#minifiction

A loud day. Drills, hammers, and squeals rose up from the floors below. "What a party," he said; "I know another," she replied.

"Eww," said the ad man. "It's not trying to be cool," said the beggar. "We can't use it." "Why not?" "It's trying."

"This place is beautiful." "It took a while to get it there." "I love this. Who makes that rich, red, velvet?" "I do." #horror

They sat on a roof's edge, hands held, talking about people. Gust of wind. Sound of muddy footsteps. Thereafter, inseparable.

The merc swung around a corner. Arms bleeding. Mouth torn. Weapons empty. "No where to go," he thought, "goddamn this #minifiction meme."

Bidets always creeped her out. She could never shake the feeling of impending invasion. Then she studied it, and found a way.

Brick fell from the walls of the dying city. Flames starved inside. Ash golems arose, shaking life into their eyes. Howls afar.

The puppy traversed the street. Fulfilled, inside. Its human was away. But it needed a hug, and took one from a stranger.

The stench of sweat broke through the equilibrium of sleep. "Is it human?" She couldn't tell. "Oh fuck, it's still here."

Every time he got back to the bar, she was there, tired and drinking. "Did you dance?" "Of course." "Back!" He went out again.

He skinned his knee, and he helped him get it together. They stalked frogs and built windmills by plan. Then, they grew apart.

Laced was her dress. Laced down by lovers in plural. Her lovers, also wore laced dresses; their clasps undone by each other.

Wood, ingrained with his tools; soul, ingrained with that of wood; tools, creeping over grains of wood. Anything was possible.

He no longer felt alone in the world. He could now weather any drought of physical comfort. His heart was at home, somewhere.

Helpless, she felt, eyes tearing and mind falling to pieces. An angel of strength collected her pieces, and coddled her mind.

Liquid movements in the dark; two eyes in the night. Pressed harder, moved faster. Oversteer. Six men dead, by the streetside.

---

Slippers always went missing on this street. Slippers, shoes, and underwear. Perverts. One day, they killed the monkey cruelly.

No words recorded this. He had lost her to a friend. He was past distraught. He was empty. This was beyond Common Law.

"Package at 6 Jalan Lok." / "How heavy?" / "Seven kiloh." Later: "Boss, box dripping blood lah. How?" / "What?! Go die lah.

"

Boors on the stage. Boors on the floor. The janitor had had enough. "Fuck you all." Locked doors; flames roasted the theatre.