Category: Very Short Stories

500 words or less

Door

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There was a sign by the door. A small blue enamelled metal plaque. One of the corners had cracked, and a crust of rust had started to flake about it.

Judy stared at it, trying to imagine whoever it was that had placed that sign there, so straight and perfect. She wondered what they would think if they were to see that rusting corner now. Would they be disappointed, try to repair it, take it down and replace it with a perfect, fresh new one?

She would leave it as it was. She liked the sign, liked that small imperfection. It made the door less intimidating.

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Scar Tissue

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It was her hands that triggered it.

The way they were folded over one another as though she was clutching at herself in disbelief or shock.

It was strange to see how smooth the skin was. It looked plump and youthful, pumped up with a chemical waxiness that allowed the death to somehow drain from it, but at the same time remain there.

That dead grasp of her hands. I’d seen it once before, only then it had been a fleeting thing. A stiffening, uncontrolled scratching, a reflexive clutching at sheets. All rhythm, all movement frozen. Little pinpricks leaving us rigid and taut. Each gasp a brief prelude to all of this.

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