1,400 Degrees: Five Micros by Sheldon Lee Compton

Burnout

The room is empty as scars without stories when Ben wakes.  It is a knocked about box 
made of soot, and he tries again to swallow, as if his lips aren’t burned away, as if in prayer.


Flag

That first date.  Ben saw her auburn hair illuminate color each time she lit a match, 
smiled when she smiled, stared at his feet when she let the match burn to her fingertips.


Infatuation

Children were drawn to her in the way sunlight seems drawn to still water.  He watched, 
and was drawn, too.


Measurements

When Ben spoke to her, she studied him so closely.  He might have been in a hog pen, 
not a man with cold, meaty hands in his pockets.


Hello

Lonely Ben.  The dark lady.  Friend of a friend, and then more.  This dark lady who will 
talk to him.  And listen, mouth slightly open.

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