Microfiction
Allergic to Copper
I don't like coppers. I'm allergic. They always put me on edge. But for this, I made an exception. I watched the uniforms from the parked car. The air hummed with anticipation. I'd hoped they would arrive like a SWAT team, bust down the door off the storage unit. That would have been satisfying somehow.
By L.C. Schäfer8 months ago in Fiction
Metamorphosis. Content Warning.
You murdered me with your axe, and then you slowly skinned me and started to cut up my body into the thinnest of possible slices. You gave me no warning, and I saw the less precious parts of my anatomy smouldering on your open fire. That hurt a lot, but you were not finished. you then got out your tools and started to decorate my skin slivers with the blackest of your inks. Then you sewed the bits back together, bound them, and that's what I am now to the world. I was a tree. Now I am your book.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 8 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Sat at Table Seven
There’s a quiet little café on East 41st Street, nestled unceremoniously between a secondhand bookstore and a flower shop that always smells of jasmine and damp stems. Blink, and you might miss it. No neon signs. No whimsical chalkboard menus boasting fancy lattes or turmeric infusions. The awning just reads “Mira’s Café” in fading gold letters. Inside, it smells like toasted bread, warm milk, and stories too old to tell.
By Arshad khan8 months ago in Fiction
A House with No Locks
It sat at the edge of a quiet town, half swallowed by trees and half forgotten by time — a house with no locks. Its windows blinked open every morning to the light, and its door never made a sound. No key had ever turned in its frame. There were no alarms, no barriers, no secrets.
By Abuzar khan8 months ago in Fiction
