The following microfictions were created for Writing Research and Technology.
"The Conversation" is based on the tweet below. The tweet is the first line of the story.
The line "I will no longer be made to feel ashamed of existing." in "Red" was taken from page 6 of How to Tame a Wild Tongue, a chapter of "Borderland/La Frontera" by Gloria Anzaldua.
"The Conversation" is based on the tweet below. The tweet is the first line of the story.
The line "I will no longer be made to feel ashamed of existing." in "Red" was taken from page 6 of How to Tame a Wild Tongue, a chapter of "Borderland/La Frontera" by Gloria Anzaldua.
This tweet was used to create "The Conversation"
The Conversation
I can’t live with her, but I definitely can’t live without her. I walk in the door and the burdens of the week begin to lift. It’s been a long one. “Hi” she says, “I haven’t seen you all week. How was it?” These three magic words are the only excuse I need to tear down the defensive wall that’s been under construction all week. I tell her the whole lot; the lows, the highs and everything in between. I tell her about the one part of my week from hell that I’m proud of. I worked up the nerve to tell my boss that I deserve a raise. She’d been telling me I should for as long as I can remember. I was confident, succinct and resolute, just like my boss when she told me no. I tell her how I’m not sure if I should continue if I’m not going to get what I deserve. Saying that out loud makes me cry because thought of leaving a job I love and having to do something else is overwhelming. Despite the tangled yarn of emotions I’m feeling I can’t help but to be at peace. I’m home now and she’s going to tell me how to make it all come together. I am finally silent and look to her with tear filled eyes of expectation. “You know, you really should ask your boss for a raise” she says. “If she says no, you should seriously consider doing something else.”
Red
Louis avoided the stare of a scowling older woman, walked to the curb and unlocked his car on auto-pilot. He didn’t see the red until he got in and noticed that sunlight wasn’t penetrating the windows as it should be. It was then that he looked up and saw what looked like blood smeared on all of the windows. They had concentrated on his windshield so he couldn’t drive it. A lump was working its way up his throat, but he defiantly forced it back with a hard swallow. He turned on his windshield wipers. They smeared the top layer of the crimson paint, but the bottom layer had dried. He had grown accustomed to this type of harassment. His neighbors had taunted him mercilessly since he moved into the apartment building. They saw the term “registered sex offender” and only thought of one thing. He hadn’t touched a child since he was a child, but they had no interest in hearing that. She had been his girlfriend and only two years younger than him. None of that mattered to anyone, the judge, the girl’s parents, potential employers. I will no longer be made to feel ashamed of existing. He went back into his apartment, turned all four burners to gas, doused his curtains, mattress and couch in lighter fluid and set them all ablaze. He walked back down the steps, waved to a smirking older woman and walked to work.
I can’t live with her, but I definitely can’t live without her. I walk in the door and the burdens of the week begin to lift. It’s been a long one. “Hi” she says, “I haven’t seen you all week. How was it?” These three magic words are the only excuse I need to tear down the defensive wall that’s been under construction all week. I tell her the whole lot; the lows, the highs and everything in between. I tell her about the one part of my week from hell that I’m proud of. I worked up the nerve to tell my boss that I deserve a raise. She’d been telling me I should for as long as I can remember. I was confident, succinct and resolute, just like my boss when she told me no. I tell her how I’m not sure if I should continue if I’m not going to get what I deserve. Saying that out loud makes me cry because thought of leaving a job I love and having to do something else is overwhelming. Despite the tangled yarn of emotions I’m feeling I can’t help but to be at peace. I’m home now and she’s going to tell me how to make it all come together. I am finally silent and look to her with tear filled eyes of expectation. “You know, you really should ask your boss for a raise” she says. “If she says no, you should seriously consider doing something else.”
Red
Louis avoided the stare of a scowling older woman, walked to the curb and unlocked his car on auto-pilot. He didn’t see the red until he got in and noticed that sunlight wasn’t penetrating the windows as it should be. It was then that he looked up and saw what looked like blood smeared on all of the windows. They had concentrated on his windshield so he couldn’t drive it. A lump was working its way up his throat, but he defiantly forced it back with a hard swallow. He turned on his windshield wipers. They smeared the top layer of the crimson paint, but the bottom layer had dried. He had grown accustomed to this type of harassment. His neighbors had taunted him mercilessly since he moved into the apartment building. They saw the term “registered sex offender” and only thought of one thing. He hadn’t touched a child since he was a child, but they had no interest in hearing that. She had been his girlfriend and only two years younger than him. None of that mattered to anyone, the judge, the girl’s parents, potential employers. I will no longer be made to feel ashamed of existing. He went back into his apartment, turned all four burners to gas, doused his curtains, mattress and couch in lighter fluid and set them all ablaze. He walked back down the steps, waved to a smirking older woman and walked to work.
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