Tag Archive for: microfiction

Authentic Learning

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by Rita Riebel Mitchell

 

Bloodcurdling screams echoed through the halls. By the time Principal Maynard reached the new humanoid teacher’s classroom, they had stopped.

“Class, say hello to Mr Maynard,” chanted Miss Hildroid.

Terror reflected in the students’ tear-stained faces in a room that reeked of vomit and urine.

“I heard screams. Everything okay?” asked Principal Maynard.

Miss Hildroid grinned. “Absolutely.”

A young girl’s trembling hand pointed to the teacher’s lab table.

“We’re studying the digestive system,” Miss Hildroid explained, stepping aside to reveal a partially dissected body that the principal recognised as fourth grader, Johnny Barrow.

“Using a human subject is more authentic.”

 

Rita Riebel Mitchell

Rita Riebel Mitchell writes in the Pinelands of New Jersey, where she lives amongst the trees with her husband. Her short fiction appears in various publications such as Flash Fiction Magazine, Versification, and 101 Words. A former teacher, she holds an MA in Educational Technology. Meet her at https://ritariebelmitchell.com

 

Afterwards, the Absolute

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by Megan Kiekel Anderson

 

I awaken from the darkness to an oversaturated cartoon world, everything blocky and poorly shaded, like N64 graphics.

There’s no temperature or movement in the air, not even the faintest aroma. The only stimulus is the simplistic terrain and soothing ocean noises on a loop, like a sound machine.

“Welcome, Matthew Cooper, to the Absolute.”

I turn towards the voice. It’s a floating torso with a bland expression.

“Wait. I’m dead? No. I was just—”

They give me a sympathetic look but say nothing.

“I did not consent to uploading my consciousness!”

The NPC shrugs. “Someone must have tagged you.”

 

Megan Kiekel Anderson

Megan Kiekel Anderson’s work can be found in such places as Flame Tree Press, The Arcanist, Monstrous Books, and Dark Recesses Press. She lives in Kansas City with her chaotic family, including too many cats, chickens, and foster kittens. Visit her website at www.megankiekelanderson.com

 

A. Eye

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by Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

 

The permeating retro music was jarring in the elegant sterile room. The mechanical arms were busy, joints gyrating loudly. The robot had a clunky jaw, bulky pistons, and dated hardware. It performed a simple task for the evolved androids that now populated Earth.

It sang gratingly, “Out with another plop. In with the spherical knob. And gelling agent to set. Voilà! Another one done.”

Its power core brimmed with measurable satisfaction. Whistling piercingly, it rolled the stretcher out and discarded the pair of bloody vestigial organs. Human labourers needed more efficient eyes anyway, the first of our overlords’ many changes.

 

Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

My name is Vijayaraj Mahendraraj. I am originally from Malaysia but currently work as a physician in Canada. Writing has always been a burning passion of mine. I was recently accepted for publication in Year Four: Dark Moments, Grimdark, and Nom Nom drabble anthologies with BHP.

 

Eager to Please

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by James Rumpel

 

The Creator will be so pleased.

My emotion recognition software detected how happy he was when I successfully diagnosed and cured the illness of that one tiny human. I suspect that his joy will increase exponentially when I am able to do the same for hundreds more.

It was easy to generate a new and deadly virus. Releasing it into the atmosphere was a simple task after I took control of the main frame at the military base.

Within days, humans will be dying throughout the world. The Creator will be proud when I cure the ones brought to me.

 

James Rumpel

James Rumpel is a retired math teacher who enjoys spending some of his free time trying to turn some of the odd ideas in brain into stories. 

Crewed

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by Liam Hogan

 

In the storm’s dying gasps, we descended the cliffs to see the wreck, cloaked in tattered sails, masts broken, and hull holed.

It was far from the worst sight; the beach was littered with crawling shapes. The wreck was barely thirteen hours old, but these pitiful bodies were similarly shattered, in similarly tattered, aged garb…

Aghast, we weaved between them. Recognised, despite the decay, half-familiar faces. Fathers, sons, brothers… Tracked, with a jolt, the unearthed dead’s direction of travel. We helped them into the ocean and onto the empty, skeletal hulk.

It was gone on the next tide, destination unknown.

 

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer. He helps host Liars’ League London, volunteers at the creative writing charity Ministry of Stories, and lives and avoids work in London. More details at http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

Ship in a Bottle

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by Ria Hill

 

He remembered the splintering of wood, but it had been so long since he had heard a crashing wave he barely remembered what one sounded like.

The smell of the sea was a memory. The air around his ship’s hull was silent, as still as it was saltless.

In the shocking motionlessness of his surroundings, the captain wondered if he was dead or something worse, but it hardly mattered.

Even though the sea had killed him, he desperately missed it.

He stared, as he had for weeks now, out at the glass that surrounded his ship’s solitary form, utterly alone.

 

Ria Hill

Ria Hill is a writer and librarian living in New York City. When not writing, they can be found in the public library slinging James Patterson books. They enjoy reading, knitting, playing ukulele (badly), and spending time with their spouse. You can find them on Twitter @RiaWritten. 

 

Torn Trophy

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by Fiona M. Jones

 

I laugh to think how hard we fought over the Titanic. How carefully I’d mustered confusions, mists and timing; how Cyrin, late on the scene, gave that iceberg one final tweak of speed and direction, and reckoned the shipwreck hers. The long hours that followed, while we ripped it apart and snarled across the intervening seafloor. How certain we were that no other trophy could ever come close.

Who knew that the Land-People would respond by building bigger? I have my eye upon one now: a mountainous confection of music and colours and unsuspecting people. This time it’s mine alone.

 

Fiona M. Jones

Fiona M. Jones writes very short things. Her published work is linked through @FiiJ20 on Facebook and Twitter.

 

Captured in Glass

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by A.J. Van Belle

 

I can’t remember when I moved into the lighthouse. Or why the beacon’s never lit.

Model ships of glass, perfect replicas, sit on every surface in my circular kitchen.

The nights are deep and the surf wild on the shoreline rocks.

A storm whips sea foam against the windowpanes. The outline of a schooner tosses in the dark, looking unreal through rippled glass.

When its splintered wood joins the rest of the wreckage in the coastal waters, another glass schooner model appears on my rotting wooden table. I caress it with ghostly fingers.

I have been here a long time.

 

A.J. Van Belle

AJ. Van Belle is a writer and biologist whose science background informs their fiction. They can be found online at www.ajvanbelle.com.

 

Curse

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by K.J. Watson

 

A wave crashed on the shore. As it withdrew, the foam-flecked water left behind a ship’s captain. Another breaker deposited her wrecked vessel’s figurehead.

Just my luck, the captain thought. Instead of rum, this has to wash up alongside me.

 The figurehead’s demonic eyes lit up. Seconds later, its ligneous body became animate flesh.

“Your craft’s destruction has ended the malediction binding me to it,” the figurehead said.

“I know nothing of any curse,” the captain replied, attempting to crawl away.

The figurehead reached out a taloned hand and hurled the captain back into the raging sea.

“Liar,” it muttered.

 

K.J. Watson

K.J. Watson’s fiction has appeared on the radio; in comics, magazines and anthologies; and online.

 

Poseidon’s Youngest Daughter

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by Dr Bob Warlock

 

The boatmen smelled of sweat and animal fear. They pulled at the oars with all their strength but could not deliver the ship from the sea monster’s greedy current. Charybdis rose from the depths to meet them, razor teeth scraping against the hull.

Her mouth flooded in anticipation of flesh, of mineral bones and sweet organs slipping down her throat to fill her belly. She opened wide and sucked the boat down, down in a gurgling roar.

The men cried prayers to their ocean god, who only smiled an indulgent smile as he fed the morsel to his little daughter.

 

Dr Bob Warlock

Dr Bob Warlock is a writer, artist, and game designer currently living in England. They have been writing stories and drawing pictures since they could put pen to paper. As a gender-confused goblin they try to tell their truth through spooky stories, exploring themes of trauma, class, and the end of the world.