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Flash Fictions
Such Things
This is a hollow space. And while each of the beds or cots don’t have nametags, they do have hypoallergenic pillows made for those that need such things. Some people hide here. Others simply stash their potentially valuable collectibles beneath the stairs that lead to this hollow space. There are signs predicting the step’s narrow and dangerous ways, but these signs don’t know such things from experience. They are too frantic, too scared, too wooden to walk anywhere beyond the bathroom or kitchen across the hall. The people hiding here realize the logical quandry between space being hollow and having furniture and people to use said furniture. They also fully understand the nature of fear, and that such things are governed more by the need to ascend oaken planks than mere avoidance.
Eufaula
In my next life, I’ve discovered, I want to be the head ranger at a muddy lake in eastern Oklahoma. Then when the silt builds, and the heat cracks the red clay banks, I can drive my truck into the water. I’ll drag a gill net through the shallows, capturing cattails and dying fish. Taking the old highway, flooded by the lakes engineers, I’ll accelerate into the middle’s deepest waters. And when my truck is submerged and the engine stops, I’ll shine my brights to watch the disturbed sediment float beneath what waves the speedboats make above me. Some of the residue will collect, falling together, stumbling to the windshield, a slow-motion hailstorm. Then with the truck in neutral, I might roll to the lake’s center and adjust the seat so I can watch the headliner ripple in the current. Or maybe I’ll turn on the hazards, open the door and swim back to the net, releasing the smallest fish into the intermittent red light.
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.
