Microfiction
Lonely
Lonely. Was the only word I felt as I sat here on my picnic blanket. The autumn breeze does a waltz with my loose curls. My jean jacket hugging me where human arms should be. The faint sound of a dog toyed with my ear drums as my lips moistened on the thought of another bite of cake. My voice mute to the area around me but in my head many voices crashed together. My eyes told my brain it was wrong I wasn’t lonely or alone. Sitting in front of me was a figure, of a man so far removed it’s as if I were on this picnic by myself. So while there weren’t others frolicking around me or happy dogs playing fetch in sight. I wasn’t in a crowd…maybe a crowd of two. But the silence was loud. I never felt more alone.
By Simone Marie2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Time
I was coming out of my bedroom, and my sister was coming up the stairs with a kitchen knife in her hand. Her eyes looked brittle, and her smile looked like the crack in a mirror. I opened my mouth to say, "What are you doing" but no sound came. My feet were rooted to the carpet. I was nine. My sister was fifteeen. She'd never babysat me, or been alone with me. Not since I was a baby. If I'd known what she'd done I might've been even more frightened to see her advancing on me like that. One moment, I was wondering if I was going to die, the next she was past me like I was invisible.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Man Is Not Truly One, But Truly Two
What’s the measure of a man? A cloud of cigarette smoke engulfs the painting before him. It’s a masterpiece, surely—the painting, not the smoke cloud. The lines? Perfect. The technique? Masterful yet subtly innovative. Never jarring, it’s a piece that can be admired by both laymen gawkers behind a velvet rope, and crusty professors hanging onto their thesis as it gets iterated to irrelevance.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 years ago in Fiction
The Rise of Lazy-Boy: Nap Time's New Hero
On a day much like all the others in the bustling metropolis of Prompton, lived Larry Bumford, the laziest man around. Unlike the city's busy residents, Larry had a special gift: an unparalleled ability to be lazy. He could nap anywhere, anytime, and found ingenious ways to avoid doing anything remotely constructive.
By Rudolph Lingens2 years ago in Fiction
Midnight at the carnival
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen”. We searched and searched but could not find Eleeza anywhere. Why in God's name had we even decided to attend a 'day' carnival of horror which was held at night. The idea had sounded absurd, yet fascinating, we imagined everything would be more eerie in the April shrouded mist.
By Antoni De'Leon2 years ago in Fiction
The Quiet Barber -the Microfiction
He didn't like to talk to his customers. It wasn't because he had nothing to say: he had a great interest in people and he had a life that was full; anecdotal and at times, crazy. He could regale his customers animatedly if he chose to, like a lauded entertainer and they would laugh, wide-eyed, at his witty, well-delivered tales.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Good Bye Mum.
I was just a naive 8 year Old, bursting with excitement and dreams, when my world was shattered. I had rushed home from school, eager to share the thrilling news with my mom. I had been chosen to skip a grade and take the Common Entrance exams! But as I searched the empty house, my heart sank. Where was she?
By Nneka Benedith2 years ago in Fiction
