Inlay

Signs it is time for a self-clean cycle: buildup of grease, odors and heavy emotional residue. Some say there is no bad time for self-cleaning, but avoiding special occasions such as wedding anniversaries is recommended. Self-cleaning requires extremely high temperatures, which will trigger an automatic shutdown. During this time, you may experience reruns of bad decisions, like having sex with your partner’s best friend in the bathroom at Lowry’s. The unit will unlock once these errors have been processed and temperature is within limits. Ensure good ventilation and wipe out any debris with a soft cloth and a heartfelt apology. --- Cole Beauchamp is a queer writer based in London. Her stories have been in the Wigleaf Top 50 and nominated for multiple awards. She’s a 2026 Smokelong Quarterly Emerging Writer Fellow and contributing editor of New Flash Fiction Review.

On her way back from the shops, she tripped over nothing, and fell flat on the pavement. A young man wearing shorts, despite the autumn chill, stopped to help. He squatted down and asked if she was okay. ’Think so,’ she said, attempting to get up. He hoisted her to her feet. ‘My gran used to have lots of falls,’ he said, kindly.” Still went out though.’ ‘I didn’t “have a fall’, I fell,' she said . He looked baffled. ‘I was an English teacher,’ she explained. ‘Cool,’ he said. He collected up the vegetables that had spilled on to the pavement and put them in her bag. She leaned against a garden wall to catch her breath. His arm was tattooed with the message ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.’ He saw her looking. She used to know the rest of that prayer once. Something to do with courage and wisdom. ‘Life’s hard isn’t it?’ she said. He nodded. ’Any damage done?’ She patted her knee where a dark stain had spread though the denim. ‘Just a graze,’ she said, although her hand smarted and her legs felt wobbly. ‘Nothing to speak of.’ ‘You take care, lady.’ He strode off, texting, not looking where he was going. He’s not afraid of “having a fall”’, she thought. A glossy heritage tomato she’d bought as a treat still lay in the gutter.. She couldn’t risk bending down to pick it up. But the sight of it lying there, next to an empty crisp packet, made her want to cry. --- Jude Higgins' is a widely published flash fiction writer, whose collection Clearly Defined Clouds was published in 2024. She founded Bath Flash Fiction Award and is Director of Flash Fiction Festivals UK and the short short fiction press, Ad Hoc Fiction. judehiggins.com