Microfiction
Psycho in my Head
Fred was the voice living in my head. He must have wanted me dead. He would yell and scream until he got his way, I did everything he said without pay. I parachuted out of a plane and challenged people to fights, all in the middle of many a great nights. I got mad one day and hit his face, hurting mine as well. Living with Fred could be a living hell. I told him to go away and he refused. He said no, sounding amused. It looks like Fred and I have to get along. I hate being used.
By Alex H Mittelman 3 years ago in Fiction
The Red Soil
In the time frame the travelers to Mars had sensed the welcome party of the other humans who had already made the trek, they felt in their bones the excitement. Every fiber in their body kept them looking forward to their own sense of being. The ride was okay except for the fighting couple. The male captain Alfredo Bally left the mic hot in the cabin.
By Skyler Saunders3 years ago in Fiction
Moving On
When the Empire fell, we danced in the streets. Men who held each other in joy that week fought in the supermarkets the next, as the food ran out. We cheered when the ministries burned, but wept when the fire spread to our homes. Our world with it's comforts in concrete and steel crumbled away, but what grew from the gentle grass after proved to be far sweeter.
By Kyle Short3 years ago in Fiction
