Microfiction

For the Faithful Be Fertile
Reverend Rhett Dream, pastor of the Church of Vas, addressed the Epididymites: "Yā-yä, my motile flock, I come from Seminifera with tidings from the Great Rigidity." He paused dramatically, then continued. "You asked me about the meaning of life. What's to come is a mystery--but have faith."
By Gerard DiLeo3 years ago in Fiction
Winters Grip
Winter's cold clutches always seems to trap you, in the emptiness of it's Embrace. And today's stroll shows yet another sequel to my once again idle life, as I walk on the icy grounds of our most cherished memories, the park we both shared our dreams, covered with snow; as if trying to hide any trace of our ever being together.
By Emmanuel Ebicombowei Wari3 years ago in Fiction
Kali Sleeps No More
In the dungeonous belly of a decrepit castle, Kali watches patiently as the fissure along the wall slowly gets concealed by the never-ending winter snowfall. Each day as the snow climbs higher, the malicious grin across her face stretches wider. Her original plan was to simply wait for the army to pass, for she wasn't ready to wake, but as they made camp on the ground above her domain, Kali's attitudes shifted and progressed toward hostilities.
By Mollie Narutovics3 years ago in Fiction
Chasing a ghost through the vast white. Top Story - February 2024.
“Halligan!” I can see his silhouette some way in the distance. He has been there for a while but he doesn’t seem to move, either toward or away from me.
By Beth Sarah3 years ago in Fiction
The candy merchant
My name's Naomi, but at night I've no name or identity. No one knows or recognises me, I hide everything and keep myself in secret.
By Anna 3 years ago in Fiction
Whiteout
Sun shone off the pure-white snow at the mountain's top, making my eyes water even behind my tinted goggles. "Don't be such a baby," Nick skied past, barely seeming to touch the snow. Backwards. Show off. "You've got this! Come on!" And he was off, all but bombing the slope.
By Alexander McEvoy3 years ago in Fiction
Day 1: Portal Creation: Time-lapse
Floors of white marble, it was clear the building held its age. Tugging on her hoodie when passing the groupings. Head ducked down as her walk quickened. Two glass doors slid slowly to the left and right as a blue light welcomed her. Rows of books passed leading to a small table with one chair. Removing the hoodie, her dark hair bounced around, as glasses fell. Picking them up she noticed black boots on approach. She sat down pulling out a silver laptop. Glancing to her left extra tables and chairs with other members staring into the screens of various devices. The blue lights giving way to the black boots, tailored dark pants, a buttoned shirt, an aged face. Two golden yellow trimmings on the jacket, a security officer.
By Leni Koski3 years ago in Fiction
Of Lance & Gwen
My first thought when I wake up is always of Gwen. Before we met, I was just existing: doing the sort of thing I was told, but not really understanding or enjoying any of it. Then I met Gwen, and it was a bit like an experience I am sure you have had, on the subway or in a restaurant or waiting in line for some annoying, inescapable reason, you have eavesdropped on a conversation in a language you don’t know at all, or that you know in the most shallow, casual way. And then a word, or a phrase, or a complete sentence uttered by one of the people involved in that conversation makes complete, perfectly clear sense to you. Suddenly gibberish is poetry. It’s not that there was nothing there before. It’s just that it didn’t make any sense.
By D. J. Reddall3 years ago in Fiction
Scandi-love
The clawfoot tub easily fit both of their mottled red bodies in its cast iron mold. Frozen capillaries engorged as carefully warmed water steamed and slopped against their chilblains. They had just walked, arm in arm, for three miles in the Norwegian winter. They wandered, talked, and laughed, fueled and warmed by their curiosity. Sun had set hours before their stroll, but that hadn’t kept them in the hjem. It was the eve of a new year; there were intentions to be set, things to be said, and others to be felt.
By kp3 years ago in Fiction
Management
Introduction Although this is fiction it is based on situations that I have seen in many of the places where I have worked, so while it is not "The Handmaid's Tale" by Margaret Atwood it is the same sort of model.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 3 years ago in Fiction
1987: The Old Town - A Genuine Harrowing Tale in India
In the core of the country India, settled among the influencing fields of wheat and sugarcane, lies the failed-to-remember town of Kailashpur. Covered in a quality of secret and premonition, this old settlement has for quite some time been supposed to hold onto dull mysteries and supernatural peculiarities. The year 1987 denoted a chilling part in the town's set of experiences, as a progression of strange situations transpired, diving Kailashpur into a bad dream from which it would battle to stir. This is the spine-shivering story of the genuine harrowing tale that unfurled in Kailashpur in the pivotal year of 1987.
By Ashok3 years ago in Fiction
The Cryptic House Cleaner: Phantom or Man?
In the curious town of Willowbrook, settled while moving slopes and rich vegetation, there stood a fabulous manor covered in secret. Tales whirled among the residents about the cryptic figure who stayed inside its walls - a servant whose presence appeared to oppose clarification. Some murmured that she was a phantom, sentenced to meander the corridors forever, while others guaranteed she was simply an isolated loner, favoring the isolation of the house to the organization of others. This is the bewildering story of the house cleaner of Willowbrook Estate and the mission to reveal the reality behind her character.
By Ashok3 years ago in Fiction