This piece began with a prompt from BlueskyRelay: “Friend” and “Enemy” under the theme of Opposites.
Sometimes prompts like these act like tuning forks—they don’t give you the melody, but they hum just enough to help you find it.
There wasn’t a plan, just a flicker of something worth following. And somehow, this story walked out of the fog.
Micro-fiction’s the kind of strange I love best—just a few lines, and suddenly there’s a whole room you didn’t know was there.
He said he was my enemy, but still brought soup. Tomato—lukewarm, in a mason jar with no lid. I said I was his friend, but still stole his lighter. It had a dolphin on it. I don’t even smoke.
We sat on my couch like strangers waiting for the same bus—only the bus was a memory, and neither of us had the fare. The TV glowed static. No cable, no power. But it snowed inside that glass box, soft and slow.
He asked if I saw it. I said, “Sure.” He didn’t say anything after that, just nodded like it meant something.
When he left, he forgot the spoon. I kept it next to the lighter. Together, they felt like proof.
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