Requiem For a Muse: Reprise

You were at your wake.


I sauntered to the bar and
ordered a bowl of my own
words.


Because I'd time to see I'd never written more than when
you moved into my temples.


So, I sigh. Relieved. Resigned.


And push over my shot glass
for you to ink.




50-word poem by Lisa Falzon

Shadow

I'm tied to a shadow.

I'd never known that I'd been lonely, till it skated by and
laced itself to my boots.

Taller than I and slightly ahead of me,
it trips me into bed sometimes, and snuffs out
the light.

Then the world is his, and so am I.


micro-fiction by Lisa Falzon.

little sorrow

You go ahead and deal with the world's sorrows.
Korea. Fundamentalism. Battered baby seals.

Me, I've just one little sorrow to tend to, on this little patch of Now.

If harvest ever comes, you'll learn how the world isn't given to sharing.
Whereas I, I'll have my one bright bloom.



50-word story by Lisa Falzon

match made in heaven

With single-mindedness, she fished out every single star from the night. Then presented them to him, in a bucket, thinking he'd appreciate the  surprise. Some bobbed dead on the surface, others beat feebly.
He cupped one dying star in his hand, tears in his eyes. Then snuffed it out. Delighted.


50-word-story by Lisa Falzon

Revolving Door

Joy slipped giggling out of my grip before I could snatch one last kiss. He paused by the revolving door teasingly, turned, blew me a kiss then pushed himself out, sending the door spinning - pushing in keen Misery, who hurtled towards me open-armed, wet and clinging. Her turn at last.

50-word story

king of the oasis

Sweet fruits, cool water, loving hands. Anything that could possibly be desired could be found in this oasis of his own making.
But all he did these days was stand in his palace balcony and stare out towards the scorching, killing dunes. The one thing left for him to want.


50-word-story by Lisa Falzon

the sentence

I kneel in the arena.
And the firing-squad, they each wear my face. So does every single spectator, roaring for my death. And so does the emperor, laurel-wreathed, who thumbing-down signals for my execution.

And so does the devil, I soon realise. I should've known there was no getting away.

Requiem For a Muse

Reluctantly, I pluck you out of my mind's labyrinth, put you in a burial ship. Watch it float, aflame, while my orchestra plays a funeral dirge.
And hope I won't turn up at the wake to find you there, drinking. As I might not be above necrophilia where you're concerned.

50-word-story by Lisa Falzon

Of mouths and teeth

I know you dislike your mouth, for all its missing teeth.
But all I can think of, I confess, is running my tongue over their ghosts.
People would greatly better themselves by taking a rock to their mouth and knocking out a few. Just to have a mouth like yours.




macabre little love story, 50 worditoes, by myself Lisa!

The Sculptor

She lay still in her chloroform dream.
He'd made little marks in pen over her face, as guides to the amendments required. He rose to put on his favourite Edith Piaff record, then straddled her chest. A photograph of his ex in one hand. A scalpel knife in the other.

50-word story

By Royal Decree

Where is my tithe of young men? Bring them to my dining table. Line them up, there's a heartbreak quota I must reach. 
Make them shy and inexperienced. Make them willing. Make them enamoured of me.
For I've an appetite for cruelty this morning, and I like my hearts sunny-side-up.


50-word-decree by HRH Lisa Falzon

Who's afraid?

Little Red knocked.
She heard footsteps. The door opened in on a house that smelled like old people.
She scrutinised the figure in the nightie quickly. Small eyes. Small nose. And not a single tooth! It was granny after all.
Her heart sank. When, oh when would it be him?


50-word-fairytale by Lisa Falzon

Snagged

Look what I snagged in my hair! This fleeting apparition, trailing leather, furs and feathers.
Sadly I can keep nothing more substantial than her shadow, impaled in my heart on the spokes of pretty words.
But there is at least some solace to be had in making love to ghosts.


50-word-story by Lisa Falzon who for an inconsiderable length of time was wallowing in the despair of making love to ghosts (this edit being created 2 years later when she has wisened up)

all in the name of research

The scientist, delighted, discovered a girl who cultured a galaxy on her nape, had roses on her limbs, and gold powdered on her lashes everytime she batted them.

Astronomy, Botany and Alchemy, she defied the rules of man’s science.
But she was ready to risk professional ridicule to study her.




50-word-stoy by, you guess right, Lisa Falzon the microfiction obsessee.