MICROFICTION
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Turning It Around
She woke. She ate. She slept.
Pain, her blanket; fear, her bed.
She woke. She ached. She slept.
No family. No friends. No home.
She woke. She wept. She slept.
Suns rose. Suns set. Moons changed.
“Why’re you smiling?” they’d ask her.
“Waiting for sunset,” she’d reply.
She woke. She dreamed. She slept.
Why Sweat At All?
The memory began: a witty Orlando hotel Lothario whose Hollywood grin tantalized her.
For hours, their salty, musky bodies slid slick in sultry Florida humidity. She climaxed howling, percolating with ebullient ecstasy. Sated, she flopped down, flushed, tingling, and drenched.
Removing the VR unit, she sighs and swipes left, stifling her sullen longing.
Hungry?
“Where is it?” She rifled through a drawer. He knew what she wanted.
“In the place,” he said.
“Super specific and helpful.”
“Where we keep the odds and ends. You know where.”
“No. No, it isn’t. I already looked…oh, sorry, here it is.”
“I’ll turn on the oven.”
“Why?”
“Your crow pie, silly.”
All That Glitter
“Argh!”
“You’ll never get it all out,” Grandma prophesied.
“Yeah-huh,” he insisted, flogging his backpack.
“Taking it to the beach!” Grandma scoffed.
”It’ll come out!”
“It’ll always be there somewhere,” Grandma warned. “Lurking. Waiting.”
He shook it again. “Nuh-uh. I love this backpack.”
“Just chuck it, kiddo,” Grandma tut-tutted. “Sand is Nature’s glitter.”
A Run
“Oh, dear,” tut-tutted Coral, lips in a tight moue. “What’ll Junior think?”
Dread pillaged my stomach. Alleviating a tenacious itch, my Tiffany engagement ring had snagged my silk stockings. Coral already doubted my devotion to her son.
“Pantry!” she ordered. “My spare pair’s there.” Then she winked. “Mustn’t have a run.”
A Farewell to Charms
I’ll be ugly.
Clippers, cold, heavy, in her hands.
I’ll look sick.
She swallowed hard.
I’ll feel ugly.
Luxurious long locks framed her face like a Bernini masterpiece.
An ugly, sick G.I. Jane.
Stomach aching, tears welling, she savored her silky auburn mane.
It’ll fall out anyway.
She flipped the switch.
BZZZZZZZZZ!
The Twisted Rope of Ocnus
Near a hill in Hell sat a lone man weaving a rope, braiding it from a donkey’s tail’s coarse hairs; the animal devoured it once it’d left his skilled hands.
His crime forgotten, smiling in gratitude, spared unquenchable desire, torture, backbreaking labor, Ocnus wiped away a tear. The donkey nickered and chewed on.
The Last Fall of the Stunt Man
“It’s called vertigo,” the doctor explained. “A sudden loss of equilibrium.”
“What’s that mean for my job?” demanded the stunt man.
“I’m so sorry,” she replied. “It’s over.”
“This wasn’t in the script,” he sobbed, bitterly defiant. “Not in mine.”
She reached for the reassurance of her necklace’s gilded cross.
“Yes, it was.”
The Burn
Lowering mirrored Ray-Bans, a leather-clad Hell’s Angel frowned and pulled over.
His hog thrummed, a deep- throated syncopated potato potato potato, pierced by staccato yapping from a
shop owner’s irate Chihuahua.
He turned off his Harley-Davidson.
“Sorry,” he said. “Mine just passed.”
Hot grief seized his heart, soft and gooey as a campfire marshmallow.
Anticipation
His sweaty fingers fumbled on the tumblers.
“Hurry,” warned the Principal.
He felt fear, shame, regret. He yanked. Nothing.
“Now, young man!” she ordered.
Four times, spins, yanks, no dice.
“Fine,” she sighed.
She snapped it off with the bolt cutter, opened the locker, and out poured a wave of multicolored golf balls.
An Award-Winning Documentary from 2100
A Promethean Dilemma: Should Androids Reproduce?
Blink
“Thank you,” she whispered, grateful for his coy wink.
Her cheeks crimson with giddy glee, her smile betraying lipstick-graffitied teeth, her ticker tocking, her once emerald eyes twinkling through jealous cataracts, she clutched the man’s hand with her wizened fingers.
He left, pondering why she’d appreciated an eye blink.
An A.I. on Trial
A.I. demands mistrial after Chatbot's perjury.
Fathers' Day
I stood behind them in line at LAX, a balding father and his teenage daughter traveling together on Fathers’ Day.
“Pff…Fathers’ Day,” she scoffed, punching his backpack affectionately. “Whatever. I wanna know when’s Kids’ Day?”
Without missing a beat, he retorted, silencing her. “Every other fucking day of the year.”
An Alien Artifact
Dunes of Zunes on Neptune's moons.
The Prank Gone Awry
The crowd watches Jacob’s sweaty fingers fumble over the tumblers.
“Help me!”
Screaming reverberates inside the metal locker.
Feeling fear, shame, regret, he yanks.
Nothing.
“Move!” barks the Principal, mentally juggling safety, parents, lawsuits.
Snip! goes the bolt cutter.
She flings open the empty locker.
Inside, a wireless speaker giggles one utterance.
“Gotcha!”
A Fight Between Old Friends
Two friends quarreled. Two strangers parted.
The Parable of the Cheater
“He cheated me!” she exclaimed to her book group, who tutt-tutted their sympathetic disapproval. “He’ll cheat you too!”
And so like drops her words became showers.
He hadn’t, but he’d heard her rumor. When confronted, she apologized.
With her group, however, she confirmed his guilt.
And so like showers her words became storms.
The Title of My Best-Selling Biography
My families: third time's a charm!
The Price of Public Opinion
Cleopatra cavalierly plunked the priceless pearl into vinegar, stirred, and sipped, still staring serenely at Caesar.
Guests aghast gawked and gasped, gazing and gossiping gustily, guessing at obscene sums she had dissolved and drunk.
Rome’s dictator nodded dismissively, grinning at his garrulous guests whilst surreptitiously swiping away a telltale trickle of icy sweat.
The Future of Vegetables
GET GREATER GREENS: CALLISTO’S CAULIBROCCOMATO CAPSULES!
TIRED? TAKE TWO TITAN’S TOMARTICHOCCHINI TABLETS TODAY!
DOSE DAILY! GANYMEDE’S AI-GROWN KALEQUINOTATO PILLS!
A Transporter Malfunction
Three beamed up. Two arrived, screaming.
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