Flash by Sarah Masters
NOT WEASELLY SPOTTED

In a wildlife magazine at the doctor’s I read that the head of a weasel can fit through a wedding ring. Who tried this, and why? This is what you will ask when you phone from the hotel where you say you’re working a double shift. The line will be poor and you’ll say the wifi is iffy tonight and you can’t talk long. I’m working, you’ll say. An hour later you’ll text to ask why I was seeing a doctor. I won’t reply.

Weasels rarely spend time in the open. You like working nights. It’s good money, and quiet. It’s not like we don’t see each other at weekends, for god’s sake woman. This is what you tell me.

The doctor presses my stomach. Pain here, he asks. Yes, I say. He asks me to undress. Pain during intercourse? he asks. Yes.

A weasel is sometimes compared to a stoat, but they’re stoatally different. The article didn’t say this. It didn’t contain any jokes. The other day I saw you coming out of a carpark with someone I didn’t know. You were holding hands. You were both laughing. A weasel is hard to spot, usually. But not that time.

A weasel can kill another creature with one swift bite. It’s very quick. The doctor gives me a prescription. He speaks in facts, short sentences, statistics. It’s unlikely you’ll get pregnant, he says. I’m sorry. He says I should tell you. 

A group of weasels is a sneak. 

Sarah Masters lives in York and teaches English for Speakers of Other Languages. Her tiny stories have appeared in a few places, including Funny Pearls, Full House Literary, Roi Fainéant, and The Hooghly Review. Last year, she won first prize in the Propelling Pencil Spring Charity Competition. Contact @serrey.bsky.social

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