Tired and burnt out. No one could give me the strength to move my body from the chair, yet you have that power.
Once the kettle boils, you go into my cup.
My sweet teabag, I love you so much. I might dunk you in the water just a few more times.
Category: Very Short Story
VSS: Utopia
Our idyllic country.
Towering stone walls threaten to stop the moon from shining, yet we want for nothing.
Each morning we chant, “All belongs to all, all move in one direction, all unite to thank our utopia”.
Our idyllic country was built on the blood and bones of lies.
VSS: A Familiar
Running in the snow. The forest disorientates you.
The face of a wolf in the distance clams you. A familiar.
You slump against a tree.
Too young to freeze, yet too old to endure the middle of winter; distant voices sound.
You wake from a fever.
The cat licks you.
Short Story: Love on Escrow
As Matthew walks through the automated doors, a musical voice says, “Welcome, Matthew. We understand your appointment involves the storage of love. Please be seated in the red area.”
Unsure how to react, a smile and a slight nod are all he can muster.
The room has three areas. Green is for intelligence accumulation, blue is for family memory storage, and red is for the storage of love. Each coloured area has a certain number of seats with touchscreens and headsets, depending on what services the client requires.
Matthew takes in the room, notices the green and blue areas are quiet today and makes his way to the red section. A cyborg arranges unusual metal shapes in a line, looks up, scans him, and says, “Hello, Matthew. Please go to seat number 4.”
Uneasy, Matthew looks slightly to the right side and asks, “What do I do?”
Without moving, the cyborg says, “Sit down, put the headset on, select the number of years of love you wish to hold on escrow, and the headset will do all the work for you. You may feel a little lightheaded afterwards; however, most symptoms pass in a few hours.”
Unease intensifies, and an odd gut feeling threatens to take him from this place. However, there is no time to waste.
Disorientated, he finds himself sitting down. Those who wear headsets do not move. It is as if they are between life and death. The uneasy feeling has gone, and there is no longer a gut reaction. Doubt creeps in, then fades.
The neon red screen presents Matthew with several options. He can hold between one and fifteen years of love. He chooses ten years, places the headset on, and presses start.
Thoughts from when he was much younger come to him. He is no longer afraid, for he feels love. Then his first love and their first kiss play behind his eyes like a movie. The memories of love keep moving through his mind. Suddenly the memories stop moving, the word ‘finished’ appears in red on the screen, and he removes the headset.
Matthew has not felt this hollow in some time. It is as though he is missing a part, yet nothing replaced what is missing. Perhaps it is just as his boss explained when he said Matthew should do this to further his career. After all, love has no place in finance.
Ombre Hair
A black and white room
Classical glam with a twist
Envious longing
Colours of your ombre hair
Mix with your blood on the floor
VSS: Tim
Tim’s friends describe him as a quiet introvert. They love his kind presence.
The news ran a story about the rise of an oppressive cult leader.
One friend swore it was Tim, and others weren’t sure; however, all agreed Tim would never do what that maniac did to those people.
A Long Day
Home from a long day and hungry,
looking in the fridge for inspiration.
Sitting down to take off the shoes,
floating away in tired mind clouds.
Inspiration takes hold, then “Fark!”
A single tear rolls down your face,
cursing your poor smashed toes.
A Candle
Let’s burn a candle as we read
to feel like we’re in another time.
You brought the chips and dips;
I gather the books, paper, and pens.
Together we sit lost in imagination
as we dream within the candlelight.
I never knew you liked to draw,
and you never knew I adore poetry.
The Portal Door
You enter through a portal door,
innocuous, different.
A mistake I did make,
for you take the quiet spaces.
You invade every facet of my life;
no room left for my words.
I push back against the deluge,
you won’t listen.
You turn,
I close the portal door.
The Quiet Carriage
A quiet carriage,
thoughts of being alone.
The tension remains
as the passenger fidgets.
Headphones separate us,
yet there is no escape.
Living in a prison of sorts
wishing for the platform to arrive.
Why must every window be viewed
when it’s so dark outside?
C & K 