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 – 204th Edition
Phil in Academia
Phil was a Cub Scout. Then a Boy Scout. Track and Field. Debate Club.
He breezed through undergrad English. Masters thesis on Restoration Literature. PhD dissertation on Samuel Pepys.
As a professor, he bedded sophomores. When that was still a thing. Even married one. Divorced. She got both girls and the house.
Phil drank too much. Retired early. Never finished that novel. Seldom saw his kids.
Maybe things would have been different if he’d thought to talk with the fat girl who sat behind him in 7th Grade. Whose name he never knew.
Maybe he’d have learned something.
The Missiles
by River Davis
No one knows where they come from and how they choose their targets. “They’re just a fact of life,” the adults would say.
If a missile hits someone important, you’d hear about it on the news. Otherwise, it comes up in a church group or at a potluck. “What a shame,” people would murmur.
Every now and then, they come a little too close for comfort. A best friend’s dad. Your parent’s dog. An old coworker.
Then, silence. It could be years between missiles. Life is good, you are invincible.
Then one lands next door and shakes your whole world.
Domesticity
by Jasmine Beth
I was falling asleep on the bed with the baby in my lap when my husband walked in.
“Hey!” he said.
I jolted. So did the baby.
“She looks wide awake. You should take her for a walk.”
“You should come with us. It’s the weekend. I’ve hardly seen you all week. We should do something fun together.”
“All right. Let’s go now then. The sun’s going down.”
He walked out.
“Actually, there’s too much to do here,” he yelled from the lounge room. “I’m going to vacuum.”
I closed my eyes. The baby started to cry. The vacuum whirred.
Numbers
by Sandra Plourde
80 – “Good one! Keep it up, buddy! You are doing it right!”
195 – “You are doing this all wrong! You need to be on top of it. No dessert for you tonight.”
52 – “How are you feeling, Darling? Drink some more. You need to be careful. This can be dangerous. You could die!”
330 – “This is unacceptable. You cannot keep doing this. Think of the long-term repercussions. You will pay the price later in life. You could lose your toes, or worse. Try harder!”
Tom, eight years old, diabetic, stares at the floor, wishes he was someone else.
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