Microfiction Monday – 205th Edition
Slow Decay
by Sandra Plourde
The curtains and walls have a yellow tint, the smell of cold smoke locked into soft furnishings.
My mother had not smoked in years.
The air is stale, I can taste dust on my tongue.
The cupboards are full of duplicate purchases, unopened.
In the bathroom many used and unused bottles of dry shampoo.
The mantel in the living room is a shrine of family photographs and letters.
The armrest of the sofa facing the TV shows a dark stain where her head rested.
The doctors say my mother died of cancer.
I know she died of loneliness.
The Worst That Could Happen
by Jennifer Lai
One drop per day, the instructions read; she’d applied twelve. What was the worst that could happen? Her lashes become too long? Too luscious? Pfft. Already, she could picture her date’s face, Hollywood handsome, when he commented on her beauty. Stop, she’d gush, waving him off. Had she read the fine print, she would’ve realized the telltale symptoms. Blurred vision. Light sensitivity. Unrelenting eyelid itchiness. Instead, she blamed allergies, the dry air. Before their meals arrived, he cupped her hands, told her how beautiful she looked—a smile on his face, no doubt. A shame she could barely see it.
Swan Song
by Linea Jantz
Shrunken jack-o-lanterns squatted on the porch steps, gaping smiles sinking into their gums. Joe stood awkwardly on the doorstep, hands unsure where to rest. He and Frank had known each other for decades, since marching band back in college. But he hadn’t spoken to Frank’s wife since the day the flutist made her choice…and it wasn’t Joe. He wanted to pay his respects after the death of his closest friend, but now he wondered if he should have just sent flowers. He shifted uncomfortably as he heard the lock flip open. How long do memories keep their teeth?
Retirement Day
by Karen Walker
On retirement day, the yellow gerbera daisy on Carole’s desk blooms.
Although the day has come years early, Carole tries to be as sunny.
The manager presents a cheque and a card. “Travel, indulge, enjoy, grow: retire!” The new hire—a little rosebud ideal for a company that’s downsizing—wows at her nearly twenty-three years.
On the bonus for retiring early, Carole will survive until winter. On the balcony, the daisy until winter.
Then, it’ll be 8 to 3 every day at a big box garden centre and, for Carole, every day in a dirty north-facing window.
Bryan Regan’s Oath
by JS O’Keefe
An avid hunter but not a violent man, Regan has sworn if he ever raises a gun on another person he’ll never touch a firearm again.
Still when he sees the other guy looking exactly like him, raising his Browning at him, Regan shoots back with his own Browning. He doesn’t feel the bullet slamming into his forehead – he is dead before hitting the ground.
The police find a large mirror at the other end of the clearing and figure out it’s some idiot’s stupid prank, but since Regan shot at his own image they declare it a suicide.
Microfiction Monday – 201st Edition
Emma and Dixon
by Liz Mayers
When our old pear tree blew down, the children stopped playing in the yard after school. They’d throw pears against our fence, thump each other with ‘em, and leave the cores behind. When I’d shoo the rascals away, they never listened. I only shooed ‘em ‘cause I thought they bugged Dixon. But I learned he counted on the ruckus to wake him from his afternoon nap. He misses the fooling around. And so do I. We wanna attract ‘em again, like the bees and the butterflies. But growing another pear tree takes too long and we don’t have much time.
The Artifice of Perfection
by Chris Cochran
An educational consultant with impeccable skin lectures our department via videoconference. Your students, she says, are already using artificial intelligence to cheat. This is a threat to your school’s academic integrity.
She shows us a website that can calculate the probability that a student plagiarized using chatbot text. Software created to fix a problem that software created.
I’m transfixed by her countenance—slim jawline, large blue eyes, unnaturally full lips. Her complexion is flawless, impossibly, and that’s what gives it away: She’s using a filter, presenting someone else’s version of beauty as her own.
Note to Self
by Jamy Bond
When your mother is dying, go to her bedside and take her hand. Do what you can to ease her suffering. What you’ll remember years from now, watching a sun-washed sky at dusk, your husband gone and your children grown, won’t be her neglect or rage or blame. It won’t be her attempts to sabotage your escape. It will be a moment when you were 17, standing at the front door, suitcase packed, car idling in the driveway, and she looked at you with eyes that said, I’m afraid of losing the things I love; I’m afraid of being alone.
Waiting Room
by Melissa Ren
I stared at the wall clock. The second hand moved at a snail’s pace, defying the concept of time. The people in my periphery stared at the same clock. Waiting had this room beat.
With the office embedded deep underground, Wi-Fi didn’t reach the likes of us. I came unprepared. No book, no music, not even water. I thought I’d be in and out.
I hadn’t consumed liquids in over three hours, and yet, I’d been holding in my piss the entire time.
“Number 93!”
I jumped from my seat and handed in my papers.
“You’re in the wrong room.”
Three Universes Created
by JS O’Keefe
Driving home after dove hunting I almost ran over a rabbit.
”No doves,” I told my wife, “but I saw a bear cub on 228.”
“Good thing you were in your car. Mother bears are never far.”
Later my neighbor dropped by, “Heard you had a rendezvous with a black bear yesterday. How big was he?”
“About five hundred pounds. I am out in the woods and suddenly this monster bear turns up from nowhere, stares at me for a few seconds and slowly walks away.
“Good thing, because he could’ve dispatched you with a single swat.”
Good thing, indeed.
Microfiction Monday – 200th Edition
A Visit to My Ex-Wife and Her New Girlfriend
The cat melts into the crawl-space, and I think to follow. Knees at my ears, scalp scraping foundations. Bird—if they still call him Bird—watches like a teacher as I translate the matchstick bone glyphs that lay jammed in the mud. An inventory of lost opportunities, I see it now. Mistakes gnawed down to rib cages, feathers licked into barbs.
Sticky August rain beats down on what is left of the grass. Bare feet kiss the floorboards above.
10 Year High School Reunion
by Mollie B. Rodgers
I cross my arms. I look hostile. I uncross them. They hang at my sides like a gorilla’s. I buy a drink to give my hands somewhere to land.
I’m playing a game of Am I an Ass Because I Can’t Place You or Did We Just Never Interact? I smile and nod. They smile and nod. Are their lives actually this impressive/fulfilling/superior, or did they also workshop their curated summaries a month in advance?
At the fifty-year reunion, the non-attendees will outnumber those present.
The seventy-five-year reunion is just the afterlife.
The Knack
by Ben Reid
I could never get the hang of a Rubik’s cube as a kid. The more I clicked and clacked the more the colours mocked me. There was no magic in my hands – yo-yos clattered to the floor, lifeless; rolled dice made a bid for freedom while shuffled cards riffled to the floor, scattering my shame. A kicked ball shot right behind me; skate boards would scramble from beneath my feet and trundle sulkily away.
Then I discovered bra hooks and business ties and the lurking dread of tax returns and found that things refuse to click even when you’re grown.
Campari and Scones
by Sue Ruben
Sheila woke,the tent hot and stuffy. She had been dreaming of love-making.Sitting up she remembered Derek’s betrayal,leaving her to take the children camping, while he headed to Paris with Lotus. Anger rose up as she imagined them drinking Campari under a moonlit sky. She sobbed,missing him.
Derek woke from a postcoital snooze.His young lover was snoring,mouth open, showing gold fillings. He remembered it was his youngest daughter’s birthday party, then craved his wife’s scones, of all things. At least I’ve escaped tending the barbecue he thought. He sobbed,missing her.
With Age Comes Wisdom
by JS O’Keefe
“Your thoughts on the struggles of mankind, the meaning of life, and the new challenges ahead of us?”
We’re interviewing the great philosopher on his 100th birthday for local TV. His clear blue eyes show he is bright as ever.
“Since I’m not familiar with any of those terms, let me get a pen and paper, then you kindly spell the words for me, and I’m going to ask my great-grandson to do a search called ‘Google’. I’ll let you know when I’m done. In the meantime, let’s work out the finances. I’ve got a big family to support.”
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