I’ve been meaning to start a few recurring segments on this page so starting today Mondays will now be Micro Mondays. In these posts I’ll look at the microscopic side of writing. Whether it’s the Little Free Libraries that inhabit the different neighbourhoods of the city or the advent of microfiction or looking at the books for the micro-adults (children) I will be putting on my ant-suit and shrinking down to take a closer look.
Today I’m going to share an unpublished piece of microfiction I wrote a few years back about the horrors of those tiny pests you can’t always see. I hope you enjoy Tiny Bites
Itchy. Above the skin. I can feel them. On my arm hair. Small bites smaller than the eye can see but still my nerve endings go off like hundreds of mini fireworks. I scratch. The red skin fades to white. Relief. The discomfort moves. Merges with the skin. They crawl. It crawls. The whole sensation crawls. Powder. Bath. Water. Collar. Liquids. No solution. On me. On my clothes. In my bed. The scrapes become scratches become slices become lacerations on my skin. The opening allows them to get under.
My cat casually paws at its neck.