Greetings, flash fictioneering friends, and welcome to Microcosms 181!
Before we get into the prompt, we have some changes for you this year! Here’s a brief rundown (details can be found on our FAQs page):
- Weekly and monthly contests! Weekly runs Sunday – Saturday. Monthly runs for the full month.
- Weekly will have a community pick winner. Monthly will have both community pick and judge’s pick winner(s).
- You can enter the same story from your weekly contest to the monthly one, if you like, or write something new. We also have a default spinner you can use now if you don’t like the prompt(s) offered. Enter as many times as you like!
- Judging is “on your honor”, unless judges request blind entries.
- We’re now using the Pacific Time
Remember:
- You have ONE WEEK (Sunday – Saturday, midnight – midnight) Los Angeles Time (PST/PDT) to submit your masterpiece.
- All submissions must be no more than 300 words in length (excluding the title and other header info)
- NO FAN-FICTION, please, and NO USE of COPYRIGHT CHARACTERS for this contest.
- Include: word count, the THREE elements you’re using AND a title for your entry
- If you are new to Microcosms, please check out the full submissions guidelines on our FAQs page.
Please use the following format when submitting your entries (feel free to copy/paste and edit or save a copy of the Google Doc linked below):
My Amazing Story Title
XXX words
Element / Element / Element
My Preferred Name
Optional: website or social media link 1 (please include full URL)
Optional: website or social media link 2 (please include full URL)
Optional: Yes, I am open to derivative works, including audio productions. Please contact me via one of the above channels for more information. /// OR /// No, I am not open to derivative works at this time, thank you.
***
My amazing story content goes here.
You can use HTML to add a link. Example:
<a href="https://twitter.com/MicrocosmsFic">https://twitter.com/MicrocosmsFic</a>
Please kindly use this format, then copy/paste your response as a comment on this post. (It’s totally fine to be creative with the “words” part, like “253 ripe bananas”, as we’ve seen some people do in the past.) Not using this format with NOT disqualify you. But it will help us out if you do use it.
We have prepared a free and easy-to-use, pre-formatted document in Google Docs to help simplify things. Just save your own copy and then replace the content with your own. (Sometimes, adding links will get your comment flagged by the spam filter. If you think that happened, please contact us for assistance.)
You ever tell yourself “I’ll just sit down for a minute” and then you suddenly wake up, hours later? Yeah… 🙁
Also, it’s time to announce the Community Pick(s) for Microcosms 179.
Everyone who entered won! 🙂 Huge congrats to:
Don’t forget to vote for your favorites from last week and this week, too. MC XXX Community Pick(s) will be announced at the end of the week.
Happy writing!
KM
(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/setting, and genre/style.
We spun, and our three elements are:
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Hmm…
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. (Don’t like any of these? Try our default spinner.)
- Carpet Cleaner
- Car Salesman
- Bartender
- Security Guard
- Glass Blower
- War Reenactor
- Ballerina
- Stockbroker
- House
- Used Car Lot
- Bar
- Museum
- Renaissance Faire
- Battlefield
- Stage
- Wall Street
- Drama
- Romance
- Sci-Fi
- Action
- Fantasy
- Horror
- Poem
- Comedy
We are always and forever in need of assistance. If you have any spare time to help, we will happily accept. Even something as little as 5-10 minutes a week would be amazing. (You have no idea.) To find out how you can help, please visit our volunteers page.
NEVER TRUST SHEEP
295 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
STEVE LODGE
Twitter: @steveweave71
Instagram: steveweave_cheese
There is an old saying in my country. Never trust sheep. This is particularly true in the more mountainous regions where sheep and goats have been waging an unpleasant guerilla war based on animal noises, revenge and cucumbers.
The actual civil war (fought by humans from 1921 to 1934 – called the Twenty Year War, for obvious reasons) was mainly fought on a battlefield near the town of Tredlegge, with government forces trying to cross the battlefield to get to the country’s cheese supplies and Tredlegge being defended by stout men like my father who were keen to retain the cheese supplies and their dignity.
In truth, Tredlegge was woefully equipped to fight a war. Their businessmen were mainly expert glass blowers. Although a noble profession, it was absolutely useless when it came to warding off drunken government troops.
Tapestries of the battlefield packed with forces locked in combat, one side with rifles and trockles against the local rebels with pitchforks and blown glass, remain in The Nadelaendfurgust Muzeum in Ringstad, our country’s capital. Such carnage from those gruesome days.
Would the outcome have been different if the rebels had come to an agreement with the local animals? Possibly, but the goats would never enter any alliance that also included the sheep.
A statue of Dariusz Palotai, the glass blowers’ leader was erected in the town square at Tredlegge. It was pulled down a mere ten days later. Witnesses to the destruction blamed the government forces under then President Wagner or maybe the sheep of the area.
A consignment of cheese bound for the government barracks at Mindless, was hijacked by glassblowers, who were themselves attacked by rogue and slightly slutty sheep from the bars of Paranoia. Martial Law was declared until the simmering tensions cooled.
Any story with a surfeit of cheese is a good cheese. Sorry; a good story. Cheese! Sorry, I mean, Cheers!
Mr. Lodge, you seriously never disappoint. Such an imagination!
I can’t seem to enter. For the second week in a row, my story goes unposted. Is there something I’m missing?
Pink Elephant
300 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Deanna Salser
https://www.facebook.com/Beadanna777/
https://beadanna777.wixsite.com/procreation
Optional: Yes, I am open to derivative works, including audio productions. Please contact me via one of the above channels for more information.
***
As she cowered next to her husband’s dead body, Tessa tried to make her mind work. Explosions rocked the ground beneath her and bullets whistled by overhead. Smoke choked her and every breath was torturous with the odors of blood and death. Lured to this meadow with promises of trade, they had instead been welcomed with seasoned warriors, painted and worked into a frenzy for battle, for the ambush. She watched in slow-motion horror as her brothers were killed trying to protect their wives and children. She played dead as those women were rounded up, herding their progeny along with them. The child in her womb kicked its protest at her weight crushing it. She ducked her head and tried not to breathe as a fierce lithe man came and stood over her for a long moment. She lay, smelling the damp earth beneath her nose as she heard him step over her toward her cart. Lying motionless while hearing the tinkling sounds of fine glass breaking was excruciating. It had taken her years to build up that large a collection of her blown glass creations. She would have cried but her tear ducts were too terrified. She could hear the screams of her sisters as they were being forced to endure the attentions of several vicious barbarians at a time. The destroyer stepped back over her, his foot inches away from her head. She waited, her lungs feeling like they would burst any second. Jumping up, she dodged into the trees and trying not to fall, expecting a bullet to stop her any second, holding one hand over her tiny bulge, for her life and the life of the child within her, she ran. The lissome soldier watched her go as he stroked a tiny delicate pink glass elephant.
It doesn’t seem like you’re doing anything wrong. I did have a couple of comments that got stuck in the queue that I didn’t realize were there (been sick all week and forgot to check), but this is the only story I see from you. I’m not sure what might have happened to the other one. 🙁
Pink Elephant
300 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Deanna Salser
https://www.facebook.com/Beadanna777/
https://beadanna777.wixsite.com/procreation
Optional: Yes, I am open to derivative works, including audio productions. Please contact me via one of the above channels for more information.
***
As she cowered next to her husband’s dead body, Tessa tried to make her mind work. Explosions rocked the ground beneath her and bullets whistled by overhead. Smoke choked her and every breath was torturous with the odors of blood and death. Lured to this meadow with promises of trade, they had instead been welcomed with seasoned warriors, painted and worked into a frenzy for battle, for the ambush. She watched in slow-motion horror as her brothers were killed trying to protect their wives and children. She played dead as those women were rounded up, herding their progeny along with them. The child in her womb kicked its protest at her weight crushing it. She ducked her head and tried not to breathe as a fierce lithe man came and stood over her for a long moment. She lay, smelling the damp earth beneath her nose as she heard him step over her toward her cart. Lying motionless while hearing the tinkling sounds of fine glass breaking was excruciating. It had taken her years to build up that large a collection of her blown glass creations. She would have cried but her tear ducts were too terrified. She could hear the screams of her sisters as they were being forced to endure the attentions of several vicious barbarians at a time. The destroyer stepped back over her, his foot inches away from her head. She waited, her lungs feeling like they would burst any second. Jumping up, she dodged into the trees and trying not to fall, expecting a bullet to stop her any second, holding one hand over her tiny bulge, for her life and the life of the child within her, she ran. The lissome soldier watched her go as he stroked a tiny delicate pink glass elephant.
Figurines
282 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Davin Lop
Calloused and disfigured hands gently cradled the figurine. It wasn’t the last thing he had made before this all had started, but it was all that was left. Glass blowing wasn’t exactly a necessary profession when you were being invaded. Hands that were once used to create beauty were now being used to assemble weaponry. All creativity burned away.
He could hear gunfire in the distance and he knew this job was finally coming to an end. Was he terrified? Of course. But as the doors burst open, soldiers flooded the rooms, and the air became thick with the spray of bullets, his eyes wandered to his hands. His thoughts shifted to the beauty they used to create.
Large, worn hands crafting petite and delicate figurines. He inhaled deeply, placed his lips at the end of the blowpipe, and began to exhale. The blast of heat on his face and the subtle scent of chemicals and ash.
Suddenly, his nostrils flare with the sharp whiff of sulfur.
His eyes snap back into place. Smoke begins to fill the room and he scrambles behind a desk. Screams echo around him and he watches as those next to him collapse in front of nameless figures. His eyes drift to the crushed glass destroyed in his haste, a fate he will soon share. What was one more person lost to the cause?
Pain radiates from his abdomen and shoulder. A bright red color blooms from his body, but it only gives way to another glimpse from the past. Of the red burning glass, lit by the flame of the iridescent torch. Able to withstand the scorching fire, yet so fragile. How similar he must be.
The Glass Battlefield
300 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
A.J. Walker
Twitter/Spoutible: @zevonesque
Website: https://awalker.org
***
It was proving to be Shelly’s most difficult assignment yet, but she was determined to succeed for her most ambitious art glass project yet. The problematic local mafia groups was something she’d seen during earlier expeditions in rather sketchy areas of the world. Here though she was being escorted at distance – spied on – by the more problematic government “security,’ who probably suspected she’d try to get to the Restricted Zone.
She sipped on a vodka, turned off her room light and pulling back the curtain. Two agents were stood beneath a streetlight, completely happy to be seen by her; another two were in a long black car. Everyone was spied on in this country – and everyone was a spy. She laughed.
Her laptop resolutely refused to send or receive any data, effectively stopped by the amount of spyware attacking her old school ethernet port. It felt like she was truly back in the Cold War. Her excitement was growing though as she thought about getting out to the periphery of the area affected by infamous The Little Bomb. She’d be many miles from the centre of that most miserable of old battlefields. The area impacted by the radiation was now restricted, but the glass it had created from its heat and pressure had been flung out great distances, like a meteorite impact, and she was confident she’d find colourful ejecta at areas not too badly radioactive. She’d be picking up pieces with abandon in hours: the raw material for her priceless glass art made with these worthless spoils of war. By the time she’d blown her magic into the sad glass it would be eerily beautiful.
She opened the curtains again and saw her security entourage had disappeared; her in-country coconspirator had evidently done his stuff: The game was on.
Pink Elephant
300 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Deanna Salser
https://www.facebook.com/Beadanna777/
https://beadanna777.wixsite.com/procreation
Optional: Yes, I am open to derivative works, including audio productions. Please contact me via one of the above channels for more information.
***
As she cowered next to her husband’s dead body, Tessa tried to make her mind work. Explosions rocked the ground beneath her and bullets whistled by overhead. Smoke choked her and every breath was torturous with the odors of blood and death. Lured to this meadow with promises of trade, they had instead been welcomed with seasoned warriors, painted and worked into a frenzy for battle, for the ambush. She watched in slow-motion horror as her brothers were killed trying to protect their wives and children. She played dead as those women were rounded up, herding their progeny along with them. The child in her womb kicked its protest at her weight crushing it. She ducked her head and tried not to breathe as a fierce lithe man came and stood over her for a long moment. She lay, smelling the damp earth beneath her nose as she heard him step over her toward her cart. Lying motionless while hearing the tinkling sounds of fine glass breaking was excruciating. It had taken her years to build up that large a collection of her blown glass creations. She would have cried but her tear ducts were too terrified. She could hear the screams of her sisters as they were being forced to endure the attentions of several vicious barbarians at a time. The destroyer stepped back over her, his foot inches away from her head. She waited, her lungs feeling like they would burst any second. Jumping up, she dodged into the trees and trying not to fall, expecting a bullet to stop her any second, holding one hand over her tiny bulge, for her life and the life of the child within her, she ran. The lissome soldier watched her go as he stroked a tiny delicate pink glass elephant.
I’m sorry but the form will not work for me.
It was a good premise but you changed tenses a few times, making it hard to stay in the moment. Sorry.
Pink Elephant
300 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Deanna Salser
https://www.facebook.com/Beadanna777/
https://beadanna777.wixsite.com/procreation
Optional: Yes, I am open to derivative works, including audio productions. Please contact me via one of the above channels for more information.
***
As she cowered next to her husband’s dead body, Tessa tried to make her mind work. Explosions rocked the ground beneath her and bullets whistled by overhead. Smoke choked her and every breath was torturous with the odors of blood and death. Lured to this meadow with promises of trade, they had instead been welcomed with seasoned warriors, painted and worked into a frenzy for battle, for the ambush. She watched in slow-motion horror as her brothers were killed trying to protect their wives and children. She played dead as those women were rounded up, herding their progeny along with them. The child in her womb kicked its protest at her weight crushing it. She ducked her head and tried not to breathe as a fierce lithe man came and stood over her for a long moment. She lay, smelling the damp earth beneath her nose as she heard him step over her toward her cart. Lying motionless while hearing the tinkling sounds of fine glass breaking was excruciating. It had taken her years to build up that large a collection of her blown glass creations. She would have cried but her tear ducts were too terrified. She could hear the screams of her sisters as they were being forced to endure the attentions of several vicious barbarians at a time. The destroyer stepped back over her, his foot inches away from her head. She waited, her lungs feeling like they would burst any second. Jumping up, she dodged into the trees and trying not to fall, expecting a bullet to stop her any second, holding one hand over her tiny bulge, for her life and the life of the child within her, she ran. The lissome soldier watched her go as he stroked a tiny delicate pink glass elephant.
Figurines
282 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Davin Lop
Calloused and disfigured hands gently cradled the figurine. It wasn’t the last thing he had made before this all had started, but it was all that was left. Glass blowing wasn’t exactly a necessary profession when you were being invaded. Hands that were once used to create beauty were now being used to assemble weaponry. All creativity, burned away.
He could hear gunfire in the distance and he knew this job was finally coming to an end. Was he terrified? Of course. But as the doors burst open, soldiers flooded the rooms, and the air became thick with the spray of bullets, his eyes wandered to his hands. His thoughts shifted to the beauty they used to create.
Large, worn hands crafting petite and delicate figurines. He inhaled deeply, placed his lips at the end of the blowpipe and began to exhale. The blast of heat on his face and the subtle scent of chemicals and ash.
Suddenly, his nostrils flare with the sharp whiff of sulfur.
His eyes snap back into place. Smoke begins to fill the room and he scrambles behind a desk. Screams echo around him and he watches as those next to him collapse in front of nameless figures. His eyes drift to the crushed glass destroyed in his haste, a fate he will soon share. What was one more person lost to the cause?
Pain radiates from his abdomen and shoulder. A bright red color blooms from his body, but it only gives way to another glimpse from the past. Of the red burning glass, lit by the flame of the iridescent torch. Able to withstand the scorching fire, yet so fragile. How similar he must be.
Brittle Battle
289 words
Glass Blower / Battlefield / Action
Cay Macres
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alienoftheweek/
***
Red light from Virtus’ setting sun shone through the glass bodies of its inhabitants. Another death shattered Minerva’s daze. Orange skin shards spiraled away from the larger bits that stabbed into the sand with a satisfying crunch. The tiny murderer with its fishlike body, stumbled away. One of its legs ended in a jagged break.
Minerva carried out her work without gloves. Picking every piece of glass flesh from sand was impossible, but she filled her pockets until her fingertips bled. Around Minerva, miniature warriors shifted in the sand. Their bodies made the sound of wine glasses clinking as they shoved against each other, testing how long they could push before cracking. All the Virtans could do was die or kill. They were incapable of consuming food and certainly couldn’t speak.
Minerva was lonely. It was her job to repair the odd species on the brink of self-extinction. All she wanted was a “thank you.” Maybe her desire for familiarity was the reason the Virtans were gradually accumulating more Terran animal features. She used prongs in her small workshop to stretch and fold the hot glass like taffy in a candy store window.
Once it had cooled, the figurine began to breathe. This one resembled a horse. Minerva walked outside and set it down before realizing she had forgotten its marble-like heart. The horse galloped towards the purple sea, away from the tiny creatures that distorted the ground below them. Glass heads turned towards the deserter.
Hundreds of sculpted legs moved across the beach, creating a wind chime melody. With an ear-splitting screech, the horse was crushed by the Virtans. Its skin was swept away with the next wave. Smooth rocks rolled in the tide. The battle raged on.