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Good Narrative Principles

Category Archives: Micro Fiction

Super-short
stories.
Brief flashes
of brilliance.

May 30, 2023
by Lee Eiferman
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Character Flash: Waiting for the News

All day long I’ve been waiting for the phone to ring. For the text to arrive. I’m supposed to get word today. Been walking with my phone in my pocket…in my hand. It sits beside me at the table when I’m eating.

Around 2 pm or so, I had enough. Decided to go swimming. Pool was crowded, three to a lane.  Afterwards, all three shower stalls were occupied. The fourth was out of order. I stood facing the clock. Trying to maintain my cool, thinking “how long can they take?” Five minutes tops. I listened for any encouraging sound, something that might indicate that one of them was wrapping it up. After six minutes, I lost it. Thought about my phone sitting in the locker ringing away. How would I know? And so, I cleared my throat. A heartbeat later, all three women stepped out of the shower. And yes, in case you’re wondering, there was a text waiting for me. (Notice how I’m not sharing the nature of the news with you?)

May 30, 2023
by Lee Eiferman
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Character Flash: I Keep Hitting the Button…

…and nothing seems to happen. I’m on one screen. I want to quit out of it but it won’t let me. There’s a line forming in front of me. I’m sensing their hostility which makes me tense. So, I try not to look up.

Everyone is at this meeting. I won’t even get into why I wasn’t invited. Can’t say it was the best idea to leave me alone at the desk handling new patient registrations, sick call requests and what have you. I was hoping to finish a new sweater for the little one. But now…I doubt I’ll get any knitting done.

May 30, 2023
by Lee Eiferman
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Character Flash: Help Oscar Find a New Home

The photo is deceiving. Oscar isn’t a terrier or a Cavalier King Charles (though I do love the name of the breed). I’m an animal person, just not really a dog person. Guess you could say my specialty is animals which live in the wild. The wilder the better.

I’m an air traffic controller which is a story for another day. What I most like to do in my spare time is volunteer at the Animal Exchange, helping zoos exchange say an African Elephant for a spare cheetah. I also solicit donations to help with the transport of wild animals from here to there. Feel free to donate. It takes a special skill set to calm an elephant sufficiently to walk into a box and stay calm during the two, three days of transport. Stand by as a bend your heart (and hopefully your wallet) while relaying the story of Oscar, the hyena, slowly losing his mind at Paul Bunyan Animal Land in Bemidji, Wisconsin. He sorely needs a new home in a warmer locale. We’re tax deductible.

May 30, 2023
by Lee Eiferman
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Character Flash: She Has it Going

Count yourself lucky if she’s on duty when you arrive at the ER. You’re having the worst day of your life and she’s calm as a cloud, scanning your body to figure out what’s going on. Sure, sometimes she slips up. She’s no superwoman. But, generally she’s spot on. Knows which tests need to be ordered. Has a theory or two about which part of your body has gone awry. Shares it with the doctor on call. I could imagine she’s a boon to Residents who are still putting together the numerous ways our bodies can malfunction.

A few weeks after my “event” I came back to bring her flowers. While waiting to hand them to her, I overheard two nurses talking about the time they went to Karaoke with her.  Damn, if she couldn’t belt out a mean version of Proud Mary. She had the moves down.

May 30, 2023
by Lee Eiferman
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Character Flash: The Not So Honest Liar

I admit I’m mathematically challenged. As a kid, I was always disappointed by the lame narratives wrapped around a verbal math problem. The alleged story was always crammed with booby traps masquerading as burning questions. I never heard enough about the grandmother riding on the train to visit her family. Who cares when her train will arrive? We still don’t know the most basic things about her.  Was she a good cook? A math whiz? A sharp shooter? Maybe that’s why it took me forever to figure out the game my advisor at the bank was playing when I asked if he sold T-Bills. Naturally, his answer was neither yes or no. Instead, he uncorked a twenty-minute monologue, rendering me numb. He had this uncanny ability to present falsehoods as facts. Like, did you know, in the event of a bank failure, the FDIC can take up to ninety years to pay me back? True? Not true? You tell me.

May 30, 2023
by Lee Eiferman
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Character Flash: I Am Surrounded by Fussy People

I’m not exactly a “go with the flow” person. I have my opinions, my beliefs. I don’t like skim milk, for instance. It ruins a cup of coffee. But then again, some of more fussy friends believe that coffee is best served black. Full stop. Period. No allowance can ever be made for a tender stomach that simply can’t handle the infusion of acid. If your stomach is that finely tuned, they would say, you should probably switch to something more benign. I suppose surrounding myself with “fussy people” helps to keep me in line. Helps me from becoming…what? Mediocre?

November 5, 2020
by Lee Eiferman
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Books I’m Reading Now: A Different Kind of Toy Story

A guy starts off his working life as a lithographer. This is right after the Civil War. He suffers through his industry’s financial ups and downs and is a terrible businessman. He makes a deal. Shakes on it. Goes home to his wife. We see that they’re struggling in poverty. She points out the flaws of his brilliant deal which he now feels duty bound to fulfill even though it will lead him further into bankruptcy.

He plays a game of checkers with his friend that night to take his mind off his worries and has a grand time. The next day, while fulfilling his lithography contract, he sketches out this idea of a game with dice played on a board much like checkers. His friend fills in the details. Gives the story of the game a forward momentum. Our guy mocks up a prototype in his off hours. Raids his wife’s cookie jar of scant savings to buy a table at an annual toy fair. He’s about to sell is game to an enterprising fellow, but thinks better of it. Goes back to his wife who cooks up a much better deal which in turn makes them rich but, and importantly, sets him off on a new life where his talents are recognized.

May 24, 2019
by Lee Eiferman
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The Scent of Foul Play

Peach vape smell, mingled with wet cash and rancid perfume. Can’t wash the smell off, I tried. We found the sodden large leather tote in the park this morning while walking the dog. Her driver’s license states that today is her birthday. Wet keys. No phone. Stray credit cards next to a swollen notebook filled with neat handwriting. Brought the bag to the cops. Could be foul. I’ll never know.

August 8, 2018
by Lee Eiferman
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It Goes Back to Noah

“The hummingbird is at the feeder.” This is the first line she commits to paper in her new writing shed. There is no hummingbird at the feeder as she doesn’t own one. She meant to order one online, the poetry of which appealed to her. Instead, she spent her time unpacking her books, carefully, thoughtfully, making sure authors with complimentary sensibilities sat side by side.

Hungry for a sign that would be equal to a thumbs up from the universe, (the hummingbird at the non-existent feeder would have done the trick) she looks out her western facing window and sees this.

(Photo: Ellen Hopkins Fountain)

May 17, 2018
by Lee Eiferman
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Holding Hands

I do this thing every week: I go hear (and see) my friend improvise on the piano for forty minutes or so. He’s pretty amazing and astonishing, playing on a Steinway with its original sound board. The kick of it is witnessing him leap from one style to the next as the spirit takes him. I always leave feeling blessed, lucky to have fallen into this weekly ritual.

Sometimes my husband comes with me, sometimes not. It all depends on whether or not he’s at home or at some far-flung place. My husband is what you’d call “an important man”. It’s lonely work for both of us.

The weekly musical event takes place in his living room where there’s a deep couch, the sort which is easy for a short-legged person like myself to slide ever so gradually to the floor. The couch is not my favorite spot to listen. But last week I arrived late, without my husband, and so, had to squeeze onto the couch between a friend and a stranger name “Jerry” who seemed pleasant enough.

As I slipped into the music, I absentmindedly extended my hand closer to Jerry seated to my right, I suppose to brace myself. Halfway through a tender melodic piece, Jerry cradled my hand in his. I didn’t move it away. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because his hand was warm, dry to the touch, a bit naked.

The memory of his touch lingered through the week, flavoring my nightly routine, when work and the press of the to do list wasn’t generating the necessary distraction. I wondered why Jerry held my hand. I wondered who he was. I could have asked my friends, the host of the weekly piano recital, but the thought of bringing it up made me blush. Even if I were to text my friend the question, shot him an email or call, I could well imagine the blush, creeping from my neck, coloring my face to a deep strawberry glaze. I suppose you’d think it was guilt expressing itself, the dead weight of conflicting emotions, though honestly, I don’t feel guilty.

I’m very conscious of what I’ll wear tonight. It’s Wednesday after all. Jerry isn’t a regular. There’s a good chance that he won’t be there. I tell myself this, that he probably won’t come, using the same line of logic as when I prep myself for life’s little disappointments, an example of which I can’t think of right now, though, as soon as I sign off, a list of disappointments will readily spring to mind.