Micro Flash Fiction
Working In Hollywood
From behind his oak desk, with the towers of a city built on dreams behind him he said firmly, “Make him mid thirties, and white… and make her hate him.”
I borrowed confidence and replied, “The story is about his age, the projects and unrequited love… it’s what we cling to.”
“I cling to this contract you signed.” He said blankly. “My talent is white and pretends to still be thirty.”
“No sweat.” I said.
Full Circle
It is so warm in the womb. Life giving life and is certainly one of the best things they do. I think of this and struggle to keep warm in my cold, sterile room. My fingers leave imprints on the frigid stainless steel as I place them on the timeless slabs and latch the door. I fix his hair. Death is never warm but it is, every day, the best thing I do.
Tags: Fiction, flash fiction, writing
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