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Let’s all have a laugh at humanity, while we still have a sense of humor about ourselves. It’s getting dark out there, my friends, where we make what we call our livings, but here in the room, where we stage our private movies, where we are stars, it’s blindingly brightly lighted by design, mirrored and multiply-reflected, white on pink on stark white sheets and shadows flee before us. Still. We’re funny. Could we be naked and not be funny? Seen in our entirety, with back-story and motives, we’re charming and slightly ridiculous. Our mismatched genes, those cross-wired brains, these farcical downward story arcs make us sympathetic supporting characters if not small heroes, certainly not villains, but from an individual angle, directly overhead from a distance of, say, here to the mirror on the ceiling, we look exactly like the funny animals we are, pink and poignant, poking one another. In the mirror to the side of the bed, I catch a glimpse of a creature that has no business in my fantasy. He’s not at all how I pictured myself just now with my eyes closed playing for romance and yet, he’s doing exactly what I think I’m doing to this gorgeous reflection of you, and yes, you look indisputably fantastic, identical and fine, here and in the mirror, so who’s that stand-in with my haircut, doing such an unconvincing impression of me? Tomorrow we take down all this diminishing glass. We’ll do what we’ve always done. My eyes will be your only mirror, yours mine. We’ll look at each other and find ourselves. And just before we start to laugh, we’ll catch a glimmer of how we’re loved and get a sense of why. Then when we laugh, we’ll laugh until we cry like no animal we know.
Original Copyright March 24, 2007
Revised Copyright April 17, 2026
Short Superman is not fully convincing. He stands before the mirror stretching to his more-than-adequate height and wonders why his cape hangs limp across his shoulders. It should billow behind him. There should be wind beneath it and in his blue-black hair, and this bedroom with its defeated carpet should be the mountaintop of his achievement and glory. The world needs rescuing, and Short Superman’s been overlooked. Meanwhile, his Super Hearing detects the commuter train rolling over tracks that run past his window. He’ll have to do some Super Hurrying or be late for work. This report needs your special touch, Short Superman! My project is late, Short Superman, can you help me? Short Superman! Hold that elevator door! His hand darts to the doorframe faster than thought. Effortlessly he halts the progress of the diabolical horizontal guillotine threatening his direct reports. As if by design, the door reopens, restoring synergistic alignment in the workforce and making way for adventure. Thanks, SS! We’re going for drinks. Wanna come? Now, although drinks are kryptonite to Short Superman, camaraderie is his credo, and these good citizens may have clues to the riddle of his murky identity. Of course he’ll join them! At street level, though, Short Superman senses danger like a question mark hovering in the air and dashes off in pursuit of dastardliness. And now his cape does billow with the urgency of his mission. Godspeed, Short Superman! We believe in you this time! Not long after, our hero tosses back shots at the Fortress of Solitude bar on K Street and bores the bartender with comic book tales of managerial metrics he has destroyed without much thanks. You know that stuff is poison, Short Superman. Maybe you should take it easy. Don’t you have short Super Villains to catch?
Original Copyright © March 07, 2007
Revised Copyright © March 09, 2026
Very Short Novels 
Thank you so much, anhinga, but I wouldn't want to try it without the other 199. —David
Why, thank you, brother. It's wonderful to see you here. :) —David
All you need is 100 words to make an emotional impact. Touching.
Brilliant, brother. Just simply brilliant.
This Very Short Novel has a strong resemblance to Simple Lessons of War from almost 20 years ago, but is…