Microfiction

Blindspot
This week on the Thomas Jefferson Hour, I turned the tables and interviewed David Swenson about the Repatriation Project of Frances Densmore’s audio recordings of Native Americans in 1911. The hand-cranked wax cylinder recordings of Densmore were instrumental in preserving Native American history during a time where promotion of Native American indigenous culture was at an all-time…
By DJ Nuclear Winterabout a year ago in Fiction
Midnight at Mount Grace
June sat in the car a moment longer than necessary, engine off, hands curled loosely around the steering wheel like she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Outside, the trailhead sign for Mount Grace leaned slightly to the left. Only the edges were visible, half-sunk into a bed of goldenrod. The sun had dipped behind the tree line, leaving the woods lit by that strange in-between light. Neither day nor night, dusk and the long hush that came with it.
By Aspen Nobleabout a year ago in Fiction
The Recipe for Empathy
1. The Inheritance of Impossibilities I became a doctor to fix people, not feel them. Then Grandma Mae died, leaving me her crumbling Brooklyn brownstone and the Codex of Comfort—a cookbook whispering in Gaelic when I touched it.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
*The Whispering Library*
In the quiet corner of a forgotten town stood a library older than memory. Its stone walls were veiled in ivy, its windows perpetually misted, as though the building breathed in secrets and exhaled silence. Most people passed it without a glance. Few dared to enter. But Amina did.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Coffins Came At 8 . Winner in Leave the Light On Challenge.
The coffins came at 8. She knew they would. Each lid opened in smooth succession. Like freshly made beds, each one ready for her family. The metal tags already engraved with the names of her loved ones. She wept by each graveside, as memories flashed through her mind. They had all left her. She knew it was coming.
By Sarah O'Gradyabout a year ago in Fiction
Shore Leave. Winner in Everything Looks Better From Far Away Challenge. Content Warning.
I. Landing Reed stood on the porch and stared out at the view like it was behind glass. The cabin was perched high enough above the fjord to see its whole serpentine length stretching out into the distant horizon. Water like hammered silver. Pine trees lining both banks like a sea of dark velvet. Sunlight poured in low from the west, gold-plating the hills in a way that would have made a photographer weep with joy. A gull cawed overhead. Something rustled through the grass. Somewhere, distant, a dog barked twice and then fell silent.
By Aspen Nobleabout a year ago in Fiction
Sex & Death
It's tough being a writer. I try to write every day, but sometimes the creative juice just isn't flowing. I look back over my words later, or the next morning, and I think, eurgh! did I really write that? Typos glare at me. Stacked adjectives smirk. My character is confused at my tense hopping. "Thats" appear to be breeding and we will soon be overrun. Speech tags and cliches cluster together in a gaggle and mock me. l print it out, uncap my red pen, and get to work. Cutting isn't enough. It's lacking something. Some "oomph". I've heard killing characters off is the thing to do these days. Readers are put off by predictable plot points and jaded by saccharine "happily ever afters". GRRM changed the game. Folks snort at a main character (or any character) in plot armour these days. I fondle the page, and twirl my vicious red pen again, chewing my lip. I make a decision. It's a tough one, and this is going to be hard, because I love these characters. I mean, I really love them. They're not just "characters" to me. But it's no use. Sex and death, that's what the people want. I'm going to have to kill off some of these suckers. Anyway, that's how my autobiography is coming along. How are you?
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
*The Clockmaker's Promise*
In a quiet town nestled between rolling hills and a slow-moving river, there stood a small shop with a crooked sign that read “Timeless Hands.” Inside, the air was warm and still, filled with the soft, steady rhythm of ticking clocks. Wall clocks, pocket watches, mantel clocks—they all chimed and clicked in quiet harmony, each keeping time in its own way.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
Operation Lassi Spill
It was one of those golden Punjabi afternoons—the kind where the sun hangs warm in the sky, the air smells of cardamom and fresh roti, and every lane in the village hums with celebration. A wedding was in full swing, the biggest the village had seen in years. Banners fluttered above the courtyard, children darted between guests with sticky fingers, and uncles danced with the kind of energy that defied their age.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Ghost and the Hack
Thomas Mcoy, no second C, is a name you’ve probably never seen. Maybe you’ve spotted “Tommy M.” buried in the acknowledgments of a bestseller or scrawled on a Starbucks cup while he tapped away on a Chromebook in a corner booth. But you won’t find his name on a book cover.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Secrets My Mother Kept
Once safely back in his room, Alex ducked under the covers with his new treasure and flipped the flashlight back on. It shown brightly through the thick wool blanket his aunt Sydney had given him on his seventh birthday. He had gone through a mighty big dinosaur phase then, represented by the green outlines of pteradactyles, triceratops, and Tyranosaurus rexes that cluttered the black cloth he had grown up in.
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Fiction
Onboarding
The eyes scanned ambitiously the perfect contrasting text on the screen. Above the 12 bullet points, the heading read mighty: "Welcome to your first steps in your journey to become the perfect employee. Step 2: Core values" and a small italic subheading: "Click on each Value to learn more".
By Dudu Didiabout a year ago in Fiction