I Can't Possibly Be Wrong All the Time

It’s the first of December 2023, 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 269 characters (so I could post them with the hashtag #MicroStory – if I wanted to obey the character limit on the website formerly known as Twitter.)

Usually, I only post Science Fiction and Fantasy #MicroStories. November was no exception. I guess?

Once upon a time, for really great #MicroStory action, I used to recommend people to please follow @MicroSFF, the Twitter account that inspired me to participate in this minimalist writing exercise. That feed used to put out great science fiction and fantasy MicroStories all the time. Because of the terrible situation on Twitter (now called X) with Elon Musk losing advertisers reportedly because he can’t stop courting or promoting fascist content (many people are saying this, I’m just innocently observing what many people are saying) I recently saw that the @MicroSFF was ceasing their tweets on Twitter, and focusing instead on Instagram and Threads. I offered them a BlueSky invite, but they respectfully declined, saying that they were waiting for BlueSky to become more open.

I’m not in Instagram or Threads, so I’ll miss their Flash Fiction entries. They were excellent. (Mine are okay.)

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“You might think time travel – specifically going into the past to change things for your benefit – is possible, but it’s not.”
“We have a new way to work around the theoretical paradoxes -“
“No. The Ghost of Harlan Ellison will absolutely stop you. He’s implacable.”
#MicroStory

“I call them black pearl apples,” the wizard said. The fruit was jet black, and shiny like marble.
I regarded them. “How do they taste?”
“They’re only ornamental.”
“Seems like a waste of orchard space.”
“The royal orchards are larger.”
“We give the fruit away, though.”
#MicroStory

“I’m just saying what the eyewitness told me. They identified her.”
“But she’s an anchorite. She’s been bricked up in that cell at the convent for at least ten years. The one window for food is way too small for a person.”
“Not too small for a bat, though.”
#MicroStory

The Hera’s stardrive was shot, and wasn’t likely to come back.
Plans were made with our companion ship Zeus – there was a convenient gas giant in-system with moons to support our crew habitat during the mating and gestation and the time for the child ship to mature.
#MicroStory

The Apparatus was reportedly the most powerful magical relic in existence. Its power could only be unlocked by invoking its True Name – a name known only to a few.
The High Mage kept the name written on a scrap of parchment in his desk.
So of course I knew it too.
#MicroStory

“I thought you might enjoy adding this to your collection.”
“What’s on the blade?”
“The Pythians would inscribe their weapons with the names of foes. No one can read it anymore.”
In an airless tomb, the king stirred on his couch. Someone had one of those damn swords.
#MicroStory

“So, it sounds like you are praying to your current god so He won’t smite your city with disasters.”
“Yes.”
“Ever consider praying to a different god, one that’s not into disasters?”
“No! Our god would smite us.”
“But if you don’t pray to Him, maybe He can’t smite.”
#MicroStory

“When the aliens invaded, we helped them because we didn’t want our insides scooped out. Sure, they are scooping our insides out now, but they didn’t at first, and it was a big favor they did us, scooping out the insides of people we didn’t like. It is what it is.”
#MicroStory

“The only thing stopping a Bad Guy with a Death Ray is a Good Guy with an Undeath Ray.”
“Senator, maybe we’ll workshop that.”
“No, it’s perfect.”
#MicroStory

The troops felt confident that the siege would soon be over and the last of the rebels quashed, but none spoke out loud of their hopes for returning home.
Not that they feared any dashing of hopes – simply that any talk of the future always led to rebellions forming.
#MicroStory

The old miserable man finally died.
His servants buried him in secret in a hidden vault; but the dead – his many victims – rose from their unmarked graves and like moths to a flame found the crypt and ripped the body from the ground.
None dared stop them.
It was just.
#MicroStory

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Thank you to everyone who reads and enjoys my small stories. I used to tweet flash-fiction at irregular (VERY IRREGULAR) intervals on my Twitter account, @patman23. I’m taking a break from posting on Twitter though, until things dramatically change for the better there. I still use the site to compose my tweets (respecting the character limit) but I’ll post them on Facebook, BlueSky, and Mastodon.

Should you want to follow me on BlueSky and Mastadon, I’m @patman.bsky.social and @sponaugle@mastodon.world respectively. (I don’t feel a need to promote my Facebook account.)

Header image is a picture I took during Thanksgiving, right before my two adventurous nieces (I have 4 of them, two less-adventurous) and I hiked up Seneca Rocks in West Virginia.

Want to read my earlier MicroStory collections? I have my first three years’ worth of stories HERE and the second three years’ worth of stories HERE – I might need to put together another X year’s worth of microstories soon.

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, but you can substitute in some other, more appropriate, adjective. I’m not the boss of you.)

© Patrick Sponaugle 2023 Some Rights Reserved