Microfiction
The Little Matchstick Girl
The little girl, pale, frail with dirty tresses of blonde hair, stood in the dark and the cold, selling matchsticks. They were all she had, aside from the rags on her back, from home. Not that the cottage where she once lived could ever be really called a home.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
The Real Tale of the Woman Who Lived in a Shoe
Once there was an old woman who lived in a shoe, who had so many children she didn't know what to do. The fathers were nowhere to be seen, and as the oldest turned 18, he was no longer a boy and becoming a man. He had seen first hand the cruel and selfish nature of too many of his kind. His mother's insatiable lust and senseless need for companionship....the poverty caused by the King and the Queen and their covetness for all the wealth and crops in the land.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
The theory of absence:
The belief in absence is the square root of human ignorance. Though absence is an unproven theory, we base all our calculations in life on it, as if it’s a proven fact. Humans are present beings that are lost in the illusion of absence. This illusion has shaped our actions and perceptions of life.
By VoiceOfAnOutlier2 years ago in Fiction
An Easter Bunny Tale
One morning while looking out at my garden I was amazed at watching what this one bunny was doing. It was a bright sunny early morning for the sun was just starting to rise and the sky was so vividly blue and the air was cool this early Easter morning. It seemed to be gathering something from the yards in mine and the neighbors as well. For some reason I went out and sat down on the porch and continued to watch him. He not really sure if it was a male bunny, as he continued collecting whatever he must have noticed me for he looked my way. He started hopping towards and when he got halfway in my direction, he showed me what he was doing. He had collected a few eggs that seemed to have an odd scent. This bunny has the most peculiar face when handling these eggs and he whispered these eggs are rotten and cannot give. There will be more fresh ones in a few minutes. I sort of just sat there kind of amazed for I thought the Easter bunny was made up for the little children to have something to look forward as we do at Christmas with Santa Claus. Never knew I would meet the Easter Bunny. He is almost like Santa for in a flash he was back and had fresh decorated eggs in his basket and no funny smell. He hopped to the other houses and replaced those eggs as well. The bunny came back my way and looked at me and twitched his little black nose and as he hopped down the street I thought I heard him say "Happy Easter to All and to All a Good Day."
By Mark Graham2 years ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Could Talk to Shadows
Ellie had always felt invisible. At seventeen, she was the kind of girl who blended into the background, her quiet demeanour and unassuming presence making her easy to overlook. She spent most of her time alone, wandering the halls of her high school like a ghost, her nose buried in a book or her earbuds firmly in place. But everything changed the day she discovered she could talk to shadows.
By ngolle disere2 years ago in Fiction
The Candle's Warning
Those who are wise, believe. -- Michelle Liew ************************************************************** The town of Black Hollow survived in the dim glow of candlelight, untouched by the hum of modern electricity. The people shunned progress—their world was illuminated only by candlelight, wavering in the twilight breeze. Their fears stemmed from an unwavering belief; three flickers of a candle were more than the whims of a flame— they were an omen, heralding an unexpected visitor. Some feared ghouls; others, rogue wanderers.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin2 years ago in Fiction
Toxic
Here he goes again. He hitches his waist band up over his rolls of flab, and does a hiccup that turns into a sour burp. Probably shouldn't have had that last few pints. He scratches his armpit, snatches up his bow, and stumbles out into the grey and gloomy street. It's colder than it normally is at this time of year. Spring is taking her sweet time. No one is really in the mood for love. They're hardly in the mood for sex. This isn't the romantic chill of midwinter. There's no snow, no dramatic storms. People aren't leaning into the skid with cute sweaters and sturdy mugs of hot chocolate. Fairy lights and mulled wine feel like they happened a very long time ago, in another life. One touched by magic, where frost crunches underfoot, and the chill brings a comely blush to smiling faces.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Busy Tone
Earnest’s home sat on 10 acres, and his closest neighbor was a half-mile beyond the junipers, piñons, and scrub brush surrounding him. He’d been there three years after deciding he was done with people—he’d spent his life surrounded by people, and all that was behind him. He had his trees, his acreage, a local golf course, and this house. He’d done his best to love the house, but it wasn't as simple as he’d hoped.
By Philip Canterbury2 years ago in Fiction
Privelege #13
The teacher flickered at the front of the classroom. She never got angry, never shouted. The closest she got was, "You know I will need to escalate this if you don't make the right choice." Occasionally it was, "This behaviour has triggered a call to the Leadership Team," or "That behaviour has triggered a call home." Paper aeroplanes, pencils and chunks of glue sticks flew through the air. Occasionally, a sticky lump hit its target, eliciting a shrill squeal. The lesson plan, generated at the start of the lesson within moments, and perfectly tailored to this group, and their ability, lay ignored on the large screen behind me teacher. She flickered again. A pair of scissors flew through her, the point striking the screen hard. Cracks spidered out from the point of impact. The teacher flickered more strongly. It took seconds for the teacher to assess the room as too dangerous for the lesson to continue. It was also plain that no human being was en route to lend support. Teach30798 was authorised to remove priveleges to leverage better behaviour. She shut down the wifi access in the room to this end, and also to shut down the attempts of two of the students to livestream the carnage. Both of them scowled, closed down the apps they were using, and opened the cameras instead. Triumphant smirks were short-lived. "You know the expectation around personal devices," she said. "They are not permitted. Please power them off, and put them away." The children frowned again, the screens in front of them scrambled and unuseable. "Have you broke my phone," sputtered Eliza, anger fizzing off her. "My mum will be fuming-" "Your device is unharmed. You may not use it," reiterated 30798. "You may not use recording devices. This is a safeguarding concern." "I'm going to call her," announced Eliza with glee. "Impossible. Your device is still disabled." "Then," Eliza's eyes flashed and her smile was stony cold, "I'll call her the second I get out of this dump." "Unnecessary. The behaviour has already triggered a call home." Eliza slid her phone back into her pocket. Spencer still held his in his hand. His eyes were narrowed. He looked at 30798, but he addressed Eliza. "If that thing can scramble our phones," he said, speaking slowly and letting the thought spool out for the thirty-five unhappy children to hear, "Then we must be able to scramble it. There must be something in this room that can do it. Or we must be able to unplug it." A cheer rumbled round the room and built to a chant. "Your behaviour has triggered the loss of privelege #13," the teacher said. The children had no idea what privelege #13 was. They only knew of twelve; #4 was access to school technology, and #6 was participation in Non Uniform Days. A few laughed. "I think Miss is glitching," Spencer jeered. Others clamoured with questions, but these petered out moments later. Some started gasping, and Eliza tumbled sideways and steadied herself on a nearby desk. "Privelege #13 is oxygen," said 30798 with a translucent smile.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
