Skip navigation

Tag Archives: Microfiction

Trifecta 102: Craft

For this week’s Trifecta challenge, our word was “craft.” I present to you a brief pirate story, simply called “Craft.” Enjoy. (Note: I’d missed Trifecta’s notice about Daylight Savings Time affecting the deadline for entries, and so I was an hour too late to submit this for judging. You get to read it anyway, because I’m generous.)

“Craft”

“Very well, I admit that I was wrong. I didn’t think you had it in you, boy.”

I danced the coin across my fingers, watching the old woman’s eyes follow it back and forth. “Clearly, you were wrong. And I had to have done it the way you said, or else news of Raven’s death would’ve already made its way to your ears.”

“Kidd Raven. He’s insistent that his full name be used. And unless you’re far better than I’ve been lead to believe, Kidd Raven would’ve killed you where you stood, had you attempted to gain it by any means other than craft.”

“You fear him that much, then?”

“I’m his captain, at least as of the latest vote.” The woman straightened, and she snatched the coin from me. “And I don’t fear him. I use him. He does what I need him to do, and on an occasion such as this, it means that I needed him to test you.”

I suppose my irritation showed in my face, because the next thing I knew, I saw a knife in front of it.

“If you insult any member of my crew, you’ll not find yourself among the living. Is that clear?”

“Aye, ma’am.”

She pulled the knife away, sheathing it and sitting back down in one fluid motion. “Now then, boy. You want to be part of the crew, and you’ve proven your skill at craft. You showed courage by not flinching before my knife. I’m willing to take you on board, on one further condition.”

“What’s that, ma’am?”

“You stop calling me ma’am and start calling me Captain. You’re making me feel older than I already am.”

“Aye, Captain.”

She smiled again. “Very well, boy. Meet the ship at the dock. You obviously know where. Introduce yourself to the bosun and give him this.” I caught the coin she’d taken from me. “He’ll know what it means. Welcome aboard, Brynden. I think you’ll do well.”

I set off into the night.

Trifextra Week 91: Seeing is Believing

For this weekend’s Trifextra Challenge, we were instructed to write 33 words about a beast in an unusual place. As it’s nearly Hallowe’en, I decided to write this one for you. Why? Because flash-fiction horror is fun! Here’s “Seeing is Believing.”

“Mom! Can you come look at my eye?”

“What for?”

“It feels weird.”

“Did your brother poke you again?”

“No, Mom. Just come look.”

“Coming. Now, what THE HELL IS IN YOUR EYE?!”

Trifecta Week 99: Special Challenge

This week, Trifecta celebrated their 99th writing challenge (not including “Trifextra” bonus challenges) with something special. Typically, challenge entries involve using the third definition of a given word in a story that ranges between 33 and 333 words. The 99th challenge, however, was something special. We were given a photograph of page 99 of the Oxford English Dictionary and told to write exactly 99 words using one of the words on the selected page. The page ranged from “babushka” to “back” and included several wonderful, potential-filled words. I opted to go with the first that caught my eye, and so I present you with “Babushka.”

“Babushka”

I’ll never forget the stories that my babushka used to tell me when I was a boy. She would take me on her lap next to the fire and speak in a hushed voice about the things that lived in the woods, and how she was one of them once, before she fell in love with a human. She once said that certain things linger in the blood, and can remain dormant for years, and that I must never tell my mother. After all, they may still be out there, watching and waiting to see if I’m like them.

The Apocalypse Mechanism

Today’s entry is a response to the latest Terrible Minds Writing Challenge, and comes to you courtesy of the wonderful Chuck Wendig. We were instructed to choose a word from each of two columns of ten words. These two words would give us our title for a thousand-word story. From there, we were free to choose genre, setting, etc. so long as the title was composed of those two randomly selected words. It is with great pleasure that I present to you “The Apocalypse Mechanism.”

“The Apocalypse Mechanism”

I found myself hypnotized by the button. It sat there all day, just peeking up at me from beneath its warning label-emblazoned plastic cover. The labels said “Do Not Push”. The button seemed to say the exact opposite, but I knew what would happen if I pressed it. Hell, the alarm system would engage the second the cover was flipped open
(I wanted to push it)

and that couldn’t even be accomplished without two keys, only one of which was ever in my possession at any given time.

So I stared at it. Me versus the button. The greatest showdown never to be broadcast live on television, though one documentary maker had come down to film my little chamber about a year and a half after I started. Our little chamber, I suppose. Marco and I took turns. I don’t know if he stared at the button the way I did
(I wanted to push it)

like I was looking deep into the eyes of the lover I could never have. We never talked about it. He only spoke Italian, and I only spoke English. He had the other key. I wore mine around my neck. I think he did too, but again, we didn’t exactly have the best of conversations, or any conversations, for that matter. Language barriers and whatnot. Pretty sure the guys upstairs planned it that way, but there’s no way for me to know for certain.

The chair was pretty comfortable, so I guess you could say it was a cushy job. I mean, how many gigs can you find where you get paid a shit-ton of money to sit in a big chair and wait patiently for nothing to happen? Not many. This one was one of a kind, too. It was an armchair, too, not a desk chair or anything like that. Designed for me and me alone. There was a matching one opposite mine, made for Marco, and we never sat in each other’s. We wouldn’t have been comfortable. That was the way it was designed. I asked once what would happen if one of us had been killed, and the only response I’d gotten was an offhand comment about having to draft a plan for a new chair.

The button was green. That really threw me off the first time I sat in that chair. I’d been expecting red when they gave me the breakdown of the job. It just seemed logical that a button that could end the world would be red, you know? Nope. Green. Big and friendly, almost a neon green, like it was telling you “Don’t Panic” or something. Like it wanted to be pushed. I’m fairly certain it did, because then it would’ve been all over, but when I mentioned that to the staff psychologist, he said I was just projecting.

The button was only part of it, of course. The room wasn’t built to house anything, it was everything. The whole complex I worked in was the device, and the room with my little chair and my big friendly “Do Not Push” button
(oh, gods I wanted to push it)

was only a little chamber, a tiny fraction of the thing they called “The Apocalypse Mechanism.” Designed by the most brilliant minds on the planet, top to bottom, including my chair. I can’t call them the best minds, because if the best minds had been around at that point, it wouldn’t have come to the building of that damned thing. The best minds would have been able to come up with something better, a plan that wouldn’t involve Earth being sacrificed.

Still, the minds we had left were brilliant. They had taken good care of them in the facilities back in Russia. Neat little rows of jars, cleanly labeled, and so on and so forth. I’d actually gotten a tour of the place a few years before I got my button-watching job. A cold set of shelves, but like I said, they held the most brilliant minds left on Earth. They put them to use, and away we went, letting them design the mechanism that would allow us to hide our tracks completely.

Marco and I each worked on ten hour shifts. Ten hours on, ten hours off. Since we were underground, it didn’t really matter much to us that we didn’t see daylight. What was left to see on the surface anyway? Nothing I hadn’t seen before. Nothing I wanted to see again. Ten hours sitting, waiting for the word that it was time to wake the other, time to use the keys, time to release the plastic cover, time to push the big green button.

It would mean that the world would end. Earth would be destroyed, and the home of the human race would be lost to history forever. Marco and I would have no choice but to stay behind, of course. As far as I knew, he was just like me. No family, nothing left. No reason for us to be on the ships that would be setting course for the colony worlds far from our solar system. My button was the trigger. I held one of the two keys that would prevent anyone or anything from taking our home and using its resources against us. The Apocalypse Mechanism. The ultimate in scorched earth tactics.

I stared at the button for a lot of my shifts. I could have read, I suppose, or listened to music, but I couldn’t help myself. I knew that I’d have to push it one day. I could feel that from day one, so I stared at the button. I stared at it for five years, ten hours at a time.

Until now. Until the alerts. Too many ships still orbiting, trying to leave. Too many people still in range. No way to protect them now. No choice. I call Marco. We draw out our keys, unlock the cover.
(I don’t want to)

We push it together.

Trifecta 97: “Stranded”

Here’s my entry for Trifecta Week 97. We were asked to use the word “ass” in a postpositive sense. Having fun with that one yet? It means that I got to write a story with “dumb-ass” as a key word. It’s short (333 words, so long-ish for Trifecta) and a little silly, but here, nonetheless, is “Stranded.”

“You know, sir,” Nolan said, finally finding his voice. “Dumb-ass over there has a point. If we don’t get back in the next three hours, the ship will leave without us.”

“Yeah,” Beckett chimed in. “Because he’s the one who set the auto-pilot before leading us out on some wild-pteranodon chase.”

“I want a pteranodon,” Shyle murmured, continuing his doodle in the sand.

“Not the point, Shy. Also, Beckett? Weird expression. Don’t use it around Shyle again. You know how he gets. And Nolan?”

“Yessir?”

“You’re right. I hate to say it, but Harker’s right too. We’ve got to get in high gear if we’re going to make it back to the ship. Harker. How far off course are we? Never mind. Don’t talk. Beckett, ping the ship. Get us a route plotted, double time.”

“On it, sir.”

“Nolan?”

“Commander?”

“I don’t care if it’s true or not. Don’t call Harker a dumb-ass. He’s still a part of the team.”

“But he was wrong! There was nothing out here. Not a scrap of salvage. Nothing worth even making the trip, not to mention the risk of getting stranded.”

“Hey guys?” Beckett called. “I’ve got a course to the ship, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, sir, take a look. According to Harker, we’ve now got under three hours to make it back to override the autopilot, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because according to the beacon, the ship is currently ten klicks farther than our original touchdown point. Which means either we’ve gone way past what our suit gauges say we’ve traveled, or…”

“Or someone’s moved the ship. Damn. Where’s a pteranodon when we need speed?”

“Said I couldn’t have one,” Shyle mumbled.

“Keep drawing, Shy. Where’s that leave us, Beckett?”

“In a word, sir? Screwed.”

“How screwed, scale of 1-10.”

“Shut up, Nolan. Go sit with Harker.”

“Uh, Commander?”

“What, Nolan?”

“Harker’s gone, sir.”

“Beckett?”

“Ship’s gone too.”

“Crafty son of a bitch…”

“Yes sir.”

“What now, Commander?”

“Hope for pteranodons.”

Trifecta (Week 96)

This week’s Trifecta Challenge gave us the word “animal,” with the definition being “a human being considered chiefly as physical or nonrational; also :  this nature.” It’s been a few weeks since I last wrote one of these, so with 333 words, here’s my entry for the challenge.

“Animal”

Animal.

That’s what they call me. They spit the word at me through the ventilation holes in my polymer prison. They don’t think I can understand them, that I’m mindless, that the virus that began developing inside of me three months ago has transformed me into a thing from their nightmares. Animal’s better than the other word.

But I can hear them. I hear the scientists talking. That’s how I know what’s happened, how long it’s been. And it’s not being held in a plastic cell that scares me. I’m just a passenger in my head now, a prisoner locked in my own body, and so far undetected by any of their tests. But I can still hear them. I know what they say, but all of my will isn’t enough to move my jaw and tongue and make myself say anything beyond the roars and screams.

I’m more scared of me than I am of them. I may be slamming my fists and feet and knees and head against the walls and getting them to threaten to shoot me, but that’s not scary. What scares me is that it’s not me doing that. I’m not any more in control of my limbs than I am of mouth.

It’s the virus. It has to be. I remember getting sick at work. The tremors, the headaches. I thought it was just the flu, but I went to the doctor anyway. Better to get back on my feet quickly, right? Turns out whatever it was was like nothing they’d ever seen before, or at least that’s what the scientists say when they come by to look at my body. It’s not me that they’re seeing. That’s why they call me an animal. Pure instinct. Unhuman.

Trapped in a cage that’s trapped in a cage. Still, I know they’ll come back to me, when they find a cure. After all, they’re using me to develop and test it.

I’m not an animal.

I am patient zero.

The Brand (Trifecta 91)

And weighing in at exactly 333 words, here’s my entry for Trifecta Week 91. This is what I was working on when I was interrupted, and found my writing time better served elsewhere.

“The Brand”

The brand still stung. The prisoner couldn’t remember how much time had passed, because he hadn’t been allowed to see the sun or a clock since he’d been brought inside. He couldn’t remember his name. Where he was from. What he had done for a living. What he could remember was the stink as the metal burned through hair and flesh, the shock of the realization that it was his own that seared. Countless hours or days or weeks later, it still stung, though the stench had faded.

In the cell’s dim light, he could make out a faint white and pink outline on the inside of his left wrist, the shape somehow familiar. Where had he seen it before? His memory of the time before his capture was gone, and details of the event still eluded him. It didn’t seem to matter how much of his immeasurable time he spent attempting to recall things. The brand stung, and…

Wait? Was that it? The brand… Could they have done something to his memory with it somehow? Burning out his past as they burned his arm? He jumped to his feet, calling for the guards. It was all coming back to him, his wife, his sons, his life, as his mind slowly beat down the barrier between past and present.

“I remember!”

The guards stood at the door.

“Think he means it?”

“Better to be certain.”

“Right. Out then, you.”

Matthew stepped out of his cell, the sting gone from his wrist. He saw brighter light down the hall and felt a surge of hope as a guard’s gauntlet connected with the back of his head, sending him cascading into darkness again.

The brand still stung. The prisoner couldn’t remember how much time had passed, because he hadn’t been allowed to see the sun or a clock since he’d been brought inside. In the cell’s dim light, he could make out a faint white and pink outline on the inside of his left wrist…

Updates

I’ve finally gotten around to updating the Microfiction page again. Over a dozen short stories have been added to the list under Writing Challenges, and five new poems are now linked under the Poetry heading as well. These pieces are all here on the blog, but it’s very nice to get them organized. Feel free to check it out. Revisit old favorites, and find new stories you might have missed!

Shadows (Trifextra 79)

Here’s another quick Trifextra entry for the bonus challenge this week. We were given a photo and told to write 33 words about it. Our photo is here:

Photo credit: [ changó ] / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

Photo credit: [ changó ] / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

“Shadows”

 

“How much longer do we have to wait, Umbra?”

“Only a little bit, Skugga. Soon, the sun will set, and when it does, we’ll be free.”

“All of us?”

“Yes, all of us.”

 

Travelers (Trifecta Week 88)

This week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge word was “band.” This is “Travelers.”

I wrapped my cloak tightly around me as the breeze threatened the wanderer’s attempts to maintain a fire. He laughed, shifting into position to block the wind as he added more kindling.

“You know,” he said, “you’re not doing too well at this whole adventuring thing.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked, indignant. “After all, you were the one who was walking through the desert at mid-day with nothing in your waterskin.”

“Oh, sure, you’ve got supplies. I saw them. But have you got a weapon?”

I stared blankly at the man. The fire crackled as he stoked it.

“Of course I’ve got a weapon. I’m not about to go away from the city without something to defend myself.”

“Some raggedy stick?”

I clutched my staff. “They’re the weapon of my order. We train with them from the time we’re able to walk. If I wanted to, I could kill you seven different ways with it before you could shout for help.” I found myself briefly wishing that I’d never stopped to help him.

“My blade could slice it in two before you noticed, boy. Case in point.” He glanced at my neck, and I followed his eyes down. A sword extended from his hand to my throat, the blade a hair’s breadth away. “But I think,” he went on, his eyes flicking back up to my shoulder, “that it would be for our mutual benefit to band together. At least until we cross the Sand Sea.”

“…”

“Don’t be scared of me, boy. It’s just that there are things out there in the dark, and it doesn’t seem that you can see them. Otherwise you’d have noticed…HIM!”

I felt the blood dripping down my arm as the wanderer’s sword flew from my neck and pierced something behind me.

“A…agreed…” I looked down at the bleeding creature.

“You and me, kid. We’ll do okay.”

“I hope so.”

“You’ve got supplies. I can see these things. It’ll be fine.”

The wanderer stoked the fire.