Spot 025: Mime






































2501: Woven Orange
2502: Storm Crossing
2503: The Owl with the Heart-Shaped Face
2504: The Italy Story
2505: Ladder to the Loft
2506: No Return
2507: The Unfailing Flock
2508: Grad School and Blue
2509: Please Renew Your Subscription to Netflix
2510: Back when the Drive-In was Open
2511: Necessary Nests
2512: No Martinis
by Amy Hale Auker

See Authors page for Amy’s bio.



[2508] Blue Watch
by Sandra Davies

I couldn’t in all honesty claim I’d thought it out beforehand, especially when I’d already gone through how and when and who to ask to get the name and logo painted over, but it didn’t take long to realise that an old BT van would be even more anonymous. As anonymous as they had been to start with. The houses ‘fully-refurbished’ but there’d been little they could do to improve the folk they moved back in.
And a week of sitting, clipboard resting on the steering wheel, hard hat beside me on the seat and I’d identified her. Third house from the end. She’d changed, but so had I, and after five years she’d started to believe she was safe. Safe from me at any rate. Well, safe from thinking I might find her. Because now I had found her she wasn’t any longer. Just that she didn’t know it yet.

See Authors page for Sandra’s bio.



2501: Brave The New World
2502: Trains Don’t Run Through Here No More
2503: Character Study
2504: The Missing Boy
2505: Bent
2506: The Family on Indian Woman Road
2507: Waves
2508: Harmony Road
2509: The Appearance
2510: Shift
2511: Black Eye
2512: Last Night Out
by Paul de Denus

See Authors page for Paul’s bio.



[2511] Metaphor
by Sandra Davies

Neglect. Through carelessness – not caring enough – abandonment or sabotage?
Could not be denied it had originally been built with care, if not experience. The intention – to make something which would hold together, protect, contain, be beautiful as well as functional – had been clear. Built to last, if not forever then for the foreseeable future.
Awareness of danger had been there, had been guarded against, protections put in place; the need for privacy had been anticipated,
Repairs had regularly been made, to remedy early mistakes caused by ignorance, to mend expected wear and tear.
But it had outgrown its … not exactly usefulness, but was no longer deemed essential, or even, at times desirable. And so began a time of gradually-accelerating neglect. Followed by abandonment, to the elements.
The silver, beautiful in its way, in the weathered wood, flakes of blue adhering, remaining high-spots of a once-all protecting coat.
Their silver – their twenty-five years – their marriage – no doubt whatsoever of its greater tarnish, its rot, rather than just weathering..

See Authors page for Sandra’s bio.



2501: When Autumn Leaves
2502: Thunderhead
2503: All My Exes…
2504: Tracked
2505: The Gravity
2506: Gone to the Dogs
2507: Flight Tracking
2508: The Average Blue Homeowner
2509: When Sam Cooke Came to Clarksdale
2510: A Beautifully Rusted Ford
2511: The Main Chance
2512: Southern Comfort

[2513] The Spectacle of the Mime
by Michael D. Brown

Wordlessly, he gave a faultless performance, but it was as much the honky-tonk musical background as his body English or facial expressions that made the first act in any way memorable to me, teenagers drinking from bottles in plastic Oxxo bags, or gathered couples and single strollers. He appeared browless in a solid black leotard, with his shaved head painted in the same deathly-white paste that crusted where the neckline veed below his clavicle, suggesting the marks of noose burn. I don’t know that I would ever be willing to put my life on the line to preserve another’s, nor that I would ever expect another to do so for me, but I applauded as heartily as the rest as we, his audience, were unaware he had dressed and made up appropriately for his final show. He mimed a man obsessed by his ticking watch and some sort of mission; waiting for his destiny, which was a long time coming, seemingly overdue. Then, in mere seconds, he reacted quickly, shoving a pedestrian out of the way of an oncoming sports car, was struck himself, and performed a triple somersault before landing on his feet, then falling, arms outstretched, forward onto the pavement in front of us, as the driver sped away. We cheered, whistled, and clapped spontaneously for some time before someone remarked the mime had not moved a muscle from the moment his body hit the ground, and in our awestruck silence, we realized the rescued woman was sobbing.

Note: This piece originally appeared on The Six Sentence Social Network. See Authors page for Michael’s bio.



[2512] With Apologies to Amy
by Bill Lapham

When Daniel Dinkins stepped inside the saloon he knew: he would not get a martini in this place, shaken or stirred. Here, the desert dust inside was the same as the desert dust outside. His Birkenstock sandals blended in.

He waited to be seated for a minute then realized he might stand there all day for all anybody cared, looking like an idiot in his Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts and Yankees cap. Finally, he got the idea, perched his sunglasses on his hat and took his own seat.

He was in luck, the bartender came over.

“May I have a menu, please?” Daniel said.

“Hamburger, beer and whiskey,” said the man who looked like a refugee from an Alaskan caribou grazing range. “That’s the menu.”

“Excellent,” Daniel said. “I’ll have a burger—well-done, of course—and a Heineken.”

“We ain’t got no Heinies.”

“Coors Light then.”


“Coors it is.”

“That’s it?”

“And a shot of Drambuie.”

“Wild Turkey.”

“Fine. I’ll have a burger, a Coors—in a frosted mug, please—and a shot of Wild Turkey.”


When the Alaskan served his lunch, Daniel noticed the following discrepancies: the burger was charred black, the beer was warm and the whiskey was hot. He called the bartender over.

“My burger is burnt black, the beer is warm and the whiskey is hot.”

The music stopped. Patrons at the bar turned to look. The bartender’s black eyes glared.

Daniel placed a twenty on the table and left.

See Authors page for Bill’s bio.



Images 2501 through 2506 supplied by Kelly Hoyle Fuller © 2011.
Images 2507 through 2512 supplied by Gita M. Smith and Mike Handley © 2012.


6 Comments to “Spot 025: Mime”

  1. This is a brilliant idea, Michael. I will leave only the titles here, but I feel inspired to write pieces for some of these. Thank you, as always, for inspiring and supporting us. You are a treasure.

  2. These are great photos – and I agree with Gita – this was a great idea. Sorry to all (and especially Michael) that I have been slacking lately. I really need to figure out how to skip sleeping and eating. I would have a lot more time that way…

  3. Ah … did I completely misunderstand? Again? Well, never mind, my friends are ever-tolerant.
    [and Michael, could you please add an ‘s’ to the ‘it’ before rot in the final sentence]

    • “s” has been added, and I’m surprised any of you responded with anything cohesive as my suggestions were very vague. I was thinking this was a bit like Wee Small Hours (only completely different, LOL) and about time to wander off the beaten path for a bit.
      You’re always Spot on.

  4. Mr. Bill Lapham, you rock. No apologies necessary. I wrote a piece once on 6S called “Cal, Mac, and the Jukebox.” I hear echoes of it here.

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