Chores
We normally blamed clumsiness. The slipperiness of 99-cent-store dishwashing liquid, or fatigue in hands fresh from twelve hour shifts.
Honestly, the dishes were just tired. Too few in number and washed too often, they dreamed of an escape -- any escape, really -- from the endless cycle of hot water and being racked together to dry. The dishes hated the endless chatter about money that wasn't there, the slow singing of mournful songs over wash water, hoping for love that never came.
So we thought that they'd been dropped. They never needed the notoriety of the act, but it was suicide all the same.
Honestly, the dishes were just tired. Too few in number and washed too often, they dreamed of an escape -- any escape, really -- from the endless cycle of hot water and being racked together to dry. The dishes hated the endless chatter about money that wasn't there, the slow singing of mournful songs over wash water, hoping for love that never came.
So we thought that they'd been dropped. They never needed the notoriety of the act, but it was suicide all the same.
|
8
favs |
2593 views
13 comments |
106 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
I've grown enamored of microfiction -- a chance to drop a tiny little grenade of content into someone else's brain -- and this is one of (what I consider) my early successes. The older I get, the more I appreciate the breadth of my life experience, as it's given me much better dramatic grist from which to draw.
Other stories by Hannibal Tabu
Tags
Groups
-
The Techno-Fantasy Guild
Public group13 members -
matchbook
Public group197 members -
LITSNACK, an on-line literary journal
Public group110 members -
Short Shorts
Public group205 members -
Sci Fi & Fantasy Fiction
Public group67 members
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
Ha! Enjoyed it. Never thought about that, before, things jumping from your hands to the floor below!
Thank you. I hope a touch of anthropomorphism can both introduce a little wonder and maybe let us know that some of this really doesn't matter all that much. Or I could be a pretentious shmuck. Hard to tell some days. Thanks either way!
simply superb. the first story that made me sympathize with well-washed dishes.
This is richly inventive. Great stuff.
Brilliant insight into the mind of a dish. Nice!
I liked this a lot! Seems I owe my stoneware an apology. I hope it's not too late.
Thanks to all! More today, I guess ...
Very deep. Peering into the mind of the inanimate object. Very clever storytelling.
I love this. Sorry I can't offer anything more profound than this.
wonderful perspective on the mundane - i also deeply appreciated your author's note. a great luvsong that prufrocks!
It seems that the mix of specific details (99 cent dishwashing liquid, twelve hour shifts) and the metaphor or abstract thought (washed too often, the dishes were just tired) or the blend of both (endless cycle of hot water, endless chatter of money that wasn't there, singing mournful songs over wash water) that makes this story so successful. P.S. I think many/most/all of us can relate to being caught in "an endless cycle of hot water" :) Nicely done.
"The dishes hated the endless chatter" [about money that wasn't there] is a great line because the washers chatter but the dishes "chatter," too. It seems the place in this suprising story where the metaphor most meets. Star.
The dishes hated the endless chatter about money
love this line!