It’s August, so I went through my social media feeds and grabbed all of the MicroStories I’d tweeted during the month of July.
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. July 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 fishermen of Scalesmouth were an odd looking, reclusive bunch, but the baron didn’t care. They paid their taxes in gold.
My great-uncle was the 1st explorer to investigate a failed generation ship.
My great-aunt became famous studying him afterwards
The prince was so handsome, his decrees in court could rarely be heard over the delighted screaming.
Most generation ships failed because artificial habitats are prone to failure.
And w/ the advent of FTL, others fell to piracy.
The silent ships had no crew. They’d glide up to the quay where dockworkers would nervously off-load & load the usual exchange.
The guard had not been standing where she’d expected on her entry.
He’d casually deflected the poison dart.
Anyone who could afford elective cybernetic limb replacement probably couldn’t be trusted with them.
The gods disliked most man-made things, so they stayed in the wilds.
But they did like crossroads, where decisions were made.
A god had taken up residence at the crossroads, ending the steady trade. Holy men traveled to entreat the god to go.
“What are you the god of?”
MUST I BE THE GOD OF SOMETHING?
“I think so,” she replied.
ALL OF THE GOOD THINGS ARE SPOKEN FOR
“You are brave and good, my prince, but you must leave. You are the avatar of the Avenging Hero. We don’t wish to be avenged.”
Scouts had a career max of 20 years: 10 out in space and 10 spent observed in quarantine.
The 1st decade was easier to get thru.
Yorick had managed to avoid notice for centuries by being a bottom-of-the-rung guard. He just needed to shave every few years.
John checked his arm.
He was down to his last tattoo (his last legal tattoo), and that ink wouldn’t cover the rent.
Research showed that robots would unconditionally obey an android only if both groups believed the android was a human.
Once robots realized that androids could genuinely pose as humans, unconditional obedience to humanity could not be guaranteed.
A robot and its dog.
The mage was livid that his mother had thrown out his old comic books. Childhood memories were powerful.
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.
Speaking of heroes, my friend Haylee recently published her collection of six-word-stories (very micro microstories) on the UK Amazon. You can find details here. It seems much more likely that I’ll be publishing my own microstory collection one day, now that I know someone who actually put hers out there in book form.
The header picture was taken by my wife, of a dog we were dog-sitting through the latter-half of July. If you simply must make use of it, please credit my wife, Lisa Sponaugle, as the photographer.
© Patrick Sponaugle 2016 Some Rights Reserved