Stories and sketches of less than 1,000 words.
A nice man! Tall, but not too tall, because then you -- you too short, eh-mar, for a very tall man with a beard...
A lonely sausage-maker fantasises.
She is polite to these strangers around her, radiates love, affection, hoping they will not hurt her. The same as when she came to this place the first time, her anger and the fear unexpected. Be polite, be modest, be loveable, and the strangers won't hurt her.
Where the surface matters, but not how they thought it would.
Still, she's never been much for others, my mother: at the time I didn't know if she realised her sister was actually on her deathbed, but now I'm starting to think she just had no sympathy for the situation.
A son follows his freedom. His father's obsession turns damaging.
there was a name he could remember, but not one he could articulate
If he shut up, he would be all right.
Paradox duly avoided, I painted until I found myself a bit peckish, and stopped for lunch.
Antoni arched his back, did as the irony scripted across his chest demanded, and thrust his pecs forward.
However searing the sun, space was never a glorious frontier.
...no, I'm thinking, oh no, no, no, did I really eat all that frozen bread, I'm not supposed to eat flour! I'm not supposed to eat bread! -- and I'm thinking of all those wasted days, days I tell you, of half-starving and it's all gone down the toilet like a huge gluten-fat floaty turd, you know, those slick yellow ones, I can't fight myself if I'm going to eat while I'm sleeping...
On the sofa, their commentary faces forwards, as though the television is their audience, and their life is a kind of inverted pantomime.
Despite the town's declaration of neutrality, I have been assigned two guards. In respect to my position, they are both female.
This is your day, and it is not a day for thrift-shop trousers no matter how shiny they seem under starlight.
When I visited Over There, it had been forty two years since I left. Every second question was 'why aren't you married'. Gone forty two years and there's no 'how are you, what do you do, tell us about your life!' No, it's all, 'where's your husband? Where's your boyfriend? Why aren't you married?'
Hard-pressed to admit affection for anything, He liked this job specifically for the conversational opportunities, having pretensions above those of His friends (He did strive to keep Himself the largest fish in His social pond).
Her mother could not find a photographer. No one sits at the bridal table. Beloved's friends are not by her side.