The beginning of Frances Gapper's flash fiction "My Mother Made Me" is surreal and poetic. Not a huge fan of surrealism, it nonetheless worked here even if that style was largely dropped for the remainder of the story.
It's a tragic little piece about intergenerational trauma. Though I suppose, it could be seen as having a bit of a silver lining in that the narrator has gained some understanding about her mother. This has got to be an important first step, right?
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