#microfiction

[orcboxer]

vampires gotta drink blood to survive but prion disease is still a risk. their bodies and minds may be immortal, but not immutable. you encounter a vampire estimated to be fourteen hundred years old, and there's just...so little left of them.

they live in abandoned sheds, dusty attics, dilapidated sewer tunnels, anywhere that won't expose them directly to the sunlight. peering out from the shadows you can see the gaunt face filled with needle-like fangs, and those hollow, twitching eyes searching your features, trying to determine if you are Prey or Not Prey. the only thing they can still recognize. technically they're still alive, yes, but the person they once were died a slow, painful death trapped in that skull.

it takes your balance first, makes your gait unsteady and erratic. then comes the emotional instability, the sudden fits of laughter as common as the bursts of anger. then come the tremors, a constant uneven rumbling that you can feel even now as the ancient vampire rattles the floorboards in the other room. you've seen an old one hunt before. there's no grace to it, no deadly efficiency, it's a frantic, messy affair, all flailing, crawling limbs and gnashing teeth.

when you were turned, you were excited to live forever young and beautiful and sexy and mysterious but in this moment, staring at the withered hand slithering out from the darkness behind the cracked doorway, you remember why they call it a curse

#orcspeak #microfiction

[jethroq]

#I shouöd remember to tag these kinds of posts as microfiction #microfiction

[shorteststory]

FORBIDDEN TO DIE

PS: My new line of D&D enamel pins is now live on BackerKit!

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

[strangelittlestories]

There came a day when there were two mortals, one beloved by Dyonisus and another by Hermes, who fell in love.

They decided that, when they were wed, they wanted to both be united in worship of the same deity. However, they could not find a fair way to decide which.

So, on their wedding day, they communed with their gods. They did this by consuming a quite astonishing amount of mind-altering substances.

(This went largely unremarked upon by the guests of their tastefully rustic ceremony, as they did so during the photos. Thus, everyone was busy with Instagram and/or fistfighting that one uncle who had really had it coming.)

Being quite thoroughly stoned - to the degree that they were not only *out* of their gourds but that if you asked the gourds about them then the gourds would have denied them three times - their consciousnesses drifted up into the firmament to walk upon Olympus.

Hermes and Dyonisus agreed that they would settle this in a game of poker.

The couple nodded and smiled beatifically, happy to be valued so highly as to be chips in a cosmic game (also, snacks were provided, which was a real win).

The two deities locked eyes over the poker table, their two drugged up devotees between them.

"Well, I think we can agree on one thing." Said Hermes, stuffing cards up his sleeves.

"Oh yes." replied Dionysus, as he spiked Hermes' ambrosia.

"The stakes have never been higher."

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #feghoot #puns #mythology #dyonisus #hermes #Dionysus

[preservationofnormalcy]

ITEM FILE #6412

ITEM: "Fool's Money"

ITEM HISTORY: Item 6412 is a standard American five (5) dollar bill. Running the serial number shows a mundane origin, but the item was slightly defaced at an unknown point. The inscription 'a fool and his money' (a reference to the adage 'a fool and his money are soon parted') has been written on the front face near former President Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln has also had pointed ears drawn onto his depiction. Whether this was merely doodling or a statement of the artist on President Abraham Lincoln's classification remains unknown.

This item was surrendered to Office custody after its previous owner suffered a mental health crisis, citing the bill's adverse extranormal effects. After some testing, it was determined that the bill, when spent, will always return to its designated holder, known colloquially as the "fool." The "fool" can only pass the bill onto another holder permanently if it is stolen, or more likely, if the holder is able to perform a financial "scam" involving the bill. The bill has no other documented adverse effects beyond repeated appearance and the mundane designation of the holder being a "fool."

Office psychometric testing has resulted in a 98.4% certainty that the bill's extranormal effects are of fae origin. Fae advisors have suggested that the bill was part of a 'literal wording' scam. They currently hypothesize that the original holder of the bill traded a significant amount of liquid assets for the ability for "money to return" to them, resulting in the bill in Office custody.

The nature of the bill initially presented a challenge in maintaining custody - though he surrendered the bill, the holder was still "the fool" and thus it returned to him. After researching the bill's effects, a mugging was arranged through a series of double-blind contacts, the bill stolen by a mugger acting, for that day via a thaumo-legal contract, as an agent of Office Accounting. The agent immediately made a business purchase of one (1) box of paperclips using the bill, thereby securing the Office Accounting entity as the "fool" and the bill's custody. It is currently in the OA's petty cash drawer, marked so as to not be spent.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #documents #fae #urban fantasy #microfiction

[absentwriterdoll]

A doll walks into a bar.

A doll walks into a bar.

"You always pick hot chocolate. You just like it that much?"

The doll nods.

"Hot chocolate was the first drink Miss made for this one."

The bartender shrugs - but goes to prepare the doll's order.

"Who's this Miss? Never seen you come in with anyone."

The doll doesn't look up from the bar in front of it.

"Miss is important to this one."

The bartender nods and places the doll's order in front of it.

"To remember?"

The doll nods in return, taking a small sip.

"To remember."

The night is deep.

…

A witch walks into a bar!

The doll jumps up from its seat, crying in delight!

The bartend pauses cleaning a glass to witness the spectacle!

The witch apologizes, saying that she was gone for a day longer than she planned, panicked when she saw the doll wasn't at home, used magic to track it down!

A silly doll and a silly witch!

...

If only it were so easy, right?

…

… A witch that comes home.

She can hear her doll talking to itself in the kitchen.

It's... It's a sort of act, it seems! Acting like it's in a bar.

There's a fragrance of chocolate on the air.

And...

...

A witch… A witch that comes home…

She calls out to her doll, her voice echoing loudly throughout the house -

She notices the fragrance of hot chocolate, asks if the doll could make one for...

...

A witch... A witch that…

...

The night is deep.

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

[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

[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

[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

[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

[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

[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]

ABSENT-MINDED

PS: You can always find plain text transcriptions of my stories on my website!

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

[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

[absentwriterdoll]

Anxiety

A doll and its witch watching a show!

At this point, they've been watching the show all day together!

The doll feels a little bit anxious that it hasn't done anything today.

Maybe more than a little bit.

A lot anxious, actually.

As the next episode begins, the doll is quiet. Eyes staring off somewhere further than the screen. Its breathing becoming a bit shallow.

Its witch notices. Pauses the episode.

The doll realizes that she noticed, apologizes: it's been having fun today, that it's just worried about the chores it's forgotten to do.

Its witch hugs it tightly. One day away from the world isn't going to hurt.

More than anything, the doll is here with her - spending time with her. More than anything else, she's glad for this time together.

The doll nods. And nods again. And nods again.

It breathes in.

And out.

Still anxious - but not as much as before.

The witch makes an offering: maybe they can do some chores together! Then they can go back to watching their show!

The doll nods profusely! That would help a lot!

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