Copper Statues

Flash Fiction

The boy follows the guide between the life-sized statues in Liberty Square, his palms outstretched. He caresses the small of Greta Thunberg’s back, traces lines down Emmeline Pankhurst’s arm and squeezes the shoulder of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. The copper is cold but comforting to the touch, its sharp, metallic edges worn smooth from decades of public contact.

“Why can’t I find any statues of men?” asks the boy.

“There aren’t any,” replies the guide. “They did nothing to earn their place.”