Microfiction

The Ice Widow. Top Story - January 2025.
This is for Mikeydred's January prompt. Some truths are too heavy for the living. - Michelle Liew ******************************************************************
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin2 years ago in Fiction
The Algorithm of Love: When Technology Plays Cupid. Content Warning.
Sarah Chen hadn't washed her hair in three days, and the coffee stain on her MIT sweatshirt was probably older than that. She didn't care. The code anomaly on her screen was way more interesting than her reflection in the darkened office window.
By Ian Mark Ganut2 years ago in Fiction
The Mystery of the Broken Key
The Mystery of the Broken Key In a small village surrounded by dense forests, where tall trees blocked the sunlight and created an air of mystery, there stood an old, abandoned house atop a hill. The house was shrouded in secrets and legends passed down through generations by the villagers. The most intriguing of all was the tale of the "Broken Key," said to hold a mysterious secret that no one had ever been able to unravel.
By 💓 Pulse of Stories 💓2 years ago in Fiction
The House That Never Opens Its Doors
The House That Never Opens Its Doors: Symbolism of Isolation and Withdrawal in Modern Life In a world that grows more interconnected every day thanks to technology and social media, it seems paradoxical to find houses that tightly shut their doors, surrounded by high walls, as if trying to isolate themselves from the outside world. The house that never opens its doors is not just a closed dwelling; it is a powerful symbol of isolation and withdrawal, reflecting a psychological and social state that can be individual or collective. This house carries within it stories, secrets, and sometimes pain and sorrow, making the act of closing its doors a means of escaping a painful reality or a world perceived as threatening.
By 💓 Pulse of Stories 💓2 years ago in Fiction
Flush with Fear. Top Story - January 2025.
“Dude, I swear, something’s wrong with the bathroom,” Jake said, pacing the kitchen. Elliot didn’t even look up from his phone. “What now? Did the faucet drip too loud again?”
By Komal2 years ago in Fiction
Dr Knives (II)
The boy (is he a boy? It's hard to be sure) is narrow and long. His face is long, and so is his body, his limbs coltish and awkward. They're lost in his long, padded coat. It almost looks like a black sleeping bag with sleeves. He looks a little girlish, an impression enhanced by effeminate mannerisms, and a faded pink streak in his fringe. It looks like it might have washed out a while ago, if he'd been able to wash. Our good friend, the lobotomist, keeps his features steady. It is a conscious effort not to wrinkle this nose at the smell of stale sweat. He exudes a bland brand of kindness. Boring. Safe. He makes small talk, and asks after the boygirl's welfare. "Are you warm enough? Have you eaten?" The boy shakes his head. The pale grubby strings shake listlessly like a fortune teller's curtain. "Stay there." The lobotomist makes a staying motion with one hand, the other sliding to his pocket. Notice: he has implied he's going to give the boy something to eat, without saying it outright. He's also given a command. The boy looks eager at the prospect of food, maybe even a hot meal, and one he hasn't had to debase himself in any way to get. The lobotomist strides away, and returns several minutes later with a cup of hot chocolate. The boy might not realise it, but he has been rewarded for his obedience. "Stay safe, okay? Be here tomorrow at the same time." The boy is trying to be reserved, with long sloping shrugs and wary grunts, but he would be a fool not to mine this seam for resources. The lobotomist walks away at last, anxious that the boy might not prove obedient after all. Perhaps I should have brought him with me... What if he's not there tomorrow? The notion that there are plenty of other runaways doesn't cheer him. He wants this one! The androgyny makes the boy an especially good choice for his Experiments. He is already planning how he will nurture the trust the boy has in him. What gifts he will bring, what words he'll use. At which precise point ne will coax the boy into a nearby hotel. How he will collect him from there the following morning. When he rubs his hands together, you can almost hear the snick snick of his knives.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Lantern Keeper . AI-Generated.
The night swallowed the desert in an inky void, broken only by the occasional wisp of starlight. Ethan Walker adjusted his camera strap nervously as he stared at the endless dunes. This wasn’t an ordinary photoshoot. This was a journey into the unknown, fueled by a single obsession: the legend of the Lantern Keeper. The story had found him by accident in a dusty café in Morocco. An old man had whispered it over mint tea, his words laced with both mystery and warning. "The Lantern Keeper appears only to those who are truly lost," the man had said. "Follow the light, but beware—it will show you more than you expect." Ethan had laughed it off at first, but the tale had burrowed into his mind like a splinter. Weeks later, he stood at the edge of the Sahara, ready to chase what might be nothing more than a desert mirage. The first night passed in eerie silence. Ethan trudged through the sand, his flashlight cutting weakly through the darkness. The air was heavy with an almost oppressive stillness, as if the desert itself was holding its breath. Hours turned into eternity. Just as exhaustion began to weigh on him, he saw it: a faint, flickering light on the horizon. His pulse quickened. The Lantern? Could it be? Ethan pushed forward, the light growing brighter with every step. It didn’t move like a fire or a torch—it hovered, steady yet alive, as if it were waiting for him. When he finally reached it, he found himself standing before a lone figure cloaked in robes as black as the night. The Lantern Keeper. The man’s face was hidden beneath a hood, and his hands cradled a lantern that glowed with an otherworldly brilliance. “Ethan Walker,” the Keeper said, his voice deep and resonant, as if the desert itself were speaking through him. “You seek the light, but do you understand the cost?” Ethan froze. “How do you know my name?” The Keeper tilted his head, the light from the lantern casting strange shadows across the sand. “I know all who come to me. You are here because you are lost.” “I’m not lost,” Ethan said, his voice faltering. “I’m... curious.” “Curiosity is the beginning of all journeys,” the Keeper replied. “But the light does not reveal what you want—it reveals what you need.” Before Ethan could respond, the Keeper raised the lantern. The light expanded, enveloping the world around them in a warm, golden glow. Ethan shielded his eyes, but the light seemed to pierce through him, stripping away every layer of pretense and pride. When the glow receded, Ethan was no longer standing in the desert. He was in a small, cluttered apartment—his apartment, back in New York. The air smelled of stale coffee and regret. On the couch sat a younger version of himself, staring at a half-finished letter. Ethan recognized it instantly. It was the letter he had written to his fiancée, Sarah, explaining why he couldn’t go through with their wedding. “You ran,” the Keeper’s voice echoed, though his figure was nowhere to be seen. “You feared commitment, so you left her behind.” “I wasn’t ready,” Ethan muttered, his heart sinking as he watched his younger self crumble under the weight of his own indecision. The scene shifted. Ethan was now in a hospital room. His mother lay in a bed, frail and pale, tubes snaking from her arms. He remembered this moment, too—the last time he had seen her alive. He had left the next day for a photography assignment, ignoring the guilt that clawed at his chest. “You chose your ambition over your family,” the Keeper said, his voice sharper now. “And now you wander, searching for meaning in the sands of a desert.” Ethan clenched his fists. “I can’t change the past.” “No,” the Keeper agreed, “but the light doesn’t show the past to punish you. It shows it so you can find your way forward.” The light shifted again, pulling Ethan into the present. He was back in the desert, standing before the Lantern Keeper. The glow of the lantern seemed softer now, almost inviting. “What am I supposed to do?” Ethan asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Accept what you have seen,” the Keeper said. “The path ahead is yours to choose, but you must carry the light with you.” The Keeper extended the lantern, and Ethan hesitated before taking it. The moment his fingers closed around its handle, a surge of warmth spread through him. The light filled his chest, chasing away the shadows of regret and fear. The Keeper stepped back, his form fading into the night. “Remember, Ethan Walker: the light does not belong to you. It is meant to be shared.” Ethan awoke at dawn, the lantern resting beside him in the sand. The desert stretched endlessly in every direction, but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel lost. He returned to New York a changed man. He reached out to Sarah, not to rekindle what they had lost, but to apologize and offer closure. He began volunteering at a hospice, sharing his photography with patients who longed for glimpses of the world beyond their walls. And every night, as he worked late in his studio, the lantern sat on his desk, its faint glow a constant reminder: the light within him was meant to guide others, just as it had guided him.
By amgad2 years ago in Fiction
"The Fallen Grace: A Love Forbidden in Heaven"
The Collapsed Grace High aloft in the angelic realms, area time captivated no amplitude and the creation sang its amaranthine hymn, Seraphina was born—a seraph of unparalleled beauty, her wings ablaze with the hues of dawn. She confused amid the angels, her affection abounding with adherence and a abysmal adulation for the Creator. Her songs resonated through the heavens, a melody that alike the stars paused to hear. But in the halls of the Divine, a adumbration lingered. Lucifer, the Morning Star, already the brightest of all angels, harbored questions that fabricated the blast tremble. His accuracy was undeniable, his attendance intoxicating, and his words—oh, his words—pierced the hearts of those who listened. He batten of chargeless will, of adulation unchained, of a apple area adherence was chosen, not demanded.
By Say the truth 2 years ago in Fiction
The Unseen Lessons: A Day in the Life of a Classroom
The school bell chimed, signaling the start of another day. As always, Mrs. Albright entered her Grade 5 classroom with her signature warm smile and a steaming cup of coffee. Despite teaching for over a decade, each day felt like a new adventure, filled with its own set of surprises and lessons.
By Angie green2 years ago in Fiction
Pressing
My eyelids unshutter, and in the same instant, I know something is wrong. It's as if the earth has tilted on her axis; my room looks the way it always does except there is something... Something off. Something indefinable.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Door
In the heart of a desolate mountain range stood an ancient fortress, long abandoned and eroded by centuries of wind and snow. Legend spoke of a hidden chamber within, sealed by the last door—a portal none dared open. For generations, adventurers had searched for it, driven by whispers of untold power and eternal knowledge. None had returned.
By Himansu Kumar Routray2 years ago in Fiction
Starlight
I am home alone tonight, at least for a while. The small town I live in is quiet, wrapped in darkness now that the snow has finally melted and the heavy clouds have drifted south. The sky is clear for the first time in a while, and as I step out onto my little balcony for a smoke, I can see a million stars lighting up the horizon.
By Christian Bass2 years ago in Fiction