Micro-Fiction by Charles Watts

Eddie had to look after Gramps until Mom got home, and he was not happy.
He had to skip soccer practice at the High School, and babysitting the
old man was never any fun. Last week, Gramps found the gun Mom hid and
threatened to kill himself, but he couldn’t find the bullets. When he
was in a mood he was hard to control. Even at 80, Gramps was sturdy.

Eddie heard the front door slam. Gramps was on the loose, in the wild.
Eddie ran out to the porch and saw him heading straight for the river.
He overtook Gramps twenty feet short of the bank and grabbed his arm.

“Where you goin’, Gramps?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Eddie, Gramps. Come on back to the house.”

“I got business.” Gramps tore his arm away and ran for the water.

Eddie caught him at the riverbank and wrestled him to the ground. The
old man was still farm strong, and it was tough to keep him down.
Finally, he stopped struggling.

They both stood up and brushed the sand and mud from their clothes.
Gramps put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.
“Eddie, you got to let me do it. I’m worthless to anyone. You got to let

“You called me Eddie.”

"What’s that?

“You called me Eddie.”

“Who’s Eddie?”

They walked back to the house. Gramps sat on the porch while Eddie made
coffee. Gramps liked it hot and black.

Early in his career, Charles had an underground play in Los Angeles, which led to script writing contracts for several TV series, including "Kojack" and "Here Come the Brides." He fled Hollywood, got an MFA in poetry, and went to Iran to teach literature at several Universities. For five years, he edited "Seizure," a magazine of poetry and fiction. Do not worry about his sanity; he has done many other things. Publications so far this year include one story and six poems in lit journals, and ten poems in a new anthology (Karma in the High Peaks) from Ra Press, due out in September 2010.