Teachers didn’t know it then, but education in Sing City was about to change.
The unassuming Flibbersnack bore the brunt of the phenomenon.
Authorities informed citizens that not using Flibbersnack would result in warnings.
There was one tiny problem.
Everyone knew about the Fibbersnack.
No one knew what it was.
No one asked what they should have asked.
Everyone nodded with supreme confidence in their knowledge of Fibbersnacks.
Including Maya.
The collective ignorance put law-abiding Singtizens to shame.
The confusion over the name was so prevalent that Sing City’s authorities established the Fibbersnack Definition Committee.
Followed by eight arduous meetings.
Seventeen long-haul, mundane presentations.
And a two-day, strategic retreat entitled:
Towards a shared understanding of Flibbersnack.
The authorities even published a definition. An object, action, condition or circumstance showing characteristics aligned with flibbersnackery.
Maya and her colleagues declared it “ comprehensive.”
She asked him what Flibbersnackery was.
He suddenly needed the restroom.
Sing City’s authorities began enforcing regulations on the word.
An unfortunate gentleman carrying a brightly colored placard received a warning for possessing a potentially flibbersack-adjacent item.
A cafe received notice from the health inspector regarding its new bread offering because it could be regarded as Flibbersnack.
They renamed it the NOT-FLIBBERSNACK BUN.
The chef immediately renamed it the non-flibbersnack bun.
Umbrellas became suspicious of themselves because no one could identify what caused flibbersnack.
People grew wary of something they could not trust completely.
The word started to sit uncomfortably with Maya.
And as it turned out, Flibbersnack was more than a word.
It was an entity capable of —
Excessive snacking.
Stealing children’s lunches.
Poaching Sunday dinners.
Citizens were somehow aware of its presence.
Not enough to say so.
Then, schools started introducing Flibbersnack Awareness Week.
Posters appeared.
See it. Say it. Stop Flibbersnack.
Teachers received 50-page instructional syllabi at meetings.
On the first page was the Bold instruction:
Educators should ensure students understand Flibbersnack before discussing it.
Maya’s daughter, Myra, brought home a comprehension
Worksheet.
On it was a question:
Explain, using evidence from the text, the dangers of Flibbersnack.
The little girl stared at the paper blankly.
Then, at her mother.
“Mum…what is a flibbersnack?”
Maya just shrugged helplessly.
“I just don’t know.”
Or didn’t want to say so.
Little Myra blinked twice.
Then stared at the question in front of her.
“If no one knows what a Flibbersnack is..Then why doesn’t anyone ask?”
Sing City’s most fundamental question.
Asked by a child.
Knowing nothing had become less important than Flibbersnackery.
Maya carried her daughter’s question into the town’s next official Flibbersnack meeting.
As usual, officials began discussing Flibbersnack management. Awarness. Obliteration.
Maya gathered her courage. Then — -
“What is a Flibbersnack?”
A sea of blank faces.
Then…
Eight consecutive meetings lengthened.
Officials consulted each other.
They consulted reports.
“Flibbersnack” — an old typo made by a secretary whose lunch had taken precedence over her documents. It referred to a stray cat partial to…
Snacks.
Maya sighed in relief. Weeks of Flibbersnackery had feline connections.
Schools began withdrawing Flibbersnack Awareness Week, replacing it with —
National Critical Questioning Week.
That came with 75-page instructions….
And executive monitoring.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
