Golden Regret
When the war broke out, she fled with their sons while he stayed behind in the Dalmatian hills, “watching roads”—against her kind. Years later, over coffee by the coast, I asked if she’d marry him again. She didn’t blink. “Not even if he had a golden penis.” I laughed. Women didn’t talk like that. Not there. Not then. Not aloud. She stirred her sugar more slowly, said the boys grew up split—one wore a Croatian flag, the other a Serbian tattoo. She’d gone back. War ends. Custom clings. The only gold left, I thought, was in her mouth.
Photo Credit: John Beans
What a powerful and beautifully compact story! Golden Regret does so much with so few words — the way it captures the long shadow of war on a family, the uneasy meeting of past and present over a simple cup of coffee, and the raw honesty of that unforgettable line about what she would or wouldn’t do… it all just stayed with me after reading. The emotional complexity, the unspoken history between those characters, and the quiet way it shows how war changes people and cultures — all in 100 words — is truly impressive. Thank you for sharing such a striking and memorable flash piece
Thank you so much for this thoughtful reading. I’m deeply grateful you noticed the compression and the quiet moral weight of the moment — that’s exactly what I was hoping to carry into such a small space. I’m especially moved that the piece stayed with you. That’s the greatest gift a reader can give a writer.
Wow, this is a jewel of a flash.
Thank you so much!