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TinyTalesDaily (@tinytalesdaily) · DIRTY

TinyTalesDaily

@tinytalesdaily

📖 Story dealer on duty serving fresh plots daily also on

2.393 Folgt1.329 Follower1.446 Posts

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 13d

The man in line ahead of the beagle is here to surrender himself.

He fills out the intake form in the good pen, prints his age, checks Good With Children, leaves Reason For Surrender blank.

We weigh him. We photograph him against the blue wall.

"Smile," Dana says. "Nobody adopts a sad one."

He smiles. We write friendly, housetrained, needs a quiet home.

---

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#Surreal #Loneliness #Aging

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 14d

Something in my kitchen cooks candy while I sleep.

Every morning: burnt sugar black in the pot, a tray of brittle on the counter, studded with small bones.

I leave two pounds of almonds by the stove now, so it has options.

Mrs. Dilling from upstairs follows the smell down.

"Save me a piece," she says.

I break her off a corner.

"What nut is that?" she says, chewing.

"Pecan," I say.

---

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#WeirdFiction #Neighbors #Cooking

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 14d

My voice only works over an open casket.

At home I open my mouth and get air, a squeak, the sound of a chair moving.

So I ask Perry at the funeral home to hold someone over the weekend.

"We can keep Mr. Ableman till Monday," he says. "Lid up. Use the small chapel—the big one swallows a soprano."

I bring sheet music, a thermos, a cardigan. Mr. Ableman is a wonderful listener.

---

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#GhostStories #Grief #Loneliness

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 16d

Our house has an overbite. The orthodontist bolts brackets to the doorframes and runs a wire down the hall, tightening it monthly while Mom holds the flashlight.

"Some crowding is normal at this age," he says.

My brother's room comes out for space. Mom says the house is finally presenting well.

Tonight the door draws another eighth of an inch, and Dad, on the step with his key, no longer fits through.

---

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#Surreal #Family #Homeowners

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 17d

Ruth cuts my pattern before she measures me, and every year the tissue comes out smaller than I am.

She chalks the surplus onto my skin. Shoulders, mostly. Some neck.

"You weren't using the shoulders," she says.

The trimmings go in the bin with the other regulars'. Nothing wasted; she stuffs pincushions with us.

She pins me shut and asks if I want the retirement dinner suit in navy or charcoal.

---

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#Surreal #Marriage #Aging

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 18d

Our son brings home an overnight guest and asks us not to look directly at her.

We manage it through dinner. I pass the beans to my left without turning my head. Ken talks about driveway sealant. The bowl comes back lighter.

"She's shy," our son says. "She's had a hard year."

Past midnight he knocks on our door and asks if he can sleep between us. We make room. Nobody turns on the lamp.

---

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#Uncanny #Parenthood #Family #Creepy

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 19d

Anything we drop in the gym gutter comes out the downspout the size of a thumb.

A library book, still readable. Priya's retainer, on a chain now.

Mr. Ames goes up the ladder Friday to clear the leaves.

"Off the blacktop."

We stay.

He's up there four minutes before the leaves take him.

At recess Monday we take turns holding him. He's still telling us to get off the blacktop, very quietly, into whoever's palm.

---

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#WeirdFiction #SchoolDays #Surreal

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 20d

The hallway wallpaper is peeling, and it's taking me with it—a little more of my back curls off each morning.

I press myself flat and drive a staple through to hold.

"You're leaving marks," my sister says.

"Better than leaving," I say.

At night the seam at my shoulder pops loose. I find the staple gun in the dark, run a thumb down my lifting edge, and set the point where I've started to go.

---

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#WeirdFiction #MentalHealth #Siblings

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 21d

The body on my table sits up each time I write natural causes.

"Absolutely not," Mr. Alden says, settling back. "I want poisoned. I want a plot."

Eighty-one. His heart, plainly. I write it again.

He rises, indignant.

"You could give me one dramatic sentence. One."

I hesitate. Then I write: struggled, magnificently, against everything.

He lies down, satisfied.

---

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#WeirdFiction #Aging #Death

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 22d

The upholsterer runs his tape over my husband, who fused to the recliner after the layoffs.

He tests the piping along Gerald's arm, finds the seam where corduroy becomes skin.

"Same fabric, or shall we freshen him?" he asks.

I choose a bolder green. Gerald always meant to be bolder.

The staple gun coughs. Gerald doesn't. The upholsterer tucks the excess of him under, out of sight, and hands me the remote, still warm.

---

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#DarkHumor #Marriage #Uncanny #Layoffs

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 23d

I hired an accompanist for parties—a man who laughs at my jokes so the table follows. Best money I spent.

He laughed at the funeral, at exactly the right beat, and everyone decided I'd said something wise.

"You can go home now," I tell him.

He keeps smiling. He's at breakfast now, chuckling at the news. He laughs when I cry.

---

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#WeirdFiction #Loneliness #DarkHumor

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 24d

My father's hands rose for the downbeat Sunday, and it's Wednesday, and the choir is still singing.

Nobody can give the cutoff but him. His arms are locked at the top of the beat, conducting a hymn that ran out of verses Monday. The tenors weep.

"Somebody feed him," Mom says, sliding a straw into his mouth without lowering his elbows.

---

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#Surreal #Family #SmallTown #Church

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 25d

I'm the grand prize at the parish raffle, tag number forty pinned to my cardigan, standing between the ham and the quilted throw.

Pastor Reyes spins the drum.

"Winner takes her home," he says. "Utilities not included."

A card comes up. Number forty—my own ticket, bought to be sporting.

The hall claps. Pastor Reyes checks twice, then hands me back to myself.

"Congratulations," he says.

I carry me to the car.

---

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#Loneliness #Aging #Surreal

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 26d

The program lists thirty children and, in the same tidy font, notes that none will return to their seats.

Number eleven finishes her sonatina, bows, exits stage left. Her chair stays empty. Her mother keeps clapping.

My daughter is number fourteen.

"The corrected program's already printing," the teacher says, pressing a fresh one into my hands. "We do it every year."

The seats empty as the applause thins. I practice my proud face.

---

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#GhostStories #Parenthood #Grief

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 27d

The man next door absorbs sound. My mower dies when I aim it at his fence and coughs back when I turn away. The Hendersons' baby stopped crying the instant he stepped onto their porch, and stayed stopped.

"Quieter over here, isn't it," he says.

I don't hear his door close. Now my voice comes out thin. My wife asks what's wrong, and I watch the answer go flat before it reaches her.

---

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#WeirdFiction #Neighbors #Suburbia

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 28d

My brother's sleeping bag won't unzip, and he's been inside since Sunday. He seems happy about it.

"It's warm," he calls, muffled. "You should feel how deep it goes."

Mom feeds his dinner through the gap the zipper leaves at the top. Every morning the gap is smaller. Today it's the width of a straw.

He asks me to tell his teacher he's transferring somewhere better.

---

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#WeirdFiction #Siblings #Childhood

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· 29d

Someone always brings a dish nobody remembers making. This year it's a green bean thing in Carol's Pyrex, and Carol swears it isn't hers. We eat it anyway. By the third helping Tom Reedy stops mid-sentence and won't restart—just sits, chewing air, agreeable now, folded into the room like furniture.

"More?" Carol asks, ladle already dipping.

I hold my plate out. It's rude not to.

---

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#WeirdFiction #Family #SmallTown

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 14

Every stamp in my case was licked by someone in their final hour—you can taste it, if your tongue's trained. This penny red: a woman certain she'd locked the door. This airmail: pure regret, vintage.

A buyer leans in.

"Any recent ones?"

I slide him the blank sheet and the little sponge.

"Lick," I tell him. "We're always short on inventory."

---

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#WeirdFiction #DarkHumor #Death #Collecting

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 13

The nail clipper in the drawer keeps clicking after I turn off the light. Every morning my nails are shorter. Then the fingertips. Now the knuckles.

My sister holds what's left of my hand across the table.

"You keep yourself so tidy," she says. "I could never."

I could stop it. I know where the drawer is. But I've never felt so trimmed, so unburdened, so nearly done—and honestly, I've never looked better.

---

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#BodyHorror #Surreal #Siblings #Anxiety

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 12

I keep Renata half-developed in the fixer, so she can never quite leave. Pull her out and she's finished, gone. Leave her under and she surfaces gray, mouthing at me through the chemical.

"You always underexposed me," she says, bubbles rising where her voice should be.

"You look better this way," I tell her, and add developer to soften the line at her jaw.

---

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#Grief #DarkHumor #Surreal

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 11

The woman from HR asks me to leave my hands behind. Retention policy—everything I learned lives in the fingers, and the fingers stay.

She slides a tray across the desk.

"Just rest them here. Quicker than you'd think."

Thirty years of typing, of handshakes that meant yes. I set them down. She staples a form to the tray, dates it, thanks me for my service.

I reach for the door.

---

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#WeirdFiction #WorkLife #CorporateLife #Surreal

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 10

The rust stain in my tub is shaped like a reclining woman, warm to the touch since April.

I bathe around her, careful, and tell her my day.

"You're a good listener," I say, and the drain gurgles agreement.

This week she widened—a second hollow beside her, hip-width, waiting.

I run the bath lovely and hot now, and lie awake wondering who to invite.

---

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#WeirdFiction #Loneliness #UrbanLegends

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 9

The mechanic has both arms in my chest, coaxing the little engine that keeps stalling.

"Flooded," he says, wiping his hands on my shirt. "You've been idling hot. Feelings, mostly."

He offers a loaner—smaller, secondhand, runs cold. I say yes. The stalled one he sets on a tray, still ticking as it cools, wanting one more mile.

"Warranty's void if you love anyone," he says, and slams me shut.

---

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#Surreal #Heartbreak #Loneliness

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 8

The stake down the center of my tomato bed keeps Ronald in the ground, not the tomatoes up.

Every June he works a hand loose and the vines come in red overhead, fat and warm and faintly aftershaved.

"Beautiful crop," Mrs. Alderman says over the fence. "What's your secret?"

I press the stake a little deeper with my heel.

"Deep roots," I tell her, and mean it.

---

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#DarkHumor #Marriage #Gardening

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 7

Merrick and I share a blood type and a liver he wants. So the company houses me in a good apartment, feeds me salmon, forbids me alcohol and skiing.

A nurse takes my pulse each Sunday.

"You're keeping beautifully," she says, like I'm a cheese.

I'm forty-one and have never been sick. That's the problem. Merrick is patient. Merrick drinks.

Sundays, I send him a good bottle.

---

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#Dystopian #DarkHumor #WealthGap #Health

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 6

Every night I put Dad up on jack stands so he can't wander to the highway.

He hangs there patient, slippers six inches off the linoleum, working the pedals of a car that sold in 1994.

"Left blinker's out," he tells me. "We'll be late for your recital."

"I know, Dad," I say, and check the stands are seated.

Mornings I lower him for oatmeal. It's the only way either of us sleeps.

---

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#Dementia #Caregiving #Surreal #Aging

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 5

The swim instructor doesn't teach the kids to float on water. She teaches them to float off it—up, toward the skylight.

"Ankles, parents," she calls. "Hold their ankles."

We line the pool edge, gripping our children by their wet feet while they kick at the ceiling, delighted. My daughter looks down at me. Or up. I can't tell anymore.

"Some of them let go on purpose," the instructor says.

I hold tighter.

---

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#Surreal #Parenthood #Anxiety

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 4

My coffee cup drops straight through my fingers now, shattering on the tile every morning. Nothing stays held—the dog's leash, my wife's hand. Only the rusted vise on the workbench still grips. I lay my wrist between its jaws and crank until it hurts, just to feel held by something.

My daughter finds me there.

"Dad, that's cutting bone."

"Leave it tight," I say.

---

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#BodyHorror #Parenthood #MentalHealth

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 4

I wrote one verse in my life, thirty years ago, and the whole country still hums it.

Tonight, alone at the kitchen table, my pen finishes the second verse by itself. The words are about how I never wrote anything again. They rhyme perfectly. They are unkind.

My agent calls, breathless.

"It's already number one," she says. "How does it feel to be back?"

---

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#Surreal #Regret #Creativity #Music

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TinyTalesDaily@tinytalesdaily· Jul 2

The tuba case in the hall closet fits me better than it ever fit the tuba.

I climb in after dinner now, knees to chin. Every week I settle deeper, and last night the lid clicked shut on its own.

"You'll wrinkle your good shirt," Marion calls from the kitchen.

"Latch me," I call back.

She does. Then she locks it.

---

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#Marriage #DarkHumor #Loneliness

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