Microfiction
You Leached Her Happiness
It’s been twelve months since you rejected her and since that day she has lived in a world of black and white. There’re days that she awakens to the dark clouds that hover over her head, over her bed, over her entire view. Days of such despair that she fights the good fight — and doesn’t always win.
Colleen MillsteedPublished 35 minutes ago in FictionPaul Stewart: The Kingmaker of Vocal
Heavy the crown that wears the man. Weighty the responsibility that said man wields. Said man being me. There is nothing throwaway or even remotely slight and insignificant about what I do. A well-timed comment and a like from me can lead you onto great and wonderful things around these parts. Eclipsing my own success entirely. Just one first place and a plethora of Top Stories are all I have to my name. While those I paved the way for and who I helped encourage and inspire, have overshadowed me.
Paul StewartPublished about an hour ago in FictionRun Through The Jungle
Author Unknown - April 17th 1968 The Devil himself reached from the jungle and dragged me into hell. A minute before, the jungle across the shallow valley swayed in the spring breeze. Minh glared over the stock of his RPD he had arranged in the brush nest. It was well concealed, and the veteran of three different colonial wars hated how we moved along our trench atop the gently rising hill. Bao and Tran smoked and lounged against the dirt wall. We dug while they smoked, always. I hated them.
Matthew FrommPublished about 3 hours ago in FictionForced Compliance Not Necessary
Some people knew this would happen. The chips in our heads, I mean. Everyone laughed. Isn't that funny? The crazy part: even the conspiracy nuts had a mobile phone. Everyone walked around with the "chip" glued to their hand, eyes glued to chip.
L.C. SchäferPublished about 5 hours ago in FictionSeasons
I shiver as I pull open the heavy glass door and step out onto the frost-riddled porch. My breath rises like smoke in the cold, and the rushing of the creek fills my ears. Nearby, as I walk toward the gate, I hear the beavers splash in alarm as they sense my presence. I bury my hands deep in the pockets of my thin hoodie, and hunch my shoulders up protectively against my ears. The cold air bites at my cheeks and nose, and the tips of my ears already hurt. It’s barely 30° out, and beneath my foolishly bare toes, the dead brown grass twinkles with frost. The sky is too overcast to see the stars there, but with so many ice-stars beneath my feet, I am satisfied.
ThatOne_GirlPublished about 5 hours ago in FictionPretty
The red and blue lights of the ambulance fluttered dimly in the summer sunlight, the black asphalt of the highway the only dark tone amid the golden fields and bright blue sky. I was strangely conscious of the peaceful surroundings around the accident as I ran towards the crumpled Rav-4 on the side of the road. Flames licked the edges of the battered hood, and the dark figure slumped in the front seat was not moving. In the back of the car, mercifully intact, I saw two small hands slapping desperately in the windows. Susan reached the car before me, her lighter figure swifter than my more lumbering bulk. She jerked open the back door and unbuckled the child, scooping it out and setting the young girl on the ground as I set to work on the front door.
ThatOne_GirlPublished about 5 hours ago in FictionWalking on wheels
I’m not sure Dad knows what he’s doing this time. He seems to want to strap something onto my feet. He calls them skates, and he’s convinced that I saw someone else with them and wanted to try. Doesn’t he know I’m only four? Has he forgotten all the time I spent learning to walk?
Andy PottsPublished about 6 hours ago in Fiction139 Minutes of the Secret Society of Secrets-Appraisal-for-Secrets-Release Society — Part 1
Thank you, everyone, for attending this week's meeting of the Secret Society of Secrets-Appraisal-for-Secrets-Release Society — the SSSASRS, or as it's quaintly pronounced, "Scissors."
Gerard DiLeoPublished about 10 hours ago in FictionDiary of a Serial Killer
Day One Sun up. Day develops. Breakfast eaten. Leave house. Catch bus. Go to work. Do job. Lunchtime comes. Leave office.
Rachel DeemingPublished about 14 hours ago in FictionLose-lose
When I woke up, I tried to put my leg behind my head and lick my arsehole. Again. Don't get me wrong, I was glad to be back in the physical world, where things were solid and mostly made sense. But it felt heavy and weird coming back to this large body after spending so long as a dainty little feline.
L.C. SchäferPublished about 21 hours ago in FictionTogether Forever
Pamela’s getting on in years, what with her 95th birthday a week away. Ninety five years is not a bad innings but she’s tired and ready to leave this world to face her next adventure. She holds on for one special reason; her companion of twenty years, Joey, her cocker spaniel.
Colleen MillsteedPublished about 23 hours ago in FictionWell Organised
Her day’s finally arrived and she couldn’t be happier. Today she’ll marry the love of her life, come hell or high water. And yes, that’s a possibility because here she is standing in front of her window, watching the black clouds descend upon her world. The Universe is moving those black clouds into position to threaten to wash her day away.
Colleen MillsteedPublished about 23 hours ago in Fiction