MicroFlashFic

The cage is made of the ribs of some impossible leviathan, but it’s just for show.
The true prison is an elaborate system of invisible force fields. The bones just lend it a shape and create the impression that those inside are too stupid to realize they should be able to walk out between the bones.

I admit I made a Mistake. I realize I need to own up to it. I can’t be the man I want to be until I’m held accountable for the actions of the man I was.

But first, would you mind helping me close the containment doors? They’re extremely heavy and the Mistake is almost done devouring the lab techs.

Gregor left behind strict instructions his family should follow to appease his ghost.
He didn’t require vengeance, sacrifice, or ceremony. His spirit could only be calmed by acts of self care.
For the rest of their lives, his kids would swear they heard low moaning if they didn’t drink enough water.

In the evenings he likes to sit on the ragged edge of forever.
He dangles his feet over the side and contemplates the line where the night sky gives way to the unpainted void.
Outer-outer space has so much potential. All it needs is for someone to come along and decide to finish up the universe.

You’re not dead.
We’ve determined your heart stoppage requires independent review under the terms of your policy. You will need to submit your mortal form for inspection. Failure to do so will constitute breach of contract and will render the policy null and void unless you contact us directly.

Earth was saved from destruction after an intergalactic organization designated it an enteral preserve— not for our biosphere, history, or art, but our snacks.

No world is as chemically daring in their conception of “food” as Earth. We would be safeguarded forever as the birthplace of nacho cheez.

A message in a bottle washes up on the shore. It contains a coded map to a chest buried on another island. Inside the chest is a key which grants access to a secret library, and so on. The treasure is always just ahead, leaving another clue and hoping you’ll solve the next puzzle a little faster.

“Grandma, can I see some old photos of you?”
“I just made some pictures of what I’ll look like when I’m 110.”
“No, I meant…wow, these are really weird looking.”
“Want me to make some of you?”
“When did you start using AI?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Then how did you—“
“Put on this lead vest.”

No one is actually anonymous, which means “without a name.” Instead, some people have too many.

One might have a name to put on forms, one their friends use, and one given to them when their crimes are exposed.

The trouble comes in letting that person pretend all those names are separate people.

Much as a child might demand a nightlight at bedtime, the nomadic Corzarian Flotilla travels the galaxy towing a white dwarf star behind.

They need a ridiculous amount of energy to move the star, and it offers no real benefit— except that it makes them feel brave enough to cross the endless dark.

There’s a reason the sea seems more and more agitated.
If a tear falls directly into a body of water, a little bit of the emotion behind that tear goes with it.
Each tear isn’t very powerful on its own. But the world is very old and very sad.
And the sea never forgets.

“There’s really only one love story: Picture hands moving in the dark, almost touching, then slipping off into forever.

There is a point where they’re closest —sometimes an evening, sometimes 70 years, but the speed can’t change the trajectory.

We’re just arguing about the shape of a moment.”

“You know that feeling you get walking out of a theater after seeing a movie and it feels like you’re still in the film.”
“Yeah, and you have to give your mind a second to catch up.”
“I feel that way now, lying here with you, like this can’t be real.”
“Then let’s stay and sit through the credits.”

“What kind of books do you write?”
“You’ll judge me.”
“Never!”
“OK…I write romances about falling in love with a monster.”
“Like a sexy vampire?”
“Worse.”
“Zombie?”
“Worse.”
“Flesh eating slime?”
“Worse.”
“OK, I give up.”
“My last one was about an investment banker.”
“We can’t be friends anymore.”

Right back at ya!

“Have fun at the ball, but remember: the magic wears off at 9:30.”
“The ball goes until midnight!”
“I can’t sleep while the spell is active and if I’m not out by 10, I’m a real nightmare the next day.”
“But the prince!”
“If you can’t close the deal by 9, no amount of magic is going to help.”

People said we should use AI to build laundry robots. So we did.

Then everyone complained that the robots wadded the clothes up into wrinkled little balls.

The solution was simple! All people had to do was soak, press, and refold their clothes.

But no one appreciated the ironing of the situation.

As a kid, I’d pretend to be a submarine in the bath.
I’d fill the tub all the way up, then hold my nose, shut my eyes and dive, imagining I was a deep sea explorer searching for new life.
I only had the courage to open my eyes down there once. The uncoiling form I saw still comes to me in my dreams.

The door keeps opening wider, swinging on its hinge, forever revealing more of the room.
It’s gone all the way around five times before she realizes she can’t see where she came in.
The door is still opening, speeding up, forever faster and wider. All she can do is run and try not to be left behind.

Day-old bread is still good.
Milk is fine after a week.
Hard cheese can last month or more.
It’s fine to wear last season’s fashions.
Last year’s music still hits.
Movies transcend decades.
Art can inspire for centuries.
But a joke can turn so quickly that curdles while it’s still in your mouth.

The bullets didn’t miss; they slid off his forehead like butter on a hot skillet.

But after the battle was over, he was filled with doubt. He’d been injured before. So was this a newly acquired superpower? Or a one-time miracle? What was the least insane way to figure out why he was still alive?

Your dawn is someone else’s sunset. If your team wins, another lies defeated. So much joy comes at someone else’s cost that the trade seems inevitable.

So when we met happy visitors from another world, we were enraged. Somehow, they must be taking something from us. And we needed to get it back.

Trees are voyeurs and incurable gossips.

They perceive the world through slight vibrations in the air, like a combination of hearing and echolocation.

Then this information is shared through root networks and discussed like it’s a tv show.

And they’re all so excited for the series finale of you.

I got cancer when I was 28. They told me I was going to die, so I bought a headstone. But then I just kept on living.

Last year I changed my name. So now I own a slab of granite commemorating someone who doesn’t exist.

I put it in a nearby field so I can visit it to mourn the years in between.

The Estuary Boys
Tin Zepplin
Queen Dowager
Simon and Garfunkel and Not Simon
Beige Sabbath
Men Who Could Work
They Might Be Taller Than Average
Acceptably Live Crew
The Dave Matthews Solo Experience

You must kill an enemy three times.
First, destroy the body, but don’t stop there.
Next, tear apart the story; they weren’t what they seemed; what happened wasn’t what it looked like.
Finally, you have to burn the name until no one can say it again; until people feel guilty for even bringing it up.

Sometimes a particularly large bacterium will switch sides during an infection.
It will try to destroy its fellow invaders, now fighting to protect the body it has come to know as home.
Usually it falls in battle, but sometimes it triumphs, only to learn that white blood cells don’t make exceptions.

“Do griffins give birth to live young or lay eggs?”
“Most broods are 50-50.”
“Why?”
“The weak need a defense against being eaten in utero, but the strong move too much for a shell to form.”
“That’s needlessly complicated.”
“Everything about griffins is complicated. You should see their litter box.”

She turns off the kitchen light before she go to bed each night. But it’s always on again in the morning.
So she sets up a camera to catch herself sleepwalking.
And that’s how she finds out she has a secret roommate who gets very hungry in the middle of the night.

“There’s a ghost in my knife.

At first I guessed it was a murder victim seeking justice.

Then I thought it was a killer bound forever to their favorite weapon.

Or maybe a warlock trapped during a ritual gone wrong.

Turns out he’s just some guy who really liked knives and won’t leave mine alone.”