When I first stumbled upon the concept of microfiction, it resonated deeply. Microfiction Monday Magazine showed me that hundreds of pages are not necessary to tell a compelling story. By imposing a 100 word limit, brevity is a necessity and efficiency is critical. It’s the 100-meter dash of the literary world. It’s been an edifying experience trying to write stories that, mostly, clock in at exactly 100 words. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for visiting.
They had ceased to be human, individuation cast to the winds. In their place a malign superorganism existed, fuelled by pure negative energy.
Animus incarnate. Conscience buried under the euphoria of anonymity.
The chimera rolled, scorching the earth as it raged in the name of The Cause. Wild eyes quivered over snarling teeth while primal gutterals issued from unthinking larnyxs.
The next morning, when the fever passed and the congress had dissolved, breakfast was cooked and family lives resumed, warm and affectionate. Moreover, there wasn’t a shred of guilt concerning the innocents trampled underfoot the evening prior.
A fateful pull of the lever. All 7s.
The mobile home morphed into a McMansion in the suburbs. The Nissan Sentra vanished, replaced by a Lincoln Navigator. Coupon cutting and thrift store shopping gave way to opulence and decadence.
Soon after, the lawn care crew was berated for mowing horizontal lines instead of diagonals. Housekeeping was fired for not being finished when guests arrived.
The chef was tongue lashed for cooking the steak too long.
When the stock market crashed and the investments were lost, it wasn’t long before repossessions began.
Then the bitter heart again pulled levers.
I suspected the place was magical.
Perhaps it was because the lot was packed even though the area’s population density was closer to Mars rather than Manhattan.
Perhaps it was the complex aromatics drifting through the air or the pastoral interior decor befitting a kindly grandmother’s living room: stone fireplace, weathered piano, rustic furniture.
It could’ve been the rosy ray of sunshine that was our waitress, radiating a natural charisma.
Offhand chance it was the dishes themselves, bearing familiar names, but with succulent recipes not found in any earthly cookbook.
Sorcery was clearly involved.
It was the only rational deduction.
Casting a hypnotic spell with it’s snake charmer’s dance, one couldn’t help but fall in love, even as it left rubble and ruin in it’s wake.
A wild being, as elegant and graceful as it was ferocious and violent, the swath of destruction it carved was forgivable, an innocent consequence of nature’s passions, no more guilty than the lion with murder of the gazelle.
It indelibly seared into memory.
In it’s presence, the lunacy of the cyclone chasers seemed not so devoid of logic.
The threat was real. The danger imminent.
And I had never felt more alive.
Decades of scrupulous research. Delicate attention paid to every detail. Each source corroborated and fact checked for accuracy. Seemingly unending rewritings to tighten and clarify syntax.
And now finally, his magnum opus was complete.
It was a pedantic jewel, faithfully chronicling thousands of events as they interweaved and moulded the course of history.
As the ink dried on the bibliography’s finishing touches, he beamed with pride. So much so, he didn’t notice the intruder until it was too late.
While he laid convulsing and bleeding from a crimson throat, the intruder, quill in hand, set to work on the revisions.
Discobolus Of Mydon From The Severe Period Circa 450 B.C.
A Sculpture So Inspiring, Timeless, And Poetic, It Is Necessary To Capitalize The First Letter Of Every Word Used When Writing About It.
Whenever It’s Name Is Spoken Aloud, It Must Always Be Uttered As Theatrically and Dramatically As Possible.
The Spirit Of Sport And Honorable Competition Given Artistic Expression! The Essence Of Rhythmos Captured In Stone! Quintessential Symmetria Depicting The Mystery Of Kinetic Energy! The Exemplar Of Elite Athletes The World Over, Such As Call Of Duty Players, Beer League Bowlers And Disc Golfers! The Immortal…
From aurora to eventide, his flesh knew naught but toil. Muscle, bone, and sinew languished under a singular modus operandi: irrigation.
But though his cerebellum was chained to a post impossibly arduous and mundane, his cerebrum was perpetually alight!
In his imagination, soaring arias flew amongst the clouds with full orchrstral accompanyment, tales of romance and adventure played to packed vaudeville houses, and brilliantly-colored murals stood painted on prominent walls in the marketplace.
Amidst every thrust and heave of the shovel, his mind woolgathered.
And when the shackles returned in the evening, slumber only brought dreams more vivid and grandiose.