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.

GOD OF WAR

Týr used his gold-clad stump to burst apart his mortal attacker—the stump made of the hand Fenrir had devoured. He watched with glee as its body burst into oblivion, splattering his already gore-soaked armor with flesh, blood, and splinters of bone.

Týr, God of War, reveled at the battle held in his honor.

Within the shield wall, men screamed their fury. Others screamed in pain. Jarls, berserkers, shieldmaidens, thralls, and heroes charged the enemy flank, shouting his name.

A slaughter ensued.

Týr rushed forth, breaking apart the opposing shield wall with a single swing of his axe, causing an array of armor and flesh to rain down upon them all. As the enemy fled to their longships, no chase was given. They’d fought bravely.

High above, the Valkyries made their way to Midgard’s surface to usher the noble dead to Valhalla, the flapping wings of their mounts—a testament to their glorious arrival.

Glancing upward, Týr grinned as he was half-blinded by the sun and a dozen pairs of white wings making their descent.

The surviving mortals shouted his praises, weapons of iron and steel wet with blood held high.

In the distance, the longships set sail into the gusting wind, their sailors promising vengeance as they rowed for dear life.

He hoped they would return soon.

Raising his stump in triumph, Týr let loose a roar of laughter that sent ripples across the fjord.

If you enjoyed this drabble 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.

ASH & DUST

“Two fire beings must not wed,” the Oracle declared. “The galaxy is too fragile, and Alluun needs water, nourishment. You should join kingdoms with the Queen of Garda, or even one of the princesses. Surely one is to your liking?”

But Kimuria would have her way—she married the Queen of Muyaii five days later.

The newlywed queens cared only for their passions. And so, their planets burned as they gravitated closer to one another. No force was stronger than the young, enraptured queens’ eternal bond.

The two fire planets exploded in ash and dust, preparing to reform as one.

Kelly Matsuura is an avid short story writer, with a focus on fantasy, horror, and literary fiction.

If you enjoyed this drabble 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.

YSBRYLLAND

The only way to reach Ysbrylland is through a gate: an empty, inviting eye of polished stone. Anyone can go — no passport required — but the gate finds you, wherever you are, and not the other way round.

Everything is alive in Ysbrylland. The animated colours of a vast, mesmeric spectrum are all visible to you. When it rains, the droplets wave and somersault. The buildings tilt their faces, open their windows and drink. When it storms, the thunder sings its name with a chorus from the clouds. The teeming ground conveys you through talking woods, past nodding, spell-chanting towers.

The place decides when you leave.

You’ll be gulping down the fragrant explosions of its air, cupping the humming pearls of its sunlight in your hands, and you’ll arrive home to a blank dawn, empty-handed. No souvenirs. Earth will be dead and stale to you. Ugly and inert.

You can only visit once. The gate never finds you again. If you see it winking at you one evening at dusk — the gate appears only when the earthly light is fading — ignore it. Pass right on by. Turn back the way you came. Escape the compulsive, nocturnal search for Ysbrylland, your flashlight in your trembling fingers, through cities, jungles, across deserts, half-way up mountains. Spare yourself a hopeless wandering to find the blissful place that has spoilt and rejected you, and a convulsing heart, gone septic with grief.

Reitha Pattison has studied and taught literature, and worked as a bookseller, editor, and book rights agent. She has published poetry, essays, and translations, and Tinne, her first graphic novel about a robot who discovers alchemy, can be read online (Instagram: re.pattison). Keeping with the alchemical theme, she is working on her first fantasy trilogy about kobolds.

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

AVAILABLE HERE!