By: Mary Grimm
I was someone else, a younger woman who was polite and shy.
I was on a family vacation except it was not my family
I was looking for a dentist but he had moved out and his office was empty.
I was a male student in a comics class, not paying attention, and was called on to explicate a new superhero comic.
I saw an old friend pass by me, quite close, intent on something else. She had aged and her hair was uncombed.
I was a character in a book, but I was also trying to write the book.
I climbed into a treehouse that was carved into a great tree.
I discovered that my boyfriend had spilled something so I wetted two paper towels to wipe it up — the spill was a yellow-orange color, as if it had turmeric in it.
I was in my sister’s office and her bookcase tipped over and hit her in the back of her head.
I was visiting a billionaire on his immense yacht.
I was crossing a plaza and saw my cousin coming toward me. I realized I wasn’t wearing a mask when I saw that she wasn’t wearing a mask. But I was embarrassed to put mine on.
I was piloting a small submarine in a sea the color of lime jello with a few drops of yellow food coloring added.
I drove with a man who had a wooden car to a factory where we were going to have lunch in the employee cafeteria, but when we arrived there were dinosaurs in the parking lot.
I had to protect a baby – a real baby and a fake baby – from someone who wanted to steal it. There was some question of whether the fake baby was in fact also real.
I was rewriting the Lara Croft film I watched last night, thinking about whether it was likely that she would kill Gerard Butler, her lover.
I was at a beach and someone was swimming very far out.
Mary Grimm has had two books published, Left to Themselves (novel) and Stealing Time (story collection), and a number of flash pieces in places like Helen, The Citron Review, and Tiferet. Currently, she is working on a YA thriller.
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