by Kevin Spenst
“Mom, there’s a guy at the door selling something,” the lanky, blond boy shouts up the tower of stairs but the fedora-topped man at the door corrects him. “He says that he’s not selling a thing per se but he’s offering a whole new outlook on the world and our place within it and really he just wants to give us a tip or two on how to fall asleep or wake up or even just talk to each other with our unique selves intact,” the blond boy shouts, takes a deep breath and then looks back at the man for a quick appraisal. The tall man pushes his hat back to scratch his forehead and then nods yes, well done. There are weighty footsteps upstairs in a world suspended high above everyday interactions. The blond boy cocks his head to catch the words shouted from above. “Sorry, we’re not home,” he says with deflated-blue eyes and he shuts the door.
Kevin Spenst's prose has appeared in the pages of Geist, Broken Pencil and the Martian Press Review. He has one collection of short-short stories in print called "Fast Fictions" which was launched with a fifty-venue, one-day only reading tour of Vancouver. To date he's written 1083 short-short stories online, the latest of which can be found here.