Micros

© copyright 1996-2009 by Michael G. Breece



Watching the air turn to water...

Daring her to fulfill the promise that was whispered. The traces of hair left behind. He walked across the street in the pouring rain in order to hail a cab. The problem became apparent when he noticed that he was in the middle of a cornfield. She had stumbled upon him while shopping at a thrift store. 50% off of free. She twirled around the store as though she were trailer trash walking upon an open floor planned home with plush carpeting for the first time, only to spin herself directly into his arms as he turned away from the record stacks. Their life together became another concept of togetherness. As they spent every waking hour holed up in a small apartment just above an old family owned Chinese restaurant. One day, while he was walking the streets, another wondered her way into his life. But, it was too late, for she had already done the same to his mate. The last thing he remembered was this…

Wasn’t I here first…

She sits down at a table in the crowded restaurant. Forgetting that she had left her lipstick, she quickly jumps to her feet and hurriedly walks back to the bathroom. Only to return to find that her small table in the corner of the restaurant is now being occupied by a strange man. She timidly approaches him. When she arrives, he continues to read the newspaper. He turns the page. She notices that he is reading the paper upside down. His peripheral vision witnesses the expression on her face as one of discovery. So, he brings the paper down to the surface of the table and slowly raises his eyes to hers. “Yes, it is a crazy, crazy, world isn’t it?”

When socialism meats...

At first I was the patient of a 65-75 year old doctor with an oval office. The extra body was an intern, he was around 30 years old and had dark wooly hair that stood slightly upward. He was nervous and not yet rehearsed. The elder was as rehearsed as a block of wood and by the end of the appointment, he had become as tiresome as such. The son of meat remained rigid and understandably frayed, the old man was pulling all the most excruciating stops on the kid and he knew it.

The one-liner's ricocheted and the nerves bounced off the walls of meat. "L P O (or is that C) R S T" then, the left eye. This banter was over-extended a touch longer than it needed to be. One must learn, short and sweet. "Have you ever had a serious illness?" said Mr. Meat. I answered, “no, never.” I am taken back to the room of rusted instrumentation, where I’m ordered to strip to my shorts. An eternity passes.

10 minutes later, I’m peering down at a roll of fat. To my dismay, this "roll" is connected to me. "I see that you have made a discovery!" I’m ordered to sit at the edge of the paper black bench, Mr. Meat strikes my knee-caps and listens to my heart pump my blood. "You can do better than that!" pertaining to the spread of my cheeks. Cough, cough... Breathe, breathe... I leave the closet after being felt up and sodomized.

"So, are you going to vote for Dan Quayle!" I admit to my decision to never vote again only to receive a series of judgments and presumptions about being a gun owner. He ends our date by making a shitty little quip about social security, but, fails. Amidst his failure, Mr. Meat states under his breath "do what it is that you do best...wait." Although he is correct, I feel insulted and violated regardless by his cowardly attack as I sit and wait for a copy of his op-page of health. Months later, long after I’d left the office for the comforts of cold falling rain and the gray skies, while driving by Mr. Meat’s office…I saw that someone had scrawled “FUCK YOU” in stark red spray paint across the walls of his circa 60’s oval office. And…I couldn’t think of a better design.

She appears to him as an expressionistic angel

Sitting in a cafe, he eats a veggie sandwich and potato chips. He drops the sandwich to the plate and raises his left hand to rub his eyes. Just as this is occurring, a young woman dressed in a snug plaid skirt and red turtleneck sweater enters the cafe. He sees her in a hectic fit, as the salt from the potato chips has blurred his vision. He furiously tries to clear his sight, though all he can make out are glasses bobbing toward him then large dark hair as she passes by.

Cross the bridge

Once a calico cat was strutting across a grey stone bridge when a little girl, maybe ten, with golden hair and porcelin skin skipped up directly in front of the cat. The two looked in each other's eyes for quite some time. Then, the little girl took to smiling at the cat and with her left foot...she kicked the cat over the bridge, then, skipped off around the corner of a building. I could not believe my eyes. Immediately, I hurried to the edge of the bridge. Only I felt nothing but pitty for the poor cat as it drowned in a panic just before it had time to reach the shallow end.

Machines

She was a well-rounded woman in her late thirties. She was fat, pushing 300 lbs. and showing every ounce of it. Every day she would hit both the cookie and the soda machine during her break. No, I mean literally HIT both machines. The day that she forgot...was the day that she never returned to work.

He had a face with too many corners, I noticed, as we drove to the site. We arrive and he immediately starts to dig. An hour later and he's a few thousand dollars richer.

"I know how you got the money," I said.

A sick feeling came over me and an ill look appeared on his face. He jumped in the car without saying a word and left me standing at the side of the road. If he's lucky, he'll live to see the sun rise. As for me... I'll be lost for a while.

And I was blue striped, set off by a sphere of blinding light, that stood suspended in air. The atmosphere was thick, as she cut through it with her piercing ignorant beauty. Naked, she sat down. I can feel vibrations of sound, coming from the other one. She spoke, with an silent whisper, of despair. The replies were so deceptive, issued with ease. I felt her body quiver, her fear became desire. And as their lips met, nuns with tears in their eyes appeared through the glass window. Seeping in the brains of two victims, sin left them spellbound, by an experimental radiance. Falling into an abyss, of starving madness, the nuns were preyed upon by the holocaust of imagination. And the two naked bodies, lay across my stomach, I can smell their flesh. Shadows dancing on the walls that peer, through the darkness. Plunging expressions, spill over the edges of time, I remain silent and still. Still and silent, I remain, as more expressions spill. One egg after the other, slip in between the breaks of my skin.

"You know, my darling Meredith, this can not go on forever."

"Time, will not wait."

Are the words that remain suspended in air. High above, I, this blue striped chair.