Microfiction
The Boy on the Roof
The boy was lanky, with a mop of unkempt hair, and a slim, laughing face. It was a great joke to him, being up there on the roof. Kids gawping up at him and pointing, teachers serious, gasping or pleading... These things only made it funnier.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Black Window
He woke and there was something wrong, well something had changed. There was a window in the bedroom wall and outside the glass it was black. The wall was between the bedroom and the lounge in the apartment, so he thought, "What the hell is this?".
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
Everything is Fine
The old cemetery outside of town, tucked just past the knotted woods and beneath the endless, judging sky, is a place of whispers. No one goes there - not out of fear, exactly, but because of the way it feels. Uncanny, they call it. As if the air hums too low to hear but too deep to ignore. There’s the old watchtower, straight and unnervingly sturdy, its stones unweathered despite the years, as if it’s anchored by something more than mortar. And the collapsed mausoleum, where shadows gather long after the sun moves on.
By Iris Obscuraabout a year ago in Fiction
Rescue
Car horns honked up and down the busy road, making the horse swish his creamy tail and jerk his head back. Silken nostrils flared, a mistake given the stink of exhaust fumes that hung in the air. Pearly flanks shuddered, and hooves clattered on the tarmac; an irregular clitter clatter that spoke of his affront at the noise.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Spell to Summon a Lost Love. Top Story - January 2025.
Setting up the ritual, she holds fear at bay with her bare hands; focused on their movements, she marks the circle. Placing the rose quartz—big as her restless heart, ragged pink-veined facets thirsty for the light of a fattening barley moon—on the centre sigil. Calling her power to set the fires pirouetting in their bowls of sacred oil at the cardinal points, she draws in her breath and almost brings the fear with it—will he be there, as he promised—until she curls her toes into the moss-bound grass and feels the hum of the words as she passes the incantation over her tongue and between her lips. Words she's waited half a lifetime to speak. Words that can finally call his world back to hers.
By Lauren Everdellabout a year ago in Fiction
The Archer. Top Story - January 2025.
His stomach growled. A gentle rain broke on the forest green canopy and dripped down his matching green hood. He found the gentle pitter patter of rain soothing. Jahn had complained it was a terrible day for an ambush, but what did that little man know?
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Fiction
