Fun with Micro Fiction #1

WE MEET AGAIN
If there was one thing he hated it was feeling out of place.  Everything that existed around him was a remnant of how he was supposed to feel.  None of it was his.  At least not in that moment.  It was a recollection of previous occurrences.  It was the memories of well rehearsed incidents.  Ones that closely resembled the absences of his bubble.  It was private within but in front of him he knew everyone had used that toilet seat.

A PIG
A young girl no more than ten started to insinuate to her mother a most grievous circumstance that her neighbor had done.  The revelation had floored the mother so that she felt she could faint.  Of course she did not, for she composed herself with a tight palm flat on the kitchen counter.  She straightened out her blouse and marched to and out the front door.  The neighbor was an older man who hunched over his flowers with a soft jetting water hose.  The mother approached saying, "Keep your damned dog off my petunias you senile old son of a bitch."

NO YOU CAN'T, YES I CAN
A couple sat down to brunch.  He drank a rum and coke, while she imbibed a fine wine.  The buzz came surely as it usually does, and she asked - again - the first question.  "You should have ordered duck."  To which he responded, "But I wanted the lamb."  "No one, really, likes lamb."  She took a swig off the top her glass.  He rolled his eyes.  "Could you not slurp like that."  The lamb tore between his teeth and he stabbed violently at his plate.  "You mean slurp," she brought the glass up and sucked in so that it produced a harsh noise, "like this."  He nodded as he chewed.  Tim continued to pass, and soon their plates were emptied.  There glasses too, again, were very nearly devoid of their poisons.  And she handed him the check and said, "You're drinking us all the way to the poor house."  To which he retorted, "And what about you?  You've had one more than me."  She smiled her drunken smile and tipped back the last drop and when the glass came down she said slyly, "I can't let you win now can I."  To which he then proceeded to order another drink.  Round Four.

A DRIVE
The gun was loaded.  It sat passenger to me as the car sped along at a steady seventy-five.  I had a newspaper sitting along side it.  A convenient cover when I had to stop for gas.  I couldn't bring myself to pick it up.  When I first carried it it felt cold but it weighed down my hand like a hot ball of iron.  I had to get rid of it as soon as I could.  When I finally set out on this odyssey I knew I had to pick it up and I rushed to the car and dropped it atop the leather.  The pistol taunted me all on its own.  Its barrel pointed at me and my thigh.  That was appropriate, and it scared me but not enough though.  My wife, unlike my daughters, deserved to die.

OPPRESSION
There was a colonial housewife who had a crush on King George.  She was mad with infatuation.  When independence was fought she swam the Atlantic.  Actually, she just sat in an asylum.

ALOT OF SENSE
A cat ate my dog.  He had been just a tiny little thing.  The dog was all fluff and four paws with four little claws.  In truth not really mine but my late wife's who had died.  I swore I'd take care of him.  Which I tried to uphold but the sign said Tigers were fed at dawn and it was only five dollar admission.  He was small enough to conceal, so it turned out to be a good deal, because to feed tigers the zoo food it was six dollars a meal.  I'd say I felt guilty but even my wife wouldn't deny how happy a hunting tiger must feel.

SEND-OFF
He smashed the bottle across Angeline's face.  The people all cheered as he sent her away.  She sounded her horn and smoke bellowed out of her top.  And eventually Angeline was safely to sea.

APOCALYPTIC MAGNIFICATION
Microorganisms erupted in a panic.  Poor old Janet was dead.   And the neighbors and family were living there but were quickly being stricken by decay.   Those that were left would still wind up dead because they still had the maggots who would force-ably remove them from their homes.

SOLUTIONS
The police could, he thought, shoot him in his shoulder, his arm, in each of his finger digits.  They  could shoot him in his thigh, in his waist, god forbid in his crotch but the doctors could fix that he's sure.  They could shoot him in the ass or right on up it.  In each knee cap or through each calf.  They could blow away bones in all ten of his toes so that he could only crawl away.  Or, he was hoping they would just not fire at all.  But, they shot one and all and mostly missed all the places he'd hoped.  All because he reached for, what they asked for, a measly ounce of dope.