Micro Fiction From the Beach - Vol 8

Updated on July 25, 2020
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Timothy is a creative writer and artist who enjoys sharing his work with others. Timothy earned his BS in Psychology from Albright College


Here we write again. It has been a wild time here and the Jersey Shore. Stuff opens for a while then it closes again because of the Corona virus. You never know from week to week what is going to happen.

This week the beach is open as 50% capacity. However some seaside towns are restricting the number of beach goes because people are not listening. The only thing consistent is that sitting here at home I have more time than ever to write.

Here are seven more of my 99 word micro fiction stories. Some of these will grow into longer fiction stories over time. I hope you enjoy this weeks selections.

Some Body

“We are not getting married.”

“Why not? I love you!

“No Frank, you just think you're in love with me.”

“What…Dolores that’s ridiculous. My every thought is of you. I go to bed at night, you're on my mind. I get up in the morning, you're on my mind. If that is not love I don't know what love is.”

“Frank you have to let it go. You know I can’t be with you. We are from two different worlds.”

“It shouldn’t matter if we love…”

“Frank, I’m a ghost you have to let me go to move on.”

“Frank, I’m a ghost you have to let me go to move on.”

I Didn’t Steal It

“I didn’t steal it. It crawled into my pocket at the store.”

They both looked down at the creature.

“What is it Stan.”

“I don’t know Louise. It looks like some kind of big tadpole.”

The creature squirmed in his hand as it shed its skin. It grew to twice its previous size.

“Stan, kill the thing.”

“I can’t kill it. I don’t even know what it is.”

“All the reason to kill it.”

“No…” The creature shed it’s skin again. Now it was too big for his hand. He dropped it to the ground. The creature crawled away.


The Clockmaker

“Be right there,” He yelled as he pulled up his jeans. The clockmaker headed from the back room to his workshop. There stood a man holding a pocket watch.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I heard you are the best clockmaker in the city.”

“I wouldn’t call myself the best, but I’m good.”

The customer laid the pocket watch on the counter.

The old clockmaker looked at it. “Ive never seen anything like it before.”

“Nor do I think you ever will. At least in your lifetime.”


“I am from a time when winters are cold and long.

What is time but a man made constraint.

Red Riding Hood

“I’m not as bad as you may think I am.”

“Shut up evil one.”

“Oh, gonna resort to name calling. Okay, yeah I’m the big bad wolf. I do have street creds to uphold but I’m not a bad guy.”

“You ate my grandmother.”

“Hello, I am a wolf. I eat meat, Red”

“Well your meat eating days are over…”

You can't kill me Red...you and I go way back…”

“If you call going way back..you trying to kill me every time we meet. What’s the deal with that anyway?”

“It is nothing personal, I’m a wolf.”


Ho Hum Life

As far the guard was concerned she was just another teenager in a hoodie. She smiled as the soldier motioned her through.

“Foolish totally foolish,” She mumbled to herself. Her pace increased as she moved away from the guard station. She had one shot. As she walked, the dead in cages reached out trying to get one hand on her. She made it to the center of the town. There she found what she was looking. She pulled the small explosive, armed it and left. In a few moments the dead would be released. She had to get away.

The Ghost

The ghost was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when he walked into the kitchen. His first instinct was to turn and run. Instead he just stood there.

“”You know it’s impolite to stare.”

Joe blinked and shook his head. “Huh...what?”

“I said, it’s impolite…”

“I heard you..I’ve just never seen a ghost eat before. Come to think of it I’ve never seen a ghost before.”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m just passing through.”

Joe just stood there.

“Get it...passing through.”

“I got it...wasn’t really that funny.”

“Way to hurt a ghosts feelings.

Life is a box we live in. It is up to us to figure out the path to escape the box.

The Odd Man

The odd man remained silent, forcing a small copper box into my hands.

I looked at the box. “What’s this?”

He remained silent.

I examined the box. There didn’t seem to be anything extraordinary about it. I tried to lift the lid. The box didn’t open. I looked up at the odd man.

“How do I open it?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

I shrugged mine back. “What’s that supposed to mean. You give me a nondescript copper box and expect me to know what to do with it.”

“I was only told to deliver it.”

With that he left.

Some final words

There you have this weeks selection of short stories. I write each story from a prompt or an opening line. Then I let my imagination dictate the direction the 99 words go. I hope you enjoyed these stories. i welcome you to offer me suggestions or prompts for further stories In the comments section.

© 2020 T B Whitt


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