Monday, October 10, 2011

More Microstories

My experiment with posting ten tiny "stories" on Twitter the 10th of each month has fizzled, but because it's 10/10, here's the set from last month. I made a few small edits.

In the firelight the shaman told of lost Atlantis: "It fell, but one day we will rise." He raised an ancient plastic toy, winged and white.

We shattered the Moon to make the LuneNet that enmeshes us, giving up tides for technology. Silver songs we sing, in our cage.

Jesus: "Love thy neighbor."
Humans: "Eh? Speak up."
Jesus: "Love thy enemies."
Humans: "Ah, our neighbors are enemies."
Jesus: [facepalm]

Ours and myriad other universes flew into existence like bubbles. The Children who made us now reach out their hyperspatial fingers...

The horde torched the civilized lands. Dying metropolises whispered, "Revenge." Now nomads' children are born with the souls of cities.

The Teddy bear AI comforted generations, wore out a thousand plush skins. It knew the family secrets, where the bodies lay. It spoke softly.

On a bet I wrote Finnegans Wake and Zombies. I had to burn the manuscript to save the world.

2011: Lost my contacts, so I can't drive. 2021: Lost my contacts, so I can't signal my car to come get me.

Under the swollen red Sun, the last descendant of trees produced the last fruit. To the alien visitors it whispered Earth's last word: Eat.

Phaeton leaned from the sun-chariot and snagged Icarus, who joined the struggle with the reins. They lived to surpass their sires.

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