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Six Super Short Short Stories
by Chris Red Martiny

“Oh, I Felt Like Dust”

Whistle goes the snow, whistle, whistle. The window is speckled with grit stains and cigarette ash, past which brown ponds of road can be seen drearily mucking by.

“Sun Comes Up Again This Morning”

I want to be in a shipwreck and survive. God killed himself in 1985.

“Making Noise and How It Feels”

Once there was a man who ordered a glass of wine in business class on a 747 from O’Hare to John Wayne and when they were up there in the sky he saw the sky and it was beautiful and he almost cried because the colors, he thought, were angelic and inspired some great joy in his bones and his ears popped and his eyes watered, and he thought this is why they sell tickets, and suddenly he was surrounded by beautiful air noise and he wanted to be part of it and he stood up and he looked at the other passengers who were quietly reading their copies of the in-flight magazine and were not looking out the window, and he addressed them with one word he said: TROPOSPHERE!

“The Road to Considerable Energy”

A boy went swimming naked in the Pacific Ocean. A man lit a match in the darkness and it was snowing. Two American police in blue arrested an American citizen in brown and black. A woman rode to the end of the line, which was Coney Island, and saw a cemetery on the way.

“Map of the Animal Heart”

There were two death-orange tigers in a cage, sitting around contently and comfortably in the cool shade of the bars, when the first tiger who was a male asked the second tiger who was a female “Do you want to have sex?” and they did.

“An American Battle of Ignoble Beasts”

Two people sat quietly staring into yellow space and not before long two thick cumulous clouds developed over their heads and eventually they looked up above them and noticed what they were in the shadow of and said, loudly: OH ISN’T THIS NICE! They died five years later on the same day.

About the author:
CHRISTOPHER RED MARTINY encountered a homeless man on the street in Brooklyn who had large bloody holes where his temples should be. When he told the man his face was falling off, the man giggled and his response was, “I know!” Christopher handed over all the money he had on him to this man because his need was not as great and also he was extremely drunk on malt liquor.

© 2011 Word Riot

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Midnight Picnic
a novel by
Nick Antosca


The Suburban Swindle

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