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Microstory
The demon looked around. There was a summoning sigil drawn in the ruddy sand, but nobody... It shifted its perception to the spiritual plane. Ah. A dust devil. "Why hast thou-" "A battery." "A battery?" The demon looked around. "What need for a battery on Mars?" "For our friend."
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"As the challenged party, you may choose the weapon for the duel." "I chose forgiveness." "That… That is not a weapon." "Can it hurt people?" "I guess, if the forgiven is petty, but-" "Then it can be a weapon." "But how do you intend to win?" "Who says I intend to win?"
@MicroSFF on Twitter
March's guest story is // GOING BACK // by microfiction maestro O. Westin of @microsff
O. Westin writes tiny science fiction and fantasy stories on Twitter and other social media platforms, under the name MicroSFF. Since starting in 2013, he has written more than three thousand stories.
I couldn’t decide whether to reblog the story and attach this or just link to it. Decided just to link in an effort to not be an asshole.
The witch happened to look up from her cauldron cookbook just in time to see the sheep fall from the dragon’s grip.
Or she would have just so happened had her senses not registered the scream of an aura switching hard from elation to terror.
Worry leant her speed and in moments she was on her broom and in the air, magically weaving a catch net beneath the plummeting animal. She pulled up sharp when she felt the light *thump* of the net snaring taut around its quarry, then let out a breath of relief as she levelled out.
Then she heard the sobbing.
Peering over the tip of her broom, she found a huddled mess of wool and fur, streaming tears leaving matted tracks in both. “Oh, dear,” she said, soft and gentle and soothing like her mother had always taught her. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“He dropped me! He dropped me!” the sheep/wolf/sheep wailed. “All I ever wanted was to meet him and he dropped me!”
Oh.
Oh, no.
Slowly, carefully, she brought them both down into the soft grass, then dispersed the net before kneeling down beside the brokenhearted animal. “Is that the reason for this?” she asked, running her fingers through a bit of white woolen fluff attached to a grey pelt.
“Yes… no?” The sheep sniffled, burying its snout into hooves/paws. “I… at… at first it was. But then I found l liked being a sheep. The flock didn’t mind me, even though I couldn’t eat grass like them. They moved close to the river so that I could have fish. They taught me to bleat properly. They let me sleep in the pens with them at night. Even though… even though I was always still waiting for him… I... was happy.”
The witch gently petted the sheep’s soft head. “No one ever said a sheep couldn’t be a familiar. Would you like to stay with me where you can visit your flock?”
The sheep raised its head, wide and still teary gold eyes staring at her in a mix of apprehension and awe. “You would let me do that?”
“You deserve to be happy. And dragons are terrible lovers besides.”
The sheep rolled to its belly and got up, butting its head against the witch’s chest. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you,” it said, woolen and fur tail wagging. Then it tilted its head, expression questioning and mischievous. “But how do you know dragons are terrible lovers?”
“Ah, ah,” the witch chided, ruffling the sheep’s ears and taking up her broom in the other hand. “You won’t hear that one unless I’m good and drunk.”
And off they trotted into the forest together.
“ “If devils are fallen angels,” he said, “you’re basically the same.”
The devil and angel looked at each other.
“Humans,” the angel said with a sigh.
“They’re all the same,” the devil said with a roll of its eyes. “
from the account MicroSF/F stories (@/MicroSFF on twitter)
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Kinder
Text @microsff
Once I was dead, it was curiously easy to accept it. "Where are you taking me?" I asked. Death extended a bony finger, pointing at a tall tower in the distance. "What is that?" "Your unread books. Unwatched films. Unplayed games. Etcetera." "Oh. How much time do I have?" "All."
