Short short stories for my entertainment and (hopefully) yours.
I was introduced to micro fiction in the form of 100 word stories based on a photo prompt through Friday Fictioneers. Past entries in order from oldest to newest are below.
From a Land, From a Faraway Place
Can’t See the Forest for the Trees
While playing around with the 100 word limit, I came up with some other pieces outside of Fictioneers.
Stowaway
The ship nudges the dock, metal meeting the wood with a screech that rends the stillness. Waves kiss the bow, curl their tongues around the hawsers that trail in the water, lick the rust and rust colored stains. Her smokestacks are silent, her engines make no whisper. The breeze chills the sweat gathered in the rolls of the guard’s neck, under his arms. The smears catch his eye in the shaking circle of his flashlight. Five pointed, like red stars, or the turkey-hand drawings his children brought home last week. He never sees the figure that slips over the railing.
The Waking
She opens her eyes to blackness, sees for the first time the purples and reds that form the almost-dark. She hears the whirr of insect wings, the thumping of a small rodent’s heart as it skitters away. Currents of air caress her bare skin, carrying the smell of sweat, spices, and decay. She can see through the violet and burgundy now, pick out the dank dripping walls and the crescent of moonlight. She breathes in the smell of warmth; of rust and salt, pumping through veins not her own. She opens herself to the thirst that, like her, is immortal.
Cinnamon
I could smell it, the spicy aroma that brought to mind hazy visions of Christmases and Thanksgivings past. Of pie crusts bursting with apples in all their crisp, autumnal sweetness. The flaking pastry clung to our lips and the syrup coated rosy, apple-round cheeks, crimsoned by cold. The face before me now was utterly devoid of color, these cheeks were dull, uncooked dough. Still a sweet scent lingered in the air as I reached out to stroke the softness of those pale crescents, descending to trace the tendons standing out in the trembling throat. To me, blood smells like cinnamon.
Vers Les Etoiles 
I love the imagery! ‘Cinnamon’ is such a special treat for the senses 🙂
Thank you! The previous resident at my desk at work left some cinnamon in the drawer…what a weird place to find inspiration!
Stephanie Meyer doesn’t know a damn thing about the sensuality of vampires, but you apparently do, darling. I enjoyed these as well!
Thank you, my dear! It’s funny how they all ended up being about vampires, actually…too much Vampire Diaries obviously!
I enjoyed your post about Stephanie Meyer—hilarious!
I have a link to a new flash fiction project where entries are published on a quarterly basis. If you are interested check out my post titled Flash in the Pan – Down.
I will be sure to check it out!
This is such an interesting challenge! I think I’ll be joining too! I’m so happy to have found your blog. 😀
So glad you found it! It’s a fun challenge–definitely worth trying.