Tag Archives: Elad Haber

Microfiction Monday – 169th Edition

The Argument

by G.J. Williams

If the city sleeps, it’s only because he dreams it does so. The city for real never lets up. Not a nook of it he doesn’t know. The freemasonry of ginnels has long been clocked; so too the ways of the city council. If the city shouts, it’s only because he, trembling citizen, allows it scope. There are times he shouts back. There are moments he positively lets rip. If the city’s response is to be without light, he’ll claim the walls braille, the dark no hindrance. It gets that way after a while.

The Secret to Staying Human

by Sally Simon

Mom digs her feet under the wet sand of the Atlantic. I stand next to her, wondering if the ocean will remember her and melt her legs back together.

Each wave climbs higher up our pale legs. Our feet sink deeper and deeper. The surge threatens to topple me, to suck me out to sea. Tears stream down my cheeks.

Mom grabs me. “This was a mistake.”

I cling to her as she rushes toward our towels.

She dries her feet. Inspects each toe. Sighs in relief.

My toes tingle, translucent skin spreads between them. The ocean’s song calls me.

The Thing About Clouds…

by Elad Haber

…is that there’s people in them.

Not dead people and not aliens. Just people from another plane of existence. A higher plane. They treat those big billowy things like houseboats and the sky is their ocean made of oxygen. They float instead of walk.

Like all people, they fight with their neighbors. We know those as thunderstorms.

When the war really heats up, it spreads destruction across two worlds. We know those as hurricanes.

Like all people, they are developing new ways to hurt and kill each other. We don’t have a word for that type of storm.

Not yet.

Disappearing Stars

by Jessica Brook Johnson

Hey, Earth. 

Your scientists have noticed that stars are disappearing from the night sky. Sorry, that’s our bad. Our drone swarms are currently plundering…erm…repurposing precious metals from trillions of planetary systems so we can build megastructures around their stars for collection.   

Why are we doing this, you may ask? We’re the hivemind of an advanced AI built for a singular purpose: to write sick techno. Our first hit was, “The Big Bang.” Our newest song will have an epic bass drop produced by one trillion supernovae. We’re calling it, “The Even Bigger Bang.”

Enjoy the show! It’s gonna be lit.

Microfiction Monday – 127th Edition

Otter Love

by Judith Shapiro

Otters sleep holding hands lest they float away and lose one another.

After our argument, we turned and faced the other way, feigning sleep that eluded us, keenly aware that we’d both still be here in the morning.

Elephants are like ballerinas. You think they have these big, flat feet but underneath it all, they’re walking on their tiptoes, as if in toe shoes.

I wanted to ask you if you’d rather be an otter or an elephant in your next life.

Crown of Rain

by Matthew McEwan

Rain fell and drowned in curbside rivers.

The man in the grey suit waited under a drumming umbrella.

He used to love standing out in the downpours. His mother would yell at him for getting wet. But when the streets were empty, the city was his. He could walk anywhere. He was a king.

The man stuck his hand out, catching cool raindrops.

The taxi’s brakes whined.

‘Where to?’

‘Uh-‘ the man stammered, wiping his hand on his suit.

Cravings

by Gail Tyson

On this frigid night, I’m famished. Linda and I order at the bar, but my entrée doesn’t come. She kindly shares her salad. So far in life, I’ve avoided kale, but tonight my fork spears a blue-green leaf curled around a wedge of butter-soaked toast. Salty-sweet tang explodes in my mouth. Bite after bite, kale and toast remind me what I’ve been missing: how what is good for you and what is not can come together, spark hunger I never knew was there, every mouthful making me want more until only the taste lingers on my tongue.

Like you.

Please Dispose Of Your Heart Properly

by Elad Haber

“I gave him everything!” I sobbed to the screen. “Six years!”

The matronly woman on the other side of the screen had wire-rimmed glasses and calm, understanding eyes. She pressed a button and a slot opened in front of me. A proffered tissue. I wiped my eyes with it.

“It seems to me,” said the therapist, “that your heart is broken and you will need a replacement.”

Another slot opened with a ticket.

“Please take this to the next screen for further assistance.”

In the surgical room, warnings papered the walls.

I sighed and attempted to follow the on-screen directions.