Microfiction: Children

Drool

            The babies all lay in their cradles in their respective homes, dreaming about things they would never remember. Each baby’s thoughts were unique, unlike any of the others. Their beauty lay in the fact that their minds were untouched by anyone else’s. Because of this, they were all completely different from one another, with only one thing unifying them as similar: drool.

Six o’ Clock

Every evening at about six o’ clock the little boy would think about her in her little preschool dress. And every evening at about six o’ clock she would chew on crusty crayons.

Fear

The father cradled his newborn more like a football than a child. The baby fussed and squealed. The mother lay on the hospital bed, admiring her new family in fear.

Physical Desire

            As an infant, her mother wrapped her in the ultra-soft, all-encompassing one – the one that grown people desired but couldn’t have because it wasn’t designed to cover people of their size. It was voluptuous, incredible. But even so, it wasn’t perfect.

            As a toddler, she dragged around the thin, weightless one – the one that was so ragged and abused that it was appealing to no one but her and perhaps dogs, too. It was just the right weight for a person of her size, and she took great pride using it for just about everything. However, despite its versatility, she still sensed its imperfection.

            As a five-year-old, she found comfort in the purple, cushy one – the one that radiated total understanding of the fact that she only exercised its use in the privacy of her bedroom. She never brought it out with her in public because public use of such a thing was, as she called it, for babies. Its soothing qualities forgave her embarrassment, though, the moment she would fall into its body. But still, something was missing.

            By the time she reached twelve, she had come to the consensus that having favorites were also for babies and that she did not need to prioritize her favorites with her age. She realized that in playing favoritism, she had missed out on years of true perfection, always feeling like something was missing. So, she decided to sew all three into one. That way, she could have all the qualities that each one held wrapped around her body, tending to her every physical desire.

Scream

Something screamed. Could have been a baby’s scream. Could have been a rabbit’s. Could have been a truck’s. Whatever it was, it demanded attention.

Hands

Their hands melted comfortably into one another’s as they walked, his fingers woven into hers. She could feel his pulse beating faintly under the palm of his hand. A warm moist formed between their hands but the wind was just cool enough to make the warmth of their touching skin bearable. He leaned closer to her to rest his head on her shoulder, hands still intertwined. A drop of water fell onto his head from a leaf on a tree above them, causing him to jolt his head up off of her shoulder with a sudden, unintended force. Their hands broke abruptly and she gave him a look that combined confusion and irritation. He glanced up at the trees surrounding them, wiped the droplet of water off of his forehead, and turned to her, hoping she would understand through this silence that he had in no way intended to leave her hand. She understood, and they resumed their handholding, this time her fingers weaving through his.

Temporarily Rejuvenated

Ooey, gooey perfection. Sweet, satisfying, and rich with red dye number forty. It clang to her teeth and would never fully leave. It sucked up her taste buds, making green beans and broccoli look filthy. She knew she would be back to her mother’s ways of vegetables and protein before long. But for now, it invaded her mouth, body, and brain, and made her feel temporarily rejuvenated.

The Living Room

            Hesitant, Cash stood at the entryway into the living room. Uncomfortable things always happened in the living room. Cash knew this more than he wanted to. His mother and father were romping upstairs, though, so he decided uglier things couldn’t present themselves in the living room. He entered.

White Powder on the Table

            Clara admired her mother as she inhaled the white powder on the table. The inhaling mother stopped what she was doing for a moment and turned to Clara and said, “You’re not old enough to do this. Not until you’re eighteen can you do this sort of stuff. Promise me this.”

Clara said nothing.

Tommy and Sally

Tommy and Sally sat adjacent to one another in the classroom, blinking their eyes because they didn’t know how to wink. Tommy whispered something to his neighbor, Billy. Sally pretended to listen to her blabbering neighbor, Susie, but really she was trying to make out Tommy’s whispers. Jumbled language filled Sally’s ears and so she began to worry that the words being spoken from one boy to another were nasty words about Sally herself. Suddenly, Sally began whispering a mess of words in Susie’s ear, throwing in a clear “Tommy” every fifth or so word. This successfully ended the boy’s whispers and caused Tommy to become very curious and uncomfortable. Sally would later grow up to be a criminal lawyer.

Telephone

The telephone had rung seven times already and the girl hadn’t moved a muscle. Not a muscle. Surprisingly, she hadn’t disregarded the incessant rings as a result of her laziness. Nor had she ignored them because she assumed the incoming call was unimportant. She hadn’t failed to pay attention to the phone because she was callous or insensitive. It had absolutely nothing to do with her lack of care or interest, but rather her lack of a beating heart.

Curb

Therapy was inevitable. Probably, so was jail. At the time, however, these two known consequences didn’t shake him one bit. He felt dark, angry, and empty – three things that are sure to drive any man into a deep insanity. Nothing seemed more dismal and nothing could inspire a smile. He was screaming internally and nothing seemed to prevent this pain from flowing through his body.

He sat there on the curb, in this bleak misery, and waited patiently for her to walk out the door onto the quiet street. He had waited for her like this on a number of occasions, but each time a certain guilt had crept up on him and forced him to leave the curb before she had even stepped out of the house. Today, though, that guilt was locked inside a thick box, tied closed with metal chains, and buried hundreds of feet below the surface.

Finally, she emerged from the big, vanilla house. He waited for her to get to the corner of the block. Then, without hesitation, he sprung up from the curb and headed in her direction. He repeated the words “she’ll thank me for this” over and over in his head until he could no longer think about anything else.

He followed her for five and a half blocks, never getting closer than one block behind her. As she approached her sixth block, the quietest, most isolated block of them all, he began to walk a little faster. Within minutes, his feet were like wheels as he sped silently up to her. She continued walking, appearing not to notice his growing approach. He closed his eyes for a moment and repeated the words one more time.

As she reached the end of the sixth block, a blue minivan pulled up to the curb beside her, and a friendly face hung itself out the window. The girl stopped walking to see who was in the van. He, on the other hand, kept on walking, past the girl, to avoid attracting suspicious looks. He hurried up to the closest house, walking with a confidence that looked as if he was expected there. He knocked on the door and waited, nervous that the girl would acknowledge his presence had he just stood, motionless, at the door of the house. He didn’t know what he was waiting for and he didn’t know what he would do if someone were to open the door, but he saw that he had no other choice.

“Come on!” the driver yelled from the street, beckoning to the girl. “I’ll let you rest your legs for the next four blocks to school. How’s that sound, Payton?”

Recognizing her classmate’s mother as the driver, the girl exclaimed, “Yes, thank you!” She then hopped into the van, buckled her seatbelt, and was off to school.

Still, he stood there on a strange porch, beads of sweat running down his face, waiting for the van to disappear completely. Finally, he felt he was in the clear. He turned around to walk away from the house, away from this neighborhood. He knew the curb would never hold his weight again. The girl and the curb would have a lot in common.