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Drowning in Air
March 29, 2026 in 299 Words, Flash Fiction, Autism, Monologue, Metaphor, Life on the Spectrum, Publicity, Opportunism, Media, Broadcast, Opportunist, Self-importance | Tags: Faith, Writing, Fiction, veryshortnovels, 299 Words, Books, jesus, microfiction, Autism, spectrum | by davidbdale | Leave a comment
Come in! We’re The Fishes! Welcome to The Aquarium! Hahaha no of course not. Not officially. Just a nickname. Dude, an ice-breaker. Drop it. Is this for broadcast? We’ll start in Michael’s room then. How big’s your crew? Shoot from the door maybe. Again, this nursery-room mobile of origami fishes has hung over Michael’s dresser since he was ill-conceived. The big blue fish represents me: Daddy Fish. Here’s Missus Fish, the yellow one. Sister Fish. Other Sister Fish. And Michael, currently purple. Correct. It hangs lower because it’s been repainted. Uh-huh. Often. I know. It upsets the dynamic. I fixed it once, but Michael objected as if I’d whacked him. What? How dare you. You there. Let him be. He’s self-regulating, OK? Take a course. Well you’re in his room, so. Want your headphones, Michael? My Boy. Now notice each drawer contains just one garment type— What the— Hey, don’t move that! Not for angles, not for nothing. Again, the garment drawings indicate the contents— Is the Fishmobile a metaphor for what? Look, I didn’t invite you here for this. There are real challenges, peckerhead. Cuts to government funding, accessibility issues, what the hell happens when Michael ages out of school…. Sorry. You’re right. This is just the latest in a lifetime of long mornings. You like metaphors?: when he was two, something kidnapped our son. It dropped a hook into the family and pulled him from the water flapping. We’d suffocate where he lives down there beyond reach, and he can’t breathe where we live. Get it? We wait every day to land a glimpse of him, and when we do, we wish we hadn’t because it’s like watching him drown in air. So. You need more footage? Squeeze in here. You’re gonna wanna witness lunchtime. Makeup!
Original Copyright © March 18, 2007
Revised Copyright © March 28, 2026
Disproving Angels
June 10, 2008 in 299 Words, Entertainment, Family, Fiction, Flash Fiction, How-To, Humor, Literature, novels, Philosophy, Religion, Science, Short stories, Stories, Technology, Very Short Novels, Writing | Tags: Dialogue, Doubt, Faith, Hope, language, Rhetoric, Science, Technology | by davidbdale | 8 comments
—So, what are we looking at here?
—You tell me.
—It’s a . . . smudge, right?
—Charlie says it’s the human soul.
—He also thinks gluons are guardian angels.
—That’s hard to disprove too.
We’ve seen it all in this lab, at least the tiny stuff, and we couldn’t observe it without the instruments. In other words, every day we press our noses against the nearly invisible.
—It moves.
—It’s been doing that all day.
—I’m not used to seeing anything move.
—Well, no, we look at dead things.
Not technically dead, I guess, not always. Ultrathin slices of cellular tissue have life in them you could say, but they don’t move. That’s different.
—What’s your theory?
—Malfunctioning equipment.
—And if it isn’t?
—Flawed observation.
—And if it can be replicated?
—In other labs? By other observers?
—Yes.
—Mass hallucination.
—Are you sure you mean mass?
—Serial hallucination.
—Induced by?
—Undue influence of prior results.
—But how do you explain the first results?
—Malfunctioning equipment.
Yes, we talk like this, at the lab, and at home. Bullying me with dialectic on the job serves a scientific purpose. At home, it pisses me off and ruins his chances of getting me into bed.
—Have you rebooted the scanner?
—Hoping it will disappear so we won’t have to explain it?
—Yep.
That would suit me too. I thrive on white shadows of anti-matter in my professional and my personal life. If fluctuating charges in rogue electrons could explain my partner’s bitchy behavior, I’d be relieved, but the soul? No. If we’ve found it, and it’s confirmed, there’s an end to wiggle room. We’re together but single because he gives me room for doubt. Anything that proves itself makes me squirm, and I’ll want out. Of course, that’s only a theory.
Copyright © 2008, 2025 David Hodges
Very Short Novels 