Off Route 66

These three short pieces were written for a journal called Route 66 (unfortunately now defunct) in which every piece was exactly 66 words.  It is an interesting challenge to set a scene, create a voice, or tell a story under such strict limitations.  It also reminds me how important a title can be in preparing the reader.  Try it.  And post your results in the comments.

 

OR WE COULD PUT TINFOIL ON THE WINDOWS…

            Mamma wasn’t listening.

“Or maybe I need one of those satin sleep masks like the movie stars wear…”

            I stretched out on Mamma’s bed, corpselike, and began to snore like a stooge.

            “Of course, there’s always the danger that I could forget to take if off, and wander out of my room, out of the house, into the street, and…”

            “Okay!” she snapped.  “Forget the nap!”

 

 

BACK ON THE SHELF 

Raindrops reconfigured and lurched toward the clouds.  Modern poetry leapt from the parking lot’s neatly end-stopped, asphalt spaces back into Clara’s bag as the lengthy rip mended itself like a closing zipper.  Her car doors locked and she shouldered backwards through the double doors of the bookstore where the bored clerk accurately returned her money.  Seeing Sam so unexpectedly was crushing.  Clara systematically returned the books.

           

 

STREETLIGHT BLINDNESS

Later, in my street-lit white room, I pulled the sheet over my head, and very still, wondered what it was like to die, whether people would line up and look at me some day, a motionless mound held down by a clinging sheet.  I tried to imagine the people who had died that night, but I could only imagine their tiredness… their sudden willingness to sleep.