While most of my stories tend to be dark, this one is bordering on pure surrealism. A story about unknowable and strange things I call:
The beetle’s liquid squirts up in an arc once the needle plunges into its exoskeleton. It squirms, the legs trying to run.
The man holds the needle with a pair of fingers, not even feeling the momentum of his tiny victim. He pushes down until the needle breaks into the corkboard. The bug keeps failing to escape. Continue reading