Microfiction Combo Pack

  Here are three microfiction (100 words, or less) stories written over the last two weeks (OK, I wrote two of them, and came up with the third by re-working an older story). They were written for a contest run by a friend on The Facebook.

  I don't usually write this kind of stuff, and wasn't going to enter the contest, but a few ideas popped into my head (you never know when, where, or how inspiration will strike). Each story had to contain the words "rattling" and "wall."

  Enjoy.

- Bud

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To Be, Or Not To Be

  Every day, for as long as he could remember, Bartleby awoke with the same questions rattling against the walls of his weary brain: Would a person be considered suicidal if he simply didn't care if he woke up in the morning? If he were disappointed by the realization he had to struggle through at least one more day before he could finally lie down and die, ending the spiral of pain and confusion life had become? If he sometimes contemplated an act he knew himself too chickenshit to actually commit?

  Grudgingly, he rose to endure yet another day of emptiness.

Those Who Cannot Remember the Past

                                                 

  The insatiate gathered above Wall Street, on gilded balconies overlooking the rabble – the indebted; those without jobs; those left homeless when the housing bubble burst, and so many banks collapsed, rattling the economic security of the middle-class – the self-proclaimed 99 percent. They laughed, took pictures, and mocked the people; toasting the disaffected with champagne sipped from crystal flutes. They were among the elite in a world of margins and algorithms; puts and calls; dollars and cents. But, insular, and blinded by their greed, they could not feel the heat of a fire whose glow already lit the horizon.

Fallback Guy

  "Please," she cried, grabbing him.

  He avoided her gaze as her fingers sank into the fabric of his jacket.

  "Please, kiss me," she pleaded. "I know I hurt you. But, I love you. And, if you kiss me right now everything will be OK."

  He looked into her eyes. Everything he'd wanted stood before the wall he'd built; the words he'd desired to hear rang in his ears. And, the memories of every time she'd hurt him; of every time she'd disappeared; when she'd chosen someone else, rattling his sanity, flowed through his brain.

  "I can't," he said, turning away.

Satire and "The Line"

  As a writer, I am always leery of passing too harsh a judgment on other writers; especially when it comes to attempts at satire. As George Carlin says, "I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately."

  I've written my share of satire. I've toed – perhaps even crossed – that line more than once. I've made word choices for effect. But, what The Onion did last night during the Academy Awards – what they called Quvenzhané Wallis, a nine-year-old child – was well over any possible definition of "the line."

  While I certainly am not the final judge of what is or isn't funny – at least not for anyone but myself – I think any rational person would be offended by The Onion's insulting remark regarding Ms. Wallis.

  Because she was seated at the Oscar ceremony, waiting to find out if she won the award for Best Actress, I'm sure Ms. Wallis did not see the Twitter post from The Onion. And – though it may be naïve of me – I hope she does not see the apology they posted soon after. I hope no one has to explain to a nine-year-old what The Onion said that required – that demanded – an apology.

  I believe in the First Amendment. The Onion has the right to write whatever they please. I, however, am not forced to agree with them. Nor, am I obligated to continue following them on Facebook, Google+, Tumblr, and Twitter.

  I have, therefore, expunged The Onion from each of the social media platforms I use.