bite size (notes for a story)
Small enough to hide in the palm of your hand.
Cherries, raspberries.
The occasional strawberry. Popped in whole.
No biting, dribbling.
Food made sensual instead of utilitarian.
More kinds of fun than fun size. Tiny, made for one.
Selfish food.
Not shared.
Indulgent, rare, exclusive.
Perfectly presented.
Single spoons of sensual cold delights.
Sirens
The sound of a siren drifts hazily through the thick summer air, mixed into the soundtrack of this day.
Still to far and too attenuated to be distinguished, perhaps the police are hot on the trail of some evil-doer, or another fire alarm summons the trucks.
Closer now, it gains form, becomes the song of the ambulance. Like an orchestra tuning, as it gains intensity heads turn, traffic slows, conversation hushes.
As it comes yet closer the sound becomes the dominant sound. All motion seems paused, a feel of expectancy dominates.
When the siren cuts off it's like a sudden cry of pain. I lie there and let the last of it pass through me, feeling every vibration of it finally fade.
The moment seems to last forever.
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Very short short stories.
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