Dodo Eraser

You don’t wait for me that afternoon.

By the time I have wrapped up and am at the gate, you are gone.

Scanning the pavement in front as far as my eyes go, I don’t see you.

I pull up my hoodie and begin walking.

Much later, I find a text,

Hey! Had to leave. Alex wanted to meet me before going home. Sorry! Catch you up soon!

I fling the phone on the laundry pile stacked aside and plunge on the divan.

My outstretched arms bisect the mattress,

climb down the divan and extend across walls to the space outside.

There, on my arms on either side,

come little flies with tiny feet, their minuscule wings pretty dots of colour, like the hair clips on your head. They settle on my skin,

brushing their feet against my muscles and veins. I am ticklish and I squeal softly, but

I don’t drive them away.

Up above my face I see yours.

You are forever pale, your body thin as a stick, your hair golden and loose over your shoulders. Our eyes meet and there are light blue waves between us.

Where had you been? I ask, my tone tired and anxious.

Right here, always here.

You run your palms over my arms and the flies are gone in an instant.

They will have to look for another home, I say, mildly complaining.

That they will. You are already taken. Your smile is like the smell of crushed hazelnut, teasing and soothing at once.

Who is the tenant? I whisper.

You grab an arrow of blue light slow-sizzling between us and whisper back, It’s a landlord’s world. Beggars aren’t choosers.

We giggle and tickle, we entangle and then immediately release each other’s legs, I seize the arrow from your hand and stick it into your waist.

Aaahhh, you tumble backwards and pretend to be dead.

Pushing you away, I ask in mock concern, what shall I tell Alex? Get alive! Come on!

You don’t answer at first. Then you say, just tell him that I settled all dues and left without sharing an address. And you, as the owner, got busy looking for a new tenant.

What if he wants to be one?

No! He can’t catch blue waves and that’s the basic minimum here.

Pleased, I pull out the arrow from your flesh and hasten to put some balm on your blue wound.

There’s a muzzled groan beside my head. You pick up your vibrating phone.

It’s Alex. Wait, let me reply to him. He gets jittery being in the seen zone.

I sit up. There’s one lost fly, sitting alone on my wrist.

I stare at it for a while.

And then, I mutilate it with an arrow of blue light.



I don’t clean the carcass from the mattress though.

Probably you do it.  

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Shrutidhora P Mohor (born 1979, India) has been listed in several competitions like Bristol Short Story Prize, Oxford Flash Fiction Prize, the Bath Flash Fiction Award, the Retreat West competitions, the Retreat West Annual Prize for short story 2022, the Winter 2022 Reflex Fiction competition, Flash 500. Her writings have been nominated for Best Microfictions 2023 and the Pushcart Prize 2024. A collection of short stories titled A Moon-Measure of All Things (Alien Buddha Press, February 2025) is her latest publication. Twitter/X: @ShrutidhoraPM, Instagram: @shrutidhorap, Facebook: @Shrutidhora P Mohor, Bluesky: @shrutidhora.bsky.social