Tag Archives: Tobias Oggenfuss

Microfiction Monday – 23rd Edition


Special thanks to Jessica Standifird for her editorial assistance. This week’s artwork is by Tobias Oggenfuss.


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Fistfighting Etiquette for Girls
by Sue Ann Connaughton

You’re allowed to fistfight another girl if she says “Hi” to your boyfriend, calls you stuck-up, or smirks at you disrespectfully. Do not arm yourself with weapons, including rocks, sticks, and sharpened fingernails. Do not kick, bite, scratch, or pull hair. You may slap, punch, and arm twist. However, you may not strike her face or groin area. Do not cry. Shake hands with your opponent after grownups stop the fistfight. Laugh, when your mother cries while bandaging your bloody knuckles. Never fistfight again. Never mention it to your husband and children. Cry when you see your daughter’s bloody knuckles.

Precocious
by Arthur Plotnik

“Mommy—you complete me,” Eric said as Linda drove him to pre-school.
“Why thank you! But where’d you hear that?”
“The wall, at naptime.”
“Funny wall,” Linda said, though it seemed less funny following his wall quote yesterday: “I’ve never felt so alive.” She’d blamed television, forgotten about it on seeing husband Gary, whose law work overlapped her hospital shifts. Mrs. Fosset, part-time nanny, fetched and fed Eric. “Sweetheart, does Mrs. Fosset have you nap after daddy gets home?”
“Sometimes.” Then, a giggle. “Silly wall! Nobody wants that.”
“What, honey?”
He used his moo-cow voice: “I want you in me.”

The Old Woman
by Kyle Hemmings

I loved exploring the abandoned house near a burn-out field. The stairs creaked and the empty rooms whispered. One day I heard a woman’s voice from the top floor. She was smiling in her rocking chair. Her hair was covered with cobwebs. Bees buzzed around her ears. “I’ve been waiting to see you,” she said, staring straight at me. She mumbled that I was her lost son. I ran. Out of curiosity, I returned. She took off her head and clothes. She was nothing but a voice.

Soon
by Brad Nelms

She came to check on him. She clicked the handcuffs closer to his skeletal wrists. Steel biting into ragged flesh. He stirred, a dry rattle creeping its way out of his throat. “Hush dear…Shhh…” She cooed. Stroking his thin, damp hair and bringing her mouth close to his ear, she whispered, “Save your strength, it will not be much longer. We need you to be empty so the Lord can fill you up. The stars are almost right.” Her eyes drifted over his gaunt form, bones were fighting to push out through sagging skin. “Soon,” she smiled. “Very Soon.”

How Did I Feel?
by Bertram Allan Mullin

My flesh fell off on its own. I couldn’t see, but I could taste and smell. My limbs were soft tissue. Somehow my ankle broke. I began to drag it everywhere I went. The only word I could say was, “Grawrr,” which was debatably not even a word. Then my right eye up and fell from its socket. The others pointed and cackled. Got hard to think about all of that, though, because I was hungry all the time. Endless cravings for blood, living skin, and of course brains.

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Microfiction Monday – Eleventh Edition


Special thanks to Jessica Standifird for her editorial assistance. This week’s artwork is by Tobias Oggenfuss.


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Can Anybody Here Juggle?
by Barry Basden

I hardly recognized that guy in last night’s movie. He looked weary, just hanging in. What was that film in the ’80s with him so cynical, so beautifully stoned? Stoned–a lovely way to endure these streets melting in the dark, empty but for the neighbor’s yowling cats. Not at all what I expected. Tonight’s late late movie: Busby Berkeley, colorized by Turner. Orchestra in tails. Syncopated ladies in drag. Acrobats. A magician perhaps, something new up his sleeve for a change.

Ms. Fix-It
by Robert Scotellaro

He was in there smoking pot again. Mixed with the deep, otherworldly sounds of his Tuvan throat singing. His fifteen-year-old peep-tone voice, plummeting. Like his CDs, which sounded like devils chanting with frogs in their throats. You hungry? she asked through the door. Her hands hungry to make something. His No! soaring back several octaves. She poured some coffee. There was sunlight on her azaleas, needing watering. There was the cat brushing her for food. There were still a few teen years left. She over-sprinkled fishy stars into a bowl. Some things were just easier to fix than others.

Lonely
by Tony Lee Marman

“You told her?” I say.
He holds up his hands. They’re trembling.
At first the girls are impressed when he doesn’t try to get in their pants on the first date. Second date, the kissing goes okay, but it progresses no further. Soon after, they start to think it’s them. Finally, he admits he’s terrified of the sex act. They laugh before realizing he’s serious. (This realization can take a week or more.)
“Did she—”
“She dumped me,” he says.
“So what now?”
“Live a long and lonely life. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Liar.”
“What?”
“The ‘lonely’ part?”

Contamination
by Anne Pem

When I sit on the public restroom toilet, the cold presence of something wet is there. Someone else’s piss—or maybe just toilet water thrown on the seat in a violent flush—contaminates my skin. I wipe, but it remains throughout the day as a patch of nervous discomfort growing larger than the bounds of the initial contact. The contamination spreads with everything I touch. My husband grabs my naked ass before bed, and his hand becomes infected. Everything tainted until we’re all-over dirty with someone else.

Rebuild
by Clay Greysteel

New Mexico. They set up camp in abandoned city ruins. Groups were territorial, hoarding provisions, fighting.
Lars sat with Alaina in the shade after she’d become faint. Her belly grew larger every day. Lars suspected she’d been raped, but he never asked and she never told.
“We can’t keep fighting over leftovers,” he said, watching as the others prepared for a raid. “We need to become self-sustaining, or work together, or… something.”
“Belief is power,” Alaina said, patting her belly. Desperation within the group had led to rumor that she was Mary, and the baby, Jesus. “We use this.”