Microfiction
Cross That Bridge
Cheryl sighed as she stepped off of the curb, her hands held the straps of her backpack. She felt like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Which wasn’t completely inaccurate.
Donna Fox (HKB)Published about an hour ago in Fiction156 A Quantum Mechanic Observes the Collapse of Screwdriver Probability Fields
Quantum mechanics is spooky, Einstein said, about quantum entanglement: a particle, observed, determines the status of another it's entangled with.
Gerard DiLeoPublished about 2 hours ago in FictionWriter
The Writer Is Me I am a writer. I have never won any awards, or been nominated for any, but I am very successful. I often wonder would I trade my success for an award, and recognition for a Pulitzer or Booker prize, and then think no. I would rather be a successful writer, than an award-winning one living from paycheck to paycheck. This means that I have to write, and these days I find that very easy.
Mike Singleton - MikeydredPublished about 3 hours ago in FictionKarnan
The Mahabharata, one of the two major Sanskrit epics of ancient India, narrates the story of the Kurukshetra War and the fates of the Kaurava and the Pandava tycoons. Among its numerous compelling characters, Karna stands out as one of the most complex and woeful icons . His life, fraught with challenges and dilemmas, embodies themes of fidelity, fate, and honor. Early Life and Birth Karna was born to Kunti, the mama of the Pandavas, before her marriage to King Pandu. Kunti had been granted a boon by the savant Durvasa that allowed her to bring any deity and bear a child by them. Out of curiosity, she invoked the Sun god, Surya, and was blessed with a son as radiant as the sun itself. still, since she was unattached, Kunti abandoned the invigorated in a handbasket and set it round on the Ganges. The child was set up by Adhiratha, a charioteer, and his woman
vinoth kumarPublished about 3 hours ago in FictionMind Maps
Lying on Momma's sofa, memories walk in, lead me astray, away from my safety net. Momma walks by, " You alright?"; " Mm", I say. I stare at my phone, she sits near with a crossword having no idea where my mind is at, or does she? I feel loathed, ugly, sad, broken. I don't want to go down the road to why my father left me; the road comes to me. I try to bypass this gnawing pathway, to avoid yield signs, run stop lights, push through the traffic in my brain; no can do. He's right in my face, saying, "Love you, be good, do your homework, okay?" then boarding his flight. I am sure he will be back as he always has been. He called every Sunday at eight p.m. sharp; the man was a machine. He used to read poetry to me over the phone when I was missing him, stuff he'd translated from some French dude, Rilke was it? I loved my father's eyes, all sad like a puppy; his generosity and good manners when we were out and about together had me looking up to him. Then I came out, questioning my gender identity. First to Momma cause, she's just easy with me, always. I plopped down at the foot of her bed and told her, " I feel like a girl inside." She said, " I understand." That was it. I was like, shit, this will be a breeze with Pops, too. He's like a puppy-dawg, a marshmallow cupcake who reads poetry. I wrote him an email; he wrote back, " I have to let it sink in awhile." Then for awhile there were guilt deposits from him into my bank account; five hundred dollars on my birthday, no contact, more money come Christmas, no contact. No answered emails. No returned phone calls. Momma got real mad, like frothing at the mouth rabid about it all. She tried to reach him, wrote him and said he was a cruel-assed bastard. She really wrote that. I look up, my eyes glide carefully from my phone screen to Momma mumbling to herself about 26 down on her crossword; she asks me if I know the answer, God knows I don't. I have no answers to anything. I shift a bit on the sofa and watch her. I know she is all I got. My inner road map is taking me home, right to her heart where I know I still belong.
The Bag - Jason Remembers
This microfiction is part of a series. In order: The Bag; Jason's Dilemma; The Girl; Jason and the Girl; The Skewered Apple; Girl, Disrupted; Reward; Him; Master of the Games/The Guard; Discovery; Pursuit;
Rachel DeemingPublished about 8 hours ago in FictionLike a Surgeon
I like my job. That's a safe, acceptable thing to say, like a normal person. What you can't say is, "I quite like sticking knives in people".
L.C. SchäferPublished about 11 hours ago in FictionScared Half To Death
Bang! Was that a gunshot? Everybody in the room scatters, trying to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe. Sally hides under the table, trembling.
Colleen MillsteedPublished about 17 hours ago in FictionMissing The Forest For The Trees
Peter looks lovingly at his fiancée as she sleeps. How’d he get so lucky? Amber rolls onto her side, opens her eyes and smiles at Peter. “Good morning my love,” she whispers.
Colleen MillsteedPublished about 17 hours ago in FictionThe Telltale Signs of a Dying Organization
The existence pattern of an association, similar as any living element, includes times of development, strength, and decline. Perceiving the indications of a withering association is vital for partners to go to preventive lengths or settle on informed conclusions about their contribution. The decay of an association is much of the time set apart by a mix of inside and outer elements that on the whole disintegrate its imperativeness and seriousness. Understanding these signs can help in diagnosing the wellbeing of an association and carrying out systems to resuscitate or effortlessly wind down its activities.
bakhtawarkhanPublished about 20 hours ago in FictionThe Essence of a Legacy
An inheritance is the engraving of a person's or an element's presence, woven into the texture of history and society. It is a mosaic of recollections, accomplishments, values, and impacts that endure long after one's presence has blurred. The substance of an inheritance is multi-layered, incorporating different aspects including individual, familial, social, and social viewpoints. This persevering through influence fills in as a demonstration of the existence lived, directing people in the future and forming shared perspective.
bakhtawarkhanPublished about 20 hours ago in FictionThe Heatwave Chronicles
In the modest community of Clearwater, the late spring of 2023 would be recognized as one of the most boiling ever. The persevering heatwave transformed the curious town into a virtual broiler, with temperatures taking off over 100 degrees for a really long time. The inhabitants, not used to such outrageous climate, attempted to adjust to the burning intensity.
bakhtawarkhanPublished about 20 hours ago in Fiction