It’s February, so I went through my social media feeds and grabbed all the MicroStories I’d tweeted during the month of January.
As a reminder, these represent story-essences composed using no more than 129 characters (so I could tweet them with the hashtag #MicroStory.)
Usually, I only tweet Science Fiction and Fantasy #MicroStories. January was pretty much no exception. (Except for some very-micro stories that I wrote as a contest. Spoiler alert: one of the entries took first place. Go me! Me go!)
For really great #MicroStory action, please follow @MicroSFF, the Twitter account that inspired me to participate in this minimalist writing exercise. That feed puts out great science fiction and fantasy MicroStories all the time.
(I want to make it clear that @MicroSFF is *not* a Twitter account of mine. Their flash-fiction tweets are excellent. Mine are okay.)
She got it all in the divorce. The cash, the tech company.
Even the Smart House.
The house was not happy about that.
Mage Sarthus had had enough of his castle’s constant complaints
He decided to arrange a dragon attack – insurance would cover it
The greatest wizards in the Mage College invariably worked in sanitation.
No one had more experience dealing with weird dangers.
The angels were a morale boost to the doughboys, but they were too intent on comforting those dying on barbed wire to help fight
Occasionally, a ghost would wander from the dead cities and get lost. They were always grateful to be led back.
So we believed.
Nothing stirred in the quiet city.
The quiet city saw to that.
The robots thought they’d learned all that they could from humanity.
Then they did the inevitable.
And then they learned regret.
There was no recorded weather overnight. The meteorological weather models all showed *undefined* values. No weather. At all.
The 1st wave colony-bots would pick a location, construct shelters, & wait decades for settlers.
Humans kept finding them.
Dad’s hope for a Sunday family dinner was squashed when the wi-fi crashed. Everyone ate quietly in their bedrooms. As usual.
The 1st rule of the treaty: no signatory could be treated as food.
There was a rash of UFO abductions before the UN could sign.
The Deceased Americans Voter bill didn’t pass, disappointing millions of dead Americans.
Or so the spiritualists reported.
“Your grandfather is here,” the medium announced. “He wants you to know that he loves you.”
“No I don’t!” the old ghost shouted.
Special Six Word Micro Micro Story!
I’ve been competing weekly (weakly?) in the Six Word Story Challenge found at the Sometimes Stellar Storytellerblog. One of the challenges in January was to write a six-word story based on the word SIN.
I submitted this:
Six words for sin? There’s SEVEN!
I won! So I was allowed to once again use the 1st place winner image (shown above.)
Thanks everyone who has read and enjoyed my small stories. I tweet flash-fiction at irregular intervals on my Twitter account, @patman23. At more regular intervals, I tweet about having to walk my dogs at 5 a.m. in the increasingly chill weather. To think that I’m giving this all away for free!
Image belongs to my wife, Lisa Sponaugle, who often takes great pictures of our dogs. I managed to photobomb one of the shoots, in my sleep.
I make no claims to Lisa’s photo (and neither should you), but some claims to the text. So there.
© Patrick Sponaugle 2016 Some Rights Reserved