The sign beside it said: Only take one. It was empty. The moon wouldn't come out of hiding. We tried to coax it into a confession with our smiles. I like when the tree beside the driveway is bare. I think it's trying to sing, but Mr. Samuels next door says it will not sing because it has nothing to sing about. He passed away 10 years ago. No one left flowers. The sign in front of his house says: Hello. All the crows have nestled themselves into the dirt under the grass. They're waiting for a response. I give them one and leave. The earth is a circle on a piece of paper. I couldn't find a blue crayon.
Microfiction is a genre of fiction that lives in the world of compression, suggestion, negative space, time-loose narratives, odd juxtapositions, sometimes like a prose poem, sometimes like a journal entry. Every sentence can take on a greater weight due to brevity and a sense of scarcity. But just a few words can create a vast landscape and I think that’s the beauty of it, and also the challenge. What can we create with a limited and yet limitless material of language? Let’s have some fun and see…