Short Story
An Adventure in Succinctness: A Four-story Micro Fiction Collection
Introduction to a New Genre Once upon a time in the late 90s, I picked up a book that had a profound influence on me. It was a short anthology with a tad over 100 pages. However, within the book there were 101 stories that were 56 words in length, but each carried the impact of a full-length novel. In addition, they ran the gamut of being funny, sad or terrifying.
By Dean Traylorabout a month ago in Fiction
Apparition of Desires
I found myself in a recurring dream. The one where I’m naked. Not naked in the grocery store but naked at the dry cleaners. Everyone in line holding their ticket is shouting, me, me, me. Fully clothed and faceless with familiar voices. I recognized yours. It was that spring or maybe it was early summer when the mayflies were extreme. Blanketing the ground and buildings like snow, I had never seen so many. On the beach alone, you said you would never tire of how the moon lit the hair on the back of my head. In the dry cleaners I covered my privates so people wouldn't heckle and snicker at my shame. Next in line I began to unzip the zipper under my chin. Zipped down through my abdomen. Carefully under and down through to the inseam of my left leg. All the way down to my heel. I remove my flesh from its bones, like I was peeling off a onesie. How a mechanic releases himself at the end of a day from his coveralls. The blood coursing through my veins like neon. Lungs expanding and contracting with every breath in this space we share. You're here, I know you are, I can hear you. My skull and rib cage exposed, along with my spine and pelvis. The guts, muscles and organs revealed to the faceless standing in line. You're faceless but I can hear you. I hand the woman my suit of skin, asked for the one-hour service. She said the stain on the center of my chest may be hard to remove. I lied and said it was from coffee. Stood to the side exposing my innermost self. Waited in silence surrounded by the girth of rich men with rhino horns in their William Westmancott suits. This is where the dream really takes a turn. On the beach wading into the ocean. A whirlpool I couldn’t resist draws me in and under. The ceiling of my bedroom becomes the ocean. I look up from my bed, rays of light spear down penetrating the surface illuminating a hovering silhouette. I am that silhouette near the surface floating effortlessly looking down at myself sleeping below. I thought I saw you hovering above me, looking down at me, except it was my eyes inside of you looking down at me. Part of me seeing you and part of me seeing me through you. The mayflies cover me like skin. I don’t know if they’re protecting me or dying with me. Your voice is gone now. You’re nowhere in sight, I woke, a little feverish, a little not knowing. Not knowing for a moment where I am. I covered myself, my skin, it’s all here, dazed a little, I’m still complete.
By Gerry Thibeaultabout a month ago in Fiction
Broken: An Abuse Survivor's Tale💜Part 1. Content Warning.
This story was written a year ago on a different platform, but I uploaded it here a while back. I felt insecure about the story as it was a very...specific kind of tale, so I ended up deleting it. Well, since then, I have grown a lot as a writer, and I don't feel those insecurities anymore. Enjoy!
By Rain Dayzeabout a month ago in Fiction
The Last Tag-along
You were warned to stay home and told not to follow Ryan when he left. He said he was going somewhere a little sister shouldn’t tag along, so you should just help Mom with some baking and catch a movie on HBO tonight. It hurt your feelings to hear him say this, because normally he took you everywhere.
By Mother Combsabout a month ago in Fiction
THE WAY HOME
The digital clock above the Tube station flickered, signalling the last minute before midnight. Jack Weary walked among the tired crowd, eager to catch the last train home after a long day at work. As he glanced at the clock, a sense of urgency washed over him. One minute left to get to the platform. He needed to catch this last Tube or risk being stranded in the city overnight.
By Christian Bassabout a month ago in Fiction
Presumption of a Bold Girl
Think of the 1960s, a time of racial tension and riots in the streets. Your school has lockdowns with police stationed at the doors. You see the Disciples motorcycle gang roll up outside the school. You know they are a feared biker gang of black riders, and that they came from Chicago to see what’s up in your little town. Your small town is five miles up the road from the State Penitentiary, where you assume some of their buddies currently reside. You watch as they slowly circle the high school on their bikes, just observing. You wonder if they are silently daring the police to come at them - to cross the line. Imagine your fear of them as an impressionable high schooler - you don’t know violence except in movies like Easy Rider, Hells Angels on Wheels , and The Born Losers .
By Andrea Corwin about a month ago in Fiction
