Dirt
Realization is like thunder It comes after the lightning strikes Nothing is ever really dirty It’s just stuff on top of stuff Does it say a lot about us That…
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193 stories written on Ficly, 2010–2014, shared under CC BY-SA 3.0. Their page on ficly.com
The Dark
And it was good. The creatures of the dark migrated with a lightening of their beings. They slid from their caves, slithered from their mudholes, swam from…
The Soul Leaves On its Own
He stuttered that last arpeggio beautifully, leading to a crescendo filled with aural angels whose all-encompassing whiteness bled into everything. As abruptly…
BLAT!
The burlap sack is silent. So is the saxophone inside, even though there is a skilled blues artist attached to it. So why is the bluesman’s sax silent? Easy…
Sarah
“I’m your hairdresser uncle Fred,” he told Sarah, daintily gesturing with the shears. “Stay still, honey, or I’ll have to break out the buzz cut.”
Bea
“I’m your hairdresser aunt Janice,” she told Bea, wielding the massive shears like she wanted to blind somebody. “Stay quiet or I’ll accidentally snip…
Fred
“I’m your hairdresser aunt Bea,” she told Fred, wielding the massive shears like she was blind. “Stay still or I’ll not so accidentally slice something off.”
Infinite Loop
The screen had locked up. He’d coded yet another infinite loop. “Bastard,” he said, thumbing the power switch to the computer. His swarthy co-worker from the…
Oh, God!
IF you question the existence of God, rest assured, there’s a God, only he’s rendered immobile by the sheer fractal immensity of his creation. What do you get…
Bridging the Narrative
He admired the suspension bridge. It spanned a wide, forceful river. “Note the cable,” he told his protege. “It is composed of a bundle of yet more cables that…
Go
You made your own metaphors in this space, imposed your own forms on the meanings. For Mung the Barbarous, it took the shape of soap bubbles clustered around a…
Orbituary
He was on his death bed. Nobody knew he was dying because he had nobody to care about this. He wasn’t dying from anything special, really. Basically…
Seeking Thrills
“Excuse me, mister, do you need some help? You look a little lost.” Mila delivered the line sweetly and innocently, with charm that comes only with youth and…
Ouroboros
In the instant there was nothing. A void could not even begin to describe it. What is darkness when there is no light with which to understand it? This…
Sol
How does it feel, to have chronic, explosive flatulence, with no relief for relative eons? Eternal shame. Foetid frustration. Monstrous anger. That my noxious…
The Twilight Years of Neptune
Neptune was an old man. When his bones ached, he slept in the warm seas of Earth, a narrow opening in the water snaking to the surface so he could breathe…
Living: My First Ficly Series
It’s better than dying. During my blue period, when the first protean delights of immortality had passed, and I was left with the prospect of undying boredom…
Abstract Captain Byssus Heptad: My Fifth Ficly
Oooo, out of the ether plunged the metaphysical buccaneer on a shell tide of metaphors. Many of them failed him, mixing themselves on the surge of chuckling…
The Fractal Rangers: Interlude
The Zeno’s Arrow burst from the multiversal foam, probabilities cascading from its hull. It skimmed the fractal sea like a skipping stone, reflecting its…
The Flatulent Fakir
When Sivaramakrishnan was two years old and inflicted with horrid intestinal gas, his mother found him ricocheting on the walls of their small hut. “You had…