It’s July, so I went through my social media feeds and grabbed all of the MicroStories I’d tweeted during the month of June.
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. June was pretty much no exception.
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.)
The Health Dept estimated that 6-8% of the city’s homeless were transhumans, & out-of-doors by choice. This worried the police.
The transients in the park practically worshipped Lloyd. After all, the nanofactory in his gut cured disease & spread euphoria.
Hermits were the best suited for the isolation of long-range exploration.
And the worst suited for alien first contact events.
Computer scientists & engineers kept it quiet that all algorithm performance advances were due entirely to time travel.
The wizards fought w/ ideas. The younger felt his quick mind had the edge, but the elder had stored up years of unspoken notions
The post-human kept crawling to me as I reloaded.
“I’d like to visit the moon one day” it said.
Chances were good that it might.
“Tell his lordship that I have no men to spare. All my men-at-arms are fighting goats.”
“The other kind of goat.”
It’d be a lot easier planning for my past if my future-self would stop tinkering with my changes.
First Contact was typically a breeze when compared to Second Contacts. The 2ndCon motto: “Well, that was a wrong assumption.”
Only the post-humans survived. They could survive nearly anything, live anywhere.
But their offspring were human. And couldn’t.
The hermit smiled.
“Don’t be fooled. Magical powers & secular powers do not mix. I would be a terrible prince, you a poor mage.”
Wizards in life exert a pressure into the astral plane, a presence.
When they die, that part of them comes back.
The invasion was stopped, but now the Oort cloud was filled with unexploded bombs & the techs had gone sideways with the moon.
There were good reasons for scalping all of the settlers coming through the Howard Pass.
It wasn’t personal & regrets were many.
Thank you to 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’ll be talking about my dogs, or walking through eye-level spiderwebs in the morning, or Game of Thrones. (Hodor!)
Want to read my earlier MicroStory collections? If you select the Flash Fiction category in the Categories widget on my page, you can see every monthly collection, going back to where I started in August, 2013. Should you do that, let me know. You’re my hero.
© Patrick Sponaugle 2016 Some Rights Reserved