flash fiction, flashfiction, microfiction, short story, shortstories, shortstory

‘Toe Of Toe Hall’

The InfoVisual.info site uses images to explain objects.

 

If someone handed you a matchbox with their phalanx bones inside, and referred to it with a shy smile on handing it over as ‘Toe of Toe Hall’, you’d be charmed, wouldn’t you?  You wouldn’t yell out to a cafeteria full of teenagers “He’s giving me his boner!”  You wouldn’t join in the laughter pouring down like pig’s blood.

I had my first body parts removed at the age of six.  Airborne Foot versus Metal Bed Railing.  Several bones in the second toeon my right foot didn’t make it.  The doctor at the hospital took one look and said “amputation”, right in front of me.  I got to take the removed sections home, as a bribe to stop me screaming.

For years, I kept them in an empty matchbox, which I dubbed Toe Hall.  Push open the drawer: Toe of Toe Hall.  My parents laughed at that every time.

And they bought me a new bed.

Sixteen-year-old girls apparently don’t like receiving body parts.  Personally, I thought it a sweet idea, that I was offering something of myself.   I wasn’t good at small talk.

Daphne was in my tutor group.  We were in the same room for roll call every morning, five days a week.  It wasn’t as though I were a total stranger.  It’s not as though I necessarily expected her to display my toe bones against her own skin, in the warm, scented hollow of her suprasternal notch, say.   She could have kept the box on her bedside table.  I didn’t include instructions.

I tossed the box in the trash as I ran out of the building.

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flash fiction, flashfiction, short story, shortstory, Uncategorized

‘The Sac That Was Our Living Room Ceiling’

(my 4th winner at Ad Hoc Fiction )

bowl

The flat upstairs.  It’s their escaped water, low slung in the sac that was our living room ceiling.   Icy cold drops sweat along the pregnant plaster, grow plump, fall down – we had to move the couch.   The floorboards are dotted with filling bowls.  Some day (or night) soon, the whole lot’s going to finally burst.

My family nag me to call the landlord but I hate confrontation.  I say I’ll call him tomorrow, after the weekend, after Christmas.  I know they’re losing respect for me over this.  I hate that I’m supposed to be the one to deal with problems.  This isn’t our country.  I don’t like to make waves.   Meanwhile, the sagging over our heads undulates and sways with its own incomprehensible tides..   Icy cold drops sweat along the pregnant plaster, grow plump, fall down – we had to move the couch.   The floorboards are dotted with filling bowls.  Some day (or night) soon, the whole lot’s going to finally burst.

My family nag me to call the landlord but I hate confrontation.  I say I’ll call him tomorrow, after the weekend, after Christmas.  I know they’re losing respect for me over this.  I hate that I’m supposed to be the one to deal with problems.  This isn’t our country.  I don’t like to make waves.   Meanwhile, the sagging over our heads undulates and sways with its own incomprehensible tides.

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