Flashier than Flash Fiction. Under 300 words.
Smith Magazine Six Words On Hope And Six Words On Despair
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Smith Magazine is a very cool NYC based publication and performance group
who work exclusively in six word fiction. I have been fortunate enough to have written for them in the past about my experiences and impressions of life in New York City.
Recently they requested material on the topics of Hope and also on Despair.
Here are a couple.
Hope
“Got pie?”
“Kinda pie?”
“Hoping Rhubarb.”
Despair
“Dr. Flatline frowned, not good news.”
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionSign Of The Times
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The cats and I were up before dawn, one of us had to pee, the other three were desperately hungry.
Surrounded by a volatile ocean of meows and lashing tails we set off to the kitchen, there to seek out a can of “Tuna Surprise”
The poor Mr. Tuna must have been surprised, finding himself in a cat food can.
I saw a black unmarked tow-truck pass my house slowly at sub parade speed.
The driver had the lights off and quietly tip-toed along with a big-body newer
Lexus on the hook.
“Maybe the car needs service, or…..wait a minute!,,,,,,,, 5:00 am? No Lights?…….
It’s the Repo-Man!
Repo-Man on my street?????……………. sign of the times.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionWoman’s Way
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Not a woman’s way, not like that. My deer rife, and her half-pint.
Both still on seat.
Way out there by herself. Pills you’d figure or a blade in the tub.
But not like this. First shot you’d think would’ve spooked her.
Her being alone and taking out the back window like it did.
Must of made a hell of a noise.
But she never would back off, that was probably half her problem.
Other half ran deeper. Old and dark, dark as night. Ran that way all her life.
Troopers found her upstate, out there by the lake.
Her pickup hidden by the trees.
Gotta say, always worried, her being my little sis and all.
Guess I can stop my worrying about her, use what I got left
for her kids.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Flash Fiction, Micro FictionBlink Fiction
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Still obligated to the label,
even after the millions I made them fronting famous glam band “The Pillow Shams’, they’d have me do children’s verse! A tale of little Ronkonkoma, the bandicoot with a difference. They pictured reversed stripes,…. the injustice of racism.
Fuck it. I’ll just make him gay.
by- Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionShort Staffed Below
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Hell was busy, but still couldn’t make ends meet. Volume was up and the bottom line way down, and in Hell way down is really way down. No longer were they attracting the
high-end lush and intricate souls that the founder had built the place on. Souls hard won from Philosophers, Scientists and Kings. Nowadays it was just the same old stream of Walmart shoppers who had simply fucked-up. Demons and Devils alike were on four day thirty six hour weeks, muttering some mindless management mantra about doing “more with less.” Many staff members had planned transferring to the White House as Dark Lord Cheney had promised, but after November second, all of those positions were no more.
“Oh what to do oh what to do” they moaned in agonized chorus, till a nasty little imp
named Brimstone cried “ There’s always The Motor Vehicle Department!”
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionA Second Note
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Spence wasn’t going to do it, no way.
Such a selfish thing, her eating all those pills in that road side motel, and nobody sure why since the police kept her note.
His sister-in-law only and never a damned thing more to him.
Older brother Larry has six more years in Mowhawk Correctional Facility way upstate New York and no week-end funeral pass even for his wife.
Spence knew he had to head the family and be a man about it.
First step was to forge a note to get himself out of school.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionMe And Batman
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My Chiropractor got upgraded to first class on a dog-legged flight from JFK to Miami
via somehow Milwaukee.
She sat next to a charming older gent, and over the course the flight, and their lively discussion he bought her a drink or two.
After he deplaned to catch his Los Angles bond connection, the cabin steward gushed “on-my-god, do you realize who you were talking to?, Adam West – TV’s original Batman, that’s who!!!
The show had come and gone before my Chiropractor was born, and more likely the TV reruns she and her four sisters watched were “Charlie’s Angels” or “Scooby Doo”, either one had better fashion sense and certainly much better examples of interpersonal relationships.
So that makes me two degrees of separation from The Dark Knight, and therefore
three from Eartha Kitt.
And now you, dear reader are three and four, meow my darlings, meow.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionA New Day
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Not surprised to wake in a strange bed, in this unknown and distant city, through bamboo shades I watched mornings light dappled by heavily falling snow. Different as well, I am not alone as my companion of last night still shares my bed.
I smiled remembering our laughter, how we sang and danced while holding hands. Her wildly tangled blond hair so mottled by mornings light. Golden hazel are her eyes, clear, confidant, and full of love as she moves closer to my side.
She placed her hand to my cheek, I felt her warm breath, and so softly she whispered, “Pop, read me that story again, the one about the man selling caps that were all stolen by monkeys, and do the funny monkey voices too.” And for my Granddaughter, I so gladly complied.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionWeary Arms
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The Night-Clerk showed him in, and seemed relived when he smiled so broadly. Snow fell from Lyosha’s fur hat and wide shoulders as he deposited his tattered valise on what remained of the old stained carpet. What Lyosha saw pleased him. A small worn suite of rooms perfectly suited for his stay of indeterminate length. “Very nice for me” he said. Nodding the night-man added, “yeah, not bad, but trouble with the toilet and television sometimes.” Lyosha was grateful for the offered punch-line, even in English he knew this one. “So” Lyosha said “you are saying is nothing on TV but shit?” They both laughed as the key was passed. He had made his first friend on these alien shores.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro FictionBuddy From The Group Home
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Buddy loved surprises, both to give and to get. Buddy wasn’t dumb, but he wasn’t exactly right either. The Group Home’s rules said for your birthday you could order whatever you wanted for supper. Buddy did a funny voice and surprised everyone yelling steak! At dinner on his birthday, he had another surprise. He gave his steak to Big Eugene, who ate it with his fingers, while Buddy palmed the special knife. Buddy wasn’t stupid, just had his own different ways. Late that night when Mr. Jackson the janitor came to hurt the girls, and make them cry, Buddy had a surprise for him too. A six-inch stainless steel surprise with a serrated edge and a wooden handle that Buddy ripped all the way back to the bones in Mr. Jackson’s unshaven surprised throat.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Micro Fiction