Mini-Stories: (n.) from the Latin minius storius
- A story comprised of 500 words or less.
- A story that may or may not make any sense.
- A story to be written in complete freetime while Netflix is down and apartment is out of Cheetos.
Without any further introduction, here are two mini-stories for your entertainment and delight while I go watch another episode of Sister Wives on the Netflix.
Gate 12: A Romantic Mini-Story
He was about to board a plane with a lone ticket to Bali. Suddenly, she was there, standing in the shadow of Gate 12. They locked eyes for one brief moment. He tensed; had she come to break his heart yet again? Before he can turn away, she throws herself at him, desperately clinging to his jacket. His arms instinctively reached out to catch her as she looked up into his face. “Roger,” she breathed, her blonde hair gently blowing from the breezeway of Gate 12. “I love you. I think I’ve always loved you. Let’s forget everything. I’ll leave my husband, and we’ll go to Bali together, just as we planned. Just you and me.”
Tears filled Roger’s eyes—but they were not the tears of love. They were the tears of indigestion. It must have been those airport tacos he had for lunch. The meat had looked a little green. He held up one finger to his love as he turned away to belch.
“Ughhhh, that’s better,” Roger sighed. “Where was I? Oh, yes.” He turned back to his love, gently cupping her chin to stare into her deep blue eyes. “Oh, Karen, I lo—“
Then Roger spontaneously combusted, and part of his small intestine smacked Karen in the face.
Don’t eat airport tacos.
101 Reasons to Leave: A Horror Mini-Story
I heaved the last box from the bedroom off the floor, glancing out the window. Anita was standing by the car, taking one last look up at our home. She was so happy to leave. But was I?
I closed the door to the bedroom and stepped into the hallway.
THUD.
It sounded like footsteps from the attic.
THUD.
But we had never used the attic.
THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD.
Suddenly, the doors on either side of the hallway opened, flapping wildly. An eerie scream echoed down the hallway. The wallpaper peeled as the shriek circled around me. Dark blood began bubbling up from the hardwood, seeping into my shoes. A figure began to materialize. Its face was completely shred—only two hollow eyesockets remained and three maggots crawled from its rotting mouth.
“Gettttttt outtttttt,” the spirit hissed.
“That’s what I’m doing!” I said, pointing to the box.
The ghost paused. “Oh. Cool. Hey, hope I didn’t freak you out too bad these past few months.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, we were a little preoccupied. Didn’t notice. We’re just moving ‘cause we found some cheap real estate in the country.”
“Oh, yeah? Good for you, man.”
“Yeah, we got stuck with 101 Dalmatians and now the wife won’t give ‘em up. Wants a Dalmatian Plantation, which I admit I suggested when I was drunk. Wrote a whole song for it. Sucks, but ya know hos.”
The ghost nodded sympathetically. “Yeah. Hos.”
I pointed downward. “Also, you’re paying for these shoes.”
P.S. from V.S. 