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He kneeled in front of her, looking her in the eyes and withdrawing his hands from his pockets and raising them up in the air, he told her "I love you." She rolled her eyes at him, reached for the key which may set free her forbidden lover and threw it into the crocodiles' tank.
She knew better, and if she released him, he would never be her slave nor her preferred lover.
I followed the Pink Elephant because he would take to where the candies were, and after three days of walking, we arrived to a clearance where the Elephants were made of candy, so there were Chocolate Elephants, Bubblegum Elephants, Vanilla Elephants, and all kind of Candy Elephants you could imagine, and I was so starving that I literally ate an Elephant.
The seal that was almost suffocated decided to break an air-hole through the ice, in order to be able to breath, but as soon as she inhaled the mouthful of air that would save her life, an harpoon pierced her head, and she became the supper of an starving esquimau.
On father's day I woke up early in the morning, made breakfast and brought it to my two fathers in bed to celebrate their day. You don't know how lucky I am for having not one, but two fathers who loves me and take care for me everyday.
The cone was worried about how hot it was, because if she continued sweating like she was doing, she would be dead before lunch time.
In mid afternoon, he laid down to take a nap at the same time he always did, but this time, he didn't wake up two hours later as usual, nor four hours later, nor six, nor eight, nor sixteen hours later; because he had died, although he was still dreaming like if he were to wake up someday.
In a napkin were found the remains of her disease, and of her desire to be thinner.
Everyday this writer came to my tavern, took a sit in the table in front of the window, pull out a little notebook and asked me for a cup of coffee, then another, and another and it was not unit I served him the fourth cup of coffee that he would start to write.
"Have you thought about publishing your work?" I asked him one day.
"I am not ready yet " he answered me with a smile "Everyday I come here to drink coffee and to write, but inspiration doesn't hit me until..."
"Until you have your forth cup of coffee" I interrupted him, finishing the sentence for him.
"That's right! So the day that inspiration strikes me at the first cup of coffee..."
"Would be the day that you know your work is worth publishing" I interrupted him again.
"That's right!"
I turned around and came back to the bar, and the I realized that the writer was fervently writing on his little notebook and some napkins, and before I could serve him the second cup of coffee he was already gone and I've seen him in my tavern since that moment on.
Every dish the cook made was spiced with sad tears that have fallen from her face into the food, because back at home, her kids were starving and she didn't even have a radish to cook for them.
He carries a blank book in his hands everywhere he goes, so everyone who sees him could think "What a smart and cultured boy he is" but in reality he is just a fake, like the book he carries everywhere.
365 Microfictions, Flash Fictions, Micro-Stories and Short Stories written by Sir Helder Amos Copyright © 2011 -- Template created by O Pregador -- Powered by Blogger Templates
