#mircofiction

[tracyk13]

Prompt Practice

1. This story involves an intelligent bookworm, a laboratory, a dead body, and a huge mistake.

Detective Silver

She never spoke about her origin story. How do you explain that you were not exactly human? The world was not ready. She doubted the world would ever be ready. It continuously haunted her in the dark hours of the early morning when her primal appetite urged her to do the unthinkable. 

When the urge to feast gnawed within, she retreated the place of The Beginning. 

Smooth black surfaced laboratory tables held glass vials and flasks filled with unknown liquids. Many had evaporated into strange glowing crystals after years of abandonment. The chemist responsible for their creation once held great influence, testified by the faded awards and diplomas framed along the walls. Now he was a pile of bones swept into a dusty corner. 

Her nose wrinkled at the memory of slime covered flesh between her teeth. The teeth had been new. Some creation of a chemical byproduct, a source of DNA, and a curious little insect that investigated the wrong corpse. Her first memory in a strange body. The fragmented part of the Before the Beginning recalled only the foraging for food. 

The hunger pains wrenched her soft guts into terrible knots. 

Making her way to the bookshelves required navigating the rubble left by the explosive event that must have killed the chemist. Broken ceiling tiles and chunks of concrete formed a little maze of cleared path from the many previous visits. Tiny steps one way. Skirting a debris pile ready to collapse. Tip-toeing through shattered ceramics. The strange muscle memory tingled the back of her brain on realizing how she missed skittering from shadow to shadow in search of food. 

Instincts constantly urged her to seek dark, damp places. Here in this refuge she could remove the tight bun and let the silvery blue hair flow free. Long antennae sprang forward, brightening her world with thousands of senses. Every temperature and wind change guided her movements. A fabulous array of scents drew her closer to the musty pages. 

Her appetite surged. The forbidden treat now in reached. 

Books were treasures. The source of knowledge and comfort. She devoured every word on every page she ever encountered. Ever since the Beginning. Everything she could possibly learn about the new world she became part of came from books. Beginning with these. 

She plucked a thinning equipment manual from the shelf and flipped through the tattered edges, smiling at the old borrowing scars. Ripping out a yellowing page piled guilt upon guilt at destroying these sources of information. 

Yet savoring the ancient tastes eased her craving for home.

At least temporarily. 

The bright ringing alarm announced a disruption in the peace. “Detective Silver, here.”

“A report came across the radio of a suspicious death at the Marquee.”

“On my way.” She tucked the book back onto the shelf for the other bookworms that roamed the rubble. She popped the remaining piece of paper into her mouth to free up her hands for securing her hair and antenna. Her job demanded attention.

!!! Feedback for improvement welcome !!!

[valerielillis]

9. Desire

We waited, hackles raised, hands trembling, hearts stuttering for our father to come. We knew not how long we waited, gathered near our little brother, but we did not care. Time was of no matter to us for neither hunger nor thirst would have made us venture far. 

The prison walls trembled. Mother's warning. Get ready, she seemed to say, you must choose freedom or death. Many of my brothers and sisters cried out, their fear heavy and infectious. My chest ached. Would this succeed? Should we stop little brother? I shook my head to chase out the thoughts. To stop our brother would be to choose death. 

I grasped my friend's hand, trembling as I considered what freedom meant. The stars, I decided. It meant we could see the stars. I wanted to lay under them with my friend, my bother of many arms. The freedom would come later. The stars would come first. 

The light washed over us, like thousands of small embers that seeped into each pore. Screams erupted as sensitive eyes wept and slammed shut against the pain. I did not see, but I sensed little brother dash toward the light. Our prison trembled again, and *the light did not fade*. 

This was our chance. My chance. A chance to leave the darkness, to see the stars. I felt myself being lifted by my friend, my feet leaving the rough, chilling floor. Clinging to him, I let myself be carried from our prison, and into the light.

Catch up on the series here.

[uraniumwriting]

Mircostory- Savior

Using the microstory prompt post (link will be in reblog), I made a little scene, featuring a few ocs I made up a while ago, but never posted about (if anyone sent asks from it, I didn’t get them! So I’m doing this instead)

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People believe that heroes don’t need heroes. After all, we had really cool powers, or in more of my case, really badass technology, so even if we got in trouble, we should be fine.

Right?

For a while, I believed that, too. I didn’t believe that I was invincible, but whenever I was in danger, I wasn’t afraid for my life, just the hospital bills. After all, I was the Marked Falcon, the mysterious savior of the Syracuse community after a sudden appearance of supervillains tearing the city and surrounding forests apart for their very illegal and very immoral plans. If they actually killed me, they’ll get the entire population of Syracuse University on them, and everyone else nearby that wants to throw down. And, I was also a college sophomore, so if they tried anything else really bad, they’d get my mom on them, and that’s probably worse, with her years of research in botany.

But, I guess I pushed myself too far. I guess I should���ve been a bit more careful, when the newcomer attacked the group of students, when they were just enjoying the sunny day. I guess I should’ve remembered that it wasn’t Marked Falcon that was fighting. It was Shiko, a nineteen year old, five foot two, scrawny-ass girl.

So, it wasn’t that much of a surprise that I ended up badly hurt, curled up in a person’s arms, hiding away in the back of a dim alley.

“Dumbass,” was the first thing I heard her say, and I almost instantly recognized the voice. Which, some people may say is kind of bad, but I didn’t care.

“Thanks Kara,” I mumbled, as I opened my eyes slightly. Kara, another sophomore, was technically a supervillain, one called the Shadow Siren. She was the assistant to some other villain, but she basically was at the same level as the rest of them.

“Don’t mention it.” Kara shifted me in her arms, letting my head lean against her shoulder. “I mean it, don’t.”

“But you saved me, dork.” I was in intense pain, especially in my head, but I still managed to get a smile out, even though I couldn’t really open my eyes to look at her. “You’re my--”

“Don’t say it.”

“My savior.”

[thosedaysthatwill]

Another strange DuoLingo MicroFiction.

[jordanmiller-writerbitch]

Postcard fiction

Postcard fiction is a lot like flash fiction, only it's even shorter.  The idea is to tell a story that could, essentially, fit on a postcard.  They are traditionally around 250 words.  In postcard fiction, ambiguity and allusion are key

<><><>

Boo,

The girls and I are having so much fun!  This trip was a great idea. Btw we've decided to extend our stay for a bit.  Could you do me a teeny favour and send me up some cash?  Thanks babe- you're the best.

Hugs n kisses

Your gf xx

P.S- If a guy named James asks about me, just ignore him. Love you <3

[kimberlyeab]

Huh i guess if i was an actual mad lass i could post actual stories here or longer pieces of mircofiction. i think that could be cute.

[stories-and-other-fun-things]

First Impressions

First Part

The room was a sight of pure chaos. Messy doesn't even begin to describe it. Danny was on the ground on the verge of tears. Today had not been his day. First his watch had been stolen from his wrist (it was an expensive watch too), then he tripped and fell into a pile of mud. As he drove home to get changed another car crashed into him making him be in a car crash. Then he gets home to this...

***

So this is a bit different to my regular stories. I came up with the idea of challenging a reader’s impression of what was going to occur next. There’s three paragraphs to this and I wrote this in a way that a reader shouldn’t know what will happen next or that they will have an idea of what will come next and that then gets shattered by the next paragraph

[burniture]

Story by Jessica Bonder

Painting by John Lenmesin

Passage~ What was it brought her here? Was it magic? A trance? Jessica Drew sat kneeling in a field, surrounded by forest, shadowy and dark. Craggly branches bent skyward like the arms of witches, stewing a brew of swirling midnight. At Jessica's knees was a crooked old clock, warped and wooden, ticking incessant. Tick tick tick. Jessica's body rigid in her dress, glowing bright turquoise, thighs exposed, graced by grass. Arms behind her back. Tick tick tick. Something rose within her, her eyes fixated, on something beyond her that no eyes could see. She could not move. The ticking grew louder grew louder grew louder. She could not move. She was - HYPNOTIZED!

[sasantiago]

A Work Horse

Her body a receptor for experience, a vessel for her creature to hide away trauma. A workhorse, the green trollish figure heaves the dark and light indiscriminately into the nooks and crannies of her body. Heavy; she rams his touch, her words in between the fibers of her muscles and bones.  There’re so many places to hide, a giant maze with hundreds of ways to escape. Inhaling and bracing the release with an exhale she feels the cracks across her back and instant sigh. Light and dark mixing, dispersing into a higher conscious where there is no right or wrong.

[joriontel]

Looks like the final count is....

… 20 short stories for 20 portraits and my teacher wants a PDF of all them by next week. Thus ends my Independent Study.

I don’t think I probably explained what this project was properly for those who are probably confused or mildly interested: I did a project 2 years ago for a senior show of drawing portraits of very specific characters from out the top of my head. Some of them were good some of them were okay but it was pretty successful as far as the make a good showing for the senior show. 

Now, I have done in this project was take a few of them and make a half to full page short story about them. Just long enough to give a brief glimpse into the character’s personality and maybe a waxing a little narrative. A nice little experiment in Mirco fiction on my part as this was to make up for a failed creative writing class and it certain has let me at least gain some confidence in that area. 

Once I get them edited and rewritten I will post them for you all free of charge. And hopefully have more, as I had in total 66 portraits (and still a good 40 or so blank cards for future portraits) and only got to about 20 stories, and maybe end up expanding them further into self contained stories or short comics. 

Anyhow, keep an eye out for them they should be along in the weeks to come. For now I am going to try and study for a Spanish final. 

Toddles!

~JOrionTel

[bouquinovore]

[asforclass]

... So I didn't.

... So I didn't.

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