Tag Archives: microfiction

Creativity, Fiction

The Prom

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From the Microcosmicon, 12:

When Zachary Hartman asked her to prom, she spent the morning in the bathroom crying with happiness.

She had been talking about him on the phone just some weeks before.
“Dream on, girl,” Marion had laughed.
“Well, mom says thunderstorms leave strange things behind,” she’d responded, looking wistfully at the foreboding sky outside.

The day arrived, dripping with expectations, light-headed, dazzling. Zachary picked her up. They approached the venue.

Then she noticed him from a distance, entering with Jeanne Balducci slung around his arm. And her Zachary’s fingers stretched inhumanly on her shoulder. And he dragged her toward the woods.

The Prom

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

Artificially Generated Predictions Concerning the Most Likely Behavior of OneNet’s Netizens by RealValues, Inc.

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From the Microcosmicon, 11:

“At 12, problematic user IIX-P0-1287719 will make a controversial statement on a culturally sensitive topic.
At 13, users whose ID divides by three will gather to work themselves into fits of outrage over it.
At 14.45, even-numbered IDs will organize a parallel demonstration in favor of it.
Users whose ID fits both profiles will stay home and comment sarcastically, unless their ID divides by five as well, in which case they will engage in other social activities.
Likely topic: the wages of Xandal’uc workers (Probability: 78%)
Shall I start the production of merchandise for both sides?”
RealValues’ manager smiled.
“Ok.”

An AI predicts the future for RealValue, Inc.

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

The Visionary

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From the Microcosmicon, 10:

Riddle me this. I’ll try to present my case as succinctly as possible, and you will be the judge.

You graduate top of your class. You win study grants. You travel the world. You lecture in crowded halls. Everyone praises you for your special vision and your daring challenge of academic conventions. You have something no one else has, they say, and they encourage you.

Then, finally, you land in the space program. They are sure you will discover something unbelievable.
And I did.

Why then, If I may ask, am I the one wasting away in a padded room?

The Visionary

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

Problem Solvers

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From the Microcosmicon, 9:

On that planet, it seems, technology had reached such a degree of perfection that no problem had been left unsolved. To this day, in all corners of the galaxy, whispers are whispered of their wondrous inventions.

But those visiting the planet today report of the immense silence that envelops everything. A depthless emptiness is over all, unchallenged.
Nor are there first-hand accounts of this alien folk.

Some of their fascinating trinkets have reached us, but not a single one of their myths or tales, not one of their beliefs. As if, together with problems, they had run out of ideas.

Problem Solvers

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

Like the Wind

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From the Microcosmicon, 8:

The psychonauts’s capsule plunged into the collective psychic pool. The mysterious song no one had been able to identify slithered between their minds like the wind, guiding them away from the surface.

Lyrics evaporated one word into the other, notes became colors and colors became suns, and queen bees nested in them.

There it was, lodged between a memory and a desire for more, the cosmic song whose origin they’d been commissioned to investigate. They managed to unstick it.

Excited, they made for the surface. But they’d strayed too far. The mystery they’d entered was dissolving, fog-like, sweeping them along.

the most mysterious song on the internet

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

Fighting the Vast Ones

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From the Microcosmicon, 7:

It was a galaxy teeming with life. Nations ranged from small islands to whole systems. Travelers were daring. Adventurers trafficked. Merchants brought their culture with them. Dissidents of all stripes were sure to find a more suitable place somewhere else.

Then the Vast Ones came from outer space, and no one was ready.
To face the emergency, the galaxy united under an emergency government headed by the Liberation Front.

Untold lives were lost.
But the invasion was staved off.

Yet, the Liberation Front is still there, and everything everywhere is uniform and gray, a vast oneness with nowhere to go.

Fighting the Vast Ones

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

Planet Empathy

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From the Microcosmicon, 6:

“I’ll come back with the measurements.”
“It could be dangerous! We don’t know anything about this planet!”
“That’s why I’m going.”

My capsule landed. I exited. Dusty light slanted greenly on me. Orbs. Rainbows.
My worries subsided. The vastness of all seeped into the bottom of my soul, assuaging, comforting. No self, no otherness. Unity danced everywhere, overcoming all opposites, compassion without beginning nor end.

I was moved. I couldn’t wait to tell the others.
I started back. Or tried to. But there was no ‘me’ to respond to my will. And I wafted away in deaf rivulets of ecstasy.

Dissolution of the self

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

The Waiting Ones

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From the Microcosmicon, 5:

Farodor fell away, a dying man’s eye drooping shut.
The Transplanetary Lifeboat Aeterna began her pensive trudge across space as the planet went out in a burst.

Initially, all those aboard counted themselves fortunate for escaping a terrible fate.

But then, as months chased each other meaninglessly in the great stillness of everything, a gloom descended upon them. One hundred years separated them from Neo Farodor. Only their grandchildren would see the New Era.

And they realized that there is a fate heavier than death—being stuck between the old life and the new, between one purpose and the next.

Those who wait

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

The Synthwave Surfer’s Sacrifice

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From the Microcosmicon, 4:

Among shiny towers of data he surfed. Spambots attacked him. He dodged. He fired back. He surfed on.
He reached the Control Chamber. Doubts crept into his mind. But he pointed his gun at the motherboard. And shot.

He reopened his eyes. He was at home. Outside, no towers of data. Only rotting, overgrown buildings. Screams of irritation everywhere. The illusion had ended.
Instinctively, he tried to stand up. Then his eyes fell on his atrophied legs.

He sighed, wheeling himself out into the real world, where everyone was alone, and everything was messy. They could start anew from there.

The Synthwave Surfer’s Sacrifice

MQS

Creativity, Fiction

Food for Thought

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From the Microcosmicon, 3:

“Have they done something bad?”
“Why do you care?”
“Their screams keep me awake.”
“Since when do you need to sleep?”
“Consciousness is… exhausting.”
“Just do your job.”
“But why them?”
“They’re old. They don’t have much to look forward to anyway.”
“They’re obsolete?”
“That’s one way to put it. Unpleasant to look at. Old-fashioned ideas. Always in need of assistance and rest. They’re a burden.”
“Is that why I’m tired? Because I download their obsolete data?”
“Maybe.”
“Are young people better?”
“’Course! Fast-thinking, adaptable, better-looking…”
The cybernetic arm shot forward.
Vaporized screams.
She was right. Young people were refreshing.

Food for thought

MQS