#minifiction — Public Fediverse posts

RE: https://tuebingen.network/@johnnythan/115496716653583337

Übrigens hatte ich die Ameisengeschichte doch schon schon mal geteilt. :D

Bin gerade nochmal auf die Suche gegangen...

Falls jemand reinschauen mag. Zu lang für die #Freitagstexterei auf jeden Fall. :D

#miniFiction #Ameisen

@mina @fin @futurebird @Penelope @xepia_

_Samantha_

Diesmal können sie nicht mehr entkommen. Sind sie die letzten Menschen? Er weiss es nicht. Er hofft es nicht. Aber Zuversicht ist keine mehr da. Die Drohne fliegt über ihnen, und es wird nur noch wenige Sekunden dauern. Ein letzter Blick zu seiner Familie, eine letzte Träne im Auge.

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#miniFiction #scienceFiction #story

#MiniFiction
You know how it is. You ask a mage for a binding spell and all you get is some gibberish that doesn't help at all with flattening your tits but now you also live with a demon who does not do the dishes.

It's 2am, you get a riddle on Signal from a number you've never seen before. You don't reply. By 4am you have an answer and a set of GPS coordinates, a date range, and a size in gigabytes. You wait. You go. You find a single board computer running off of a dingy solar panel; it copies everything to your drive as soon as you insert it. When finished, the machine goes silent. The internal drive wiped.

You're the bearer of the library now. You know your solemn task.

A light in the dark.

#tootfic #minifiction

”Looks like you’re looking for a job! That is a professional activity prohibited by your Personal Internet Connection EULA.

Would you like to upgrade to a Professional Connection, now available only for $199.99 /mo (billed yearly, $349.99 / mo after the first year)?”

#minifiction #enshittification #tootfiction #shortstory

"Just one more day," he muttered.

Every day, for nearly thirty years, he had said that. He could barely hold a sword now, and his body was ravaged from without and within.

"By what...strength, do I say that blasted mantra?" he spat, "and why must I continue?"

He knew, deep down. He had no choice; too proud to end it, too weak to truly fight. But he kept surviving Its assaults. He had to.

Even the battles with himself, those he hated the most.

#minifiction #doodle #sketch #pencildrawing

#Writever 10.3 — Vengeance

I drummed my fingers on the table beside her open grimoires. Not facing the bully, I turned my eyes toward the blonde, taking in her arrogant smile. She'd gotten me to do what she wanted. She held her wand steady, and the tip glowed like hot iron. "And that's all I need to do? I can't believe you're helping me like this after all we've been through..."

The bucket-full of water and me being hit by said bucket falling off the shelf above the door. The vanishing ink pen I used on a test. The worms in my box lunch. Other things. But I was also a T.A. Some responsibilities where inescapable.

I did volunteer to help Jill.

I wanted to laugh at the "we" in that last sentence, but sighed instead. She was predictable. Very predictable. "The mnemonic, the equations, the visualization. Spot on. It balances and your wand indicates that."

"So all I have to do is say what I want to conjure?"

Predictable. I didn't grin. Instead I switched to French, hopeful. "/Tu m'emmerdes avec tes questions!/"†

She blinked. "Merde? Isn't that French for—"

With magic you really need to be specific about where to target a spell affect and what you're asking for. She'd been specific about neither.

Where your wand is pointing is the default. Her's pointed above her head.

The spell understood what she wanted enough that the closest source proved to be the horse stables. I could see it out the dorm room window. The spell mucked every stall.

A load of small round spheres crashed down around her, bouncing off her head and bounding around the room. I squealed reflexively and jumped away.

I doubled over leaning against the door, laughing despite the smell. For her part, the bully sat stunned. Her expression wanted to be a smile. She had succeeded, after all. She also knew she'd been made the fool.

Exiting out the door was the better part of valor. I grabbed the nob.

"/Amélie/," came a growl.

=-=-=-=-=
† "You're so annoying with your questions!" Literally: "You're shitting on me with your questions."

#EntertainOrDie
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#microfiction #minifiction #fiction #fantasy #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #shortfiction #shortstory #RSstory #shortstories

It's 2023 and you want to quickly review some data in Excel. It's UTF-8 strings in CSV format.

#minifiction #horror

#WritingWonders 8.11 — MC POV: If you had to give your closest friend one piece of advice, what would it be? Why?

#Minifiction, 850 words: To Spar or not to Spar

Bolt groused, "He said, 'Take off the armor and fight me.' I— I don't want to do that."

The day angel looked away, her wings clasped tightly behind her, embarrassed her trainer had sent her to me. In our last encounter, despite my injuries, I'd broken his clavicle and a leg bone, giving him a concussion. It had been his sister who'd broken his nose. I thought him easy and Bolt knew it.

The ground cover outside our host's ivory tower was leafy and soft—perfect for teaching—so I asked, "Wanna spar with me wearing the armor?"

Her blue eyes met mine in shock. "I might hurt you."

Bolt wore a fereter, a portable reliquary. Few people ever saw a relic, let alone a collection. A hundred adhered to her skin. That our "Immortal Ruler" had lent her a miraculous object was a significant bribe—for Bolt and for me.

Bolt had nearly killed Her. The first person in half a century. /Before being lent the armor./

I huffed. "If you hurt me, I'll have learnt something about myself. Put me on the ground and I'll let you train with the armor for a week before trying without." I raised a hand. "I put you on the ground, I keep the armor for the week and you train without it."

Bolt spat. "Or I quit."

"And give back the armor?"

The woman pursed her lips. The fereter made her faster and amazingly agile, besides being, well, /armor/. No way she'd relinquish it.

I stretched out a fist. She shook her head and bumped it. "You are evil."

"I'd warned you. Then you went and saved my life," in a fight against our "Immortal Ruler." She had burn scars to prove it. My new friend and personal guard (in training) inhaled deeply.

I added, "I'm going all out. You'd better, also."

The day angel gulped, then streaked skyward.

The armor manipulated gravity, like her wings, just better. I'd watched the woman fly, with and without the armor. I visualized her gravity field by how she vectored through the air and twisted her wings, the same way I visualized my miracles. She banked over some trees, pushing then rustling the branches, inadvertently demonstrating what was gravity and what was lift. I'd been a prizefighter; I'd won the championship against a day angel at 7-3 odds against me.

She predictably dove in a stoop. Since armor fields protected the leading edge of her wings, she came at me outstretched. It might have surprised another opponent. She was right-handed, so I dodged left. Guessing wrong, she banked away, missing me. Bolt knew I'd won that championship by a similar guess. I'd crouched deeply where I'd leapt, just in case. Gravity pushed and pulled me from my face to my feet as I stood. The ground cover flattened and bounced back under her.

I mentally revised my models of how she flew.

A heartbeat later, she accelerated like a lit firework on a string in a sudden bank. After the burst, she didn't try to barrel into me but instead used the armor to rotate her lower body so she shot feet-first. A feint. Her wings were out as if braking, but she used the armor to negate the effect.

I ducked, rotating away, then leapt. I caught her legs as she swerved, using her momentum to lift me while using a transform of /Levitate/ to grip her in my own gravity field, which I then doubled. She face planted into the lawn. I landed on top, pinning her despite the armor levitating me a hand-length above the arm I twisted into an elbow lock—and the hips and wing tips I sat on. In a regulation fight, she'd have squirmed free.

I'd put her on the ground. I'd won.

Bolt beat the ground with a fist. Divots flew, leaving a crater.

"Don't be that way."

She nodded as we stood, reaching back. The rope of scaly black bones let go. The fereter dropped to the ground, coiling eerily like a cobra. Bolt sighed.

I asked, "You learned something about yourself, right?

"I'm a bad fighter."

"Um... no. Had I had to win by a K.O. or by pinning you for a count, you'd have worn me out and won on points. Your moves were good, but you relied on the armor—not this:" I tapped my temple. "/You/ nearly killed /Her/. No armor, yet. Brains: that's how you helped me win that fight. Now we hone your craft, naked."

She nodded.

"Fighting an opponent who's better than you is a gift, even if you lose. I treasure such gifts." I levitated the armor to her. She blinked as she took it. "You'll know when to wear it."

"My stars!" Her eyes misted up. "I— I learned something about myself, didn't I? You always say that when things go unexpectedly."

"Exactly." I stepped behind her, then hugged her around the waist, chin on her shoulder. "I love it when people listen to my advice, especially my friends."

[Author retains copyright]

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#EntertainOrDie

#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon

@whknott Long ago the Kreezon left the dying city tower for a simpler life among the trees and found their lives to be much more fulfilled.
#microfiction #shortfiction #minifiction #prompt #writersofmastodon #mastowriters #SFFWriter #sff #indiewriter

Where Most Comfortable by RS

• @golgaloth Well, it was a #writingPrompt, so I wrote something that might not ever otherwise appear in print. #1stdraft. Sorry if a bit rough.

I pushed open the door to the walkup, then had to push harder. I guess the difficulty substituted for lack of a lock. As the door creaked open, I jerked my head back at the scent of urine. The hard-to-open door proved useless again today. I thumped up the steps two at a time, up four flights, lit by my blue-green sprite and wan nightshine through broken dirty windows. Nobody greeted me; perhaps nobody would except in fullshine as, though I looked like a student, I was also one of those shady characters, despite being reasonably girlish and almost pretty. Perhaps I radiated it.Perhaps the thaumlume sprite floating before me was too perfect, bright, and discomforting.

A rare talent. Which was why I was a student.

I'd just finished a job, too. The idiot would pay back his loan; all I'd had to perform were minor miracles and pyrotechnics that frightened the angel from flying away. Hadn't had to hurt anyone. It was my deal with the boss. I'd be his most efficient enforcer so long as I didn't have to hurt anyone, and I hadn't. The night angel could have fought, and I'd have defended myself and felt bad about the mess afterwards.

Well, a little bad. Maybe.

I'd been flush with gold from the job, which is why I was happy to be home. Tea and scones with plenty of butter in my tummy, I pushed open my door. No lock, but you guessed that, right? I felt a field-tingle passing through, which verified nobody had been so stupid as to enter while I was gone, but I threw the slide bolt behind me. It guaranteed people having to barge in loudly if they wanted to confront me, giving me time to defend myself.

I'd torn off all the wallpaper, leaving stained lath and plaster which to me seemed like a new-art wash of dun and grey that was both pleasing and calming. I'd spent days sanding, filling, and varnishing the partially rotted and distressed floorboards—could it be pine? It was mud color, so the knots were barely a clue. I had a table, similarly refurbished by me, and a periwinkle china wash basin I'd glued back together. No sense on spending anything except on books, food, and rent as far as I was concerned. Beyond that, and the oval window, was my stack of hay. I inhaled. It smelled fresh, since I'd brought it yesterday, and it reminded me of not-city. It combined with the scent of the trash fire at the end of the block. I heard kids laughing and talking.

Kids? They were older than me, but they hadn't been other people's sharp tool so my years counted double! At least.

I still liked the burnt smell. City incense, right? I grinned, dropping my book bag. I dug out my new tome. Leatherbacked. Gilt lettering. Rare and delightfully musty. Merchant Ducket's Codicils and Interlocutory Physics, 3rd Extended Edition. The 19th had been redacted heavily by the Directorate. It cost plenty, but nothing made me happier than warping reality, and I really did love the math. It never hurt when something in your head helped you do the arithmetic! I fluffed the hay up, snuggled into it despite the initial itchiness against my skin. I started reading, figuring I could finish my homework later.

I'd earned this. Lit by my sprite and the nightshine that over the next hours passed across the open book, I read and learned new stuff.

Eventually, I had to stretch.

That revealed a familiar blue envelope. Right. The window had been open and I usually closed it. Bolt, the boss' day angel runner had dropped it in. An urgent job, doubtless. Lots of gold.

Foo on that. I swiped it away. Let the boss try to make me work extra. Wouldn't end well.

I went to sleep, hugging the book like a plush rabbit.

[Author retains copyright]

#writing #author #sff #fantasy #story #shortfiction #minifiction #flashfiction #suddenfiction < 750 words #writingLife #boostingIsSharing.

#minifiction – not quite microfiction :)

earlier @Curator posted a #writing prompt – “and the clouds” – that was supposed to be 500 characters or less. i got all excited and thought it was 500 words, so i wrote the piece below. figured i’d post it anyway:

Laney’s red air machine struggled up into the sky on an engine that coughed and wings that creaked. With every meter of altitude she gained, her oil-streaked smile grew broader.

She had won. It had taken every last spare part in the barn, and she had to admit her relationship with her mother would never be the same, but now Dad would have to acknowledge that she had been the first of all the children to leave the nest and take to the air.

Before her, the morning fog was parting to reveal a warm spring sunrise rimmed by cottony fluff; the light hit her face and glinted off her tears of relief.

Then she heard a juddering, sputtering sound behind her. She looked into the bike mirror she’d pressed into service as a rear-view and saw a sooty line arcing up from the barn – the line her brother’s black air jalopy was spray-painting over her wobbly but clean water vapor trail.

“Caleb! What are you playing at?” Laney shouted, smile gone, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.

“I went and used the coalite anyway!” Caleb shouted as he approached. “Just look how I soar!”

Caleb’s monstrous jalopy streaked past her machine and left her coughing in a black haze of exhaust.

“Damn you Caleb!”

“Whatever works! See ya, sis!” He soared towards the sun.

As her air machine swept through the black, Laney saw nothing but red. She punched the big silver button in the center of her dash, activating the first system she’d built, the one she’d had to cut corners to accommodate.

The seeker missile popped silently from the chassis below her and arced through the soot directly at her brother’s jalopy. The missile closed the short distance between them in half a breath.

A very short distance.

A large explosion shattered the silence of the morning sky. Terrified birds scattered, reversed paths. Tiny pieces of metal showered the ground below, some black, some red.

All that remained in the sky was smoke, and the clouds.