…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.


Randall was out working in the garden, getting ready to spread a fresh layer of topsoil. He took a new bag off the wheelbarrow, propped it against his leg, and took out his pen knife to slice the bag open.

He plunged the point of the blade into the bag and started to drag it across the plastic to slowly empty the bag’s contents into the flower bed, when the thing just burst on him. It had rained some the night before and Randall had left the bags out. They’d apparently soaked up a good bit of the moisture and were ready to blow, which is just what the first bag did when Randall cut it open and released the pressure.

He was obviously wearing old clothes for gardening, but now he was soaked and had to change anyway.

He wandered into the house through the back door and stood in the kitchen calling to Marlene, who was in the living room visiting with some friends from the neighborhood.

“Honey? Are there any clean pairs of pants down by the washer and dryer? I’ve soiled the ones I have on real good.”

Marlene answered, perturbed. “You soiled your nice pants?”

“No! I made sure I wasn’t wearing nice pants because I figured I’d soil ’em! But I made more of a mess than I expected. I couldn’t hold it–it just all burst out and now I’m covered in brown, frothy dirt.”

“For Pete’s sake, Randall! I thought you had more control than that! Well, you can check by the laundry area–just wipe yourself off first. I don’t want that filth tracked through my kitchen all the way down to the basement. And put those dirty pants straight into the wash–I don’t want them sitting out so that whole mess dirties up the floor and gets all caked on and crusty!”

“All right, all right. Give me some credit–I know how to wipe myself!”

Marlene could hear Randall’s footsteps retreating into the basement. She turned back to her guests, rolled her eyes and shrugged and said, “Honestly–if I had a dollar for every time he messed his pants! Now, where were we?”

Her guests honestly weren’t sure, and hastily made excuses to leave.

And from then on, they always seemed hesitant to come over to the house for a visit, no matter what day or time they were invited. Marlene couldn’t figure out why.


Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: