Microfiction
The Abelisaurid Tooth
"I ate an abelisaurid tooth." Dr. Adrian Mercer looked up from his notes. He was a physician-scientist, an MD/PhD specializing in comparative neurobiology and visual neuroscience. Much of his research involved reconstructing sensory capabilities from anatomical evidence, including those of extinct animals.
By Jesse L Shelley2 days ago in Fiction
Horror Microfiction
From the Curtis Brown Creative prompt set by author Lucy Rose. 300 word maximum. Prompt highlighted in bold: Abandoned at the end of the cul-de-sac, the little house sat vacant for years. Quiet. But something is stirring now : a sign that the journey has not been wasted.
By Tim Varney2 days ago in Fiction
Choices
If you could see how each little lie drove the spikes edging my mask, deeper into my skin. I bite my tongue as the blood pools into there mask. Rivulets of red slowly filling the edifice- until I swallow my words, lips held tight in silence. The blood threatening to drowned me. Silence lest I drowned in the reality- the reality of the imbalance in my love and the destructive force of lies. I love you- i love your brunette hair bouncing in textured waves that I run my fingers through as I listen to you talk through the path going forward, do you realize it's a path that I can't follow you on- but you told me if I comment then you leave. My heart in your hands, the rhythmic thumping of it, echos in my panicked brain. And here I sit at the impossible precipice. If I be myself and tell you the truth- I lose you. So I don my mask for you again, so you don't leave. I'm that selfish. Selfish in my love. I love him. His warm arms and fragile heart. I love holding him, i love his range of emotion, his passion, his fire... If I hold your secrets I lose him. It all the pain all over again. So the mask goes on again. If she takes over then I can be here for you, quiet, loving, so in love with you. I drive the spikes into my face- knowing that it can never come off. My heart in your hand hemorrhage and I can feel the hollow spot in my chest. And I betray you by telling him because I love him- and I can't carry a lie to him. My heart sitting in his hands I can feel the frosty air burn as he pulls away. His words cold, his heart broken. I'd hold all the pieces, but he would never choose me. You would never choose me. So I bleed instead. And I kill myself over again to keep you- I silently weap, standing right where he pulls away because I am not his person. But the mask goes on and I swallow the pain cause why would I choose me either.
By Maili Paul5 days ago in Fiction
Aurelius Ascends (part 4)
The digital oscillations continued without any clear sign of letting up; instead, the sounds began resonating deeper inside the triple-hulled spacecraft like an eerie prehistoric subterranean drumbeat. The sound no longer came from the harsh coldness of space. It seemed to emanate from far below the Martian substrate itself, a signal buried so deep beneath the planet's surface that it remained safely hidden from the impenetrably wide dust storms, beneath the fractured plains, and beneath the violent meteorological chaos that had made the planet feasibly uninhabitable for centuries.
By Jonathan Townend6 days ago in Fiction
Peacock & Peach
Gerry grew up in a low rental district in southern Ontario, almost ghetto like in the 60’s, 70’s, and part 80’s. They were and still are tough neighborhoods and one had to learn how to fight, run, or hide. High on the introvert scale he didn’t associate much but he did learn how to fight in the streets. Saw the first guns come into the area in the early 80’s via Jamestown, New York when the Crips and Blood began to venture north. By the mid 80’s he finally left the old neighborhood to never return, to start his own life. He thought he left everything behind when at the age of 63 he had a confrontation in downtown Toronto and like Iron Mike, Gerry came out of retirement. He didn’t get paid 5 Mil. but came out on top of a much younger opponent. Robin Hood was his boyhood hero, and he loved to climb trees and later learned archery. Gerry is always for the underdog. His first bicycle was purple. Athletic in many sports he is about to embark in Roller Speed Skating. A runner, past triathlete, like most Canadians played hockey. Learning early in life that a silent standout in a crowd is feared. He stays in shape to protect his children shielded from the life he knows. He has a wife, six kids, one grandchild and one on the way. A mechanic, once a graphic artist and illustrator.
By Gerry Thibeault6 days ago in Fiction
Grand Central
I ended up in Grand Central Station. All I had to decide was what to do and where to go next. As I stood there, a stranger came up and asked me: “Do you need any help?” She was in her early twenties, a fairly plain looking office type but she had a kind face, so I smiled and said thanks and that I wasn’t sure where to go next.
By Raymond G Taylor11 days ago in Fiction
