Another end to the week and another Free Fiction Friday! Last time, I posted a short collection of micro-fiction (stories less than 500 words). This week, a few more short shorts, but also adding some speculative haiku called Horrorku (for horror) and SciFaiku (for sci-fi).
By the way, most of these were written about 15 years ago – as experiments or practice or just having a blast exploring, putting words together. They appeared in such online zines as MicroHorror, Bewildering Stories, Flashshot, Aphelion, Scifaikuest, Mindflights, Thaumatrope, Tales from the Moonlit Path, and Long Story Short.
Hope you have fun with them. Let me know which bit of doggerel you enjoyed the most. And make it a great weekend!
Show, Don’t Tell
“Read to me what you’ve channeled so far,” she says.
I clear my throat. Death and destruction await the one…
“Cliché.” My muse frowns. “What else?”
I fumble at my manuscript and turn a page. Blindly, the Mummy exits the tomb…
“Derivative,” she says.
“But these are your ideas!” I protest.
“My ideas. Your anemic attempts.”
“This is my first stab at horror,” I rationalize.
“Ah, then,” she nods. “First rule of fiction—write what you know.”
“Could you tell me how?” I ask.
My muse produces a stiletto. “Here, let me show you instead.”
(The next poem is the same story structured as a horrorku.)
death and destruction…
cliché my muse scoffs
I falter once more
the mummy will rise…
banal she now cries
I weep at her feet
respite I plead
she frowns at my prayer
searing thoughts remain
the death of me
I’m now sweating blood
she starts to smile
write what you know
my muse says with a knife
and shows me how
race across earth’s open fields
first stop Saturn’s rings
on to diamond-like stars
white hot, young sun boasts
super nova still on fire
and replies, eat my dust
seed long forgotten
star pollen falls
fullness of time
magi from space
suitors from space
scatter gifts to earth
against velvet heavens
don Saturn’s rings
Twitter-Bytes (≤140 characters)
“I think our baby is a changeling!” I told my Stepford wife. So I wasn’t surprised when my doppelganger showed up and said I had to leave.
“Tell me how to write horror,” I beg my muse. “Write what you know,” she replies and pulls out a stiletto. “Here, let me show you now.”
I married a serial killer. Fortunately, he only murders strangers. But lately we’ve drifted apart; he said he didn’t know me anymore...
The Time Had Come
He sat in his chair and waited. She said she would come and he did not doubt it. She’d come for his roommate earlier and had taken him. Away. He knew it was only a matter of time.
He fidgeted. He wasn’t scared; he just didn’t want to go. But he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t have listened anyway – he’d seen her take plenty of others. Friends and acquaintances passed every so often. Most of them with smiles on their faces. He could never understand that. Where they were heading just wasn’t someplace he wanted to go.
You’ll see him again, she had said, laughing, when his roommate left. I know, he’d tried to respond. I know!
He soon heard footsteps; they were coming nearer. She was coming back like she said she would. For him.
“Time for supper, Mr. Grossman,” the aide called out, bubbly as ever. “Shall I take you to the dining room now?”
He grunted. What choice did he have? He’d had a stroke the previous year and couldn’t walk or talk. So the aide wheeled him down the corridor. He would see his roommate again as promised, at dinner. After all, she said she would come.
I’m sick and tired of being bossed around. We agreed on three wishes. But your last wish was always for three more. You could never quit. It was like a drug with you. "Your wish is my command." Yeah, right. My wish is my command now, baby.
Plus, you asked for impossibilities. Like wanting a plan for world peace. Or trying to understand the mind of a woman. You even wished for tasty jello. Unbelievable!
Al, from now on you'll be rubbing your own stupid lamp. I'm going into business for myself.
No longer yours,
All stories and poems (c) 2007-2022 Lyndon Perry
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