Tag: Micro Fiction

The Place We Go by Scott Mitchel May

He came into the room and he had no idea that he wouldn’t be leaving, at least, not the same way in which he had entered. It wasn’t that kind of room. The kind a person can just up and decide to retreat back the way they came. She was already there. Sitting. Believing. That’s

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The Rhythm of the North by Karen Schauber

The blubber-oil lamp flickers against a wall of ice and snow. Illuminated figures loom large like shadow puppets; huge and misshapen. Their dance, dark and muted, whispering from the shadowlands. It reeks like the campfires of my youth, but here the smoke is heavily infused with brine and grease. They begin quietly and without fanfare.

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Natural History Illustration By Josh Sorensen

Just now, while you’re walking through the park, if you look up at the right-hand corner of the third floor of the hospital, you’ll see her, Bryony. You know she’s seen you; she has keen eyes and a sense for the coming and going of things. Back in her early twenties, when she was studying

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The Idea Of by Clarrie Rose

He arrived on Nathan’s tenth birthday. It wasn’t a shock; it was as if Nathan had been waiting for him to appear all along. It had been a nice day, a little chaotic, but nice all the same. After opening the presents and tucking into a mountain of sandwiches, at three o’clock they cut the

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Things to Sort for the Funeral by Amanda Saint

Find cheapest option – of course Diane didn’t have any savings to pay for her own funeral. Stacey said it’s down to me seeing as I’m “the one with the fancy London life and my own business”. If the garden wasn’t all concreted over, I’d be up for just digging a hole and dropping Diane

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Chloramine by Laura Grace Simpkins

There is something quite comforting about knowing that this is the end of human existence. It doesn’t matter that we all die; that everything is pointless and that I’ve not achieved anything. I must be special if I’m one of the last people to walk the earth, before our self-inflicted extinction. It’s the same perverse

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Vicky is Jesus by Raluca Comanelea

Surrounded by bamboo trees, Molly lounges in her stained oak rocking chair, observing her spotted male cat and wondering which Goddess showered the boy with the gift of true patience. But not the kind exhibited by humans, who simply fall into a momentary lapse of reason and stare with vacant eyes at their immediate surroundings.

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Evolution of a Chef by Alyssa Jordan

Every Saturday, Luna walked to an adoption center. She put on a coat and two scarves. More often than not, she carried a piece of fruit. One Saturday, it was a peach. She rolled it between her fingers, by turns gentle, then violent. Luna needed a family. She wanted a child that wasn’t too young

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Heedless Nights by Louise Worthington

Too possessive to be a friend. Demanding to the point of being an acquired taste. He calls my name and expects me to come running and even if I close my eyes and try to ignore him, I hear him and feel him. God, I hate that. He never stays in the morning. That side

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Reaper in Mourning by Alyssa Jordan

Snow piles on Suki’s hakama and makes her grow heavier. Every now and then, crystal flakes will catch in her hair and pepper it white. The flakes are cold powder around her, powder and icy sludge. Suki thinks she might be falling apart. She’s not exactly sure. Sometimes, she feels put together and driven, like

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