Star Wars

Han Solo took another sip of space whiskey and scanned the room. Work had gotten dry since the empire was disbanded. For a few months, he and Chewy had stayed with Leia, but he couldn’t be on the same planet with either of them anymore. The way she played with that Wookie’s hair, right in front of him. He felt sick thinking about it, or maybe it was the homemade hooch. The empire had much better manufacturing. Say what you want about tyranny, but it makes good business.

“Is this what I fought for?” he said with a smirk. He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, but he wanted the girl next to him to hear. She was cute. A few more eyes than he usually went for, but just the right number of tentacles. “Hey beautiful, where you from?” he asked, and she laughed coquettishly from one of her mouths and sneered from another.

These Targol System girls always gave mixed signals. He remembered something Luke had taught him.

“You want to come back to my motel room.”

She slapped him with one of her tentacles, and caressed the mark with another. She wrapped one tentacle around his thigh and another around his neck. “Easy, toots,” he said, but she wasn’t done. She threw him to the floor and dissolved his clothes in her acid secretion. With deliberation, she covered his sore and stinging body in her stickers, chewing softly against him. He wasn’t sure if he was being kissed or eaten, but he was uncomfortable either way.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to force myself on you,” but he wasn’t and he had and these Targol System girls could tell. They were a race of contradictions, but a race without secrets.

#bar, #embarrassing, #han-solo, #microfiction, #pos, #pua, #puns, #targol


As the chief legislator signed his last death warrant for the day, a wet and towel-clad King Gorgon came stumbling into his quarters.

“We have to protect our citizens!” he shouted. “I want you to post a decree banning all bathtubs, showers, anything with a faucet. From now on, our government is decidedly anti-faucet.”

The chief legislator took a breath before he dared to ask what had happened.

“Nothing happened. I simply came to realize that running water is a terrible hazard, and I’m surprised it doesn’t result in more injuries than it does. Do not question my judgement.”

The chief legislator noticed the king’s swollen toe. “Very good, sire. Your word is law.” He dipped his quill in ink and began a draft of a new bill. The king’s zeal would undoubtedly fade as his injury healed, though sometimes his memory was stubborn. The legislator was looking forward to eating popcorn again.

“How is your tooth, your majesty?” he asked absentmindedly. He regretted the words as they left his mouth. The stack of execution slips looked taller than ever.

“My tooth is fine. Make sure it stays that way.” The king turned with regal dignity to the empty doorframe and stormed out. Had doors still been legal, he would have slammed one.

The legislator nodded to himself and honored the king’s request, as he always did and always would. As he signed his name as the bottom, he heard the king shriek from his bedroom, “Damned zippers!” and with some resignation, the legislator removed his pants and started a new bill.

#absurd, #anachronism, #blame-game, #displacement, #fable, #king, #legislation, #popcorn


The suits at the conference table aren’t necessarily paying attention, but they are impressed. Not only are the charts and graphs well-proportioned and color-coordinated, but they are likely based on actual statistics.

“Superlative work,” says the CEO from Germany.

“You should be proud,” says another from Sweden.

The young executive thanks them and politely asks them not to interrupt his presentation.

Before long, he has several blank checks in hand for his project, whatever it is. No one has really grasped the details, but his demeanor is so charming, and his graphic design so clean, that they all feel assured of a return on their investment.

He shakes their hands as they leave the room. “Tell your wife I said hi,” he says to a stone-faced Argentinian. “Hey, have you lost weight? Let’s play golf sometime.” He doesn’t pay attention to whom he’s talking, and they don’t bother answering. They are perfectly content to trade their total financial faith to him for one of a dozen niceties.

When the conference table is cleared and he’s alone, he takes out a pack of Double-Mint gum and slides a sliver into his mouth. He is cool. He is who he wants to be. He washes the gum down with a Coca-Cola. He drives home in his new Nissan Altima, but stops at a McDonald’s on the way.

He makes love to his wife, and as they lie together in a cuddle, he says to her, “Sealy Posturepedics are the only mattresses on the market that offer comfort and support for a wide variety of uses.”

She doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but she loves him. As she covers his sweat-glistened body in Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup, she gives a cheerful thumbs up.

#advertisement, #coca-cola, #executive, #identity-crisis, #mixed-messages, #money, #products

Robustness (part 3)

Ezekiel resented privacy, the entire idea of it. He thought about this in public restrooms, how social convention dictates that some behaviors be done in secret. At ten years old he’d had the thought: what if no one else takes off their clothes in the shower? What if that’s just my crazy family? People might think we’re crazy. How would I even know?

A man nodded at him at the sink, and he realized that he had made eye contact while his mind was on other things. While he wasn’t paying attention, he’d studied the man’s face and taken in his wardrobe, down to the hole in the elbow and the open fly. With an empty face, he flicked the water off his hands and tried not to look around. The man was watching him with some curiosity. Ezekiel cleared his throat, expecting him to turn away.

“Well?” the man said.

Ezekiel coughed again. “Excuse me.”

He was done washing his hands, but he didn’t feel he could leave without seeming like he was trying to get away. He put on his headphones, though he didn’t have any music, and moved his body to the music he didn’t have.

“Well, take care,” he said as he left. The man didn’t bother replying.

Ezekiel resented privacy, how it was wasted on the wrong bodily functions. He only wanted it for thought.

#awkward, #bathrooms, #privacy, #social-anxiety

Telekinesis (breasts)

When Lana gave her talks to two or three people instead of a dozen or more, she stammered. Large groups were a blur, and she could monologue about art and artifacts without interrupting herself. In smaller groups, she saw their faces. The man was leering, the woman was staring, and their eyes made her shoulders ache.

“Take a closer look at this eighteenth, I mean sixteenth century vase,” she said, hoping to draw their attention. The couple turned their faces toward the milk-white vessel, though they seemed to ignore her explanation of its significance. Lana crossed her arms in front of her.

“How long have you been working in the museum?” the man interrupted.

Lana shook her head. The question made no sense to her, and the woman was still staring.

“Save all questions for the end,” she said, staring back until the woman crossed her arms, too.

#breasts, #misogyny, #nanofiction, #paraphilia, #self-loathing, #stares, #the-fetishists, #unspoken-rivalries

Sketchbook (tattoo)

Jolie wore long sleeves. Everyone would laugh if they knew she’d been working on a dragon. So far, it was just an outline.

She was polishing windows when a woman in the waiting area asked her what was underneath her shirt. “Nothing,” she said. She tried to affect a blasé attitude. The woman smiled.

“Let me know if you want to show me.”

The woman was older, pushing forty, but she was in good shape. Jolie found her flirtations strange, but smiled back warmly.

Later, when Tom told her someone had requested her, she knew who it was.

“Listen, you can say no. I think you should say no, but this lady wouldn’t listen to me.”

Jolie did not say no. The woman asked her to draw anything she wanted, and it would be okay. She wanted the surprise, she said. “If you’re as inexperienced as they say, the surprise should be fantastic.”

She wasn’t sure where to begin. She sterilized all her tools several times as she interviewed the woman on her interests. Fish were a possibility. Maybe a whole aquarium of tropical fish.

“Just do whatever you would do on yourself,” the woman said as she pulled down her panties and lifted her dress. Jolie wasn’t sure. She leaned back in her chair and nervously tapped her thigh. The woman smiled, taking the gesture as an invitation, and crawled face-down on Jolie’s lap.

The woman’s butt pointed straight up. It was covered in doodles. ‘Stylex’ had signed his name. So many of the old designs crossed over each other that none were fully intelligible. As Jolie pressed the needle down, the woman moaned in a mix of pain and joy.

Jolie drew a dragon. When she made a mistake, she crossed it out and tried again.

#butt, #dragons, #hidden-talent, #intern, #lesbian, #microfiction, #naive, #paraphilia, #secrets, #tattoo, #the-fetishists


As his fiancee returned from his funeral, Arturo held her hand. She had no idea he was there, but he could feel her. Maybe she looked around for him. Maybe she sensed him.

He couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Some things don’t change.

As she turned on daytime television, he watched her. He’d never been able to look so long without her swatting him away. “It’s not cancer. I’m pregnant, and it’s your brother’s!” He was able to take in the whole of her body, which looked good in black. “Impossible! My brother’s been dead for three years!”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she didn’t seem to notice. He tried massaging her, and before long, she was starting to relax. He worked his way down, moving more gently than he could have with his old awkward hands. He touched her breast. It was the first time she’d allowed him to touch her, maybe the first time she’d been touched. “He’s not my brother; he’s my father!”

Pressing deeper, he felt his hand on his chest. He felt vaguely afraid, and somehow more fascinated by the soaps. Distraction was important. How long before he should start dating again? At least he hadn’t been too in love, he heard himself think, and a wave of guilt afterward.

He couldn’t tell what he was feeling.

Since he was alone in the house, he had no need to quantify. Instead, he quietly learned the parts of his vagina over his clothes and prepared to face oblivion.

#death, #ghost, #lovers, #microfiction, #supernatural