Little General

Little General


He had arrayed his army men in platoons all over his room. Those infantrymen not pointed toward the door stood lookout at the window, and near the drawers where the boy kept his most valuable things: baseball cards and a watch.

Soldiers at the window shook as the pane rattled. This was the door slam, which the boy knew could happen, but could not prepare for. This was his mother, late for work, beginning her decent into bitterness, and his father still yelling from the couch.

Eventually, the house quieted. The boy said, "At ease." But the soldiers remained stiff.

Michael Neal Morris

Michael Neal Morris lives with his family outside the Dallas area, and teaches at Eastfield College. Several of his short stories and poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Figroot Press, Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine, Sick Lit, Microliterature, and RumbleFish Press. 

 This Blue Monk:

At Times…Wrestling:


Post a Comment

Previous Post Next Post