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

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Flash Fiction: Our World Is Cold

Would you believe the insane trip that is the Cold Saga started with me just muttering while staring at a blank screen “my fingers are cold”?

Because, yeah, that’s how this all got going. Here’s the fifth one. You kind of need to read the others first, so follow the links.

1st: My Fingers Are Cold

2nd: My Feet Are Cold

3rd: Our Hearts Are Cold 

4th: My Past Is Cold

And now:

Our World Is Cold

Our world is cold when we come out of the dirt. When we raise our heads above the ground. The warmth is still not upon it, the freshness still not taking hold of the last vestiges. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: My Past Is Cold

Oh boy, this series again. The fourth in the Cold Saga is a little different than the others. If you haven’t read them, fair warning:this is a prequel to three other stories. I suggest starting with those.

1st: My Fingers Are Cold

2nd: My Feet Are Cold

3rd: Our Hearts Are Cold 

All caught up? Then let’s begin. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Our Hearts Are Cold

I thought I was done with them. That they were gone. But they would not leave my head. So, as another first for this site, may I present the first “Flash Fiction Trilogy” to ever grace Coolerbs Writes.

I have no idea if there will ever be another. Or even if I will finally be able to leave these characters alone. But until then, enjoy the third installment in this weird story about the end of this world.

If you haven’t already, I HIGHLY suggest you read “My Fingers Are Cold” and its sequel “My Feet Are Cold” before you even attempt this one.

For everyone else, let’s begin:

Our Hearts Are Cold

Our hearts are cold, so he snuggles up between us. He is warmth. He radiates it from every inch of his skin. From his still growing hair, to his hands no larger than our fists. He opens his eyes, and stares at us with those globes of pure yellow light.
Continue reading

Flash Fiction: My Feet Are Cold

Marking a first time for this blog: a direct sequel story. If you haven’t read “My Fingers Are Cold” then I recommend you do. Or none of this is going to make any sense.

And for those who have already. May I present:

My Feet Are Cold 

My feet are cold, so I wrap them in the last of my bandages. I once had shoes. But I wore them out a long time ago.

So now, as I run up the hill and along the street, my feet are perpetually cold. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: My Fingers Are Cold

My fingers are cold. So I rub them together and hope for friction. Me breathing on them is the only sound for miles and miles. And the ash spreads across my knuckles.

I pull my jacket tighter to my body, and walk towards the shell of a building. My feet leaving prints in the soot.

I hold out my hands and hope for some warmth from the wreckage. But it’s as cold as everything else in this world.

I tuck my hands underneath my arms and hope for my pits to offer something close to heat. I keep my head down when the wind picks up.

It sounds like someone talking. Saying over and over again the word that graces my lips every few minutes. “Cold” it says. And I can almost see the wreckage of a man whisper it through a shattered jaw bone and fleshless grin. Continue reading