He detailed the dispensation of every finger. Bones. Major organs. Where to bury his eyes — a Malibu beach. For years I kept Marty on ice. Years. Who knew Marty had that sort of testament?

Marty was more than a snitch. He was family. A last request is a brother’s duty.

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. Strangely enough I find organized crime makes for dull prose. Even the motivations are cliche.
2. It’s all about the whacking. Dysfunctional families who whack.
3. So I don’t really like this piece. But I haven’t the heart to bury it.

I’m digging a grave, son. My life’s work laid bare. A macabre undertaking, but I’ve excavated this plot with an archaeologist’s care, with fine brushes and twine lines. Every artifact was artfully placed.

But who will fill your grave, I ask.

The old man bends brittle and weeps.

Not I!

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. Wrote this in under 5 minutes.
2. Who will be the person in the grave? Who will heap the earth upon him?
3. I allow myself one exclamation point each year.

For breakfast, Jayne and Smithy sample strawberry, blueberry, and peach flavored Frills.

Smithy removes sleep suppressors from his eyes. Jayne? Is that a neural stimulator? It’s holiday! Abner should rest. Trimester exams won’t start for another hour.

Jayne keeps the device cupped to her stomach.

She knows.

Every minute counts.

3 Things About This Micro-Fiction

1. I wrote the first draft on a walk around the park.
2. Neural stimulators sound like something from Star Trek.
3. Frills sound like something delicious but insubstantial.

Our flat Earth proved simpler.

But we couldn’t wrap our heads around those unrepentant cartographers. We toasted swift journeys and shipped their brigs over the horizon.

As expected, those rascals never found the bearing home. Their skulls roll around dry ocean beds.

Oh, we dammed the rivers. Another easy fix.

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. I was terribly exited after writing this piece.
2. It has an unreliable narrator! That’s the stuff of fiction.
3. Moral: Simple ideologies will require one “easy fix” after another.

I mistake a life full of empty kisses, spotting my lips. The merry-go-round of affairs.

The letters stop coming ending in xxx’s and ooo’s. You should visit, the kids are growing.

Then I bed one bastard too many. He sights my heart like hunting quail. I tremble in tall grass.

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. This story started with the ironic statement “a life full of empty kisses.”
2. This isn’t necessarily a cautionary tale.
3. Perhaps she has found a truer sort of love that frightens her. Or not.

Last night Bernard faced the salad. He unwedged its bowl from the fridge and wept over crisp lettuces.

Then he dreamed of Beatrice whisking a vinaigrette while he erupted over football.

This morning he reread the note. You should take care of yourself now.

What did she mean? Not that?

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. My favorite salad is edamame succotash.
2. One of those stories that involved a lot of editing.
3. I like these open-ended fictions with the suggestion of one or more interpretations. I’m not even sure myself what’s occurred.

Alone with her cats Nora addresses them while she studies the telly. What rubbish! What trash! Those people! Tsk, tsk!

The cats attend Nora with equal dissatisfaction.

Before falling, Archangel Tveriel — Nora calls him Fluffermuffin — would have seared the fat from her bones. Now he thinks, there are worse hells.

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. Writing teaches me all sorts of things, ie. that cats are fallen angels damned to an eternity of human companionship.
2. Although I’ve always known that cats are evil, I never could understand why they don’t nip out our eyes while we sleep.
3. They’re under some sort of metaphysical containment!

Jack and Jill first thrilled to kill when they impaled their father.

Mum died next. As you’d expect they swore, “Let’s see to each other.”

Jack fell down on a garden trowel, not once or twice — but thrice — while dear Jill mistook her pills, tumbling into the hereafter.

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. It’s a made for TV movie!
2. Adaptations are très populaire these days.
3. I hate writing in meter. I fudged it a bit here and there.

A Hungarian dulcimer hangs above the lintel. It’s said that travelers stained by blood will produce a dour note. Such people are always welcomed with mead and sent to restful beds.

A spacious pillow awaits their heads. As always the innkeeper departs through the rear door.

His hounds sing brightly.

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. Research proves that a Hungaraian dulcimer is too large to hang above a lintel.
2. A Romanian dulcimer would not sound quite the same.
3. So I stuck to my original plan. Poetic license.

What is corporeal love, after all? Love of a corpse. Spiritual love is conspiracy. Dinner plates, nail clippings, your damp hair on my pillow — all soon discarded.

Our love was whispers and eye-gazing. The breath of words poisoned these lips.

Nothing is real but this kiss. Dream of me, sweet.

3 Things About This Micro-Fiction

1. Both romantic and creepy. Hair and nail clippings.
2. Moral: A totally non-physical love is ultimately nihilistic.
3. Totally unrelated, don’t you think Romeo and Juliette would make a great zombie adaptation?