It’s December, so I went through my social media feeds and grabbed all of the MicroStories I’d tweeted during the month of November.
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. November 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 elves controlled half the town, the orcs the other.
I’d have to choose one faction to serve.
Didn’t I see this in a Western?
The elves paid no attention to the road the humans were extending toward the forest.
A “road”? What use would that be to anyone?
My mentor smiled at my naivete.
“No, the grandmaster is a poor assassin. Management requires completely different skills.”
“Don’t touch it,” he warned.
I pulled back.
“How can you tell a magic sword from a cursed one?”
“All magical swords are cursed.”
“Enjoy your trip,” it told me.
“You’re sure I’ll pass unnoticed?”
“Humans believe in many strange things. But not in us.”
While the ship’s officers debated how best to keep everyone alive, the ship calculated how many crew to ‘accidentally’ kill.
The pantheon didn’t quite have 144 gods, which spoiled the priests’ math.
So they made up rites for placeholder gods.
“Trust me, immortality is the last thing you want.”
“Sorry, we can’t trust you on this.”
“I’m an immortal.”
“We know. So what?”
The derelict vessel was clearly organic, which called for specific protocols.
Only crew from Unimagineering would investigate
Terraforming was usually the first step in getting a planet ready for colonization.
If inhabited? Kaiju-forming happened first.
The aliens visited their favorite human, in the refugee camp.
He politely declined their offers, but not as firmly as before.
The brass frowned on personnel putting on their spacesuits while drunk, but this time it was necessary.
With the family gone, the house network theorized about Thanksgiving.
“Maybe it’s like salmon going upstream,” the TV suggested.
The body was in perfect condition, but the anchor and chains were old and corroded. The fishermen brought the body ashore.
The Eloi relied on robot servants, expecting the Morlocks to eventually die out.*
The robots soon got fed up with that business.
Over the course of two nights, the priest and the gravedigger buried the dead villagers.
And the bandits as well.
* MicroStory clearly inspired by HG Wells’ novel The Time Machine
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 on Twitter, I’ll be talking about my dogs, or television, or how the Maryland driver response to snow is to:
- Stop one’s car
- Set car on fire
- Run around in a panic, without pants.
(I’m only slightly joking.)
Want to read my earlier MicroStory collections? I have my first three years’ worth of stories HERE
Following a long tradition of these posts, I stole a photo that my wife, Lisa Sponaugle, took of our pets. Her Facebook page has been a goldmine for me to obtain header images. If you must use her image, please at least give some attribution.
In general, I’m fine with anyone using the text of my MicroStories for non-commercial use. (Look how cute I am, thinking someone wants to make a t-shirt from one of my flash fiction bits. I say cute, you can substitute in some other, more appropriate, adjective.)
© Patrick Sponaugle 2016 Some Rights Reserved