Microfiction: “naive”

Caged, and descending. Darkness creeps around corners. Kept awake in a flickering globe of artificial light, listening to sounds of routine motion, metal biting stone. Occasionally, the canary still sings, unaware of what it’s for.

Microfiction: “camouflage”

Photographs failed to capture him; he was a sasquatch blur. Even in direct sunlight, shadows would discover him, and traced across him chiaroscuro abstractions. Solitude-shrouded, he was but a collection of shapes- tiger-striped, and hidden from the world.

Microfiction: “seen through”

He believed that if he only ate clear foods, his body would be built of them; one day to become transparent. Water, broth, the whites of eggs. The last time I saw him he was chewing handfuls of crushed glass, grasping for the purity of the invisible; becoming a ghost.

Microfiction: “revealer”

In front of the funhouse mirror he posed and preened, watching his features distort, a maze of twisted limbs. Cheekbones dangled like Dali clocks. The smile fixed on his face, frozen: a growing fear, a dawning certainty – the mirror was perfectly ordinary.