Tuesday, January 24, 2012

small stone, day 24; Micro-fic: Telephone

small stone, day 24:

now that the lilac is bare
i can see
the alien thing growing
in the middle

long and butter yellow
but bright green in the center
i know
because I cut one tentacle
with kitchen shears 


The fate of the saints hinges on their ability to reach God via telephone: he’s not always home. Sometimes he is, but pretends he isn’t. Some saints, such as poor Rose, call again, nine times an hour. But in the end, it rings and rings. The line goes dead. And a cool, disembodied voice says, “This number is no longer in service.” Rose chose self-immolation. She repeated the number over and over as she knelt in the flames of her own being, hoping that this time, He’d answer.


  1. I feel sorry for Rose, but oooh -- the little stone´s rockin´! =)

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