Posts Tagged ‘microfiction’

j-hardy-rubble

Ash piled high over racked concrete, splintering rafters, rotting furniture. As far as Jared Thomas looked, there was nothing but grey.

“Look upon what you have wrought,” the woman said, her face hidden behind shining steel. “This is your legacy.”

Jared bent down to see a photograph of a girl and her mother, trodden underfoot and coated in dust. He wondered if there was anyone left.

“I never wanted this,” he said.

“You did not care before you beheld it with your own eyes.”

“I can change,” Jared said. “Please. Take me back. I can change!”

The woman said nothing.


Word Count: 100

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and J. Hardy Carrol for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek68

There is a school that does not advertise, that has no website, no campus tours.

Its alumni are the powers behind the world, the figures in the shadows, whispering in the ears of presidents and kings.

They are the writers of history.


This is for Three Line Tales! Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Faustin Tuyambaze for providing the prompt photo!

The picture looks like a graduation which, coincidentally – or not coincidentally, given the time of year – is what I’ll be attending next week. Only a BA, though, not a degree in ruling the world from the shadows. 😉

inside-the-diner

Cheerful fifties tunes greeted Tara and Greg as they walked into the diner, a bell chiming behind them. There wasn’t a speck of dust in the place.

“Hi, folks!” a waitress said. “What brings you to our diner?”

“We needed somewhere quiet,” Tara said. “Somewhere to relax.”

The waitress smiled. “That’s usually what it is.”

The world flickered, like a bad signal on a television: counter rippling with black mold, music slowing, the waitress’s face rearranging itself like a jumbled jigsaw.

Tara blinked and all was normal again.

“So,” the waitress asked, leaning close, “what can I get you?”


Word Count: 99

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Roger Bultot for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek67

“Just sing,” they tell him. “You’re only an entertainer and it’s not your job to talk about these things.”

But he has seen what comes of silence.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Paulette Wooten for providing the prompt photo!

auto-aftermath

Screeching horns. Crashing metal on metal. Squealing tires. Glass splintering in spider-webs of shards.

And over it all, the thunder of gunfire and the smell of gunpowder.

After, they sit on the curb, staring at the wreck of the car: windows blown out, tires flat, mirrors snapped off like old branches.

“Could have been worse,” Aaron says, taking a long draw from his cigarette.

“Car’s a wreck,” Dave says, cradling his bloodstained arm. “I’ve got a bullet in me. How could it be worse?”

“Could be dead.” Aaron stands. “Come on. Job’s not done yet.”


Word Count: 95

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and providing the photo prompt! 

tltweek66

A sea of red rose over the dark outline of the hills, all the world cast in primitive shades of blood and ash. Acacia watched the telephone pole towering over the treetops, seeing it become strange and alien in the light of the setting sun.

Then she turned away, looking out over the dark waves of treetops rising and falling before her – a world without telephone poles, where the only sound was the whistling of the wind – and took a step forward.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Adi Ulici for providing the prompt photo!

sandra-crook-1

The guards shut the Palace gates tight and barricaded them with whatever they could find: antique chairs, president portraits, vases. The roar of the crowd was deafening.

“It’s all right,” the President-For-Life said, waving a hand. “The people love me. All these revolutionaries… They’re all being paid. They’re actors.”

“Then they’re actors with guns,” a guard replied.

“I have a plan,” the President-For-Life announced. “A great plan. You’re all going to run out there and hold them off while I go out through the back.”

The guard sighed, pulled his gun, and shot the President-For-Life.

Viva la Revolution,” he muttered.


This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Sandra Crook for providing the prompt photo!