When the light flickers, people behave. When it stops, they explain.
💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡
Tan here. A long-term resident of Block 345, Chestpeak Avenue.
It’s not a bad place to live. The residents of Block 345 are generally orderly folk who maintain the block well. And I like that they leave everything where it should be.
But that lamp. That idiotic lamp.
The flickering of that idiotic lamp was irritating. Irregular. Inconsistent.
It happened whenever I walked past, but some enjoyed uninterrupted illumination.
That was interesting to note.
Coincidence, of course.
💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡
Take Mdm Lim, for example. The one who waters others’ plants for them. That light would behave over her.
Now me? I’m not a plant person. I like to keep up with the news.
But I’m a retiree. I can’t afford regular newspapers, so I depend on…external help.
I sometimes…er…borrow the newspapers outside neighbours’ apartments when they’re not watching.
And that darned light would go on and off over me whenever I did.
💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡
I, Tan, believe that optics must be upheld. I’ve always done this at work.
And at home as well.
Sharing corridors requires community discipline, so I make sure to return the newspapers slightly earlier.
What is borrowed must return mah? Best practice.
Tan always obeys community standards.
💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡
They finally replaced the silly lamp. See? I said that the wiring was faulty.
Nothing unusual. Just the Town Council and its nonsense.
Things went back to normal since the lamp stopped flickering. Mdm Lim waters her own plants and conserves water for herself now.
Everyone else’s – not so important lah.
Me? Now that the lamp has stopped flickering, I have decided to borrow newspapers permanently.
No returning. For what? Everyone can see anyway.
💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡
So, everything in order, lah.
It WAS faulty wiring, like I said. Glad they corrected it.
Mdm Lim waters her own plants and conserves water for herself now.
I borrow…but when no one else is in the corridor.
I don’t like that light now. It shows. Too well.
💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡🏢💡
Original Singaporean microfiction by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental
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We celebrate a day that women may find uncomfortable..World Menopause Day.
Both literally and figuratively.
But in that discomfort, we can find joy, humour and a little camaraderie.
So join Elena, Mavis, and Theodora as they combat those hot flashes–with a little ingenuity and pizazz.
When the going gets hot, the tough cool it down.
Redglow Secondary–where a teacher needed street smarts and strategy to stay cool–in more ways than one.
And Elena Chan, Mavis Fang and Theodora Fong found this out the sweaty way.
The ladies taught–and learned–and important lesson–When life brought on the heat, fix your own thermostat.The middle-aged female teachers knew everything there was to know about teenage mayhem and—
The M-word.
That hit ladies over 50.
The three often bantered the issue of recalcitrant students and growing older over coffee.
Theodora often gloated about how much her students taught her.
“If enlightenment is a hot flash, I must have transcended.”
The experience with M worsened when Redglow’s new principal, Mr. Ding, installed energy saving air conditioning in the classroom in an attempt to cut costs–and boost credit.
His, that is.
The three needed a strategy revamp to survive classroom and student heat–
And, as the ever-dramatic English teacher Mavis would insist–
Those darned hot flashes.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
As luck had it, the AC decided that it wanted the day off.
The women and their hot flashes had proven too overwhelming–so it ‘stormed off.’
During Mavis’s English double period.
She announced the fiasco with her usual dramatic flair –and others’ equally dramatic angst.
The solution? Mr. Ding’s energy-saving cooler.
Elena wondered aloud if it had been introduced-JUST AT THE RIGHT TIME.
It DID NOT COOL.
It BAKED.
The teachers–the three heroines in particular–‘glowed’ profusely, to the great amusement of their charges.
Theodora, in particular, kept her male students’ attention.
Seeing the older, yet attractive teacher glow was gossip fodder.
But if her complaints were anything to go by, she didn’t enjoy it.
“It’s like standing in a Tandoori oven–only less hot.” She groused, flailing her arms in complaint.
Elena, ever the scientific pragmatist, came up with one of her innovations.
“Why don’t we form a Cool Club? If no one’s going to help us keep the sweat off, we will.”
Oh, she was determined.
Theodora rolled skeptic eyes–but the pressure of the heat reinforced her membership.
The resilient ladies stashed anything ‘cool’ they could think of–fans, ice packs, and frozen water bottles.
“What are these for?” Mr. Ding raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Oh, just lesson props,” Mavis brushed him off without as much as batting an eyelid.
But the students were sharp.
Too sharp for whining and water splashes to escape their notice.
And the Letter M stunned the school.
The staff room earned a moniker of Alaskan proportions–The North Pole.
Mavis grinned. “We’re legends now. Let’s not spoil the moment by telling them it’s about survival.”
And survival it was.
A frozen water bottle decided to “take a leak” the next day.
Over Elena’s chemistry practicals.
“At least it was only a mock paper.” She sighed.
But the three couldn’t help giggling over their Cool Club Thermoregulation Genius.
They needed strategy.
Stealth.
And lots of coffee.
To keep M at bay.
Operation chill had just begun.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
The Cool Club’s success at maintaining it’s cool didn’t stay a secret for long.
Not with teenage busybodies and the heat—
That ate at angsty teaching staff.
So it wasn’t long before Mr. Ding learned of Operation Chill.
During assembly, when Mavis’ trusty fan whirred a little too loudly during his announcements.
“Energy waste!” He roared.
Theodora tried to defuse the situation with a flirtatious smile.
“It’s self-preservation, Sir.”
The bomb still went off.
“Unauthorised cooling devices are disallowed in the staffroom.”
That didn’t deter our friends in the Cool Club. No, no, no.
It went underground.
Literally.
In the basement prep room.
Mr. Ding hadn’t counted on Elena–and Chemistry.
The savvy science teacher rigged a cooling contraption using smuggled lab supplies.
“Technically–for O level Chemistry Classes.”
“Technically nuts!” Mavis’ throat emitted a hacking sound through the fog.
Even more whispers. Students spoke of the Misty Menopause Lab.
Even Ah Xiong the janitor had something to say. “Aiyo, the fog ladies are at it again.”
The rebellion couldn’t ‘cool’ off.
A wrong ice-pack placement one day sent out too much fog, triggering a silent alarm leading to–
Mr. Ding’s room.
Screaming, wet students.
Soaked teachers with hot flashes cooled, albeit unintended.
And Mr. Ding’s own hot flash–hotter than any other in history.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
The trio paid the mandatory visit to Mr. Ding’s office the next morning. His glare cooked faster than any heated stove.
“What’s this Operation Chill?” He demanded, waving a red, soaked towel like a declaration of war.
Elena adjusted her glasses and flashed her most comely smile. “An experiment, sir. On….er…thermostats and how they work. For O Level students sitting for this year’s Chemistry exams.”
“Er…yes.” Theodora quickly chimed in. “My class sits for the paper. It’s trying to show how we adapt to climate change.”
Mavis added. “Mine’s trying to show how internal weather patterns affect the human psyche.”
A long pause. Too long.
Then, a resounding chortle–almost as loud as a ding dong.
“You ladies,” He sighed. “Are living PR nightmares.How do we convince the kids to align with energy saving after–“
He gestured to the makeshift thermo cooler next to him.
But he couldn’t deny that it worked–discipline and restlessness were down, and morale was up.
The trio had earned a well-deserved moniker–The Chill Queens.
“Ok, ok. I admit it. Cutting down on energy only increased the heat. Keep your experiment. But remember…cool it.”
So the Cool Club later celebrated the success of Operation Chill–with ice kachang.
“Here’s to beating Redglow. One hot flash at a time.”
The ladies taught–and learned–an important lesson–
When life brings on the heat, fix your own thermostat.
💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕💨❄️☕
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
This story contains images that may disturb some, but is meant to teach, not glorify harm.
A little piece de resistance for Steak and Zuchcchini day.
Beware when the pursuit of greatness cuts too deep.
🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴
I remember Mama Tree. She was once my whole life.
I was hers.
Entwined.
En-branched.
We worshipped nature’s balance. The balance in life.
And I remember that logger. The one who took Mama’s life.
Butchered her trunk.
My trunk.
And we became…
Butcher blocks.
Festering in the corner of Marrow and Vine.
You’d find it in a cosy corner of a gentrified district…one for the epicurians.
But few knew that we were its prisoners.
Forever trapped as witnesses to the violence of blades.
The ears that heard the cries of cut meat.
And the wallowing of marrow.
The taunts of Chef Calder Lim as he prepared his piece de resistance–reversed-aged sirloin on zucchini slices–
Rare.
🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴
“Everyone!” Calder’s grating voice boomed through the kitchen.
His Sous Chef, Justine Chew, shot him a look dirtier than a diaper.
Ignoring the almost-malevolent stare, Calder held up a cut of meat.
Red.
Angry.
Eerie.
Almost diabolical.
A cut of lab-grown steak, which I just knew wasn’t animal.
Just…not.
The enormous walk-in fridge became a coffin.
A zucchini morgue.
And it didn’t ring with the vegan in Justine. She slammed the fridge door, squirming.
She drew her cutting board. Calder’s signature dish..at the expense of her soul.
She raised her cleaver over a slab of wagyu.
And stopped.
She was supposed to be alone in the kitchen.
But…
Whispers.
“Why chop?” The cry was faint.
Pleading.
She chalked it up to exhaustion…she had pulled an all-nighter to prepare for the next day’s culinary exam.
She hit the books after dinner. It was another long night.
One marked by an eerie green shade.
Her head rested on the table.
Green roots tugging.
And tugging.
They entrenched her in their centre.
🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴
And Justine wasn’t the only one—
Rooted.
Calder, Head Chef, had begun losing his head–and his hands.
Steak ala Palm (his) became part of the day’s menu after his knife sliced into his hand mid-service.
He had placed it on the griddle, together with the other sizzling steaks.
And I, the block, found my strength growing.
And growing.
With the blood from Calder’s steaks.
The zucchinis became my watchmen.
They twisted.
Absorbed Calder’s trauma.
Losing their softness.
Justine knew she had to act—before anyone lost themselves.
She found herself at Marrow Vine’s tiny library, tucked in musty attic.
There, a tome. Covered in layers of dust.
Her mouth fell open.
Marrow Vine.
Built on sacred land.
The last Head Chef.
Vanished.
The last entry—
“The Zucchini watches you.”
🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴
The day came. Calder’s big reveal. His human-sirloin steak zucchini combo.
A hit with the guests.
Until one bit into a zucchini.
That screamed.
The doors of the restaurant slammed shut.
Themselves.
I luminesced. A telepathic connection–
With Calder.
He began to stew.
Literally.
Besides the steaks.
Justine stood by, back against the wall, trembling.
I didn’t have to tell her.
She either joined us…or became a joint.
🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴
Justine didn’t take.
With one fell blow from a cleaver, she smashed me in two.
She grabbed LPG from under a stove.
Poured the fluid over the floor.
Struck a match.
And ran.
I wasn’t all chopped up.
I was repurposed again.
A chic kitchen island in Justine’s new cooking show.
That whispered—
“It’s not about the finest steak and zucchini–it’s in restraint.”
🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴🍴🔪🥄🍽️🥢🔪🍴
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights on! Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 