nabµf #7 of 29

57. I started writing microfiction when I was 13, because I couldn’t find enough time to finish any longer stories. So I just ended them after a few hundred words. But it wasn’t until I was 18 that I realized it was a legit strategy and not until I was 20 that I coined the term “necroautobiographical microfiction.”

Pixel decided to catch the results of the latest presidential primary before heading home. He trudged to the local university’s student union.

He entered the building and noticed that the flat-screen television was turned on but tuned to some sort of important basketball game. Around the TV was a crowd of large men with painted faces, jerseys, and novelty foam fingers.

Pixel walked up to the screen, turned and asked, “do you mind if I change the channel to CNN and keep changing back and forth to Oxygen and Lifetime every six minutes for an hour?”

The basketball fans stared in shock.

“Nah, I didn’t think so,” and he plopped down on the couch and changed the channel.

The guys yelled indignantly and gritted their teeth. They would have attacked Pixel but for the fact that they saw an old man coming their way.

In universities, there are undergrads, grads, staff, faculty, and a small section of ‘crazy old men.’ Crazy old men can be religious, political, or just offensive. This man was all three and was well known in the area.

The old man saw that CNN was on, rather than basketball. “Oh, good,” he said. He rushed to sit next to Pixel, the basketball fans scattered.

The old man talked Pixel’s ear off about the election. It hurt, but he lived.

However, after a few moments, the candidate Pixel did not support won the primary and Pixel’s heart broke.

He died from internal bleeding a short while later.

|