Tag Archives: Brian Beatty

Microfiction Monday – 136th Edition

Made in the Shade

by Brian Beatty

Young women gallivanted around the flea market grounds in skimpy cut-off jean shorts and bikini tops like they were auditioning for nudie bar jobs. Gawping teenage boys followed not far behind. Hurley took it all in from a hammock hanging between two shade trees near his tent full of merchandise. He pretended to be reading a Hardy Boys mystery from his inventory. Kids showed up at sales to be seen, not to buy. You only had to look down at their ridiculous shoes. The women wobbled along on high heels. Their admirers wore bright sneakers fresh out of the box.

Bittersweet

by Fiona Evans

Mum hands me the spoon to lick. The mixture looks disgusting, like gritty brown poo. Chocolate, butter, and sugar whipped up ready for my birthday cake. It tastes like heaven.

She shakes her head and says, “I don’t know how you always look so untidy.”

“It’s my superpower.”

Mum doesn’t laugh. She hasn’t since Dad left. I spread my arms wide and run around the room pretending to fly like superman.

Still no laugh. She just wipes the sweat from her brow and says, “Go on and clean up now.”

Witch

by David Henson

Fingers snap. She’s a grade-school girl, fires apples at the teacher, stops them in midair like a string of beads. A stripper, she wears red balloons she lets the men pop with their cigarettes. When she finishes her act, there’s nothing left but glowing ashes and half-empty mugs. A nun, she dances in the air with a Jesus from a life-sized crucifix as the congregation flees the pews. She enters beauty contests, her talent — dousing herself with gasoline. She strikes a match, while blazing embraces every judge, sits down, and smiles at the screams.

Duty to Protect

by Jennifer A Swallow

When Haruki was drafted into the military, he had accepted death. He’d envisioned a brass bullet whizzing through smoke and blood and shrapnel, puncturing his helmet and splintering his brain, killing him instantly. Instead, one hand of a poacher squeezed his neck, suffocating his screams, while the other thrust a spear beneath Haruki’s ribs, a spear more often used to pierce the endangered eels around the Bemo islands sanctuary where Haruki was deployed, guardian to marine flora and fauna. His last thought was of neglecting his childhood goldfish and his apathy at finding them floating belly up in the water.