Microfiction
Revisiting the Mountain
In my memory, the hill in the park where we rode sleds as children is a Himalayan slalom. I’d peer over the cliff in fear before launching myself along the icy track to be rocketed down what we called “The Mountain” at ludicrous speeds that, even then, felt reckless. Catching air over the jumps we made sent us soaring so high we’d swear we were above the treetops. There was euphoria in that weightless moment at the apogee, a fleeting sense of breathless wonder that seems elusive in adulthood, one of those joys that you’ve forgotten you’ve forgotten until something brings it all rushing back.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
“Happy birthday, dear Sophie! Happy birthday to you!” Little Sophie blew out the candles. As Loretta leaned down to kiss her goddaughter’s cheek she brushed against the toboggan Sophie always wore. It kept her head warm and hid that she had no hair.
By D.K. Shepard2 years ago in Fiction
Roy Hoi Polloi: A Rurality Play
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Everyman_(15th-century_play) Roy Hoi Polloi was an Everyman, living a coral life. Everywhere Roy went, he plagiarized. The religion he sought to invert everyone was the Church of the Holy Malaprop, teaching that only through maladroitisms could one malappropriate ablation.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
The Snow One
Dark. The sun was low but rising. Rolling deep from fresh fallen flake, a mallow mush of pasty white. Snow-Body barely a droplet, barely baring a bust or body, barely a mound worth kicking on passing. But Snow-Body snows and Snow-Body waited til by passing a deal was made.
By L.Clabrough2 years ago in Fiction
The Siren's Call
How could I tell Ryan that I'd signed away our unborn child to a merman? They couldn't just kidnap my baby, though, could they? It was months 'til he'd even be born. That's forever. Head deep in the sand, when calls came from Merman & Merman, I ignored them.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Umbrella
A neglected umbrella lay in a dimly lit corner of the lively cafe, surrounded by customer talk and cup clinking. It had been abandoned by its owner in haste, without a second thought. The umbrella, a strong black one with a sleek wooden handle, felt a sense of isolation as it watched the world go by. The umbrella longed for the touch of human hands, yearning to shield someone from the rain and provide comfort. Its fabric, once sturdy and resilient, now sagged with a tinge of melancholy, longing for purpose once again.
By Edwyna Arleen2 years ago in Fiction
The Human Library. Content Warning.
"I am not going to give you community hours. Instead, I'm going to sentence you to serve 50 hours at The Human Library." The judge looked at the youth. He believed everyone should be given a chance and Kevin, hostile, yes, but still so young, did not look like he had been given much of one so far. He could offer him that.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
