Mid-Week Muses: “We destroyed the bed.”


A weekly compilation of collected microfictions composed by yours truly. Follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram for daily dabs of fiction. If your time is short, these are shorter!

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

“What’s the significance of Sally the Spectacular Sea Serpent?” he asks. “If there is any.” “Oh,” the puppeteer answers, “she was me.” “Metaphorically?” She lifts the sock puppet, and his cheek is pecked by felt lips. “A metaphor that became human for the love of a man.” He refrained from touching his wound. “I’m blind?” “No, my sweet,” she answered. Blinking, he saw her face. “You lost both eyes,” she said. “By my magic, now we each have one of mine.” They looked upon each other’s cyclops faces as his hand found her cheek. Three terrorists leveled guns at the tuxedo-clad man and a woman in an evening dress. “Some date,” she quipped. He made finger guns. “Pew! Pew! Pew!” Blaster bolts dropped three terrorists. Agent 97 blew smoke off his gloved index fingers. “Handy gadgets.” Cold waves lash the semi-submerged towers of Manhattan and the former home of millions. “Global warming?” I ask the ferryman on his rickety boat. “No,” he answers. “Ice meteors. Billions of ‘em stripped the satellites. Few ground impacts, but years of rain.” She frowns at the broken remains. “We destroyed the bed.” He spots cracks in the wall. “There might be structural damage. We really should’ve spent our first night at my Justice Sanctuary.” “This poor B&B.” They leave a $9,000 cash tip, then fly out the window. He enters the maze’s end. After relentless traps and ambushes, at last he sees the minotaur he’d pledged to kill. A boy with the head of a calf. “Will you slay me?” the child asks, cornered. “As they did my father?” A prince of Athens sheathes his sword. “No.” It’s a mystery to me how I woke up in this girl’s body. But here I am, unlocking my apartment door, expecting to find the twenty-something formerly in this body freaking out as an old lady in mine. But I don’t. I find my murdered body in the kitchen.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: