Tag Archives: microfiction

The Magnifying Glass

“All you have ever done is find fault and be critical, without ever taking a look at yourself,” his wife said as she slapped a magnifying glass into his hand.

He turned the object over in his hands in bemusement but remembered times as a child crouched in the dirt, magnifying glass focused inches from the ground watching the ants move in their industrial symmetry.  Back then it allowed him to peer into the nooks and crannies of insects and under rocks, yet as he grew into adolescence he turned his magnified gaze onto the people around him.  He explored the crevices of people’s character, pinpointing their weaknesses to his advantage.  Proudly he stood with chest of burnished bronze and crown of gold; too caught up in his reflection to notice the feet of clay.

“Turn this lens back on yourself and perhaps you’ll see something,” she said before turning on her heel and collecting her last bags from the front door.

Ashes to Ashes

Josh clambered up the high stool in the kitchen and sat down with a bemused look on his face and directed a question at his mother, “Mum, what did the priest mean when he said ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust’ at Grandpa’s funeral last week?”

His mother dried her hands on a tea towel, to give herself time to think of an answer to satisfy a five year old’s need for information.

“Do you remember from Sunday School, when you learnt that God made Adam out of the dirt of the Earth?  Well, it means that when we die, we go back to dirt and dust, just like where we came from.”

Josh nodded vacantly as he began to process this new information and wondered if he should store it in the category marked “Science” or the one labelled, “Weird Stuff Mum Says.”

“Does that help you dear as it looks like you have another question to ask?”

“If that’s the case I need you to have a look under my bed at all the dust and tell me if someone is coming or going.”

The Carpool Conspiracy

Andrew pulled the car into the kerb for Stuart who began to prattle, “Man, I had the fiercest chili con carne last night and you guys are going to suffer big time.”

“Let me introduce you to Ellen,” interrupted James, indicating the newest member of the carpool, “and you may want to keep that smell to yourself.”

Stuart settled into the back seat, but before too long, last night’s dinner punctuated the conversation, for which he apologised profusely. Ellen seemed unperturbed by the noise or the smell and somewhat amused at Stuart’s discomfort. But then a new smell struck with the silence of a ninja and the strength of an atomic bomb.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” quipped Ellen, “but you don’t grow up with three brothers and not learn to defend yourself.”

Puberty Blues

[Fiction] Friday

Friday 26th March “Shhh… did you hear that?”

Andy had stumbled across a discovery that excited and startled a ten year old and he had to show his best friend, Pete.  The two paused briefly before the open office door.  Looking back down the hallway they heard the strains of the afternoon football match and the sound of can being opened in the lounge room.  Andy led the way into his father’s office and pulled the door partially closed behind them.  He sidled over to the built-in wardrobe and slid back the door.  Thrusting his head into the semi-darkness he rummaged around while Pete kept watch on the door and listened for approaching footsteps.

“Here it is,” said Andy holding a magazine like a holy object.  The front cover was emblazoned with by-lines that screamed of eye-popping full frontals, “the best you’ve ever seen” and other saucy secrets.

They stared in wild-eyed wonder at the burlesque strip tease performed on the pages.  Breasts fell out of lingerie and bottoms were exposed from all angles.  They had never considered there could be so many variations on a theme: size, colour, shape, pubic hair landscaping, piercings and tattoos.

“Shhh… did you hear that?” said Pete.  The boys paused and waited.   Each could feel their heart thumping a frantic ostinato.  A cupboard door closed shut and the crinkle of fast food packaging joined the sound of the game.  They returned to their investigation of masculine curiosity and perversity.

Pete couldn’t believe his eyes when Andy reached the centre of the magazine.

“That’s almost life-sized,” he said.

Andy unfolded the pages to show the curvature of breasts and buttocks and a finely manicured lawn with the staple as a secondary bellybutton ornament.

They flipped backwards and forwards through the magazine stopping to read the articles that made them giggle with words like “throbbing” and “pulsating” and they were unsure why there was a constant reference to cats.

Caught up in their surreptitious discovery, they didn’t hear the door open behind them.

“There you two are.  Been wondering what you’d been up to; thought it was too quiet.”  Andy’s father suddenly stopped when he saw the naked panorama.

Andy and his father locked eyes.  Andy just stared, shamed in his guilt.  His father bored down on Andy in parental displeasure but broke contact first.

“That’s not something that you should be looking at,” his father chastised.  “It’s not appropriate for someone your age.”

“But why do you have it hidden away in the cupboard?  Don’t you want Mum to see?”

His father rattled his brain for the appropriate parental response and grasped at the first one that would get him out of answering the question.

“Give me that.  You two go outside and do something.”

Andy’s father took the proffered object of indiscretion and watched them walk ashamedly from the office.  He looked at the rolled up magazine and sighed deeply.  Checking that the boys were indeed outside playing, he dumped the magazine into the garbage.

Breath

Michael lay on his back and counted his breaths, measuring their depth of inhalation and release.  He tried to hold his breath for as long as he could, wondering when his allocated portion would expire.  He remembered being a young boy, turning blue in defiance while holding out for a demanded packet of chips, while his mother calmly waited for necessity to take over.  When he had leaned in to kiss Stephanie back in high school, his breath caught as her lips pressed against his.  Palms pressed down against the grass he felt its warmth and moisture.  He mused on the paradox wherein earth brought forth life, but it required the breath of life to make it live.

Metamorphosis

Friday 5th March
“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.” What has your character turned into?

*****

Gregor sat on the park bench and watched the Saturday parade of pampered pets with their manservants or maidservants dutifully collecting their waste.

“Such an incongruity that the intelligent being should be forced to shovel shit,” said Gregor.

Drawing on a cigarette he almost choked when the poodle and its inferior looked almost exactly the same as each other.  The pretence of smoker’s cough hid his laughter.  Checking his watch he thought he might start his rounds early and try and call it an early night.  Starting on the upper side of town he trawled from bar to club, picking up small packages on consignment.  He couriered them to other faces that looked reptilian or rodent, the hired goons of the trade.

There was nothing out of the ordinary that night.  Packages were exchanged, nods and glances were the only linguistics needed and the occasional flash of a knife secured passage.  Gregor scurried from job to job, pausing only to have a final swig at his last port of call.

The remnants of a you-want-what-on-your pizza turned haphazardly in the microwave before Gregor turned in for the night.  He woke up the next morning having felt like he had run a marathon.  He couldn’t pin the images from his mind to make a story that made sense so he set out for breakfast, blaming the pizza.

He kept his head low and headed for the diner and settled into a booth.  Without looking up he ordered the big breakfast and set about arranging the cutlery.  Only then did he look up.  He squinted and tried to focus.  The human shapes morphed until they did a Dali-dance, stopping until they were half-human, half-animal.  He picked up the serviette container and stared at his reflection.  His unshaven face pushed whiskers, his nose wrinkled.

Across in the other booth, a bespectacled gentleman in a dark pin striped suit raised a book to read in between bites: Animal Farm.

“Well I’ll be buggered,” said Gregor.

She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

John stamped up the stairs and flung himself on the bed, burying his head in his pillow while sobs racked his body. As a comforting hand rubbed the small of his back, he blurted out, “Susie said she doesn’t love me anymore.”
Amidst the debris of a failed relationship, it needed to be cleared up, to understand what had gone wrong, to provide an anchor for hope in the future, “What brought that on?”
“At recess when kindergarten went out to play, Susie said that we were boyfriend and girlfriend because we both liked using the red pencil first when colouring in. But at lunch Susie asked me if I liked blue Smarties and when I said that I didn’t like blue Smarties she said that she couldn’t be friends with someone who didn’t like blue Smarties and then she said that she didn’t love me anymore and that we weren’t going to be boyfriend and girlfriend anymore.”
“I’m sure things with Susie will be back to normal tomorrow.”

The Kitsch War

Camille’s desk was a bastion of kitsch, always within company guidelines though, cycling through the fads like kids trading footy cards.  Leonard was part Julius Caesar, part king’s own fool, a smug and gleefully frivolous smirker who sought to best Camille’s oddities.  His action heroes trumped troll dolls, the mini Zen garden complete with rake and bonsai feature blew away the Chinese money plant, and in the fait accompli, his coffee jar of tadpoles swamped her Siamese fighting fish.  Camille threatened to sweep her desk clean of all but work related accoutrements and silently fumed at the swarm of wannabe David Attenboroughs making their own nature documentary of Leonard’s metamorphosing tadpoles.  Leonard didn’t care about the humiliation Camille suffered and basked in the spotlight of attention, but there were accusations and rebuttals when it was discovered that the lid had been left ajar one evening.  The dust settled over the battle but the war was lost when an escapee tadpole, having sprouted legs and run away, became immortalised as a smear on the front page of Leonard’s report as it reamed from the printer.

Mountains and Valleys

He traced the peaks and valleys of the mountain range with his eyes, following the vein of water tumbling through the crags and clefts.  The parallel ridges of the range were calligraphy of shape and form, cairns and pillars of his history.  As the shaman, he named each mountain and knew its legend, the high places for worship and the places of idolatry.  Formed under intense pressure and heat they had erupted out from the dust of the earth.  From his vantage point he ached to scale the precipice, yet floundered in the valley lacking the strength to begin the ascension.  Tracing back along the valley floor he deepened the ravine with a razorblade until the earth became a blanket and cradled him to dust.

If Your Son Asks For Bread

Apologetically he left the bread, milk and cereal on the counter while the shop assistant turned her head to avoid heaping further shame when the credit card was declined.  Walking back to the car he calculated when his next pay would hit the account, knowing that it would only just about cover the bills for that month and leave little more than loose change for a sparrow’s meal.  Glancing at his watch he figured the children would be just about to wake up while his wife waited for the breakfast essentials.  He sat wringing the wheel, hoping for a genie to emerge.  Scratching around in the glove compartment he found a pen and a crumpled serviette and wrote, “Do not raise the alarm as I am carrying a knife so give me all your cash.”  Pulling out of the car park he headed for home while the serviette, stuffed into his shirt pocket, pricked at his heart.