<p>"At last, our world will know generational peace!"</p><p>"Have all nations finally settled their differences?"</p><p>"No. Some still hate each other."</p><p>"Then what happened?"</p><p>"Our God of War wishes to rest for as long as he pleases, and he has threatened dire consequences for the leaders of any nation that disturbs him with more war."</p><p>"They're all too afraid of him to fight each other..."</p><p>"Precisely."</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a></p>
microfiction
<p>Strange men appeared in the center of town. They stopped a passerby. "What country is this?" they asked.</p><p>"The United States?" the passerby replied, bewildered.</p><p>"What year is it?"</p><p>"Uh... it's 2026. How do you not know this?"</p><p>The strange men smiled. "We are part of a safari expedition from the future - a safari to punch Nazis."</p><p>"Oh! Then I think you want Germany in the 1930's or 40's."</p><p>"No," replied the strangers, "we are exactly where we are supposed to be!"</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a></p>
<p>"I'm feeling hangry," said Adam.</p><p>"Hungry?" asked Beth.</p><p>"Hangry," said Adam. "Lack of food affects my mood."</p><p>Beth frowned. "I despise that word," she said. "It's dumb. It sounds like the invention of a child."</p><p>"It is a perfectly cromulent portmanteau," said Adam. "It's been around longer than you think, and it absolutely describes my mood."</p><p>"Nevertheless," said Beth, "Please use something else."</p><p>Adam smirked. "In that case, let me say that I am Lack Toast Intolerant...."</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a></p>
<p>During the peak of the Diaspora, BnL starliners were departing daily on cruises intended to last five years. We calculate over eleven thousand vessels set out. One came back. Legend tells that the _Axiom_ was sent order A113 (remain on cruise, do not return to earth). Dark whispers say that other orders were sent; A112 (freeze passengers and await recall), B8086 (use passengers for parts), and in our worst nightmares come true we have learned of an order A66.</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
Edited 105d ago
<p>When the heatwave was at its worst, rolling electrical blackouts struck as air conditioners and refrigerators struggled to cope. In conditions where the heat index reaches the black zone, no amount of sweating or ventilation can prevent hyperthermia. I shudder to think what the death toll would have been like if not for the contingent of ice sprites from Cryptids Sans Frontieres who gated in to assist¹ the elderly and other vulnerable humans. </p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a> </p><p>¹ hug, basically</p>
<p>‷This must be the place, Captain; it’s the only planet within range of the chronometric polarizer drive in the kind of lifeboat that was missing from the wreck.‴</p><p>❝Any sign of the survivors?❞</p><p>‷The planet is borderline habitable, if they dug in under the ice caps they could possibly have evaded the worst of the heat.‴</p><p>❝Amplify spectral flux and check for distress signals.❞</p><p>‷Yes Ma’am—Got it! I’m picking up weak collimated neutrino transmissions. ‴</p><p>❝Where?❞</p><p>‷Everywhere! It’s the natives, they appear to have crude antennas erected in many of their dwellings.‴</p><p>❝Ridiculous, thats far beyond their technology. Unless…❞</p><p>‷Unless what? Uh, Unless what, Captain?‴</p><p>❝Scan for chronometric drive exhaust. I calculate that if you collected solar plasma at the pole you could power the lifeboat for about one suborbital flight every planetary year.❞</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
<p>"I have heard that the thoughts you think most often, and strongest, are etched on the inside of your skull," the necromancer's assistant said. "Is that true?"</p><p>"It is," the necromancer said. "Though I rarely try to read them."</p><p>"Will you read mine, when I'm dead?"</p><p>"Do you want me to?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#TootFic</a> <a href="/tags/smallstories/" rel="tag">#SmallStories</a></p>
<p>"We wish to honor the first earthling into space," said the aliens, "by inviting them to join us on our journey across the cosmos."</p><p>The earth representative frowned. "You must mean Yuri Gagarin? Unfortunately, he is long dead."</p><p>"A minor detail, given our technology," the aliens replied, "and no, we do not refer to the human."</p><p>The air grew bright and hot. Colors swirled. A dog appeared.</p><p>Said the aliens, "Come with us, Laika. Join us on our journey."</p><p>The dog barked happily.</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a></p>
<p>The witch’s robes flapped in the gale as she knelt on the beach. Waves crashed and she squinted as the sea spray lashed her face.</p><p>She withdrew a small syringe from the water as the magic started to work. As she stood, the wind calmed to a gentle breeze. The ocean settled until it was smooth as glass.</p><p>“This spell,” she said, knocking sand off her knees, “I call ‘sea quell injection’”</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a> <a href="/tags/dadjoke/" rel="tag">#dadjoke</a> <a href="/tags/infosec/" rel="tag">#infosec</a> <a href="/tags/sqlinjection/" rel="tag">#sqlinjection</a></p>
<p>“That guy in the corner, is he always here?”</p><p>“Yep!”</p><p>“Doesn’t he have a home to go to? A Job? Should I bounce him?”</p><p>“Don’t you dare!”</p><p>“He hasn’t bought a drink all night, but”</p><p>“He tells stories; others buy drinks. Been like that for six hundred years.”</p><p>“Impossible.”</p><p>“Shows what you know, youngster”</p><p>“Why do you allow it?”</p><p>“Haven’t heard all the stories, yet”</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
Edited 99d ago
<p>When I was a kid I saw a one-person speedboat at a boat show, it was so tiny and sleek. I dreamed of someday living on a riverbank and being able to speedboat to work. Years later I recalled this and looked them up, wondering how much they cost; I was saddened to learn the maker had long since gone out of business, after fashion shifted to motorcycle-type jetskis. Having said all that, I totally get this mania for commuter quadcopters, I would have been drooling over them in my youth, too. Look there goes another one, you really should get one of these forcefield umbrellas. Oh dear, that’s not gonna buff out, here, get under this with me, I’ll walk you to work.</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
<p>A short love story</p><p>A man and a woman who had never met before, but who were both married to other people, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a trans-continental train.</p><p>Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they were both very tired and fell asleep quickly, he in the upper berth and she in the lower.</p><p>At 1:00 AM, the man leaned down and gently woke the woman, "I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I'm awfully cold."</p><p>"I have a better idea," she replied, "Just for tonight, ..... let's pretend that we're married."</p><p>"Wow!.. That's a great idea!", he exclaimed.</p><p>"Good," she replied. "Get your own fucking blanket."</p><p>After a moment of silence ... he farted.</p><p>The End</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a></p>
<p>“Rise and shine, kiddo, we got a catch operation on runway 22. 1700pax onboard.”</p><p>“Second one this month. Heckin sloppy, boss.”</p><p>“You know, they used to just land airplanes on the belly if the landing gear got stuck”</p><p>“That’s wack. Surely it’d wreck the plane?”</p><p>“Pretty much yeah. They had the computing power to deploy a catch truck but apparently it just never occurred to them. They were catching these fuckoff huge primitive rockets, but if an airliner with 300 people on board had a gear issue it was ‘whelp let’s try a bellyflop, what could possibly go wrong?’ ”</p><p>“So what woke them up?”</p><p>“It was that AI bullshit in the twenties. When the bubble burst you could buy surplus vector processors by the skipload. All sorts of clever folk attacked previously intractable problems. That’s how we got tumourphages, catchtrucks, and dogvoices.”</p><p>“Wow but no cat translators, eh?”</p><p>“Oh they worked but nobody would pay to be told ‘fuck you feed me’ all day”</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
<p>The siege of the bank had been going on for hours. Scores of police blocked off the street, and on top of a nearby building a TV news crew broadcast the standoff to a waiting nation.</p><p>Then the crew noticed movement. A young woman, dressed in a black skirt,leather vest, and Doc Martens, wearing headphones, was making her way through the police lines. She spoke to no-one, but no-one tried to stop her. She walked up to the front door of the bank, and went inside. </p><p>After a few minutes, the bank robbers and the hostages all started filing out, most of them with their heads hung low, some crying. One of the bank robbers raised a gun to his own head, and then just gave up, dropped it, and sat down, head in his hands.</p><p>From the flanks, the police moved in and secured everyone. The police in the centre did nothing at all. A few of them had likewise sat down and appeared to be oblivious to what was going on around them.</p><p>The news crews closed in.</p><p>Getting a coherent story out of anyone proved difficult. Most people just asked what the point was. Some shrugged and said nothing at all. Eventually the news crews pieced together what had happened. Wherever the young woman had walked, people around her were struck with a sense of hopelessness, despair, or just all consuming apathy. Those on the edges were least affected, those closest, the most. </p><p>The rooftop news crew kept watch as the crowds slowly dispersed. After an hour or so the mystery woman walked out, looked around, looked up at the news crew and gave them the finger. Then she walked off, the world just a little greyer and duller as she passed.</p><p>The city had a new hero. The Goth. And she didn't care. </p><p><a href="/tags/goth/" rel="tag">#Goth</a> <a href="/tags/superhero/" rel="tag">#Superhero</a> <a href="/tags/sff/" rel="tag">#SFF</a> <a href="/tags/sf/" rel="tag">#SF</a> <a href="/tags/microfic/" rel="tag">#microfic</a> <a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a> <a href="/tags/iamwriting/" rel="tag">#IAmWriting</a></p>
Edited 169d ago
<p>"Madam Mayor, the situation is dire. The city is being overrun with rats."</p><p>"This means that we will have to..."</p><p>"Yes, tap into the Strategic Cat Reserve."</p><p>"By my order, unleash the CATS!"</p><p>"Madam, the cats are not, you know, actually leashed... that's dogs."</p><p>"Okay, release them then... must I spell everything out."</p><p>"Madam, this was not actually a spelling mistake, but one of vocabulary."</p><p>" 🤬 "</p><p><a href="/tags/cats/" rel="tag">#cats</a> <a href="/tags/rats/" rel="tag">#rats</a> <a href="/tags/dogs/" rel="tag">#dogs</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a></p>
<p>As alarms blared, the captain strode onto the starship bridge and to his command chair. "What's the situation?" he demanded. "Are we facing a petulant godlike being with powers beyond our understanding?"</p><p>"No, Sir," replied the helmsman.</p><p>"Has some incredibly incompetent intruder improbably siezed control of my ship?"</p><p>"No, Sir."</p><p>"There's a computer which I can destroy merely by talking to it in a confusing manner?"</p><p>"No, Sir."</p><p>"Well then, I'm out of ideas," said the captain.</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a></p>
<p>An alien fleet appeared in Earth's orbit, and broadcast a message:</p><p>"Having studied you furtively, we now seek formal contact, and want to meet your greatest thinkers..."</p><p>A long list followed.</p><p>"How do we tell them?" world leaders wondered.</p><p>Topping the list were the names Calvin and Calvin's Dad.</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#TootFic</a> <a href="/tags/smallstories/" rel="tag">#SmallStories</a></p>
<p>This week on Antiques Warpshow we’re at station Deep Space Thirteen—the famous “Lucky Thirteen”—which survived the Zeta Triangulum supernova thanks to a passing star whale sharing its metaphasic shielding…</p><p>〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎</p><p>“This was my great grandmother’s disrupter pistol; she was a guard on a Romulan ice moon prison when she fell in love with my human great grandfather and they escaped together”</p><p>“What a charming story and a fascinating heirloom. I can see from the emitter pitting that this was well used, and it looks like there is still some….yes *ZORCH* Ouch. No it’s all right that will grow back. Let me show you the safety catch.”</p><p>〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎</p><p>“My goodness you don’t see a Borg targeting laser in this condition very often. How did it come to you? It was yours? Well I must congratulate you on your recovery. As to the value: if I were a Ferengi black market bioimplant trader I might offer seventeen bars—yes of course I’m sure you will treasure it always…and if not you should hold out for thirty.”</p><p>〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎</p><p>“Do you know who painted this? No? Well I am absolutely /thrilled/ to tell you that this is a hologram on canvas by the artist Data Soong. They served in Starfleet before taking up holopainting, where it’s said the artist learned the technique from the memory banks of a memorial probe launched by an extinct civilization from somewhere in the beta quadrant…”</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
<p>As a reservist in the nanoartillery corps they let me keep my launcher implants. I’m only allowed to load nonlethals, but that’s human-scale NLs. Mosquitos are functionally extinct in this house.</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
<p>I put a payment card on my cat's collar so she doesn't have to steal fish. When they bought her home in the divvy van last night I found out she's been getting cash out at the woolworths checkout and buying black market brushies from escaped roombas. I'm sorry but I don't know what the roombas spend the money on. I do suspect that this is why the sign appeared in the supermarket today restricting cash-out transactions.</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>
<p>Announce: You can now find an automated archive of my Mastodon <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> at <a href="https://kit.biggs.id.au/fiction/" rel="nofollow"><span class="invisible">https://</span>kit.biggs.id.au/fiction/</a>.</p><p>TODO:<br>✅ extract toots and get the basic text up<br>✅add titles for those that have titles<br>✅record interactions and replies<br>🔲 process my deleted BirdChan archive to get stories from there too (oh no, they were not tagged, this will require manual collation 😮)</p>
Edited 56d ago
<p>The young woman chanted. Before her swirled a mass of inky black magic.</p><p>"Good," said Mistress Agathie. "Now, focus! Imagine the magic taking the form of your familiar - whatever you imagine that to be."</p><p>The magic cloud coalesced into the form of a raven. The bird blinked in surprise. "I live!" the bird exclaimed. "But - what am I?"</p><p>"You are my raven familiar," said the young girl.</p><p>"Ah, cool, I see," said the bird. "Just one question. What is a raven familiar?"</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a></p>
<p>"Does the role really require a woman?"</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"Or youth?"</p><p>"Er... No?"</p><p>"Is being royal or nobility a must?"</p><p>The dragon hesitated. "It's traditional..."</p><p>"We can mention that it's a position traditionally filled by a princess," the HR consultant said, "but we do welcome all applicants."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p><a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#TootFic</a> <a href="/tags/smallstories/" rel="tag">#SmallStories</a></p>
<p>The thing about a base on the moon is that everyone underestimates the amount of support the Earth provides. Even with a so-called sealed environment, there is considerable support provided by the outside. </p><p>So when they established the first moonbase, it was very short lived. To be fair, it was only really intended as a temporary establishment, but it only lasted just over one and a half times the design life. Which for a NASA project is abysmal. So 36 months after being established, it was abandoned. The next one, an ESA project, lasted about the same.</p><p>The third was a Chinese military one. It was meant to be permanent, but they abandoned it after two years because of the cost of resupply.</p><p>The fourth one was an attempt at a lunar hotel. It lasted three months before the company running it went bust, and a joint NASA/ESA rescue mission had to be sent to bring the staff home.</p><p>The fifth one was a genuine attempt at colonisation, headed up by a multi-billionaire. They were well funded, and established a large semi-underground city space. Several hundred people moved there. Most of them died there. The oxygen plant worked, the CO2 scrubbers worked, but the small population did not have enough depth in skills to keep it running safely. Eight people survived the catastrophic cascade that destroyed the biome and the containment. Only seven of them made it back to Earth. The last one remained behind to manage the launch of the one remaining earth-return ship.</p><p>The sixth and seventh ones followed similar patterns, at great loss of life.</p><p>This cooled the idea of a permanent moon base for several decades.</p><p>Eventually someone tried again. This time it was an international consortium of space agencies. Their objective was to try and determine what would be needed for any sort of permanent non-terrestrial colony. </p><p>The answer was shocking to everyone. </p><p>Over thirty thousand people ended up needed to provide the required depth of skills. And for each of them approximately two hectares of wild space was needed, in addition to the farmed areas.</p><p>What was the extra space for? It provided sufficient complexity to the support biomes to ensure that they could not easily go into a systemic collapse. It provided for pollinators to breed, for detritus processors to grow, and all the millions of little things that were needed for an actual ecosystem.</p><p>It took them nearly thirty years to build it. And it remains the only one that Earth has ever successfully built. </p><p>The Selenites, as they call themselves, have, however, built two more as their population has grown. </p><p><a href="/tags/sf/" rel="tag">#SF</a> <a href="/tags/sff/" rel="tag">#SFF</a> <a href="/tags/scifi/" rel="tag">#SciFi</a> <a href="/tags/spaceopera/" rel="tag">#SpaceOpera</a> <a href="/tags/microfic/" rel="tag">#microfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#microfiction</a> <a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/iamwriting/" rel="tag">#IAmWriting</a></p>
<p>The door of the tavern—well, a smoky single room attached to a stable on one side and a smithy on the other, in a tumbledown hamlet of about ten dwellings on the edge of The Forest—banged open. The proprietor had read the classics, and did a passable west-country accent. “Orcish, is it? Don’t see many of you folk in these parts since the War”</p><p>A trio of adventurers stood up from their table.</p><p>“Easy, ladies and gent, “ the host headed off trouble, “we’re all friends here.”. To the newcomer, “what can I offer you?”</p><p>“Po-ridge”.</p><p>“With blood?”</p><p>“Ugh, no! Cow milk. And—“ a glance at the wary trio “—golden syrup?”</p><p>The barkeeper nodded knowingly. “Sorry about the blood, just a demonstration that <br>*some people* shouldn’t believe racist lies. Got a barrel of fresh orcish syrup in the cellar, came in on a dragon not mor’n twenty year ago”</p><p><a href="/tags/tootfic/" rel="tag">#Tootfic</a> <a href="/tags/microfiction/" rel="tag">#MicroFiction</a> <a href="/tags/poweronstorytoot/" rel="tag">#PowerOnStoryToot</a></p>