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Flash Fictions
Going Uptown
There are five of us. Well, maybe there is only me sitting by myself. Or quite possibly there are twelve asking for more chili and more plates, more conversations about others who haven’t arrived. Aside from the numbers, aside from who is, or isn’t here, are the chairs. The need to sit is what makes all of us much, so much more compatible. And watching those who have to stand is the only act left making me happy.
Concussion:One
I like to watch it snow. Air forms water forms ice forms geometry. But it doesn’t snow here anymore. Not because it’s too warm or too dry. Not because someone built a towering pup tent ten-thousand miles wide. Not because just because. Instead, this place, alone among all places, has banned geometric shapes. It wasn’t the people who lived in this place, or the super-smart chimps at the university lab, who banned geometry. But rather it was the place itself who was angry with angled corners and diameters. Oh yes, using the word "who" is appropriate for this bitter landscape. When the soil and buildings and weather patterns, all the interlocking entities that create a geographic parcel, decide to banish squares, circles, triangles and straight lines, that place becomes human. Sure, this new human will weigh millions of tons, and die of thirst before enjoying any of our animalistic fleshy pleasures. But being briefly human is something even the snow wishes as it swirls down to taste our tongues.
Raising rabbits is not easy. No, no it's really not. If you get scared, e-mail me and I'll calm you down. Things being what things being.
