198

     Mary was washing dishes when she thought she had let enough time pass to sound casual.  "Sara's reaction last night after dinner bugged me so much, I had a hard time sleeping.  You know, I still don't quite understand why she'd be so mean to me.  I know I shouldn't let it bug me like this, but, what do you think..."
     "Goddamit!"  The blue box of Honey Oats slapped against the wall between the microwave and the sink.  "You don't get it, do you?"
     "No.  What?"
     "It's not her; it's you."
     "Me?  I..."
     "Don't give me that 'I don't know what you mean' crap.  You do."
     "But I don't!"
     "'But I don't!'  Of course you do.  You're nothing but mean to Sara."
     "I'm mean?"
     "You're always making fun of her.  You can't keep your mouth shut for one second without something snarky coming out of it."
     "I like Sara!  I might tease, but she knows I'm just kidding.  I..."
     "You're always like this.  With waitresses, too.  You sound so superior."
     "How?  How do I sound superior?"
     "You speak to them all snotty and are so picky about your orders."
     Mary's mouth worked open and closed, her wet hands limp on the edge of the stainless steel sink.
     "Forget it.  You don't understand.  You can't understand because you're so much better than everyone else.  Everyone else living in your shadow."

197

That's it, she thought.  This is how I am going to die.  Tara was detachedly surprised at her own calm acceptance.  She was miffed by her lack of anger, denial, fight, determination, lust for life.  Down she went, arms raised, for the second time.  Once more.  We only ever get three.  Tara saw the sun, the sky, the distant palm tree line, and, most of all, the water.  Where before they had vibrant color, now they were shades of grey.  There had been the sound of waves, calling, laughing, a whistle, the breeze, but now there was nothing.  Up, arms outstretched.  Time became tangible.  Tara thought she should feel regret, sadness, sorrow, guilt, but she was fascinated instead by the new knowledge that a "moment" was real and could be touched and stretched and felt on the skin.  I should say something nice.  Down again, time's length shrinking into a width as wide as the ocean, and as deep.

(This was my try at "micro fiction", a.k.a. "flash fiction".)

196

The Universe is pleased to announce that Karen's mortal body has passed so her immortal spirit may inhabit the entire cosmos, that is, when she isn't performing her promised haunting of friends and loved ones.

Karen had a bunch of different jobs, but she loved performing improv comedy the best.  She also liked to write, play and listen to music, read good books, draw, create, occasionally vacuum, and eat chocolate.  The chocolate eating she managed to do every day.  Karen also managed to have fun every day and would like to remind you, from beyond the grave, that fun is all we should have in life.  If you're not having fun, cut out whatever is dragging you down and go have that fun.

Speaking of fun, please join Karen, her friends and loved ones at her memorial service.  You may certainly dress up if you like, but you can also wear an awesome t-shirt and your favorite jeans or even comfy jammies.  Required is that you bring your slippers no matter what else you're wearing.  A few flowers are okay, but maybe bring toys or books instead.  They will all be donated to needy kids who could use more of the aforementioned fun.

The next time you find an odd piece of cool junk or have a ridiculous thought for no apparent reason, perhaps Karen has chosen you for haunting that day, so you should pick up the cool junk and laugh your fool head off.

195

She said it was going to go right out the window, and there it went.  Right out the window.  Frannie didn't even bother opening the window first.  Smash, crash...free fall...more crash.  Some yelling.  That laptop was old, anyhow.  Frannie didn't care about anything, or anybody, it seemed.  Could have killed somebody out on the sidewalk, but that was just like her to do the horrible thing she promised.  She always kept those promises.

194

The forest had always seemed untouched by humanity to Veena, though the fact there was a path through it should have told her otherwise, until she found the cemetery.  Billa had told her it would be there, and he swore it as the truth upon his sword.  She followed his instructions, and the path, until she saw the dead oak tree, smooth and white, having dropped its bark in great scales now buried among the ferns.  Billa had said to step off the path after the tree and go ten paces into the forest.  Veena hated it when her brother was right.

193

She didn't think she lead a lonely life, though she knew her life fit the parameters.  Jenny lived an interior life.  A life where her imagination told her how scary the world was and how inept she was and how inappropriate her thoughts were, so they stayed inside.  As did she.  Jenny's room was her world, and going out of it got harder every day.  People looked at her when she went out, and people talked to her so she'd have to answer, and that wouldn't do.

Jenny was lonely, but thought she was self-sufficient, and her mother worried about her endlessly.  Deeply.  Hoveringly.  Smotheringly.  Jenny's fears about the world were compounded by her mother, who thought the incessant, gentle nudges helped, when really, they were like pushing repeatedly on a bruise.

192

Heather felt her tether tenuously.  It stretched and swung and slipped.  She hung, her hands hugging, her fingers tightening, yet sliding nonetheless.  Loosely, she lost, kicking and swinging, wheeling and keening, windy and whipping, falling, but not falling because there was no bottom.