Microfiction: Mic Dropping

Amidst the violence, when the shady deals were just being struck, and the drugs hitting streams of blood at the rate of a brain burst, he plugged in his instrument and warmed up his other physical one. The microphone crackled against his breath, and he sang a few languid notes. Continue reading

Microfiction: Pulled Chicken

“That wasn’t chicken,” she said, standing behind him as he washed off the plate. The remnants of meat slid away, to be caught in the drain cover.

“Uh…what?” he said. “Then what was it?”

“I don’t know.” Continue reading

Microfiction: A Fight Scene

It came to this, as it always did, as the screaming of the choirs heralded. They’d been chasing her for the past week, ruining her life one life taken at a time. She was sick of her journey as a hero; she was sick of being beaten by fate itself and taken along on this trip without her consent.

She was sick of it, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore. Continue reading

Microfiction: Hope

Hope floated over her and wished that she could just tell her. Wished she could manifest and regale her with all the new things that would happen. All the beauty and joy.

But, there Karen was, for now, crying in a shopping center. Hiding in the changing room with no interest in putting on the swimsuit that she had taken from the racks. Trying to not make too much sound even as her heart broke at the seams and into so many pieces. Continue reading

Microfiction: New Villain

“Why must I be the evil one?”

The being of pure light looked at me. I had been converted first to human form. My armor was black, and my sword was on fire—and I hated it.

“Because someone needs to be,” the being said, then slowly formed into a person. Nose and ears and such coming in slowly. “I am sorry though—but that’s the way it’s got to be.”

“Why?” 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

Microfiction: The New Heroes

Not everyone is cut out for the hero lifestyle in this fantasy microfiction called:

The New Heroes

Grand Master Tamer J. Ward stood off a few tens of feet from the battle and surveyed the situation. Examining the two new recruits.

It was as he expected: they were terrible. Continue reading

Christmas Collection #2: Favorite Microfiction! “Microfiction: Piano Player”

(Originally posted October 17th, 2015)


“I get to play. I get to play. Wrong note. Wrong note. Wrong note. Wrong note. Wrong note.” His little fingers leave red marks on the white keys.

“Hahahahaha. Don’t you love the songs I play?”

His wrists dislocate. The music gets faster. Continue reading

Christmas Collection #11: Most Popular Microfiction! “Microfiction: Alcoholic”

(Originally posted January 3rd, 2015) 


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:

Alcoholic  Continue reading

Microfiction: Farmer

May I present a short, strange story about a thankless job.

It’s called:

Farmer

— 

We rise with the sun. They rise with the night. And the first step is always to make sure they do not breach the earth. We feed the soil. We water them as best we can. But they still grow out of the ground at the rate they do. So we chop off the exposed parts and force them back. Continue reading