Tiny Stories: The Promise of Comfort

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 25, 2021

Magic fades with age and I am nowhere near as powerful as I was in my prime, but know you this, my precious cherub, even as I lay here dying, this promise I make to you:

When you decide it is time for you to venture out into the world, no matter where the road you choose to travel on takes you, no matter how severe the detour your despair diverts you from your true purpose, my arm will always find its way to you to offer the comfort needed to carry on.

You will never be alone, this I swear on the remaining ember of my life.

Tiny Stories: Unappreciated Beauty

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 24, 2021

“What can you tell me of the house’s previous owner?”

“Annabelle Postlewaite? She was a kindly woman.”

“A spinster?”

“Sadly, yes. She possessed a beauty that no one cared to appreciate.”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“I believe there is a picture lying around…oh, here it is!”

“Dear Lord!”

Tiny Stories: The Tobacco Enema

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 23, 2021

The Henderson boy was pulled beneath the water’s surface by a rip current where the water that surrounded him was suddenly freezing cold, numbing him to the bone.

By the time the lifeguard was able to reach him with a float and drag him back to the beach shore, he had already succumbed to the water and surely would have perished had Dr. Phineas Ogden not been on hand with his kit containing a tobacco enema.

Tiny Stories: Always Find Her Way Home

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 22, 2021

Bláithín always had such a strong belief in promises.

“A promise made is a promise kept,” she used to tell me.

But I, being a proper skeptic, hadn’t actually believed her when she told me, “I will always find my way back home to you. The water will be my guide.”

I will gladly admit that I am a fool and I was wrong, for true to her word Bláithín never failed to visit whenever the rain fell on the anniversaries of our birthdays, our wedding and her death.

Tiny Stories: Love You For The Rest Of Your Life

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 21, 2021

What are you complaining about? You should consider yourself fortunate, Guillermo!

Of all the miserably single men in the world, struggling to find a soulmate and settling for whichever wretch stumbles across their path, you’ve met a widow, a beautiful black widow who will love you and only you for the rest of your life!

However short that may be.

Tiny Stories: Her Time Has Come

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 20, 2021

Oh, I have lived lifetime upon lifetime, participated in events that have shaped this world, loved the best among you and the worst, but I must admit that never in all the many years of my immortal life have I witnessed anything more beautiful, touching and devastating than the living embodiment of Death gently and patiently explaining to an elderly butterfly that her time has finally come.

Tiny Stories: A Puddle of Memories

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 19, 2021

Bailey didn’t remember the accident or being thrown clear of the car into the nearby bushes, and he was unconscious when his person was taken away in an ambulance. All he knew, when he came to, was that he was all alone, far away from home.

The concept and passage of time was slightly different for Bailey, so as the rain on his brow beat a rhythm unlocking the past, he sat at the scene of the accident, “good boy” style, in a puddle of memories, waiting faithfully for his human’s return.

Tiny Stories: Sister Pioneers

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 18, 2021

Adelaide and Agatha Bechtel were born different from the rest of humanity but their parents did their level best to raise them with a sense of pride and dignity.

The twins were taught to ignore the stares of the ignorant masses, for evolution was on their side.

Soon the world would know the shocking truth and come to acknowledge and appreciate them as pioneers in the next stage of genetic advancement.

Tiny Stories: Shards of Torment

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 15, 2021

The vanity mirror in her bedroom was a Venetian antique. Tin and mercury were used in its construction, which caused the mirror to develop a crystalline appearance over the years. It was a gift from Sandrine’s late husband, something he picked up from a bizarre back alley curio shop at a price far below its worth.

Although the mirror always displayed Sandrine’s reflection in the best light possible, far better than any mirror ever had, it had always unnerved her, as if it was manipulating her image to make her more beautiful than she knew herself to be. After her husband died, she should have thrown it away, but could not for the life of her explain what stopped her from doing it.

As was her nightly ritual, she sat in front of the mirror and brushed her long, beautiful hair, counting each stroke, when she detected the faintest whiff of her husband’s cologne. Sandrine looked around the bedroom and saw that she was alone, but when her gaze returned to the mirror, her husband was seated beside her in the reflection, holding her hand that was holding the brush. She screamed and for a moment it felt as if something or someone else was in control of her arm, forcing her to hurl the hairbrush with all her might at the mirror, shattering it to pieces.

Bitter nausea rose in her throat as the shards of the shattered vanity mirror twitched and trembled before shooting up from the table and floor in a maelstrom of sharp chaos, pieces binding themselves together in DNA helix fashion, building themselves from inanimate splinters of reflective glass to take on a new, sinister shape, the form of her abusive, late husband.

“Honey, I’m home,” said the mirrored monstrosity in a voice that sounded like broken glass edges scraping together.

Tiny Stories: The Girl Who Dances

Posted by Madd_Fictional on August 14, 2021

Mother Nature’s nose bleeds as the climate changes and zoonotic illnesses are on the rise and the human virus that infects the planet pushes itself toward extinction over squabbles of skin tone, religion, and wealth and the only thing holding the fabric of the universe together is Umbra, whose name means shadow, which is where she dances.

She is a shy girl with the crooked smile and nervous laugh who keeps herself to herself and stands apart from the rest of the so-called real world, moving her body to a tune of ancient magicks that no one else can hear and loving the vision of what people can become if only they can get out of their own way.

Pray the day never comes when she stops dancing.

MADD FICTIONAL

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