Flash Fiction – Lakeside

Flash Fiction – Lakeside
written by -M. Taggart

The water licked the dock quietly. He liked how the breeze pressed against his body and how it made the hairs on his arms feel. His eyes were closed. The sun was hot but not hot enough to make him uncomfortable. He was content lying here doing nothing. He could remember only a handful of times ever feeling like this. One of those times was while he was with his grandfather on a summer day. He remembered rocking on a wooden outdoor swing in the backyard near the garden. He rocked until he thought of nothing, not even the sun or whether it was hot, or of the carrots that he wanted to pull from the earth, wash off with the garden hose, and eat right away. He rocked with a faint notion of feeling gratitude toward his grandfather for allowing him this moment and trusting he would be safe while alone. Even that faded and he didn’t think of it or about how it made him feel. Now though, the dock was his outdoor swing, sitting just above the lake. In the distance a dog barked and the bark echoed in his mind.

-M. Taggart

Published Work:


Poem- Content

My shirt is ripped near my elbow
I’m uncomfortable but happy
I have a beer open
The dryer has another button in it
I don’t care about its clanging
And outside my window stirs
A brilliant sunset

-M. Taggart


Poem – The rain doesn’t know

Megan and Gavin are napping.
They are cuddled together.
It’s raining and the rain
doesn’t know about either of them sleeping, but I do.
I like watching the rain and knowing about them.
It’s fascinating. I’m the only one who knows both.
Welcome to our sleepy day.
When they wake, we’ll take my truck
and drive from our mountainside,
down into town, and have lunch at the
pub where the patrons
and employees
enjoy our little family.

-M. Taggart

Short – Last Night is Today?

I like life. I had beers while moving all of the storage unit items from the garage to the basement and bonus room above the garage. I’ve never had a garage. Not one of my own. It’s going to snow tomorrow and I think my truck wants to be inside. I’m not positive because the truck doesn’t actually speak, or think, but I do think it’s possible it would rather be inside.

I enjoyed standing in our garage while listening to the plow truck last night. I think he was drinking beer too. Now though, this very moment, I’m sitting in my office looking out of the window at a very grey-dusty looking morning sky. The storm has yet to start. I still don’t know what the plow truck was plowing.

My coffee is hot and smells exactly how I had hoped it would. All I will do now is finish typing these last few words and settle into the rest of something.

I hope your day treats you well,


Old Soul

Your name sounds like a gurgling brook. When I was a child I would rinse my feet in the brook that lived across the street from my home. In the Spring the water was cold and sometimes the brook ran high and dangerous from the snow melt from the north. That was when I wanted to be near the brook the most. If the brook had a soul I think I would know it by name. I’m not smart enough to know if a brook has a soul, so for now I’ll just consider it my friend.

-M. Taggart


I don’t want to focus this morning.
Instead I’m staring blankly out the window,
watching the sleet slam into wherever the wind thrusts it.
I like this feeling. My coffee is no longer warm; not cold either.
My eyes are open without effort. I’m not filing
anything away for later use.
I’m just here. Sitting. Watching the storm.
Continuing to be exactly as I am.

-M. Taggart

Thanks for being with me.


I’ll sleep if God wants me to.
If I don’t sleep I’ll lie here
listening to my wife breathing,
and think, or maybe write.
I like how this feels.
I don’t get mad anymore,
when I can’t sleep.
I enjoy the peace of the dark
and the way the covers feel.
If I do fall asleep,
that’s fine too.

-M. Taggart