Timeline: FlashBack’s Seventh Season

Ancient Persian water clock from Zibad (Gonabad)

Timeline: FlashBack’s Seventh Season

In case you’ve missed any of these brilliant pieces, here is a round-up of the work we published in this past season, in chronological order.  (And, as always, you can find our entire back catalogue on our Timeline page.)

We’re taking our regularly-scheduled Easter publication break, but we’re still open for submissions and working behind the scenes.  We’ll be back with more stories, hybrids and prose poetry in a couple weeks.

In the meantime, stay safe and well!

Season VII

  • 1643-1644:Boye‘ by Christine Collinson

Before the battle, we said that Boye was bulletproof. A white devil-dog with a black heart and enchanted blood: a shapeshifter, a sorcerer.

They built internment camps in red, white and blue: and called them schools.

Don’t wake the baby, don’t wake the baby, don’t wake the baby.

  • 1840s: Invisible‘ by George L. Hickman

We had been whipping the whiskey wash for three hours now, my socks long soaked from the Scottish rain. Four of us boys stood around a bubbling vat of yeast and barley, piercing its thick foam with long sticks, splattering a sugary grime into each other’s faces.

  • 1866-1869:Erased‘ by Winston Bribach

The bosses told us Chinese to stay away from the photographer. Most didn’t need to be told. They didn’t want to lose their souls.

From my window overlooking the mountains, I watch a line of soldiers climbing up the footpath, small as ants in the green totality of the range. They are all the same, only multiplied in the distance. Each one, a shaded head under a Baliwag hat, defying the high noon.

We only had one hour.

Sixty minutes alone, without sympathetic looks or words of encouragement. Everyone asked me after where we’d gone, but I never told.

‘We lost track of time,’ was all I said.

Our other sister Joan is delivering a Lancaster bomber for the Air Transport Auxiliary. It was the first thing she wanted to do when our boat forged its way across the Irish Sea and we stepped off the gangplank. She prefers the thrill of the sky over amorous young soldiers heading to their destinies on the frontline.

We should have gone to Greenham and slept under the tarpaulins, under the stars. We said we would, knew too that there was more at stake than protest.

Photograph of an ancient water clock from Zibad (Gonabad), taken by Maahmaah, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.