Micro-fiction related to gender identity or childhood struggle with gender
A son will carry on the name of your family. A son will take care of you when you grow old. A son will give you money when you have retired. A son is a must have! But Xavier does not have any sons. His first born is a little girl. His next born is a little girl too. “Better luck next time”, croaks his old mother. “Maybe,” chokes his heart. Fate laughs, his next born is a girl too, and the next one as well. Thirteen years and four daughters later, Xavier does not believe in luck.
Micro-fiction that regards either love or hate
She was raised among fairytales. Falling asleep to the stories of Cinderella and Snow White, she felt like a Sleeping Beauty. The little girl grew up, waiting for her prince charming. The world seemed incomplete, her life unaccomplished, always waiting for a better tomorrow, waiting for days filled with love and romance. When her prince finally came, she soon realized that, never mind her beauty, he was a beast. “Too bad he is not a frog,” she thinks now, “I would have kissed him proper”. It is her childhood, the things she took for granted, that seem like a fairytale, long lost now.
Micro-fiction related to the idea of war or conflict
Bang! Bang! Bang! Play the boys with their toys. Guns, tanks and little plastic soldiers that do not bleed. Private Ryan is a character in the movies, not real, is he? Off go the little boys, flying toy bombers, killing ants with napalm. If you cannot hear them scream, they must not feel pain. Hiroshima and Nagasaki, milestones of armored glory. The boys will be on Facebook soon or Tweeting away to their hearts content, little birds of information and technology. War is an art, described in a book. The tears of a mother are lucky to make it to the pages of a newspaper.
Micro-fiction that provides some insight regarding the influence of a movie on your life
I am a Jedi knight, my pen is my light sabre. I can control minds; people do what I will them to do. Untold powers are within my grasp, for me to harness, use as I please. “I am your father”, says dad, as he grounds me for playing video games too late into the night. The console is confiscated, my soul is not, I console myself. Reality is hammering away at the doors of my mind, imagination bolsters it with might. “May the force be with you” I say, and look to the stars for inspiration.
Micro-fiction about the natural world
I have four friends, who visit me every year. They bring with them unique gifts, each beautiful in its own way. The first friend is named Summer, the fiery one. She brings with her the gift of fulfilment, the epitome of creation. The second is a friend named Autumn, a chameleon of changing colours. He brings with him the gift of serenity. The third friend is named Winter, the cold one. He brings with him the gift of the end after which everything will begin anew. The last is a friend named Spring, she of boisterous colours and melodious harmonies. She brings with her the gift of rejoicing, a world brand new.
Micro-fiction that embodies the sense of "new wave"
She walked through the deserted alleyway, scenes from slasher movies going through her mind. Was there a serial killer waiting to pounce on her from a dark corner? Impossible! It had been decades since the last murder was recorded. Crime went out of fashion ages ago. Being unfashionable was the new crime now. The brand wars, instead of fading out, had only become more intense. She got into the elevator of the world’s tallest residential tower, at least it was the tallest the last time she checked. She opened the voice activated door to her boutique apartment, and stood among all things designer, alone.
Micro-fiction that reveals how someone’s mind works
“How do I look?” she asked, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Gorgeous,” he replied in all sincerity. “He’s lying, something’s wrong,” she thought. “This dress does not fit right,” she said. “What are you talking about?” he exclaimed, “it fits perfectly”. “I look fat, he is just being kind”, she thought. “My hair looks all messed up!” she cried. “Honey, you paid $50 to get that done,” he sighed. “Maybe he does not want me to look good, wants to upstage me,” she worried. “This will not do,” she shook her head, “I am going to change”. He closed his eyes and slept some more.
Micro-fiction related to the idea of the future, or utopia /dystopia
The perspiration has dried up on his lips, they are cracked like the barren soil beneath his feet. He can taste the salt crystallizing. He has been walking for two days now, the soles of his feet blistering. The sun, when will it go down? They say, the sun was not always this bright, nor was it this hot. But he feels as though he is carrying it on his shoulders, an Atlas burdened beyond belief. Water, where is the water? He thought he say it here, hours ago. Was it ever here? Or was it his imagination? Maybe it was a dream. It was a dream.
