Microfiction
Glasvegas
To get lost in this black and white city under Van Gogh's spiral skies is an adventure like no other. What will we find in these dark streets? Will it be love or salvation, or a hooded mysterious creature with too many eyes and a hook for a hand?
By Mike Singleton đź’ś Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
The Light That Wouldn’t Die
My dearest Elin, (or whatever name they now allow you in the afterlight), Forgive my ink — it trembles as if it, too, remembers the night the sea roared like a widow and the flame began to sputter. The oil ran dry, Elin. They all said: “Let it go dark.” But you knew, didn't you? What darkness births when it drinks from our shore. I told them the lighthouse was a symbol. I lied. It was a seal. A lock. A mouth I dared not let open. And when they stopped the shipments… When the wick gasped… I came to you. They said you were too gone for grief to hold. They never heard the hum in your bones when the sea called. Never saw your eyes flare when the tide turned. So I… I unburied you. Drew from marrow, from memory, from every vow you made me whisper as the cancer took your lungs but spared your heart. Elin, your blood made the best oil. It burned blue for weeks. And I swear — when I climbed the tower that night, the flame spoke your name. Even now, your hum stays in the beams. Your lullaby wrapped around the horn's low cry. I kept the light alive, my love. Just like I promised. Forever yours, The Keeper
By Carolina Borgesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Arctic Vault
The wind screamed across the barren wasteland of ice and rock as Ethan Kade stepped off the transport plane, boots sinking into permafrost. The pilot gave him a tight nod, then took off again without a word. No one wanted to linger near the Arctic Vault—not anymore.
By Esther Sunabout a year ago in Fiction
Pilgrim’s Price
She came with dust on her boots and a prayer on her lips. The town was too quiet. Shops still had fruit in their baskets—wrinkled, dry. Horses stood frozen like statues. Children curled on porches as if caught mid-laughter. But no one breathed. No one blinked.
By F. M. Rayaanabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers Beneath the Surface
A Desert of Dust and Silence In a quiet desert village where the wind often carried more dust than sound, Lina lived with her grandmother in a small clay house. Life here was dry in more ways than one — the air, the soil, and often, the spirit. The days passed with chores, silence, and stories whispered under flickering lanterns. But nestled at the edge of the village stood an ancient, half-forgotten mosque, and beside it, a cracked stone well that hadn’t been used for years. The villagers said its water had vanished. Lina discovered otherwise.
By Hanifullah Hanifabout a year ago in Fiction
