The Rattling of Wars
a micro fiction tale of fear
The antique shop was an antique itself; passed down for generations. No one understood how it wasn't bankrupt, as city folk avoided the shop like the plague. An old murder-suicide tale haunted the place, and the family's compensation was what kept doors open.
It started with a traumatized soldier.
All he had was a photo of his wife and daughter; memorialized.
The clerk tried selling an old scrapbook, but the raining of bombs interrupted the transaction. As dust settled, the rattled solider could not, proceeding to shoot both the clerk and himself.
Anything was better than being held hostage.
About the Creator
Oneg In The Arctic
A storyteller and poet of arctic adventures, good food, identity, mental health, and more.
Co-founder of Queer Vocal Voices
Some other rad writers to check out:
James ❄️ TheDaniWriter ❄️ Melissa
RiverJoy ❄️ J. Delaney-Howe ❄️
Water is Life ✊
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insight
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
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More stories from Oneg In The Arctic and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins3 days ago in Fiction
unlocking the door
In a village, there lived a teenage boy named Mada. Mada was intelligent and talented, but he was also very closed-minded and rarely showed his emotions to anyone. After realizing that his father had left and never contacted him again, Mada became more isolated and found it difficult to connect with other people.
By Mahmud Anhari6 days ago in Fiction
The Snake-Worshipping, Fur-Wearing Woman Who Made Alexander Great
What do you know about the mother of Alexander the Great? It's not a trick question. The woman who gave birth to one of history's military greats has been much obscured by the long, dark shadow of history. Short of a few awkward caricatures in film, little has been brought into focus about the infamous Olympias of Molossia.
By E.B. Johnson 7 days ago in History
Comments (13)
I really like the way the 4th paragraph is worded. As I initially think that the city really is under attack and at war at the moment, let's say WW2, but then I remember that the soldier is traumatized and could be having a distressing PTSD episode where he's reliving a bombing experience. It really makes me think, as the reader, trying to figure out which path that You, the author, are taking within this story.
That first line is brilliant. Love this!
Excellent
Deep. You create a lot of tension with just the right amount of catharsis.
Oh my goodness! This was exceptionally done. I can see why microstories and flash fiction is your forté.
Wow, what a sad tale. Great job Oneg. Well written and expertly communicated.
I gasped aloud
Such a powerful, short story! You managed to capture a mystery of centuries within a single minute of reading :) Well done!
Ooh what a tale in so few words! Really well executed!
Powerful words
Awesome!!! Left some love!!!💖💖💕
Ancient tales, full of mystery, with no one left to fill the gaps or answer the questions.
Interesting take