Tag Archives: Jessica Klimesh

Microfiction Monday – 182nd Edition

Lifesaving 

by David Sydney 

In the advertisement, an elderly woman thanks the lifesaving device company. Having fallen, she was able to use the device to call for help. She is now alive. But…
“I can’t stand that device.”
“How do you mean, Harriet?”
We are now dealing with Harriet and Gertrude. Real people, not advertisements.
“George is still alive, Gertrude.”
Harriet had been married to George for 57 years when he fell and successfully used the device.
“Damn, Harriet. That reminds me of Frank.”
Gertrude, too, had been married for 57 years, in her case to Frank, who had one of the devices also.

Largesse 

by G.J. Williams 

Just think of the music you’ll not have to face tomorrow, the gauntlet you’ll not have to run, the saliva you’ll not have to wipe off, the hundred piercing voices you’ll not have to close your ears to, the funeral you’ll not have to attend, the laughter you’ll not have to endure, the fortune you’ll not have to lose, the case you’ll not have to fight, the morsel you’ll not have to reach for, the glare you’ll not have to withstand, and the corridor down which you’ll not have to shuffle. Think on these things. Regard them as windfall. 

Threads

by Dorcas Wilson

They say we make a strange pair; you untidy and tattooed, me immaculate, not a hair or stitch out of place.
You stride through life, grabbing opportunities as they arise. I walk with precision, every step planned.
You shout and swear. I talk with quiet eloquence.
You screech into the night. I sing in the shower.
You love stories. I love facts.

They whisper about us as if we can’t hear them.
They will never know what makes us two, one. They will never see the thread that binds us. The thread that one day will snap, tearing us asunder.

Harbinger of Death

by Jessica Klimesh

Before she became a vulture, with a wingspan stretching six feet, she was a child, with no wingspan at all, disciplined with ridicule, told to stand straight and smile, to never bend, to never give in to whimsy. To never dream. In order to survive, the other vultures told her.

Before she became a vulture, she thought she could be anything, maybe even a brightly-colored macaw.