t know what to do with you. Perching on the counter, trying not to singe his beard with your fire, you tell him how your mom turned into a firebird once and your dad got so mad. Your husband asks how he fixed her – was it pills? You tell him that firebird’s not a thing you fix with pills. You tell him firebird is firebird is firebird, it’s really that simple. Then you fly to the roof and stretch out exactly as much as you like, and you cool your beautiful new wings under the stars.

Note on this selection: Online Editor JR Walsh was a judge for the 2025 Micro Marathon hosted by Smokelong Quarterly. JR selected this piece for the top award in the 250-word category.

Kate Horsley’s first novel was shortlisted for the Saltire Award. Her second was published by William Morrow. Both have been optioned for film. Her short fiction has appeared in magazines like The Cincinnati Review, The Citron Review, Fictive Dream, BULL, Paragraph Planet, Storyglossia, Ink, Sweat, & Tears, Fish Barrel Review, Cake, and Strix, and placed in competitions including Bath, Bournemouth, Bridport, Oxford and Smokelong. She’s a creative writing lecturer.