This story is a glimpse into what could either be based in a real cause, such as a psychosis, or could be fantasy, such as a haunting. While micro-fiction only allows a glimpse into a larger story, how would you see this ending or being resolved for Louis? Louis would seek out professional help. Ultimately, he would realize that they aren't hallucinations but are actually there. They would be monstrous ideas/nightmares stuck between the realm of the waking and the dreaming. I feel this realization would lead to an experience of slowly becoming stuck in between reality and dreams himself. I imagine the resolution would be him becoming a figure seen by others in a similar state of mind. Eventually, he would start to draw people in to join him and from there who knows what could happen?
You’re a regular contributor to ScribesMICRO. In fact, you’ve recently published a book of hundred-word stories. What in particular draws you to the medium of micro-fiction, and what was the main inspiration behind the stories in your new book? Concision is what draws me to the medium. I have often joked that my life is made of so many little stories that I could write about them all. So I decided to sit down and write one hundred of them. My wife, Jordana, also was a big inspiration. One day, she asked me to write a short story about sticky notes taking over the world. At first, I took it as a joke, but within ten minutes I found myself writing the story and loving every moment of it. It also helps me develop a unique writing style.
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"overwintering" by RC deWinter
"I was Here" by Priscilla Goins "The Pictures Are Snapping Their Frames" by David Henson "The Journey of Stardust" by Karen Southall Watts "Ouroboros Frayed" by Mary Keating |
Arachnology by Matthew P.S. Salinas Every time Louis’ eyes got heavy and his vision dimmed, he witnessed it. There was a little blur, but they were there. Spiders, scorpions, bugs were all just crawling on everything around him. The sight of this revived him from even the most exhausted state.
I know they’re there. Waiting for me to fall asleep. These were the unending thoughts that kept Louis awake every night. He never dared tell anyone about his hallucinations. Tonight, Louis could no longer wrestle with his eyes. The urge was overwhelmingly strong. His eyelids closed, and tiny claws began to writhe on his flesh. * * * Matthew P.S. Salinas is an author from Illinois who writes short stories in all genres and poetry. He has two published works and is continuing to publish two more books by the end of the year. He lives with his wife Jordana and their two cats.
The Bonbons by Phyllis Rittner She couldn’t stop obsessing about them. Sitting in her therapist’s office in a dissociative haze, three years for untreatable depression, she’d watch the woman’s lips move and imagine the ice cream bonbons waiting for her like tiny companions in her freezer. She would slide the plastic, molded tray from the box and pop free a perfect globe of chocolate goodness into her palm. Eyes closed in ritual, she would gently crack the casing with her upper teeth, as a burst of sweet vanilla slid onto her tongue. Only then would the tears fall, her consolation for surviving one more day.
* * * Phyllis Rittner loves all things flash. Her work can be found in the Journal of Expressive Writing, HerStry, Friday Flash Fiction, Six Sentences and Sparks of Calliope. She is the winner of the Grub Street Free Press Fiction Contest and a member of The Charles River Writer’s Collective. Phyllis can be reached on Facebook.
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Captain Jack and Buddy by B.G. Smith The grey-bearded man with the green parrot was a regular fixture at the corner pub. Every afternoon, he sat at the end of the bar so his bird wouldn’t shit on anybody. Occasionally, it still did. New customers would get upset, but Moe, the bartender, always bought their next round.
The regulars didn’t mind, though. Captain Jack and Buddy were there long before anyone could remember. The obituary described him as a WWII veteran and listed Moe as his only survivor. Everyone drank in silence and watched Buddy pick peanuts out of a bowl at the end of the bar. * * * B.G. Smith studied creative writing at American Military University. He enjoys writing short fiction and drinking Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, usually at the same time. B.G. is a married father of four boys and a lifelong fan of Philadelphia professional sports teams, which explains the affinity for bourbon.
Winged Words by David Henson One last feather completes the right wing. Too long. Don’t over-edit it… I over-edit it. What am I, a rookie? Eyes too far back. Beak too orange. Breast too plump. Too many “toos.” Ugh, two more! Whenever I try to correct a flaw, I worsen it or notice another. Maybe I’m being unduly critical. Should I lose the adverb? Oh, get on with it. I breathe into the mouth. The small creature twitches then flitters (flutters?) to the open window. Good luck, little friend. Off she goes, far from perfect but brimming with hope.
* * * David Henson and his wife reside in Peoria, Illinois. His work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net and has appeared in numerous print and online journals, including ScribesMICRO.
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Holiday Promise to Self by Rosemary Williams During the holiday season, I rush, do more, buy more, decorate more. Maybe if I remind myself to:
· notice beauty everywhere; in the decorations, on faces, and in nature · photograph sunrises and sunsets daily and post pics on FB · smile at people I don’t know—in traffic, at the post office, while shopping · give a small gift to someone every day · substitute compliments for criticism. Maybe I’ll hold onto joy and the old-fashioned habits of generosity, appreciation, and gratitude as I weave a thread of delight into my holidays. Here’s hoping. Fingers crossed. * * * Rosemary Williams, author, former banker, financial planner, non-profit executive conducts workshops, webinars and retreats. As the author of A Woman's Book of Money and Spiritual Vision and the founder/Executive Director of Women’s Perspective, she hosts Conversations about the Gifts of Liminal Space.
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Fifty-Eight Seconds of Fright
by Nora Weston A frozen monster, almost invisible except for its sheen, lured me in. This shapeshifter fell, fluid, and then hit steep hills of West Virginia to harden. Too late for regret, I pulled out onto blacktop. My stomach flipped as I screamed, sounding inhuman. My possessed truck spun around and then slipped all over. To my horror, cars smashed into the guardrail. Out of control, a minivan’s master was ignored. I held my breath as it swooshed past. Pumping brakes, I muttered, “I’m dead!” Luck disappointed the reapers. I slid onto gravel, braked hard. That beast still visits when I slumber.
* * * Nora Weston is a Michigan based writer/artist. Her publishing credits include novels and anthologies, plus short stories and poetry. Currently, work has been accepted to Star*Line, Green Ink Poetry, Penumbric Speculative Fiction Magazine, and Timber Ghost Press.
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New York to Nairobi by Rosemary Williams We are connected by a thread
From New York to Nairobi. Like a harp string vibrating, A change in pitch calls us to attention. Living in an energetic tapestry We hear a name on the wind and call. Meet by chance in an airport. Follow an inkling to walk down a street And bump into a friend in a strange city. Wake in the night knowing someone is hurt. Fill with joy when good things happen to people we love. Lost or afraid, we touch the thread And find our way home again. * * * Rosemary Williams, author, former banker, financial planner, non-profit executive conducts workshops, webinars and retreats. As the author of A Woman's Book of Money and Spiritual Vision and the founder/Executive Director of Women’s Perspective, she hosts Conversations about the Gifts of Liminal Space.
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Coveting of Flesh & Bone by Nora Weston A water-sphere overflowing with giants
walking with specks of knowledge, unaware we exist. One species imagines a metropolis on Titan, and hypothesizes carbon is the premiere building block. Expansion into the cosmos a dream. For those who open cerebral gates, wish with all their hearts to escape, never fear. We hear the calling to supersede privacy. During nightscape visits, seeds of technological advancement planted. Getting to us is the top priority. Visitors from afar? Welcomed whole-heartedly, except we lack physical bodies. Call us philanthropic, or consider the fact we need your flesh to exit the most perfect place in the universe. * * * Nora Weston is a Michigan based writer/artist. Her publishing credits include novels and anthologies, plus short stories and poetry. Currently, work has been accepted to Star*Line, Green Ink Poetry, Penumbric Speculative Fiction Magazine, and Timber Ghost Press.
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The Fine by Shuba Mohan No decorations in the mall to share our festive mood,
driving miles to find those who shared their joy, the generation before ours celebrated our holidays without fanfare. Altering their traditions to suit others’ sense of propriety, Deepavali or Diwali functions held not on the day of rejoice but on the weekend when the kids would have a holiday. I saw no reason to celebrate silently. Dutifully taking down Halloween decorations within 15 days as the HOA says, teaching my children to be proud of where they come from, we put up Diwali decorations for our Festival of Lights. Tacitly told not to share our differences, I was fined. * * * Shuba Mohan's writings explore the need to question our beliefs on what has always been. Trying, every day, to bypass the mindless pitfalls established to sidetrack people from staying informed and focused on continuing difficult discussions, she is a firm believer that each of us has a story to tell, and it behooves us to tell it, because no one else will do it for us.
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The Goat of Christmas Past by Mary Keating Our family explodes over silly
things. But not eating my orgasmic dish? Who’d have thought bringing a part of billy would raise Cain; violate a hostess wish? Barred now from every family Christmas I serve their sentence of isolation longing for consensual forgiveness before this year’s merry celebration But my sisters persist. I’m the one flawed for cooking an exotic meat conceived to beat any reindeer willy. Blackballed to dare such a course. Hard to have believed cooking another member from the farm raised the old ninnies’ prurient alarm * * * Mary Keating is a disabled writer and lawyer with a solo practice in Darien, CT. Her writing appears in New Mobility magazine, Wordgathering, and Medium.com. Mary lives with her husband, Dan and their lab, Sunshine, in Connecticut.
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SAD by Day My love for you deepens each year
As the leaves fall and frigid temperatures draw near Suddenly, I long for your warm embrace Counting the days till your rays reappear Moments of lazing along shorelines vanish without a trace Winged flocks instinctively head south with haste I am sad as I watch them go Snowbirds pack up and give chase The pace of life begins to slow It is with dread that I anticipate the season's first snow Summer garments tucked neatly away Goodbye my dear, until our next hello * * * Day is a visionary with a passion for creative expression.
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The Poets' Salon
If you're looking for more poetry, including a place to read your work, receive critiques, and explore poetic forms, check out The Poets' Salon. Two editors of ScribesMICRO, Edward Ahern and Alison McBain, run this free poetry workshop. Meetings take place on the second Saturday of every month from 10 a.m. to noon EST via Zoom. More info, including how to sign up for the poetry workshop, can be found on The Poets' Salon website or via Meetup. |