Little General
He had arrayed his
army men in platoons all over his room. Those infantrymen not pointed toward
the door stood lookout at the window, and near the drawers where the boy kept
his most valuable things: baseball cards and a watch.
Soldiers at the
window shook as the pane rattled. This was the door slam, which the boy knew
could happen, but could not prepare for. This was his mother, late for work,
beginning her decent into bitterness, and his father still yelling from the
couch.
Eventually, the house
quieted. The boy said, "At ease." But the soldiers remained stiff.
Michael Neal Morris
lives with his family outside the Dallas area, and teaches at Eastfield
College. Several of his short stories and poems have recently appeared or are
forthcoming in Figroot Press, Flash: The International Short-Short Story
Magazine, Sick Lit, Microliterature, and RumbleFish Press.
At Times…Wrestling:
https://mnm44.wordpress.com/
Tags:
Short Fiction