Microfiction
Fanfiction: What it means to us?
Let me make the title a bit clearer before I begin with the main context. “Fanfiction: What Does It Mean to Us?” The pronoun “us” has been stressed here. We all, in some way or another, are affected by fiction in general. Fiction is literature that is created from one’s imagination and is not presented as fact, though it may be based on a true story or situation. We all watch movies, read stories, listen to songs, etc. Most of them are fictional. Some popular types are romance (my personal favourite), action-adventure, science fiction, fantasy, speculative fiction, suspense/thriller (my second personal favourite), young adult, new adult, etc. Now here comes a completely new genre, “Fanfiction.”
By A Little Butterfly2 years ago in Fiction
Moral Judgment
It was a weekend, and Lao Hei got up early and took the bus. Seeing that there were plenty of empty seats on the bus, he found a comfortable window seat and sat down. After two stops, the bus gradually filled up, and an old man wearing a melon-skin cap sat down next to Lao Hei.
By John Bruce2 years ago in Fiction
Beneath The Overpass
Beneath the overpass, covered in colors of different spray paints, dead leaves, empty cans, and spider webs. Besides the rare vandal, it's unvisited. Secluded and safe from the world around it, it's where we met each other's gaze. Where we stumbled around and called it dancing, where we sat and contemplated life and existence, where we shared moments we would take to the grave.
By CgtWriting2 years ago in Fiction
The Grind
"Back again?" Another swing of her smooth hips, a brightly painted smirk. She's lying. He knew. It was a gift. Even silent, her lies clanged against his nerves. Her every gesture was a falsehood. Her smile, her laugh. "Shouldn't you be, oh I don't know... Keeping the fairies sober so they can make all those toys, or whatever?" An obligatory giggle. "That's enough, miss," He pushed her off his lap. "Fetch another, would you? Make sure she's new." The giggle switched off like a frozen tap. Chill radiated off her glittery skin. In that moment, she looked alien, not human at all. Indignation scrawled on her face, she opened her mouth, and he interrupted. "I'm still paying you the full amount," he snapped. His temper dissolved in a sigh. "Nothing personal, love. Just need a change. You must be sick of my face." She didn't answer, but he could read her anyway. He can always tell when they're faking. Sick of the boozy stink. Sick of that ridiculous coat and beard. But not sick of your money, old man. She huffed away, and his keen ears caught snatches of the conversation.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
