Micro Fiction

Post em. Can't be longer than short. Anything that is not micro fiction will be deleted.


  • There was something peculiar about Klein. I knew him since I was three and couldn't ever get a good read on him. When we were teenagers we used to throw rocks into the windows of houses in a development project that progressively obstructed the view of the houses on the ridge which once stared deeply into the empty and cold heart of the world and he would say things like, "goddamn chaldeans, fuckin up my beach grass".
  • Faced with the ever growing fear that he would one day lose his mind, Hans continued to walk down the corridor watching his footsteps and calibrating his balance until he reached a large man who stood in the way of the door to the room where his son lay sideways on the hospital bed dreaming of birds.
  • edited June 2019

    His employees hated him at first for his bitterness and temper, but they came slowly to know him, they humanized this human and understood he was the inheretor of an empire he never wanted and a dream he never dreamed. They came indeed to know him even better, when he was revealed to have been skimming their tips and dipping into their wages.

  • At first he said to himself that this was normal. The figurines lined up in order from largest to smallest. Each of the faces painted in a rather haphazard manner. The tired whores of the seine and the proud indignant russian generals. The knock and the next knock foretold Michael’s next moment and the proceeding moments of his life as a recluse. He crept towards the door and moved the dresser from the wall next to his bed to the window.
  • edited July 2019
    The lanky and gaunt man lunged to each window of his lakeside house to close them tight and locked them all while the blank sullen faces watched. The faces were leaning into the dirty glass windows, close enough to lick the dirt off, peering without purpose at whatever moved. First one or two, then ten or twelve came, the bodies just stood at his windows and looked in. Aimi could come and leave as he pleased — they never blocked the door or tried to enter his home when he left or returned. Every day a few more trickled in, lining up behind the others, and soon enough the silent crowd grew. Years passed, the multitudes gathered and they never spoke a word, and by that time he had opened his windows again.

    Their thoughts he never knew.
  • On her way to the party, she met up with Rafael to pick up some blow. He wore a black hoodie with a red and darker red insignia that seemed to suggest a sun rising over a sun. After the hand off when she turned to walk towards the station a seizure of lights blinded her and a fury of hands tapped at her with the pace of insects. She rose to the sound of a train approaching and the people around her vanished with the mellow tone of the door.

  • edited July 2019
    So shocking it was, to have caught it. The flash, sudden and sharp, scattered debris from the wooden pole in electric white flakes, arcing out like a spout from the source. The cables rattled and swayed above his head as sprinkles of light and sparks and bits of fire glinted down around him. It was beautiful and he missed it. He didn't look up in time.
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