by Nathan Tsui

A spider spins a web that traps a moth, wings still fluttering in hopeless futility. The spider crawls ever closer, its colossal fangs dripping with venom.

A flower moves — once, twice with the breeze, and then ceases. The wind stagnates and petals fall. The flower wilts in one final gesture of defiance.

An ant crosses the sidewalk, vowing to bring back food for its queen. It reaches the halfway point before its life is violently extinguished with the single stomp of a young child’s boot.

A raccoon digs into the recycling can, expecting to find wondrous bounties beyond comprehension. It manages an empty toilet paper roll and two egg cartons. It licks at the gritty paper, tasting nothing but dust.

A raindrop falls, and shatters against the cold asphalt. A car passes by, splashing water onto a discarded umbrella.

A man in an office prints the same paper ten times, noticing a different spelling mistake with each revision. Shredded paper is strewn across the floor.

A woman notices chewed bubblegum on the last seat of the subway. She stares at it the entire ride back.

A grandfather falls down the stairs. Everyone laughs, and the audience applauds.

Someone throws a cigarette onto the street.

A lamppost goes out.

The spider is happy.

Nathan Tsui’s “Small Things” received first place in the BCPW’s 2024 Flash Fiction Contest. Nathan attends Martingrove Collegiate Institute.