Hunched over the kitchen sink, my son held the point of an unhooked safety pin to a flame, watching it blacken clean. Then, one by one, he opened the blisters on his right index and middle fingertips. Then those on his four left fingertips.
I couldn’t see his face, only his shoulders, broad and tense, his hands working, loosely, easily still. I should have suspected that his fading began when he hauled his double bass up from the basement, ordered new strings and began practicing every day, late into the evenings, again...
Read the full story in Issue #199 of Prime Number Magazine
* "The Fading" is an excerpt from a longer story with the same title. It won second prize in the 2021 Prime Number Magazine Flash Fiction Contest.