Dysfunction 3

“Some days you just can’t write,” he said aloud.

The citrus-scented candle was not impressed. The flame didn’t even react to his big sigh. It sat on the side table oozing atmosphere but no empathy.

“Oh yeah?” he snapped at it. “When you’re burnt out that’s the end of you. I prevail.”

Hiatus… Odd looks in his direction and muttered comments from bar patrons fused as he tried to blink his tired eyes clear. In the bright honey light, they became drones attending the queen behind the counter: alkaloid aromas their insectoid murmurs of my intrusion.

The page remained blank.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

The Enigmatic Dot

Inquisitively, her eyes narrowed as she attempted to see it.

“I don’t get it!” she said. “It’s just a blank sheet of paper with a small black dot on it.”

Carl showed it to others. Mike held it up against the light. Tom ran his fingers over it. His teacher unequivocally dismissed it as balderdash and several online friends expressed how deeply offended they had all been by its very concept.

The fact that no-one else could see it seemed strange to Carl.

To him, it was simply a small black dot with a blank sheet of paper on it.

From Guest Contributor JR Hampton

Her Note

The front door slammed.

Before leaving, she posted a note on its frame. Unlike the daily reminders she scribbled, this one was blank.

Her husband grasped at the sofa for comfort, nestling his body in her lingering perfume. Their terrier snuggled beside him.

His mind revisited their argument. Was he wrong to throw back insults at her?

When the doorknob turned, he looked up.

“I didn’t write you a note,” she said with her voice breaking.

“I noticed.”

For a while they sat together in silence watching the sunset.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

Cable

I received a cancellation letter in the mail last week. My cable subscription had been halted. I found myself spending the entire afternoon staring at a black screen.

That evening, while out shopping, I discovered that all my credit cards had been stopped. I wasn't hungry anyway, but I was beginning to spot a disturbing trend.

One by one, every relevant account, identification, and social network deleted me from their databases. I was suddenly cast adrift, avatarless in a digital world.

It soon became clear that I had died. I didn't mind. What was the point of life without cable.