Microfiction
The Town Comes Alive
A little town in the north hibernates for about nine months of the year and very little happens in town. Until tourist season hits and there are people everywhere. They buy up the local produce, visit the gorgeous countryside and fill the local pub to the brim with laughter and song.
By Colleen Millsteed 3 years ago in Fiction
Bad Boy. Content Warning.
I don't know what I am. I shake, to get the mad off me. When I've been a good boy, I have two legs and drink coffee. I drive to a tall place made of glass, and nod seriously in a smart suit. The females wear paint, smell strongly like chemicals, touch my elbow, grimace wide and red. I eat dinner at the table. I'm allowed in the bed. She lets me mount her. When I've been a bad boy, I have four legs. I eat dinner on the floor, sleep in the kitchen. We go for walks. I put my head out of the car window and laugh into the wind. I went for a run in the park. There was a female I wanted to mount, so I chased her and did it, right there. People looked away, or laughed or scowled. My mistress scolded me, marched me home. Bad, she said. Bad boy. Yesterday, I went for a run in the park. There was a female I wanted to mount. They all screamed. Someone hit me in the side of the head. Now I'm sitting in a bare room on a hard chair and people ask confusing questions. Mistress will give me four legs for this. Or maybe leave me here, stranded on two. Everything's too loud and scary. I want to tuck my tail, but I have no tail. On four legs too long, now everything's mixed up. He stands up, leans on the table between us. I flinch back, drop my eyes, turn my head. Glance that way, this way. No escape. I look sideways at him, hard, to make him ease up, back off. My mouth twitches a warning he ignores. He presses. I'm pulled tight like a string. It snaps. I unravel. He's shaped wrong, and so am I. My silly teeth miss his throat and only graze his face and jawline, but I power into it and bite down anyway, hard enough to draw blood. He's yelling, and I'm full of fire, shaking, every part of me lit up in too-bright colours. My vision is clouded. Something is pouring out of him, should be bright red, but it's not. I don't know what I am! I howl.
By L.C. Schäfer3 years ago in Fiction
A Walk in the Woods
The wide open spaces were calling to her. The linear orderliness of blocks with their rectangular form and regimentation were starting to literally box her in. She felt cramped, encroached upon, her colour bleached by the drudge and the drain of city living.
By Rachel Deeming3 years ago in Fiction
Cut-throat Competition
Nestled deep in the countryside lay two neighbouring villages. Lower Mossbrook was neat and clean. It had wonderful amenities, lots of cycle paths, a picturesque well on the green, and a very competitive Neighborhood Watch Subcommittee for the Village of The Year
By L.C. Schäfer3 years ago in Fiction
