Kristy voted The Midget by Gabe Gurbal into the final and awarded it one judge’s point. Here’s what she had to say about it:

Okay, I love this story. It’s edgy, gritty and modern. Plus, who doesn’t love a story about midgets? I believe the politically correct term is “little people” so I also can’t help but admire the brave use of the “m” word.

” As I walked out the apartment door, I looked back, hoping to catch a glimpse of her sweet face, but the door had already closed.  On the subway home, I could only think about what it would be like to live with a midget.”

This story doesn’t depend solely on quirky subject matter. There’s an underlying statemwent self-revelation and awareness, a confession in it that most wouldn’t be brave enough to make.

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The Midget

Desperate to find a new apartment before my impending eviction, I went to check out a place advertised on Craigslist as a “cozy room in the heart of Williamsburg”.  It turned out the apartment was located in a dilapidated, graffiti-decorated section of East Williamsburg, in a building that looked more like a sausage factory.  When I arrived, I was greeted by a midget.  I stared down at all 4 plus feet of her, not quite sure what to make of someone so short, but I agreed to limply shake the tiny hand she extended.  She gave me a cute little smile and told me to come on in.  Her face was attractive, even if it was attached to a dwarfish body.  As she led me up the stairs to the apartment, I checked out what little ass there was for her to offer.  It was small, but definitely firm; like two small oranges just waiting to be picked up by the palm of a hand.  I decided she could be a passable roommate.

Once inside she introduced me to her roommates.  To my disappointment, they were not at all midget-like.  I shook the hands of two spiky-haired dudes who let out quick, sharp grunts as they gripped my hand.  I returned their grunts, and after polite and mindless small talk, the group gave me a tour of the place.  It didn’t take long.  The apartment consisted of a living room dominated by a drum set, with stairs leading to a couple of cubicles that overlooked it.  I commented on the drum set.

“We’re in a band” the first Sid Vicious wannabe said.

“Really?”

“We practice two nights a week right here”, the other Sex Pistols star said.  “I hope that wouldn’t be a problem”.

I looked at him blankly, picturing a bunch of prickly-haired 2^nd-rate punk rockers slamming away on guitars as their attractive midget girlfriends looked on.  Then I thought of making out with some of the groupie midgets that just wanted a taste of the action.  “No, I love rock music.” I said.

“Actually, we’re a punk rock slash pychobilly band”, Sid said.

“A punkabilly band!” I exclaimed with mock enthusiasm.  They went on to explain the nuances of pychobilly versus other pycho forms of music.  I suppressed my yawn, and asked to see the bedroom they were offering.

The bedroom, if one could call it that, could only be shown by the midget.  I was perplexed by this, but when we climbed up the stairs to see the room, I realized it was one of the cubby holes I previously noticed above the living room.  I had erroneously assumed they were storage units, maybe for extra drums.  It turned out the midget lived in one of the rooms.  She walked in the first room, the ceiling just an inch or two above her small head.  I stooped down, hobbling into the room like an old man.  I regretted not bringing a cane.  Hunched over, I tried to view all of the room but could only see the floor.  The midget took notice and said something about the room not being for everybody.  I resisted commenting how it wasn’t for anybody taller than 5 feet, and let out a grunt instead.  We stood there—well she stood, I hunched—and admired the beauty of cramming a twin mattress into a space barely large enough for a human to lie down in. The moment passed, and then my back started to hurt, signaling it was time to hobble on out.

“What do you think?” she asked once I could stand again. I snuck a peak down her low-cut shirt, and caught a glimpse of midget cleavage nestled in her A cup bra.

“Well it certainly is cozy,” I said.  She smiled.  I knew if I lingered any longer I would develop a full-fledged midget fetish.  Eager to beat it out of there before this happened, I told her, “You know what they say, ‘New Yorker’s are always on the go.’”, and I began to head out.  But I noticed a twinge of disappointment in her eyes, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I’ll give you a call if I’m interested.”  As I walked out the apartment door, I looked back, hoping to catch a glimpse of her sweet face, but the door had already closed.  On the subway home, I could only think about what it would be like to live with a midget.

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A reminder of those voting rules…

1. No writer can vote for their own work.

2. Apart from the judges, any voter may only vote once and for one entry.

3. For your vote to count, you need to include a feedback comment so people can see why you chose what and who you chose.

4. Voting ends midnight, Friday August 6, California time.

We’ll announce the winner on Saturday August 7.