Maureen Sherbondy ~ Three Flash Fictions

The Homeless Knitter

A cre­ative woman was evict­ed from her small apart­ment for not pay­ing rent. She’d once had a large bank bal­ance until her husband’s health declined. His slow death wiped out their accounts.

Because she was ambi­tious and resource­ful, the woman plant­ed her­self in a cof­fee shop and got to work with her two knit­ting nee­dles. Her hands moved so quick­ly and skill­ful­ly that peo­ple stopped to watch.

What are you mak­ing?” cus­tomer after cus­tomer asked while wait­ing on the long line for morn­ing coffee.

She smiled, looked up from her task and said, “I need a place to live, so I’m knit­ting one. The prob­lem is that I’m almost out of yarn.”

Customers with rem­nants of dreams still fresh in their heads fond­ly remem­bered aunts and grand­moth­ers knit­ting scarves and hats for them as chil­dren. When the scent of rich cof­fee merged with nos­tal­gia, they returned with offer­ings of skeins of yarn for the home­less stranger.

After two weeks of knit­ting, the woman’s nee­dles shaped a tiny home com­posed of all col­ors of the rain­bow. The cof­fee shop own­er let her set up her liv­ing quar­ters behind his shop. There she lived for the rest of her very long life.

~

The Doctor Visit

The mid­dle-aged woman went to her gynecologist’s office because she felt odd bumps in her female area. Her moth­er had died from cer­vi­cal can­cer, so she had rea­son for con­cern. The woman tried hold­ing up a mir­ror to her gen­i­talia, but had bad vision and couldn’t fig­ure out the issue.

When she spread her legs on the raised table in Dr. Goldstein’s exam­in­ing room, he gasped. “I’ve nev­er seen any­thing like this before.”

If she died, who would take care of her three cats? “Is it can­cer?” she asked. Her legs wob­bled and it became hard to remain in this odd position.

No,” he said. “There’s a tiny vil­lage in there. A cof­fee shop, a few bou­tiques, restau­rants. There’s even a train station.”

She set her legs down and breathed a sigh of relief. “That makes so much sense,” she said. “I’ve been hear­ing a faint train whis­tle every evening and I’ve also been smelling fresh cof­fee. I’m a tea drinker, so this puz­zled me.”

Do you want to remove the vil­lage?” Dr. Goldstein asked, his entire face turned sad.

She shook her head, “No, let’s keep it. I’m just relieved it’s not cancer.”

~

Spud-cat Leaves the Lab

Scientists in a lab were exper­i­ment­ing with cre­at­ing hybrid ani­mals merged with tubers. A day after they com­bined a cat with a pota­to, the crea­ture escaped from its unlocked cage. It hissed and meowed all the way down the stairs and out of the building.

The first night in the wild there was trou­ble. The pota­to sec­tion sought warmth in the soil, instinc­tive­ly desir­ing to return to its roots. But the cat tail refused to be cov­ered in dirt. A com­pro­mise was reached by dig­ging a hole for the tail so it could wag freely in the breeze.

*

A young girl out for a walk heard a soft purring sound. She’d been sent to the mar­ket with three dol­lars in her pock­et to pur­chase a pota­to for her mother’s stew. Awake now, the spud-cat rolled in front of her.

I’ll take you home and keep the mon­ey for can­dy,” the girl smiled.

The girl car­ried the odd pota­to back home. Her moth­er eager­ly await­ed the potato’s arrival. She already had a sim­mer­ing pot on the stove filled with all ingre­di­ents except the potato.

When the moth­er tried to drop spud-cat into the con­coc­tion, claws came out and scratched the dev­il out of the mother’s arm; this caused her to scream. She dropped the crea­ture on the kitchen floor. It scur­ried out of the house and back to the safe­ty of the lab.

~

Maureen Sherbondy’s work has appeared in Stone Canoe, Litro, Louisiana Literature, and oth­er jour­nals. Maureen lives in Durham, NC. www.maureensherbondy.com