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.
Attn Resident Mammal,
The United Federation of Insects hereby decrees that your continued invasions of the sovereign bee-hives under the benevolent Queen Bzzywzzy constitutes an act of war.
You will cease and desist from all hostile actions or else incur the wrath of the U.F.I.
Highly trained Strike Wasps, Stealth Mosquitos, Kamikaze Bees and Super Hornets are ready to launch sting operations while Army Ants and Battle Beetles drill daily.
You may still purchase honey through the flea market in accordance with ISFTA (Inter-Species Free Trade Agreement).
Good day and may the Sacred Mantis pray for your corrupt, heartless soul.
A long-locked door in the attic of his mind burst open and a torrent of hideous memories flooded out, explaining his nausea.
.A table flipping over, throwing dinner everywhere. Holes punched in walls. A beer bottle breaking over his mother’s head. Paralyzing dread as the Corvette pulled into the driveway and parked in the garage.
“Everything alright?” the driver inquired. “I’ll pull over?”
“No, just a little stomach bug,” he reassured.
As darker unspeakable memories returned, he retched and heaved.
He barely managed to roll the window down in time before emptying the contents of his stomach onto the highway.
Cunning? Masterfully so. But they’re nothing more than glorified leeches. And like leeches, we oftentimes aren’t even aware they’re attached until we’ve emerged from the quagmire.
They’re easy enough to kill. Decapitation. Holy water. Fire. Stake through the heart. All work splendidly.
The difficulty lies in recognizing them in the first place.
Their tongues are purest silver; their bite painless, even euphoric. So formidable are their powers of duplicity, they deftly pass as friends, family, even lovers, without detection.
The most banal only seek pecuniary sustenance, but the truly execrable feast on emotion, on vitality.
Sunlight burns them the fiercest.
Outcast. Shunned. Consigned to vagrancy.
“Devil’s spawn!” “Monster!” “Fiend!” Such were the epithets bestowed.
On one occasion, were it not for the clandestine intercedence of a magistrate wiser than most, he would’ve swung from the gallows.
He learned to conceal his eyes, feigning blindness while cadging for alms.
When the mongrel, mange-ridden and malnourished, first approached him at his ramshackle hovel deep within the slums, he shared what he could of his bread and gruel. Eventually, the canine’s vigor was restored.
And for the first time, he now had a friend who cared not one scintilla about his ocular anomaly.
The alpha, robed in purple ambassadorial habiliments, bowed and addressed the flock.
“Salutations, honorable rams and ewes! Please forgive us. It pains us deeply that we slaughter your young and elderly, but we cannot help our innate biological instincts! Perhaps we can reach an accord, an armstice to end the butchery. I know the dismemberment of your vulnerable must be traumatic, but we wish for peace! I’m sure we can…one moment…Hmm, yes? Ah! It appears the pack is in position. Don’t worry, we won’t kill you all. If you’ll excuse me, I must gather other ingredients for tonight’s mutton dinner.”
As long as you blinkin’, they’ll leave ya ‘lone. Oh they’ll hangout and they’ll circle around, but as long as they see dem eyelids keep comin’ up, they’ll jus’ wait. And you MAKE ’em wait! You hear? Don’t be givin’ them sons of bitches an easy meal. Make ’em EARN their dinner; make ’em wonder if they jus’ wasting their time. They just might be. If you strong enough to throw a rock, try’n kill one of dem bastards, but whatever you do keep them eyes BLINKIN’, so-as even if they git ye, you be more trouble than you worth.
Game 7. 4th quarter. 99-98 the score. Three seconds remaining. IBA (Interplanetary Basketball Association) Championship on the line. The Martian Marvins had stormed back against the Lunar Rovers to take a one-point lead, but the Rovers had one last chance.
Jimmy caught the inbounds pass, faked his killer crossover, engaged reverse EVA thrusters and launched a desperation fade-away over the space-glove of a leaping defender.
Nothing but net! Rovers win! Rovers WIN!!!
His parents hoped he’d become a lawyer or a perhaps a successful businessman, but as he practiced in the driveway on the adjustable hoop, he dreamt loftier dreams.