The Anti-Anthi Incident
From Fiction to Microfiction
The night was colder than usual. The Moon looked like snow. Goddess Athena was nowhere to be found. Glaukopis, her owl, was also missing. Anthi seemed to be fading deeper into fiction, along with her daughter, Delphine. All blue-and-white flowers were turning green and black. Only Eléni, my dearest narrator, appeared unscathed.
We looked at each other, Patrick and M; I mean me, unsure what to make of this colder reality. We were not dreaming, especially that COVID; I mean China, continued to claim more lives day in and day out. Wars and more wars filled more than one horizon. The global climate was in the shitter, with no meaningful hope in sight.
Many sci-fi movies were becoming real. Is the end near or nearly here? It appeared that most "people" in power did not fear an untimely death and or believed that all calamities would be overcome. I do not think that most of them were praying, but they were surely prying into our inherent inhumanity. We must look like snow.
I wonder if 'tis a piece of fiction or a real tale. It must be both since Anthi and Athena are here with us again, smiling and affectionate. There is a price for happiness. Not that it ends. Everything ends. 'Tis too brief and often masked until 'tis in the past with all the dead. Happiness must matter as much as being alive.
The anti-Anthi incident passed from fiction to fiction
with very little nonhuman friction or contradiction.
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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More stories from Patrick M. Ohana and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The “Katastrophe”
How do you avenge a certain murder, a given genocide, or a so-called holocaust on such a grand scale that to name the slaughtered, just two seconds each, would take almost 139 days with no breaks or intermissions during those long hours, let alone pity or shame? Do you begin by asking why before carrying out the retribution, or do you retaliate and ask the question after enough people are eliminated to satisfy your a-head-for-a-head brand of justice? Do you also take vengeance for all those that could have been born? Do the children pay for the crimes committed by the adults, or do you strike with the same measure and eradicate everyone fitting the profile? Do you kill them all in the same way, or do you devise more efficient methods of doing away with them? Do you show some mercy and spare exceptional ones, or do you lacerate every one of them until you face their last Mohican? Do you mark them to facilitate their identification? Do you break them up according to age, sex and what not? Do you take possession of all their assets, including those that define their humanity? Do you use selected ones for scientific experiments? Do you tell them they are going to die, or do you surprise them with skillful deception? Do you turn their lifeless bodies into ashes? Do you try to erase any other sign of their existence?
By Patrick M. Ohana2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Message I Never Sen
I typed the message three times before deleting it for good. Each version sounded wrong in a different way. Too dramatic. Too casual. Too late. I stared at the blinking cursor like it was waiting for me to say something brave, but all I could offer was silence.
By Salman Writes4 days ago in Fiction
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