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A micro-short story about two women in an elevator.

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Ding.

The metal door open wide like stiff curtains. Woman A: A gamine woman in navy culottes and a patterned tank top strides into the steel chamber at an earnest pace, swiftly reaching up for the inverse angle brackets button, hitting pause on the afternoon light as the elevator swallow her whole.

She leans her back against the cool metal, relishing the crunch and rustle of her rucksack content, her pleasure of solitude betrayed by the look of ennui on her face.

Ding.

The door opens a few seconds later, to reveal Woman B: a taller, slender girl walking in, in a tight T-shirt with cotton shorts and a backpack in tow. Woman A straightens herself up, mindlessly adjusting her rucksack. Woman B stretches her arm across Woman A’s face to press two buttons below hers. Woman A notices that Woman B has thick hair which touches her shoulder blades, long firm limbs, and smooth sunkissed skin. …


a sexy flash fiction about two strangers on a transit flight

Photo by Marco Brito on Unsplash

It was as if he did not have to breathe. That smile in her eyes shone right through, stirring something familiar yet strange from depths he did not know he had.

Her lips moved soundlessly, opening and closing, as if she was saying things that should never surface on the face of Earth.

Everyone else shifted loudly in their airborne spaces amid the droning engine noise and soft snores, as if unaware of the simmering cacophony in the quiet bubble of Aisle 6E.

He could have sworn that time did still for that split second.

“You’re an alien,” he declared to his neighbour, the Girl On Aisle 6E. “It’s like you don’t even exist here.” …


A short story for the Cambridge Short Story Prize 2018.

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“Although it is often used in tsunami literature, there is no reason to suspect that Hokusai intended it to be interpreted in that way. The waves in this work are sometimes mistakenly referred to as tsunami (津波), but they are more accurately called okinami (沖波), great off-shore waves.” | Source: Wikipedia

Uncle Chin has a boisterous laugh. The kind that you do not take seriously because he does not anyway. His eyes are beady and small, yet round and soft, like an old dog — an aged hound — weary from living yet wanting of love. You kind of feel for him no matter how sleazy he might act.

Which is why I keep staring at the hovering coconut in the ombre sky as I catch him studying the creases of my white bikini top from the corner of my eye.

“Wow, you have a beautiful body,” he remarks.

I blink and blush, sinking into the emerald green, suddenly wishing that I am wearing something less revealing. …

About

Jolin Kwok

"There's beauty in everything, and art in some." Malaysian scribe for hire. More about.me/jolin.kwok

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