Well it’s another Monday which means I have another installment of Micro Mondays.
After grabbing breakfast at a nearby cafe (the only thing open during Labour Day apparently) I went to snap a few pictures of the Little Free Library near my house. I’m not going to talk too much about the tiny library movement today since I’ll be talking about it quite a bit during these segments but I’ll give you the basics. Apparently back in 2009 a man in Wisconsin built a small house on a pole that resembled a schoolhouse as a tribute for his mother who used to be a school teacher. He put books in the box-house and the neighbours loved it and the idea and it started to take off. Flash forward to today and you can find these things in most residential areas of Toronto. Continue reading
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Today I’m going to share an unpublished piece of microfiction I wrote a few years back about the horrors of those tiny pests you can’t always see.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.