Category Archives: Microfiction


Frolicking in the woods of Appalachia, our hearts singing in the quiet beauty of its protection, we follow the colored shafts of sunlight, their shoots of gold and green choosing our paths. In the midst of our home, letting our hands slip at a fork, we part to different ways, each caught by a foreign

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Organic Magic

His head fit so snugly in her pocket that when the eyes blinked she felt it on her thigh. She chuckled when she saw the sign in front of the burnt shell of the chapel. An “r” had been removed, and an “a” and a “t” added so that it read “incantation” instead of “incarnation”. 

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Purpose Built

It was a featured section of the country park but seldom used. The last rainstorm had destabilized the high banking access. The water was cold and slow moving – delightful. He stripped and peeled off the faux-human dermis before plunging into the old reservoir basin, again wondering if he was the only hybrid left. A figure in a gillie-suit emptied

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The Atlanta Underground

Isn’t an escape route for generations of slaves, nor a rail to any freedom. It’s merely a metro subway to under-street shops. A homeless Black man in a dirty T-shirt, reflecting through scratched portals, searches for purpose. He only sees spilled chances in a milk-washed world that he can’t cry over. He stares in vain.  ~by John C.

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In the beginning were the heavens and the earth made. And the glory of stars filled the virgin dark. No neighborhood of space was empty. In the end, when the thin film of time stretches to the point of breaking, only black holes will remain to zombie the graveyard universe. ~by John C. Mannone


Soon after the bullet split into my flesh, through my organs, I saw blood trace the sand. It slid down the curves of the earth and drew images no one would ever notice. Somber art only I could appreciate. Illustrations along the canvas of vermilion told my tale—a tome of an outlaw, wanted, someone who

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Small Potatoes

Crooks. Small time rail robbers. Shuttle swipers. Two-circuit thieves. They call us whatever they like, depending on the planet. We like freedom fighters, but the universe hardly cares. Not really. If we could afford to buy the food, supplies, or tech, we would. Probably. We put food on the table, educate and vaccinate our kids, and when

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House is Haunted

Never believed in the paranormal. Then, Zephyr, a woman who had hung herself in our home one hundred years ago appeared. The lady hovered from a transparent rope attached to the ceiling. Cabinet doors would open when she’d point at them from her spot. At first she scared the hell out of us. Eventually, we got used to having

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