Posts Tagged ‘writing’
{ January 6, 2010 @ 12:16 am }
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{ Fairy tale, Flash fiction }
{ Tags: afterlife, dead, death, Fairy tale, fiction, flash, Graceslayer, Lady D, life, lullaby, reborn, short story, soul, wolf, wolves, writing } · { }
Winter landscapes exposed me to you, Graceslayer, to your blood thirst and your favorite toys.
My dead body hangs on your wall and your little town could not be redder today.
But, Lady D says that she is lying in wait for you, Graceslayer.
Lady D says she’ll quake the life out of your retarded being. She says that in my next life I’ll get a toy made of your hide.
But… I do not want the toy. I just want to live again, howl at the moon and run free with my pack, without you in sight.
And you know what, Graceslayer – that is how it shall be; this is your last life, Lady D says. Your soul perished when you sent that bullet through my heart.
Yes, my dead body hangs on your wall today, but I shall be reborn tomorrow, while your days are numbered. Lady D is counting.
There are laws above yours, Graceslayer.
{ January 2, 2010 @ 12:21 am }
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{ Flash fiction }
{ Tags: 1st of January, cell, conspiracy, drinking, fiction, Flash fiction, hangover, New Year, writing } · { }
I am coughing.
It is the 1st of January and everyone I know is hungover. Children, too. They are sugar hungover.
Yesterday afternoon I witnessed how my friends’ status messages on Facebook and Twitter became less and less comprehensible. Soon I understood that those, usually razor-sharp guys and girls were gone. They were sucked out from behind their screens, bytes and bytes per seconds away from me, and replaced by single-celled organisms entrusted with the task of typing random stuff on and on and on.
I was not coughing yesterday when the transformation started. But now I am. I feel worse every minute, as my friends return back to how they were (or so those fast-multiplying, quick-learning clusters of cells would like me to believe).
{ December 31, 2009 @ 3:50 pm }
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{ Flash fiction, Microfiction, Published elsewhere }
{ Tags: best 2009, Flash fiction, NOT, writing } · { }
Doug Mathewson picks my story Androids Can Be Bored as his favorite flash of 2009! Thank you Doug, I am so honored and happy!
More favorites at the NOT, Michael J. Solender’s blog (which, I must add, he “DESIGNED MOSTLY TO ENTERTAIN HIMSELF”).
{ December 31, 2009 @ 2:50 pm }
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{ Microfiction, Published elsewhere }
{ Tags: Blink Ink, Flash fiction, Microfiction, print, writing } · { }
Lynn Alexander and Doug Mathewson have produced the first issue of Blink|Ink – Print. A free PDF is now available:
Writers as Jim Wittenberg, Michael J Solender, Paul D. Brazill, Robin Stratton and others are featured there.
And, there you can also read a story of mine, ‘Why I Hate Tolstoy‘.
{ April 13, 2009 @ 10:30 am }
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{ Flash fiction, Love, Moments }
{ Tags: black hole, fiction, heart, hurt, Love, lovers, pain, people, red dress, sea, short story, time, travel, wedding dress, writing } · { }
On a sunny summer day I was lying on a pier, with my head resting on your lap. There were no waves. The turquoise sea was calm, almost silent.
I heard the buzz coming from the people sitting in a small café on the beach and shouts of children in the background. They were there, cut and pasted from another time, another place. They did not see us, in spite of the train of my dress covering about one-third of the pier, coloring it red. We were there in our own invisible bubble, more real for us than reality itself was; non existing for others.
… continue reading this entry.
{ March 19, 2009 @ 3:56 pm }
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{ Moments }
{ Tags: angel, cat, death, innocence, killings, life, murderer, short story, vignette, writing } · { }
A murderer is in my bed, lying next to me, breathing silently. She looks like the most innocent creature that ever walked the Earth, nothing but gentle softness resides in her transparent aura.
Her cheek on my hand feels light as a feather. Her body is warm and dry like a good summer day. All the hugs and kisses stained her with my perfume; she smells so sweet. The scent feels different and even better on her than the pure concentrate from the bottle.
I kiss her perfect little forehead and she makes a small sound while dreaming of her past and future killings.
My little angel kills with her innocence unharmed. No, she never regrets it. Still, she always gets confused in front of Death. She does not understand. Where did Life go?
I struggle hard to ignore all the killings, I do not want to think of them. I love her as she is, my little furry darling angel. My little accidental murderer.
{ February 25, 2009 @ 9:38 pm }
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{ Flash fiction, Uncategorized }
{ Tags: dialog, God, male, medicine, religion, short story, voice, writing } · { }
“You should go out and meet some new people. Or some old friends of yours.”
“I have no friends.”
“Of course you do. Anyway, you should not be alone all day long, every day. You must feel lonely.”
“I am not lonely. I am not alone either, God is often with me.”
… continue reading this entry.
{ February 11, 2009 @ 10:52 pm }
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{ Fairy tale, Flash fiction, Love }
{ Tags: eternal life, fairytale, fiction, hate, immortality, Love, monologue, return, short story, stake, story, witch, writing } · { }
Dear Joe,
Take a deep breath and keep your eyes wide open. You knew the truth all this time, yet you refused to believe in it.
You stood there for some time and stared without blinking, Joe. They were approaching, all of them. They were coming closer and closer while the smoke caressed my body, attempting to hide me from them.
My bones were heated to stay warm for all the ice ages to come, and you, my love, you were the only one who did not whisper God’s name and make the sign of the cross over your heart, horrified after I broke into laughter. You were the only one who dared to come close to the stake and spit on the witch from The North. Did they praise your courage in the years that followed, my darling? I am laughing again, Joe… but, tell me, did you spit in an attempt to extinguish the fire, or because you hated me for leaving you?
I am being honest, Joe. I admit – I left you. It sounds like a fairytale – you loved me because I put a spell on you, while I did not care. But, when I fell in love with you, Joe… you are the only one who knows how I can love.
I brought you back to life and broke the spell. You could have left, but you stayed, Joe… and I, I came back. Eight hundred years later, I still love you.
{ January 4, 2009 @ 8:08 pm }
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{ Fairy tale, Flash fiction }
{ Tags: cat, children, cloud, dialog, fairy, fiction, human, perception, playing sandbox, sandbox, short story, story, writing } · { }
Max was playing in the sand. The castles he was making with help of a small, plastic sand shovel were quite simple in shape and lacked many details. Still, he was doing the best he could. He was humming and looked happily engaged in his sculpting activity.
The Blue Fairy silently glided from a cloud and came to Max from behind. She tenderly touched his head. Max got so scared when he felt her touch that he dropped the shovel, jumped aside and yelled.
… continue reading this entry.
{ December 28, 2008 @ 12:36 pm }
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{ Flash fiction }
{ Tags: fiction, frog, monologue, sense, short story, writing } · { }
Stop telling me that there is no frog in our flat. I heard it this morning again and I know it is here somewhere.
Yes, I know that we live in a city, but everyone has to live somewhere. Frogs have to live somewhere, too.
Yes, I know that we live on the 17th floor, but frogs can jump. I know they can not jump that high, but there are elevators.
No, they cannot press buttons, but they can enter an elevator when someone else does and travel with that person.
No, it did not ring the bell, and no, it did not have the key to our apartment. It probably came in when you opened the door going to or coming from work.
No, you would not have noticed that. You would not notice a frog if it sat on the top of my head.
Wait, I hear it again! Won’t you please shut up? I prefer listening to the frog.
No, this frog does not have nicer voice than you do; it is the content I like more. Stop making sense!
{ December 21, 2008 @ 7:45 pm }
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{ Flash fiction }
{ Tags: after death, dialog, fiction, Flash fiction, grandmother, shoes, story, writing } · { }
-You look taller. Is it the shoes? Wait, no, these are your old shoes, right?
– I guess I just got taller.
– You also look slimmer. I like your dress, I do not remember you wearing it before. I did not think that Laura Ashley style was your cup of tea, but you do look sweet in it.
– You were not born yet when I used to wear it. It was in fashion back then.
… continue reading this entry.
{ December 19, 2008 @ 11:11 am }
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{ Flash fiction }
{ Tags: alone, cold, death, Flash fiction, flower, orchid, species, story, writing } · { }
It was cold, very cold. It seemed that he was alone in the apartment. Probably in the whole building. Maybe in the whole city. It certainly felt like that. The change occurred while he was sleeping. There was no sound and that felt new. He could not remember experiencing the complete silence ever before.
He has been awake for several hours now and the electricity apparently went off while he was asleep. That has never happened before.
… continue reading this entry.
{ December 14, 2008 @ 8:36 pm }
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{ Flash fiction, Moments }
{ Tags: contact, fear, fiction, Flash fiction, insomnia, legs, pink, rat, story, writing } · { }
They were pearly whitish-pink in color, tiny, deceivingly transparent and delicate, steadily moving forward on the top of the balcony fence.
Those light pink, small legs were carefully avoiding drops of evening rain collected together into miniature puddles on cold metal. They reminded me of our hands. I wanted to touch them and hold them; they looked so warm and alive.
***
I wandered around the apartment that night, tormented by insomnia. In the moment that must have been an odd synchrony of our paths, I looked through the glass balcony door and saw those fragile pink legs engaged in movement; a hairy grayish body and a head with a long nose above; small dark eyes that did not register me behind the glass.
I was always horrified by a mere thought of those creatures. I used to scream soundlessly before the imaginary pictures of them. Yet, all I cared about back that night was not to scare it. I moved carefully and silently away from the door.
{ December 12, 2008 @ 9:47 am }
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{ Flash fiction, Moments }
{ Tags: eye lens, fiction, Flash fiction, human, robot, story, writing } · { }
On some days I get reminded that someone made me a dual creature. I am human and I am robot.
They do not know that I know that I am robot as well. My human being is hiding it from the robot intruder and from them. It is my own little secret.
Today I opened the dishwasher after the washing program was done and the steam from it fogged my left eye lens. My robot reflexes were fast, but this time my human perception was faster. The robot reflexes quickly moved my head away from the steam, turning it to the right while instantly rolling the semi-organic lenses down, covering the previously exposed hard robot lenses.
The movement came too late for my left eye, and that is how the human perception came into the picture; I saw my robot eye lens fogging for a few milliseconds, if that long. Anyway – long enough. I am human and I am robot.
Stumble it!
MissUnderstood 