Suspension: Flash Fiction


My t-shirts are suspended off plastic hangers in my closet. Straight and still as soldiers at attention. They obey a force I can name but not understand.

As I sit on the side of my bed, I’m fixated by this mundane miracle. I think of Sir Isaac beneath the proverbial apple tree. A fleshy fruit hangs by a stem one moment, unleashes its potential the next, striking a great mind burgeoning with equations and alchemy. A big bang of calculated trajectories. Arcing, plunging objects in motion: cannonballs, gravity bombs, the long curve of missiles.

Suspended in space.

I flash on Cherie. One Halloween afternoon, Mom ironed my new store-bought Spiderman costume, then placed it with its plastic mask on a wire hanger. She hooked it on a doorway frame in our kitchen. Hovering there like a scarecrow, the suit and mask alarmed Cherie, who barked and barked her shrill poodle bark. “Christ on the cross,” said my exasperated mother. “Christ almighty.”

I rise off my creaking bed and, naked though I am, hobble through the too-still house to the garage. A rope dangles off a rafter, one end tied to a thick pipe. With difficulty, I untie that end, pull the rest down, and unknot the remaining loop. Then I coil it all and place it neatly on a pegboard hook, where it hangs straight and still.


For a little more of my fiction, please go to Fiction/Poetry 

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Mark R. Vickers

I am a writer, analyst, futurist and researcher. I've spent most of my working life as an editor and manager for research organizations focusing on social, business, technology, HR and management trends. But, perhaps more to the point for this blog, I'm curious about the universe and the myriad, often mysterious relationships therein.

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