“Two-Minute Tuesdays” are a series of micro-stories written in
two five minutes or less. Consider them “public practice,” like shooting free throws in the park. Prompts are supplied at the bottom in case you want to try your own hand at one of them.
The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making him feel very alone in this new town.
She couldn’t hear him, or she was out. He didn’t know. Her violin case was in the corner, instrument inside.
He tried the bathroom, where water clattered against tile and splashed echos against the tall ceiling. Empty. Same as the kitchen.
She was gone somewhere, but there was no note. And so he had nothing to do but to go back out onto the balcony.
Sleep had come to him so easily in the afternoon, and now it eluded him completely. He sat in the old hammock, watching the people come and go below. The storefront below was open now, and children darted in and out. An old radio played inside. Across the street, two old men played dominos. He enjoyed the crack of the plays, the sharp snap that came each time the ivory struck the table. Though it was getting dark, he could see some of the board, but they didn’t seem to be playing any game he could recognize.
The sun set over the palms.