Mum reckoned if anything that got dropped got picked up within five seconds it’d be alright. It started, I reckon, with spat-out dummies. Lollies, and food in general, followed. A quick wipe and right as rain. At footy games she took the same pick-’em-up-quick approach. ‘You’ll be right, Matty. Up you get. Keep goin’, Mate.’ And on the morning after my diagnosis she was on my doorstep, all smiles. ‘No point gettin’ down about it,’ she said. ‘I’m taking you shopping.’ The five second rule again. Christ knows – I don’t even like shopping.
The five second rule
Published by Richard Holt
A writer from Melbourne, Richard maintains a number of blogs exploring very short fiction and text-based art practices. His stories and poems have been published in both mainstream and alternative journals and collections. He is also a visual artist and was co-founder of both Platform Artists Group and zine store, Sticky. He continues to publish very short fiction and conduct microfiction workshops for practicing writers, students and others. He has created numerous text-based installations and artworks for public spaces, including at Federation Square, Melbourne and in conjunction with the 2017, Newcastle Writers Festival. View all posts by Richard Holt
Published
small stories about love 
I always thought it was three seconds