Microfiction
A Thanksgiving Story
When I woke up this morning, I couldn't believe that it was Thanksgiving week once again. Where has the year gone? I guess it's true as one gets older the years do go faster just as our parents said they would when they told you "Just wait till you're my age. You'll find out." Now planning the menu and seeing how many will actually be around for it seems they come and do all the requisite things that are supposed to be said and enjoy the food and company of family all together. Happy Thanksgiving and remember what is important.
By Mark Graham11 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Sold Tomorrow. AI-Generated.
Gregor Vale had always believed time was not a river, but a marketplace. In the back corner of an old European alley, behind fogged glass and a tarnished brass sign, stood his tiny workshop — Vale & Sons: Custom Clocks Since 1882.
By shakir hamid11 months ago in Fiction
What Remains of the Day
Before I knew about what remains of the day, I could hear the whistling of the forests’ songs linger; the presence of what was once a society now evanesced along the lapless hills before becoming a memory. My ears cringe with fear as the ringing blurs deep inside that memory, like a flashback, it eclipses my singeing flesh, raw with pink-white palette melting and contorting. I feel the fine blades of grass that used to dance with flurry, now choked in broken, arid earth. My soles sink, bringing up colorful bits beneath the soil. Just past, I watch the crooked streams flow with a prismatic film, left behind by the coughing plant upstream; its trails of smoke escape from the crimson high towers afar, away from the people, but unavoidable to the pleasant, pedestrian life that rummages through the crumpled leaves, or that which drinks from the stream.
By Thomas Bryant12 months ago in Fiction
The Room Within a Room
The house itself was one of those long ago forgotten mansions that lay empty for at least a dozen years and reminded Henry of something akin to one of those creepy old houses they used in those old horror movies from the 60's where some old caretaker who should have died years ago still resides.
By Timothy E Jones12 months ago in Fiction
The Cozy-Tok Tyrant
The mission was “Cozy Core Autumn.” Elara had spent three hundred dollars and six hours building the perfect set in the corner of her apartment. A chunky knit blanket, artfully draped. A vintage copy of Jane Eyre. A ceramic mug from a local potter, filled with a cinnamon-dusted latte that had taken four tries to foam correctly. Three strategically placed pumpkin spice candles, because the algorithm loved odd numbers.
By Habibullah12 months ago in Fiction
