99 Words: Bubbles

A 99-word micro-fiction, by me.

W. told me to think about ‘small private worlds’: bubbles that float alongside the rest of existence for moments or for days or for weeks. Indiscriminate air-pockets sustaining transitory lives – temporarily stuck in departure lounges, broken-down cars, tired domesticities – until the oxygen runs out, or the membrane is pierced by external well-wishing or malevolent destruction.

And I remember when we used to be – intimately, microcosmically, and all-too briefly – you and me: coffee, cigarettes, cider, cassette tapes and cash-strapped. But now if you call, you’re like oil in my glass of water, suspended in an impossible, unforgiving reluctance to mix.