Ten microfiction pieces I wrote on Mastodon. Each was required to use a specific word, and to be shorter than five hundred characters long.


Cory followed the script he’d rehearsed during the pre-departure briefing session: joining the shouts to free Barabbas, then chanting “Crucify him!” with the mob as Jesus stepped forward.

As Cory sought a hiding place to trigger his return trip, he bumped into someone else with the same intent. He glanced back to see the rest of the crowd slipping through empty doorways or crouching behind barrels.

“Don’t look surprised,” the man said. “We’re all tourists.”


The beautiful redhead lay bound to a bed by her wrists and ankles. She wore feline ears and a tail and nothing else. “Help me, good sir,” she cried, “before my transformation into a cat is complete!”

“Uh-huh,” said the man sitting beside the bed, lit by the glow of his PC. “Can you wait? Trying to fix one more bug.”

She glowered at him and slipped free of her bindings. “If you’re still working, I’m going to go find something to eat.”

“Would you get me something too?”


“Your book of Bills and Laws is familiar,” said Alice. “Except, many deeds it prohibits are allowed where I came from! And several acts which would be unthinkable there, are personally encouraged by your Royal Court.”

“Welcome to Florida!” replied the Mad Hatter.


Mira’s old eyes gleamed as she looked upon the pearl in the Hall of Antiquities, and though it had a layer of dust, the pearl gleamed back. This was the only relic found from the reign of an ancient king who had once ruled the depths of the oceans. Little else of him was known, but Mira visited every day with questions.

The only person who might have been able to provide answers was Mira’s husband. He lay forever silent, forever young, within a crypt beneath the pearl.


“Eschatology,” I told the receptionist. “Study of the end times.”

This elicited a puzzled look from her. “But why would they send you here? Happy Gardens is an assisted-living facility. These people are facing the end of their lives, not the end of the world.”

I showed her my orders. “Perhaps one will cause the other.”


The old wizard leaned on his staff as he stepped through the fallen meteor’s rubble. Among it he found a smooth metal panel. He brushed his fingers along it tentatively, and it made a synthetic chirp and lit up with an array of strange symbols and moving lines.

The wizard’s face lit up, too. “A touchscreen interface! How quaint.”


Captain Power slumped dejectedly in her chair. “I’m the only one who lifts a finger to save these people,” she sighed. “And I accept not even a penny in return, but time after time I keep putting myself in harm’s way on their behalf. Why do I do it?”

Frida, her butler, replied as though the answer were obvious: “Because you’re the only one who can.”

Captain Power regarded Frida with surprise. Her eyes reignited with a gleam they had lost, and she stood up. “Prepare the Powerjet.”


Deep in the middle of a moonless night, a gentle breeze caressed the chin of one of the stone lions in front of the New York Public Library. “Though I have no body,” a voice whispered to it, “I am forever by your side.”

The lion, motionless, rumbled in reply. “Though I have no heart, my love for you is fierce.”


“My son betrays his heritage,” lamented the barbarian chief to his shaman. “He refuses to accept his role as a son of the unbroken line of great fathers who look down upon us from the heavens. I have failed to divert him from his path, so I am ready,” he growled, “to do what must be done.”

“This will be the most difficult yet the most important thing you will ever do,” replied the shaman.

“Anything.” His fist clenched around the hilt of his mace —

“Accept her.”


I leaned close to the tapestry. “This thread represents my life right now? It’s not woven with the others.”

“Love, family; you’ve not made such connections yet,” replied Lachesis.

“What’s this frayed thread nearby? It’s short, doesn’t connect to anything any more.”

“The old woman who says hi to you every morning at the 7-Eleven.”

After a moment’s consideration, I pulled that thread alongside mine, and twined the two strings together for as long as it went.

2 thoughts on “Microfiction”

  1. I would totally read several of these as longer stories; you have some very fun seeds here.

    “Though I have no heart, my love for you is fierce.” — I found this relatable.

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