"Pillow"


The following story is a piece of flash fiction written by yours truly. You may or may not be surprised by the type of story based on what little you know of me and, more specifically, my usual sarcastic tone. This is what I do and I hope you find something of value in that which lies below, even if it's only fodder for trolling me.
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"Pillow"
Knock, knock. The yellow door is all that differentiates Corey's family home from the rest, each house in the suburban subdivision is painted white with charcoal tiled roofs, no flowers, no color, only waist-high hedges blending into green grass, contrasting against white concrete, SUVs and minivans hidden behind garage doors. He peels open the door and I walk in without invitation, making a left at the family portrait next to the arched doorway leading to the living room decorated in blacks and whites with only hints of color in the form of roses and tulips. I take a seat in the full-sized sofa, blacker than asphalt, cling to one end, grab a throw pillow and slip it under my shirt. "Somebody's pregnant," Corey jokes. I pull out the pillow. "It's a baby boy!" he says, "Let's name him Pillow." I force a smile.
Finish the story with a little clickage of your mousey-mouse.