Microcosms 151

Hi, flash fiction buddies, and welcome to Microcosms 151.


(1) You have just 24 hours until midnight, today (Friday) New York time (EST) to write and submit your masterpiece.
(2) All submissions must be no more than 300 words in length (excluding the title)
(4) Include: word count, the THREE elements you’re using AND a title for your entry
(5) Do NOT give details of your entry on social media, your blog, etc. until the Results post is live
(6) If you are new to Microcosms, PLEASE check out the full submission guidelines


Today — 30-NOV — is the anniversary of the worldwide release of Thriller in 1982, the sixth solo studio album from Michael Jackson. It went on to become the best-selling record album in history.

The album spawned seven singles:

  • The Girl Is Mine
  • Billie Jean
  • Beat It
  • Gotta Be Startin’ Somethin’
  • Human Nature
  • PYT (Pretty Young Thing)
  • Thriller



(If YOU have an idea for a future contest and would like to be a guest host, please contact us.)


Our contest this week begins with THREE things: character, location and genre.

We spun, and our three elements are:

Love Rivals; Nightclub; Comedy

Write a story using those OR feel free to click on the “Spin!” button below, and the slot machine will come up with a new set – character, location and genre. You can keep clicking until you have a set of elements that inspires you.


  • Love Rivals
  • Groupie
  • Street Gang Member
  • Gossip Columnist
  • Pleasure Seeker
  • Lounge Lizard
  • Zombie
  • Schoolyard
  • Stage Door
  • Los Angeles
  • Tabloid Newspaper Office
  • Night-time City
  • Nightclub
  • Graveyard
  • Comedy
  • Drama
  • Crime
  • Tragedy
  • Thriller
  • Romance
  • Horror



Last week’s Judge’s Pick, Vicente L Ruiz, has kindly agreed to act as the judge this time around.


All being well, results will be posted next Monday.

Microcosms 152
Microcosms 150

26 thoughts on “Microcosms 151

  1. http://www.engleson.ca
    299 words
    Pleasure Seeker; Graveyard; Comedy

    The Graveyard of Empty Dreams…and A Most Unusual Musical Opportunity

    We were awash in food and satin cushions, booze oozing from every orifice, gushing from our nostrils, luxuriating in pedicures playfully proffered by artful professionals, all the unrelenting joys of the flesh, a hedonist’s wet dream.

    My inclination was to revel in the moment.

    Not Charlie.

    His tastes had been tampered with.

    Something dark had slithered into his soul.

    “Kee-rist, Sunshine, there’s gotta be some thrill we ain’t tapped into. Right?”

    It was a warm autumn night. Once Charlie got vibrating, something new and strange was gonna happen.

    My job was to put the damper on…that’s why he kept me hanging on. A few jokes, a little cold water on his fiery hairbrained ideas.

    “Hold your bloody horses, Chuckles,” I said. “You’re swacked out of your gourd. What else could you possibly want?”

    Even as I asked, I could see his hollowness. He’d made millions, spent millions, was gonna keep on making millions… The complete entertainer, he’d started with his great soul ballad, Leave Me Something…Anything You Don’t Want, moved on to become one of the great interpreters of the standards of our time.

    He even made a few movies.

    Now, well, the money kept rolling in, but he had nothing much to do except indulge his carnality.

    I was along for the ride.

    “You know, Sunshine, you know where most of my fans are?”

    I threw up my hands.

    “I do. Get the boys.”

    The boys were a ragtag group of talented camp followers.

    Limos were hired, and off we went in search of whatever the heck Charlie had in mind.

    It turned out to be a dinky cemetery in West, or maybe East, Aardvark.

    “Charlie?” I pleaded. “What’s on your mind?”

    The devil in Charlie licked his lips, smiled and announced, “Sunshine, we’re gonna raise the dead.”

      1. Deanna, I don’t think I have ever enjoyed an observation as much as I have enjoyed yours. Thank you mucho…The fact that I still have a brain that is somewhat functioning continues to amaze me.

  2. @Alva1206
    295 words
    Love Rivals; Nightclub; Romance

    Play It, Sam

    She spilled her drink the moment the bartender placed it in front of her.

    Her tears blurred the sugared glass edges where the colourful umbrella leaned to one side, evoking dreams of happy days, laughter, white sand and kisses.

    ‘Cheer up, Billie Jean. It’s gotta get better.’

    ‘You don’t know the half of it, Sam. Pour me another of those, will you?’

    The jukebox churned out ‘Human Nature’ – she didn’t want to know about that. She needed a mountain, to climb and be alone.

    He watched her from the corner table, decided to make his move. Gotta be startin’ somethin’ after all this time. He straightened himself.

    ‘Excuse me, do you mind if I tell you you’re pretty?’

    She turned. What a line. She knows she’s no pretty young thing anymore. Who’s this guy?

    Sam watched closely from behind the bar.

    ‘I’m with someone,’ she said.

    ‘My bad. Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.’

    Heavy footsteps brought a six-four Schwarzenegger-type to his elbow.

    ‘Beat it. The girl is mine,’ he heard, as Billie Jean turned, knocking the second glass to the bar.

    ‘Don’t think you’re supposed to have that drink, darlin’ – looks like they’re running away from you tonight. Let’s go.’

    ‘I’m not ready to go, Damien. I’m not in the mood for Thriller this evening.’

    ‘But you promised.’

    ‘Yea, well I’ve changed my mind. Sam, let’s try that one more time, shall we? You’ll be running out of umbrellas soon. Just like I ran out of options. Which is why I’m here tonight, drowning.’

    He sat back at the corner table, watching disappointed Damien trying to persuade her. He’d seen this play out before. He’d wait. She’d be back, with another Damien. His time would come.

    He’d fallen in love but didn’t know it yet.

  3. @j_writes_stuff
    245 words
    Love Rivals; Nightclub; Comedy


    “Yo, bro.” Mike elbowed his brother in the ribs. “Look. At the bar. In the blue dress!”

    “I call dibs!” Bill shouted over the nightclub music without even turning around.

    Mike frowned.

    “You haven’t even seen who that is.”

    “That’s my next ex-girlfriend, that’s who,” Bill exclaimed and scanned the crowd at the bar.

    “That one?” he asked, pointing at a woman who had her back turned to them. “Well, that’s a fine behind, and I’ve always wanted to be an ass-tronaut.”

    He laughed at his own joke.

    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Mike cautioned.

    “Don’t care, bro. I’m as dry as Spongebob after a visit to the solarium, and I need to get laid as much as Squidward needs some peace and quiet. Besides, I called dibs first, so stand back and watch an expert in action.”

    He pushed his brother out of the way, walked up to the woman in the blue dress and tipped her on the shoulder. Mike followed him closely.

    “Yo, baby,” Bill shouted loud enough to be heard over the music, “Nice dress you have there. Would look great on my bedroom floor!”

    The woman turned around. Bill’s smug grin froze on his face.

    Mike snorted. “Expert in putting your foot in your mouth, that’s what you are. What you really need is some brains in your skull and you need them just as much as Patrick Star.”

    He turned to the woman. “Hi, great-auntie Jean!”

    1. Nice twist, Johanna, not that I am implying that great-auntie Jean is a twist. Bill sure is. Not me. The other Bill. I did have to google SpongeBob to get a few details…

      1. Thanks. The creator of Spongebob died this week, so my Twitter timeline was full of that… and for some reason it came out here.

  4. 299 words
    Pleasure Seeker; Los Angeles; Crime

    Pleasure and the Night

    ‘Los Angeles’ first and only ladies’ drinking club! The Pleasure Seekers!’
    Everybody cheered, and clinked their glasses together. ‘Bottoms up, girls!’ Liz shouted, and threw her neck back. Droplets of liquor fell onto her glitzy dress. The first Friday of the month was their day, their time, to get away from husbands, kids, work, mortgages, everything. And why not a drinking club, Liz suggested. When Marion was down that day, she suspected Richard to be in love with a colleague.

    At first, none of the girls felt quite up to the idea. It seemed so Sex and the City, only sadder. Wouldn’t it make them middle-aged for real? Then they tried, and it became a regular thing. Their thing.

    ‘That guy’s been looking at you the whole evening.’ Trish nodded towards the bar.
    ‘I know.’ Liz suppressed a giggle.
    As if this was a prompt, he approached.
    ‘My my, something wicked this way comes…’ Liz smiled.
    He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not wicked, no. Only slightly naughty.’
    Liz arched her eyebrows, and they started dancing. When they left the club, she held up her phone and waved to Trish. Their sign. She’d let her know when she was home.

    At 2.14, Trish’s phone beeped.

    Elizabeth: Hey, u there? plz come out.
    Patricia: sweetie, what’s up? thought you had left with Mr Handsome
    Elizabeth: haha, yeah no, just come out, will ya?
    Patricia: gimme a sec.

    It was pitch black outside. Trish stumbled.

    Patricia: where r u?
    Elizabeth: at the back where the trash is
    come quickly
    Patricia: r u ok hun?
    am here
    where r u?
    Elizabeth: next to the trees
    Patricia: i cant see u
    it’s so dark
    Elizabeth: just come here plz
    Patricia: Liz whats wrong
    so dark
    im scared
    Elizabeth: just come, Patricia
    Patricia: Patricia??? nobody calls me that! Liz, is this u or–

    1. Welcome to Microcosms, Florence, and thanks for your entry — a cautionary tale for anyone tempted to act spontaneously in this situation.

      [ You didn’t supply the word count, so I checked out what it was. I made it 309; the maximum word count for Microcosms is 300.
      Since I had to send the entries off to the judge, I took the liberty of making a few tweaks to bring the word count down. I hope you don’t mind.
      Also, using multiple spaces or tabs to line up text from one line to the next will not work in HTML. I used bold and italics in the text messages to make it clear who is texting. ]

      1. Thanks Geoff! The story was 300 words excluding the names marking the text messages. I didn’t see an “edit” button so couldn’t go back and clarify that, but thanks for editing! 🙂

      2. There isn’t an edit button. If you need something changing, leave a comment below your entry — before the contest deadline — giving details, and I will make the amendments.

  5. @steveweave71
    300 words
    Lounge Lizard; Nightclub; Romance

    Limehouse By Moonlight

    They met at a local nightclub on a Heavy Metal night. He told her his name was Jet Thrust and that he was an internationally famous singer in parts of London. He told her his band had split because of jealousy and that, with his contacts, he was starting a solo career.

    She thought “lounge lizard”, but he looked OK and she was bored. She asked him what he was doing in Limehouse, and he said he was visiting his dear old Mum but she’d fallen asleep in the chair. She said her name was Maureen, but he didn’t believe her.

    “It’s not exotic enough for someone so beautiful and who dances like a ballerina even when it’s Heavy Metal night,” he’d shouted and dribbled into her ear above the music, a cacophony of sound.

    “Fair enough, you’ve caught me out,” Maureen confessed. “My name is Oksana and I am a trainee ballerina and apprentice baker.”

    He nodded as if he wasn’t surprised and told her he could help her career as he was well connected within the Russian ballet, but that would turn out to be bolshoi.

    To stop his incessant namedropping, she asked him which were his most famous songs; she thought she may be living just outside Jet’s catchment area of fame. He took her outside, said he had to go on account of an early morning flight to LA, gave her a warm, beer-burp kiss and slipped a CD into her hand. Then he was gone.

    When she got home, she looked at the CD. The cover declared the album was by Elliott Johns and Jet Thrust, the latter name seemingly added in pencil, with a telephone number underneath.

    She got into bed, smiled at the CD. She probably would call him. Well, you never know…

  6. Zombie; Nightclub; Drama
    281 words

    Night-time in the City

    It’s night-time in the city. It’s quiet. The street lights are reflected on the wet pavement below. Cars cruise silently by. Figures shuffle along, looking into doorways and garbage cans, looking for whatever there is to be found. I’ve come here the hard way, from my plot of earth in the graveyard on the outskirts of town. I don’t know why I’ve come here; I seem to have been driven by some nameless urge.

    As I walk the streets, I see all of these faceless figures going about their meaningless lives. I eventually arrive at my destination, a nightclub. I feel a sense of surprise. At the door I get a strange look from the doorman but he lets me in. It’s dark inside. I go over to the bar and ask whether they serve spirits; I order a whisky. Sipping it, I watch the people come and go. The strange mode of dress, the peculiar mannerisms, the endless fascination with the dance floor.

    That most peculiar of rituals, the dance floor. Men and women alike stand there dancing together, mirroring each other’s moves, to music with a repetitive beat. Lights flash, their eyes glaze over as they sway to the rhythmic beat and they lose their individuality. They become a herd moving as one. A dip to the left, a dip to the right; arms up, arms down; forwards, backwards; around and around. The moves are endless in their variety, yet the same for all.

    As I sit alone in the dark, sipping my whisky, watching the dancers gyrate, a strange question comes to mind. I know where I came from, but where did all you zombies come from?

  7. 294 words
    Overseer; Plantation; Horror


    I scribble down some words in my notebook. One of my property had just ran off during the night days ago and I put up a wanted poster. My head was wracked with anger, but quickly subsided when a knock came to my door. Grabbing my lantern, I headed up to the door.

    “Hello? What’s yer business?” I asked.

    “I’m one of them officers ya sent out sir. Back on the date 1833, November 28, you posted on that there wanted board that yer slave ran off. That’s correct?” the deep voice said through the door.

    “That’s right, what about it?” I said as I open up the door to greet the officer. The officer wore the uniform but had on some gloves. He kept his head down as we shook hands. I brought him inside and went to bring some water. As I went back to the dining room, the officer stood up as I entered. He looked up to reveal his face. I dropped my glass as I recognized the face. It was my slave.

    “Well, master, I guess it’s time to end this,” he said as he struck me. I stumbled and started to crawl to the back door. I managed to bust out the back into my cotton plantation. I stumbled through the low plants as my other slaves gathered round me. I was surrounded by all of them as the all grabbed the tools they used. I covered my face as they beat till I feel my breath get more shallow. I cry out in pain as footsteps followed behind my head.

    A blow from behind my head came as they all said aloud in unison, “Thank ya for what ya done, master.”

  8. @alysia_ascovani
    300 Words
    Pleasure Seeker; Graveyard; Drama

    Mad Heaven

    Her footsteps crunched on the frozen ground as she stalked through the headstones. The deep violet train of her gown billowed behind her as it caressed all those she passed. Under the crescent moon, seven crows danced, hidden but for their soft silver glow. She paused, hearing the soft beat of their wings, and lifted her head til her face caught the light, blood dripping from her lips.

    Eyes alight with manic fury, she laughed an exaltation. Her luscious voice swirled through the dusty air, breathing life into the desolate dead. High above, the clouds were unable to resist the storm of her delirium.

    From within the newfound gale, her hair revelled in her revelation. Her laughter began to subside, yet the echoes still rang throughout the graveyard, never to die. She closed her eyes, her chest heaving in the throes of her hypnotic passion.

    Her dress swirled around her ankles as she continued her stately prowl. A slight waver in stride, and she had a white rose tucked behind her ear, a gift from death.

    As she went, she ran long, slender fingers over the top of each headstone. At the end of each row, she brought her fingers to her lips and licked them clean of the layers of dirt they had accumulated.

    Far off in the distance, she could see faint glimmers of the dawn rising above the horizon. As the moon faded from the sky, she reluctantly moved towards the graveyard gate. Tears shone on her cheeks, though she knew she would return the next night, as she always did.

    As she always would.

    She turned back as she neared the gate, her skirts embracing a crumbling headstone. Her lips brushed the faint name reverently.

    She rose rapturously, for a night amongst the dead…

    Was Life.

  9. 293 Words
    Pleasure Seeker; Night-Time City; Horror

    Hedonism is Dead

    She had just arrived in New Orleans and was unsure where to go. The man she met online promised to meet her on the corner of Bourbon Street. She stopped under a street light and looked around. Everything was dark; she could only make out an ill-lit sign for the local hotel. Looking around one more time for any sign of the man, she made her way to the hotel.

    As she approached the building, she noted the stairs had been worn down and bricks were missing from the outer walls. She reached out to grab the handle, and the light above began to flicker. Her heart began to race as she slowly looked up at the sign. The light grew bright, then sparked. She covered her head with her arms as she jumped back. Tali pulled her phone out: I hope you weren’t planning on meeting at the hotel for our special night.

    Footsteps approached from behind; she was frozen. Could it be him? She slowly turned around to face a man, cloaked in crimson. His cerulean eyes sparked recognition.

    “T-Tate?” she was hesitant to address her virtual lover.

    His pants were undone, heaping around his ankles. There was a knife in one hand and a clump of dark, long hair in the other. Tali’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. A fiendish smile formed upon his face as he thrust the knife into her. His body pressed against her, and he forced himself upon her.
    “Why me?” Talia asked the man.
    “You were timid and gullible. I’m a pleasure seeker by trade, yes. But as you see, I’m rather,” he paused, “unconventional.”
    Her vision began to fade. His member hardened as she began to pass. Necrophilia at its finest.

  10. @Ravenangel888
    282 words
    Groupie; Graveyard; Crime

    There Once Was a Man From…

    The life of a Groupie for a popular band is a hard one. Up until the wee hours of the morning. Short catnaps because you never knew when the bus would be leaving. And, of course, the requisite sex, drugs and rock and roll. It was hard, but it was still the only life I had ever known. That’s right, I’m a second generation Groupie. Born on tour and raised on tour. Which tour? Why, all of them of course. My Mother had always had a thing for drummers. They say the bass guitarist always gets the girls but, in reality, just being a member of the band gets you the girls. Thank the good Lord, I had the foresight to be born male.

    The point of my little story, you ask? It’s all relevant to why I’m currently in a graveyard in L.A. (I’m not going to say which but there are a lot of Stars and Musos buried here). I’m interested only in one specific mausoleum however. Good thing it’s the one I’m standing in, right? With a clack of my side cutters I have what I’ve come for. The proof I need to show that I’m the son of this specific drummer, something he took with him to his grave.

    Luck, it seems, is not on my side. As I close the door to the crypt, a sound catches my attention. Turning, I see the lights of three torches, all aimed at me.

    “Freeze! Police! Raise your hands above your head,” a gravelly voice commands.

    Who would have thought that cutting off a dead man’s genitals would be a crime? Guess they’ve really got me by the balls now.

  11. 280 words
    Love Rivals; Nightclub; Comedy

    Three Sides to Every Story

    Don’t let two men fall in love with you, girls. It’s not the sort of thing that ends well.

    Dean loved Lucy. He was smart, good with his hands and “good with his hands”, if you know what I mean. He was a serious type of bloke and he was a teacher. He had the whole package. If there was one thing wrong about him, he was painfully shy. He opened up enough though, when he had a few drinks in him. Then he became the life of the party.

    Chad also loved Lucy. He was a fireman. Enough said. There’s a reason these men land up in calendars. And while he wasn’t quite as smart as Dean, he was very in tune with his emotions. He even helped out at a shelter most weekends.

    Lucy was blonde. In both ways. She couldn’t choose between the two, so she decided to see who would win her heart over at “Over the Moon” a nightclub she frequently partied at.

    At first, things went well. Both men were solicitous and tended to her every need. But like most men, the fun is in the chase. Soon they forgot about Lucy as they rivaled one another to see who the best was. The more they drank, the more their personalities came to “larger than” life. Dean lost his pants on stage and acted like a hooligan, causing Lucy to leave in sheer embarrassment. At least she missed Chad’s bout of crying.

    Triangles and rivals of love are strange things. Lucy should rather have gotten into her own love triangle where she could say, “I love Myself, Myself loves Me and Me loves I.”

  12. 300 words
    Love Rivals; Nightclub; Comedy

    Best Frennemies

    “He’s here!” Michelle and Alexa squealed to each other – all blonde hair, high heels and sparkles – as they saw their favourite bartender was manning his usual station.
    “I swear, if it wasn’t for him, I’d have stopped coming here months ago,” declared Michelle.
    “I know, right?” Alexa gave a saccharine smile and wandered off in the direction of the bar.

    James was watching the two with interest, wondering what stunts they’d pull tonight to try get his attention. Every week things became more and more outrageous.
    “Your admirers are here,” his co-worker noted. “Twenty bucks says they try the bar-dancing again.”
    James responded with a wordless grimace as he recalled last week’s attention-grabbing stunt, as if dancing on the bar wasn’t bad enough, these two were so set on one-upping each other that they seemed to forget that James existed.
    “Jamesie! Over here!” Michelle squealed from her perch on his left, just as Alexa’s nasally voice called at him from the right, “Oh, Jameees.”
    James was astounded tonight by how quickly the girls lost sight of what they were arguing about and just degenerated into a full-on bar-brawl, complete with hair-pulling and constant girly screaming.
    It was such a spectacle, seeing these two friendly rivals finally lose it, that the whole club stopped to watch. A careful observer may even have noticed the surreptitious exchange of money, as wagers were won and lost.
    “Ready to go?” James smiled at his fiancé and held out a hand.
    “Yep.” She turned from the brawl, and James slung his arm around her shoulders.
    As they walked out, James gave one last glance over his shoulder as Alexa and Michelle continued to fight, oblivious to the fact that the object of their obsession was leaving.
    “Girls,” he said with a sigh.

  13. 300 words
    Zombie; Nightclub; Romance


    “Um, you look a little pale. Want me to grab you something?”

    I don’t answer out loud. Instead, I simply shake my head no.
    Bodies, silhouettes, living shapes or shadows, clamber near my own figure.

    “Okay. Well let me know at anytime if you need anything, or…yeah.”

    Stephen is a good guy. At least, that’s how I know him to be. A good guy with a kind, beating, heart.

    The current music shifts, and I hear a memorable song. I bob my head a bit, and barely lip sync. By that I mean, only I know I’m moving my lips the slightest bit and mouthing the words.
    Stephen, though, does in fact notice me swaying to the beat.

    “Gotta Be Startin’ Somethin’, huh?”
    He grins and his glasses glint in the dingey club light. I nod again, letting a small smile flicker on my lips.

    “So, you into throwbacks then?”
    Ah, throwbacks. Is that a thing? If only he knew…but, no. Never.
    I give him a slight shrug.

    “Hmm,” he mutters, “Gotta Be Startin’ Somethin’. Something…” His head and voice trail to inaudible. Surveying the surroundings. Man, I guess he’s pretty beautiful. In a futuristic way… Too bad it won’t last.

    A dancer slams into me and I turn, grunting. The human makes eye contact, and I flash my eyes at him. Giving a cold, cold stare.
    The human smartly backs away. Becoming lost in the mass of forms.
    Stephen’s hand touches my arm.
    “You okay?”
    But I’m not.
    Stephen’s hand is chilled. Like death.
    Looking into his dark eyes, I see the small details I didn’t notice before.

    “Sorry, Ms Jackson,” he coos, realizing that I know. “I’m not real.”

    Well, he didn’t go all Michael Jackson themed, but I mean, we’re both Outkasts, aren’t we?

  14. @Rhapsody2312

    297 Words
    Zombie; Los Angeles; Romance

    One More Day

    LA. City of angels. Where the brave made their fortunes, and the meek tended bars filled with envy.

    At least, that’s how it used to be, in the days before the Seam split the world open and let The Others in. Now LA was literally the city of angels. Or zombies, depending on perspective.

    Imagine going to bed one night, missing and longing for your beloved for five unending years, and waking up to find her crawling into bed with you, as though nothing had ever happened. No different except her flesh was colder than before, with an eerie blue glow only visible in complete darkness.

    I should have been thrilled. I’d longed for one more day with my wife, another opportunity to do all the little things for her that had been neglected after ten years of wedded monotony. I’d longed to hold her hand, watch our favourite movies together, have those kids she’d always dreamed of.

    It should have been a lover’s dream come true. Instead every hair on my body stood on end with each loving glance she cast my way. She lived in the past, as though the intervening time between her death and reappearance had never taken place.

    I was one of the lucky ones. My wife had loved me, wanted to be with me. Unhindered by the cause and effect of nature’s laws, she existed in a half life I hadn’t anticipated. If I had only known that bringing her back would create the havoc it did, I would never have opened the Seam.

    Our love died when she came back to life – an unnatural creature in a world driven mad by my crazed desire for one more day.

  15. @beadanna7
    300 words
    Zombie; Graveyard; Horror

    Dying to Dance

    Sudden awareness felt like waking up from a long, deep sleep. Cara lay still, trying to gather her bearings. She remembered something happening to her, right before she went, was it to sleep? What had she been doing? She vaguely recalled fear and regret, followed by resignation.

    With a feeling of impending dread, she opened her eyes, but couldn’t see anything in the inky blackness. She put her hand up to find that the ceiling was only a few inches above her face. Feeling around with both hands brought her to the paralyzing realization that she was in a coffin. Terrified, she tried to scream through moldering vocal cords, helpless as an irresistible force abruptly pulled her out of her coffin, and up through six feet of dirt as though it was water.

    Shaking the dirt from her eyes, she found herself in black and white scenery, shades of grey squatting in the shadows. The silence was abruptly shattered as the air reverberated with dozens of muffled explosions. Soil rained to the ground.

    Deafening music erupted into the airwaves.

    Suddenly her body began to twitch. She couldn’t help it; she wasn’t in control of herself anymore. Something was making her move, her hips wanted to sway and her shoulders kept jerking in time. Looking down at herself in horror, she realized she could see bones shining whitely from inside holes in her rotting flesh. Flashes in the moonlight all around her had her spinning around to see others like her, their clothes and skin decaying on their bodies, unwilling participants of some sick puppet master’s idea of a joke. When she tried to go one way, her limbs jerked her in the other direction, synchronizing her with the macabre troop, as they discoed together through the grass amid the tombstones.

  16. 201 words
    Gossip Columnist; Graveyard; Comedy

    Seasoned Reporter

    “Lindsey Lakely, Lives and Lies! You’ve been caught!”

    Jason Ellicombe shrieked, dropping the shovel that he was holding.

    “Tell me, Mr. Ellicombe, how did you do it? How did you sneak into the graveyard sixteen different times? How did you get past the security that kept popping up!”

    Ellicombe very clearly tried to get control of the situation. “Lives and Lies, huh? I suggest you leave right now. My lawyers will shut down your pansyass, second-rate column before I snap–”

    “Now, now, Mr. Ellicombe. Threats won’t work on me. I’m a seasoned reporter.”

    “Seasoned? Ha! You’re a washed-up intern that was fired from some local paper–”

    “Why did you do it, Mr. Ellicombe? What’d you do with those sixteen bodies? And the most important question of all–why did you do it without famed celebrity girlfriend, Kakelynnn McQueen?”

    Ellicombe blinked. “Hang on–Kakelynnn?”

    “Yes! Are you broken up? Are you not on speaking terms? Tell me everything! Our readers demand it!”

    “So you–don’t care about the–”

    He muttered something that sounded like zombie army.

    “I care about Kakelynnn! Tell me everything!”

    Ellicombe composed himself. “I see. Well, sit on that gravestone, Lives and Lies. I’ll tell you everything.”

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