You sit in the window, watching for her. Passersby mistake you for a prostitute.

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When you look at yourself through a microscope, all you can see is Dr Mort’s frown. 

—–

  
You keep your memories in a cage. When you’re trying to sleep, they shriek and squawk. 

—–

  
Life is like a silent movie. Incidents stutter. There is poetry in their melodrama. 

—–

  
Occasionally, friendly faces interpose themselves between the world and you. 

—–

   
 
Eve’s children mock you from the woodlands. 

—–

  
Eve is not as you remember. Her eyes seem different, expressionless. 

—–

  
Things are ambiguous. They stare at you. You can’t write about them. There are no words. 

—–

  
When you whistle, your enemies drop dead. It only works on Sundays. 

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Thanks to everyone who provided source photos for these Mono miniatures. For further micromonomania, click here.