Posts Tagged With: short story

Nature’s Quandries

Just under the crust of snow an argument is taking place. Two blades of grass debate their existence.

‘But no one even knows I’m here!’

‘Of course they do. They don’t believe you’ve disappeared just because they can’t see you. As a matter of fact, I can state with some certainty that a lot of them can’t wait to see you again.’

‘Pfft! Even if they did feel like that, it wouldn’t matter if they saw you or me, they wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference!’

‘Nonsense. We’re individuals who just happen to make up a whole.’

‘Individuals? We’re not individuals, we’re the same color, we’re the same height, we’re identical!’

‘False. You have spots of lighter green, and I do not. Here, look, I have a little notch missing down here, and you do not. Similar, but not the same.’

‘Infintesimal differences do not an individual make.’ Huffily stated, an academic winning rhetoric points with semantics.

A not quite muffled laugh. ‘That is basically the definition of individuality. The details, however small, that are different than the details of the other. You are over there, and I am over here. You have different colored spots, and I do not. I am missing a piece here, and you are not. We are the grass, yes, yet we are also blades of grass. We are one thing and the other.’


‘Just because we cannot be seen does not mean that we don’t exist. Just because you look like your brother does not mean that you are him. You think that you are not special? You think that if every other blade of grass disappeared, even though we all look very alike, you think that this would not be noticed?’

‘Well, OF COURSE it would be noticed.’

‘Well, then there you are. OF COURSE you matter.’


* ~ * * ~ * ~ **

Just above the crust of snow, a snowflake is spiraling downward.

‘Oh, waily waily!’ it cried to its neighbor. ‘In a moment I shall no longer exist! The uniqueness that is me will disappear into this vast white landscape, and I may as well have ne’er fallen from the sky!’

‘Shut up, you! I’m having my own existential crisis and have no wish to be burdened with yours!’

‘Waaaahooooooooo!’ came a drifting voice to their left. ‘Live it up boys, as we’re about to die the dreaded Yellow Death! Make the most of what you’ve got left!’ The wild flake spun in frantic circles, breathless with laughter, as he came to his final rest on the wet snout of the dog just now lifting his hind leg.

The End.


~snicker~ I don’t know what I did here, but I enjoyed staring at snow through my patio door and doing it 🙂

Categories: Fiction | Tags: , , | 6 Comments

Just Visiting


The amber shade on the desk lamp cast a gloaming dusk over the bedroom. It wasn’t the right light for reading, all the pages looked like yellow vellum and the type went spidery.

As it was the only lamp she had in her room, she pulled it’s chain and lay down. She heard the wolves howling outside, though she lived in a city and not anywhere wolves would find tasty hunting. Or shelter. Why were there wolves? With a shiver she burrowed under the covers.

She yearned, sometimes, for her days of beeswax candles and fur-lined coverlets, but she was not able to visit any longer. All she had left to her was books. There was television, to be sure; the skinny swarthy man had attached the satellite dish to her roof and Caleb had given her leave to order as many channels as they offered. Rarely did they have anything equal to the words. Television made her want things, let dissatisfaction seep into un-mortared cracks. Books just let her daydream, to splash happily in the rivers of imagination.

Someone knocked on her chamber (bedroom! she reminded herself) door, a thin knock on thin wood. ‘Anyah.’ A reedy whisper slipped into the air. ‘Anyah, I must speak with you.’

‘Enter,’ she sighed out, not bothering to hide her frustration as she slid a bookmark between pages and put her daydreams on hold.

Caleb grinned as he sidled around the crack he opened in the door. ‘Yes, yes, my queen, I know I’m interrupting your dreaming and I really do apologize.’

A smile tugged the corners of her lips up for this idiot man who knew her so well. She gestured theatrically, imperiously, beckoning him farther into the room. ‘Have a seat Caleb, and tell me what’s so important you felt the urge to drag me back into reality.’

‘Oh, it’s important Anyah. In fact, I think you would have been rather more cross with me had I not interrupted.’ The bed depressed around her feet as he wriggled back into a more comfortable position. ‘I believe that there may be a way to reinstate that visitor’s pass of yours.’

‘What!’ Anyah sat up from her plumped pillows and grabbed Caleb’s sleeve. ‘There’s a door? Truly?’

He held his hands up, palms out, a qualifier. ‘Yes, there is a door. I know not what waits on the other side.’


The Master Class prompt this week was from Barbara Kingsolver’s Lacuna, and was to be used as the last line of our story. The line was chosen by the selected winner from last weeks class, and while I haven’t read a lot of her work, what I have read has been witty and funny (not always the same thing) intelligent and interesting. You can read her winning submission here:

Categories: Fiction | Tags: , , | 6 Comments

Up From the Muck


I walk your streets when darkness kisses the ground. I don’t skulk – I belong wherever I decide I wish to be. I do keep to the shadows, but only because I’m not pretty and don’t like being reminded that it matters.

Besides, trust me…I don’t want to talk to you any more than you want to look at me.

I stare into your lighted windows, portals to what I am now a stranger to, and try to discern what magic gravitational field exists in there that keeps your feet on this side of terra firma when so many of us slipped right through the crack. Whether it appears to you as a fissure or a chasm makes no nevermind; one misstep and *pfft* you’re the squalling baby surfing the tide of the bathwater.

With determination you can clamber back out for a nighttime sojourn, but never to stay. The pull that the underside exerts is physical. As dawn’s light starts to creep across the horizon like a cat burglar doing the walk of shame, your feet will turn themselves towards the closest pool of blackness to slip you back home. By that time you’re most likely ready to go anyway. The world up here now is a reflection in a fun house mirror and the people that loved you don’t even bother to see right through you since they don’t see you at all.

I need to figure out how it is that we can stand outside and look in on them and their comforts, and yet they cannot look out and see us in the miasma. If I can’t answer that question…well, then none of us will ever get to go home again.

….because I know more people falling through the cracks than dancing around them…


Trifecta Week 86 challenges us to write between 33-333 words using the word….wait for it….
1a : a loud roll or peal
b : a sudden sharp noise
2: a sharp witty remark : quip
3a : a narrow break : fissure

b : a narrow opening —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out

Categories: Fiction | Tags: , , , , | 18 Comments

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