Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
He found a bank card in an ATM. The machine was beeping and asking, “Are you done with your transaction?” No one else was around so he took the card into the bank and turned it over to a teller, telling them where he’d found it. As he was leaving, he heard people saying, “Oh, what a nice man.”
That surprised him. What else would you do with anything found but try to get it back to the owner in the best way possible?
His reflection from the mirror startled him. He looked just like an Oompa-Loompa from Charley and the Chocolate Factory.
Just one of those days, he told himself with a suppressed sigh.
Someone asked him, “How are you doing?” “Good,” he answered with enthusiasm.
He didn’t know if his answer was true. He didn’t know how he felt. He thought how he ‘felt’ was a complicated question, and the truth about the answer slid along its own spectrum, shifting by the second, the minute, the day.
‘Good’ was probably a safe if reductive average.
Ella was bubbly, happy, upbeat, and friendly, as usual. She took his usual drink order and then he asked, “Are you always so energetic and upbeat?”
She thought for two full seconds and then nodded, smiling, eyes bright and big. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you get here and drink a gallon of coffee when you start your shift?”
Ella smiled. “Would you believe, I don’t drink any coffee or tea.”
“Sugar? Chocolate?”
“Nope. This is just how I am.”
He smiled in admiration. “Wow. I am so jealous.” He hoped she was always like that but who knew how her life would change?
He feels like he’s chasing time. Time is like a red laser dot, nominally a pointer, but often used to tease cats, and he’s the cat. He knows he can’t catch the time dot but he can’t stop his nature from trying.
His name is Michael. It’s a common and popular name in the U.S. That mildly irritated him on a tiny, personal island of thought. Sharing a name made him less special, knowing how silly such a response was. But there it was.
He couldn’t stop himself, though, from looking up and seeing what Michael was like whenever his name was called in a coffee shop. He frequently wanted to tell them, “Hey, my name is Michael, too.” The other Michaels usually looked like confident and intelligent people. He wondered how they would view him.
His complicated thoughts about his own name often made him chuckle to himself. He wondered if the other Michaels felt the same.
Michael Seidel, writer 