”It’s a Micro Heist, mother fuckers!” Alec held out both arms, ink-guns at the ready. “No funny business or pages get blasted!”
David rolled in behind him calmly. He spotted a trembling teller at the 53rd Avenue Short Story Bank. He addressed her by her name tag.
“Bridget. We don’t want to hurt anyone. We want to be in an out. Where’s the Microfiction division?”
“I’ve only been here two weeks… let’s see…” Bridget collected her thoughts. “Flash fiction end of the hall. Sudden fiction the door before, no, there’s no Microfiction section. We have Postcard fiction…”
“I ain’t even heard of Postcard fiction!” Alec leapt off the table. “This is bullshit! No micro?! Lady! We do quick jobs! In and out!”
“Relax, Alec.” David led him to a red velvet door. “We’re jacking words today.”
This Short Story Bank didn’t have a micro section. They’d make their own micro. They stole words permanently from short story use.
David got his hands on “peculiar” and “juxtaposition” and “zealous.” Heavy Scrabble type shit.
Among others, Alec nabbed “once.”
“Can’t start a story off without this baby!”
They scampered off, verbiage bags filled to the brim.
Stories were never the same since.
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Compelling and original writing
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Writing reflected the title & theme
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The story invoked strong personal emotions
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