Fibers – Short Story

16 Jan

I just wrote this without any editing.  That’s not an excuse, it just shows that I can do things freely.

“Look up, the stars are out tonight.”

There they were, peaking out behind the clouds that radiated second-hand city light.

So much has already been said about stars, I doubt I could enlighten you any further.  Nevertheless, they felt warm despite the distance.

Soggy newspapers clung around a drain pipe as the molecules tore their fibers apart from each other; a drain just sitting out in the middle of a field near the road resting neatly above the city.  The contrast of the situation did not seem to hold up.  I doubted the use of the drain joking that, “this rusty thing must be how we collect our tap water.”  The tap water is always terrible.

A man along with his two kids also enjoyed the sight among our precipice in the patchy sky.  I thought about what I would do in his position: could I care for two children?  Would I willingly bring them to some forlorn yet beautiful place single-handed?  He could easily be overwhelmed by an attacker.  The signs were easy: khaki shorts, receding hairline, 3-button down shirt.

I’m not even sure I could outplay my attackers for long: I still keep my fist wrapped around my keys.  No matter, my library card would probably do more damage than a key with what haphazard skill my sinewy arms may possess.

Later that night, I called my mom.

“Hello?”

“Hey.  When you and Dad were trying to have me, did you have any miscarriages?”

“No.”

Her soft reply and slow hang up insured me that I could never be alone in the world.  Around me, flew some ghost that was mostly me; make me out of mud to form your son, please.

I only found out after her death that I was a twin.

My fibers evaporated with the touch of truth.

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One Response to “Fibers – Short Story”

  1. theothergardener January 20, 2010 at 10:00 PM #

    I’ve read this several times and I find it disturbing. Some people might dismiss it as decadent, self-referential, bourgeois etc. But that’s rubbish. If anything we need to become more of all these things, we need to pass through our enfoldments in the problems of modernity, loneliness, rootlessness, alienation. That’s the only way to get over their horizons. Keep writing like this, take it even further. Excellent.
    TOG

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