A Life in Miniature – 208 words
It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean to break it, the Coliseum, but, well, you know–I’m clumsy. The boss is always saying so.
Was it my fault they hadn’t secured that skeleton well enough? Or that I tripped over an extension cord and knocked down the entire Powhatan wigwam?
They’d docked my wages for months after that one.
It’s OK, though. I love this job. Where else could I see places I’ll never really see, experience things I’ll never have a chance to, even if only in 1:32 scale?
The people are amazing here. The languages I hear, the excitement on faces, the running, the shouting. The engagement. Families, couples, children–they all engage with each other, engage with the exhibits. They are so alive. Even the wailing babies don’t bother me.
Better than the silence I face each night at home.
I wonder what their lives are like, these people who don’t notice me. I pick up their trash, chase after their leavings. I ensure their visit is clean. Sparkly. Fresh.
There is no dirt here. There is no seamy underbelly in a museum, just the pictures we want to see, the ideas we want to hold true.
There’s just me. Living an invisible life.
Woo hoo! It’s another round of Flash Friday Fiction, but we’ve got new requirements: not only did we have to focus on a character (this week, a janitor), but we also had more words in which to do so, 200 (+/- 10), in fact.
What do you think of my offering? I hope you’ll head on over to Flash Friday and read/comment on the other stories. There’s some amazing story telling (in miniature) happening over there every week!