Micropasta: WhispersMicropasta: WhispersMicropasta: Whispers2 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Emotions I feel they turn to none
I broke, I broke, them one by one
The smile that I had through all these years
It bears, it bears, these hateful tears
- Nonsense Speaker
“Confront your fears.” Easy to say, much harder to do, and now that helpful advice has proven to be your undoing.
All these years, these godforsaken decades living in the same bedroom, all the way through childhood and adulthood and after your parents passed away, all this time you heard things. At first the whispers at night coming from under your bed told you what you wanted to hear. It told you how brave you were for continuing to live with your difficulties, how special you were, how you didn’t need friends as long as you had it.
The change came slowly.
It became more critical, more sarcastic, and eventually openly hostile. And as you would lie in bed at night with hot tears in your
The ThingThing grew arms...The Thing1 day ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
and took him.
Dream QuestDream QuestDream Quest4 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A man’s dream of Leng
Who can ever say where we go or what we do in our dreams? We only witness them. And some may believe what we tell them, but others remain skeptical till the end.
Thus I lay in deep slumber from eleven pm until two am. The thoughts of daily life wafted through my conscious mind like dull white clouds across the azure sky until my mind lay empty. I had learned of this from a Tibetan monk living in the edge of my city. The rest was experience. The emptiness took about one hour. Then I finally drifted asleep.
Initial dreams were mundane in nature. They disclosed my relationships and encounters with various types, some of whom I doubted their humanity. Others were distinctly human and I had enjoyed a refreshing experience.
After dreaming once or twice if these encounters, I finally drifted into deep slumber and then the dream worlds changed sharply. Perchance I was subconsciously affected by stories by fellow dreamer Randolph Carter. Soon enough
Humanly Imbalanced. What has come of me? Hours, days, weeks have become nothing but blurs. Only a odd sense of horror, and lust. When I awake, I am standing in a pool of gore and crimson. The police haven't caught up yet, I haven't caught up either. What has happened to me? What happened to the humans laying on the ground in front of me on the darkest of nights? Am I mad? Have I finally reached that point? To break and kill? Have I? Who has murdered these people? Why have I always been the one to see them? Why am only I having darkness in my memories, where has my sanity gone..? Where has my humanity gone?Humanly Imbalanced.3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Why can't these street whores scream louder? Why does it take me plucking their finger nails one by one for them to understand they weren't going to live? Why does it take me carving out of their kidneys for them to faint? Why does it take so long for them to understand?! My love belongs to no one anymore, the vixens are all whining on their deathbeds with their vocal cord
Spider SpawnDisclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author owns exclusive rights to this work.Spider Spawn16 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The silk strands of the web had been woven with great care. Desdemona smiled as she took in her handiwork. It spanned across a large length of the metal that two-leggers wove to keep each other out, attached with great care at various points to their own construction. Noticing the way the breeze seemed to vibrate less through one part of the web, she turned to that end and saw that some of the thin silk had come loose from the places she had attached it to the metal web.
Tenderly picking her way over to the loose pieces, she reached forward with the claw of one of her many limbs, hooking one of the strands that had fallen out of place and returning it to the proper place. Desdemona carefully considered the silk, not willing to risk it coming loose again. She needed the web to be perfect to attract the most appr
ReflectionShe was standing in front of the mirror. Her reflection smiled at her. She smiled back. The woman in the mirror raised her hand. She raised hers. Something seemed off but she ignored it, The woman in the mirror nodded, and made a punching motion. The woman mimicked it, the mirror cracked, shards falling into the floor. The reflection reached down. She felt her fingers closed against the sharp edge of a broken glass shard. The Reflection ran it's hand across it's throat. It took a few seconds too late to realize something was off.Reflection3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Non-Believer Your mother was a very stubborn woman. She detested the belief of the supernatural. From an early age she told you that all things supernatural were lies.Non-Believer3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In kindergarten, as children often do, your classmates spoke of fairies. You told them they weren't real. Your teacher scolded you. As you got older, the topics of interest matured slowly. Soon people spoke of ghosts and spirits. Your friend in the 5th grade, also a girl (and your first crush), was quite different than you. She believed very strongly in the realm of ghosts and spirits. She told stories of humans falling in love with ghosts having children who could interact with ghosts too. One day she asked you if you believed in ghosts. "No," you answered instantly. Ghosts aren’t real; you’ve never thought otherwise
In the 6th grade, you walked into your mother's bedroom late at night. You don't remember why. You only remember watching her. She spoke to
Horror Story about a Carnival Clown that gets Lost The clown crawled out the plane wreckage. He was the only survivor.He looked toward the sunset, found north and started on his way.Horror Story about a Carnival Clown that gets Lost4 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
His throat started to feel dry and his limbs felt sore, but he kept walking. He clearly slowed down as time passed though. Finally, he collapsed by a small river. He carefully cupped his hands and drank. He was so thirsty he didn't even care that the water was probably filthy. He climbed a small way up a tree with the only thing he salvaged from the crash; a pocket knife tied to his belt.
The next morning, the birds were the only thing to wake underneath the huge trees' shade. The clown lazily sat up. Then suddenly remembered what had happened. He made his way down the tree and followed the river. Something in the water caught his eye. There was a T-shirt clinging to a rock. After wading to it he noticed the red color was washing off. He heard a sound and reacted quickly, jumping to the shore. Just as he reached safety a few pira
VertigoThere is a need, and your head inclines down, so that you can see the horizon. And clouds matte against the sky. There is something there, on the horizon. And you are high enough that the moon haloes against your head. You cannot see yourself, but you know.Vertigo2 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You know. Something like a deep breath crawling down your skin. This is the moment you step away from the edge. When the knowledge finds you, of what you could be and do. And you wonder, you wonder if you wish to die.
But you do not step away.
This should be the moment, but it never comes.
And for a long breath halfway to a sickness, you wait. Your eyes are on the horizon and its gathered dark. Possibility thicker than air. It is possible to fall. Willingly.
The wind picks up and your vision swirls just like the air. The step you could take is a tactile thing. Your sight becomes almost pure black.
Only when the tears fall from your eyes do you rememb
The LighthouseI squat, hunched over in the knee high tufts of grass. Pointed ferns digging into my skin. My legs itch all over but I resist the urge to scratch them. There are othres with me doing the same, their details obscured by the shadows and their voices obscured by the silence. I stand here, arched over. I'm not alone but I might as well be. I am neither the first nor the last in this scattered flock of men, darting between chest high ruins but hidden somewhere in the middle darting only after the silhouette before me. If I listen carefully I can hear the figure behind me taking my place. The walls are brick and there are bits of wall lining the earth. The scent of nearby saltwater wafts through the air while a mixture of dirt and sand kicks up into my shoes.The Lighthouse1 week ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
They call this place "The Lighthouse" even though it isn't a lighthouse and I have no idea who "they" are. The moon's light paves way for an colossus of a silhouette spread across the field. Its owner is a towing decrepid old smoke stac
Delirium Worldbuilding: DireHe saw the kid from across the street, a flicker of fire catching his eye. He ducked out from under the street light and crossed the deserted road, not even looking for passing cars as he quieted his steps. No time to worry if there was something good to be got.Delirium Worldbuilding: Dire3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The broad-shouldered man peered around the corner and into the alleyway, ducking back into cover like some sort of spy after catching a quick glance. He hadn’t been seen, but he had seen a promising victim. Just a boy, couldn’t be older than seven, dirty, thin, sitting on the ground and leaning against the worn brick wall with a small flame cupped in his hands. It was that fire he wanted. Could be drugs, cigarettes, even a lighter would be nice, and it wouldn’t be any trouble at all, like taking candy from a baby he always thought. No question about what someone so young was doing with illicit materials, not in this city.
The man stepped ominously out into the mouth of the alley, his formidable being framed fr
Micropasta: Out the Door AgainMicropasta: Out the Door AgainMicropasta: Out the Door Again4 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I don't need another friend
Smile and drop the cliché
'Till you think I'm listening
I take just what I came for
Then I'm out the door again
- A Perfect Circle, The Package
I killed my wife. Not because I hated her, or even that I particularly minded that her crying would wake me up five out of seven nights of the week. I just hated what she represented.
Sorry, I guess this deserves some backstory.
My wife was a devoted woman. Why she stuck with me I’ll never know. Maybe she still loved me after all these decades, after all these beatings and fits of anger and broken dishes. But she wouldn’t obey. I needed her to obey.
I’m a bit of a control freak. Everything has to be in order. Everything has to be under my direct influence and authority. I’m the type of man who would slug her for putting the salad bowls next to the soup bowls instead of the top
Walk in the WoodsDisclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author owns exclusive rights to this story.Walk in the Woods11 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sharon had been walking the same forest path for at least ten years. Every summer her feet would tread down to the bridge that overlooked the nearly dried-up stream. Trees lined the walk on either side, their tall branches reaching up to the heavens and covering her in shade. She knew every hole in the canopy, every spot where the sun speckled the path and shone down on the plants growing underneath. Even when the grass grew over the path, she knew where it was, where it would lead her. Having traveled the road and noticing the scenery each summer, she was taken aback by the oddity that greeted her.
Instead of the unbroken path that carried her to the bridge, Sharon found herself looking at the strangest sight. She supposed she might have felt more at ease if she were seeing a rhinoceros in the middle of Main Stre
Strangely PeckishHe was hungry. That much was certain. He had eaten everything in his house, yet He never felt full. He was ravenous. His wallet, empty. Spent desperately on food. A human could only last up to three weeks without food. He was counting the hours since his last meal, fully aware he could starve. He paused, licking his lips at the idea. Meat. Raw? Red. It had to be red. Still moving? Dear God! Yes!Strangely Peckish3 days ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The aftertaste distinctly reminded him of sewage, and he was still ravenous. He dug through the Hobo's sacks, finding an open can of cat food. He was about to eat when a noise distracted him. He looked up, seeing a Cat. He looked down at the food, then a the cat. He held out the tin. “Here Kitty, kitty.”