Microfiction

Souvenirs
She was walking past the garage sale when she saw it. Suddenly, it was a lifetime ago. She was in New York with a young man. They were in love, but life had other plans. They exchanged souvenirs with their names on - the type you find at any tacky souvenir stand. But they never had her spelling.
By Sarah Tinney6 months ago in Fiction
The Photo I Found in My Attic Wasn’t Supposed to Exist
I was cleaning out the attic last weekend, something I’d been putting off for years. The summer heat made the air up there heavy and still, and the dust clung to my skin as I pushed aside old boxes. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just trying to make space.
By ETS_Story6 months ago in Fiction
A Stranger in Every Photograph
A Stranger in Every Photograph I found the photo album on a rainy Sunday afternoon, tucked behind boxes in the attic of my late grandmother’s house. Its leather cover was cracked and worn, the pages yellowed, and the smell of old paper and faint perfume clung to it like a ghost.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
The Day the Colors Fled
The Day the Colors Fled It started quietly, as if the city had taken a deep breath and let all color escape. I woke to gray skies and streets stripped of vibrancy. My walls, my clothes, the garden outside—everything was a shade of ash, steel, and stone. Even the sunlight seemed pallid, like paper left too long in the sun. I rubbed my eyes, convinced it was a trick of sleep. But the world outside my window confirmed my fear.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
The Café That Served Emotions
The Café That Served Emotions The café wasn’t on any map. Not in guidebooks, not on GPS, not even on the neon-lit streets of downtown. You stumbled upon it when you weren’t looking, through a narrow alley framed by ivy and flickering lanterns. The sign read simply: “Café Émotion”, its letters curling like smoke.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
Letters to the Future Me
Letters to the Future Me It started on a Tuesday. I was pouring cereal at my tiny kitchen table when I noticed the envelope lying beside my bowl. Brown paper, neatly folded, with my name written in cursive I didn’t recognize. I opened it with cautious curiosity.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
I Read My Future in the Library’s “Lost and Found”
I Read My Future in the Library’s “Lost and Found” The first time I opened the “Lost and Found” box at the Maple Street Public Library, I wasn’t looking for anything.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Knew How You’d Die
The Man Who Knew How You’d Die The bus smelled faintly of wet asphalt and stale coffee. It was late—past midnight—and only a handful of passengers sat scattered in their seats, staring at their phones or watching the city blur past.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
Blindspot
This week on the Thomas Jefferson Hour, I turned the tables and interviewed David Swenson about the Repatriation Project of Frances Densmore’s audio recordings of Native Americans in 1911. The hand-cranked wax cylinder recordings of Densmore were instrumental in preserving Native American history during a time where promotion of Native American indigenous culture was at an all-time…
By DJ Nuclear Winter6 months ago in Fiction
Midnight at Mount Grace
June sat in the car a moment longer than necessary, engine off, hands curled loosely around the steering wheel like she wasn’t quite ready to let go. Outside, the trailhead sign for Mount Grace leaned slightly to the left. Only the edges were visible, half-sunk into a bed of goldenrod. The sun had dipped behind the tree line, leaving the woods lit by that strange in-between light. Neither day nor night, dusk and the long hush that came with it.
By Aspen Noble6 months ago in Fiction
The Recipe for Empathy
1. The Inheritance of Impossibilities I became a doctor to fix people, not feel them. Then Grandma Mae died, leaving me her crumbling Brooklyn brownstone and the Codex of Comfort—a cookbook whispering in Gaelic when I touched it.
By Habibullah6 months ago in Fiction
*The Whispering Library*
In the quiet corner of a forgotten town stood a library older than memory. Its stone walls were veiled in ivy, its windows perpetually misted, as though the building breathed in secrets and exhaled silence. Most people passed it without a glance. Few dared to enter. But Amina did.
By meerjanan6 months ago in Fiction