The Show
MicroZine Image Prompt #8
The Challenge:
Write a story using the following rules:
Must be exactly 6-words, 50-words, or 100-words in length OR between 101 - 500 words. Title is never counted towards word count.
Any genre is allowed but if a Trigger Warning is needed, please indicate so behind the title. (Ex. TITLE [TW])
Share your story in the comments or Substack Notes. Remember to TAG
for a chance to be featured in future posts.
DIGITAL ISSUE OPPORTUNITY
Starting with this 8th prompt, and moving forward, if we receive at least 5 different submissions, then one of them will be selected to appear in the next issue. So, if there are 5 submissions on this post, then the September Digital Issue will feature at least one of these stories. I haven’t decided yet if the chosen story will be based on judging against the others or random or community votes. And, to make things more pressing, this offer is only open to stories submitted in the next 72hrs!
OPPORTUNITY CLOSES: Wednesday, August 28th at 9pm EST
[This is only for those who wish the opportunity for their story to appear in a digital issue. Otherwise, please contribute a micro fiction story anytime you like.]
Good luck!
Bonus Challenges:
For those of you who like to push yourselves beyond what you already know you are capable of…
Write a story using ALL of the story lengths: 6-words, 50-words, and 100-words.
Write a STACKed STORY. This is a story that starts as 6-words then is a continuation story at 50-words, and has one final continuation at 100-words.
The Weight of Silence (TW: Loss, grief)
Mara stared at the empty chair across the kitchen table, her coffee cooling as the minutes ticked by. The stillness of the house was overwhelming.
It had been three months of waking up alone. Three months of adjusting to cooking for one, of trying to fill the void left by a love spanning decades.
She picked up a framed photo from its spot on the table. Clark's eyes had sparkled with joy on their wedding day, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Mara traced his face with her finger, yearning for the warmth of his touch, the sound of his laughter.
A knock at the door interrupted her memories. She rose to open it, finding Sophia, her neighbor, with a dish. "I thought you might like some company," she said softly. "And I baked a coffee cake."
As they sat across from each other, Sophia gently broached the subject. "You know the community center has groups for—"
Mara shook her head. "I can’t. I don't want to be in this club. I'm not ready to listen to other people talk about... It's still really..."
"Raw?" Sophia finished. Mara nodded, swallowing tears. "Grief isn't a burden you have to carry alone, you know. The load is lighter when you let others help."
After Sophia left, Mara wandered the house, ending where she always ended, outside of Clark's study. She hadn't crossed the threshold in months, preserving it like a shrine to their shared life. With trembling fingers, she pushed the door open. The air was stale and the room stuffy, but the scent of his cologne lingered, bringing a flood of emotion. His reading glasses lay on the desk, a bookmark still tucked into his favorite novel.
As she ran her fingers along the spines of his books, an envelope fluttered to the floor. Her name was written on it in Clark's handwriting. While her heart thumped an erratic rhythm, she opened it.
Dearest,
I'm sorry for the pain my absence will cause. Loving you has been the greatest joy. My wish is for you to not imprison yourself in sadness.The world still holds beauty and love. You have so much of it left to give.
Remember dancing in the rain on our first date? Laughing at Zoolander until our sides ached?
Live, Mara. For both of us. Dance in the rain again. Laugh until it hurts. Love with your whole heart.
Until we meet again,
Clark
Tears coated Mara's cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest. For the first time since Clark's death, she felt a spark of something other than despair.
Suddenly, she rushed from the room, then out of the house to the small cottage next door.
"Mara! You haven't left the house since…are you alright?"
Mara realized she was still clutching Clark's letter. She stared at it, building her resolve. "What… time does that meeting start?"
Sophia sighed with a smile, opening the door wider and beckoned Mara inside. "We'll go together."
Your show has more twists and turns than can be conjured in a writers room. And you can only hope to meet your showrunner, someday, if you’re lucky. And when you are cancelled, it doesn’t mean some PC pearl clutching or online ban, it means your screen goes blank, forever. (50 words)