Microfiction
A Farm
We stood there face to face with an entity of a kind. Slowly the entity materialized. Before our eyes a woman appeared, but she just seemed sad. We asked, "Who are you?" "I am the great-great-great-great-grandmother of the owner of this farm and this is the house that started it all. I was hoping someone would see me in the window for it seems very few can see me, and I was surprised when you came to the door." We said, "We cannot still call you entity, so what is your name and how can we help you now, Miss?
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Science, eh
Journal of Dr. Jesse William Lazear Camp Lazear, Cuba, 1900 12 September Reviewed all prior exposures. Hypothesis remains unconfirmed through observation alone. Confirmation of Finlay's vector theory requires deliberate infection. No further delay justified. Therefore, I will subject myself to a controlled bite.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
A Farm
We stood there for a moment, and the door was still open and all of a sudden the door closed, but not with a slam but with a kind of welcoming feeling. We both spoke up. "Who's here?" In the cold fireplace a fire was started, so we both walked over to warm up a bit. There was not much to this house, but this one room. We looked around. We felt a presence around us. We heard a whispering voice. "Can you help me? I want to go home." "Who are you? We will not hurt you." Please tell.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Healing Moments Under the Winter Sun: When Cold Meets Gentle Strength
On a biting cold morning, you push open the window and suddenly feel embraced by a beam of golden light—the warmth that spreads from your fingertips to the depths of your heart. Doesn’t it make you pause in your hurried steps? This winter, let’s explore together those healing moments lit up by the sun.
By Julian K Kiekabout a year ago in Fiction
A Farm
Out in the middle of nowhere there was a farm that seemed to be deserted, but it was wintertime and the chores were completed. We stood and watched to see if anyone came out of the house by the road. We heard something. It could have been a bird or an animal scurrying away. Then we saw the curtain move, we stood awhile longer and yes, we saw something in the window. We waved and it waved back. We walked to the door it slowly creaked open. One thing no one was there. What should we do now we thought.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
My Grandmother’s Mirror Only Reflects the Dead
The Mirror’s First Secret I almost sold the mirror the day after Grandma Lillian’s funeral. It was an ugly thing—a heavy oak frame carved with twisting vines, the glass smoky with age. But Mom insisted: "She wanted you to have it. Said it was special."
By MUHAMMAD Abbasabout a year ago in Fiction
