Published: 12 Words, A Short Story

12 Words

A cute little (teeny, itty, bitty) short fiction site where stories are only 12 words long. Here’s mine:

“So I see, your loving arms wrapped so tightly around her waist.”

World Music

In a world, not far from here,
Where crying is speech, and hungry hate
Breeds to feed on the soulless, there are
Muffled screams pressed against palms of
Disbelief.

Later, out of desperation, they will
Bring their hands together, and on
Battered knees, send out a prayer -
Hush now, listen to their plea.

Published: LOTL Magazine Aug ’09

No One Belongs Here More Than You

It’s not fair that now,
When I am missing you most
The sky begins to turn
Away from the light, and into the
Darkness, giving life to the
Cumulus clouds which will soon
Bloom and swell with rain.
They will push salt into my wounds.
Breathe its meek breath against
My weak fire, fanning it, fueling it

The bright evergreens sat
On a pedestal close to
The Sun, cradling seeds that
Promised eternity
Before the seasons changed.

RulesofAcquitance

While You Slept

While you slept, I counted the number of breaths you breathed.  After five hundred and sixty-three breaths of meditative calm, I got bored.  It was quite dark all around.  I had to look at you for a while before my eyes could adjust to the lack of light.  Shadows were still across your face.  We always sleep with the curtains drawn open, and luckily, the moon was high and bright and shone through the thick clouds casting a peep of light onto your silk pillow.  A glow reflected off the soft, shiny fabric and illuminated the tiniest fraction of your face.

momentsextraordinary

What I was waiting for was something extraordinary. Kick your heels together, throw your head back and laugh hysterically kind of extraordinary. Yet the moments lived so far have brought

Just Matt

I am in love with my neighbour. He lives below me on the third floor and doesn’t know I exist. His name is Matt – just Matt, i.e. not short for Matthew. I know this because I’ve investigated his mailbox for his name, and on all of his letters, it reads just Matt. He only receives letters and no bills. Every Wednesday without fail, he receives the same looking letter. It is a white envelop with a Grand Canyon stamp on it and no return address at the back. On Thursdays, I hide behind my curtains, watching him through my windowsill as he posts a letter into the mailbox just outside our apartment block.

The walls and floorboards of our building are like thin slices of cardboard. The other day, I heard my next-door neighbour have a case of the runs, which was equally hilarious as it was uncomfortable to hear. I suspect it must have been Mr. Deepa.