In the water, something swam along. It was entirely and fully unaware of its position—but it lived it all the same.
In the air, a person with not much to do and little interest in matters of her own life walked along, looking at her feet. Continue reading
Jess examined the bowl of white something or other and looked up at her friend.
“So, what do you think of it?” Heather asked.
“I mean…” Jess said and then bit her lower lip. “It is by far the most unique piece of food I have ever had.” Continue reading
(Due to an error on my part, I don’t have a discussion article for Wednesday. Instead, here is the finale to the three part story of a man and his computer. If you haven’t read them yet here’s part 1 and part 2.)
NEW AGE VIRUS
Segmented boxes flashed up on screen and he perused them, watching counters tick up and down in wide amounts until one was within acceptable range for him to join the conversation.
Well, “conversation” may have been a stretch of a word choice, as down in this level, the communication was numbers and code words and strange symbols zooming across the screen like news tickers on a major network. A series of waving lines showed he could speak now if he wanted to, and Bernard did not feel like keeping up the typing speed required for full immersion.
“Auditory. Virus. Attack.” Continue reading
(For those who have not read it, here’s part 1)
The response took five minutes. The incoming message symbol fluctuating several times in the span of only seconds. This irked Bernard, but he was willing to observe patience if this was indeed something as interesting as he hoped.
Yeah. It is.
Under one second it took Bernard to type a response.
When and where did you get these pictures?
From a forum. Week old. Continue reading
In present day, technology is already changing our lives. But it can go a lot further. A story not so far-fetched called:
New Age Virus
Bernard Burn, resident of 1010 Parry Street, sat and glared at the string of symbols on his computer monitor. Without looking away, he pulled at the skin beneath his eyes, trying to make them less dry, and less exhausted.
The room: dark, but he did not turn on the light. If he did, the fan would turn on, and Bernard was already too cold in his house. He was never without his blue, too big for him jacket. He shivered and continued looking at the rows and rows of numerical and alphabetical gibberish. Continue reading
No monsters. No demons. No evil.
Sometimes even I need to just write a tiny, funny story. I call it:
Well see, here was the problem. I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t know how she’d take it. She was going to freak out.
She needed to know though. I would want to know if I was in her shoes.
“Don’t move,” I said.
So, of course, she moved a step across the kitchen floor. I followed her, sliding to her side, and continued to track with my eyes. Continue reading
While most of my stories tend to be dark, this one is bordering on pure surrealism. A story about unknowable and strange things I call:
The beetle’s liquid squirts up in an arc once the needle plunges into its exoskeleton. It squirms, the legs trying to run.
The man holds the needle with a pair of fingers, not even feeling the momentum of his tiny victim. He pushes down until the needle breaks into the corkboard. The bug keeps failing to escape. Continue reading
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
So far I have only been writing flash fiction on this site, but today I present my first foray into it’s much more concise cousin: Microfiction
What is microfiction? Well, I’m glad you asked:
It’s a subset of flash fiction—those super short stories typically told in 1,000 words or less. Definitions vary, but for the most part, microfiction is any story told in 300 words or less, and could even be as short as a few words.
–Gayle Towell, Litreactor.com
And so, here’s mine. It’s short, it’s somber, and it’s called:
The glass is full of amber, and his eyes match it. Continue reading
Let me tell you a tale about sleep.
A flash fiction, called:
Two flash fictions this week?
Is this some kind of crazy dream?
But even if it is, I invite you to enjoy it.
With a story called:
The Monster at the End of the Hallway Continue reading
This is it.
This challenge has taken us through the depths of fiction, and now we stand ready to bring down the death-stroke.
To sever the head of the challenge, and bring glory to Coolerbs.com! Continue reading
So remember the challenge I did last week?
Well, Chuck Wendig decided that this weeks challenge will be for us to continue someone else’s story, but still not finish it.
So here we go again! I am continuing Kelly’s “Don’t Talk to the Dead” (click link for original article by Kelly)
The stuff in bold she wrote, while my continuation with remain in normal mode.
Ready? Let’s go!
Don’t Talk to the Dead
Many adaptations of popular franchises have gone over quite well in the last few years. The Harry Potter movies where critically acclaimed, and loved by the fans. It is not impossible to adapt a book to film in a way that will please the fans.
Some books lend themselves to this better than others.
Ender’s Game was not one of those. Continue reading