Five November 100-Word Micro-fiction Stories
Every week I create a Writing Exercise for the Writer’s Discussion Group on Google+ by choosing a prompt I like. As I am the Exercise manager, I no longer take part, but I still like to write a story each week, and then I post them here every week.
But November is NaNoWriMo month, the month when many writers try to reach a goal of writing 50000 words in 30 days. Fifty thousand words in thirty days! In previous years I’ve observed that participation in the Weekly Exercise wanes in November, and I concluded NaNoWriMo was, at least in part, responsible.
In response, I decided to change the rules of the Weekly Exercise, which give participants a maximum of 600 words, and slid it down to 100 words. My hope was that even those who were busy doing NaNoWriMo would at least feel tempted to take part and write a 100-word micro-fiction flash piece. It seems it worked.
And here are my own five stories, together with the prompts. Hope you like them.
1. Tea Cats
Zek let the tea’s aroma play with his whiskers.
“You know,” he said, stretching a paw towards his cup. “Sometimes I wonder.”
Kha stared at him, turning her eyes to slits.
“You wonder,” she said. She added milk to Zek’s cup. Zek chose to ignore Kha’s twitching tail.
“Yes. Are we alone in the Universe?” he continued.
“Are we?” Kha said.
“Yes, you see. The Universe is really vast. What a waste of time and space if all of it was only to birth us cats.”
“I’d never call it a waste. We’re cats, after all.”
2. Tiger Monk
Peace.
Harmony.
Who would have known. Who, indeed.
Everything starts to crumble when a tiny voice calls my name. And regardless of the tone, I know it’s my own voice. I’m telling myself to wake up.
I open my eyes — what’s that blue light? — and see myself. Only I’m a miniature tiger. And I’m wearing… monk robes? And how can I be so sure I’m down there?
Down?
Hovering above myself, legs crossed, the snow tiger that I am stretches a hand towards me below, murmuring zen teachings.
I stare at my smoking pipe.
Never again?
3. Skell and Rabbit
There was a puff of smoke, and bright lights. The vibrant voice boomed over the audience.
“And now, gentlebeings of all races, I beg your attention for our last, most spectacular number!”
Skell moved theatrically — how else indeed? — , as only a skeleton could. He showed his empty sleeves to the public.
“Observe with attention, dear gentlebeings. Blink and you’ll miss it!”
There was a sudden flash, followed by an explosion and a red mist.
Then the fog dissolved, and Rabbit stood alone on the stage. Skell was nowhere to be seen. Rabbit bowed once, twice.
The crowd roared.
4. Cookies.
“Look! Cookies!”
“I see them.”
Fingers crossed behind a back. Tail wagging and perked ears.
“Can you smell it?”
“Yes, they’re butter cookies.”
“Our favourite flavour!”
Uneasy fidgeting.
“We shouldn’t.”
“No, we shouldn’t.”
Fast look here and there. Ears turning hither and thither.
“Can you wait?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“Together?”
“Together.”
The jar shakes, then levitates down from the rack.
The lid unscrews open.
Cookies are shared.
5. Mighty Mitzi
Mitzi leaned on her coach, her tablet in her hands.
“What are you reading?” Jaguar asked, taking a peek.
“Oh, just checking the news. See?”
“That’s boring,” Ocelot said, but he approached as well.
“But it’s necessary,” Mitzi said. “We have to know if there’s an emergency.”
“Hmph, that’s what we’re for,” Quetzal grumbled from the windowsill.
“Don’t be grumpy,” Mitzi said.
“You’re always the same,” Axolotl said from her tank.
An alarm went off in the distance. The tablet beeped immediately.
“Get ready, Mighty Mitzi’s needed!”
***
“Dinner’s ready!”
“Coming, mom!” Gina stopped reading and ran away.
