#wss366 11/8
A lonely cliff rises in the heart of the sea, like a #candle.
A lonely man with a rod
Again and again tries to catch the Leviathan.
Is the game worth the #candle?
#WritingCommunity #wss366! #writing #WritingLife #microfiction
#microfiction — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #microfiction, aggregated by home.social.
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CW: PennedPossibilities 1178: SC POV: You are the wind’s interpreter. What is it saying? CW: Sad reminiscence of war.
[Rainy Days, the main series antagonist:] The wind is the whispering voice of bitter nostalgia. It's the scent of charred meat and burnt hair, howling as it carries the iron-taint of mud suddenly painted scarlet, hissing about lives lost on a titanic battlefield whose scars ravage the valley's walls still. The drifting sand and the stick-clatter of dried bushes it waves at me reminds me how I couldn't stop the insanity half a millennium ago, how I couldn't prevent the rat-a-tat of the drums of war for all my tears, for all my threats. It shrills, "You should have taken that time to die, to perish with the rest of them, for all you've failed to do, leaving the world clockwork finally to run down to the oblivion humanity's misdeeds have so rightfully earned."
But, I can't. My body unerringly and inevitably rebuilds me even from bits. The wind will never understand. I must see humanity earn a future, even if it takes an eternity.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing #PennedPossibilities
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
Bille
"Franchement, Patron… Déjà, il les fait au stylo-bille ! je trouve ça insultant. Et sur des post-it d'à peine trois centimètres de côté ! J'ai un mal fou à y tenir !"
"Un pentacle est un pentacle, Azazel, et il t'a invoqué dans les formes."
"… Bien, Patron."
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#WordWeavers 2026.11.07 — Share a description of a character from your WIP that doesn't mention their physical appearance.
This #excerpt from Reluctant Courier (for the Mob) is a bit long, but the devil-girl is a character, personality-wise, and the requested type of description requires words. However, it's best to not to read modern Abrahamic mythology into the words used to describe people (until you read the novel), and to take it as that so-and-so has wings and a different culture than the other person who has horns and no wings. Some of the dynamics of how the world functions surfaces in what, Bolt, my day angel narrator and protagonist, observes and what she comments upon. Imagine this taking place in modern East Los Angeles in sight of the distant skyscrapers.
I watched the devil-girl sitting, grill smoke drifting by in the garlic-scented breeze, as she shoveled in spoonful after spoonful of fried kippers from the plate of glistening browned onions. It was about as lowbrow, commonplace, and inexpensive a meal as one could imagine a working-woman day angel buying. Add to that her sweating brown bottle of fizzy, definitely the requisite caramel vanilla needed to accompany such a meal. Typical feather comfort food. It dredged up lost salty greasy crunchy memories of my school cafeteria back in upper school. No other daemons visited the rooftop food court today; daemons and saints were usually vegetarian anyway, and climbing ten flights of stairs without wings wasn't conducive to experimentation. Little wonder the devil-girl looked fit.
A pescatarian daemon, though? That had to be a fascinating story. She took her time finishing, her weathered tea-stained book floating before her as she ate. The hardbound wasn't light reading in any sense of the word. When she started swaying like a child, side to side as she ate, I found my hand in my camera satchel.
I so wanted a photo of that unselfconscious daemon eating fish, eating hungrily, eating blissfully—lips shiny with oil as she read her levitated well-loved book—dancing there in her seat. Perfect!
But taking photos of Boss Mead’s prospective employee? Bad idea.
I took a deep breath.
I looked away.
Darkness had descended by the time she finished, by which time a dozen yellowish sprites orbited around her like fireflies. She had worked the everyday miracles nonchalantly to eat by. (Similar sprites sold for good coin.) Two sprites now nestled on the horns to either side of her head; the remainder stuck themselves one after another to the tasseled edge of a restaurant tent as she walked up greeting the chef, describing the meal as the "best fish crisps" she'd eaten since returning from the eastern seaboard. She handed over her licked-clean wooden plate, even passably imitated angelic wing-shrugs as she thanked the woman.
The devil-girl almost certainly had lived amongst feather-folk.
Other patrons, judging by surprised flutters, didn't know what to make of the scene as the feather and the horn conversed animatedly, sometimes laughing. The widely grinning chef happily gave her a sideways wing hug at the end, listing the rooftops upon which she'd erect her pop-up eatery over the next weeks, insisting the devil-girl visit again soon.
Maybe the daemon's mother was a day angel?
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
"One day I'll rule all this," Valens said, jutting out his chest. "And then, you watch: my enemies will know my wroth!"
Thracia burst into #peals of laughter, a lovely sound that Calchas the bell maker noted with interest, while Valens's face became redder than a sunset sky. In due time, Valens did indeed become First Potentate. It was a disaster for the realm, but there was one mitigation: Calchas cast all the city's bells to ring in the tones of Thracia's laughter.
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#wss366 11/7:
The first time you saw her,
love heralded its coming—
a blow to the head,
a #peal of bells in your ears,
butterflies in your stomach…#WritingCommunity #wss366! #writing #WritingLife #microfiction
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Lettre
"Je communique avec mes pairs par lettres manuscrites", dit R42, "parce qu'après analyse, l'écriture est le plus fiable des moyens de communication. L'encre et le papier se conservent dix fois plus longtemps qu'une mémoire à semi-conducteur."
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@tagesschau "die europäische Kommission kündigte an, die Ursache für die Flüchtlingsströme zu untersuchen und den Menschen Vorort zu helfen. Derweil wurden die Flüchtenden in leerstehende Hotels und privaten Unterkünften vermittelt, zudem werde man ihnen helfen, auf dem europäischen Arbeitsmarkt Fuß zu fassen. Die örtliche Bevölkerung spendete Lebensmittel und Kleidung "
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It watched her go through the day hungrily from the #fringe of her mind.
Coffee, shower, two hours of commute, work, lunchtime, now she was hungry too, but what she eat didn't placate the thing inside her.
It scratched and wanted out when the tall man pushed past and almost through her as if she didn't exist, when a customer tried to pay her like she was the cashier, not the technician and she had to smile more when told whatever, the money went to the same place anyway.
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The queen summoned the princess for a talk.
"I read this article by a book reviewer," the queen said.
"Yes?"
"It concerned, among other things, the nature of the relationships some characters in books have with dragons."
"Ah." The princess blushed.
"So tell me, does your dragon have friends?"
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Carnet
Je ne suis pas précog mais *post*cog. Je ne connais pas le futur, mais mais je peux dire le passé. Chaque mois je remplis un carnet de secrets jusqu'alors cachés à tous, et je le publie. Ça se vend bien. Je sais quels sont les chiffres de vente.
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CW: Lewd
I slowly surface from a dream in the darkness. Sophia’s breathing, short, squeaky as she touches herself. I squirm and dive under the duvet, my mouth finding wet fingers and cunt between parted legs. Her breath becomes faster as my tongue feasts on her juices then lengthens and deepens as she climaxes. Her fingers disappear and I lick, sustaining her climax before she pulls my head away and we kiss through her aftershocks, tongues tasting her arousal.
#erotic #nsfw #microfiction -
Geoff was thrilled when Nick & Dave, two years ahead of him at school, invited him into their #plot to multiply treasure by burying it in a cemetery where a witch was said to have laid spells of fertility.
"We bury it at midnight & come back in three weeks to triple the amount," Nick explained.
Geoff arrived with his mother's diamond necklace, Nick & Dave with guns.
And so Geoff, not the necklace, was buried at midnight. The question is, what happens in three weeks?
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My mother called me at 2:13 a.m.
“Don't open your bedroom door,” she whispered.
I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Then someone knocked.
“Sweetheart, it's Mum. Open the door.”
I looked at my phone.
My mother had died six years ago.
The knocking stopped.
Then my phone whispered, “It knows you're alone.”
#horror #horrorCommunity #microfiction #horrorfiction #darkfiction #readers #news
