Teeth

He said something funny. She began to laugh. Wide, happy, unabashed, mouth-open laughter. And that's when he saw them. Within her mouth were rows and rows and rows and rows of razor sharp teeth. Uncomfortable. Like too many layers of clothing. Cluttered. Like bats on the ceiling of a cave. Sharp. Like knives on display at a butcher's shop. He tried not to say anything funny for the rest of the evening.

#MicroFiction

his heart was a stone, a diamond in the rough

Terrarium

Insects are everywhere; their kind is brainless, you cannot teach them. They fly compulsively through the ceiling fan like bats and sparrows often do; they never learn. For these mud dwellers, heartbreak is as inevitable as inadvertently squishing earthworms on the payment. Her personal magnetism draws them in; and they fly towards her like moths to an electric bulb. But pests never amuse her, she wastes no time swatting the flies. Her cool demeanour causes them to drool at her feet, they snarl at each other like snivelling dogs. Within days they attach themselves, teeth first, to the flawless, lukewarm skin of her feet. "Humans are like leeches", she mumbles, discarding them one by one with a sprinkle of salt and a viscous cigarette burn.

Autor's Note : Thank You for the thought, textualoffender