I COULDN'T HELP NOTICING THAT YOU WERE HAVING SOME TROUBLE. PLEASE FORGIVE MY PRESUMPTUOUSNESS, BUT I'VE FINISHED YOUR MANUSCRIPT.
Showing posts with label microfiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label microfiction. Show all posts
Saturday, February 22, 2014
132.
When Clementine woke in the morning, she found the typewriter sitting beside the bed, regarding her with a solicitous tilt of the return bar. There was a piece of paper in the roller, and with a groggy sense of bewilderment she read:
Sunday, February 2, 2014
112.
In the beginning, before she understood what it wanted, it felt as if light followed her. It bent around her, nearly imperceptible, but it made the wrong shadows. It felt like a sentient thing, tracking her.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
She decided. Releasing the tension in her fingers, she let the strands of light unravel. Pulling her index fingers towards her, she started over. The girl cast on a strand of light and began to knit.
As her fingers flew, and the afternoon sun began to weaken and thin, the girl draped the sheet of light over her lap, working furiously faster and faster. Just as the light turned silver, she finished the last row. Taking a deep breath, and hooking her fingers firmly into the shimmering, shifting edges of her cloak of light, she swung it around her shoulders and wrapped it tight.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
She decided. Releasing the tension in her fingers, she let the strands of light unravel. Pulling her index fingers towards her, she started over. The girl cast on a strand of light and began to knit.
As her fingers flew, and the afternoon sun began to weaken and thin, the girl draped the sheet of light over her lap, working furiously faster and faster. Just as the light turned silver, she finished the last row. Taking a deep breath, and hooking her fingers firmly into the shimmering, shifting edges of her cloak of light, she swung it around her shoulders and wrapped it tight.
111.
In the beginning, before she understood what it wanted, it felt as if light followed her. It bent around her, nearly imperceptible, but it made the wrong shadows. It felt like a sentient thing, tracking her.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
She decided. Releasing the tension in her fingers, she let the strands of light unravel. Pulling her index fingers towards her, she started over. The girl cast on a strand of light and began to knit.
As her fingers flew, and the afternoon sun began to weaken and thin, the girl draped the sheet of light over her lap, working furiously faster and faster.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
She decided. Releasing the tension in her fingers, she let the strands of light unravel. Pulling her index fingers towards her, she started over. The girl cast on a strand of light and began to knit.
As her fingers flew, and the afternoon sun began to weaken and thin, the girl draped the sheet of light over her lap, working furiously faster and faster.
Friday, January 31, 2014
110.
In the beginning, before she understood what it wanted, it felt as if light followed her. It bent around her, nearly imperceptible, but it made the wrong shadows. It felt like a sentient thing, tracking her.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
She decided. Releasing the tension in her fingers, she let the strands of light unravel. Pulling her index fingers towards her, she started over. The girl cast on a strand of light and began to knit.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
She decided. Releasing the tension in her fingers, she let the strands of light unravel. Pulling her index fingers towards her, she started over. The girl cast on a strand of light and began to knit.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
109.
In the beginning, before she understood what it wanted, it felt as if light followed her. It bent around her, nearly imperceptible, but it made the wrong shadows. It felt like a sentient thing, tracking her.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
One summer day, she sat in full sun, stretching her limbs like a cat. As she flexed her fingers, luxuriating in the tingle of muscle over bone, she saw the light bent with her fingers. Where she moved, it moved, and she was pulling it in towards her in strands. Thick ribbons of pale sunlight that curved in and popped away again as her fingers bent.
She found that by manipulating her fingers, she could weave the strands of light together; the thicker the cord, the stronger it pulled at her. The tug was gentle, but insistent. As she wove, her fingers taut with ropes of light, her hands and wrists seemed to be pulled into an elsewhere.
The girl became uneasy. She understood that she could keep going, but where would she go? She held her fingers still, thinking.
She was wary, but excited. She could do this thing. This thing that no one else could do, that no one else seemed to see her doing. Pulling at the rope of light a little, experimenting, she saw that she could see through her hands and forearms. "How will I make this big enough to hold all of me?" she wondered.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
91.
He licked his paw, stood and with a nod, loped away across the hill. The man turned and started down the slope to meet the question that was coming.
Friday, January 3, 2014
82.
The fox looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then sat and curled his tail neatly. "May I make a suggestion?" he asked.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
80.
The man stood, and turned slowly to face the sensation of waiting coming from behind him. To his surprise, it wasn't the pack, waiting for his decision. Instead, his eyes met the fox.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Sunday, December 29, 2013
77.
There was no good choice to make. One way meant putting them in peril. The other way meant sacrificing his peace of mind, maybe forever. He stood perfectly still, weighing the air, inhabiting the long moment before the decision.
Friday, December 6, 2013
54.
Personal Ad:
Me: Sock. Blue, with hedgehogs printed all over and purple trim around the ankle. Currently living in one-sock accommodations in a dryer lint trap. There's only one of me, but I'm working on growing and becoming a more complete version of myself. I'm in good shape, no holes, and I have nice color and shape.
You: Running shoes slung over telephone wire, any label. I don't care what you look like, but I want to meet someone with a sense of adventure, someone who's not afraid to take a leap, you know? Must have sturdy laces.
I think we could really go places.
Me: Sock. Blue, with hedgehogs printed all over and purple trim around the ankle. Currently living in one-sock accommodations in a dryer lint trap. There's only one of me, but I'm working on growing and becoming a more complete version of myself. I'm in good shape, no holes, and I have nice color and shape.
You: Running shoes slung over telephone wire, any label. I don't care what you look like, but I want to meet someone with a sense of adventure, someone who's not afraid to take a leap, you know? Must have sturdy laces.
I think we could really go places.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
41.
The officers looked at each other in dismay.
"How are we going to contain her? Everything she touches turns to jellybeans."
"How are we going to contain her? Everything she touches turns to jellybeans."
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
30.
Herman took a deep breath, looked into his beloved's eyes, and swallowed the dragonfly. "It is between us now," he said.
Friday, October 25, 2013
day 12.
image by Alex Andreev
"When the Fade happened, we started building up. Trying to get closer to the - do you have a light? Thanks. Like that. I'll never get used to that. Cold fire. Just white and grey where the flame should burn yellow. Building up. We thought being closer to the sun would bring back the colors. Maybe it should have, I don't know. But the Fade kept fading, and everything looks murky higher up. A newsprint planet. Now shadow is the same as color, and maybe that's fading too. One day we'll be flat white. Just noise in fog."
Sunday, October 20, 2013
day 7.
A very short Portland horror story.
Atticus shrieked at his cowering assistant, who clung desperately to the listing, creaking remains of Hawthorne Bridge, inches from the muscular and deadly tentacle crushing the metal. "You fool, you've doomed us all! I could have saved the city if only you'd brought a vegan sacrificial virgin. The monster is gluten free! GLUTEN FREE!"
Atticus shrieked at his cowering assistant, who clung desperately to the listing, creaking remains of Hawthorne Bridge, inches from the muscular and deadly tentacle crushing the metal. "You fool, you've doomed us all! I could have saved the city if only you'd brought a vegan sacrificial virgin. The monster is gluten free! GLUTEN FREE!"
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