Microstory 22: Passport

A couple weeks after Jackson Billings received his new passport, a second envelope arrived from the Department of State. Inside were over a dozen wallet photos of strangers, along with a weird sketch of random squiggly lines. It was an obvious mistake, and it occurred to him to call and report it, but he eventually just let it go. He never forgot their faces, though. For being so innocuous, it sure stayed with him. He kept the sketch on his fridge, and saw it every day. Years later, Jackson was boarding a plane to Iceland for...some reason. As he was looking for his seat, he saw someone he recognized. It wasn't long before he realized it was one of the men from the mysterious envelope. What an interesting coincidence? But as time passed, more people from the envelope appeared. He was either going crazy or...no, that was the only explanation. The last woman from the photos ended up sitting next to him. Once she got a good look at Jackson's face, her face turned green. She slunk back against the window like he was poisonous. Then she looked around, seemingly recognizing others. She pulled out her phone and started swiping through a photo album. Jackson stood up and compared. No one in her album had been in Jackson's envelope, but they were all on the plane. As he watched, the passengers started looking around, each of them recognizing some, but not all, of the others.

The flight attendant closed the door, then spoke on the intercom, "welcome. You have all been chosen. You have all chosen." Jackson was close enough to hear her when she spoke into some other device. "This is Unit North America. All of our Savelings are on board. Ready for decimation."

Microstory 21: Turtle’s Best Day

A few years ago, I was minding my own business, eating some leaves; like I do. Suddenly, a laughing gust of wind flies by and flips me over to me back. What a jerk. I was going to die. To make matters even worse, while I struggled--looking dumber than ever--a raccoon came along and offered to eat me and put me out of my misery. I convinced him that I had lots of turtle friends, and that we would taste great together. He flipped me over and followed me for miles...slowly. He complained about wanting to eat me and get it over with the entire way. But I managed to fend him off with my wits long enough for us to pass a bobcat. I had rolled myself down a hill by the time the bobcat finished eating the raccoon. I know turtles don't usually roll, but I was feeling happy. I had outsmarted one of the smartest animals in the kingdom. Once at the bottom, I found myself on my back again, but this time in a stream. I wasn't going to starve. I was going to drown! But I didn't give up. I swept my head back and forth, back and forth. Just when I was about to give up, my plan worked. All the rocks I moved changed the flow of the stream enough to flip me back over. I had survived death twice in one day.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 21, 2014 & March 22, 2015

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Mateo Matic walked downstairs to find the living room packed full of people. Just about everyone he was still in contact with was there for his birthday, and a few old faces. It was completely ridiculous, and he loved it. His family and friends were the most important thing to him, and only one of them was missing. When he was only seven years old, his birth mother disappeared with no trace. She had never been the one to raise him, but she had been part of the family the entire time. His adoptive parents maintained a healthy relationship with her, and she was able to see him whenever she wanted. It was unclear where she had gone, or why she hadn't told him, at the very least. There was no evidence of foul play. There was evidence of nothing. The Gelens had been good to him, though, and he was grateful for his life. Except for the one thing, he couldn't imagine anything changing. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

The party was spectacular, but it was lasting a little too long. He was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. The guests started filing out at around five o'clock so that he could have a quiet dinner with his parents. They ate a delicious and healthy salmon meal and exchanged gifts. For most families, gifts were given to only the one in celebration, but his was different. For all three birthdays, each of them would find something to give the other two. They weren't the richest people in the world, but they felt they had everything they needed. The gifts were usually small and thoughtful. He made his adoptive mother, Carol a necklace out of seashells, a callback to a similar one he had given her twenty years before. He bought his father, Randall a new pack of razors. They had a nice laugh about that one. Carol had gotten him the same thing. He playfully threw up his arms and conceded. He would finally clean himself back up. Ever since his retirement, he had let loose, but was willing to go back on that one thing.

Randall gave his wife a self-help book about how to make decisions that she had been trying to decide if she wanted. After those were done, Randall made an announcement. In lieu of a traditional gift, the two of them had decided for set up a bank account for him. It was a long-term investment, designed to help support his future children. All that money stuff went over his head, but he was speechless. He gave them both a big hug. “This is the best birthday ever. Ya know...except for my seventh.” They smiled and nodded.

“Okay,” Carol said. I know we decided the account was our only gift, but I couldn't help it.”

“Carol, what did you do?” Randall asked, but it was obvious he knew what second gift she had chosen.

She pulled a metal rosary bracelet out of her pocket. The beads were in the shape of shells. At the bottom was an oval; one side of which showed an image of the Virgin Mary, while the other had an image of Jesus. An eleventh bead connected that to a depiction of the crucifixion. “This was your birth mother’s. You know, she was far more religious that we are. She was always leaving trinkets at our house, subtly trying to get us to go to church more often. This was the last one before she went missing. I don't know why I didn't give it to you right away. I suppose I just wanted my own reminder of her. But it’s time that you have it. You are my reminder of her.”

That was the last time Carol Gelen would see her son for an entire year. After dinner, Mateo left the house to hang out with his old friends. When they were underaged, they would gather at a graveyard on the edge of town, and drink. They wouldn't ever get too rambunctious, but it was just nice to be away from the adults; away from judgment. They had grown up and grown out of it by now, but they went back to reminisce.

He was enjoying a beer with a lime stuck in it when a friend from college slithered up to him and snatched the bottle out of his hand. “It’s almost midnight.”

“So, I'm not allowed to drink anymore?” Mateo asked.

“Nope. The birthday boy is designated driver on the day after his birthday.”

Mateo took his beer back. “Your jokes aren't even funny, because they have absolutely no basis. I swear, man. You need to stick to data entry.”

“I'm a lawy—”

Mateo didn't hear his friend’s last statement. For no reason, his beer shattered into a hundred pieces. “What the hell?” He looked around. He was alone. There were a dozen other people with him a second ago, but they were all gone. “Hello?” No one answered. “As far as pranks go, this was pretty impressive. I haven't had that much to drink. How did you disappear so quickly?”

“Hello” came a voice from behind. Mateo turned around and found himself blinded by a flashlight. “Is that you, Mateo?” It was Mr. Halifax, the gravedigger. He had been letting them use the cemetery since the beginning as long as no one got hurt, everyone got home safe, and they kept the grounds clean.

“Yeah, do you know where everyone went?”

He released a disappointed sigh. “Come on. I'll drive you home. Your parents will want to know you’ve come back.”

They didn't talk on the way back. Mateo tried to ask what the problem was, but Halifax just kept saying that it wasn't his place, and he wasn't no psychologist. Carol gave him a big hug and broke down crying when they opened the door. Randall was behind her, crying as well. After some time, he was able to get answers out of them. He had been gone for exactly one year. He had disappeared without a trace, just like his mother before him.

“It’s happened before that too,” Randall started to explain hours later, after everything had calmed down a little. “Your family have been keeping diaries, claiming that an ancestor of theirs was from the past, and had been travelling forward in time, meeting and interacting with them long after he should have died. During one of these times, he apparently fathered a child, starting a family that was always paranoid about it happening to them as well.”

“But it never did,” Carol continued. “Not until your mother. Of course, even after her disappearance, we didn't believe the outrageous rumors that time travel had anything to do with it. But if you say you were in the cemetery in 2014, and suddenly you're here, I don't know what to believe. Maybe it’s all true.”

“But I came back,” Mateo complained. “If I’m here, where is my mom?”

Randall shook his head. “We don't know, son. I promise you, though, we are going to figure this out. We are not going to lose you again.”

But they did lose him again. At the strike of midnight that night, Mateo disappeared for the second time. It was March 23rd, 2016.

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Microstory 20: Hamster Song

"I wrote a song for my hamster a while back. It wasn't about my hamster. He had just been asking me to write a new one for the last two years, and I finally broke down and gave it to him. He listened to it politely but it was obvious that he was not impressed. I asked him if there was anything I should change. He just kind of looked out the window and cleared his throat. In the end, he had to admit that I was better off just writing a different song entirely. I told him that that is why I quit in the first place, that they were never good enough. He just scoffed. He was right. There were a few good ones. As I thought about them, I realized that they had one thing in common. My hamster had collaborated on every single one of the good ones. How could I have missed that? He was hesitant to get back into the business, as I had been, but he did agree. We worked day and night, testing lyrics and adjusting notes. But we did it. Hot damn, we did it! We wrote the best thing in our career. It became an instant hit on the radio. I was getting interviews and record deals. I was back on top. But my hamster wasn’t. I left him in the dust. He ended up suing me for taking credit for our work. His case was thrown out because the judge couldn't understand what he was saying because I’m the only one in the world who speaks hamster. I felt bad for him, but was relieved. And then he died, because hamsters don't live very long. What was the question again?"

"No question. I'm upping your dosage. Hamsters can't talk."

Microstory 19: Love Letter

My dearest love, I write to you through tears of heartbreak. It has been still less than a week since I have seen you, but I feel every torturous second. There is a hollowness inside; a hunger to have you returned to me. Sometimes I pass by your place. I yearn to go inside, to feel you with my tongue. But I know that I can’t. I know that you need more time. No, that isn’t true. It isn’t you. It’s me. I’m the one who needs time. I see now that I need to give you space. A collision of our two forces is powerful enough to destroy the universe ten times over. We cannot be together too long. It would be, as they say, incredibly unhealthy. But perhaps they are wrong, do you think? I cannot concentrate without you. You are perfect. You are my everything. Let me take you away from your life. You belong out of that kitchen, away from them. I can give you a good home. I will never leave you. I cannot wait to see you tomorrow, my love, Chipotle burrito.

Stay tuned for a bonus microstory to be posted later today.

New Schedule — What's Coming

I'm trying to get my schedule lined up. For my own sanity, I need to keep the stories I post/have posted under some kind of frame of reference. I want there to be five microstories for every two flash fiction stories (because there are seven days per week). I will have two separate flash fiction stories running at any one time, and I want to keep those even with each other. But, I've already started one series, so I kind of have to let the other one catch up before I get back into it. I know, that sounds absurd. But it makes sense in my head. Scheduling is very important to a person like me.

I've worked it all out. Tomorrow (Saturday) you are going to get two fresh new microstories. On Sunday, you will see the first installment of The Advancement of Mateo Matic. I've integrated the story with something else I've written, which means it has to be on Sundays, instead of my original intention of Saturdays. Actually, the real situation is that it has to start on March 22, rather than 21.

My other flash fiction series, Siftens Landing—which will have a final part in the immediate future—will restart on April 11. This means that we are missing stories for the two Saturdays before that. On those days, I will be releasing complete short stories. They are about nine or ten pages long, if I remember correctly. I believe. If that's overwhelming, I'll scratch that whole thing and do something else. Point is, from now on, you will get something every day.

To tide you over, here is a picture of a pole with a bunch of nails in it. And my shadow.

Microstory 18: The Half Wish

A wizard appeared and granted me two and a half wishes. When I asked him what a half wish was, he told me that the wish would come true but only sort of. He evidently had no control over the ramifications of the wishes. He was only a conduit to some other awesome power. That power was the one deciding how to interpret the wishes, and for this reason, half wishes were even more unpredictable than full ones. I first asked for a thousand more wishes, as you do. That was against the rules, so I just completely lost that one. One and a half left. I asked him, very carefully, whether it would be okay if I asked for something in multiple parts. He saw no reason why not. “I wish to be the good and loved king of the entire world. This world will have no war, and no poverty. There will be an endless supply of resources.”

“Is that all?” the wizard asked. It was. He waved his arms and the environment changed. I was on top of a hill. Below me was a forest, a lake, and a river. Beyond that was nothing; a void. There were only a few square kilometers of anything. “Oh,” the wizard said solemnly. “You forgot to ask to be the king of Earth specifically, or that it would at least be a full-sized planet, and have other people.”

I thought about it for a very long time, worried what might happen with my half wish. Maybe I wasn't smart enough to come up with something clever and impeccable. Finally, I decided to ask for the same thing again, but this time be more clear. “I wish to be the good and loved king of the entirety of Earth. Earth will have no war, and no poverty. There will be an endless supply of resources for Earth.” The environment changed once more. I was back on Earth, in the city. I looked up to the night sky where I could see the other half of the Earth, floating in its own orbit.

Microstory 17: Slug

As I let the salt fall, it writhed and curled. Back and forth. Up and down. Sweeping through the granules that landed dry on the deck. In its final moments of torturous pain, it couldn't tell the difference between where there was salt and where there wasn't. It knew only that something was scratching and tearing at its skin. An unstoppable fire sucking the moisture from its body. I felt an unavoidable urge to explain myself. "I'm not a sadist." I stood up straight, looking for any more, camouflaged on top of the brown planks. "I just can't have you near my dog's food." But as I said the words, I wondered, were they true? My dog ambled onto the deck and sniffed at the slugs, placing her nose firmly against their lifeless bodies. She opened her mouth, contemplating whether she wanted to try one for breakfast. She snapped at it a couple times. "No!" I said. She looked up at me as if to say, who do you think you are? Then she snapped at one again. "NO!" I said with more fervor. She looked up again, what is this? I don’t even... "Don’t eat that," I said. "It might have ingested pesticides, or something." If she had shoulders, she would have shrugged them. Whatever. She walked over to the corner of the deck and dramatically plopped down on her side. Wake me up when there’s legal food.