Microfiction
Gladiator
The youngster sat, trembling. Spiculus watched him. Despite years as an applauded killer, Spiculus was still sensitive to the humanity in those around him; it's just he didn't have room for it. Couldn't afford to. One day, he might be fighting with them in the arena; the next, against them. Only one of them was likely to survive. Sentiment led to a lapse of focus and ultimately and most probably, death. Spiculus did not want to die and every day his odds were getting shortened: slower reaction times; heaviness of limb; eyes less sharp. He was in good shape but it was getting harder to believe that he would come out of the arena alive.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Try This Cleanse
Sandy wouldn't be able to explain, later, how it got out of control. Everything was blurry and hardly any of it made sense. She was kneeling at the fireplace, trying to build the fire hotter and hotter, to purge whatever malevolent force had taken hold of the red and white polyester and garish plastic. Why are my knees damp? And what's that funny smell? The decorations on the mantel caught. She didn't notice at first, what with her nostrils full of burning plastic, and her brain full of stop the elf. The rug took the flames eagerly, and she pulled back, away from the biting heat. Before she could shake the cotton wool out of her head, the tree went up with a whoosh. Still woozy, Sandy struggled to contain it. She felt for her phone to call for help, and then remembered he smashed it. The smoke choked her. For the third time in less than forty-eight hours, Sandy felt herself losing consciousness. With the blackness closing in, weighing on her, something in the back of her mind poked insistently, trying to get her attention. That's important! It was useless, she was slipping away and under... She dreamed. Karl was back at last... so quickly it was like he never left... but he wasn't her Karl. He was an angry, ugly twin. He was saving her, always saving her, but this time it was like his skin had been peeled away and the rotten underneath was showing. Spitting spiteful words and hauling her painfully under the arms. Away from the heat and smoke... Stupid bitch, what did you do, you weren't supposed to- -Cool. It was cold and wet under her face.... and he was gone again. There was wailing, blue and red light, and voices...
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
343 Make the North Pole Great Again
"Sir?" asked an elf. "Yes, Pippy?" answered Santa. "Sir, about the NICE list. Last month someone from the NAUGHTY list was transferred over to it." Pippy held a tightly rolled-up scroll. Santa waved his fingers, indicating Pippy should let it spill out onto the floor, which it did.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
Raiders. Content Warning.
This story comes with a Dharrsheena warning. I'd been warned about black and white raiders from day one. Mum was always keen to share stories about anything that could hurt us, from the time that we were born really. She wanted us to be prepared. She never meant for us to be scared, just alert, because it could happen and she knew of others who had been victims of the thugs.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
A red bean
In recent years, Erlong Mountain has begun to develop tourism, attracting many visitors. The place is filled with red bean trees, and in a village not far from here, there is a thirteen-year-old boy named Xiaoshan who takes advantage of the holiday to pick up red beans on the mountain. Xiaoshan's mother has immobile legs but has a pair of skillful hands. She drills a small hole in each red bean that Xiaoshan picks up and strings them together with a thin thread to make red bean necklaces, then lets Xiaoshan sell them to tourists on Erlong Mountain to earn some tuition.
By John Bruce2 years ago in Fiction
Jingle Hell
Why did they think burning him would do any good? Like swatting a wasp: they'd just made him angry. One side of his face was exactly the same, the expression unchanged. Still, she could tell he was angry. It emanated from him in poisonous waves. The other side of his face was burnt black. Cracks spiderwebbed out from where his cheekbone would've been. His forehead was dented. The corner of his mouth was pulled down in a ghastly sneer. Some of the white of his eye had survived whatever Karl had tried to do. A glint of brightness amongst the soot and charred plastic. If you squinted in the half light, the way Sandy did now, it made him look even more alive. Even more malicious. Rooted to the spot, Sandy felt, for a dizzying moment, like different versions of her splintered off. Like she was standing in a mirror, and it cracked.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Tell Me Something
Sona worked as a hedge fund analyst at Zwaanendael in Wilmington, Delaware. Her friend Caterina also served as a hedge fund analyst at Christina Capital. When they were not pulling down sixteen hour days at their respective firms, they bet on themselves.
By Skyler Saunders2 years ago in Fiction
Wait
"And now, we wait. Did they tell you how long?" Bethan asked. "No, but they did tell me not to move. I told them that I had no intention of moving. That I wouldn't feel secure until I knew that he'd been taken into custody." Christine spat these words out, her enmity conveyed.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Crate Day. Content Warning.
It was the start of summer and what better way to celebrate than with a crate of beer? It was the traditional way - it even had its own day on the calendar in New Zealand, with its own set of commandments. It would be patriotic blasphemy not to.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
A small county magistrate in the Qing Dynasty changed his fate
During the Shunzhi period of the Qing Dynasty, the imperial court strongly issued the "Shave Order", requiring all adult men to shave the hair three inches in front of their foreheads and tie a queue at the back of their heads. Those who did not comply would be executed. However, in a remote county far from the capital, the local people ignored the high pressure of the court's "keep your hair or your head" policy. The only person in the county who shaved his hair and tied a queue as required by the court was the county magistrate, Fan Yong. He walked on the streets looking very conspicuous, but the people only laughed at his strange appearance and did not follow suit. They said, "The emperor is far away, can the court still control us here?"
By John Bruce2 years ago in Fiction
