Three Sentences Stories

2016/06/26

On his deathbed, my father told me he would become immortal after he died. I asked him how could that be, you can’t live forever once you’ve passed, but he only smiled and ruffled my hair, hiding the pain in his chest where a virus unknown to science was slowly eating its way into him. There was no funeral when he died, but I found his name in every book on virology that was printed since.

The aliens came at night, when we were all too fast asleep to hear them arrive. The next day they became a part of our life and we were very glad to make their acquaintance. But the day after that they had their mask taken away by accident and suddenly we all clamoured for their destruction.

“Knock knock,” they called, the little imps that live in my head. “What?” I asked, trying to swat them away with an imaginary baseball bat. They laughed and scattered away and yelled back, “Knock on us, and we’ll scatter your brain dead.”

I met him one day in the bus stop, the boy with the little guitar and the eyes that seemed like he had seen the world. He greeted me and in the short while as I was waiting for the bus to arrive he learned my name and I learned his and he talked to me in a way that made me the happiest person alive. The next day they tore the bus stop down to make a new highway and I never saw him again.