Tag Archives: Caleb White

Microfiction Monday – 181st Edition

Space Became Distance

by Akmal Hafizi

You needed space, and I gave some. But before I knew it, space had become distance, and time became a while. As I had expected, you eventually reached the event horizon—a point from which there is no return. I was really reaching for the stars, except that they were redshifting away—you were.

I flung myself bound for you, and engraved longing into words and texts—wishing there would be a slightest echo where I would hear the same “come back”.

All the while I failed to recall that space is a vacuum—lacking of sound and indefinitely gloom.

The Girl Who Cried Gardens

by David Henson

When her mother died, the girl cried a garden of flowers to comfort her father. When he passed from grief anyway, she sobbed a garden of vegetables so she and her brother wouldn’t starve. When her brother ran off and left her alone, she wept a garden of angry thistle. When she became ill and was on her deathbed, she cried an empty garden for the life she would never know. After she was laid to rest in a place with no markers, a rock garden appeared on her grave. 

The Last Letter

by Caleb White

She gripped the pen, her heart heaving with sorrow. She expressed her emotions and all the things she wished she had spoken to him before he went. She expressed her love for him, her longing, and her desire that he would return to her. She gave him a kissy-signature, sealed the letter in the envelope, and set it on the mantle next to his picture. I love you too, my dear, she heard faintly as she turned to exit the room. 

Ouroboros’ Chain

by Sam Anderson

Martine sits alone on the park bench, tears streaming down her face. This is where he first said, “I love you.” But now, she sits alone and clutches the necklace he gave her, the thin chain tight around knuckles. A hand touches her shoulder. She turns and sees him smiling. “I’m back.” She jumps up, wrapping her arms around him. But his skin feels wrong, cold like misty leaves. His kiss on her forehead holds no warmth. Only the memory of something missing, now forgotten. And so, she sits once more, uncertain why she weeps but struggling to remember.

On Board 

by David Sydney 

Brutus and Rattus were on board the Ark, Brutus representing the Brown rats and Rattus the Black rats. The heavens were about to open up, with 40 days of rain to follow. It was getting dark and dangerous. Brutus used the words ‘ominous’ and ‘foreboding’, typical of a Brown rat.

Two platypus ducks boarded. Then, two cassowaries. Two hyenas. Then, two weasels.

Rattus frowned. “Everyone dislikes weasels,” Brutus agreed.

“HURRY UP,” the extremely long-lived patriarch, Noah, bellowed. “CAN’T YOU SEE THE WEATHER?”

Two Chihuahuas boarded, representing dogs.

“Can you believe who they’re letting aboard this thing?” said Brutus to Rattus.