Companions in Misfortune


(micro-fiction, one minute read)

Jim was thoughtful and silent all evening. He left his laptop unpacked in the hall, missed his favorite program on television, never changed into his favorite home suit, and — what was the most upsetting, of course — did not even come up to the fridge!

Smokey watched him with growing concern. Two times he approached Jim’s leg, rubbed against it and meowed, then he tried to climb up on Jim’s lap, but his friend remained  unresponsive.

Then he spoke on the phone.

Having finished the talk, Jim sat down on the couch and buried his face in his hands.

“She just gave birth to a triplet,” he said though his fingers to no one in particular.

Smokey came up and sat near Jim. He wanted to help. He wished he could share his point, but all he could do was rub his head against Jim’s elbow and pur, which meant:

“Come on, pal, don’t panic. I’ve been there. Some day you’ll give them away!”



On The Immaculate Conception

(micro-fiction, one minute read)

The reason of your daughter’s sickness is simple,” said the doctor and threw a short glance at the older of the two women sitting in front of him. “Your daughter is pregnant.”

There was a moment of silence.

But how is it possible?!” The mother exclaimed. “My daughter has never been with a man! Darling,” she turned to her girl, “have you ever…?”

No, Mother,” the girl protested, “I never did anything of the kind! I never even kissed anybody!”

The doctor stood up and slowly walked to the window. There, he stopped without saying a word and froze facing the morning sun.

The two women also sat in silence for a while, looking at the doctor’s back, fidgeting impatiently in their chairs. Finally, the mother broke the silence:

Erm.., Doctor! What are you doing there at the window?”

I am waiting,” the doctor replied. “You see, in a case like yours, we should be seeing a bright star rising in the East and three wise men descending from the hill…

On Immaculate Conception

On Structuring Public Speeches


(micro fiction, one minute read)

When the world was new, Savior Angel shared universal wisdom with people.

Whatever happens,” he said, “do not forget the ultimate rule of life: while young, share energy; in the age of maturity, share beauty; when old and gray share wisdom, and always– are you listening? Always share–”

Alas! People were not listening. They were too busy exploring their awesome new world.

Years flew by. Time ran away so quickly that people had no chance to enjoy it. One after another, they grew old and died, until only one woman remained alive. She was weak. Apparently, she was dying, too. Savior Angel came down to share some wisdom with her.

You, people, could survive,” he said, “if you had listened to my words about sharing love. You should have shared love. All of you. At all times.”

But the woman died before he finished talking.

Uh-huh. Now, I need a new world and new people– again!” Sighed the angel. “I guess, I should open my speech with the words about love; this will at least induce them to reproduce!”


A Jonah of Portugal: A Few Lines About Camoens

Jonah (in the Bible) is a Hebrew minor prophet. He was called by God to preach in Nineveh, but disobeyed and attempted to escape by sea; in a storm he was thrown overboard as a bringer of bad luck and swallowed by a great fish, only to be saved and finally succeed in his mission

Luís Vaz de Camões (or de Camoens) (c. 1524 – June 10 1580) is the greatest national poet of Portugal. He is best remembered for his epic work Os Lusíadas (The Lusiads), the influence of which is so profound that even today, Portuguese is often called the “language of Camões”. He is also well known as the man whose life was marked with numerous troubles, which seemed to accompany him like seagulls that follow a boat.

camoesMany details concerning the life of the poet remain unknown. The historians learned many facts about his young life from his poems: Camoens was lucky to obtain a good education by having access to exclusive literature of that time, including classical Greek, Roman and Latin works. He used to read a lot in Latin and Italian, and wrote poetry in Spanish.

Now, comes the interesting part: having studied a massive amount of books, Camoens — an incurable romantic and idealist — fell in love with Catherine of Ataíde, lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and also Princess Maria, sister of John III of Portugal. Like many other immature and brave romantics-in-love, the young man had a sharp tongue and, as a sequence, could not find common language with authorities, which resulted in his exile from Lisbon in 1548. Camoens traveled to Ribatejo where he stayed in the company of friends who sheltered and fed him for about six months.

In the fall of 1549, he enlisted in the overseas militia and traveled to Ceuta. During a battle with the Moors, he lost the sight in his right eye. In 1551, a changed man, Camoens eventually returned to Lisbon, living a bohemian lifestyle.

Not for long, though. In 1552, during the religious festival of Corpus Christi, in the Largo do Rossio, he injured a member of the Royal Stables and was imprisoned. His mother pleaded for his release, visiting royal ministers and the Borges family for a pardon. Released, Camoens was ordered to pay 4,000 réis and serve three years in the militia in the Orient.

He departed in 1553 for Goa on board the São Bento, the ship arrived to Goa six months later, and Camoens was immediately imprisoned for debt. He used to call Goa “a stepmother to all honest men”.

At that point in his life, Camoens was made to believe that adventure is the real man’s second name. During his first obligatory service, he took part in a battle along the Malabar Coast. The battle was followed by skirmishes along the trading routes between Egypt and India. The fleet eventually returned to Goa by November 1554. During his time ashore, he continued his writing publicly, as well as writing correspondence for the uneducated men of the fleet.


Luís de Camões

Foge-me pouco a pouco a curta vida
(se por caso é verdade que inda vivo);
vai-se-me o breve tempo d’ante os olhos;
choro pelo passado e quando falo,
se me passam os dias passo e passo,
vai-se-me, enfim, a idade e fica a pena.

Little by little it ebbs, this life,
if by any chance I am still alive;
my brief time passes before my eyes.
I mourn the past in whatever I say;
as each day passes, step by step
my youth deserts me—what persists is pain.

At the end of his obligatory service, he was given the position of chief warrant officer in Macau. He was charged with managing the properties of missing and deceased soldiers in the Orient. During this time he worked on his epic poem Os Lusíadas (“The Lusiads”) in a grotto.


Camoens Grotto, Macao

Uh-huh. Once a Jonah always a Jonah! Camoens was accused of misappropriations and had to travel to Goa and respond to the accusations of the tribunal. During his return journey, near the Mekong River along the Cambodian coast, he was shipwrecked, saving his manuscript but losing his Chinese lover, Dinamene. His shipwreck survival in the Mekong Delta was enhanced by the legendary detail that he succeeded in swimming ashore while holding aloft the manuscript of his still-unfinished epic.

In 1570 Camoens finally made it back to Lisbon, where two years later he published Os Lusíadas, for which he was considered one of the most prominent Iberian poets at the time. In recompense for this poem or perhaps for services in the Far East, he was granted a small royal pension (15000 réis) by the young and ill-fated King Sebastian (ruled 1557–1578).

In 1578 he heard of the appalling defeat of the Battle of Alcácer Quibir, where King Sebastian was killed and the Portuguese army destroyed. The Castilian troops were approaching Lisbon when Camoens wrote to the Captain General of Lamego:

“All will see that so dear to me was my country that I was content to die not only in it but with it”.

Camões died in Lisbon in 1580, at the age of 56. The day of his death, 10 June OS, is Portugal’s national day. He is buried near Vasco da Gama in the Jerónimos Monastery in the parish of Belém in Lisbon.


Not His Worst Valentine’s Day

(micro fiction, 1

It was exactly twelve months since Ivan’s previous date: that incredibly sexy blonde with a mole on her lip ran away from the bar… with his wallet and keys.

It took Ivan almost a year to recover after the stress. Still, that wasn’t his worst Valentine’s, he had to admit. At least, they cuddled and kissed, and she called him “My Captain”. Twice. 

Ivan lit a few candles and opened the wine. Luda was to arrive within minutes. They’d been speaking online, and now they decided to meet on the Valentine’s Day for the very first time.

I am making the right choice this time, he assured himself as he waited. She is honest and kind, she is smart, and she’s never been late for a chat...

At two minutes to six, a knock on the door made him start. Ivan’s heart started hammering, he hurried to open.

The first thing he saw were his keys.

Hi, Captain!” said the voice from the chat, and the mole on the lip made a short sexy dance as she spoke.

Ivan gulped and stepped back. She walked in.

Happy Valentine’s Day!” She exclaimed and dropped Ivan’s keys on the table. “Hey, Captain, come on, stop staring and pour me some wine! Let us talk…”

Mitya and the Climate Change

(micro fiction, 1

Minutes after TX-1 turned him into a fly, Mitya was already soaring around the lab like a bird. Flying gave him the sensation of freedom and impunity. He buzzed into the Professor’s ear, tickled his young assistant’s velvety neck, took a bite from her sandwich, pooped on Global Transformations Bulletin, and– felt bored. Now, he was waiting for another experiment to begin, so he could fly through TX-1 beam again and turn back into a humble trainee Mitya Somov.

But strangely, no one was going to start the new test. At a quarter to three, the team was preparing to leave!

Mitya panicked. He landed on the Professor’s nose, but the old man waved him off, mumbling: “That climate change must be real, even flies are up this winter”, and left.

Mitya dashed to the closing door, and there, he finally spotted a note: “No afternoon tests: the lab will be closed. Pest control.”


Very Short Prose: A Present

I ran across this photo and could not help writing the story below.


Ivanka Trump in chinchilla

A Present

He carefully put a large silver box on the table. Its silky red ribbon trembled enticingly.

Must be a fur coat, she thought. Oh, my God, he is awesome!

“Make a guess. What is there?” He asked.

She frowned feigningly and touched the box with her perfectly manicured fingers.

“Something furry?”

He nodded.

“Something delicate?”


His eyes were glowing with fondness.

Must be chinchilla, she thought. Those coats are devilishly expensive!

“You did remember I wanted it, didn’t you?” She said, and pulled the red ribbon.

He nodded again. He waited.

Oh, she was so excited!

“Darling, I’ll marry you! You are wonderful!” She cried out.

The ribbon slipped down, the box opened up.

She recoiled. She stared at the gift. She fell speechless.

Two small furry balls with shiny black eyes were staring at her from the box.


End of the World


(micro fiction, 1 minute read)

The missiles were approaching. People panicked.

“Dammit,” men whispered.

“Oh, Lord,” women sobbed.

“Get me more funding! Quickly!” Yelled the Minister of Defense.

“Didn’t I warn you?” Shrieked a Nobel laureate.

“Oh, God. Why now?” Cried a middle-aged woman in a wedding dress.

Senators and their secretaries sobbed silently.

Only the President retained his composure.

“It’s over, but I am with you, my friends,” he typed and twitted the message.

For sure, a man like him was not elected for nothing!

Criminal Indent

on writing about thrillers

~ dreams to remember ~

Willie Gordon Suting | poet | writer | freelancer | bibliophile | crooner | fashionista | Shillong,Meghalaya,Northeast India

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