The clock was both old and new. It had been around for generations - there were paintings and photos to prove it. But save for some dust and hidden rust, none of the original parts remained.
As a child I remember standing there with one of my grandparents, gazing upwards.
"This timepiece has been part of our family since we fled the mists."
But nothing lasts long outside the mists, except the memories shared by those who came before.
The cottage was well kept and the garden surrounding it was immaculate.
Smoke bellowed steadily from the chimney. Where there was smoke there was fire. Warmth.
I hesitated since the structure was located in the middle of nowhere with no paths leading to or from it; I had only stumbled upon it after several hours of trying to find civilization again.
The wind howled, and I could feel the cold in my teeth.
It'd be worth the risk, honestly.
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"I operate a None-Of-My-Business."
"And what do you do there?"
"I mind my own business."
"I... think I need some examples."
"Well say... A young couple needs a lot of money fast; I get it for them. A vampire needs to know the age and lineage of a werewolf cheerleader they have their eye on? Done. Someone brings me a foot they don't want it anymore - I get rid of it."
"Where would someone get a foot?!"
"Dunno. None of my business."
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"Hey, dad, guess what your grand-daughter wants to be when she grows up?"
"I'm guessing Experimental Paradoxist."
"Expe- How did you know?"
"I spent my youth trying to not get killed by her adult self."
"Oh. Well, she gets timetravelling from her mother's side."
#MicroFiction #TootFic #SmallStories
"I hunger," the vampire said.
"Again? I haven't recovered from your last meal."
"It is my nature."
"It's your nature to be dramatic. Besides, why blood?"
"It is alive. It is life force that nurtures me."
"That's it? Let me introduce you to yoghurt, and sourdough bread, and beer."
#MicroFiction 'TootFic 'SmallStories
-not the first, although the first in a long time. A corpse, and noone to owe her soul to.
Her hands were good. Her hands were famously good, sold-her-soul good, amazingly good, miraculously good. They could kill without anyone ever knowing what she’d done. And the demon on the table knew it.
“You have a heart.” The surgeon began prepping. “And it is failing.”
“It’s the problem. When we spend too long here, in your world, our bodies - they forget to be immortal.”
“Demons don’t have hearts.”
The nurse would be back any second now. The window of opportunity would be closed.
The patient should have been unconscious. She opened one eye and regarded the surgeon.
“Untrue. Demons generally don’t have souls. But we do have hearts. And brains. We were a template, you see. A practice round.”
“I see.” The doctor thought she did. She also saw that the body in front of her was failing. One slip and she would have a corpse on her table -
Patchy was quirky from day one.
Her eyes were barely open when I found her, and she wouldn't settle down to sleep unless her nose was in my ear. She'd cry if she couldn't get to it.
Once she was able to regulate her own body heat I started to train her out of the habit... especially after she'd sneezed right into my ear canal.
But sometimes on cold days, I let her drape around my shoulders with her nose snoring into my ear.
Achieving zen thru grumpiness
Octodon is a nice general purpose instance. more