Microfiction challenge #3: Mystery, permanent, riding in an elevator

 “I think it’s permanent this time. He even took that creepy elk head.”

“Oh, Libby, I’m coming over with some chocolate. And Kleenex.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“I’m coming.” Marjorie hung up.

Shit, why did I mention the elk head? It’s going to be much harder to hide.

---

“Did you know the elevator’s not working?” Marjorie was panting.

“Again? You’re such a friend—willing to climb mountains to provide chocolate therapy.” Libby hugged Marjorie. “Come in.”

---

Later, ignoring the “Out of Service” sign, Libby pressed the down arrow. The doors opened. She stepped between the antlers and pressed “P”.

Microfiction challenge #2: Romance, merit, assembling furniture

“Hi, I’m Libby, the dancing queen!”

Matt stared, bewildered.

“From ABBA.” She pointed to a truck emblazoned with Assemble BaBy Assemble!

He laughed. “Come in.”

“You need help with a desk?”

“Correct. I was born without opposable thumbs.”

It was Libby’s turn to stare.

“Kidding. But pictograms and Allen keys are my nemesis.”

---

Twenty minutes later, Libby peered over Matt’s shoulder.  

“I assemble words too.”

“Then I gratefully accept more help.”

“T-E-M-E-R-I-T-Y."

“You’re brilliant!” Matt turned, smiling.

“Anything else I can assist with?”

“I lack the temerity to ask women out. Could you help with that?”

Libby grinned. “With pleasure.”

Microfiction challenge #1: Science fiction (subgenre: schlock romance), beneath, eating ice cream

 NOOOOOOO!!!!

The ice cream plopped onto the pavement.

Libby turned, furious. Expecting an apology.

It was a BLAH: Beings Lacking Alimentary Holes. Not an anatomically correct description, but BLAHs received their nutrition parenterally. They performed the few jobs robots couldn’t do. No need for meal breaks=efficiency. But, Libby thought, no eating or drinking=a joyless existence.

She saw the lips beneath his ludicrously lush mustache move. Was he smiling??? He brought his right arm from behind his back, proffering a cone with three scoops of pistachio ice cream.

As she reached forward, Libby’s fingertips touched his. Was that a spark???