#writever Écho
"C'est un problème", convint Éléna la Curieuse. "Krek le Vif m'a lancé un sort d'aspiration de Mana, et j'ai lancé un sort d'écho. Du coup, là, il aspire sa propre Mana en boucle fermée. Bah, après tout, il finira bien par s'épuiser tout seul."
#writever Echo
"That's a problem", agreed Elena the Curious. "Krek the Swift cast a Mana vacuuming spell on me, and I cast an echo spell. So, right now, he's vacuuming his own Mana in a closed loop. Oh well, leave him, he'll slowly deplete himself."
For Sale. Meteor Defence. Never Used.
Ohai #MicroFiction readers, here is the weekly collection of my #PowerOnStoryToot posts for the first week of December. As always your commissions, subscriptions and tips are DEEPLY appreciated at https://ko-fi.com/unixbigot.
Mon 1st December 2025: Meritogalaxy https://aus.social/@Unixbigot/115641224967431922
Tue 2 Dec: Timescooped https://aus.social/@Unixbigot/115646436020586605
Wed 3 Dec: Sunny Side Up https://aus.social/@Unixbigot/115652687424090743
Thu 4 Dec: Thank U https://aus.social/@Unixbigot/115657986197922692
Fri 5 Dec: The Worm that Returned https://aus.social/@Unixbigot/115662952011064788
Sat 6 Dec: Adblock Minus https://aus.social/@Unixbigot/115669568554005806
Sun 7 Dec: BCP https://aus.social/@Unixbigot/115674679130861800
Afterlife is what you make of it. The kingdom of heaven is over there, up that hill; everything you see hereabouts is the waiting room. Some traditions told that heaven only has room for a certain number (twenty thousand, a hundred, whatever) when the gates open at the end of days. This has led to a certain amount of jostling up by the gates, and rumours of some seriously fucked up Highlander/ Fight-Club shit. But most of us just get on with our lives. Afterlives. You don’t have to eat, for example, but it’s nice. My cafe serves an, ahem, heavenly flat white, and the bacon bushes and egg berries from our garden make rolls that are—I’m sorry, the temptation is irresistible—divine. I heard the gates opened last week. I won’t be going, and I haven’t noticed much of a drop in trade.
What is an etymological fabulist, you ask. An etymological fabulist is someone who takes an unusual word or phrase, sometimes a place or personal name, and #proceeds to make up an origin for it. For example:
"Oh, his family name is Perlmutter? Interesting: that comes from the phrase 'Pearl Mutterer'--the ancient profession of speaking to sand and divining where pearl-containing oysters could be found. Long ago, kings and princes vied for the services of pearl mutterers!"
Almost a year has passed by. Some rains have returned. Charlie Brown had sighed as he plants one of the few pinecones he has saved, “My therapist calls me a blockhead. I know she’d say I’m too optimistic.”
He has come back to find several have sprouted. He feels pride and vindicated. And goes off to find his pals.
They return, a chorus of trombones singing carols they thought they had forgotten as some fresh snow falls on the hillside.
#MicroFiction #Christmas
It was a dark and stormy night. Rough for a landing; there had been a moment when the gig threatened to trip in the shorebreak and scatter all the goods, but the weather had kept the Revenue in their cliff-top shelter. Two dozen laden ponies and four riders plodded and stumbled up the track from the cove, their muffled hooves crunching dully. Once through the village they would be swallowed again by the dark, free to drop off their loads. Jack worried about the village. Most of the people could be trusted to keep to their own concerns. The parson was a drunk, but he'd told his neighbours what was good for them. Roger had told Iris he had some more French dolls in this load, to reward children that could hold their tongues, but he still fretted about the Revenue man's friendly, conspiratorial way of talking to the kids. The little convoy turned right as they reached the village street, and on the wider road, Rog nudged Malley into a trot.
The wizard delivered a box. "Fifty amulets per spec."
"Which anyone can use to, at the cost of a drop of blood, instantly travel anywhere they can see clearly?"
"So like fifty yards for anyone but the young. Quite pointless. Who will you sell these to?"
"Those who buy my invention: binoculars."
"I give up. How did you get into the system?"
"They invited me in."
"Explaiiiin?"
"They asked me to make a login. I'm now CountAlucard, if you want me."
"Oh my God."
"I'm thinking of registering for the blood donation service."
No funny business
“I was eating pasta when central called. I came as fast as I could.”
“Oh, that explains the napkin you still have around your neck.”
“Oops. Just a second. [Pulls on the napkin. There’s another napkin tied to it, and a third, and a fourth…]
[Five minutes later, there’s a waist-high pile of napkins on the floor.]
“Alright. Now that I’ve taken care of this nasty business, are you the witness?”
“Yes. I am.”
“They tell me you saw everything. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Yes. The perpetrator came in, gun in hand, and he shouted ‘This is a hold up! No funny business.'”
“Go on.”
“He ran to the counter, but then he noticed the victim.”
“Can you identify the victim?”
“Yes. It is that man, there, on the floor, with a gunshot wound to the head, and not breathing.”
“Checks out. So the perp noticed the victim. That’s when he shot the victim?”
“Yes, then he said slowly, ‘What did I say? No… funny… business!!!!'”
“Why do you think he shot the victim?”
“I think that’s because he was a professional clown.”
“The perp was a professional clown?”
“No, the victim was a professional clown.”
“Yes, a professional clown *is* a funny business. I can see how the perp would have been pissed. Say, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an accountant, why?”
“Oh, I would have pegged you as a sex worker.”
“A sex worker? How do you reckon?”
“I use an abacus. What is it to you?”
“No, I mean how to you figure that I’m a sex worker.”
“You know how they say you should dress the job you want to have?”
“Yes.”
“Your nun’s outfit screams sex worker to me.”
The wizard Pax arranged his crystal ball and set it to record. He stood up straight and said, "The Van der Velde mausoleum behind me is considered among the most haunted in this kingdom - but perhaps the ghost of Florin Van der Velde is unhappy with how overgrown and decrepit it has become. I'm going to clear away the brush and undergrowth with the aid of magical power tools, and then we'll pressure-wash the entire thing with holy water...."
102. #MicroRezi zur #Phantastik #Microfiction #Anthologie von @VolkerDornemann
#Naniten3
Leben 2.0
von #volkerdornemann
Virtuelle Welten sind verlockend, machen süchtig und manche_r verbringt dort nach und nach mehr Zeit als in der realen Welt. Wenn man nur lange genug als ihr/sein Avatar verbracht hat, kann es schon mal passieren, dass man den Bezug zum echten Leben verliert und dann zu sich selbst. Diejenigen, deren [...]
https://noosphaere.de/volker-dornemann-naniten-3-teil-6/#leben20
[AI image]
![[Image source: genAI, Midjourney; Volker Dornemann (Book cover)]
Hintergrund:
Midjourney Prompt:
A disheveled 40-year-old woman sitting in a cluttered hoarding living room, surrounded by piles of papers and trash scattered across the floor and furniture, staring intensely at her smartphone, dim ambient lighting, closed window blinds, dark atmosphere, messy interior, realistic photography style, cinematic composition, shallow depth of field, gloomy mood, indoor scene --raw
Linke untere Ecke:
Cover des Buchs "Naniten 3" von Volker Dornemann
Text:
Volker Dornemann: Leben 2.0. Naniten 3](https://files.mastodon.social/media_attachments/files/115/723/495/412/661/249/original/dfd1c9bbbaaace6e.png)
Today's word for #WIPSnips is "blanket" and I have a very cute story with a twist on my website.
(Under 800 words) 💙📚
ss.lucidillusions.in/bsky/2023/11...
#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WritersLift #AmWriting #MicroFiction #FlashFiction
RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:jecquekt6dif7ctvonpphsu6/post/3m7z7ut3fnt2c
« Sortie du secteur défense confirmée.
Le bourdonnement emblématique des injecteurs de trame s'élevait au rythme de la pression cadencée des navigateurs sur les leviers de commande.
— Angle d'accélération, 17 degrés ascendants.
— Invocation des dômes d'isolation harmonique. »
À la tête d'un escadron, la barge de commandement quittait l'aéro-forteresse vers la lentille de phase.
Dans son dos, le ciel de Liothan se fendit. De frêles esquifs s'élançaient sur le bastion affaibli.
The #MastoPrompt for Monday 15 December 2025 is:
The poem or story can include the prompt word or be about the prompt word.
@ me, if you like, or just include the #MastoPrompt tag (to allow people to follow or filter their feeds), or keep your work to yourself - all the options are good as long as you're writing.
If you're including an image please do include alt-text if you’re able to.
#Writing #SmallPoems #Poetry #Fiction #MicroFiction #SmallStories
Today's Wandering Shop Stories #prompt is #proceeds. Feel like writing something short and sweet that has the word "proceeds" in it? Check out the definitions of the word at: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/proceeds Join in and tag it with #wss366! #writing #WritingLife #microfiction h/t @tobadzistsini
#writever Brumeuse
Je ne sais pas où il est écrit qu'une Sorcière doit habiter une bicoque au fond d'une foret brumeuse mais s'il n'y a pas le Haut Débit, une route bitumée jusqu'à la prochaine ville et une voiture de fonction, c'est sans moi. À vous de voir.
#writever Misty
I don't care where it is written that a Witch must live in a shack deep within a misty forest, but that shack better have high-speed Internet, an asphalt road to the nearest city, and a company car if you want me in there. Your choice.
How hopeful can one man be when a screaming weasel goes popping off at the mouth?
It's the reason I'm here, a snub-nose revolver heavy in my hand, waiting in a stolen car.
A hunched-over woman with a cane doesn't see me through the window tint. She shuffles past and waits for the crosswalk light to change. Before it does, she reaches for her chest and crumples to the ground, seemingly in slow motion.
No one's around. I curse and pop my seatbelt, shoving the revolver into the glove compartment.
I can hear her gasping as I approach, her curled-over back undulating with each breath. "Not again," she says.
"Ma'am, can I help you?" I'm reaching for her shoulder.
"Yes, you can help me," she says, and I'm lifting her up from the ground. A glint of steel appears from her gloved hand. "You can help me by keeping your mouth shut, you fucking rat."
I feel the bullets blast through the front of my skull.
Milliseconds, then nothing.
#MastoPrompt #wss366 #wordweavers #writerscoffeeclub #microfiction
