Three Micros
The Cheese Maker's Son
Early one morning, the cheese maker's son wandered into an empty café, but a steady drone coming from the lights crashed his ears like car horns, so he wandered back out.
He found another and ordered a coffee. He took it to a corner table and sat facing the wall. When younger, he used to pinch wings off bugs and watch them run round in circles. He imagined they were sad and maybe a bit confused, too.
He left wondering who pinched off his wings. And he wondered why someone would do such a thing.
The Pretenders
About a third way through, I closed my book and looked at the man next to me. He pretended to be asleep, but I could tell by the way he breathed he wasn't sleeping, so I asked: “Why's it so cold in here?”
Without opening his eyes, the fake sleeper said: “I'm comfortable." I didn't believe him, he was freezing like the rest of us. He only pretended not to be.
The bus reached further into the night. Except for a few spotlights, it was dark; except for a few people talking, it was quiet. I gave up on conversation and re-opened my book, but this time only pretended to read.
Train Whistles in the Wintertime
Alone on the platform, he waited for a train. Hollow cylinders of sound hurled toward him and he watched white smoke punch up from an engine.
The smoke reminded him of the woods. He once stood in a forest surrounded by trees covered in white snow.
Then the smoke took him to the ocean. He had watched waves turn white at the top before smoothing out on sand.
The train crept towards him and he thought about snow-covered trees and foamy-white waves. He fisted up his suitcase and wondered where he'd go this time.
|
17
favs |
1671 views
17 comments |
324 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
A version of these appeared.
Other stories by Foster Trecost
Tags
This story has no tags.
nice threesome. well done.*
Train Whistles in the Wintertime - my fave. Totally evoked. 'Hollow cylinders of sound hurled toward him' - love this. *
Loved this, Foster! Good to see you back.
Foster: You've answered a frequent question; "Just what IS Micro fiction?"
In fact, you've answered three times. *
Fave. Great read. I think it is hard to beat this line: "He had watched waves turn white at the top before smoothing out on sand." For me, this is poetry all the way.
Good pieces - all three. Especially like Train Whistles. *
"...When younger, he used to pinch wings off bugs and watch them run round in circles. He imagined they were sad and maybe a bit confused, too.
He left wondering who pinched off his wings. And he wondered why someone would do such a thing."
That is a story in of itself. Enjoyed these!
These micros endure well beyond the reading, Foster. Still ruminating on their loveliness. Thanks!
Fave.
Wow! These are excellent..to read and to enjoy. Beautiful work.
Goodandtightandright ooonnn.
train whistles was so close to a flash piece i wrote that i had to tell you. my title was Whistle Stop. this is the piece of it that was similar, maybe only vaguely so:
The one lane road I took into the mountains has been covered over with snow. There's no way to follow it as I drive so I have to feel the smoothness intuitively. I see train tracks off at an angle to the right where the tree line indicates approximately the way through.
Snow is everywhere. If my car dies, I die. I stop at the crossing of the road and the tracks as the sound of a train drones above my engine noise but I don't see the train.
There is a small knoll to my left on which a young girl stands. She wears a forest green burka and holds a small sled. I don't meet her stare. She opens her mouth and her head falls back as snow from the trees falls down around her. There is a moment of silence, then the train I've been hearing bursts through the trees, crushes through my car, splattering me in blood and oil.
"Hollow cylinders of sound hurled toward him"
I adore this description and the vivid imagery it conjured.
These are beautiful examples of the liminal line between microfiction and prose poetry.
All three are moving different parts of my soul. I'm especially partial to "The Cheese Maker's Son."
I enjoy reading your unique style of writing: voice, tone, theme, mood, imagery. *
Solid work.
Excellent. Glad I read these.*