Settling In

Posted on December 10, 2015 by Select Stories

* Runner-up in the 2014 Stories Space Drabble Competition *

By Cecilia Rogers

New starts can be tricky at any age…

“It’s not what it looks like,” she said.

“It’s a cage—I hate it.”

“No, it isn’t a cage; it’s better here than it was there.”

“I LIKED it there! Why did we have to leave?”

“It was cramped. Here we have room, room to grow.”

“I don’t care! I wahhhnnnaagoooobaaaaaccckkkkk!!!!!”

“Oh don’t cry,” she wailed, “she’ll come soon!”

Which she did, summoned by the cries. One by one, each was lifted from the crib. Soothing sounds were heard, and their plaints gradually subsided to soft nuzzling.

“My darlings,” she whispered, “you are the best Christmas gift I’ll ever have.”

* * *
© 2014 by Cecilia Rogers • All rights reserved

The Insolence of Condensation

Posted on June 6, 2015 by Select Stories

By Maggie Rascal

Don’t even think of showing me any condensation about spurious punctuation, rampant malapropisms, or the shallowness of boasting about deep thoughts…

Condensation is upfronting to a deep thinker like me.

Sitting in my bed on a cold rainy night, irked at an uppity bitch who says my writing is ‘confused’ and my punctuation made up,-x*€;>
Her condensation¹ upfronts² me. As my work is too deep to be judged by convectional³ standards.

Mumbo jumbo, gobbledygook, Beelzebub and rhubarb. With other deep thoughts running through my mind,-x*€;>
Waiting for the acolytes⁴ to pour in. As they will. From those smart enough to get it.

Drifting off to sleep, wandering⁵ just how many appropriate⁶ my incredulous⁷ deepness. While my thoughts are deeply deep,-x*€;>
Thinking deep thoughts about deepness and thoughts. And condensation.

¹ condescension
² affronts
³ conventional
⁴ accolades
⁵ wondering
⁶ appreciate
⁷ incredible

* * *
© 2015 by M.P. Witwer • All rights deeply preserved

Storybook Lovers

Posted on April 28, 2015 by Select Stories

By Steffanie

So few words, for so much passion ….

My storybook lover is romantic, he would never hurry his sweetheart in a love scene, but tonight I want him to…

“Make love to me, darling. In one hundred words or less.”

“Micro fiction?”

“Yes.”

“Get your skirt off then.”

I begin slowly undoing the buttons on my…

“Just do it, don’t describe it.”

“It has to be sexy.”

“But you’re using all the words up!”

“Don’t shout at me.”

“Sorry, sweetie.”

Silence.

More silence.

“We’ve still got twenty words left.”

“We could have a…”

“Sssh, no dialogue, no description.”

“OK. Shall we?”

“Oh yes.”

Mmm… one hundred words.

Perfect.

* * *
© 2013 by Steffanie • All rights reserved

I Have…

Posted on September 23, 2014 by Select Stories

By Natalie Cone

The grass was soft beneath her knees. Shafts of sunlight blinked kaleidoscope patterns onto her skirt and glinted off the knife nestled in her lap. Today, her last thread snapped.

Looking away, she prayed desperately for God’s forgiveness as she pressed the blade to her wrists.

Her eyes fell on a carving in the trunk of a tree. It was a single word.

Purpose.

In that moment, something inside her shifted.

She pulled herself to her feet. Using the blade that was intended to end her life, she carved two more words above the one already there.

I have.

* * *
© 2013 by Natalie Cone • All rights reserved

Roy & Darby

Posted on September 6, 2014 by Select Stories

By Robb Grindstaff

Roy and Darby lay on the roof one August night watching the meteor shower.

“Don’t the stars make you feel small,” she asked.

But they didn’t. They made him feel part of a grand scheme. There had to be a master plan and he’d have a major role, he told her.

The streak and flash, maybe miles above or just over the treetops, fired his every fiber.

“That looked close,” he said, but Darby was gone. Roy never saw her again.

* * *
© 2012 by Robb Grindstaff • All rights reserved

That Little Talk

Posted on May 9, 2014 by Select Stories

By Bill Fullerton

“I guess it’s time we had that little talk.”

His father’s voice was teasing, but Mark knew the talk would be about the summer job he hadn’t started. Time to change the subject. “Oh, I already know all about that stuff. The stork brings the babies and leaves them under a cabbage leaf.”

“So that’s how it’s done. And I always thought Doc Miles brought them in his little black bag.”

“He does. But first he has to go by the cabbage patch and pick out a fresh one.”

“I see.” His father grinned. “Now when do you start work?”

For Whom the Good Tolls

Posted on February 18, 2014 by Select Stories

By Bill Fullerton
(with apologies to ‘Papa’ Hemingway)

In a clean, well-lighted place out of the rain, the man and woman drank wine. The wine was good.

They ate the testicles of a young bull that had bravely faced death in the afternoon. Both were good.

Back in their room, he went to her breasts. Her breasts were there, and good.

“You were good,” she said.

“De nada,” he said, and left. It had been good.

They met no more.

Each died alone—in the rain.

It was a good rain, except on the mountain where snow fell on a frozen leopard. It was also good, and dead.

The Woman With Nine Lives

Posted on January 9, 2014 by Select Stories

By M.P. Witwer

The first time she might have died came at age 17, when a saddle horse reared and threw her, breaking her back.

Over the years, she survived many more life-threatening events, each worse than the last: Guillain-Barré syndrome and its accompanying complete if temporary paralysis, pneumonia, spinal stenosis requiring two surgeries, an aneurysm (two more operations, and yes, they were brain surgery), a stroke, a heart attack, another bout of pneumonia. Resilient and resolute, she snubbed death eight times.

That last morning, she awoke with a little sniffle. By evening she was gone, done in by a common cold.

Breathless

Posted on December 4, 2013 by Select Stories

By Maggie Rascal

Okay, so we’re supposed to write this ninety-nine word story and — well, it doesn’t hafta be exactly ninety-nine words, it can be less — but anyway, I don’t know what to write about and it’s due tomorrow, so I’m thinking maybe I could tell about the time Grandma took me to tea at a fancy hotel and they served strawberries and cream mixed with maple syrup, but I don’t know if I can describe it in ninety-nine words, it was so opulent — I like that word, don’t you? — or I might talk about Sparky, he’s such a cute puppy, and…

The Assignment

Posted on June 3, 2013 by Select Stories

By M.P. Witwer

“He would never forget those hands.” Frowning, Karen crossed out the sentence — too ambiguous.

She shifted nervously in the waiting room chair, trying to concentrate on her creative writing assignment to “craft a complete, unequivocal story using six words.”

“Screw you and your impossible assignment.” Probably wouldn’t fly.

Eventually, just one line remained:

“Relief came, then tears: ‘It’s benign.’”

Perfect. With a wan smile, she nodded in faint satisfaction.

Upon hearing her name called, however, Karen’s anxiety returned. She stowed her notebook, rose unsteadily and followed the nurse — clutching a fervent hope that life was about to imitate art.

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Category Archives: – Micro Fiction