I really wanted to keep the weekly microfiction stuff up longer, say, for a year, but I procrastinated too much, and there’s no way I can finish something in the 10 minutes left of today. So I’ll cheat, and paste here the “cery short stories” I posted on Twitter. Each of those has to fit in a post with 140 characters. So, 17 stories, apart from one pair none related to the one before:
A cottage shaped like a tortoise walked by. People who thought golems had to be humanoid lacked imagination.
He watched the burning monster run away. The matches were his, but, “Why’d you have a spray bottle full with pure alcohol?” “For art.”
“Wow! Did you see that?” “I saw a giant flying lizard with giant claws and giant teeth, now come down here before it sees us!”
“I can’t believe you did that. He was aiming a gun at you!” “And now I have the gun.” “You’re crazy.” “Occasionally. It works.”
“You OK?” “I think. Maybe bruised my elbow.” “I think you broke that guy’s nose.” Nico sounded enthusiastic. “Good tradeoff, then.”
While dozens of chimaerologists failed taking over the world with monsters, Hael combined pig, sheep, and cow and made a fortune.
A truck got stuck in a too-narrow street, on the way to a ferry only for cars. It was the third this week, on Tuesday. Stupid GPS maps.
Gregor could deal with drinking blood and avoiding sunlight. Not so progress. Biometric identification to buy tobacco? Stake, please.
“Look! Listen! It’s marvelous! It’s thunder given a heartbeat! It’s-” “…lots of animals running in one direction.”
He wished for a partner who did not need to be told things like, “No, getting the lay of the land is NOT the same as getting laid.”
Anne watched the falling leaves and stomped any that didn’t turn over in the air. Those were airships of ant-sized pirate raiders.
It wasn’t the fact that she’d seen the cathedral 500 years ago already that made her queasy, but that she had forgotten until just now.
Daaren dreaded the coming evening. It couldn’t be good if preparations included a knife close to his neck, even if it was for shaving.
Nico saw he was impressed, what with him accidentally bumping into people. Inner ear damage seemed unlikely. Not that kind of concert.
“You’re standing under a mistletoe,” he said, trying to embrace her. The reaction? A shove, and, “That’s holly, you idiot.”
People approved of Gladys’ “show children consequences” stance, until she demonstrated “it’s fun until someone loses an eye”.
At age 5, he’d wanted to be a hydraulic shovel when he grew up. It took decades to save up for the cyborgification.