Microfiction
The Empty Chair
I sit in my living room and look upon the empty chair. Once, a human being sat there, with life and love within him. A person with dreams, goals, and the ambition to achieve them all. Now there is only air. Empty air, dusty air, illuminated by the scant sunlight that drifts in through the dirty window.
By Ophelia Keane Braeden14 days ago in Fiction
Made for Love. Content Warning.
2086 — Tokiton, Eurasia. I open my eyes for the very first time. I take a look around. I can assume I am at a laboratory — pale white walls, big screens emitting blue light while displaying codes all over, at least five holo-boards with calculations written on them. And many, many silvery robot arms like a spider queen hovering above my face. What's a spider?
By Carolina Drouven14 days ago in Fiction
The Conference Room With No Windows
Every Monday at 9:00 a.m., the team met in Conference Room B. It had no windows. No one remembered when it had stopped having windows. Most people were sure it used to have at least one. Possibly two. Facing east. Or west. The direction shifted depending on who was speaking. But now the walls were seamless, uninterrupted drywall, painted a neutral beige that never reflected enough light to confirm the time of day.
By Lawrence Lease16 days ago in Fiction
FUZZY BEAR
*Fuzzy Bear: A Hug You Can Trust* In a cozy little forest surrounded by tall trees, colorful flowers, and chirping birds, lived a teddy bear named *Fuzzy*. Fuzzy wasn’t like other bears—he wasn’t wild or loud. In fact, he wasn’t even real. He was a soft, stuffed bear with button eyes, stitched paws, and golden brown fur that was always warm, no matter how cold the night was.
By Ibrahim Shah 17 days ago in Fiction
Roses and Raven Feathers
With labored breaths — lumbering along the path of fallen leaves — he pushed on. After many long days of wandering, hunger and loneliness were finally taking their toll. Benny Jetso hadn’t seen one sign of what been looking for, but that wasn’t going to stop him searching.
By Gabriel Shames17 days ago in Fiction
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues "It’s not about losing; it’s about the sovereign act of starting again." This visual album is a 26-year "blues scheme" finally brought to life. I first built these dreams in a sandbox back in 2000, but it took two decades of sifting through the dust of the river and the rust of the city to truly hear the melody.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 17 days ago in Fiction
The Third Floor Stays Warm
The thermostat in Apartment 3B had read 91 degrees for six weeks. It was not an aggressive heat. It didn’t press against the skin or suffocate the air. It existed the way a number exists on paper—quietly, insistently, without asking permission.
By Lawrence Lease17 days ago in Fiction
