Microfiction

Aftermath
The battle had been fierce, the clash of swords echoing through the snowy peaks of the mountain. Blood stained the pure white snow, a stark contrast to the serene landscape. As the dust and smoke settled, the survivors emerged, battered and weary. They had fought for their kingdoms, but at what cost? The once majestic mountain now lay in ruins, scarred by the violence that had taken place. Amidst the wreckage, the survivors converged. Each warriors of varying degrees, but sharing heavy hearts and heavy burdens; for the victory had come at a great price, the loss of friends and comrades on all sides.
By Mara Edwards2 years ago in Fiction
Ready for Winter to End
Snow and ice as far as the eye can see, patches of street indiscernible from road or yard. A thin glaze of ice, snow packed firm, conditions in which no one should venture forth. Fluffy drifts of snow danced upon the wicked wind. Severe gusts that cut like knives straight to the bone. Frost-nipped fingers and bitten toes. Noses and cheeks red from winter’s burn. Pale gray clouds blot out the sun—dull, achy fingers, joints, and feet inside, where heaters and furnaces struggle to keep pace.
By S.N. Evans2 years ago in Fiction
Cinnamon Rolls
Leah was going into diabetic shock in the middle of her neighborhood park. It was five past nine in the morning, and she was out enjoying her well deserved snow day. The snowball fight she was having with her dog, Ellie, turned for the worst when Leah suddenly collapsed into the snow.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Tunnels
Sometimes I'd hear voices. Not in my head, or telling me to do anything. Not even talking to me. It sounded like snatches of conversation I could almost (but not quite) understand. Ordinary. Like someone asking have we any laundry soap left? or close that door, there's a draught.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Misplaced Not Lost
I tumble in the waves. The grime being washed away as the sand polishes me. I once adorned the finger of a happy bride to be. Purchased by a bright eyed hopeful young man with hearts in his eyes. Hearts that grew with each sight of his hearts diamond. She was dainty and a pillar of beauty. I was a cherish symbol of a promise, how I came to be here I can not believe. I miss her finger and gentle skin that brought me to loved handshakes and hugs, to dinners at some of the best restaurants, to libraries where we read amazing books, to fields of flowers where she formed bouquets, to breakfast where she didn't even take me off when kneading dough. Now I sit without a perch, promise gone, now lacking all meaning other than a once pretty object. A wave deposits me further on the sand bank. I roll and flop with the leafy grean and brown flora of the sea. What a distance I have come. Birds occasionally peck at me once they notice the glint in the sun. Just a few pecks until they find they have no use of me and my metallic taste displeasing to the taste buds. I wonder what is next for me. I wonder how my keeper is, what she is doing, if she misses me.
By simplicity2 years ago in Fiction
Before, Way Before, Way, Way Before
What does that even mean? Before the Big Bang? Before the creation of the sun, Earth, and other planets in the solar system?
By Amethyst Champagne2 years ago in Fiction
One Line Says It All (All the World's a Stage)
January 21 being "National One-Liners Day" amused him, because the one-liner was a unique construct. He recognized it shared something with poetry, packing into so few words entire treatises — entire expositions. It wasn't some aphorism with just a beginning, middle, and end. One-liners are deceptive in that they're not really linear. Pithy wisdom is a tessaract in the human mind.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
January
She can’t see anything out of her right eye now. Soon enough she’ll be seeing angels, but they pretend for now, ignore the soft ominous brush of their feathery wings to laugh and drink their midday drinks with an old movie playing halfheartedly. Black and white, like the scenes from their memories.
By Test2 years ago in Fiction
Captured in Time
In the quiet corner of a dusty attic, nestled among forgotten memories and discarded relics, I, a once-beloved camera, lay abandoned. My metallic body, weathered by time and travel, held within its lenses the stories of a bygone era—the tales of joy, sorrow, and the fleeting moments that escape the clutches of time. My journey, however, was far from over.
By Andy Kru2 years ago in Fiction
Chapter 4. Bear. Vengeance
Ragged, bloody and half dead, I staggered towards the gate of the fort. Two men came running towards me, both lending an arm for support.
By Novel Allen2 years ago in Fiction
Chapter 3. Bear. Survival
The snow had stopped falling. I awoke realizing that I must have slept for hours as I opened my eyes to the starkness and beauty of the winter landscape. I winced as pain stabbed through my entire body. The tiniest of movement was like a million knives of shooting pain.
By Novel Allen2 years ago in Fiction
Chapter 2. The bear: How it all began.
Five of us had left the campsite that morning. The snow had slowed mightily low, down to just light flakes as a miserly sun peeked out from behind the thick overcast sky. Our group had earlier set out to go hunt for hides to trade for food in the government fort. Rolf had begged to be included in the hunt, he was at the age so I agreed for him to tag along. He was kept busy doing chores around the campsite.
By Novel Allen2 years ago in Fiction