MicroZine Digital Issue 3
Volume I (2024)
A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR
This is when the magic happens. I can feel it crackling in the air. October is here. Leaves are falling from the trees. And MicroZine is gearing up to release it’s FIRST “make-it-yourself” print issue! YES!
Now, I have to admit this is totally an idea of mine that could crash and burn or be a resounding success. It all depends on my ability to explain it (hopefully via a Live stream if Substack ever gives me access?) and your ability/access to a printer! Many factors are riding on this first issue getting off the ground and being the success I hope it will be.
In the meantime, here are some truly amazing stories for your reading pleasure. Two of these came from our Micro Monday prompts. If you haven’t already, make sure you’re participating in those as I am making selections from there (so long as 5 different people submit a micro fiction story).
Till next month, ya’ll! Oh, and yes, if you’re wondering, there will be TWO issues in October. Our usual Digital issue plus this special quarterly print issue. Look for the Open Submissions reminder email tomorrow!
—
(EiC)
UNDER 500-WORD STORIES
Teeth by
I am old, summoned eons ago by a small boy's anguish, bound to this scorched earth by his invocation; older than the sands that shift above me, older than the bones that litter my domain. I am justice incarnate.
The taste reaches me first: the tang of guilt seeping through the sand. Another transgressor has wandered into my hunting grounds. They always come, these haggard men with souls stained by their misdeeds. This one reeks of a girl-child's fear.
My crystalline teeth, sun-bleached stones, break the surface. One protrudes higher than the others—my lure, my trap. The guilty always rest against it, believing they've found solace in this wasted landscape.
He approaches now, this latest sinner, each footstep sending vibrations through my being, each one a pulse of anticipation. His weight slumps against my tooth. His sigh of relief mirrors that of the Elder who hurt my summoner so long ago. I am sickened by the sound.
The man marks my tooth, urinates on it, unaware he's awakened an ancient power. Fool. His arrogance will be his undoing, as it was for all who came before.
My belly rumbles beneath him, my nostrils flare to savor his growing panic. My other teeth begin to emerge, form the maw that will soon engulf him.
His mounting terror is delicious, but nothing compares to the feast to come. He stumbles now, caught in my spiraling sand trap. His curses reach me, and I remember the small boy's fist raised to the sky, calling me forth, summoning me all those years ago. The contrast is stark—innocence betrayed versus guilt personified.
I rise.
The earth splits as I surge upward, my scales glinting in the harsh sun. The man's eyes widen in horror as understanding dawns. Too late, always too late.
My jaws snap shut around him. His bones crunch between my teeth, his flesh a welcome balm to my eternal thirst, sating and sweet.
His blood carries the memory of his crimes: the girl's terror, her innocence shattered. It's the same flavor I've consumed countless times before, from Elder Harold, the first, to this latest offender.
As I swallow, there’s a familiar surge of righteous power, my purpose, my eternal mission. In a world that so often fails its most vulnerable, I am the equalizer. I am the karma that cannot be outrun.
I sink back into the earth, sated for now but ever vigilant. The sands settle once more.
More will come. They always do. And I will be waiting, my thirst for justice never fully quenched, for I am the beast that devours the wicked, the tooth of vengeance, the maw of retribution summoned by a child's tears and fed by the blood of the guilty.
And I am always, always hungry.
Man in a Black Coat, Smoking by
She said she’d come if she could slip away, said she’d meet him behind the pub at six. He waited for her, shivering in the parking lot. Leaning against the wall he looked like a part of the graffiti – a man in a black coat, smoking.
Ray must have come home early, the bastard. When will she leave him? Will she ever be able to leave him?
After waiting an hour, he went around front and walked into The Rookery. Condensation dripped from the windows, the air was thick and steamy, but he welcomed the warmth.
“Hey, Jackson. What’s up, man?” the bartender smiled.
“Nothing. You know, just hanging out.”
“Get ya a Guinness?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He’d already ordered a second beer, when he saw her standing in the doorway, her damp coat hanging limp around her knees, a yellow wool cap pulled down over her ears. She stared at him, eyes wild, mouth open, then she turned and ran out.
He followed her around the corner, into the darkness. Taking her in his arms under the streetlamp, he saw the bruises and the tears on her cheek, the blood on her shaking hands. They both knew she had no choice, she had to leave him.
He now found himself praying to all the gods that she didn’t leave him … dead.
The Girl in His Nightmares by
Are you drunk, Son?
One little stumble and the arrogant prick assumed Ty had been drinking– in the middle of the day while showing a house. Is that really the impression he made on clients? Not capable professional but daytime drunk?
It no longer surprised him when people made ignorant assumptions but it still ticked him off.
The smell of hot rotisserie chicken on the passenger seat brought on the nausea, but Ty was used to this. He’d picked up dinner even though it wasn't his turn and Janine hadn’t responded to his text. She’d been working late at the title company all week, coming home smelling like lavender, which meant she’d been hanging out with Diane, the friend she talked to when she needed to vent. Lately, he knew it was him Janine bitched about.
Why won’t you tell me about your nightmares? Why do you whimper in your sleep?
Whimper. Jesus.
Janine’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Ty opened the front door, saw the empty slots in the shoe rack and knew. It was the same all over the house. Missing pieces. Gone was every item she’d brought into the rental house, and into the relationship. Remaining were his things; the funky coyote trickster lamp his mother gave him, his 65 inch television, the comfortable black leather recliner he favored over the floral print sofa Janine liked so much.
Why won’t you sit beside me? Snuggle with me?
Why aren’t you a different person, she might as well have asked.
Janine’s ridiculously expensive espresso maker was gone. In its place was Ty’s cheap but functional drip coffee pot. She must have used the stepladder to get it down from the shelf above the refrigerator. Did she think he’d forget it was there? Hadn’t he already?
Ty set the chicken and cold salads on the kitchen counter next to a note with two sentences. A single sentence for each year they were together.
It takes two people to make a relationship work. I’m done trying to do it alone.
Ty removed the lid from the chicken, ripped off a leg and tore into it. Next he went for a thigh, twisting the bone off the carcass, grease slicking up his fingers. He devoured nearly the entire chicken before dizziness and nausea sent him sliding to the floor, eyes closed to stop the spinning.
Her pretty face filled his mind, as it so often did.
Not Janine.
Abigail Olsen.
Girl of his dreams. Girl of his nightmares. He never knew which version of Abigail was real. Lovely girl or lying bitch.
Ty couldn’t separate actual memories from memories of past dreams. It all blurred together. His mind was not to be trusted– not since that long ago night when he was hit from behind.
In his nightmares it was Abigail’s delicate hand holding the crow bar that forever fucked up his brain–but that couldn’t be.
Not his sweet Abigail.
200-WORD STORY
The Giant of Kandahar by
The Giant of Kandahar? Now that is a name I haven’t heard in a while.
At the height of the war in Afghanistan, my team was handed a mission to raid a cave. Supposedly, Bin Laden was hiding there. That message came from the President himself, so we thought we could trust the information.
Boy were we wrong.
When we got to the site, terrified locals warned us not to go into that cave. They spoke of a savage giant, one with red hair, like an Irishman. We assumed they were terrorist sympathizers, so we brushed them off.
We were prepared for IEDs, we were prepared to be outnumbered. We were not prepared for what came next.
In that damp cave, the giant rushed us with a spear. We fired a hail of bullets, but the creature’s skin was thick. Truly, we were in a fight for our lives.
We killed the Giant of Kandahar; and all it took was enough firepower to bring down three elephants. Those, and the lives of three comrades. Officially, they were killed by an IED.
As for the giant, I never heard of him again. The body? Go ask the CIA, if you dare.
A STACKED STORY
The Breakup by
"Together or separate?"
"Together," he lied. (6)
She smiled, and didn't that just twist the knife? He'd told himself that he was doing this for her: the date, the park, the ice cream shop. But honestly? He'd been stalling, working up his courage.
"So what did you want to talk about?" (50)
"I think we should break up."
She nodded. "I think so too.”
"You do?"
She licked her ice cream: chocolate, with rainbow sprinkles. "We go to school in different states. And... I met someone."
"Who?"
"Does it matter?"
He wants to say no. His ice cream, melting, reaches his wrist. (100)
A 6-WORD STORY
Hope by
Serenely soaring. Searching effortlessly journeys end.
HONORABLE MENTIONS
Stories shared on their Substack will be clickable to read.
Papers and Ink by
Borrowed and Blue by
The Girl in the Coffeeshop by
VOODOO CHILD by
Good Fences by
Brain Scan by Rostislava Pankova-Karadjova
Over the Top by
Thank you, Erica, for including my work here. You have put me in such FINE company. The Breakup is especially artful. Excellent selection of stories.
Another killer issue thank you.