Very Short Stories by Jack Spearing

Liquid
Something about the reflections seemed odd. It turned out there was no water in the pond after all. It wouldn't take long to suffocate here, he thought. He went home the long way by the birch trees and wrote some more and ate his plastacine to see if it really was non-toxic. It tasted like the aftershave he had been drinking earlier.
After the Bazaar
"You look like a broken window"
"You're right, I'm too tired. I can't keep working at the kilns for another night, It'd kill me I'm sure"
"How's Business?"
"Business?"
"Yes"
"Hasn't been so bad, I suppose. Perhaps things'll pick up"…