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 – 87th Edition
This week’s artwork is “Mills” by G.J.Mintz
The Wishing Well
by G. Allen Wilbanks
“What are you doing?” my sister asked.
“Making a wish in the well.”
Addy slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a coin. She let it fall into the well and we waited until it hit the water with an echoing plip.
“Nope. You’re still here,” she announced. “It doesn’t work.”
Addy turned and walked down the hill, her ponytail flouncing behind her as she went.
“Very funny,” I shouted after her, but I wasn’t mad at her for the joke.
It had been two years since the car crash. I was just happy to see her again.
The Crack
by Marta
While shattered china patterns of pink and red flowers spread wide on the bone cold kitchen floor, we hide the dustbin to avoid picking up the shards and tip-toe around the tiny daggers to get to the milk and cereal so we can go about our day.
En Shore
by Jake Zawlacki
On a sand-sprinkled beach, I stared into the world. The world, in a molting scarred form, ruptured from the water to face me, it’s slick wings licking the ocean around it.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
It moaned and sputtered, in pain, “An odd question.”
I shoveled granules and threw them at the world. Sand-scattered salvo splashed, then was absorbed by the ocean, like all things.
“There is nowhere else to be,” the world said, the shiny scars of its back wet and glittering. Under heavy breaths it groaned and creaked then, silence,
as the world swam away.
The Last Blue
by Karen Walker
“Let’s bring your photos, Mom,” Jennifer says.
I’d take them with me if I could. Snaps of a misty morning at the lake long ago, of Jack in those awful navy socks and sandals, of our daughter’s wedding in lavender.
“So it’ll be just like home.” Her smile drips into a sob; she’s so sorry. I catch her tears. She wipes mine.
“Go home,” I tell Jennifer. Her girls need her.
Setting the prescription beside the bed, she kisses me. “Have a good sleep.”
I will. The pills are blue like her father’s sky eyes. I’ll see them tonight.
Paper Cranes
by Nhu Tien Lu
A Hmong girl, home high above rows of stone corn, sings to the water buffaloes in her rainbow skirts. Her laughter bursts bright and contagious. At fifteen, she is kidnapped to be a wife. She eats 55 poison leaves, chewing one at a time, but doesn’t die. At sixteen, an uncle takes her to China, where he sells her to strangers; for four months, she swallows her songs like beating wings. Now at seventeen, in the safe shelter with the other girls, she dreams of seeing the ocean and folds tiny colorful paper cranes. She sings until they soar.
Microfiction Monday Magazine 