Micro Fiction Monday: Stubborn

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you, uh...did you need any help?”

I huffed as I shifted the weight of the dozen or so books in my arms. Behind my massive stack was a girl, wearing a blue t-shirt and a staff lanyard around her neck. She was staring at my books, a basket extended hesitantly towards me.

I smiled. “No thanks, I’m good!”

She blinked and nodded. “Alright. Sure.” It took her a moment before she moved on, still glancing over her shoulder as she went.

The line in front of me shifted, and I shuffled forward to follow. A Shakespearean play slid uneasily on top, and I nudged it back into place with my forehead.

Another staff member—this one a guy, with his hair slicked back into a bun—walked past, before doubling back. He looked my selection up and down and cocked an eyebrow. “Did you want a basket?”

“Nope!”  I said, ignoring the quivering protest of my arms. “I’m okay, thanks.”

He opened his mouth and took a breath. “Really,” I said. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head and moved on.

The line moved once more, keeping in pace with the eternal wait time that had been prevalent all afternoon. I could see the front, now, along with all four frazzled and exhausted cashiers. When it was my turn, I shuffled forward and dropped my load onto the counter with a crash.

The cashier looked at the books, then back up at me. “We charge $2.95 for bags,” she said flatly.

I hesitated, staring at my books in contemplation. Finally, I sighed. “Do it.”

Micro Fiction Monday: Saturday Mornings

Saturday mornings can be divided into one of two categories: either they are the Holy Grail of the weekend, or they are the spawns of Satan’s children. There is no in between.

The morning falls under the latter when I’m pulled from sleep by shrill beeping, with fewer hours spent in dreamland than I would have liked. When the commute nearly puts me to sleep, and the day feels like it should be over before it’s hardly even begun.

The former appears in the peak of summer, when the sun begins to shine through the trees, but the coolness of night still lingers in the air. When the dew clings to the grass and sticks to my feet, and returning to bed is the last thing on my mind. Without the fog of fatigue clouding my brain, the colours around me are more vibrant, shocking, beautiful.  The cold is welcome, not resented.

Put simply, Saturday mornings are infinitely more enjoyable when you have nowhere to be, nothing to do, and at least eight hours of sleep under your pillow.

Micro Fiction Monday: To Fly

There is a story told among my people, a tale of a girl who fell in love with the land dwellers. Legend says that she sold her voice to the sea gods in exchange for legs, so that she may join them in their cities and villages—but that’s where the story ends. From there, people argue of the outcome; some say she fell in love, and married human royalty. Others insist that her plan backfired, and in her heartbreak her body was turned to sea foam. This debate is one that has been going on for centuries—and one that I have no interest in.

She was foolish, that mermaid girl. The human world is disgusting and horrible, full of greedy mortals who destroy their own land, and the land of others, to advance their own selfish plans. I wouldn’t give up my voice, my fin, or anything to live with the likes of them.

But the sky, on the other hand....the sky is magical. The deep, endless blue that stretches on during the day, and the white lights that twinkle when the sun goes down. I want to brush my fingers against the fluffy white clouds that litter the sky, and replace the coolness of the water with the warmth of the sun against my skin. I want to pluck the moon out of the night and wear it around my neck like a locket, to stretch a new pair of muscles from my back and leave my dull world under the sea behind.

I don’t want to swim anymore.

I want to fly.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Laughter (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #1)

Her laughter broke the silence.

It came from a block away, maybe two. The neighbourhood was almost empty this early in the morning. At five am, the university students and young couples and single bachelors that inhabited the apartment buildings were normally still sleeping. Occasionally, he would see a jogger or two, or someone stumbling in from the graveyard shift at work. But that was rare.

That’s what made her laughter so interesting. It was unusual. Different.

It was nice.

He picked up his pace a little, hoping maybe he would catch a glimpse of her on the main street. Here, it was a little busier—but only just barely. A couple cars with early-morning commuters, on their way to work, or to the airport for whatever tropical destination awaited them. There was an older man across the street, walking a chubby beagle down the sidewalk.

But no girl.

He was about to shrug it off, continue on to his destination, but curiosity got the better of him. He walked a bit in the opposite direction, peering down the next street over. Finding it was just as sleepy as his own, he tried the next one. And the next. And the next.

No girl.

This was silly. He felt silly. He jogged back down the way he came, slowing back down to a walk as he headed past his street.

He heard it again—a laugh, bubbly and loud and echoing down the silent, sleepy buildings. As he passed the next block, he saw her—bedridden hair, dirty pajamas, face illuminated by the glow of her cell phone, smile stretching from ear to ear at a joke he couldn’t—and would probably never—see.

Beautiful.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne