Category Archives: Microstories

Last Dance

I bought the place sight unseen: two bedrooms, one bath, no neighbors. I bought it for the quiet–a place to be alone.

First it was the radio: an old Glenn Miller tune.

Then it was footsteps overhead, a rhythmic step and slide.

I crept upstairs. A shadow crossed the sliver of light underneath the bedroom door.

But when I opened it, nothing was there.


Driver’s Ed

Coach M was intense. The football guys loved him.

“Do you believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior?” His fist pounded on the passenger window like a hammer pounding nails.

My hands tightened on the wheel. “Sure,” I said, praying I’d make it out of the car.



[Yeah, so I forgot to add this to the microprose grid. But I wrote it for that, so I’m leaving the badge!]

Fee, fie, foe

They keep coming: small men with their small desires. They hunger for my gold; they scrabble through my table leavings. They foul the air with their scent.

Here comes another, hand over hand to steal my solitude. Let me ready my plate.


Scorcher

Nights like this, I sleep naked, seeking relief in the coolness of empty sheets. I wake to the droning of cicadas, the yearning for rain, the ache of desire and the taste of your name in my mouth.


Rendezvous

Seven hours ago I walked with you in the moonlight. We dallied until only a handful of stars were left: the last vestiges of night. Now the sky is pink and waiting; morning holds its breath.

Seven hours is not enough to make up for all the lost years.