Under the Full Moon of Miracles
100-word Micro-Fiction
Under the full moon, I stand barefoot in the dewy grass. I feel the earth's energy rise through my body. I hold a lit candle, nursing its flame to outlast the gentle breeze. I recite the incantation and call upon the moon's power to manifest my desire, giving thanks for past blessings. A month later, it happens. My wish becomes a reality, and I glow, knowing the moon's magic is real. The moon's power is not a myth but a tangible force connecting us to the universe. I will forever honor the moon's power, knowing anything is possible. Especially miracles.
About the Creator
The Pleasure Pen
We owe it to our readers to give them our best, to touch their hearts and souls, and to leave a lasting impact. So let us write with passion, with purpose, and with gratitude for the gift of being heard.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from The Pleasure Pen and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall7 days ago in Fiction
A Tale of Love and Loss in Shanghai
Seven years ago, under the gauzy veil of a Shanghai dusk, a man encountered her for the first time beside a narrow alleyway. She was a vendor of floral crimson fruits, which he knew as hawthorns in his native North. Unacquainted with the South's milder climes, he had never imagined such delights flourished here. Newly arrived in the city, loneliness clung to him like the damp mist of the evening drizzle. On that particular eve, her cart brimmed with the vivid hues of ripened fruit, a striking contrast against the muted palette of the rainy twilight. The fragrance of freshly picked hawthorns wafted gently, their allure heightened by her presence—one hand steadying the cart, the other holding an oilskin umbrella. Her posture, poised amidst the pattering rain, struck him as a solitary watercolor, poignant and arresting.
By Franz·Cabot4 days ago in Fiction
Letter to our Queer & Trans Youth
Hey, you. I thought I’d start this letter by telling you a little about myself, just so you know who you’re dealing with. I’m an emotional dad, father to three amazing kids who we met through the foster care system, and whose presence in our lives has really transformed my sense of responsibility to the communities that surround us. The connections we’ve made with one another, with our extended families, and with the communities where we live and look for belonging have catapulted us into this whirlwind of emotional tumult which, while not easy by any stretch of the measure, has also been remarkably healing. I realize ours is really only a one-sided chosen family, since our kids didn’t get to choose to live here, but I’d like to think that they did choose to let us love them, which allowed them to grow to love us. And I think that’s where I want to go with this letter- to a place where you can find belonging and healing- even if the pathway there may be peppered with some emotional tumult.
By F Cade Swansona day ago in Pride
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.