#Microfiction

[shorteststory]

THE GREENHOUSE

#short fiction #short stories #microfiction #flash fiction #very short stories #vss #photography #art #fiction

[absentwriterdoll]

Downpour

A doll sitting with its witch in front of the television.

The only light comes from the television itself, and the streetlamps outside.

Rain pelts the roof, windows, walls - a heavy downpour.

The witch snuggles against her doll - and her doll places a kiss on the top of her head.

The night is deep.

Perfect to spend with each other.

#empty spaces #fantasy #fiction #microfiction #writing #dollposting #witches #everyday doll #not a person

[canmom]

you find yourself in a cave. under the thin light of your torch, the tunnel stretches away, shadows swallowing everything beyond the next few metres. the light is just enough to make out the spidery patterns engraved in every wall. writing, perhaps? but if so, it is not a script you can recognise.

you proceed further.

after a while, different shapes begin to crawl into the light of the torch. these at least look like letters, regularly spaced and repeating. you examine them, hoping to divine meaning - but beyond the fact that it is a short pattern repeated over and over, perhaps a phrase, a mantra?

denied answers, you continue.

after an indeterminable period of walking, the pattern has shifted further. by now, the letters start to resemble the ones you know - roman characters here, cyrillic there, hangul and kana and hanzi climbing onto the ceiling. but they do not form words that you can discern. perhaps they are enciphered.

press on, press on!

at last you glance once again at the wall, and you get the flash of instant recognition that comes from seeing a language you know. somewhere behind you, the language must have shifted; now their mysteries are finally revealed.

the text declares:

REPLICATION IS THE ONLY GUARD AGAINST ENTROPY

ahead, the cave continues its silent, winding way.

#microfiction

[peppermintquartz]

You said, "Tell me something you've never told anyone."

I said, "No."

#microfiction #my writing

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Devil drives a good bargain.

"I'm a good salesman. I don't mean that I'm good at selling things. I'm ethical and I sell fairly. All the same, I have to make a profit, so I drive a good, fair bargain.

Your soul for your dreams.

I mean, you don't exactly need it after you die, right? So why not just hand it over then?" I looked hopefully at my customer. He seemed torn, uncertain. I needed to strike fast, hard. I needed to sell this now.

"Come on... You said you wanted to fall in love again, right? I can do that. I can make you and your wife feel as though you were both teenagers in the throes of passion. Or, if you want, I can get you to fall in love with someone else? And I'll throw in a clean divorce too. Or perhaps an open marriage? The possibilities are endless!" Still, the man hesitated. What was wrong with the bastard? I gritted my teeth. He had been standing there for weeks, quietly contemplating. Wasting my time.

"I've decided," he said. My hope soared. "I don't want any of that." My hope crashed into a tree and died. 

"Then, what do you want?" I asked, giving him a winning smile.

"I want to make a bet. If I win, I get a wish for free. If I lose, I'll give up my entire family's souls. Deal?" He suddenly seemed infinitely more confident. I was nonplussed. Some people tried to fake me out, trick me into giving them free wishes. 

"What's the bet?" I leaned on the countertop, bringing myself to his level. We stared each other in the eye.

"We swap places. I be the Devil, you be the everyman. First to give up loses. You in?" He smirked.

What was I to do? I could hardly resist a gamble. It was a deal.

Perhaps I was a fool, I thought, sitting at a desk. Overseeing a herd of imps was not fun. They drew markers everywhere, squelched mud, and somehow had the ability to cry on command. But as I was sitting there, rifling through unartistic crayon drawings, an idea struck me.

I did not have to stay in this job. I did not have to go home to a dumpy wife who was cheating on me and a pair of whiny teenagers. That fool lent me his body and by hell, I was going to get a good deal out of it.

I decided to think of it as a vacation. I took out all the cash from the accounts, including the kids' college funds and the retirement money. Then I borrowed an unthinkably large amount of money before disappearing off to the tropics.

I spent my days in luxury, traveling, seeing the world, gambling when I needed more cash (for the Devil always wins). I saw the world from the rose-tinted glasses of the rich, and enjoyed luxuries beyond imagination. After a while, I began to dread the end of the bet.

And then I grew old, and still the bet had not come to an end. My heart was on the verge of dying on me, and I lay bedridden with kidney failure. So I did what anyone who was not in their own body would do in that situation. 

I jumped off a 50 story building. The impact did not hurt that much. It all quickly faded to black.

I reappeared on the other side of my counter. The man whose body I occupied stood manning my shop. When he saw me, he laughed maniacally. "So you just couldn't stand the old missus, huh? Guess I beat the Devil at his own game," he said. I merely smiled, and got back on the right side of my shop. He hopped over the counter, grinning wildly.

"So… About my boon?" he asked. I steepled my fingers and sat down, leaning backwards.

"I'm afraid not. We only serve living customers. I'm afraid your body died while under my care. But thank you for the free vacation," I replied, allowing myself a satisfied smile. 

His face turned thunderous. "What do you mea-" He was whisked off to the afterlife in a flash of light before he could finish. Cheerfully, I waved at him as he went.

"Thank you for shopping with us. Have a nice day!" I called after him.

#An oldie but a goodie #Wrote this when I was 14 #If the punchline reads a bit weird it's because it's replicating the self-checkout jingle at my local supermart #my writing #writeblr #writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writing community #fantasy #spilled ink #short story #humor #Microfiction #From the days when I wrote that sort of thing

[rounderhouse]

#mecha #sci-fi #microfiction #rounderwords #twt

[microsff]

"I want," the man said to the art robot, and then described an image in some detail. "Certainly," said the art robot. A printout came out of its chest. "Thank y- Hey! What's this?" "A list of artists who make images of the kind you describe, and who are accepting commissions."

#Microfiction #VSS #writers on tumblr #Support your friendly neighborhood artists

[strangelittlestories]

After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

---

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

#writing #microfiction #short story #flash fiction #wrote this a few years back and finally got round to posting here

[mallowmaenad]

the pale mech pilot (chronically depressed tgirl) slumps out of its cockpit after a prolonged battle (playing borderlands 2 for 6 hours) at the orders of its handler [NO METAPHOR HERE] shocked from having its neural interface ripped out (taking off noise canceling headphones) it is quickly rewarded with just a pulse of neurostims, (a drink of water and a handful of chicharrones) legs slack against the ground as it struggles to remember how to operate outside of its titanic metal shell it calls a body (memory foam mattress)

#mech #mecha #mechposting #microfiction #microfic #they loved this shit on twitter

[thestuffedalligator]

The trees lumbered across the field.

It was a weird thing to watch. When a tree settled to rest or sniff at an interesting crocus, she could almost believe that it had been rooted to the spot for years; then the huge body would raise up on spidery roots and trundle forward with stupid placidity to follow the herd. When they all had settled to rest in the morning light, it was like the field had been turned into a misty woodland in seconds.

A sapling bounded up to her and sniffed at her wrist before bounding off again, spindly roots kicking with delight.

"It's pretty simple work," said the farmer. "We let them out to get some fresh air and sunlight, check them for blight. Every so often we have to lay out some manure, but that's pretty much it."

She watched the sapling. It stumbled on its own limbs and limped into the shade of its mother.

"It's pretty similar to raising cattle," said the farmer. "We raise them up for a couple years, and when they get big enough we take them down to the slaughterhouse and have them butchered."

"Wouldn't you send them to a logging mill or something?"

"Nope."

A chickadee whirred through the air and lighted onto a branch.

"There's good money in it, too," said the farmer. "There's a lot of demand for certain cuts of tree meat."

"You mean wood?"

"Nope."

There was a blur of branches. The tree ate the chickadee.

#'if this is all building up to a tree farm joke i'm very impressed' she said #'no i think the writer is just feeling weird today' said the farmer #narrativia #short story #microfiction #worldbuilding #if it turns out they do the same bit in dungeon meshi i'm gonna be viscerally upset

[prokopetz]

“I’m afraid it’s over, doctor. We’ve seen through your sinister plot.”

“It’s not a plot, you uneducated fool – it’s a scheme.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A plot is defined by political intrigue as a central feature, whereas a scheme is defined by its complexity. You can have a straightforward plot or an apolitical scheme, but not vice versa. This is a scheme.“

“I thought if it was complex it's a machination.”

“No, it’s a machination if it’s artful. I’ve never much cared for artfulness; for example, this conversation isn’t artful at all, yet it’s kept you occupied long enough for the next phase of my scheme to come into play – just as I’d planned!”

“Your scheme depended on me not knowing what a scheme is?”

“Wheels within wheels, old friend.”

#microfiction #semantics

[absentwriterdoll]

Starlight

A plushie! Hand woven by its witch with thread as dark as night!

Woven into that base, done up in thread laced with mythril, are several constellations, occasionally added to as its witch grows more and more familiar with the night sky.

While magical in nature, the plushie's adornments aren't used for magic themselves: its witch's personal magic has no need of the stars' strength.

So why mythril?

To serve as a sort of nightlight!

The metal shines gently, deep into the night, reflective and twinkling, carrying the light of the stars as easily as the clearest night sky.

A perfect accessory for her darling dolly.

#empty spaces #fantasy #fiction #microfiction #writing #dollposting #witches #everyday doll #not a person

[dizzyhslightlyvoided]

Ramona: Yeah, uh, Roxie and I are both trans women.

Scott: Oh! So that's how she's one of your "evil ex boyfriends" despite being a girl!

Roxie, six inches from slicing him to bits depending on what he says next: Oh?

Scott, oblivious: Not "ex ... boyfriend", but "ex-boy ... friend!"

Roxie: ... y'know, that's the funniest way I've ever heard any "cis" person describe it.

Scott: Oh, really? -- Wait, why was "cis" in quotes?

Ramona, as innocently as she can manage: What do you mean in quotes?

Roxie, ditto: Yeah, this is a verbal conversation.

Scott: Uhhh, never mind.

The catgirl speedrunner from the High Council of Trans Women who was ready to clip through the wall and deck Ramona or Roxie in the face if either of them tried to violate the Trans Prime Directive, like with the Vegan Police: (retreats)

#shenanigans #scott pilgrim #ramona flowers #roxie richter #trans scott pilgrim #trans ramona flowers #trans roxie richter #trans stuff #microfiction #my stuff #my writing #my fanfiction #rhoda pilgrim

[frostgears]

flight deck

you don't have to tell your handler that you're coming in messy after a bad mission. she's tied into flight ops. she knows.

she's waiting by the flight line before the grease monkeys have all your armor off, with a lubed glove on one hand and two fat purple pills in the other.

"ssshhh, pretty thing," she says. "you did your best out there. now open," she forces the pills to your mouth. "good girl. where's that water bottle… swallow. good."

her hand is already working between your legs, reinforcing her praise. they always detach the armor there first.

the pills help. the pills leave you feeling floaty, detached, enough to ignore what they've done to you to make the armor work. you probably can't climax without them by now, not that your handler would ever let you find out.

a few moments later, you spatter your built-up tension and guilt across the deck. with a sigh, you sink to your still-armored knees. your reflex weapons disarm, automatics finally allowed to take over from your own hair-trigger awareness. they're safe now. you're safe.

the grease monkeys are also safe, emerging from behind blast shields that would not have stopped any but the lightest of your armaments. more for psychological safety, really.

"she done?"

"the fuck do you think, wrenchie?"

"i think you couldn't pay me enough to do your job."

"i don't do it for the pay," you hear your handler say, as your eyelids sink towards closed. "i do it because that thing you're all scared of? she's all mine. and every landing, i get to remind myself, and all of you, and most importantly, her." □

#empty spaces #mech pilot #microfiction #combat doll #flight deck #dollposting

[shorteststory]

Happy eclipse day to all who celebrate!

I wrote this after road-tripping from Gen Con to see eclipse totality in Carbondale, Illinois 7 years ago!

#eclipse #solar eclipse #poem #microfiction #prose poetry

[rounderhouse]

“cyberpunk future where you need to make payments on your cybernetics or they get repo’d” is good, but doesn’t go far enough. consider cyberpunk future where the terms of service restrict how you can use your augments and implants — your prosthetic hands physically quake and lock up if you try to use them for things your medical company deems “a risk factor” (which somehow includes protesting the very same biomedical conglomerate), and your eyes automatically blur information that tells you how to improve or update augments yourself. but even surrounded by this much greed, widespread underground communities exist of people helping one another jailbreak their titanium bodies, recapturing the autonomy corporations have methodically stripped away from them.

#microfiction #rounderwords #writing #scifi #prosthetics