Microfiction

Business Luncheons From Hell
Jason was meeting a new client for lunch. He had spoken over the phone with her several times. They were promising an offer he couldn’t refuse. The way his life was headed, what choice but to hear them out did he have?
By Jason Ray Morton 3 years ago in Fiction
The Last American Girl
The world had come to an end. We all saw it coming. Through corruption, dirty politics, and nonstop wars, it was inevitable.
By Jason Ray Morton 3 years ago in Fiction
The Great Slow-Down
No one understood how, we just knew. Especially after walking properly became impossible.… They had done it. Whoever or whatever was hovering in front of the moon. It was their tech.
By Adam Clost3 years ago in Fiction
13 Seconds
Standing in his cell, awaiting his shipment to prison, Jacques St. Clair recounted what the judge said. “After a life of service, it only took 13 seconds for you to bring it all to an end. I hope your time in prison will go fast because yours is the second life destroyed by your actions.”
By Jason Ray Morton 3 years ago in Fiction
The Golden Horned Deer
Deep within ancient woodlands, a remarkable creature roams—the Golden Horned Deer. Its coat is a breathtaking tapestry of celestial gold, shimmering as it moves with graceful elegance.
By gijo joseph3 years ago in Fiction
The Memory of A Tree
I have seen for some time the changing of the world. Things rise and fall, cities come and empires go. In my vanishing forest; green turns to yellow and red and finally to dark brown. A slow fade into winter.
By Miles Pen3 years ago in Fiction
Revenge Of The 90s Movie Housewife
Every day I make my husband and kids their favorite breakfast. And every damn day, they wake up late and walk out the door with a banana. All that cooking and all they want is a banana.
By Alfie Jane3 years ago in Fiction
The Whispering Breeze
In the gentle caress of the whispering breeze, keen listeners heard more than a mere rustle of leaves—they caught echoes of forgotten loves, long-lost friendships, and the gentle reminders of the beauty that surrounds us. The wind carried with it untold stories, secret messages written upon the air, and the soft murmurs of souls long departed. To those who paused and embraced the breeze, the world transformed into a symphony of untold tales, where whispers became shouts and the mundane became magical.
By Mark3 years ago in Fiction
One Last Storm
Pushing their bicycles up the rocky path was a time for laughs and hunger after a day spent swimming and exploring by the North Sea’s inlet to their small village on Sweden's west coast. Storms never frightened these boys; they knew when it was time to head for shelter. This jaunt would take a life changing twist. As they felt the pelleting rain upon their backs the sky split open, winds whipped upon them fiercely, their vulnerabilities exposed.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction
The Cursed Quilt
Each stitch on the old quilt told a story of its own—a haunting tale that ensnared the curious and forever bound them to the threads of its dark magic. With each touch of the fabric, tendrils of enchantment curled around the senses, drawing the unsuspecting deeper into its mystical embrace. Those who dared to wrap themselves in its folds found their own narratives intertwining with the quilt's ancient secrets. As they unraveled the stories intricately woven within its patchworks.
By Mark3 years ago in Fiction
The Dancing Fireflies
The mesmerizing dance of the fireflies, as they waltzed through the night, mirrored the fleeting moments of joy in life. Each flicker of their tiny bodies was a reminder to cherish the magical sparks that ignite our souls. As darkness settled, the fireflies illuminated the world with their ephemeral glow, painting the night sky with an ethereal tapestry. Their enchanting ballet mesmerized all who beheld it, awakening dormant wonder and rekindling the flames of hope.
By Mark3 years ago in Fiction
Eyes on the Prize
Rip headphones off and click disconnect. Caller went long again, twenty minutes left and my lunch sitting on the counter at home. The chalkboard tallying up sales to motivate us screams “LOSER” at me for the hundredth day in a row.
By Charlotte Stetson3 years ago in Fiction