Microfiction
Formula Femme Fatale
Maybe I should go lighter. Lorraine dragged her finger over the rows of flawless two-dimensional blonds on the drugstore shelves. She selected a cool shade somewhere between Grace Kelly and Marilyn Monroe. Then she captured a strand of her own inferior blond and pressed it against the color guide on the back of the box. Yes, she thought. This one will do, and chucked it into her basket.
By Leslie Writesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Door Beneath the Attic
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Clara had heard the warnings since she was a child, whispered in hushed tones as the wind howled outside. The door in her grandmother’s attic was an ancient relic, its wood darkened with age, adorned with iron hinges that seemed to breathe in the shadows.
By Yashpal Raiabout a year ago in Fiction
Desert Of Sky
The land lay warm and barren beneath my bereft form, and I wondered if I had any chance to make it back alive. Three days, it had been, since they’d picked me up that night, drugged, from that den of demons, that Godforsaken “sorority party,” where I never should’ve been. They said they’d take me home, but this is no home of mine.
By Laura Pruettabout a year ago in Fiction
A Tea Party in Boston
Hey, guys! What do you think about that Tea Tax we keeping hearing about? There's a tea tax. Yes, it has been in the newspaper. Oh, that one well I think it may be good, but I am thinking on it. Don't think too hard for it is not a good idea. We need to something before we get taxed on everything that we hold dear. As a town we could have a tea party to show how we feel about what is happening, but how do we get the invitations out. Let's go ask Paul Revere he should know.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Boys - Revealed
Bethan and Katie Bethan is at work when Katie calls and heads to the disabled bathroom to take it in relative privacy. Her boss has been tolerant of her recent absences and has been understanding of her difficulties but Bethan knows that this will continue only up to a point and that she may be fast reaching that.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Fiction
Paul Revere's ride at midnight
There was a night when Paul Revere was out riding his horse for it was just an ordinary night. As he rode his horse named Midnight, he would notice various attributes of the forests for some reason he would need to remember these sights, but at the moment he was just out for a ride trying to clear his head of all the issues that were going on in his community now. He knew somehow that he will be called upon to do something, but did not know what it could be. "Let's go home, Midnight." The two trotting home.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
An Important Newsflash!!
We interrupt "Little Red Leaf" to bring you an exclusive update: Today, Rachel Deeming, author ordinaire, (the extra having melted away many months ago) celebrated with a large yawn. The cause of such heightened and reckless behaviour? Her writing a microfiction every day for the last 300 days: a Spartan amongst writers.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Fiction
