Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

TETHERED

He stands in his kitchen, coffee mug in hand. I don’t remember waking up.

Is it a workday? He’s wearing a tie… or is he? Everything is foggy. Distant voices—his wife and son.

He’s outside. The big oak in the front yard. Pushing Tommy on the tire swing. The rope fraying, but he knows it will hold. Is this a memory?

Tommy and the swing disappear.

***

Tom opens the car door, briefcase in hand. He hesitates, one foot inside.

It’s a clear, still day. Yet despite the lack of wind, the tire swing on the old oak is swaying.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

GARRETT

“You’re mine forever,” I told Ella after we began dating. “Even if the world ends.”

She said I was super intense and overdramatic, but her eyes sparkled. “Those are some of the things I love about you,” she added, laughing like this was the funniest thing ever.

When I told Ella I wasn’t exaggerating but dead serious, she swore she’d never leave me or be unfaithful.

She slept with another man right after we got engaged, though.

No one will ever find what’s left of Ella. Of her lover, either. Like I told her in the beginning, she was mine.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

THE RABBIT LAND

It was a beautiful summer day. Most of the rabbits gathered in the clearing among the woods. They played, chased, some rested in the tall grass. The idyll was in full swing.

Suddenly everything went dark. The bright blue sky was completely covered by gray clouds. All the rabbits stopped playing and looked up. A vortex formed in the air above the center of the clearing, transforming into a black hole. The animals knew what this meant. They’ve seen it happening before. They flattened their long ears with fear in their eyes.

“Ruuuun!” shouted Peter, one of the older rabbits, and all furries ran towards the trees.

Once at the edge of the clearing, Peter turned around to make sure everyone was safe. He noticed a pair of gray ears barely sticking out of the tall grass. He must be fast asleep, that’s why he didn’t hear me, he thought. He looked up. A huge hand emerged from the abyss, reaching for the unaware hare. Peter rushed to the rescue, screaming as loud as he could.

Roger slowly opened his eyes. Drowsy, he tried to figure out where he was. He dreamed someone was screaming. Wait, it wasn’t a dream. Someone is really screaming. He got up and looked around. He saw Peter running towards him. Now awake, he understood what his friend was shouting. He looked up at the same moment a huge hand clamped down on his protruding ears. He felt himself rising above the ground.

Peter was so close. He jumped to catch his friend, but failed because Roger was already in the air.

Roger tried to free himself, but couldn’t reach the fingers that held him so tightly. He watched the clearing receding away.

“Roger! Nooooo!” Helpless Piotr watched in horror as the hand disappeared into the abyss. The portal closed and soon the sun was shining again in the bright blue sky.

The world was almost the same as before this strange phenomenon. Almost.

 

*

 

The magician said the macig words and, with a wide smile on his face, pulled a rabbit out of the hat. The animal seemed scared and confused. Most of the children were impressed, except for one boy.

“Shouldn’t this rabbit be white?”

The magician lost some of his confidence.

“Um, no. The color of the rabbit is always a surprise.”

He looked up at the parents sitting in the back rows.

“By the way, would anyone like to adopt this adorable pet?”

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

WINTER ROSE

Staraya Ladoga, Soviet Union – Winter 1981

Kseniya wasn’t her daughter by blood, too much time had passed for that, but she was still her child through the bloodline. And she, bound to watch over the family until they scattered to the wind or the last of them died out. The girl might never see her, but such was the fate the spinners had decreed for this world. Shade and shadow would remain unseen by the living. She’d come to be accustomed to it over the years, content to watch as the land and the village she had known in life grew and changed around her. Buildings of timber and wood turning to brick and stone, and later, concrete towers.

She shifted the spear from one hand to the other, heedless of the winter cold or the way the icy wind didn’t touch her hair or the heavy cloak over her shoulders.

Kseniya giggled, scooping up a handful of snow and throwing at her wolf shaped brother as he padded around the powder dusted granite markers. So old now that if there had been names written upon it, they would have faded into nothingness – a thousand years after her death. But nothing had been written so it was nameless, only a few bones and a shield rim to mark where she had been laid. “Her path lies in the Saxon lands.”

She didn’t need to clarify or look up to see her fair-haired companion at her side. Not her brother by adoption – he had long since found his peace in Valhalla – but another restless shadow from a different branch of the tree.

He gave her a wry look, glancing from her to the twelve year old girl playing in the snow. “They call it England these days, Alivia. The kingdoms you knew are united.”

She snorted, brushing his remark off. “A Saxon child would say that, would he not? Scotland would never submit to your English rule, neither would Wales.”

He chuckled slightly, not appearing offended by her answer. “I think they figured it out and managed to keep some of their independence but the worlds we knew are long gone. The girl?”

Kseniya shrieked something in Russian and seized a small rock rather than a snowball, striking it against her brother’s shoulder this time before she took off running for home. Alivia shrugged carefully. “Kin, my daughter’s distantly related child. I am no sorceress but I know she won’t be much longer in Russia.”

A few years at most before entering English lands. “Her loyalty is to be respected, James.”

His name always sounded strange to her, too Christian for her tastes but it was how he’d greeted her in the odd place between Valhalla and the living world.

He winced a little at her answer, glancing away. “So be it. What’s her name?”

Time may have forgotten Fenris’s children in all but Iceland’s convention but she could still name her own family. “It will be Rose, soon enough.”

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

GLAMOUR

A pulse of magic swept through the room like a gust of wind, snuffing out the candles on the table and making the herbs sway from the rafters. I felt it like a whisper against my skin—inevitably electric. Chloe shuddered, breath coming in short, sharp pants. Her eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open, silver light flashing through them before fading.
But she wasn’t the same.
Her golden hair darkened, strands bleeding into a luminescent white that shimmered in the dim firelight. It wasn’t gradual—it spread like ink in water, washing away the last pieces of her human disguise.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

DINNER TIME

My fangs graze my lips, hunger roils through my body, reprieve lays before me. Skill in mind, strength in hand, I slice the body swiftly. Steam rises, my hands twitch, I dip them down to the wrist. Velvet red drops glisten, racing down my fingertips.

Don’t play with your food, my mother’s voice reminds me.

I sink my teeth deep into flesh. A soft, inviting laughter, hums through me. The kind that lifts you up, that warms you from within.

I raise my eyes to see the joy across my face, but alas there is no reflection on the mirror.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

PARITY OF REVENGE

The orange leaves crunched underfoot as the hunter returned to the woods where he lost his apprentice. It had been six months. A tragedy that had turned over in his mind so many times it had eventually snowballed into obsession.

He stalked beasts. There was no confusion about that. He came into their domain to slay them, not the other way around. Yet, vengeance was in his heart, simmering in the spring, boiling in summer, now steaming in the autumn.

The lad had been there to learn the trade of taking down creatures for food and fur. His inexperience made him vulnerable. Under the hunter’s tutelage, that shortfall was his to guard against. Ultimately, he knew it was himself with whom he was angry, having failed the young man. But he couldn’t hunt himself.

He set up camp and angrily banged rocks together, sparking the curls of wood shavings and strips of bark to burn under his bundle of sticks. The image of that mountain cat lunging at his apprentice, snagging its claw in his neck, and opening a wound that could not be treated before the poor lad bled to death, played over in his mind. It had all happened so fast, but the boy had split its ear with his knife as he tried to fend it off, and the hunter had put an arrow in its snout. He was certain, he would know it on sight.

He physically shook his head to dismiss the memory and his perpetual rage exhausted him into sleep.

 

When he woke, it was still dark, but he could wait no longer. He made a torch from his dying fire and went out looking for the beast. He stalked the woods for hours as the darkness peeled back in layers from the sky. The sun was not far from rising.

By the time he heard movement, it was coming from behind him. He turned and tossed his torch to buy himself time to arm and draw his bow. He launched an arrow and struck the figure moving towards him. He caught it mid-leap, striking with so clean a shot, the beast crashed dead upon the ground.

It was a mountain cat, but there was no cloven ear nor scarring upon its muzzle. It was not the creature he came for. He was a hunter, and he had made a kill. A glimmer of reason asserted itself and he considered just skinning it for its hide and leaving behind the madness that had brought him back to this place.

While he looked down, drawing his knife, he heard movement again, but this time he was knocked down from behind. His knife found the familiar-looking beast’s neck as its claws found his, leaving them to lie on the ground, growling and grunting, having claimed each other as a prize. Together they watched the orange glow of the morning sun for the last time as they each calmed their breaths in acceptance.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

 

TAROT ESOTERICA: THE BLACK LAGOON

One of the least-known cards of the Tarot Esoterica, the Black Lagoon represents an emotional morass with no clear way out. Nicknamed the “longest depressive episode” card by some practitioners, its interpretation can be a delicate balancing act, as it indicates the querent is experiencing difficulties, but the engulfing miasma of the Black Lagoon offers no easy escape.

When reversed, the Black Lagoon continues to represent the same swampland, though the writhing vines and kudzu that stretch upward may be even more constrictive than the sucking quagmire.

Skilled practitioners often gloss over this card, hoping the querent will do similarly.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

LAST MAN RUNNING

Erald ran faster than he’d ever run before. His heart was pounding in his chest like some prematurely buried person frantically beating the underside of a coffin lid to be let out.

There was nothing but death in all directions as he jumped over the charred remains of his fellow soldiers. Horses bolted as they tried to escape the remains of burning carts still fastened to them. Supply crates burned and barrels of water boiled while the fabric of the provision tents took flight, singeing into nothing.

With only one survivor running for his life, the battlefield had gone silent, save for the whooping of the great beast’s wings flapping in the air behind him like ship sails in the wind.

The beast inhaled loudly; a sound he’d been educated on in the short-lived battle behind him. He stopped and crouched into a ball on the ground like a hedgehog some child had poked with a stick. The terrible roar of blasted fire unleashed overhead and ahead of him. He felt the heat but was surprised to find himself still alive. When he opened his eyes, there was a long track of flames ahead of him, where he should have been running. The dragon had been a slave to its own momentum and was making a wide turn to correct its miss.

Erald started running again. “What do you want?” he yelled. “You’ve already won.” He began to wonder if the creature had some strict last-man-standing rule concerning battle. Unsatisfied until there was no one left on the other side to contest the victory. “I yield,” he offered, as the red-scaled flying furnace circled around to pursue him again.

His eyes fixed on the edge of the field where the fringe of the nearby forest awaited. Though little more than a great cluster of firewood to the thing chasing him, it would at least be not so open as the terrain beneath his quickly stomping feet.

Another loud inhale had him drop and roll to his side as another fiery trail blazed ahead. This time the creature had to fly high before it could turn around to avoid the tree line. Erald quickly rose again and fled into the cover of woods.

Running between the trees, he felt the ground shake as the beast landed to pursue him on foot. Though young and healthy, he wasn’t convinced his legs or heart could take much more. He needed to find somewhere the beast could not follow. Somewhere to lie low. He spied a ditch, loosely covered in branches and leaves, and curled up within it, covering himself and thanking the gods it wasn’t some trap full of spikes.

He breathed a sigh of relief before the heavy steps of his pursuer stopped nearby. As he groped about the little hiding hole, he noticed a small collection of large eggs, all covered in scales.

“Of all the places to hide…”

At least now he knew why both armies had been incinerated.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

WITCH KNIGHT

I wanted to learn magic for my protection. Our teachers insisted there was insufficient time for knights to train in combat and magic. But they told stories of sorcerous knights, so there were ways.

I traded sleep for research. I found tantalizing pacts offering what I sought. The church warned against demonic deals, while telling us angels could fall, becoming demons.

So how bad could it really be?

Some demons begin evil, not as fallen angels. They’re the ones most likely to offer their “protection” to the desperate, aspiring witch knights.

Now I have my protection, but at what cost?

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!