Tag: microfiction
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Infelix
When the car headlights flash against the ceramic flowerpot, still sitting on the corner of the porch where you left it, I see your green feline eyes. Still waiting where I left them. Whoever first said black cats were unlucky never got to meet you. Every time I cried, you found all the hurting places.…
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“Buddy”
Between the wire-barbed bar, lens cap of his life, he can see a worker approaching his cage. This time, she does not offer him food. She reaches for the sign above his cage (“Puppy for Sale”) and pulls it down, the replacement already under-arm. “Dog for Sale; Marked Down.” Partially paid for by what it…
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Tell Us How You Feel
I’m sitting on a city bench, running on empty. Whatever vividness used to live here has just. Burned out. That space of empty space. Lost in something I have lost. It’s a feeling not like ice, but ash asking, “Where do I go from here?” And then staring at the ground beneath my feet. Losing…
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When We Are Reclaimed
Slow-dancing to jazz, they waltz down the street, framed by an orange sky. It’s the end of the world; the cries of deep voices mix indiscriminately with shrill ones, reverberating endlessly down the road. Dark figures, veiled in the unknown of shadow, watch from buildings far back as the lovers dance across the asphalt. The…
Hazel J. Hall 