Category Archives: Tiny Stories

It’s what the universe is truly made of.

Tiny Stories: The Therapist

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

The therapist tells me her name, which is a complicated assemblage of letters, perhaps foreign, though she does not have foreign features or an accent that I can detect, so maybe she married into the name. In any case, the name does not stick and is quickly forgotten, but I am not worried because I am pretty sure she will hand me her business card at some point during our session, making it one less piece of information I need to store in my brain.

She attempts small talk, asking about my job, family, and hobbies—and in any other situation, this conversational choreography would usually be meant to put me at ease, but I know she is searching for a backdoor into my psyche. Instead of focusing on her trained, soothing voice, I concentrate on how the afternoon sun cuts through the blinds, casting stripes across her face. And that is when I first noticed it.

The skin around the therapist’s left eye seems to droop slightly. At first, I thought it was just the shadows playing tricks, but no, her eyelid definitely sags. She does not seem to realize anything is amiss, continuing to ask about my goals for therapy. I wonder if I should mention it, but the sagging stops. I must be seeing things.

As the session progressed, I guardedly opened up about the stresses in my life—my high-pressure job, distant marriage, and feelings of loneliness. The therapist listens intently, head cocked in concentration. That is when her nose begins to flatten and melt towards the left.

I recoil involuntarily. This time, there is no doubt. Her nose continues to ooze down her face, taking on a hooked, crooked appearance. My mouth goes dry, palms prickling with sweat. I want to scream, to push away from this thing that pretends to be human. But I just sit there, frozen.

The therapist noticed my expression. “Is everything alright?” she asks in that same gentle tone, adjusting her nose back into place when she thinks I am not looking.

I try to form a response but can only stammer incoherently. She smiles kindly. “Don’t worry, this is normal. Just take a deep breath.”

I blink hard, willing my vision to stabilize. When I open my eyes, the therapist looks normal again. The moment stretches on in excruciating silence. I feel my sanity withering in this tiny room where nothing makes sense.

I rise abruptly. “You know what, maybe therapy isn’t for me,” I stammer, feeling the room close in on me. I flee her office without another word, and her too-gentle voice calls out, offering to reschedule.

As I drive home, I feel an itch on the back of my neck, like I’m being watched. Glancing at the rearview mirror, I see her face superimposed over mine, whispering, “Our session isn’t over yet.”

Tiny Stories: You Will Know When You Receive A Sign (Revised)

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

As a child, I found solace in skepticism, surrounded as I was by a cacophony of fervent prayers and whispered ‘Amens’ that filled the hollow chambers of my family’s home. To me, religion was a relic, a museum piece best observed from a distance. I prided myself on my detachment, content to witness the ritualistic gestures and solemn hymns without ever feeling their tug on my soul.

That was until the day the very fabric of the sky seemed to tear open. A sudden roar rattled the air, like the trumpet of an apocalyptic angel, followed by an unnatural silence that seemed to swallow all other sounds. People stopped in their tracks, heads tilted upward in collective anticipation. Then, without warning, a violent column of fire spiraled down from an otherwise pristine, storybook-blue sky.

As it descended, I felt a wave of blistering heat wash over me, searing the air and leaving a sulfurous smell that stung my nostrils. The ground beneath my feet trembled, and for a moment, it felt as if the Earth itself were recoiling in horror. The fire targeted my home with an uncanny, surgical precision, leaving everything else untouched. Within seconds, the life I’d meticulously constructed was reduced to ashes and cinders, a smoldering ruin that sent tendrils of smoke high into the atmosphere.

The aftermath was surreal, like standing in the epicenter of a storm that had passed as quickly as it arrived. All that remained was a blackened scar on the Earth, an indelible mark as though the hand of Divinity had chosen to brand me.

Questions erupted inside me like shards of broken faith. Had I mocked the cosmic order one time too many? Was this devastation a punishment, a warning, or perhaps the ultimate test of spirit?

“Why do you tremble?” my neighbor, Miss Hattie, an old woman known for her devoutness, approached me as I stood by the smoldering ruin that used to be my life.

“Wouldn’t you?” I retorted, my voice laced with newly formed bitterness and awe. “The sky declared war on me.”

“Or maybe,” she glanced upwards, “It invited you to listen.”

Her words were like a seed planted in freshly tilled soil. My skepticism still lingered, haunting the edges of my newfound vulnerability, but the need to explore—to quench this sudden thirst for understanding the divine—became irresistible.

With nothing left but a suitcase of doubts and the fragmented memories of my past life, I began my pilgrimage. Was it a quest to seek forgiveness or perhaps to sate my nascent spiritual curiosity? The answer was a foggy mirage on the horizon, but for the first time, I felt the grip of faith seize my once-wayward soul. And it held on with a voracity that mirrored my own accelerating race against time, each step a stride toward an elusive salvation.

Tiny Stories: Cosmetic Layers (Revised)

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

As the world teetered on the edge of chaos, Kathryn found she possessed a gift that was not just a personal shield but a societal glue. She had the rare ability to project an aura of calm, sewn from threads of an arcane energy that existed before humankind was a twinkle in evolution’s eye, a veneer that was more than skin-deep. Her placid demeanor was contagious, radiating outward like ripples in a pond, and wherever she went, discord transformed into harmony.

Her soft, doe eyes weren’t merely deceptive; they were enchanting, ensnaring anyone who locked gaze with her into a trance of tranquility. Her rouge-cheeked smile wasn’t counterfeit; it was a magical sigil that disarmed hostility and forged connections.

But this power came at a steep price. Every rough patch she smoothed in the world around her manifested within her, stored in hidden pockets of her psyche. Over time, these collected fragments began to unravel the very fabric of her reality. No one knew the true face that lay behind her silken mask, a disarray of emotions and unresolved conflicts that only she could see.

And so, Kathryn found herself at a crossroads, suspended between the utopia she could create for others and the inner dystopia she had to endure. Could she continue to be the linchpin holding society together, or would she finally allow her inner turmoil to surface, unleashing chaos onto the fragile world?

Before she could contemplate it further, Kathryn found that her soul-searching stroll led her to a particularly volatile protest. And as the riot between protestors and police slowly transformed into a peaceful gathering in her presence, she felt something snap deep within her.

Kathryn had finally reached her limit. The reservoirs of her psyche had finally overflowed. The pain was unbearable, like white-hot needles weaving through her consciousness, tying knots around her sanity. Her eyes, once a beacon of serenity, became stormy whirlpools that sucked in light but emitted none. Her smile, which used to disarm even the harshest critics, twisted into a pained grimace.

As she staggered through the crowd, the world around her began to disintegrate. The serenity she had cast over the people evaporated as if it had never been. Arguments resumed, fights broke out, and the air became charged with the stench of anarchy.

Kathryn fell to her knees, clutching her head in her hands as if trying to hold her unraveling mind together. Her aura of calm shattered, releasing all the stored discord in an explosive burst that radiated outward, a shockwave of raw emotion.

The crowd recoiled as if struck by an invisible force. Those close to her collapsed, overwhelmed by the unleashed turmoil.

And then, she was gone.

Kathryn disintegrated into a shower of arcane embers that dissipated into the air, leaving behind only an empty space where she once stood. The crowd, now dazed and confused, looked around as if waking from a long, strange dream.

Though no one could explain what had just happened, a sense of loss hung in the air, a collective understanding that something vital had been extinguished. Society had lost its linchpin, but Kathryn had paid the ultimate price for a borrowed harmony, her existence consumed by the very chaos she had tried to contain.

Tiny Stories: Of Prefaces Unread

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Technology had finally advanced to the point where dermal holographic emitters showcased prefaces above everyone’s heads—bullet points of the highs, lows, and turning points in a person’s life—and society had become a library of human experience. Couples formed with a glance, prejudices shattered, and crime rates dropped, all because everyone was an open book.

Except Samuel.

An author who had lived a life meticulously crafted for the perfect preface, he found himself a book gathering dust on a neglected shelf. He watched enviously as people engaged in instant connections, their eyes scanning the floating words above heads. His own preface, filled with layers of subtext and metaphors, resonated only with his fellow authors, none of whom took the extra step to genuinely know him.

Frustrated, he thought, “If only I could rewrite my preface to appeal to them, to make them see.” So, he studied, analyzed, and crafted tales aimed at resonating with the hearts of others. But despite his efforts, his works—and his life—remained tragically unread.

In a cruel twist of fate, Samuel was involved in a car accident. As he lay on the asphalt, gasping for air, he noticed something: people gathering around him were reading his preface, now flashing the words “Tragic End” in bold letters. For a brief, heartbreaking moment, Samuel had an audience.

And then, his preface faded away, the last lines unwritten, unshared, and unread.

Tiny Stories: Prelude to a Fight (Revised)

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

“Let’s just talk about this some other time,” Lexi sighed, exasperatedly flicking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She scanned the almost empty bistro, where a solitary server bustled between tables, clearly not ours. She’d always been keenly aware of her surroundings.

“Why not settle it now?” I pressed, my fingers nervously tapping the edge of the table.

The furrow in Lexi’s brow deepened as she bit back her initial response. She took a deep, measured breath, as if inhaling courage, and said, “Because you’re not here, not really. You’re a million miles away, even when you’re looking right at me.”

“Don’t be absurd. You have my full attention.”

“Quit lying to me. Just this once, can you do that? I see that far-off look in your eyes like you’re solving a puzzle in your head.”

Caught, I wanted to glance away. “That’s just how my face looks, Lexi.”

“Ah, deflecting with humor. Classic you.”

“You love drama, don’t you? Creating mountains out of molehills.”

She clenched her fists, white-knuckled. “If you’d stop treating our relationship like a series of escape rooms, maybe we’d get somewhere!”

I sighed. “Our non-relationship, you mean? We broke up. I don’t owe you any explanations.”

Lexi’s voice lowered to a whisper. “That’s why we’re over, isn’t it? Because you’re an enigma wrapped in a riddle and I’m tired of solving for X.”

The server finally appeared, tray in hand. “Are you two ready to order?”

“No,” Lexi snapped. “We’re not.” She pushed her chair back so forcefully it almost toppled. “Maybe when you’re ready to be real with someone, give me a call. Until then, enjoy solving your puzzles alone.”

As she walked away, leaving me in an emotionally charged silence, it finally hit me. The biggest puzzle I could never solve was sitting across from me this whole time. And now, she was a riddle walking out the door.

Tiny Stories: Lost in Snow (Revised)

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Duke had always loved the feeling of snow under his paws, the crisp winter air filling his lungs as he and his human trudged along the mountain trail. They had had their differences before setting out on this trek—maybe about a chewed-up shoe or an untimely bark—but none of that mattered now. They were a team bound by love and a shared sense of adventure.

However, the mountain had its own plans.

With a deafening roar, the serenity of the alpine setting shattered as an avalanche ripped through the trees and descended upon them. In a panic, Duke latched onto his human’s leg, determined to be the good boy he had always tried to be. Snow, merciless and unforgiving, surged around them like a tidal wave, snuffing out the daylight and encapsulating them in a tomb of ice and cold.

Time seemed to stretch and distort in the dark quietude. Then, with an instinctual burst of adrenaline, Duke managed to push his head through the icy encasement, gulping in air tinged with frost. His throat scorched with each hoarse bark he let out, a desperate call for his lost human. But there was no response, just the unsettling silence that comes when nature asserts its brutal dominion.

Yet Duke would not—could not—give up. He began to dig, his paws flurrying through the snow with a frantic energy. Each scoop was a promise, each layer he penetrated, a prayer. Finally, his paw brushed against fabric, then skin. His human was cold, unresponsive, but alive.

With every ounce of his being, Duke barked until the sound echoed through the mountains, reaching the ears of a rescue team. When they arrived, they found a nearly miraculous scene: a human, unconscious but breathing, and a dog, steadfast and unwavering in his loyalty.

For Duke, being a good boy was not just a matter of following commands or playing fetch; it was a commitment, a pact between two souls who had ventured into the wilderness as partners. And even when faced with the immense power of nature’s fury, it was a pact that neither an avalanche nor the cold hand of fate could ever break.

Tiny Stories: Remember The Grain (Revised)

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Valeria sat at the head of an opulent banquet table, her eyes gleaming at the culinary wonders that surrounded her. A dizzying array of meats—venison, beef, lamb—filled the air with their mouthwatering aroma. To any observer, it seemed like the epitome of a feast, a carnivorous heaven—all designed to celebrate Valeria’s notorious predilections.

Her hosts, wearing enigmatic smiles, stepped forward to offer her a dish swathed in gold leaf and encrusted with exotic spices. Yet Valeria hesitated, her eyes narrowing at the proffered plate. In a world where her carnivorous tastes were well-known and celebrated, her refusal shocked the room into a leaden silence.

It wasn’t that Valeria was averse to exotic fare. No, her palate was as adventurous as they came. But there was a very distinct, haunting reason behind her reluctance—a reason so repulsive and gut-wrenching that it defied polite explanation.

The meat on that gilded plate was human flesh.

She recognized its subtle but unmistakable grain, its texture, and smell, a scent forever imprinted on her memory like a brand. Years ago, a dreadful accident had occurred in her family’s home, a mishap that turned a sibling rivalry into a tragic horror. Her younger brother had become dinner, not out of design but due to a grotesque series of events that culminated in his unknowing preparation and serving.

That night had forever changed Valeria, transforming her not only into a carnivore of human flesh but also a prisoner of her own abhorrent knowledge. She had lived with the indelible stain of that memory, an internal scar that defied healing. And as her gaze met the eyes of her hosts, she knew they understood the monstrous dilemma that loomed before her—a silent acknowledgment of the darkest aspects of human desire and taboo.

Tiny Stories: The Hand of Love (Revised)

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

When I was a young girl, my father vanished from the earthly plane. But he didn’t merely die—he transitioned. I sensed his absence, his “moving on,” as it were, before anyone else could muster the courage to tell me. A space that had been filled with light became dark; a melody turned into silence. It was as if a cosmic switch had been flipped.

When the news eventually reached my ears, I didn’t cry; instead, I turned inward. My family looked at me with concern, as I refused to eat or sleep, ignoring the therapists who tried to guide me back to the realm of the living. Colors ceased to exist; life itself became a blurred painting left out in a cosmic storm.

I was drifting, fading from existence, my spirit stretching thin, until I collapsed. That’s when it happened. I found myself falling through layers of a dimension not governed by our understanding of space-time, traveling backward through the chronicles of my own existence to the point of inception—the first spark of passion my father had ignited in me.

My descent halted abruptly, and I landed on a surreal beach of incandescent white sand and a boundless aquamarine ocean. Standing on the shoreline was my father, his image superimposed against a shimmering canvas of galaxies, nebulas, and interstellar phenomena.

“Is this heaven?” I asked, awestruck by the spectacle.

He laughed, the sound echoing like a harmonious cosmic wave. “No, sweetheart. This is merely a threshold. Paradise exists in dimensions cooler than this.”

“I want to stay,” I pleaded.

“One day you will, when you’ve fulfilled your purpose in the mundane realm.”

“That’s unfair.”

He held up his hand, now glowing with celestial light. “You see this? It might seem insignificant, but it carries the weight of a universal promise. Even if you can’t see me, my protective hand will guide you.”

Before I could protest, he leaned down and kissed my forehead. In that instant, a cascade of light enveloped me, and I found myself back in my bed, surrounded by my earthly family.

They never heard this story from my lips; they’d rationalize it, strip it of its wonder. But make no mistake—I’ve faced insurmountable odds and survived. In those moments, I felt the presence of that cosmic hand, reassuring me that love transcends all dimensions, guiding me safely through the labyrinth of life.

Tiny Stories: The Confrérie des Chevaliers du Coupe de Sang

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

The argument had gotten out of control and the sluicegates of Kanaan Undergrove’s reserves opened up and he unleashed a torrent of insults on his son, giving voice to all the negative things a parent might secretly feel but should never reveal to their child.

Communication had ceased between them for well over a fortnight until Thaddeus was summoned to the hallway just outside the family trophy room by his father. It came as a shock to no one that the young lad still harbored ill feelings.

“My father never apologized to me when he was in the wrong,” Kanaan began. “This created a rift between he and I that has never been repaired. I do not wish the same thing to happen to us. In thinking back on our disagreement, I accused you of being a ne’er do well child. This has plagued me for ne’er do well is not something that you or any child ever actually is, it’s something foolish that parents might say about them out of anger.

“Your mother, ever the calmer head, suggested that I stop hanging my expectations on you and allow you to develop your own expectations. She has faith that you will eventually grow to be a responsible adult. But as patience has never been my strong suit, I have decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Kanaan brings his wayward son to the family trophy room.

“I thought I was forbidden to enter this room, father?” Thaddeus questions.

“Do you believe me so naive as to think this your first time being here?” Kanaan cuts his boy a look.

The younger Undergrove will not confirm his father’s suspicions, but the old man is correct. Despite repeated warnings to stay clear of this room, Thaddeus slips into this fascinating space whenever he is alone in the house and rummages through the numerous chests, cupboards, display cases containing Old World treasures, and inspects the various taxidermied creatures which cannot be found in any nature book.

Kanaan sweeps his arm across the room and says, “None of these items are why the room is off-limits,” as he makes his way to a wall-mounted plaque. On the side of the plaque, he activates a mechanism that opens a door to a stone stairwell leading down to the secret chamber of The Confrérie des Chevaliers du Coupe de Sang.

Translated as “The Fraternity of Knights of the Blood Cup”, it is an exclusive brotherhood of vampire slayers founded in the early 1700s after a group of daring individuals drove from hiding a mysterious man who paid nightly visits to respectable and pious maidens and drank their blood by giving them the seductive kiss of evil in order to prove that his unholy religion was stronger than their Christianity.

To counter the ghoul’s claims, the chevaliers slew the beast and drank his tainted blood to demonstrate his curse held no power over their belief in God. This action had the curious and unexpected result of extending the lifespan of the founding knights, who, although not truly immortal, lived long enough to bury over one hundred generations of descendants.

The Confrérie, as it exists today, is governed by a Grand Conseil of Chevaliers who are charged with approving candidates for membership. The novitiates must single-handedly slay a vampire in the chevaliers’ presence before they can be knighted by sipping undead nectar from the cup stained with the blood of the first vampire.

Thaddeus has yet to come face to face with a vampire, let alone slay one, but that does not prevent him from stealing his way into this sub rosa hall for a wee dram from the goblet. Unfortunately, what began as a taboo pleasure has now become an irresistible craving for a drink that mere sips from a cup can no longer satisfy.

And unbeknownst to the young lad, he is beginning a transformation into a thing that will not age, does not need food to eat or air to breathe. And when his father learns what Thaddeus has done, he will become quite cross and kill him, literally.

Tiny Stories: The Armistice (Revised)

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Ever met someone so consumed by their thoughts they lose touch with reality? That’s me, most days, thanks to my unique condition: Dissociative Dimensional Disorder, or DDD for short. I’ll save you the Google search: DDD means my brain houses two warring realities. But we’ll get to that in a bit.

Right now, I’m on a date with Jake, a guy I’m desperately trying not to screw things up with. While I should be focusing on our conversation about favorite movies, instead, my consciousness is standing on a mental bridge, holding a cardboard box.

This bridge isn’t some metaphor; it’s an intricate construct connecting my dueling dimensions. Some of its pieces I recognize as my own memories, others feel strangely familiar, and a few are downright alien. And speaking of aliens, here comes the other me—Other Abigail. She’s standing in the middle of the bridge, blocking my path.

“Listen, things are complicated with me right now,” I tell her.

Other Abigail eyes the box suspiciously. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“You’ll always be a part of my life, but…”

“But what?” Her eyes meet mine, and it’s like staring at a funhouse mirror; familiar yet distorted.

“I just need some space to focus on real-world stuff. Like this date I’m on.”

Other Abigail arches an eyebrow. “Good for you. But what’s in the box?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

I sigh. “It’s a compilation of memories, thoughts, and feelings that are muddling up my head. They belong to both of us, but I need to unload some. To make room for new experiences, like this date.”

Other Abigail opens the box and leafs through its metaphorical contents. “Ah, the boy-band fantasy. That one yours or mine?”

“Yours, I think.”

She grins. “Okay, go enjoy your date. But make sure to take notes; I’ll want a full report later.”

As she walks away, a weight lifts off my shoulders. I mentally snap back into my body just as Jake leans in, his eyes searching mine.

“You okay? You seemed far away,” he says.

“Sorry, just had some things on my mind,” I reply, feeling more present than I have all evening.

And for the first time, I truly am.