Twitter Fiction, August 2021

Compilation of my best Twitter stories for the month of August:


Deprive a body of water, it will dry up and die. Deprive a soul of love and it will surely wither and perish all the same, though the body continue healthy and whole. Manifestations of the soul exist on a different plane observable only by those who earnestly seek to see and know.


Every time the planet rotated, friction did its work, slowing the next by a mere millionth. Imperceptible. But when the gears rusted over and the axle stopped turning, the people noticed _that._ No one knew how to fix the machine, so they carried on. Ignorance is bliss, after all.


“Choose your poison.”

“I thought this was a shop for love potions.”

“All love is poison. Make a choice.”

“Ah… nothing, then?”

“You’ll die lonely and bitter.”

“Fine. What are your options?”

“Slow and sweet, fast and fiery–“

“Slow and fiery?”

“Dang. Everyone chooses that one.”


We walk along the dock; I stop to watch the light play on your golden hair and sun-kissed shoulder. You turn to me, squinting and scarlet-faced. “It’s too sunny,” you say. “We’d better go back in soon or I’ll roast.”

That night, I spread aloe on your back and admire the shine.


The lights go out; some problem with the power grid. I grope in the dark for a flashlight; the batteries are dead. 

But then, a thought comes as a voice in my head, Just open the window. So I do. 

Funny. And sad. 

I’d almost forgotten about the Sun.


I float. I swim through the air and wave at the people below. I can go anywhere. There’s my school, but I think I’ll play hooky today. School’s for those who have nothing in common with birds. I soar up, down, up. A crow squawks in my ear. I wake. 

Time to get ready for school.


Aaron rubbed at his leg, where something had bitten him. Why had Eema dragged him all this way, to listen to some long-haired, ragged man in the middle of an unsown field? He complained of thirst, but Eema shushed him, rapt as she listened to the sermon about salt and candles.


“Wanna bond?”

“Get lost, Calcium; I’m looking for a _real_ atom.”

“Come on, Chlorine; you know you’re incomplete without me.”

“But I’d have to share you with my sister. No way!”


“I’m waiting for Sodium.”

“No need to get salty, geesh.”


My mom used to say I caught “birthday fever” every year, symptoms being overexcitement and general irritability. 

I hated when she said that, and it only made my “symptoms” worse. But of course I say the same thing to my children now. 

It’s just too apt a term not to re-use.


Gary sees into a different universe with every mirror he encounters. Or he would, if he weren’t deathly afraid of the things. His mother noticed the phobia when her son was still a speechless toddler. What did he see that spooked him so? 

The world may never know.


There’s a chair out there; it is THE chair. I sat in it, in the doctor’s waiting room. It was the perfect size, armrests just right, lumbar support where I needed it. I resolved that next I came I’d offer to buy it for any price. It took me a year to go back.

The chair was gone.


He’d dreaded this day, but was prepared- every receipt filed, every debit/credit calculated. He’d received the call yesterday: “Your Auditor is coming.” He waited anxiously for that knock on the door.

“Hello,” he said, then gaped. 

“I’m here to audit your soul,” said the angel.


It began orderly enough. But Rick lost patience after three feet of meticulous laying and rushed through the rest. The wall repelled respectable society from the place; but it also deterred thieves so it wasn’t all bad.


They say an infant can drown in just a single inch of water. So why is it no-one believes my struggling, my screams for help, from the shallow depths of life’s misery? Turn over. Swim, they say. 

But how can I swim with such a weight upon my chest?


If I could commission a portrait of a feeling, I’d choose the time we spent shopping together for our first mattress, lying beside each other, staring up at the store’s vaulted ceiling. We didn’t speak much, but we were both sharing the same dream.


“What happened to your arm?”

“Lost it in the war, Son.”

Stare at me. Don’t listen to the voices telling you it’s rude. “Did it hurt?”

“Oh, yes.”

Stare at me, until the sight doesn’t frighten you anymore. “Was it worth it?”

“So long as I don’t become invisible.”

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