Micro fiction: Rin Tin Tin in Retirement by Glen Armstrong

He no longer barked at aircraft beating the sky into puzzles and only sometimes lifted his muzzle toward the traffic taking off and landing at Mines Field. The world was only fooling, like a mean kid whose gestures were false, who never released the ball. His appetite was good until the end. His trainer kept him warm.

He was the favored canine, the canine the favored animal.

In a world that skinned with purpose.

In a world where the kill was more than simple sustenance.

© Copyright 2016 Glen Armstrong. All rights reserved.
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Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three recent chapbooks: Set List (Bitchin Kitsch,) In Stone and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both Cruel Garters Press.) His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit and BlazeVOX.

Micro fiction: One Hundred Words by August

One hundred words, no more she said, and me with one hundred and one. Would she notice one extra, so small, so very small?

Of course she would, she is that way (make that “she’s” to hopefully save the one.) I’m all about brevity; too many words wasted do as much to mislead as do too few. What must be said must be said as she has said it must be said.

So how would she advise me to best use my words?

Focused message, in one word, (actually, in this case, one hundred words): life is…

© Copyright 2016 August. All rights reserved.
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August is the pseudonym of a man with many accomplishments, including winning 3rd place in the 1957 Emerson Elementary Kite Flying Contest, Novelty Division.

Micro fiction: The Memory Monster and the Mortal by John Pulver

His sword heavy, the man blinks, but the monster does not vanish.

The monster grins. “Why hold onto the past? Such a futile endeavor.”

“Go away. Let me remember for a little longer.”

“And deny my hunger?”

“I do not understand. Why must you exist? The universe expands. Why can’t it hold my memories?” the man asks to give himself resting time, not expecting answers.

The monster cocks his head and squints one eye, and says, “The universe burns, without me.”

“Let me leave behind a picture or some words, and I will not fight.”

The monster laughs and lunges.

© Copyright 2016 John Pulver. All rights reserved.
• • • • •
John Pulver lives in a home shaded by a sycamore tree.

Can you tell a great story in Dothraki?

living-language-dothrakiAthchomar chomakea!

In an effort to appeal to a wider audience, RoseCitySisters.com will now accept both micro fiction and flash fiction in Dothraki.

No need to feature nomadic horse warriors in every submission—feel free to create engaging characters and interesting plots as you always have.  Just remember the 100-word limit for micro fiction and the 1,000-word limit for flash fiction. We look forward to your submissions!

Dothras chek.

 

Micro fiction: April Fool’s Day by Steven Craig

The sun was peering into the windows of the trailer at 161 Springer Lane.  The smell of bacon on the stove was becoming more pronounced. Earl reached over and turned on the television set.

“Lurleen, you ready yet?,” Earl shouted. Lurleen had been outside “getting some sun” for the last five minutes, “so I can brown the same time as the bacon,” she said.

The calendar said it was April 1, 1957, but they both knew it as their wedding day. Lurleen came in from outside and changed from her robe to a gown. She grabbed Earl’s hand, and smiled.

© Copyright 2016 Steven Craig. All rights reserved.
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Steven Craig has not achieved accolades of any kind at any time. Not even a participation trophy, as he does not participate.

Micro fiction: There Are No Basements in Piddleville by W.L. Wren

Everyone in Piddleville went swimming in Alistair Stanley’s above ground pool. So it broke. But it was a magic pool. When water spilled out it always filled up to the same level and temperature.

Leaking, it did its magic and fixed things. All of Piddleville then became Alistair Stanley’s pool. Everything filled up! What a legal to-do!

Today, Piddleville is a top destination for boaters. It’s a lovely, drowsy resort spot because the water is a nice, consistent temperature. People everywhere want to a swim in Alistair Stanley’s pool!

As for basements, there aren’t enough sump pumps to have those.

© Copyright 2016 W.L. Wren. All rights reserved.
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W.L. Wren (better known as Bill) is a writer in New Brunswick, Canada. He has had two stories published previously by the Rose City Sisters: I’ve Never Been to Pasadena and Healing. He has one ebook collection of stories on Amazon, Disrupted Lives and Other Commotions. He has just completed another and hopes to make it available (as an ebook) very soon.