Microfiction For Lunch • 7
January 26, 2021
An Aging Legend
Somewhere in the old west…
by Mark Starlin
“Ain’t you a little old to be a gunslinger?”
“I got no love for it. But you dang fool kids won’t leave me alone.”
“No quicker way to fame than taking out Erstwhile Lightningleft.”
After I buried the kid, I thought, I’m tired. Gonna warm my bones by the fire.
by Justin Deming
In September Mr. Rodriguez caught Tre with a lighter in the boys’ bathroom. He confiscated it.
Tre challenged him all year. He interrupted his lessons — even got into a shouting match.
One day in June, Tre held out his hand. “Thanks, man.”
Mr. Rodriguez pulled his student into a hug.
by Terrye Turpin
Don’t wake them. Dark-haired Lucy belonged to Granny Newsome. Fair Charlotte belonged to Granny’s sister. Her name was Charlotte too. Both dolls have real human hair. Granny calls them her girls. Me and Momma live with Granny. For now.
Momma says, “Stay away from dusty places, Dina.” But I feel safest in the closet filled with moth-eaten wool, the pantry stocked with rusty jars. Under Granny’s bed is best. I peer between the fringe on the bedspread and watch for them. Granny’s girls.
If you pick them up their eyes will open and they will see where I am hiding.
The New Trainee
Breaking in a full time companion
by Mary Keating
“We need to talk. Talk to them, I mean. Don’t we?” He scratched behind his ear.
“They’ll never understand.”
“So why is it they keep talking to us?”
“I think it’s therapeutic to them.”
“What are they saying anyway? Their tone is so exaggerated.”
“Yeah. Read their faces. Learn a few basic words. You’ll do fine.”
“But how will I know when to come? They’ve no clue what my name is.”
“They’ll give you a new one. Listen, with free room and board, and someone to pick up your shit, I wouldn’t complain too much. Not even about the leash.”
by Dascha Paylor
She remembered his touch, the warmth of his hand, the coolness of the wedding ring she had slipped over his finger.
She remembered those fingers trailing across the softness of her own skin, her heart, beating with desire in her human chest.
For a flicker of a moment, she remembered their love, before the trees fully claimed her as their own — their dryad queen.
Here, Kitty Kitty
by E.D. Martin
It was a dark and stormy night, bad weather for a cat and even worse weather for my Ma out looking for it.
“He’s fit t’ drown out here,” she wailed as rain pelted down.
“We’ll put up posters tomorrow, Ma.”
“Fat lot o’ good that’ll do if he’s dead.”
“I’ll keep looking for it, if you go inside.”
Lightning lit up her half-crazed face. “Him!”
How she knew the gender of a feral cat was beyond me, but at least she went in.
When I finally came in, empty-handed, she shoved a tuna sandwich at me.
I nearly purred.
Enjoy your lunch.
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