On a good day the sun is shining through the kitchen blinds like a zebra in the air, and the dust motes dance in the stripes like tiny creatures swimming in a microscope. I watch the dust motes for hours sometimes, dazzled by their acrobatics. I follow one in my mind, dancing with it through the air, free from gravity and the momentous downward pull of life for just those frozen moments. I sit at the kitchen table and eat fruit loops with no milk, or maybe pop tarts with strawberry frosting, or if I'm feeling motivated waffles with grade B maple syrup oozing through the dimples. I stay in the kitchen longer than I should, watching the dust motes until the sun has risen high in the sky and illuminated the world. On these days I feel like I know what to expect.
On a bad day the sun is covered in clouds and fog and uncertainty, and I can't see the dust motes in the kitchen. I know they are there, but not being able to see them makes me uneasy, unable to relax or even get hungry for breakfast. Sometimes when the sun is hiding I hide too. I go back to bed and pull the covers over my head, staying there the whole day if necessary, if the sun never comes out from behind the clouds. On a bad day all I want is to wait for the next day, hoping it will be good again.
So what kind of day will it be today?
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Nothing to See Here
Short StoryThese are short stories, flash and microfictions, most less than 500 words, the longest about 1500 words. Short, funny, and sometimes fun. Sometimes pointed and sometimes pointless. These stories have been described as eclectic, quirky, and sometime...
