He giggles. Removes her oxygen. She thinks he’s replacing it. What really tickles him is that she’s sitting in her wheelchair out in the Kiowa Grasslands on top of the biggest field of carbon dioxide on the whole planet, choking to death because not even one molecule of oxygen wants anything to do with her.
Bio: Jane Hammons teaches writing at UC Berkeley. She has a 25-word story in Hint Fiction: An Anthology of Stories in 25 Words or Fewer (W. W. Norton 2010). Her crime fiction has been recently published in Crimespree Magazine and A Twist of Noir.
PULP METAL MAGAZINE 
Ooof! That’s short and nasty!
And very good too!
Thanks! It’s a tiny slice from the novel I’m working on, which is longer and nastier!
A lot said in so few words here. It would be a good idea for any writer to use ecomony of words like this in longer pieces.
Kevin
Thanks, Kevin. This is actually a bit from the novel I’m working on. I hope I’m as economical throughout!
Oh my goodness. Fantastic!
Oh you wicked woman! Short, sweet, and twisted. Love this.
Thanks Jodi. What would we do without twisted readers?
This one took my breath away. And is excellent to boot.