Microfiction

The Power Is Yours
Sally lay curled in a ball at the foot of her bed, sobbing and breaking her heart. Sally’s mother walked into the room, sat beside her and soothed, “Talk to me Sally, let me help you.”
By Colleen Millsteed 3 years ago in Fiction
Memory Lane. Content Warning.
The city break had been Tracy's idea and while Ray would have preferred to spend the time loafing at home or pottering about, fulfilling the never-ending list of household chores and DIY fixes that an older home required, he knew that keeping her happy meant less hassle for him and so, he complied.
By Rachel Deeming3 years ago in Fiction
The Hem Of The City
I’d like to think that means the borders of town as if the town is one of many patches on the green and blue fabric we call Earth.
By Amethyst Champagne3 years ago in Fiction
(Unspoken)
Exactly as your father taught you, you load the dishwasher. Every piece has its place, its moment to shine. You've spent years as his understudy, practicing the fine art, tweaking the science. And now, you see to it (without being asked, because he cannot, and you can, and will, for him). His absence is a heartbreak (a newly arrived insurmountable anguish), but this one thing (this one good thing), you can do.
By Christy Munson3 years ago in Fiction
99 The Second Coming
As the sunlight began to wane and day made way for night, nocturnal creatures stir as another dusk spreads across the horizon.
By Gerard DiLeo3 years ago in Fiction
Tears of the Dragons
They hung upside down from the ceiling beams of the windy barn, like liquid stalactites lined up in endless, perfect rows upon the base of nearly every beam in the ceiling . Each and every one matching and resembling gossamer tears suspended by the most of slender of, almost ethereal threads. Occasionally the daylight pierces the cracks in the outer wall of the barn, highlighting a lazy smoke that drifts aimlessly from a nearby chimney. It creeps through the walls of the barn and is reflected through and around the orbs in a thousand crazy directions as diffused colours melt amongst themselves on the surrounding walls. The locals know these delicate orbs as tears of the dragons, each one of these silvery suspended drops are fairie chrysalis’ that are native to this area. Spoken of by both young and old, it is said, more whispered around these parts and some others; that a hatching of would bestow upon the host great luck and fortune, a hatching of this size could very well make a new king. The thunder of an approaching storm speaks to the hatchling fairies, they slowly begin to roll and gyrate in their membranous shells emitting a low resonate hum and the occasional bursts of pure white light. The storm intensifies and the occasional burst of lightning whips them into a fervent fevered frenzy. The fairie cocoons begin to dissolve into the very air around them as the sheer beauty of the occupant inside becomes more and more noticeable. Thin wings, as soft as a summer breath slowly unfold with an almost liquid grace, and then the most tiny, almost perfect female human face appears coyly and is slowly revealed beneath the opening wings. Smiling, she stretches her wings in a ballet of slow delicacy then with an effortless flutter, launches into the air. Her maiden flight becomes a netted swansong. Just outside the barn, near the door but not in the way, a weathered hand written sign sits next to a recently used chopping block. Fresh blood and other loathsome appearing substances threaten to spill down it on one side -
By Bren3 years ago in Fiction
DOLEN. Top Story - April 2024.
“Drive!” Dolen shouts at Victor, who peels away just as Dolen barely makes it into the relative safety of the car. Dolen leans over to pull the door shut, smells the burning rubber, and flinches as shattered glass from the rear windshield sprinkles down from the lone bullet that manages to hit the car.
By Aaron Morrison3 years ago in Fiction
"Evolutionary" - Bountiful Bunnies Bankrupt Bellies Begetting Behemothic Beasts . Top Story - April 2024.
The reliant beanstalks fed England very well. Their value was without peer. Yet, the routinely ovulation cycles of the rabbits were of immense consequence.
By Thavien Yliaster3 years ago in Fiction
98 — Shenanigans and Such: a Treatise on Dipshits, Assholes, and Combobulations
My name's Tom Foolery, and I'm always in the nitty gritty with my shenanigans. Whether it be horseplay, brouhaha, or general rigamarole, I jump from the frying pan into the fire with all of my hijinks. Some call it hanky panky; I call it being discombobulated.
By Gerard DiLeo3 years ago in Fiction
Frozen in Time
I feel the love that spans the decades, from the moment I first set eyes upon you, to the day I leave this physical plane, and beyond. That love will always be ours.
By Colleen Millsteed 3 years ago in Fiction
The Hatchling. Top Story - April 2024.
This story was written in response to a monthly prompt as part of the Author Avengers group on Ko-Fi. You can read all my prompt fills for that group first by following me here.
By Kelsey Clarey3 years ago in Fiction
We Float
I am Emma, I can float through city streets, hearing, not comprehending, seeing more than seeking; I am Emma, muted puffs of powdered sky drift over the high, cold buildings. I rest in the translucent voices, radiate in the hums and ahs; I am Emma. Rich with history, my path well worn connects me through language, written, read, recited. I am famished for knowledge, thirsty for newness; I float on home as the train sways left and right, I am just a passenger looking out the window with my eyes closed. I am lost by choice in Waugh, Baldwin, Angelou. I am Emma, flying across the surface as you look back at me; in and out of kaleidoscope faces, no idea of who I am or why.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction