Microfiction
We Stand in Moonlight
We walked around the castle’s defences again. The moon is full tonight and she is stronger than me. As we walk, the guards stare at us, probably wondering which one of us they watch. No one approaches us; they never do. We stand and watch the moon rise over the tallest tree that was planted generations ago. Soon, the moon will reach its highest point. We wait; she wants to see the castle’s lands by silver light and I have neither energy nor inclination to resist her. I do resist sometimes, usually out of anger but sometimes out of fear. Sometimes, the guards don’t even look at us, unsure of which one of us we are or of interrupting us. Sometimes, people even fear to approach us during the day, not even waiting until moonrise to wonder. I do not understand how they can make such a mistake; we act differently and dress differently – something that used to result in a fight, but I have since learned to pick the battles to expend energy on – and her eyes are silver. Even when we wear my clothing and the sun shines, our eyes give us away.
By Dionearia Red9 months ago in Fiction
No Signal
The first thing Lorelei noticed was the sound. Not silence — she had expected silence — but a roaring, ceaseless, all-consuming noise. The surf. It came from every direction, a white static that swallowed everything else, and for a long, disoriented moment she thought she had gone deaf and the world had filled the gap with its own voice.
By Parsley Rose 9 months ago in Fiction
Bridges. Content Warning.
In preparation, my shadow crossed that bridge. A mission, a reconnaissance in a way. It was just a moment in time I could never forget; I mean who could and soon it will be in the distance. I mean it is life changing, life is always changing. Of all the things we have weaved and engineered in life as humans you would think we would have found a way to control the weather, disease, and each other by now. The snow piling up and the wind was strong blowing off the frozen fields. Across the street I watched from my bed the tombstones bracing the wind for days as the snow drifted in front of them, as if the bodies were under all that snow still waiting on the grounds first thaw. That gap between breath and silence briefly on hold, waiting peacefully for the storm to pass. I am sure the dead have somewhere to be, but what is the hurry now?
By Gerry Thibeault9 months ago in Fiction
A magical mess in the cyber city of Neonopolis
A magical mess in the cyber city In the not-so-distant future, where hoverboards zoomed alongside flying taxis and augmented reality was a common as a cup of coffee, the city of Neonopolis pulsed with an electric energy. It was a place where tech ruled supreme, and the only magic people believed in was the kind that came with a software update. But thanks to its tech-savvy citizens, the real magic was just a glitch away.
By Jazell carrasco9 months ago in Fiction
The Ballroom. Honorable Mention in Everyone Is Acting Normally Challenge.
The ball is in full swing. The music swells and flows as couples swirl together on complicated patterns. The pianoforte, cornopean, flute and violins make a harmonious sound a they play a mixture of traditional quadrilles and other patterns interspersed with more modern, more scandalous music like waltzes. Even rarer, a Highland reel can be heard, leading to raucous laughter as the eject couples attempt the complicated patterns. Other sounds like the clicking of glasses float around the musicians' music, sometimes complementing but more often competing as lemonade and wine are consumed by those gathered. Young girls wait nervously with their chaperones, hoping desperately to be chosen to dance, and groups of girls stand in groups giggling and pointing at the eligible young men, choosing which one they prefer over the others. The officers, dressed proudly in their regimentals are the choice of many gathered; indeed, many of the girls had begged their mothers for new dresses in colours that would flatter the richly coloured, carmine uniforms. Every so often, a Scotsman in his brightly coloured kilt draws their eyes with his bare, shapely calves; the most bold of these might dare a quick wink if the chaperones are not looking or, not commonly, pretending not to notice. The brightly coloured dresses of pink and soft blue and mauve and buttery yellow swirl around the men's dark suits and vivid crimson uniforms. Each gown is adorned with flowers, either silk or, when afforded, natural, and their conflicting perfumes, competing already with the flower water perfumes and bay rum colognes that the men wear create a cloying environs, even in the spaciousness of the grand ballroom. Even on the periphery of the room, colourful flocks of women with their decorative feathers, delicate flowers, and flashing beads and jewels making them look like birds gathered in a menagerie. Gasps as the matrons gossip, the young girls and couples laugh amongst themselves, young lovers whisper and conspire to find some privacy against their elders' careful eye, and the murmur of general conversation ebb and flows with the music. Through the general cacophany, no one conversation can be clearly heard, but certain words are more easily through the general noise. "Beautiful," "handsome," "dance," "I cannot believe...," "indeed," "after last time...," "how shocking," "quite wonderful, really," "oh, but my dear Mrs-," and "quite so," are amongst the common phrases that can be discerned through the din. Throughout all of this chaotic elegance and beauty, the attendants of the technology conference sit dumbfounded. Confusion, disbelief, shock, and awe cover the faces of the gathered tech specialists, engineers, and other industry insiders. The keynote speaker, who had only just begun her speech, just stands in shock as the violin concert master stands directly in the middle of her podium as he conducts the musicians that are suddenly surrounding her. Their music is real, vibrant and loud, as it cuts through the air around her. At the tables that dot the ballroom, the other attendees sit as ghostly couples waltz through them, the cold wind whipping throughing their bodies as the well-dressed dancers complete their prescribed patterns across the floor, unheeding the people whose bodies they dance through. The sudden cold causes many of the people, dressed in thin blouses or button up shirts or even some in tee-shirts, polos or dresses to shiver in the once-overly warm room. Their silence is a direct contrast to the whispers and murmurs that come from the interlopers. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, they vanish; the sounds, sights, and smells of the dancers and their wall-flowers and their matrons and spinster aunts and jovial fathers and uncles and the old battle-horses and bragarts all vanish leaving the room exactly as it has been before.
By Dionearia Red9 months ago in Fiction
A Nameless Person in an Empty Place
She felt nameless. It was an easy enough situation to slip into, watching the city slip by during her morning commute. She was as faceless, nameless, and insignificant as every other person on the hover bus. She was just another person dressed up in professional clothes, getting ready to step into her quiet, albeit stressful job, where she sat at a computer for most of the day.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA9 months ago in Fiction
Sack of Potatoes
What was I thinking of when I dragged you through that neon-lit back alley? The one where the dogs pissed and the cats slept with all the old restaurant scraps like linens. What was I thinking carrying you over my shoulders like a corpse through the ugliest part of town?
By Silver Daux9 months ago in Fiction
