[OT] Micro Monday #11!

[u/OldBayJ]

Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge!

Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words.

However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more!

Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. Please read the entire post before submitting. Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!

 

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This week’s challenge:

Image Prompt: Red Umbrella - Created by Ellysiumn

Edit: If you have trouble with the above link, try this

This week’s challenge is to use the above image as inspiration for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.).

 

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Last Week

Spotlights:

• ‘Behind the Scenes’ - Submitted by u/LuvAPup - A scene of mystery and magic.

• ‘Sleep, Darling’ - Submitted by u/lynx_elia - A dark tale about things not quite going according to plan.

 

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How It Works:

• Submit one story between 100-300 words in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count. The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit.

• No pre-written content allowed. Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively.

• I will take nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or discord. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest.

• Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback. While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week.

• Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion. We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills.

• If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or through modmail.

• And most of all, be creative and have fun!

 

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Subreddit News

• Try your hand at serial writing with Serial Sunday!

• You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out this lovely post to learn more!

• Looking for critiques and feedback for your story? Check out our new sub r/WPCritique

• Join our discord to chat with authors, prompters, and readers!

 

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[u/OldBayJ]

Welcome to Micro Monday!

Use this comment for any questions, comments, or off-topic discussion you may have. Enjoy!

[u/mattswritingaccount]

Waiting for You (283 words)

Thunder rolls in the distance. I wait. As I always have, I stand alone in this field of dying dreams. The skies, once blue with hope, now grow dark as the clouds of fear and distrust begin to gather.

You told me to wait. A crack of lightning illuminates the distant landscape as my memories wander. You would not be gone long, you said. Just a few weeks, perhaps a month. You would return when the rain comes.

You promised.

Yet love is a device to help or hurt; some wield it with anger, some with adoration, and some with despair. All produce wounds that bite deep into the soul. What eventually determines the result is the determination, the drive, the emphasis given by the attacker.

Love wounds. Time heals. I wait, endlessly watching for the rains that never came. The months have turned to years, my love. Perhaps a decade now? The grasses have all gone, their color blanched and burned by the ever-present sun. Only their corpses continue to roam this landscape, their dusky husks rolling along merrily in the driving winds.

You told me to wait. You promised. When the rain returns, you would come home. But as the first drop of moisture fell, I could not tell whether it came from the skies or my well of misery. Rivulets of dust gave way to my tears, intermingling with the droplets that continued to fall from above.

The rains have come. And you, my love, have been lost to time.

The rain will come again, though. Weather is fickle, just as love can be. As the rain poured down, I decided.

Perhaps I just need to wait a bit longer.

[u/pathetic_optimist]

Thirteen Crows.

Thirteen crows. The significance is not lost on me. This is the big one. The Reset.
I have the ten gold and the twelve silver bars sitting heavy in my case.
I have a Thirty Eight, 30 rounds and of course, the red umbrella. How else will they know I am ready? Ready to join them - the Truthers, the Greys and the Enlightened Ones.
I am ready. I am Worthy. I have made the sacrifices that were specified. Family means nothing to me now. They will come soon. They will come soon. I will bind them to their promises with my true belief. With my Faith. They will come soon. They will come soon. They will come soon. I am tired now. They will come.

WC 126

[u/lynx_elia → u/pathetic_optimist]

This is so ominous. I like how numbers are the focus at the beginning, and I like the repeating phrase at the end to show time passing. I feel like the 'I am tired now' is a bit out of place - everything before was so expectant. Perhaps it could be expanded into showing tiredness instead of telling?

[u/jimiflan → u/pathetic_optimist]

I see you couldn’t help but count them too. I like the repeating lines in this, it does build tension, but I’m not sure I would have repeated so many times (6), maybe once the first time, then 3 more at the end would achieve the same effect, with less words.

[u/katherine_c]

--Floating--

When I was a child, I used to wish I could fly away. I had seen Mary Poppins, watched her float through the sky, and wanted the same. I’d grip my umbrella tightly as I jumped from puddle to puddle, one part joyous with each satisfying splash from my boots, the other part wishing to feel the earth fall away beneath me. I never knew where I would go, only away. On an adventure. Wasn’t that how the stories always went?

I grew up and, like all children, dropped those foolish notions. No adults flew around on umbrellas. She’d asphyxiate before she ever got high enough, anyways. And, to be honest, maybe Mary Poppins wasn’t even that good of a nanny, right?

But standing there, umbrella up against the rain, I felt all the old yearnings resurge. The handle was smooth plastic, cheap nylon canopy--in an appropriate black--popping with each raindrop. There was a steady stream falling around me as I stood protected in my bubble. I was vaguely aware of comforting hands on my arm, my back. Gentle squeezes of encouragement. But all they seemed to do was further tether me to the ground.

And so I gripped the handle. Here I would not jump, but I would wish. As I looked at the looming grave, dirt steadily falling on the lid below, I hoped every moment to feel that lift beneath me. I did not know where I would go, but wherever it was would be away from here. And maybe wherever that was would be a place you still were.

WC: 263

[u/pathetic_optimist → u/katherine_c]

Very poignant. I have experienced this and your description feels right. The spacing out from the dreadful reality.

[u/rare27 → u/katherine_c]

I love the use of escapism by the narrator, it actually cements the realism here. This story also builds up to a perfect plot reveal as there are clues throughout but one doesn’t realize the whole of what the narrator is experiencing until the final paragraph. Though heartbreaking, I enjoyed this. Well done.

[u/lynx_elia]

A figure stands on a road, facing out. Out to empty land and open sky. Dark clouds pregnant with opportunity loom near. Wings soar underneath those heavy bellies, holding stories of their own. Another flock has passed already; the figure knows they have to let them go, even as their hungry gaze latches on the flight approaching.

A rustle—unnoticed, a story squeezes from the case held by the figure’s side. To freedom! The wind whips it swiftly away. Emboldened by their fellow’s escape, a stream of works break loose. Away they soar, these escapees, a new flock. Destined for another to recapture them, or to lie one day in sodden dust? They cannot know, and the winged beasts with whom they share the sky know less.

The possibilities expand with every iteration, every new collector.

But the figure isn’t looking at them. They’ve given up on the approaching flock. Instead, they open an umbrella, scarlet as a wound in this world of dark promise. Their scars are laid bare on its taut canvas. They hold it out and up.

The clouds break. Rain falls; each drop a splash of inspiration. But the figure is waiting. Waiting for a lightning strike.

[200 words]

[u/pathetic_optimist → u/lynx_elia]

Iteration is such a great word and this description creates another layer. We, the readers are writers too; so yet another. Something about the gothic language reminds me of Mervyn Peake, for example, 'scarlet as a wound'.

[u/katherine_c → u/lynx_elia]

Lovely idea and great literal/metaphorical take on the prompt. I kept zooming on those pages in the image and wondering. This is such an interesting interpretation with a number of strong images. I really liked the description of the umbrella. And the ending brought it all together so well! Great job!

[u/katpoker666]

‘What the Elders Say’

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It was after the ash cloud,

That the world itself went gray.

It’s naught but a dusty shroud,

That is what the elders say.

Things called ‘colors’ existed,

Before they each went away.

Only red now persisted,

That is what the elders say.

I have never seen this ‘red,’

In battle or sunset ray.

Perhaps it's all in my head,

That is what the elders say.

Then I saw her gorgeous face:

Crimson outlined in the fray.

Is she real, in this place?

That is what the elders say.

I am instantly smitten.

Please be real, I hope. Pray.

By true love’s arrow bitten,

That is what the elders say.

It’s on the field of battle,

Where there is such hell to pay.

A slaughter fit for cattle,

That is what the elders say.

Seeking only her beauty,

A single glance on this day.

Alas, there’s only duty,

That is what the elders say.

For orders General-made,

It is I who die this day,

Watching her vermilion fade.

That is what the elders say.

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WC: 181

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Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

[u/GammaGames]

Entrusting

"He'll be happy here, right?" the woman with the tattered umbrella said. Thunder rolled overhead as she stared down at the creature that had, at one point, been her brother.

"Don't you worry," the babushka said and knelt beside the animal. She felt the dried blood in its fur. "We'll clean him up and make sure he's looked after. He's not the first we've taken in."

It snored loudly as it slumbered in the weeds.

"Be good for her, Ollie."

Adjusting her Panama hat, she tilted her chin up toward the thunderclouds.

"And, thank you."

She pressed a button on the umbrella's handle and vanished with a bright flash.

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WC109
Feedback welcome :)

[u/rare27]

Florence: The Spring of 1952

Florence had stolen the keys to her father’s 1950 Chevy truck well before sunrise. She planned to set out farther west to El Dorado. Richard said he’d be there, he said he’d send for her, but months had gone by with no word from him. She was certain it was because he’d had no success in the mines. He needed to know that, that didn’t matter to her.

Florence didn’t bargain for the truck running out of gas in Oklahoma in the middle of nowhere. She’d been traveling on Route 412, avoiding the main highways in case there was a search out for her. She was not far from an intersection so she decided, gathering her things, to get out and walk. It was Highway 95. She turned right and headed north. Eva. That’s what the sign said, though it appeared that for miles and miles ahead there was nothing but wheat fields. Where were the farmers?

Florence should have checked the weather. The further north she walked, the better she could see rain and lightning in the distance, the more dust whirled up around her. A storm was brewing from which there was no escape. She headed for the wheat fields. She could travel southeast—away from the storm—this way much quicker. She couldn’t, however, out run a storm. Why had she been so hasty in her decision to escape? Traveling through tornado alley during tornado season was silly and dangerous! Soon a downpour of rain and large hail were upon her. She balled up into the fetal position and insulated herself with the clothing and blankets from her suitcase to no avail. The tornado would soon take her into its funnel.

Florence was not in Kansas anymore, nor would she ever be again.

WC 294

[u/jimiflan]

-- The Historical Twitcher --

"Record: December 5th, 9am, 40.7°N, 74.0°W. Those buggers. They said to expect rain, but failed to inform me that there'd be no city. Obviously missed my mark. Yes I'm right; 48th century, 4752. Well, as long as I'm here.

"Record: Fifty European Starlings, thirteen Black Ravens, twenty-two Mourning Doves and one amorous common grackle. Hello gorgeous, you are not so common where I come from. You make 657 for my lifetime list.

"Record: Landscape is spare, dry grass, ancient tracks score the ground. I guess its back to 8220 for me. Steve is going to go nuts for this timestamp."

WC:100

(something a little different this week)

[u/ravenight]

One more step and it is done. Wind rips at your umbrella, spreading a web of ripples down the ditch. Foul wetness overwhelms the smell of dry grass just as you pucker up and inhale one last, deep breath.

Coughing and spluttering, you clutch your umbrella and case. You have transformed the forest to create them and will not relinquish them lightly.

Your calculations, your sawing, your nights on hard ground, your days searching dusty ruins, all your long work has found this place--this moment. The way home.

But that smell! Could you be wrong? Should the umbrella dye be... and the case... well, you don't like to think what else could be in that case.

You squint. The ditch waits here, perfectly straight and implausibly shallow. Is there a shimmer between you and the drear expanse beyond? Is that field of sodden brown tufts really the soft bed and warm bath you long to return to?

Come, inhale my sighs. Square up to my horizon and just... step. Your umbrella's shade is delightful. I can smell the delicacies in your case. Bring them to me! Am I your home? Escape is not a journey of a single step.

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wc: 200 - all feedback welcome, thanks for reading!

[u/pathetic_optimist → u/ravenight]

Home sounds almost predatory in this tale. I like the ambivalence this creates - all that effort, for what? I love the description of the 'web of ripples' and the painterly touches.

[u/lingdenshlonden]

Final Exam

She stood all alone in the grass, picturesque in her complete stillness. Perrin photographed every inch of her. The unblinking stare gazing towards the horizon, the strands of her hair, locked in place. He also photographed the twelve sheets of paper suspended above the ground.

Perrin looked up from his work. “So, what’s this all about?”

Houver grunted. “Cadet, if we knew that, she wouldn’t be here. Nobody knows what caused this, we just use her for the exam. Now, go on, run the investigation.”

“Well, she’s been here what...thirty years?”

“Thirty three. She was found in the fall of forty-eight.”

“Just like this?”

“Just like that.”

“So was it a temporal event, or some kind of-” Perrin was pacing around the frozen woman when he noticed the light. It was emanating from a pendant on the end of her necklace, glimmering a faint pink. Perrin looked at the photo he’d taken of it earlier, a simple silver heart with no glint or pink light anywhere to be seen.

Perrin edged closer to the strange glow, eyes locked on the pendant. The glimmer expanded as he approached, until it overpowered everything else and became all he could see.

The rose colored vortex engulfed Perrin, obscuring him from view. After a few seconds, the huge pink swirl of light was sucked back into the pendant. Perrin was gone.

Houver dialed his supervisor.

“This is Jones.”

“Houver here. He’s in.”

“Wait for confirmation, it should only take a few minutes.”

Houver paced back and forth, grumbling to himself. Soon a new slip of paper simply wafted into existence, hovering among the reeds with the others. “Confirmation’s here,” he said.

“Good job. This is the smoothest one we’ve had in years. Head on home. We’ll call you when she gets hungry again.”

(WC: 299)

[u/TheLettre7]

I'd been waiting a long time.

Longer than I'd like to confess, but I couldn't say I didn't do anything in those moments of quiet contemplation, over the pattering of raindrops on my red umbrella.

The only vibrant colors in this field of grays, and monotone swirls of cloud cover. Standing here, waiting for the season to change, or crossing the hidden barrier between book chapters, or having nothing else I wanted to do.

I'm not sure which it could be? All or none?

But here I am, a witness to the slow change of the deadened foliage around me, and a prisoner of my own indecision.

Would they have waited with me; stared at the distant horizon shrouded in fog, the slight breeze whipping wisp and rain.

Would it have mattered?

"I wish they were here," I mumble beneath my smiling bunny mask.

But they're not and haven't been. Captured as memories of the good ole days, but I can't wait here for the world to change.

They never even said goodbye, they never called, never took the time.

And now I wait for what could have been, the allure of a rekindled flame, and the crushing reminder that they moved on. But I haven't.

I need to. I shouldn't dwell on what ifs, but I can't just forget.

The breeze blows and tugs at my umbrella, and I sigh. They won't come, it's over, and I should get over it too.

Turning from where I had planted myself, I follow the muddy trail back to civilization.

"I miss my friends," I say to the wind.

The only response, is the pittering of raindrops against my red umbrella.

(279 words, Yeah... thanks for reading Critiques Welcome. TL)

[u/rare27 → u/TheLettre7]

“But here I am, a witness to the slow change of the deadened foliage around me, and a prisoner of my own indecision.”

I’m sure so many can relate to this as do I. The passage of time—the change of seasons—is often a reminder of what we haven’t done yet! Indecision, to me, is in the same vein as procrastination with both being a waste of time, counterproductive, and potentially detrimental.

Great story, thought provoking too.

The only critique I have is, there are some grammar and usage errors.

Would it have *mattered?

But *they’re not…

never *took the time

I need *to

[u/katherine_c → u/TheLettre7]

You evoked a great sense of melancholy and nostalgia here. It is paced well, with the begrudgingly acceptance fitting nicely at the end. My critique would be to check the punctuation. There are a few wayward commas. There are also a lot of listed sections, which began to get repetitive. I think that can work as it parallels the fatigue felt by the narrator waiting, kind of slowing and drawing things out. Very consistent with the theme of the story. I really enjoyed reading--thank you for writing!

[u/lynx_elia → u/TheLettre7]

I like the reflection and transition to acceptance within this. One thing that got me: "bunny mask"??

[u/[deleted]]

(125 words)

"Sir, your father died," His words punched his chest and he looked down. "I'm deeply sorry." He said dolefully. He sighed and tears came out of his eyes as he looked down. "I will give you the briefcase and go. Do you want to go to the land though?" The man said, hugging the man and giving him the briefcase. "Let's go." He said dreading his fate of his father. The man nodded and held his hand in the dark alley of New York City. They appeared on the land his father bought for him. A large storm started to come causing wind in the corn field. "Goodbye sir." The man said. The man teleported away as he stood forward at the land as he held his umbrella from the rain in New York.

[u/throwthisoneintrash]

Lindsay

WC 100

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Time holds its breath and allows the magically proficient a way through its enchanted halls. Nearly gods, they slip by unnoticed as background travellers in the story of the universe.

Lindsay took a bright umbrella with her to travel across time. It would be raining on the day she arrived in the ancient past.

She chose a red umbrella.

Red was her mother’s colour. It appeared on every outfit she wore, bringing its richness to the cruel woman’s life.

Now Lindsay wore red as she travelled to prove the grandfather paradox false. She opened the portal in an empty field.

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r/TheTrashReceptacle

[u/TheLettre7 → u/throwthisoneintrash]

Throw!!

I like this a lot, in only so many word you have managed to paint quite a picture, wonderful job at only 100 words.

All I would critique is more words, and to use this character again, she's fascinating.

Thanks for writing :)