Tag: microfiction

Microfiction: Waters & Door

I’ve been enjoying creating 50 word stories recently. Here are a couple more I’ve come up with…
Rushing waters in a river flowing over rocks. A black and white photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel

Waters
To save our village, we fed people to the river. We pretended this was her desire, but truly it was ours.

Still the waters rose and she swept us away.

When we returned, we found our homes reclaimed. Bloated bodies occupied every bed and chair, with their unending, triumphant smiles.

A glass door. On the outside, through the glass, you can see a breezeblock wall. Photo from Carolina Pimenta

Door
The house tried its usual tricks, but the new owner was unperturbed.

When the walls bled, she thanked it for redecorating.

When the pipes wailed, she complimented its musical talents.

The house, exhausted, asked why she was unafraid.

She glanced for a moment at the rarely-opened front door.

“Am I?”

Adventures in microfiction

Adventures sounds very grand for what I’ve been doing.

Ever since an inspiring and fascinating talk by Daniel Pietersen about microfiction during the last Gothic Day of Creation, I’ve been taking the time every evening to write a ~50 word story.

It’s helped me work on editing. More importantly, it’s made me think about how to create little worlds as effectively as possible.

They’re starting points, but I find it relaxing to switch off from work and do something creative. I’m privileged to have the ability to do so, to be fair.

Below are two examples of microfiction I’ve made so far. The first, Hunger, is from an exercise during the Gothic Day of Creation. The second, Ritual, is one of my evening stories:

Hunger

He ran, blood falling from his teeth, forest branches scratching his body. His only crime had been hunger, and they had so much meat to spare. Escape was near until, suddenly, it was not: up ahead he spotted her small figure, her shining axe blade and her bloody, red cloak.

Ritual

Candles illuminated the body. Thia kissed his decaying lips and recited words wrenched from her mother.

She waited, watching the mist coalesce and settle upon him. His body spasmed twice, the ritual complete. 

Eyes wide open, Michael stared at her.

“Was I dead?” he whispered.

“Far too long, this time.”