The Unbearable Lightness of Being a Shark & Other Stories
Last year I posted a few of the (very) short 100 and 250 word stories I’d written for the NYC Midnight series of competitions — they’re fun, quick exercises that let you play in a new world for a little bit, and they keep the writing muscles in good form.
For some reason, I get assigned the Romance and Romantic Comedy genres with disproportionate frequency, and the stories reflect that.
Enjoy, and have an excellent New Year.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being a Shark
We bob in the warm coastal currents off Kauai and savor the excitement of new attraction.
Our pectoral fins brush, setting off sparks of excitement. She, jet-black. Me, great-white. Refracted sunlight plays across her shapely form, guiding us towards the beach buffet I’d promised would be here.
Her hard eyes soften, dare I say moisten, at the sight of all the easy meat. Small ones in striped floats, bulbous ones paddling by the sandbar. She flashes a stunning jagged smile at me and with a mighty tail-thrash she is upon them.
She will be my queen, and I, her king.
Soon, Baby
Just as she did every Sunday, Matilde placed three fresh-picked roses on Jacob’s grave, and had a conversation with her dead husband.
“I’m in a bit of a rush today dear, the Winklers are coming by.”
“Quite alright darling. Do give Charlie my best.”
The first time Jacob had replied like that, it frightened Matilde, but now it felt like a new phase of their marriage. They chatted awhile and then she headed home.
From the next grave came Lola’s voice.
“Jacob. When will you tell her about us?”
He floated in the breeze, watching Matilde go.
“Soon, baby. Soon.”
Directorial Intent
“The smile still isn’t quite right.”
They sat next to each other, watching the scene loop on the cinema screen.
“You don’t like my smile?” asked Deirdre, knowing that he did.
“It’s too happy — there’s more to this scene than happy,” grumbled Bruce, knowing she knew.
“Well darling, I’m no more psychic now than when we were married. Tell me what she’s feeling.”
Bruce let that one go. “There’s resentment, obviously. Some sadness. She’s hurting quietly.”
Deirdre nodded. “But I’m still smiling through it.”
Bruce looked at her. “Yeah. She is.”
She patted his arm and smiled. “Of course, darling.”
Before You Leaf Me
Nico and Rochelle grew up on the same elm branch, two green leaves separated by three feet and a refusal to admit how much they meant to each other. Spring went, Summer came, and still they played their game.
Now it’s too late — Fall’s fallen, and Nico with it — far from the pile where Rochelle lies, as brown and brittle as him. He closes his eyes and tries to telepathically direct the approaching rake. Swoosh, float.
His eyes open. There she is.
“I’ve — I’ve fallen for you — ”
Her edges curl around his.
“You fell for me a long time ago.”
If you got this far, I hope you enjoyed those stories. Either way, I love feedback.
