Category: microfiction

microfiction

Coming soon …

Barry Lee Thompson

Originally posted on Elwood Writers:
Vision Australia Radio‘s weekly literary program, Cover To Cover, will be presenting the work of the Elwood Writers in its Friday 26th January edition. The theme is ‘Back  To School’ and the program will feature poetry, memoir and fiction written by the group, in some cases read on-air by the writers themselves. We’ve enjoyed collaborating with Tim McQueen, producer and presenter of Cover To Cover, to compile this program, and we’re thrilled to continue to share our work and engage with the VA radio audience and beyond. And don’t worry if you can’t join us… Continue reading Coming soon …

fiction, microfiction10 Comments

Outage

Barry Lee Thompson

The night of the power outage, Bernie called to check that I was okay. This was two weeks ago. I told her I was fine, and then asked if she was okay. And that was the call. But it was over too quick, and I had a jittery guilt from not having talked more with her, so I called her back and asked if she was really okay, that she hadn’t sounded herself just now, which was a lie—she’d sounded perfectly alright. She said really she was fine, with a smile in her voice. I told her I’d spoken earlier … Continue reading Outage

fiction, microfiction8 Comments

MOTEL

Barry Lee Thompson

He stopped swimming, and floated in the middle of the pool. I watched him closely, the long thin line of body broken by the blue of his swimming trunks. Then I imagined the trunks gone. It was easy, really, but almost unbearable. He started to swim again, towards me, then tumbled over at the end, and started up the other way. And he kept on, lap after lap. It was good to watch. Mesmerising. But that’s all it was. Over and over. I became a little bored. Maybe not bored, but it wasn’t going anywhere, so I went inside to … Continue reading MOTEL

fiction, microfiction4 Comments
Barry Lee Thompson

He feels the pressure of opposition, and he has to go somewhere, get off the street. Anywhere will do, as long as it’s quiet. A quiet interior. He walks around, looking for the right kind of place, all the while feeling as if there’s something in his chest about to fly out screaming. He finds a hall. It’s unlocked, no people inside, just him.  It’s like a community hall. That sort of thing. It doesn’t really matter. It smells like a primary school. That smell, of children, thirty or so of them breathing in and out at the same time … Continue reading