Microfiction
Rules Ain’t for Me
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. It was a simple rule, clear and easy to understand. Everyone involved in the experiment was told what the rule was. What they weren’t told is what would happen if anyone opened the door. Why would anyone need to be told about the consequences opening the door would bring? Everyone involved was an adult. They all volunteered to participate in the research and were being paid well for their time. All that was required was follow the rule and keep the door shut.
By Mark Gagnonabout a year ago in Fiction
Prologue II: The River’s Secret
Author: Dream Books Sanjeevi Some say the river actually flows in the opposite direction, and it did the day the Queen disappeared. The water was glimmering, but usually flowing towards the sea; and originating a storm and desperate movement as if the world rejected what had occurred. People were caught standing on the river’s edge with their eyes opened wide and their lips open in prayers to gods who had deserted them. This was no ordinary omen.
By Sanjeevi Kandasamyabout a year ago in Fiction
Grass
To lie on green grass with someone you are close to, between the trees and the river. Feel the breeze, and the sunshine, enjoy the bees and butterflies flitting between buttercups, sunflowers, asters and daisies. The smell of newmown grass. Listen to the water flowing in the river, maybe you could dip your feet in there, and see the fish swimming, without a care. As we lay on the grass we hear birdsong and see swifts and swallows above us and they sing to the world, flying free. Our cares are forgotten as we recuperate and relax and become one with nature and appreciate it's beauty.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
Matt's Dilemma
Matt I wake up again. It's the same thing that's jolted me awake. Every time. I've told my wife it's sleep apnoea and she seems to have accepted it. She's made a comment about going to the doctor but I've managed to stave that off, for now. I don't need a machine muzzling me every night. That's not going to stop the nightmares.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Fiction
My Baby. Content Warning.
Everytime I see that heavy belly I want to punch something. Break something. Roy and I tried for years. One by one, our friends shared their happy news. We couldn't avoid them. Social media meant that we saw them even when we didn't see them. It felt like every month brought another announcement.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Cwtch
Cwtch (like butch but with a slightly longer "oo" sound) My chosen word is Welsh and is a word which I never used at home, as despite being Welsh, my parents never spoke the Welsh language. I would imagine that ancestors of mine did but I only learnt very basic Welsh at school as was required by the curriculum and I wish I knew more. It is something that I have always regretted. I know a smattering but nothing that would enable me to hold a conversation and it is a notoriously difficult language to learn. However, despite my lack of proficiency in it, I have a connectedness to it that I feel in my blood with its harsh sounds and its sing-song rhythm. Indeed, when I hear it especially in the national anthem of Wales, I feel it like a cwtch, which means a cuddle or embrace, with a sense of offering warmth and safety.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Fiction
Answers?
Katie I open the door and a woman is standing there. It takes me a moment to realise who she is and I watch as her face goes through a range of expressions: determination, the readiness for a fight; puzzlement, a surprise that has taken her aback; hope, a light that unknits her features; realisation, a hammer to the face that crushes it.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Fiction
Steve McQueen's Green Rat Always Gets His Man
It's stalking me. Every street I wander, every alley. Anywhere I go. I feel its presence. Its headlights shine through me to my soul. Its slick outline and metallic sheen haunt my every waking moment. At night, there's no reprieve. Its animalistic roar drowns out silent dreams. Since my visit, I have become a marked man. One look sealed my fate. It chose me. Tony at the Museum warned me. The Green Rat always gets his man. Now, in a deserted parking lot, I hear a roar, tires screeching, and the crisp air vanishes—then, all is black. Freedom?
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
