Cuboid Orange

Would you rather be a person with orange thoughts, or an orange with person thoughts? I occasionly post flash/microfiction, either whenever inspiration strikes, or whenever I think an older piece should see the light of day.

[cuboid-orange]

Polaroid

He shook the Polaroid with giddy anticipation. Excited, he held the frame up to the light. AS the picture slowly appeared, his smile evaporated. It was wrong. His hair wasn't that messy. It wasn't that long either. He swore he'd just cut it. The Polaroid said something different. What's more, those figures in the background hadn't been there a second ago. The Polaroid said something different. More details blinked into view, further distressing the man. He was absolutely sure he had exactly two arms, two legs, two hands, two feet. The Polaroid said something different. He didn't recall being covered in blood. The Polaroid said something different. He looked up at his surroundings. He looked down at the photograph.

The Polaroid tended to agree.

[cuboid-orange]

Reflection

Look in the mirror. What do you see? Is it you? Is it wrong? Is your skin too rough? Your eyes too dark? Why is that? Is a completely different person looking back? Is he staring? Does he laugh? Does he point? Does he accuse? Does he bleed?

Why is that?

[cuboid-orange]

Floral

The pink petals stood out brightly against a drab green backdrop. Evidence of the previous day's rain still sparkled on the blossom. He knelt down, drinking in its innate beauty. He drew a small digital camera from his pocket. With a soft whir the lens extended, and a quiet click marked the moment the shutter fired, immortalizing the flower. He doesn't know why he still captures them. She had long since stopped caring if he showed her the pictures. Looking back, he isn't sure if she'd ever cared at all.

[cuboid-orange]

Coffee, Black

I present to you, for your consideration, a completely unremarkable man. He's sitting alone at a small table, in an even smaller bistro. In his hands, which are incidentally wrapped in sterile gauze, a cup of coffee. Black. He looks sullen as he sips the brew. He's never told anybody this, but this completely unremarkable man despises coffee. Especially black. It shocks his system in a most unpleasant manner. It's far too bitter for his sensibilities, and every sip sends tremors through his body. He detests every gulp. But, when we consider him and his dressings, we think it's better than the alternative. Considering that on this particular occasion nobody is compelling him to consume this particular beverage, we believe he'd agree with our sentiments.

[cuboid-orange]

Cherry Coke

"Man, they don't have Cherry Coke here."

"I didn't know you like Cherry Coke."

"To be honest, I don't."

"Does she?"

"Yeah."

"You know you don't have to like it anymore, right?"

"Yeah…"