Microfiction: Hurled Against The Wall

A book’s spine is not meant to hit a wall, but, there it slid down, coming to a forlorn, bent-out-of-shape slump on the ground.

Samantha crossed her hands over her chest and pouted. She’d been enjoying that book, loving the characters, the concepts, where it was going—but now…

A quick darting motion brought her phone up to use, as it had been an hour before, and her text sent at the speed of technology.

That was horrible. Continue reading

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Microfiction: Every Little Word

Every word spoken, added to the physical mass. Charlie oversaw words and made sure that no one overused them. Words were precious, you see: a commodity that no one could do much without, yet paradoxically must not speak too often. They powered lights and made the cars run on time. If not for words, likely they would all be dead.

But then came a stranger into the town, who spoke freely, and with words they’d never heard before. Charlie grew worried about him but had no significant reason to remove him, he was but one man, and a kind enough sort at that.

But, yes, later, there was something wrong, there was something off. He used a swear. No one had ever heard it before—and it brought forth chaos. Continue reading

Microfiction: Medusa’s Lament

“It would be nice to take it all back, don’t you think?” she mused at the stone figure of a woman in a slip-on dress. “I mean—I didn’t quite mean for it to go so far.”

She swiveled her head toward a man with his face in a perpetual scream.

“And, you, I really did not mean for you to die. I was trying to be careful.” Continue reading

Microfiction: Wobbly

Along the rim, they walked, and Charles became worried about his stability. His feet were not working well, and not landing well, and not going in the exact way he would have wanted them to do so.

Sasha walked alongside him and did not seem to notice his little stutters of motion. She simply handed him another drink, something she brought with her, and he took a sip of it. It wasn’t alcohol; it tasted like water. Continue reading

Microfiction: Hide

The cracks let in the wind. A howling wind. Moving there, touching a hair, a face, a piece of cloth. A taste on it, of gunpowder and ash. Of the ending of the world.

Terry kept his hand on the handle, though if it went, it would not stop from going by his grip. Haley clutched a collection of towels and buttons that made a bear. Continue reading

Microfiction: Glug

A bubble of air moves to the surface and pops. Anderson raises his eyebrow at this.

“What’s that…?” he asks and leans over the hole.

“Just air escaping,” Sonia says, and adjusts in her seat. She’d let Anderson have the one actual chair and was sitting on a bucket inside the makeshift tent.

“But from what? How did air get down there?” Anderson says, and keeps his head over the hole. Nothing else happens to the surface, nothing much moves or shudders. “We’ve had no fish for hours, and then this…” Continue reading

Microfiction: A Quick Joke

Scans show nothing wrong with Yang, but, still, he is there.

“Look, I’m sure you have wonderful insurance, Yang, but this is gone too far.”

Yang crosses his arms over his chest. He’s a small man but has a large frown. “Are you telling me you do not want more business? It’s a dumb thing to deny service to a repeat customer.” Continue reading

Microfiction: Retry, Then Retry Some More

All Cynthia wanted was to date this guy. It was her only immediate goal. But the universe decidedly had other ideas in mind. She was not aware of this, of course, not at first, but she got the gist quickly.

For instance, on her way out of her neighborhood, her car exploded underneath her feet. One second her foot pushed down the pedal, and the next a fireball erupted and seared off her everything. Continue reading

Microfiction: Moving In, Moving Out

Wednesday recalls moving in and remembers the moment she wanted to move out. She sees them both as the last of the boxes leave the room. All over the world Wednesday’s gone, seen, and done so much. But, still, each house, no matter how small a time spent there, was a memory, and nothing closes a memory like the last item out of the room.

“I’ll miss it here,” she says and knows she is lying and telling the truth all at the same time. Continue reading

Microfiction: Bagels And Cream Cheese

“They say the percentage of redheads in this country is really tiny,” Hebert said to the woman as she handed over the cheap bagel, the near-it’s-expiration-date cream cheese tube, and the coffee with a price in the two digits.

“Is that so?” she said, sounding bored. “Well, I guess that’s cool. Enjoy your food.” Continue reading