Tag Archives: Tiny Stories

The Whispers of Eternity

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In the gossamer threads of time
Woven through the tapestry of existence
I have danced to the rhythm of countless heartbeats

I, the immortal wanderer, have traversed the labyrinthine paths of history, bearing witness to the rise and fall of empires, the birth and death of stars. I have loved with a passion that set the cosmos ablaze and hated with a fury that consumed galaxies.

But in all the eons of my eternal waltz, never have I encountered a moment as exquisitely poignant, as hauntingly beautiful, as the ethereal whispers shared between Death and a delicate, aging butterfly.

In a garden of fading dreams, where the colors of life were slowly bleached by the relentless march of time, Death arrived, cloaked in a veil of gentle compassion. With footsteps that left no imprint on the fragile petals below, Death approached the elderly butterfly, her wings once vibrant, now faded and tattered like the pages of a well-worn book.

The butterfly, her eyes filled with the wisdom of countless sunrises and sunsets, met Death’s gaze with a serenity that transcended mortal understanding. In that moment, the world held its breath, and the universe paused to bear witness to the profound exchange between two ancient souls.

Death, in a voice as soft as the rustling of autumn leaves, spoke to the butterfly, each word a caress of understanding. “My dear friend, your journey has been long and filled with wonder. You have sipped nectar from the blossoms of joy, danced on the currents of laughter, and weathered the storms of sorrow. But now, it is time to rest your weary wings and enclasp the gentle embrace of eternity.”

The butterfly, her antennae trembling with a mixture of acceptance and trepidation, replied in a whisper that echoed through the ages, “I have lived a life of beauty and purpose, and I am grateful for every fleeting moment. But tell me, sweet Death, what awaits me in the great beyond?”

Death smiled, a smile that held the secrets of the universe, and whispered, “Beyond the veil lies a garden of eternal spring, where the flowers never fade, and the sun never sets. There, you will dance with the spirits of those who have gone before you, your wings restored to their former glory, forever young and forever free.”

As Death spoke, the butterfly’s wings began to glow, as if infused with the very essence of starlight. Slowly, gracefully, she lifted herself from the petal on which she had rested, her body becoming translucent, a shimmering echo of the life she had once lived.

In that moment, as the butterfly ascended towards the heavens, I felt a tear trace its way down my immortal cheek, a testament to the raw beauty and overwhelming emotion of the scene unfolding before me. For in the tender exchange between Death and the butterfly, I had witnessed the very essence of existence: the bittersweet symphony of life and death, the eternal dance of beginnings and endings.

As the butterfly vanished into the celestial realm, Death turned to me, a knowing smile playing upon their lips. “In the end,” they whispered, “it is not the length of a life that matters, but the depth of its impact. For even the briefest of lives can leave an indelible mark on the tapestry of the universe.”

And with those words, Death faded into the ethereal mists, leaving me alone in the garden of fading dreams, my immortal soul forever changed by the profound beauty and devastating truth of the moment I had just witnessed. For in the whispers shared between Death and the elderly butterfly, I had glimpsed the very heart of existence itself, a revelation that would echo through the chambers of my eternal being for all the lifetimes yet to come.

Tiny Stories: The Therapist

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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 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)

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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 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)

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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: As Above, So Below

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

Elara had always been mesmerized by the skies and the depths. She hailed from the Middle Kingdom, a land suspended between the ethereal Sky Kingdom and the enigmatic Underworld. Folktales spoke of celestial beings soaring above and fearsome creatures lurking below. But for Elara, these were more than just stories; they were clues to her destiny.

The prophecy of “As Above, So Below” had been whispered by soothsayers and scholars for generations, but it was during Elara’s sixteenth year that signs began to manifest. The Sky Kingdom experienced endless storms, while the Underworld endured seismic tremors. When a comet traversed both realms in a single night—a celestial omen—Elara knew her time had come.

Her journey commenced with the acquisition of two artifacts: a feathered amulet from the Sky Kingdom, gifted by the winged Serapha, and a dark gem from the Underworld, bestowed by the scaled Drakor. Each artifact harbored the essence of its realm and granted Elara unique abilities.

Guided by the prophecy and armed with her newfound powers, Elara began the daunting task of unifying the realms. But her path was fraught with trials. The rulers of the Sky Kingdom, ethereal but aloof, saw the Underworld as a realm of abomination. Likewise, the Underworld’s chthonic leaders viewed the Sky Kingdom as a haven of arrogance.

Elara, the bridge between worlds, found herself tangled in a web of politics, magic, and conflicting ideologies. Both realms offered her trials of wit and strength—from solving the Sky Kingdom’s riddles to facing the Underworld’s monsters.

The defining moment came when a looming darkness, a void, threatened to engulf both realms. This was the chaos prophesied, the imbalance that “As Above, So Below” had foretold. Elara realized that her amulet and gem were not just gifts but keys. Through an ancient ritual, she united the artifacts’ powers, chanting the prophecy as a spell.

“As Above, So Below,” she incanted, feeling the realms resonate with her words.

The darkness hesitated, then recoiled. With a burst of combined celestial and infernal energy, balance was restored. The storm clouds above dissipated; the tremors below ceased.

Though the realms remained distinct, never again would they dismiss the other as irrelevant or contemptible. Elara returned to the Middle Kingdom, her mission fulfilled but her adventures far from over. She had shown that unity was not just a dream but a cosmic imperative.

And so, the prophecy was both conclusion and beginning, a timeless echo in the annals of both realms. For in balancing the eternal scales, Elara proved that the key to harmony was not isolation, but the bold embrace of complexity.

“As Above, So Below,” the realms whispered, a mantra now imbued with newfound reverence.

Tiny Stories: All For Luka

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

Cosmonaut Nikulaenkov became a multiversal wanted man the moment he broke polydimensional travel laws by visiting alternate timelines in search of a living version of his deceased wife, Luka, who was single and capable of falling in love with him.

Nikulaenkov’s fingers trembled over the controls of his homemade polydimensional capsule. Sweat trickled down his brow as the countdown initiated. A leap through quantum foam, and he was standing in another universe. Before him stood Luka, radiant as ever, but there was something amiss—her eyes, cold and unrecognizable. He retreated without a word.

Within minutes of his jump back, an alert flashed on his capsule’s dashboard: “Multiversal Violation Detected. Prepare for Immediate Detainment.”

Ignoring the warning, Nikulaenkov recalibrated his coordinates and plunged through the cosmic weave again. This time, he found himself surrounded by a SWAT-like team, their armor marked with an unfamiliar sigil: the emblem of the Multiversal Police. “Stand down, criminal!” their leader shouted. But he’d already activated his return sequence, vanishing from their grasp.

The next jump brought him to a sunlit café. Across the table sat Luka, enchanting and engaged in a book. She looked up and caught his eye; a spark, a connection. But then a ring glinted on her finger. Engaged to another man.

His heart sank. It was a cruel twist of the fates, a mockery of his mission. With a heavy sigh, he entered the coordinates for the last jump, knowing full well it would trigger a one-way quantum lock, effectively making him a Class-A felon.

This universe was utopic, almost dreamlike. And there she was, Luka, standing on a balcony overlooking a serene lake. She was a world-renowned neuroscientist here, on the brink of curing a deadly disease. She smiled at him, a smile he hadn’t seen in years. “You look like you’ve been traveling for ages,” she said softly.

As they spoke, a realization washed over him: taking her away would doom this universe to suffering. His capsule buzzed, a final warning from the Multiversal Police closing in.

He looked into Luka’s eyes, “I have been traveling, through lifetimes and worlds, just to find you.” And with that, he activated his capsule, leaving her alone on the balcony, a puzzled but touched expression on her face.

Materializing in his original universe, Nikulaenkov found himself surrounded by the Multiversal Police. “You are under arrest for breaking the Multiversal Integrity Act,” they declared, shackling him.

As he was led away, Nikulaenkov couldn’t help but smile. The Lukas of other universes would continue to live their lives, fulfilling their destinies, none of them tarnished by his selfish desires.

In the quiet solitude of his cell, a thought occurred to him—his love for Luka had become a love for all Lukas, in every universe, a love too expansive to be selfish. His capture was not an end but a new beginning, a story for the multiverse to ponder upon, a tale that might one day change the very laws he had broken.