Tag Archives: Velcro

Flash Fiction Tuesday – The little Pink Monkey comes to life

Setting the timer for five minutes.  This is what I came up with.

The computers shut down, and the lights in the building go off for the night.  The little pink monkey smiles.  He unhooks his Velcro hand from the cubicle wall, and jumps to the desk.  He scuttles around the keyboard, and swings over to the chair, using the legs to slide to the floor.  A mouse runs across the carpet, and the little pink monkey hides behind a chair leg.  He’d find a way to catch that varmint for Eric’s Mom.  He knew it was driving her nuts.  First, though, he needed to figure out how to get back on the desk, because the lights were coming back on.  Did it really take that long just to get this far?

Omigosh… Did I just unintentionally start a middle-grade-like novel?

I’m not really liking this one, but it’s what I came up with when I set the timer.  I guess I can expect some good and some so-so five-minute shorts.

Flash Fiction Friday – On Tuesday – The Pink Monkey

I’m a grown woman, a corporate executive—with a pink monkey in her office.  He hangs there from one arm, attached to my cubicle wall with a Velcro hand.  He stares at me with those goofy eyes.  He warms me inside.

Toys at work?  How unprofessional.

I smile.  It’s not just a toy.  It never really was a toy to me at all.  There is a heart embroidered on his belly, and he’s pink.  My favorite color.

My son won a prize at school.  “Pick anything you want.”

He saw that pink monkey, with a heart on its chest.
His mother’s favorite color.

He could have taken an airplane.  He could have taken a super ball.  But he picked up the pink monkey, and bought it home.

He gave it to me… for no reason.

“I love you Mommy.”

“I love you too, Baby.”

No, it’s not a toy.

The monkey stays.