Microfiction

The Dragons legacy . Content Warning.
A magical adventure A group of siblings inherits a mysterious family heirloom—a dragon-shaped pendant—unleashing a magical curse that transforms them into dragons at night. To break the curse, they must embark on a perilous journey to find the source of the magic and unlock their true destiny.
By Gift Sunday 2 years ago in Fiction
Hunt
The soft sound of heavy snowflakes is all that can be heard amidst the snow packed forest floor. There is a tense serenity to the whitened backdrop.
By Taylor Van Zant2 years ago in Fiction
Alone In The Snow. Top Story - February 2024.
The soft white flakes were falling heavily, blanketing the ground with a white quilt. The quilted softness might have been appealing through the eyes of other on-lookers, but to me it looked cold, and hardened just like my heart. I examined the crystal-clear beauty of an icicle on a nearby tree, clear, sparkling and beautiful. The tears rolling down my cheek were also clear, but unlike the icicle, they were not beautiful; each tear froze against my skin, burning white-hot like ice when it touched the skin.
By Carol Ann Townend2 years ago in Fiction
Barstable, the Night Warrior
This story has been written for RM Stockton's February Write Club Prompt and you can read about that below: This month's prompt is to write about the monster under your bed.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
Finding Why
Trudging alone in a blinding blizzard, my footsteps crunch in the snow. The campus is deserted. Huge drifts of glittering white are everywhere, draping the old historic buildings in the soft extravagant curves of a winter wonderland.
By Bonnie Bowerman2 years ago in Fiction
Wicked White
Mathias stood. Silently wallowing in despair. Fooling himself, he fed the last of the scavenged pieces of dry-rotted wood into the fat-bellied steel black stove. He laid his shotgun against the wall after an unsuccessful run in the storm for food. The man knew that was madness, but what was he to do? The last of their rations had been exhausted and they had no water. Mother only packed for church. Pickled eggs and a half loaf of bread; a special meal. With every passing hour, the white dust intensified and grew into impassable mounds. They were trapped. The squall had portended an imminent and cruel end, divining with the bitter elements, plotting with nature, offering no escape from the wicked Winter tempest.
By RL Stevenson2 years ago in Fiction
He Was So Cold
"She's Cold." Snow falls on my face. Frost fills my nostrils. Vapour escaping icy as it releases from my body.
By Sandra Dosdall2 years ago in Fiction
When It Is Safe
Here is Real Poetic's newest challenge! *** February 2, 1809 I shiver under the big oak tree, the marker to divide the Master from the slaves. Snowflakes dot my curly black hair in quick succession; I will be drenched and near frozen by the time I get back home. Hopefully, Momma will not be home to interrogate me, forcing me to lie to her face again.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Fiction
The Work of Snow
A blanket of white greets me as I open the garage door. My new snow shovel is gripped in my mitten-shrouded hand. Hot air fills my lungs as I breathe through my thick wooled scarf, knitted by my grandmother. Thermal shirt, t-shirt, sweater all form a barrier to the cold under the shell of my new winter coat. I am prepared to face the cold.
By SE Baran2 years ago in Fiction
The Ally
"You can't let Dad take him, Mum. He'll die!" "You nearly died!" The bones of my hand protruded from where it should've connected to my wrist. Flesh scalded and chunks missing where the dragonling had feasted on it. Hardly any blood at all, though.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Spare Key
There's a reason as to why we are called "spare keys", because you rarely ever need us. Obviously, they're not you "main set of keys" that you use for yourself, nor are they the "duplicate" keys you give to that special someone. The "spare keys" are the ones you intentionally hide away in some secret spot outside your place of residence. You know, under the dirt in a spot near your door, somewhere along the ledge of the door frame or some special place that seems extremely logical at the time.
By Timothy E Jones2 years ago in Fiction
The B&B Bear
I haven't always lived at this Bed & Breakfast. Once upon a time, I traveled with a young child, rarely leaving their side. A beloved teddy bear to keep them company, both at home and away. I came here with them on a vacation ten years ago, but unfortunately, I didn't leave with them. Left behind on one of the tea tables on the porch, I was found by one of the housekeepers hours after my child friend had left.
By Kelsey Clarey2 years ago in Fiction