Microfictions: Bite Sized Stories for Bite Sized Moments I

September 2023 Collection

Acorn Sculpture


The bell of her shop door jingled. She stopped just short of the fragments of last night's work. Heat rushed to her face as her transparent wings buzzed. Alfred stood in the corner; his furry cheeks stuffed with the evidence. This would be the last time that squirrel would be allowed off his leash.

The Acorn Boat


The brook babbled in hushed tones, the light was harsh and searing. A woman, no more than a few inches tall with wings that glittered like broken glass, knelt at the water. Reverently she placed a tiny bundle wrapped in silk, on an acorn cap.

They would want to meet like this, she told herself as she had done before.

Tears trickled down her face as she set the cap floating. Down the brook, it bobbed. Alone, she stood at the edge and watched it go. Around the bend, the acorn top vanished. For the first time in days, she tried to smile. They would see each other again, she thought, when it’s my turn to float around the babbling bend.

She couldn't quite smile, but her tears did slow.

Little Glass Jar

The sun on my face,
The wind in my hair, under my wings;
Everything's just beyond reach
Past the walls of my little glass jar.


Too Late


Her reflection rippled on the lake’s surface, the starlight blurry where it passed through her translucent form. Beneath the velvet of her dark blue choker was a grisly sight; the imprint of a braid so deep her soul could not forget. She remembered that day vividly, it had been her triumph. But now, years have come and gone. The world had moved on. People she knew had changed.

Resolve faltered at last revealing a quiet whisper: I should have found another way.

Plus One


I was ready at my perch when dawn broke. The leaves of the ash hid me from view as I readied my charcoal stick. As usual the humans came out in force with the sun’s light.

A cry came from one of the tents, a woman was carrying a new bundle. The past few days she had been hidden away, dealing with her swollen belly. That morning, the swelling showed to be greatly reduced. She held the bundle close. It required milk frequently.

I looked at the bound stack of leaves in my lap. Dates tallies and symbols littered the pages. I flipped to a new leaf and scribbled the date. Dutifully, “+1” was added as the first note of the day.

Life of a Tree

Years beneath an open sky,
Generations of family stand nearby.
Skin that's rough, weathered,
Arms reach ever higher,
Each breath of the wind causing a gentle sway.
And there they will stay,
Until death brings them downward.


Man for Hire


Beneath the shot glass, a card stands out on the counter: "If you’ve got a problem, I can remove it: Inquire at 21st and Jerry between 11 pm and 4am."

Arrival


Fog rolled out of the stasis tank as the whine of the hyperdrive coils wound down. The screens came on, millions of stars decorated the black expanse that formed the backdrop for a large planet of green and blue: their trip was over.

Tiny

Tiny hands,
Tiny fingers,
Tiny toes
And a teeny tiny nose.
Those big blue eyes
Capture your heart with ease.

Alright


  Three tables of rowdy people cheering and carrying on. Two sounds mixing, the thud of the stereo, and the crackle of your soda. One cold feeling of glass in your hand. You stretch and feel the tension leave, and you realize that you’ll be all right.

Celebrate


The pluck of lyres penetrates the dark followed by the songs of flutes and pipes. Lights dance between the trees carried by frail wings and tiny bodies. Tables and bellies fill with plenty, and wine flows freely to wash the bounty down. I raise my wine to another toast, and sing yet another praise to the god of the hunt and his goddess of bounty.
 

Setting Seeds

Pastel blooms nestle in a green bed of clover
Each murmur of wind they sway softly.
“Drink me,” into the air they whisper
The bees then come swiftly,
Seeking the pollen that will become their elixir.
Duty done, the flowers shrivel;
Their seeds drop to dance again the next spring.

Garden Chill


Cabbage, chard, and lettuce leaves sway inside wooden borders. You grab another fistful of straw and tuck them in, pulling unwelcome seedlings as you go. Each weed taken makes another notch in the tension. Each vegetable nurtured forming another drop of calm. You look back on orderly rows, and smile.