Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.
With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.
UNWELCOME VISITOR
I stood at the stove, slowly stirring a pot of soup. My temples throbbed. My nerves twitched. It had been a particularly stressful day.
I sensed his arrival. “You’re not welcome here,” I hissed.
I stopped stirring the soup and turned to look him in the eyes, but couldn’t. I chose to focus on his mouth instead.
His grin wobbled my conviction. That grin always wobbled me, always had and probably always would.
His aura seemed to fill the entire entryway, nay the room. He took a step toward me, and my resolve teetered. Present, past, and future fought for supremacy in my head, making the kitchen spin and by gut twist.
He came yet closer, and I caught his stench – both familiar and repulsive, both enticing me and simultaneously pushing me away.
“How long’s it been?” he asked with a smirk.
“I said, you’re not welcome here.” But was that true?
“11, 12 years?”
“16,” I answered through clenched teeth. “Now get out,” I spat as I closed the gap between us.
Without distance between us, I had no choice but to look into his eyes. They were just the way I remember them, both dead and alive.
He pulled that all-too-familiar bottle from the tattered folds of his jacket. “For old time’s sake?” he said with a wink.
He removed the cork and put the bottle in my hand, wrapping my fingers around its smooth warm glass. “Cheers.” He whispered in my ear.
My hand flexed on that bottle, and I hated myself for not letting go of it. It had been such a hard day.
I could smell the astringent scent wafting from the open bottle as I brought it to my lips with tears streaming down my cheeks. That’s when an inner voice spoke – barely heard. Yet, I would not ignore it. Don’t throw away 16 years.
“You’re not welcome here! Leave now!”
His smile became a scowl. I took a step back and chucked the bottle at him. But both bottle and apparition evaporated before my target was reached. His voice whispered as he left, “I’m never far away.”
I wiped the tears away with trembling hands, staring at where he’d been. 16 years. I won’t go back. I can’t.
Turning back toward my soup, I tried to forget him. He’s no longer a part of me! He’s no longer a part of who I am.
But deep down I knew better. He was part of me, of who I was at least – my past.
Shawn Brink (writing under Shawn D. Brink and Shawn David Brink) resides in Eastern Nebraska, U.S.A. and is represented by Liverman Literary Agency. He’s building a following with a growing list of novels (mainly speculative fiction), as well as shorter works published in various publications and anthologies. His sixth novel, ‘Bound by Blood’, was released in 2024 through Tell-Tale Publishing Group. Check out his website to learn more: https://shawnbrinkauthor.wordpress.com/.
If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.
Iron Faerie Publishing 