Watch: Volume 2 of A Breath of Fiction

By Gregory M. Fox

200 short stories--each exactly 200 words. Stories span the distant past, the possible future, our familiar present, and times that never were, but each one captures only a moment, quick and fleeting. The characters may be mighty and powerful, humble and ordinary, weak, weary, bold, hopeful, young, old, strange, familiar, human, machine, or animal, but each is glimpsed for one glittering instant. Together, these moments, each a unique encounter in itself, form a mosaic of human experience, which just like life itself can include humor, pain, fantasy, love, loss, and hope.
This is the second volume of stories collected from the ongoing flash fiction project, A Breath of Fiction, where Gregory M. Fox posts a 200 word story online every week. The beauty of these very short stories, grouped here into twelve different thematic categories, is that a reader may choose to read as much or as little as they like at a time. Since these stories were originally posted online, they are meant to be accessible for a momentary diversion, or for an extended journey through the variety of experiences presented in these breaths of fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregory M. Fox
• Release date: Jul 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463162804

Gregory M. Fox

Gregory M. Fox is a husband and father, an author, artist, and educator from South Bend, Indiana.

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Watch

Volume 2 of A Breath of Fiction

Gregory M. Fox

August 2014 to June 2018

Copyright 2018 by Gregory M. Fox

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

Earth

Key, New, More, Footsteps, Changed, String, Road, Crack (i), World, Specters, Orbit, Buried, Destination (i), Dark, Particles

Air

Wind, Tradition, Sorry, Fog, Plot, Word, Hug, Trajectory, Disappear, Noises, Meaning, Laundry, Apocalypse, Around, Destination (ii), Breathe

Fire

Flame, Glow, Provoke, Muffins, Thermodynamics, Glare, Footage, Bloom, Signs, eQuest, Candles, Broken, Fire, Bombs, Light, Flickering, Enough

Water

Shore, Edge (ii), Ooze, Power, Whole, Storm, Return, Immersion, War, Cup, Coffee, Breakwater, Fount, Edge (i), Itch, Clarity, Paris, Wash

Animal

Predators, Oddities, Tasmania, Dragon, Web, Aspiration, Apprehension, Order, Locks, Kindness, Roar, Piñata, Open (ii), See, Cold, Beneficence, Ash

Vegetable

Snap, Refuge, Smoke, Grow, Decay, Shed, Almonds, Raising, Endless, News, Emergency, Lost, Descent

Mineral

Pedestal, Symbol, Golden, Bro, Countdown, Inconclusive, Paper, Missed, Defense, Bones, Crack (ii), Threshold, Plaster, Hobby, Business, Fabricated, Stone

Mind

Decorations, Pride, Static, Thrall, Nightmare, Reach, Monsters, Civilization, Sage, Floss, Night, Muse, Art, Struggle, Remember, Normal, Trees

Body

Blanks, Glowing, Incarnation, Explanation, Pillow, Closed, Face, Employment, Siblings, Invested, Found, Drift, Blood, Door, Hands, Time

Heart

Open (i), Hide, Preserves, Void, Melancholy, Forsooth, Midnight, Silence, Perspective, Blurt, Wrinkle, Rescue, Gravity, Fate, Held, Repairs

Soul

Glass, Fragile, Laundromat, Moral, Miracle, Call, Crisis, Promises, Sunset, Anger, Safe, Recipe, Trouble, Hurts, Deal, Deliverer, Cheek, Compassion

Time

Rooms, Travels, Ravages, Timer, Kid, Pretension, Seasons, Connection, Acts, Back, Parallel, Finished, Passage, Love, Freeze, Forever, Drive, Saving, Watch

About the Author

Earth

Section I

Key

Follow the river into the forest, but don't swim in the water. Don't eat any red berries. Collect as much bluish green moss as you can carry. Find a strong, stout walking stick. Don't light a fire after sunset. You will come to a waterfall. The rocks are slippery and sharp, but you must climb behind the falls. Don't look down. You will find a cave there. Using strips of fabric, wrap the moss around the end of your walking stick. It will burn slowly and make a good torch, which you will need in that unrelenting blackness. Echoes will sound like the voices of people you love. Don't follow them. The cavern will split into three tunnels. Don't follow the one with light at the end; that is where the dragon sleeps. Don't follow the one that goes uphill; that is where the spiders hide. Take the tunnel going down until you reach a large vaulted chamber. There, the Watchers will be waiting for you. Don't look them in the eye. Don't ask them any questions. Don't tell them your name. But present them with a worthy gift, and they will give you the key. Then your quest begins.

New

The miles fly by. I promised I would never run, but you promised you would never hurt me, so I guess we both lied. Now I'm on my way to somewhere new, and probably somebody new as well. When this bus reaches Atlanta, I'll have a fresh start.

At least that's the idea. Unfortunately, I've been here before: riding a bus in the middle of the night, running from someone, hoping for something better. The last time was just before I met you.

Back then, you said that I was just your type, and I said that you were perfect for me. But all my exes were cheaters, and all your exes abandoned you. I guess we shouldn't be surprised by how things happened. Maybe it's just who we are.

And maybe I'll end up running again. I obviously don't have a good track record. Why should Atlanta be different from Dallas or from any city I lived in before that? But on this bus, I'm suspended between past and future. Full of expectation, I feel like I'm truly myself. I feel at peace.

Still, the bus keeps moving.

It's a dark night.

In spite of everything, I keep hoping.

More

For a moment, Zippo didn’t know where in the world he was, and then it hit him. The ground.

No more.

He could feel the blood trickling out of his nose, out of his mouth. You want some more? a voice said from somewhere between his head and the moon.

No, please.

A nearby wall helped Zippo pull himself to his feet. He tried to spit out a profanity, but his fat lip and missing tooth made the word almost unrecognizable. Big-T just laughed. Alright then, he said. If that’s what you want.

There’s been so much.

Zippo shook his head blearily, confused. Then he saw Big-T waiting for him. He lurched toward brute and fell into him. Big-T laughed as he grabbed the battered man by the hair. Then he stopped laughing.

No.

Zippo stabbed again. The knife was a cheap move, but it was the only way. He stabbed again.

Please.

Both men fell to the ground. Big-T was screaming. And there was blood. The knife was covered. Zippo’s hands were covered. He held the blood against Big-T’s throat.

No more, the saturated ground pleaded.

What are you waiting for? Big-T groaned. Finish it.

Please, no more blood.

Footsteps

She tugged his hand the way she would tug the harness of a stubborn mule or a complacent cow. This happened every time they neared the ocean. Her husband’s bare feet levitated six inches off the ground as he leaned toward the sound of crashing waves. She waited, patiently at first, while he stared through the trees, searching for a broad expanse of blue.

But there were appointments to keep and errands to run, of which she began to remind him. He didn’t move. So, she moved for him, leaning in the direction of the road. At first, it seemed like he was dragging his heels, even though he was floating, but eventually, he turned away from the sea. With each of his wife’s steps, he sank lower, until his feet began to scrape along the earth, forcing him to walk along with her.

That night, she washed his battered feet. The scabs had broken open again. They were getting worse. But he never complained. I love you dearly, dearly, he had told her long ago. But someday I may try to leave you. Just hold onto my hand. She was beginning to wonder if she truly understood those words.

Changed

Disasters, miracles, open war: there were many fantastic stories in those days. It was hard to know what to believe, but it was still possible to hope.

There were many stories about you too. You were everywhere and nowhere; no one knew if you were a hero or a villain or what such words even meant anymore. Back when the trains were still running, I took one all the way to Chicago because they said you were there. I walked the streets for days, asking questions, following crowds, climbing through broken windows of abandoned storefronts for a place to sleep. I never saw you.

Now, I wonder if stories still reach that little town. The world seems so much bigger, so much smaller now. I follow the roads that I can, but never really know where they will lead. I wonder what you hear about me--if anything. I still wonder what would have happened if I had followed you from the beginning.

After the fires, stories stopped coming. I asked around, but heard nothing. Then one day, I saw you walking down the street. You looked right at me, then walked away. I finally understood the world had changed.

String

In the dust and darkness of that attic was much memory, but little treasure. Malcolm wasn't supposed to be there, but he was used to doing things he wasn't supposed to. He always hated visiting his grandpa in that gloomy house anyway. His parents told him to have a good attitude, but he knew that in private they called grandpa closed and a shadow of himself.

So, while the adults talked, Malcolm's mild transgression was saving him from complete boredom. Whether by instinct or by fate, he moved toward the one item in the attic with real value. The case had gone unopened for decades; the clasps were so corroded they barely moved. Somehow, Malcolm pried it open, and light fell on graceful curves, smooth mahogany, glistening bronze. Of course, Malcolm didn't know that this guitar's magic had enabled his grandpa to pack stadiums or that when the magic was used up, both man and instrument--suddenly ordinary, suddenly useless--had been shut away.

Nevertheless, feeling a sense of purpose for the first time, Malcolm lifted the guitar and plucked a single string. Downstairs, a tear trickled down his grandpa's cheek. But as the note vibrated, Malcolm came into being.

Road

The road rolled away beneath their tires, as it had for the last three days.

"AWESOME BURGERS, EXIT NOW!" one billboard proclaimed.

"Cash for Gold," offered another.

Are we there yet? Todd asked sarcastically, not looking up from his phone.

Aaron had stopped laughing at the joke days ago, but now that they were actually close, the question made him smile.

"Eastbound Traffic Keep Right," a large green sign alerted them.

A Flying J truck stop day just off the highway.

Thirty miles to go, Aaron thought. We won't need to stop again.

And the signs whizzed past . . .

"Kansas City--175"

"Speed Limit 65"

"Edgar Nelson Parkway"

They took exit 39 and turned left in front of the Liquor and Stuff.

Todd finally looked up from his phone. Everything's still here, he said. "It's all the same.

A little different, Aaron said, pointing to Riverside Cafe, which now stood where there used to be a dive bar they had frequented in college.

They took Washington across the train tracks where the yellow RR X-ing sign was still dented after all those years.

Aaron was checking the license plate of the Toyota ahead for a Z and never saw the stoplight.

Crack (i)

Bob couldn’t move. He stood on one foot in the middle of a broken slab of sidewalk cement. A moment after stepping of the bus and realizing his situation, he’d done a quick calculation in his head. It had been exactly thirteen years, thirteen months, and thirteen days since the last time he stepped on a crack. The number was undeniably significant.

All those years ago, he had been a cocky thirteen year old who decided he had spent far too long taking awkward strides through halls and across parking lots just because of a silly children’s rhyme. Walking to school that day, he had deliberately stepped on every crack in his path, a task which also required a great number of awkward strides. But then he was pulled out of school early that day. His father took him to visit his mother in the hospital. That morning, she had slipped off of a ladder and broken her back.

Now, Bob was again poised on the edge of fate. Maybe eight feet away there was a slab of unbroken concrete. From there he’d be fine. Bob jumped. He tripped. He heard the cracking of vertebrae.

Bob never took another step.

World

I just want a way out. Out of my seat, out of this restaurant, out of your life. I don't know how long I've been silent. I don't know if I am paralyzed or if time has slowed. I only know I want to escape your eyes that look at me so intently.

What if I did it, just stood up and walked away. Would you follow me? Of course you would. I could get into my car and drive, but you would call, maybe even show up at my door. How far would I have to run before you stopped? In another city, would