Bite Size Fiction Project
Snow Globe
Jared opened his gift as the family sat around him in a circle. It was small, about the size of a tissue box, but they’d saved it for last. He pulled the wrapping paper off to reveal a snow globe: a plastic castle inside of a plastic dome, filled with water and artificial snowflakes. His sister Jaida nudged him. “Shake it,” she said. Jared balled his fist and glowered at Jaida. She recoiled, raising her arms instinctively in a defensive gesture. After a moment of awkward silence, Jared’s mother cleared her throat. Without taking his eyes off Jaida, Jared gave the dome a violent shake. At first, nothing happened aside from the usual plastic snowstorm. But then, when the last flake settled, a tiny king came walking out of the castle, flanked by two soldiers. He pointed a finger at Jared, then made a “come hither” gesture. Jared felt a little queasy and dizzy for a moment as the world started to spin, shift and gyrate. When Jared opened his eyes, he was standing in a castle courtyard. The king looked at him coolly. “Come with us,” he said as the two guards grabbed each of his arms. Jared looked up into the sky and barely saw the distant face of his sister, wearing a diabolical smirk.
NOTE: The brief narrative above was brought to you by The Bite-Size Fiction Project, created by Dave Baldwin and Sheila Lee Brown (this particular one is a Dave-story). The results of this project are bite-size story morsels for short attention spans. These tidbits are sometimes fun, sometimes weird…but always short!
Thirty-year-old Lester ate his garden peas slowly. He suspected his mom was up to something when she invited him over for dinner and brought out the peas first thing. They were his favorite food. He liked the feel of the tiny green spheres popping open in his mouth. He enjoyed the release of the juice and the experience of ripping up the remaining vegetable flesh between his teeth. He savored every textural sensation related to eating, especially since he had been born with a genetic condition that left him unable to taste anything. His mother smiled encouragingly as he filled his plate with more peas. He noticed that she glanced over to the desk where several folded papers had been pressed open. Lester could just make out the lines of delicate cursive writing from where he was sitting. He knew it was familiar, but couldn’t quite place it. Lester decided to handle things one at a time. He took pleasure in eating his peas while he could, though each pop on his tongue brought him closer to a memory – a dusty box buried when he was a kid and a secret he had promised never to share.
Jennifer tiptoed around the corner of the school hallway. Dustin was at the agreed meeting spot. He glanced up from his phone, then back down. She fished in her pocket for the goods. Two carrots and a small zucchini. She fumbled, slipping the contraband into his pockets. “Not so obvious next time,” he muttered under his breath. Two patrol drones zipped a