Micro Fiction by Phil Holt
It seemed to him that nothing he was thinking or feeling was particularly interesting or insightful.
“So,” he thought. “This is what it is to be a view point character.”
He knew that right now, right now… strangers were reading his thoughts, trying to empathize with him.
Like you are. Right. Now.
Frankly, it ticked him off.
Who are you anyway?
Don’t you have a life?
How is this any of your business?
Geez.
But then…after awhile…
He forgot about all that and went back to thinking about Sheila, and what she meant to him. He thought about how he loved her with his whole heart, even though he could never fully tell her. He thought about how he loved to watch her as she sleeping on Saturday mornings and how her voice sounded to him as sweet as summer rain.
Then…he remembered you.
Reading.
Buzz off, he thought.