M. Fritz Wunderli
Bio
I love storytelling and the transformative process it brings for both readers and writers. I hope my stories have that same effect.
Check out my Instagram page- @vunderwrites.
Stories (13)
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Just One Call. Runner-Up in Leave the Light On Challenge. Content Warning.
He never could sleep at night. Plagued by incessant thoughts, as if his brain went into overdrive the moment he laid his head on his pillow. He took to wandering the narrow lanes of Cambridge, until he found himself sitting on the steps of a small church, cigarette in one hand, orange pill bottle in the other. The bottle rattled as he played with it, trying to count how many pills were still inside, and then wondering how many he’d have to take to fall asleep. And that led to how many he’d have to take to sleep for good. The idea was curious, sticky. The idea started to grow on him. No having to answer questions about why he had such dark rings under his eyes, or what reason he had for being depressed or anxious. He had a good life. Not luxurious by any means, but good. And he could live with good. Or at least, he should be able to live with good.
By M. Fritz Wunderli6 months ago in Fiction
The Nosuch Place
The river ran backwards the day the Queen vanished. He staggered towards the riverbank, watching how the water surged in reverse. He should’ve been curious, should’ve found the defiance of its nature most suspicious. But he didn’t care. Not right then. He was starving. How long had it been since he had a decent meal? He pushed the thought from his head. Right now, it wasn’t his hunger that concerned him the most. His body was bowed and crooked from the strain of carrying the weight for too long. Too weak to walk, he fell to his hands and knees and began to crawl, dragging himself over knotted roots and damp clumps of leaves until finally, reaching the clay bank of the river, and bringing his face close to the surface. His pale lips brushed the frigid water.
By M. Fritz Wunderliabout a year ago in Fiction
The Outcast. Content Warning.
This man is a drunk. That woman cheated on her husband. These kids are delinquents. We make judgments every day. It’s who we are. We categorize, label, and organize everything and everyone we see. Because that’s how we make order of chaos. Because it’s evolutionary. It’s all about survival. Not necessarily in the primitive, bestial sense of the word. Of course, learning to identify dangerous situations can help us avoid going down that dark alley late at night where the shadows creep. But in everyday life, survival for humanity means learning to interact with other humans, form connections and develop relationships, integrate into society by holding down a job and paying your bills. We have formed a set of norms and impose them on society as a form of gatekeeping.
By M. Fritz Wunderliabout a year ago in Fiction
Aberrant
Nico woke buried beneath a mass of bodies. Others were moving nearby. His mind tried remembering what happened. But it was slow. Everything was a blur, a tangled mess of information arriving only in bits and pieces. A raid. No, an ambush. Men in black paramilitary uniforms, armed with rifles and flash grenades.
By M. Fritz Wunderliabout a year ago in Fiction
Mama Called Me Money. First Place in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Mama called me Money. She’d scoop me up and say she had all the money she’d ever need in her arms. We were poor. Never had enough money to buy nothin’ new. My clothes came from thrift shops and donation centers. My food was bought with State money or donated from local churches. I ain’t ever seen a bill larger than a ten before I was twelve. Never had a television, never went to see movies, or went out to eat. It was just me and Mama in our small apartment, stuffing the windows and vents with towels or spare clothes to keep the heat from leaking out during the winter.
By M. Fritz Wunderli2 years ago in Fiction
Copper Sun Rising. Runner-Up in Behind the Last Window Challenge.
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Everything was distorted by the thick glass, like looking through the bottom of a Coke bottle. She had to stand on the top of a wood crate, making herself taller by rising up on the tips of her toes. Her breath fogged up the pane. Little brown eyes gazed eagerly through the window as the blurred penny-colored sun set beneath the jagged molars of a distant cordillera. She loved watching it lazily sink like a slowly deflating balloon. From above, the haze blanketing the valley turned copper from the setting sun.
By M. Fritz Wunderli3 years ago in Fiction
The Rain Maiden. First Place in Christopher Paolini's Fantasy Fiction Challenge. Top Story - November 2022.
A thousand years ago a drought plagued the village of Shan Yu. Not a drop of rain had fallen on the village in three years. Believing Shangdi was angry with the villagers, they danced in his name, praying for storms and rain to fall on Shan Yu. But after dancing for seven days and seven nights, not a single cloud appeared in the sky.
By M. Fritz Wunderli3 years ago in Fiction
