Story Time, Volume 23
This week's @DailyMicroFiction twitter stories, plus a bonus story at the end!
Every year, his enemy changed. One year it was bread; then it was seed oils, followed by corn syrup, alcohol, bread again, pizza, breakfast, sugar, and, of course, bread.
He’ll figure it out one day.
And the day after that?
…it’s bread. This time he’s sure.
The guide turned to look back at us. His green hat matched the sycamore trees.
"Be careful. The path narrows."
We followed, careful of our steps. We hadn't been told where it would lead.
He seemed confident.
So we followed, allowing our lost selves to be led.
"Here's the facts: there's four of us. Help won't arrive for at least another three months. There's no food." He looked each of them in the eye. "We've got no choice."
In horrified resignation,
they opened the bag of kale chips.
He was subatomically quarky: his top was often bottom, and down frequently became up.
But however strange he was, he made up for it with charm.
The Bone Market can satisfy every grisly desire. There’s blood, brains, and guts galore! Vampire or werewolf, siren or skeleton, you won’t leave disappointed.
So come look, but don’t linger. By sunrise, we’ll be gone — and full moons are getting increasingly rare.
The first barrage of hate-mail he received set him off, and he logged on to pick a fight.
And so the mail kept coming.
And he kept fighting.
Ultimately, his life was spent stuck inside the loop.
He never noticed the ads.
"I can't believe she's still living at home."
"This generation just doesn't know the value of hard work."
"Back in my day, we were expected to be married by now, with one on the way."
"What year did she graduate?"
"Oh, sorry — she starts preschool next week."