Tag Archives: Phil Temples

Microfiction Monday – 180th Edition


by Phil Temples

You are the glue that holds us together.

It was one of his favorite things Hubert would say when he was alive. In reality, it pissed her off to hear it. She was the one who sacrificed her wants and needs for the relationship. She was the one who frequently made do without. She was the responsible of the two.

Yeah. I was the glue that held us together, alright.

It seemed only fitting, then, to mix Hubert’s ashes with the spackle compound to patch the crack in the kitchen wall.

You can be the fucking glue for once, asshole!


by Benjamin Marr

Growing old inside the ribcage of the dragon I slayed decades ago. The blackened bones now cold to the touch; drafty and freezing. The young lady I rescued now long gone on another planet a lifetime away.

I wonder if she felt as alien as I always have. Leaning up against a UFO in the park. A passerby making a joke, “Do you come here often?”

I walk to the library where we used to meet so long ago. I find the last book she read beside me before she moved away. Unfinished, her bookmark a first step to finding her.


by Lucas Hubbard

He had only one rule at Caesars: Bet on black.

His second rule was leave on a win. Revised: Leave on the next win.

Then, play blackjack; okay, try slots.

Don’t use credit. No alimony.

He was walking home when the rising sun imparted his favorite rules: Go to Luxor. Bet on red.

Boy Man

by David M Wallace

You searched for something ancient. Something carved in stone. Fashioned in bronze. An arrowhead, a dagger, an amulet. Some Viking myth to keep you in perpetual boyhood.

But the old rituals failed you. You became disenchanted. An iconoclast. You vowed never to be fooled again. Cynicism is your faith.

It is almost always that way. We proudly take off our shirts and show the world the wounds we survived. Forgetting that the point was to die. To die and then get on with it.

Microfiction Monday – 33rd Edition

MMMMay4How Was She to Know?
by Shreyasi Majumdar

The Indonesian’s “rare reticulated python” sales pitch was totally unnecessary – it was love at first sight. A 16-foot long beauty, it became a coiled up marvel that made its home in a sheltered corner of her house. Placid and inert, it would lay there, its Sauronese eyes watching intently. Through the wedding and when the baby came, it watched unblinking, a mute spectator. One afternoon, as she lazed on the patio, it uncoiled. Muscles rippled. Somewhere in the dim recesses of her tired mind, she heard a baby cry. When the crying stopped, she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Care Package
by Nancy Nguyen

On a rainy afternoon, I received a care package at my new house. It was at my doorstep, the size of an abandoned infant. I left it next to the bare coat rack. Even after the rain stopped and the sun dried everything up, the box stayed drenched for days. A briny smell permeated every room. When the smell became too much, I opened the package to find an electric blanket, a humidifier, and a broken bottle of fish sauce. I called my mother for the first time in a year.

by D. Quentin Miller

Staring through a diner window, late at night, humidity heavy, contemplating something self-harmful. Trying to remember when she felt this exact feeling, because she has, but it hasn’t been on a night like this when her lover dumped her. Gnawing on a ragged fingernail. Spitting out a microshred, a sliver of herself, onto the sidewalk damp from the thundershowers. Aware of a man in the diner staring at her. Fumbling through her purse and finding her rape whistle and putting it in her mouth, but not blowing it, just leaving it there, like an unlit cigarette, just in case.

Mostly Straight But…
by Anne Wilding

The thought of coffee with her is enough, pushes me face down on the sofa, on my back, my side. I find myself, I think, on the floor. The ceiling, floor and walls collide with want. I’ll be late and she won’t know why. My head in a corner has time to think Need to dust before there is only pleasure and my body. Hands and clothes and head reeking pheromones, I’m giddy out the door, dreamy on the bus, but arrive on time. She smiles. “You’ve cobwebs in your hair.” And runs her fingers through the dusty remains.

by Phil Temples

I hop on the bus and grab my favorite seat. It looks like the same bus. It smells like it. Yeah, this is the same goddamn bus. I put my hand under my seat and feel around. There! I find the same wad of chewing gum from yesterday. I could continue to chew it. Or I could stick it someplace else. Friday, I unbuttoned my blouse and exposed my left tit to everyone behind me. No one even noticed. They were too busy texting or looking at Facebook. What’s a girl got to do to get noticed?