Microfiction

Showing me the magic
Years ago, in the vibrant city of Rio de Janeiro, there lived a young man named Pedro. Pedro worked at a prestigious marketing firm, but despite the outward success, he felt a constant undercurrent of dissatisfaction. He had been with the company for a few months, navigating a steep learning curve before settling into a routine. Yet, the nagging feeling that he was meant for something more wouldn’t leave him.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
Blossoming in Our Own Time
A few years ago, I stumbled upon a book by Rich Karlgaard called Late Bloomers, The Power of Patience In A World Obsessed With Early Achievement. The title struck a chord with me, like an unexpected harmony that makes you pause and listen. I consider myself a late bloomer—a term Merriam-Webster describes as “someone who becomes successful, attractive, etc., at a later time in life than other people.” Apparently, I’m not alone; many people share this sentiment.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
A Twist of Fate on a Midnight Train
It was during the summer of 2018 that Ana, a bright-eyed eighteen-year-old, returned to Brazil for her university studies. Her parents still lived in Europe, and she felt an overwhelming sense of homesickness in her first semester. Everything seemed daunting—adjusting to her new roommate, an aloof senior who barely acknowledged her presence, juggling the rigorous academic schedule, and adapting to the chaotic life in the student hostel. She found herself wondering how she would survive an entire year without seeing her parents. Adding to her woes, she had to endure the unofficially sanctioned hazing rituals of the first few weeks, which often left her in tears.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
There are no bad children
Tiantang Village Primary School is located in a remote mountainous area with inconvenient transportation, and it is only occasionally visited by philanthropists who come to donate. Each time, the entire school community turns out: students stand on the ridges, dancing with wildflowers to welcome the guests; and Principal Fang Sirui personally leads the way, carrying the guests up the mountain in a rudimentary sedan chair made from tree vines.
By John Bruceabout a year ago in Fiction
Echo's From The Mine
In the heart of a forgotten valley, surrounded by jagged mountains and thick woods, lay the abandoned Silver Ridge Mine. Its entrance yawned like the mouth of a beast, dark and foreboding, whispering secrets of the past to anyone brave enough to listen. The town nearby had long since lost its shimmer, its glory fading with the last echo of pickaxes against rock. Only a handful of souls remained, drawn by nostalgia or a stubborn refusal to leave their roots behind.
By zulfi buxabout a year ago in Fiction
Betrayal?
Katie and Dave Katie looks at her phone and then her dad. He is staring at the TV and hasn't turned to acknowledge her when she came in. She reaches for the phone, the knowledge that she'd never leave it there uppermost in her mind. She wonders whether to say anything but she's nervous.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Fiction
The Sealed Secret
In the small town of Ashgrove, surrounded by misty mountains and dense forests, Layla had always felt like a stranger in her own home. She lived with her grandmother, a woman known for her reclusive nature and an unsettling talent for silence. While the townsfolk adored Layla's grandmother, they treated her with a mix of admiration and fear. Layla never understood why, but she was used to living with the mystery that hung around her family like the fog over Ashgrove.
By zulfi buxabout a year ago in Fiction
Footsteps Behind Me
The night was still, with only the distant hum of a lone streetlight illuminating the long, empty path stretching before me. I was on my way home, my footsteps echoing with a rhythmic thud on the wet pavement. I’d taken this path a hundred times before, but tonight, it felt different — something unspoken lingered in the air, as if the very shadows were watching.
By zulfi buxabout a year ago in Fiction
Kate. Top Story - November 2024.
Her name was Екатерина Ровбуть, but I just called her “Kate.” I met her while playing a mobile game called TWD: Survivors, which was based on the Walking Dead comics by Robert Kirkman. It was a blast and one of the few places where I really felt a sense of community. She went by the username “Kailirus” and had this charming vibe about her. I’m not sure what caught her attention, but maybe it was my late-night poetry sessions in the Region chat. At 2 AM, I’d jump into an empty chat which was usually buzzing with people and just share my poems. Some thought I was a bit crazy, but it was my jam, and I didn’t care. Whatever it was, she started chatting with me. We ended up talking every day, sometimes for hours through private messages. All I knew was that she was straight, 32, and from Russia. Thankfully, the game had a super handy chat translator that made everything easy. You just type, and it does the rest. It felt great to connect with people from all over without borders getting in the way. I had never traveled outside the U.S. and always dreamed of it, but back then, I hadn’t had the chance yet and I kind of felt time was slipping away, that I might never be able to see a different country.
By ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTYabout a year ago in Fiction
308 National Housewife's Day
Among other celebrations, today's both National Housewife’s Day and Give Someone a Dollar Day. A funny story... Because I love my job and my profession, a pretty good day is typical for me. But when I'm off, on Sundays, I savor something exquisite.
By Gerard DiLeoabout a year ago in Fiction
Come and See
I was making coleslaw when the portal opened. Have you ever noticed how beautiful a cabbage is? Especially the red ones. Which are actually purple, but perhaps that is a debate for another day. All those lines. All that symmetry. Gorgeous.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Don’t Print It!
Inflation continued across the land. One hundred trillion dollar bills continued to flow throughout America. Delawarean economist Danielle Bus knew something had to be done. She looked at the data. In being consumed by the numbers, she looked at every line and made it all dance on the page.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Fiction