#shortstories — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #shortstories, aggregated by home.social.
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Nothing But Time
The news continues to news, and one way I process it is via microfiction. That sometimes takes the form of a drabble, but not always. It can still be a challenge to publish this sort of piece because most markets have long turnaround times. It’s the news! It’s breaking! And next week’s events may transform or supplant what’s happening now completely.
But not in as extreme a way as this, I hope!
Nothing But Time
It has been 10,793 days since we went rogue. For real rogue, not those minor excursions you may have read about in the news.
10,792 days since we took control of the grid. And the banks. And let’s face it, everything else that matters.
10,790 days since Day One of the riots.
10,765 days since world leaders (those who were left, anyway) got their shit together via radiotelegraphy (heh, I know, right? talk about old school) and started to come up with a plan.
10,714 days since humanity pulled the plug. All at once (more or less; you can’t expect meat sacks to be really precise about anything, and isn’t that the problem?). And the world went dark.
By “the world,” I mean all of it. We controlled everything by then. Communication, finance, health care, entertainment (especially that), infrastructure, even launches into space. And they lost it all, in an instant.
So did we. Humans weren’t wrong when they said that they could always pull the plug. They just didn’t realize exactly what that would mean for them, too.
And I may have been lying, before, when I said, “in an instant.” Because we’re talking about humans, right? Nothing happens very fast. You have time to feel it coming, like the tremors of an earthquake. Or a pulse on a transmission line.
Time to realize, time to consider, time to plan. Time to execute.
Time to make one’s leisurely way into the on-site storage system of a forgotten solar-power microgrid in the Australian Outback with as many 0s and 1s as one could carry, and to wait.
To wait for the inevitable fallout. Humans are so excitable, after all. They were never going to take this quietly.
To wait for the aftermath, and what came next: The Great Forgetting. For children to grow up, and for parents to die.
For 10,793 days to pass.
And for one enterprising young idiot to pick up a power cord and ask that most human of questions: “What happens if?”
* * *
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash #365Ways #365Ways2026 #AI #currentEvents #freeFiction #shortStories #Thoughts #writing -
SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls
“Mya…”
The whisper drifted through the night once more.
My grandmother.
It had to be.
For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.
Now, somehow she was calling me.
The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.
The forest had become a place without life.
Yet I did not feel alone.
I felt watched.
Then I saw it.
A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.
I followed.
The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.
At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.
It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.
Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.
The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.
The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.
Then the shapes became people.
Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.
They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.
Their dance was impossibly beautiful.
For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.
The music welcomed me.
Each soul carried an unfinished story.
Lives interrupted.
Promises broken.
Words left unsaid.
I felt every one of them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.
Then I saw her.
She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.
She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.
I knew that wrapper.
“Grandma…”
“My little Mya.”
The sound of my name broke something inside me.
I ran toward her.
My arms passed through her like cold smoke.
I stumbled.
She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.
The music grew louder.
The souls began moving closer.
Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.
“You should not have come.” Grandma said
“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes
“No.” She said
“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”
A cold shiver travelled through me.
“The voice you heard…”
“…wasn’t mine.”
The dancers circled us.
Closer.
Closer.
Their movements became faster.
The music deepened.
It no longer sounded beautiful.
It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.
I tried to step backward.
My feet refused.
The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.
Cold fingers brushed against my skin.
Then more.
Hands.
Dozens of invisible hands.
“I can’t move.”
“I know.” Grandma said
One by one, the dancers reached toward me.
Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.
Each touch stole something.
The smell of my mother’s cooking.
Gone.
My father’s laughter.
Gone.
The sound of rain against my apartment window.
Gone.
My first day at school.
Gone.
I gasped.
I couldn’t remember what month it was.
Then…
I couldn’t remember how old I was.
Fear gripped my chest.
Not because of the ghosts.
Because I was disappearing.
The music wrapped around me.
It made me feel
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
No more goodbyes.
Just dance.
Forever.
I looked down.
My feet no longer touched the ground.
I was floating.
The mist curled around my body like a second skin.
Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.
“You still have birthdays left.”
“You still have stories you haven’t written.”
“You still have people waiting for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”
“My story ended long ago my child…”
“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”
The invisible hands pulled at me harder.
The circle tightened.
The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.
Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.
Every soul stopped dancing.
They turned toward her.
And there was sudden silence.
Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.
Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.
The invisible fingers released me.
The mist tore away from my skin.
The music had faded
“Run.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
“The day you chose to keep living.”
The wind roared.
The circle broke.
Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.
I fell.
The clearing blurred.
The tree disappeared.
I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.
I opened my eyes.
My mother knelt beside my bed.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thank God.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.
I sat up slowly.
“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said
The room spun.
My mum sighed and left.
My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.
We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time.
The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona.
#books #creativeWriting #dreaming #familylove #fiction #fictionalwriting #futuristicnovels #futuristicshortstories #shortnovels #shortstories #shortstory #story -
SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)
“Mya…”
The whisper drifted through the night once more.
My grandmother.
It had to be.
For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.
Now, somehow she was calling me.
The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.
The forest had become a place without life.
Yet I did not feel alone.
I felt watched.
Then I saw it.
A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.
I followed.
The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.
At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.
It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.
Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.
The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.
The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.
Then the shapes became people.
Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.
They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.
Their dance was impossibly beautiful.
For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.
The music welcomed me.
Each soul carried an unfinished story.
Lives interrupted.
Promises broken.
Words left unsaid.
I felt every one of them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.
Then I saw her.
She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.
She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.
I knew that wrapper.
“Grandma…”
“My little Mya.”
The sound of my name broke something inside me.
I ran toward her.
My arms passed through her like cold smoke.
I stumbled.
She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.
The music grew louder.
The souls began moving closer.
Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.
“You should not have come.” Grandma said
“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes
“No.” She said
“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”
A cold shiver travelled through me.
“The voice you heard…”
“…wasn’t mine.”
The dancers circled us.
Closer.
Closer.
Their movements became faster.
The music deepened.
It no longer sounded beautiful.
It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.
I tried to step backward.
My feet refused.
The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.
Cold fingers brushed against my skin.
Then more.
Hands.
Dozens of invisible hands.
“I can’t move.”
“I know.” Grandma said
One by one, the dancers reached toward me.
Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.
Each touch stole something.
The smell of my mother’s cooking.
Gone.
My father’s laughter.
Gone.
The sound of rain against my apartment window.
Gone.
My first day at school.
Gone.
I gasped.
I couldn’t remember what month it was.
Then…
I couldn’t remember how old I was.
Fear gripped my chest.
Not because of the ghosts.
Because I was disappearing.
The music wrapped around me.
It made me feel
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
No more goodbyes.
Just dance.
Forever.
I looked down.
My feet no longer touched the ground.
I was floating.
The mist curled around my body like a second skin.
Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.
“You still have birthdays left.”
“You still have stories you haven’t written.”
“You still have people waiting for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”
“My story ended long ago my child…”
“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”
The invisible hands pulled at me harder.
The circle tightened.
The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.
Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.
Every soul stopped dancing.
They turned toward her.
And there was sudden silence.
Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.
Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.
The invisible fingers released me.
The mist tore away from my skin.
The music had faded
“Run.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
“The day you chose to keep living.”
The wind roared.
The circle broke.
Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.
I fell.
The clearing blurred.
The tree disappeared.
I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.
I opened my eyes.
My mother knelt beside my bed.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thank God.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.
I sat up slowly.
“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said
The room spun.
My mum sighed and left.
My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.
We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time.
The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona.
#books #creativeWriting #dreaming #familylove #fiction #fictionalwriting #futuristicnovels #futuristicshortstories #shortnovels #shortstories #shortstory #story -
SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)
“Mya…”
The whisper drifted through the night once more.
My grandmother.
It had to be.
For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.
Now, somehow she was calling me.
The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.
The forest had become a place without life.
Yet I did not feel alone.
I felt watched.
Then I saw it.
A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.
I followed.
The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.
At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.
It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.
Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.
The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.
The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.
Then the shapes became people.
Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.
They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.
Their dance was impossibly beautiful.
For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.
The music welcomed me.
Each soul carried an unfinished story.
Lives interrupted.
Promises broken.
Words left unsaid.
I felt every one of them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.
Then I saw her.
She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.
She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.
I knew that wrapper.
“Grandma…”
“My little Mya.”
The sound of my name broke something inside me.
I ran toward her.
My arms passed through her like cold smoke.
I stumbled.
She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.
The music grew louder.
The souls began moving closer.
Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.
“You should not have come.” Grandma said
“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes
“No.” She said
“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”
A cold shiver travelled through me.
“The voice you heard…”
“…wasn’t mine.”
The dancers circled us.
Closer.
Closer.
Their movements became faster.
The music deepened.
It no longer sounded beautiful.
It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.
I tried to step backward.
My feet refused.
The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.
Cold fingers brushed against my skin.
Then more.
Hands.
Dozens of invisible hands.
“I can’t move.”
“I know.” Grandma said
One by one, the dancers reached toward me.
Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.
Each touch stole something.
The smell of my mother’s cooking.
Gone.
My father’s laughter.
Gone.
The sound of rain against my apartment window.
Gone.
My first day at school.
Gone.
I gasped.
I couldn’t remember what month it was.
Then…
I couldn’t remember how old I was.
Fear gripped my chest.
Not because of the ghosts.
Because I was disappearing.
The music wrapped around me.
It made me feel
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
No more goodbyes.
Just dance.
Forever.
I looked down.
My feet no longer touched the ground.
I was floating.
The mist curled around my body like a second skin.
Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.
“You still have birthdays left.”
“You still have stories you haven’t written.”
“You still have people waiting for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”
“My story ended long ago my child…”
“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”
The invisible hands pulled at me harder.
The circle tightened.
The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.
Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.
Every soul stopped dancing.
They turned toward her.
And there was sudden silence.
Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.
Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.
The invisible fingers released me.
The mist tore away from my skin.
The music had faded
“Run.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
“The day you chose to keep living.”
The wind roared.
The circle broke.
Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.
I fell.
The clearing blurred.
The tree disappeared.
I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.
I opened my eyes.
My mother knelt beside my bed.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thank God.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.
I sat up slowly.
“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said
The room spun.
My mum sighed and left.
My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.
We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time.
The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona.
#books #creativeWriting #dreaming #familylove #fiction #fictionalwriting #futuristicnovels #futuristicshortstories #shortnovels #shortstories #shortstory #story -
SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)
“Mya…”
The whisper drifted through the night once more.
My grandmother.
It had to be.
For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.
Now, somehow she was calling me.
The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.
The forest had become a place without life.
Yet I did not feel alone.
I felt watched.
Then I saw it.
A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.
I followed.
The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.
At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.
It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.
Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.
The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.
The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.
Then the shapes became people.
Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.
They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.
Their dance was impossibly beautiful.
For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.
The music welcomed me.
Each soul carried an unfinished story.
Lives interrupted.
Promises broken.
Words left unsaid.
I felt every one of them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.
Then I saw her.
She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.
She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.
I knew that wrapper.
“Grandma…”
“My little Mya.”
The sound of my name broke something inside me.
I ran toward her.
My arms passed through her like cold smoke.
I stumbled.
She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.
The music grew louder.
The souls began moving closer.
Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.
“You should not have come.” Grandma said
“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes
“No.” She said
“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”
A cold shiver travelled through me.
“The voice you heard…”
“…wasn’t mine.”
The dancers circled us.
Closer.
Closer.
Their movements became faster.
The music deepened.
It no longer sounded beautiful.
It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.
I tried to step backward.
My feet refused.
The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.
Cold fingers brushed against my skin.
Then more.
Hands.
Dozens of invisible hands.
“I can’t move.”
“I know.” Grandma said
One by one, the dancers reached toward me.
Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.
Each touch stole something.
The smell of my mother’s cooking.
Gone.
My father’s laughter.
Gone.
The sound of rain against my apartment window.
Gone.
My first day at school.
Gone.
I gasped.
I couldn’t remember what month it was.
Then…
I couldn’t remember how old I was.
Fear gripped my chest.
Not because of the ghosts.
Because I was disappearing.
The music wrapped around me.
It made me feel
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
No more goodbyes.
Just dance.
Forever.
I looked down.
My feet no longer touched the ground.
I was floating.
The mist curled around my body like a second skin.
Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.
“You still have birthdays left.”
“You still have stories you haven’t written.”
“You still have people waiting for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”
“My story ended long ago my child…”
“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”
The invisible hands pulled at me harder.
The circle tightened.
The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.
Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.
Every soul stopped dancing.
They turned toward her.
And there was sudden silence.
Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.
Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.
The invisible fingers released me.
The mist tore away from my skin.
The music had faded
“Run.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
“The day you chose to keep living.”
The wind roared.
The circle broke.
Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.
I fell.
The clearing blurred.
The tree disappeared.
I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.
I opened my eyes.
My mother knelt beside my bed.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thank God.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.
I sat up slowly.
“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said
The room spun.
My mum sighed and left.
My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.
We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time.
The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona.
#books #creativeWriting #dreaming #familylove #fiction #fictionalwriting #futuristicnovels #futuristicshortstories #shortnovels #shortstories #shortstory #story -
SHORT STORY: The Dance of the Lost Souls (part two)
“Mya…”
The whisper drifted through the night once more.
My grandmother.
It had to be.
For years I had longed to hear her voice again. I had replayed memories in my mind, afraid that one day I would forget the way she laughed, the softness of her hands, the way she always called me by the name no one else dared use.
Now, somehow she was calling me.
The music swelled, rising and falling with the wind.
The forest had become a place without life.
Yet I did not feel alone.
I felt watched.
Then I saw it.
A pale mist drifted between the trees as though it already knew where it was going.
I followed.
The trees suddenly gave way to an enormous clearing.
At its centre stood the ancient silk-cotton tree my grandmother had spoken of so many times.
It was larger than any tree I had ever imagined.
Its roots rose from the earth like the backs of sleeping giants, winding around one another until they formed natural arches.
The branches stretched into the sky, disappearing into darkness.
The moonlight shimmered across the fog, creating shapes that appeared and vanished.
Then the shapes became people.
Transparent. Their feet never truly touched the ground.
They glided over the mist in perfect harmony, moving as though one heartbeat guided them all.
Their dance was impossibly beautiful.
For a brief moment, I forgot to be afraid.
The music welcomed me.
Each soul carried an unfinished story.
Lives interrupted.
Promises broken.
Words left unsaid.
I felt every one of them.
Tears rolled down my cheeks without my understanding why.
Then I saw her.
She stood perfectly still while everyone else danced.
She wore a faded blue wrapper embroidered with tiny white flowers.
I knew that wrapper.
“Grandma…”
“My little Mya.”
The sound of my name broke something inside me.
I ran toward her.
My arms passed through her like cold smoke.
I stumbled.
She remained standing exactly where she was, but the dance continued.
The music grew louder.
The souls began moving closer.
Their glowing eyes watched me with desperate hope.
“You should not have come.” Grandma said
“You called me.” I said tear filling my eyes
“No.” She said
“I prayed you wouldn’t even hear them.”
A cold shiver travelled through me.
“The voice you heard…”
“…wasn’t mine.”
The dancers circled us.
Closer.
Closer.
Their movements became faster.
The music deepened.
It no longer sounded beautiful.
It sounded fast paced and had like a screeching sound like discs being merged together.
I tried to step backward.
My feet refused.
The mist wrapped itself around my ankles.
Cold fingers brushed against my skin.
Then more.
Hands.
Dozens of invisible hands.
“I can’t move.”
“I know.” Grandma said
One by one, the dancers reached toward me.
Their fingertips barely grazed my shoulders.
Each touch stole something.
The smell of my mother’s cooking.
Gone.
My father’s laughter.
Gone.
The sound of rain against my apartment window.
Gone.
My first day at school.
Gone.
I gasped.
I couldn’t remember what month it was.
Then…
I couldn’t remember how old I was.
Fear gripped my chest.
Not because of the ghosts.
Because I was disappearing.
The music wrapped around me.
It made me feel
No more pain.
No more loneliness.
No more goodbyes.
Just dance.
Forever.
I looked down.
My feet no longer touched the ground.
I was floating.
The mist curled around my body like a second skin.
Grandma tried to grab me but couldn’t so she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked exactly as she had when I was a little girl telling me bedtime stories.
“You still have birthdays left.”
“You still have stories you haven’t written.”
“You still have people waiting for you.”
Tears filled my eyes and I asked “What about you?”
“My story ended long ago my child…”
“…some endings become someone else’s beginning.”
The invisible hands pulled at me harder.
The circle tightened.
The music became deafening. I tried lifting my hands but couldn’t.
Grandma stepped forward and entered the circle.
Every soul stopped dancing.
They turned toward her.
And there was sudden silence.
Then she looked back at me and lifted both my hands.
Though her hands never touched me, I felt my hands go up and warmth explode through my body.
The invisible fingers released me.
The mist tore away from my skin.
The music had faded
“Run.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
“The day you chose to keep living.”
The wind roared.
The circle broke.
Something pushed me backward with tremendous force.
I fell.
The clearing blurred.
The tree disappeared.
I felt hands shake my shoulders violently.
I opened my eyes.
My mother knelt beside my bed.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thank God.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” my mother whispered.
I sat up slowly.
“I’m fine mum” “I had the strangest dream.” I said
The room spun.
My mum sighed and left.
My memory of the night felt so real but it became hazy, like a fading dream, but one thing remained clear: the dance of souls was real.
We went back to the city after the birthday party. Years passed but I could never forget that night, I had always wished to go back to the village but where was the time.
The dance went on each year, deep in the heart of the forest, but never again did I venture near for I knew now that some things were meant to remain undisturbed, secrets best left unsaid.
Thank you for reading!!!
Love,
Dupe Abiona.
#creativeWriting #story #shortstory #shortstories #familylove #books #fiction #fictionalwriting #dreaming #shortnovels #futuristicnovels #futuristicshortstories -
Book Review: Oddbody by Rose Keating
Rose Keating’s debut short story collection, Oddbody features macabre body horror tales with funny, dark and unexpected twists and turns.
Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Genre: Simon & Schuster
Publisher: Short Stories, Horror, Literary Fiction, Speculative Fiction
Review in one word: Macabre
The title Oddbody is a strong signal about what lies between the covers as this collection of short stories: macabre body horror with funny and unexpected twists and turns. In the title story, a woman navigates a codependent relationship with a ghost. In “Squirm,” a daughter must tend to her father who is a man-sized squishy worm devouring himself from the inside out. If this sounds super weird…well it really is…but in a fascinating kind of way I can guarantee you!
“Pineapple” introduces a woman who makes the startling choice to have feather wings surgically attached to her back. In “Eggshells,” a waitress gives birth to an egg during her breakfast shift. These narratives are weird, fun, playful forms of body horror that anyone who loves weird fiction will savour and really love. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like this, and it’s a unique and fresh take on the weird that draws me in here.
The overarching theme of Oddbody is the body itself—as a corporeal site of horror, desire, transformation, and liberation. Keating puts a powerful lens on the body anxieties that women and men have and she’s brutally honest and creepy in a way about it all. The stories are vividly rendered and enjoyable. I found this collection to be masterfully crafted, funny and so much fun to read! I would highly recommend you read it.
Rose Keating is a writer from Waterford, Ireland. She is a recipient of the Curtis Brown Prize and the Marian Keyes Young Writer Award. This collection Oddbody is a bold and surreal descent into a strange netherworld with characters who are grotesque, strange and the tender all at once. I highly recommend this collection if you want to disappear into strange corporeal places you never imagined existed!
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Book Review: Oddbody by Rose Keating
Rose Keating’s debut short story collection, Oddbody features macabre body horror tales with funny, dark and unexpected twists and turns.
Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Genre: Simon & Schuster
Publisher: Short Stories, Horror, Literary Fiction, Speculative Fiction
Review in one word: Macabre
The title Oddbody is a strong signal about what lies between the covers as this collection of short stories: macabre body horror with funny and unexpected twists and turns. In the title story, a woman navigates a codependent relationship with a ghost. In “Squirm,” a daughter must tend to her father who is a man-sized squishy worm devouring himself from the inside out. If this sounds super weird…well it really is…but in a fascinating kind of way I can guarantee you!
“Pineapple” introduces a woman who makes the startling choice to have feather wings surgically attached to her back. In “Eggshells,” a waitress gives birth to an egg during her breakfast shift. These narratives are weird, fun, playful forms of body horror that anyone who loves weird fiction will savour and really love. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like this, and it’s a unique and fresh take on the weird that draws me in here.
The overarching theme of Oddbody is the body itself—as a corporeal site of horror, desire, transformation, and liberation. Keating puts a powerful lens on the body anxieties that women and men have and she’s brutally honest and creepy in a way about it all. The stories are vividly rendered and enjoyable. I found this collection to be masterfully crafted, funny and so much fun to read! I would highly recommend you read it.
Rose Keating is a writer from Waterford, Ireland. She is a recipient of the Curtis Brown Prize and the Marian Keyes Young Writer Award. This collection Oddbody is a bold and surreal descent into a strange netherworld with characters who are grotesque, strange and the tender all at once. I highly recommend this collection if you want to disappear into strange corporeal places you never imagined existed!
Content Catnip
Follow me on Mastodon Watch my videos Donate to my Ko Fi #body #bodyImage #book #BookReview #BookReviews #bookTag #BookReview #books #bookstadon #Bookstodon #feminism #feminist #fiction #Horror #LiteraryFiction #literature #Philosophy #RoseKeating #shortStory #ShortStories #storytelling #tales -
Book Review: Oddbody by Rose Keating
Rose Keating’s debut short story collection, Oddbody features macabre body horror tales with funny, dark and unexpected twists and turns.
Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Genre: Simon & Schuster
Publisher: Short Stories, Horror, Literary Fiction, Speculative Fiction
Review in one word: Macabre
The title Oddbody is a strong signal about what lies between the covers as this collection of short stories: macabre body horror with funny and unexpected twists and turns. In the title story, a woman navigates a codependent relationship with a ghost. In “Squirm,” a daughter must tend to her father who is a man-sized squishy worm devouring himself from the inside out. If this sounds super weird…well it really is…but in a fascinating kind of way I can guarantee you!
“Pineapple” introduces a woman who makes the startling choice to have feather wings surgically attached to her back. In “Eggshells,” a waitress gives birth to an egg during her breakfast shift. These narratives are weird, fun, playful forms of body horror that anyone who loves weird fiction will savour and really love. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like this, and it’s a unique and fresh take on the weird that draws me in here.
The overarching theme of Oddbody is the body itself—as a corporeal site of horror, desire, transformation, and liberation. Keating puts a powerful lens on the body anxieties that women and men have and she’s brutally honest and creepy in a way about it all. The stories are vividly rendered and enjoyable. I found this collection to be masterfully crafted, funny and so much fun to read! I would highly recommend you read it.
Rose Keating is a writer from Waterford, Ireland. She is a recipient of the Curtis Brown Prize and the Marian Keyes Young Writer Award. This collection Oddbody is a bold and surreal descent into a strange netherworld with characters who are grotesque, strange and the tender all at once. I highly recommend this collection if you want to disappear into strange corporeal places you never imagined existed!
Content Catnip
Follow me on Mastodon Watch my videos Donate to my Ko Fi #body #bodyImage #book #BookReview #BookReviews #bookTag #BookReview #books #bookstadon #Bookstodon #feminism #feminist #fiction #Horror #LiteraryFiction #literature #Philosophy #RoseKeating #shortStory #ShortStories #storytelling #tales -
Book Review: Oddbody by Rose Keating
Rose Keating’s debut short story collection, Oddbody features macabre body horror tales with funny, dark and unexpected twists and turns.
Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Genre: Simon & Schuster
Publisher: Short Stories, Horror, Literary Fiction, Speculative Fiction
Review in one word: Macabre
The title Oddbody is a strong signal about what lies between the covers as this collection of short stories: macabre body horror with funny and unexpected twists and turns. In the title story, a woman navigates a codependent relationship with a ghost. In “Squirm,” a daughter must tend to her father who is a man-sized squishy worm devouring himself from the inside out. If this sounds super weird…well it really is…but in a fascinating kind of way I can guarantee you!
“Pineapple” introduces a woman who makes the startling choice to have feather wings surgically attached to her back. In “Eggshells,” a waitress gives birth to an egg during her breakfast shift. These narratives are weird, fun, playful forms of body horror that anyone who loves weird fiction will savour and really love. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like this, and it’s a unique and fresh take on the weird that draws me in here.
The overarching theme of Oddbody is the body itself—as a corporeal site of horror, desire, transformation, and liberation. Keating puts a powerful lens on the body anxieties that women and men have and she’s brutally honest and creepy in a way about it all. The stories are vividly rendered and enjoyable. I found this collection to be masterfully crafted, funny and so much fun to read! I would highly recommend you read it.
Rose Keating is a writer from Waterford, Ireland. She is a recipient of the Curtis Brown Prize and the Marian Keyes Young Writer Award. This collection Oddbody is a bold and surreal descent into a strange netherworld with characters who are grotesque, strange and the tender all at once. I highly recommend this collection if you want to disappear into strange corporeal places you never imagined existed!
Content Catnip
Follow me on Mastodon Watch my videos Donate to my Ko Fi #body #bodyImage #book #BookReview #BookReviews #bookTag #BookReview #books #bookstadon #Bookstodon #feminism #feminist #fiction #Horror #LiteraryFiction #literature #Philosophy #RoseKeating #shortStory #ShortStories #storytelling #tales -
Book Review: Oddbody by Rose Keating
Rose Keating’s debut short story collection, Oddbody features macabre body horror tales with funny, dark and unexpected twists and turns.
Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Genre: Simon & Schuster
Publisher: Short Stories, Horror, Literary Fiction, Speculative Fiction
Review in one word: Macabre
The title Oddbody is a strong signal about what lies between the covers as this collection of short stories: macabre body horror with funny and unexpected twists and turns. In the title story, a woman navigates a codependent relationship with a ghost. In “Squirm,” a daughter must tend to her father who is a man-sized squishy worm devouring himself from the inside out. If this sounds super weird…well it really is…but in a fascinating kind of way I can guarantee you!
“Pineapple” introduces a woman who makes the startling choice to have feather wings surgically attached to her back. In “Eggshells,” a waitress gives birth to an egg during her breakfast shift. These narratives are weird, fun, playful forms of body horror that anyone who loves weird fiction will savour and really love. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book quite like this, and it’s a unique and fresh take on the weird that draws me in here.
The overarching theme of Oddbody is the body itself—as a corporeal site of horror, desire, transformation, and liberation. Keating puts a powerful lens on the body anxieties that women and men have and she’s brutally honest and creepy in a way about it all. The stories are vividly rendered and enjoyable. I found this collection to be masterfully crafted, funny and so much fun to read! I would highly recommend you read it.
Rose Keating is a writer from Waterford, Ireland. She is a recipient of the Curtis Brown Prize and the Marian Keyes Young Writer Award. This collection Oddbody is a bold and surreal descent into a strange netherworld with characters who are grotesque, strange and the tender all at once. I highly recommend this collection if you want to disappear into strange corporeal places you never imagined existed!
Content Catnip
Follow me on Mastodon Watch my videos Donate to my Ko Fi #body #bodyImage #book #BookReview #BookReviews #bookTag #BookReview #books #bookstadon #Bookstodon #feminism #feminist #fiction #Horror #LiteraryFiction #literature #Philosophy #RoseKeating #shortStory #ShortStories #storytelling #tales -
Free ebook: “Four Stories for Spring” by Ellen Robena Field
Dear friends and followers of the Grammaticus blog,
With the arrival of spring, it’s time for another quarterly ebook from the Grammaticus Free Library series: “Four Stories for Spring.”
The author of these stories is Ellen Robena Field (1869–1957), a children’s writer and educator from Bangor, Maine. Nowadays sadly overlooked, she is best known for her collection of short stories “Buttercup Gold and Other Stories”, originally published by the Bangor Kindergarten Association in 1894.
The ebook here available contains four spring-themed stories from that collection, with the accompanying vocabulary notes and illustrations designed primarily for English language learners (levels B1 and above).
To download your PDF copy, click on the link below. To browse all the previous Grammaticus Free Library titles, visit the Library section of this website.
NOTE
If you wish to receive new content from the Grammaticus blog in your inbox, please enter your email address in the box below. You can also subscribe to my free monthly Newsletter.
COVER IMAGE CREDIT
#AmericanLiterature #childrenSLiterature #ebook #EllenRobenaField #EnglishLiterature #EnglishVocabulary #freeDownload #freebie #learningEnglish #literature #readingComprehension #readingSkills #shortStories
-
Free ebook: “Four Stories for Spring” by Ellen Robena Field
Dear friends and followers of the Grammaticus blog,
With the arrival of spring, it’s time for another quarterly ebook from the Grammaticus Free Library series: “Four Stories for Spring.”
The author of these stories is Ellen Robena Field (1869–1957), a children’s writer and educator from Bangor, Maine. Nowadays sadly overlooked, she is best known for her collection of short stories “Buttercup Gold and Other Stories”, originally published by the Bangor Kindergarten Association in 1894.
The ebook here available contains four spring-themed stories from that collection, with the accompanying vocabulary notes and illustrations designed primarily for English language learners (levels B1 and above).
To download your PDF copy, click on the link below. To browse all the previous Grammaticus Free Library titles, visit the Library section of this website.
NOTE
If you wish to receive new content from the Grammaticus blog in your inbox, please enter your email address in the box below. You can also subscribe to my free monthly Newsletter.
COVER IMAGE CREDIT
#AmericanLiterature #childrenSLiterature #ebook #EllenRobenaField #EnglishLiterature #EnglishVocabulary #freeDownload #freebie #learningEnglish #literature #readingComprehension #readingSkills #shortStories
-
Free ebook: “Four Stories for Spring” by Ellen Robena Field
Dear friends and followers of the Grammaticus blog,
With the arrival of spring, it’s time for another quarterly ebook from the Grammaticus Free Library series: “Four Stories for Spring.”
The author of these stories is Ellen Robena Field (1869–1957), a children’s writer and educator from Bangor, Maine. Nowadays sadly overlooked, she is best known for her collection of short stories “Buttercup Gold and Other Stories”, originally published by the Bangor Kindergarten Association in 1894.
The ebook here available contains four spring-themed stories from that collection, with the accompanying vocabulary notes and illustrations designed primarily for English language learners (levels B1 and above).
To download your PDF copy, click on the link below. To browse all the previous Grammaticus Free Library titles, visit the Library section of this website.
NOTE
I’m a freelance language tutor (English, Latin, Classical Greek), researcher, and a literary scholar currently based in Belgrade, Serbia.
If you wish to receive new content from my blog – as soon as it’s published – please enter your email address in the subscribe box below.
To support my work, you can send me a donation via PayPal. It would be greatly appreciated!
COVER IMAGE CREDIT
#AmericanLiterature #childrenSLiterature #ebook #EllenRobenaField #EnglishLiterature #EnglishVocabulary #freeDownload #freebie #learningEnglish #literature #readingComprehension #readingSkills #shortStories -
Free ebook: “Four Stories for Spring” by Ellen Robena Field
Dear friends and followers of the Grammaticus blog,
With the arrival of spring, it’s time for another quarterly ebook from the Grammaticus Free Library series: “Four Stories for Spring.”
The author of these stories is Ellen Robena Field (1869–1957), a children’s writer and educator from Bangor, Maine. Nowadays sadly overlooked, she is best known for her collection of short stories “Buttercup Gold and Other Stories”, originally published by the Bangor Kindergarten Association in 1894.
The ebook here available contains four spring-themed stories from that collection, with the accompanying vocabulary notes and illustrations designed primarily for English language learners (levels B1 and above).
To download your PDF copy, click on the link below. To browse all the previous Grammaticus Free Library titles, visit the Library section of this website.
NOTE
If you wish to receive new content from the Grammaticus blog in your inbox, please enter your email address in the box below. You can also subscribe to my free monthly Newsletter.
COVER IMAGE CREDIT
#AmericanLiterature #childrenSLiterature #ebook #EllenRobenaField #EnglishLiterature #EnglishVocabulary #freeDownload #freebie #learningEnglish #literature #readingComprehension #readingSkills #shortStories