Microfiction
AGAVE BLUES
But LO, the MIRACLE OF AGAVE BLUES the miracle of nature was the great goddess of the [Mexican Aloe], Maguey, the Goddess Mayahuel, whose flowers cluttered in pyramidal clusters, towerlapping above their dark coronals of leaves, like so many swords of dull blue flint. They can be seen unsheathing themselves to the sun in many a wide acre of the table-land. Its bruised pulp of spikes afford a paste to make paper; its juice when blades are cut is fermented into an intoxicating beverage called PULQUE, of which the inhabitants, to this day, are very fond; its leaves also supply an impenetrable thatch for the humbler dwellings. Thread for weaving coarse cloth and strong rope were drawn from its tough and twisted fibers; it made the weave of the paper they recorded their picture-codices with. Not only that, but its thorns at the extremity of the leaves were used as pins and needles used in ritualized self-mutilation of the tongue and genitals. The body part would be pierced with the agave needle, thereafter the blood was smeared on a bit of paper and burned in the fire as an offering. At last,the root, when properly cooked, made a sweet and wholesome dish. The AGAVE, in short, was vestment, mead, meat, and writing material for the Aztec People. It is certain that "Nature never before had bundled together so many of the elements of human comfort and CIVILIZATION!"
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Fiction
"Whispers of the Shadows"
In the depths of the criminal underworld, whispers of the Midnight Blueprint heist echoed through the dimly lit alleys and smoke-filled hideouts. Cipher and their team had etched their names into the annals of legend, becoming figures of awe and admiration among fellow criminals.
By Sonia khan 3 years ago in Fiction
The Steal Within
The prisoner sat in front of the officer as he relayed the instructions. "If you follow my orders, you will stop this heist from happening," said the prisoner. The officer still felt some doubt about the prisoner's claims. He stopped relaying the instructions and looked at the prisoner and calmly replied, "how do you know what's happening if you're in here?" The prisoner smiled, "look, sir. I've been planning this thing from two years ago. I know every detail and every person involved. If a person flinched or went to the left instead of the right, I would know. Now, listen to me. You must get your men to enter the vault from the alternate entrance. There, you must disengage the bank's security system. You must shut it down at exactly at 8PM and then re-engage it at 8:10PM, as that would cause the people inside to be trapped. Once you got them trapped, then I will tell you everything else you need to know." Over the police radio, the officer heard the other officer on the other end, "sir! The vaults all clear!" The officer jumped from the desk, with the prisoner smiling at him in a sarcastic manner.
By Birithivy Yogaratnam3 years ago in Fiction
Whispers of Deception
The Museum of Illusions had always intrigued the elusive thief known as "Shadow." Rumors of priceless artifacts hidden within its walls enticed him, and he couldn't resist the allure of the ultimate challenge. Tonight, he would execute the micro heist that would make history.
By Sonia khan 3 years ago in Fiction
Ave María
In the half dark of twilight, Ana crept up the moonlit garden path of the Santa María Manuela Catholic Girls School. She hid in the shadows, her dark hair an extension of the night while her deep brown eyes were bright and wide with fear. There was no turning back now, she had to find what was taken from them, no matter what the church thought of her family.
By A poem to you3 years ago in Fiction
The Enigma of the Obsidian Key
In the depths of an ancient mansion, a legend whispered of a hidden artifact—the Obsidian Key, said to unlock secrets of unimaginable power. Detective Evelyn Cross knew the stories well, but they were mere fables, whispered by the superstitious.
By Arthur Dexmark3 years ago in Fiction
Identity Theft
It wasn’t something meant to be stolen, but it was gone. I’d been collecting for years, storing up more than just precious gems and rare works of artistic masterpieces. I had built a fortune in things, but the biggest thing I had built was a reputation. People called me—Haut Monde, and I reveled in the truth “that no self-respecting tycoon has less than two helicopters.” I enjoyed people knowing, counting and gossiping about who I was and what I had. Until now— because today I was robbed in one of the biggest heists of the century. It happened so fast it could only be seen in slow motion. From the left a swift silent hand cracked, scraping through the thin outer layer of ego. Then WHAP— a right blow came out of nowhere, tearing through the subcutaneous layer of successes and my carefully crafted stories perfectly designed to protect vulnerability and truth. Finally, fatality finished, as if a base jumper had been released and retracted, a blatant thief plunged deep to the core of personhood and brazenly heisted the treasure—my identity. In what seemed like moments the vault I had poured was blown open and nothing was left of ME.
By Natalie Stover3 years ago in Fiction
