A golden opportunity

Day 07: Wound
No Novel November 2020

A black and white photo of a wooden spinning wheel in motion

The miller’s daughter watched each handful of straw as it shot through the wheel and wound smooth onto the spindle from barnyard trash into brilliant treasure. Tears ran down her cheeks in gratitude and wonder. Even after the third time, it never got old.

When he finished, the creature kissed her hand and murmured something about how she’d never want for anything if she’d come away with him. But she flinched at his knotted hands, his grizzled beard, his squat physique. She demurred, and he disappeared.

The king returned in the morning. With narrow, greedy eyes, he gawked at the spools of gold stacked beside the spinning wheel, then glared at her. Wordlessly, he took a diamond ring from his own finger and held it out.

She almost took it. She thought of her father’s health, her community’s desperate poverty, her hair adorned with the queen’s tiara. Then she looked around the room, piled high with enough wealth to buy the mill and her village if not the kingdom itself. She thought of the creature who had done it. About his offer. About freedom.

“You know what, Your Majesty?” she said, rolling a length of gold between her thumb and forefinger. “I think I’m good.”

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

Chance meeting

Day 06: Coincidence
Nov Novel November 2020

White woman wearing a black shirt with orange and green flowers looking in the mirror by Taylor Smith via Unsplash

I first notice her behind the bar, darting between bottles on the shelf, her loose hair billowing around narrow shoulders, reflecting the neon light as she moves, unsure but determined in her dancing.

The second time I notice her, it’s at the bathroom sink before I leave, her face aglow with adrenaline. Our eyes meet briefly, then we share a shy smile.

It isn’t until I get home that I really see her, exhausted and makeup sweated off, but vibrantly alive. I can’t resist reaching out to brush her cheek.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I whisper to myself in the mirror.

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

A case with teeth

Day 05: Profile
No Novel November 2020

I drum my fingers on top of the manila folder in time to the song on the radio. Not my radio. The agent in the next cubicle. If it were up to me, the bullpen would be silent. How can anyone think with all this noise?

I take a deep breath and run a hand across my face. Focus.

The dossier is thin and a bit dusty. It’s been sealed, but only recently; a crisp, white report sticks out of one faded edge. Whatever happened for it to hit my desk in Emergency Response after so long in the archive can’t be pretty.

I crack the sticker, and my eyebrows rise as my stomach sinks.

The old paperwork is predictable. Faerie female, approximately 820 years old, between six inches and seven feet tall, flying. Charges for multiple B&Es and transporting human remains without a permit.

It’s the new report that’s concerning. Investigation for unlicensed medical procedures and theft of biohazardous material. The telephoto images are disturbing. Not even a gremlin’s mouth looks like that.

I close the file, pinching the bridge of my nose and bracing myself before I pick up the phone.

“Agent Four, get me somebody from Avatar Relations or Abnormal Body Modification. I need to talk to them about the Tooth Fairy case.”

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

Sitting ducks

Day 04: Duck
No Novel November 2020

“Look at me, marine! Eyes front!”

I grab Ellis by her shoulder guards and haul her to me so our plexiglass visors contact. Her eyes are huge, almost all pupil, the leftover whites streaked red from stims. Sweat streams down her dark skin. I can feel her shaking through the armor.

She tries to push past me to the ship. “No chance, Sargent!” I lock the powergrip on my glove. “You move, we’re both dead.” Empathy’s a risky play, but she stops.

I glance up. It’s still coming—fast.

Bile in my throat, I lock eyes with Ellis. “Listen up, marine! You don’t do anything before I say. You do only what I say. Copy?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

I mark time. Every readout on my headsup is red. But I don’t need it. I can already see the teeth. The scales. Whatever the hell it’s using for eyes.

“Ready….”

“Steady….”

“NOW.”

We slam flat to the ground. Endocrine sensors flood me with stims, giving me the boost I need to barrel roll our half-ton weight into the nearest crater.

The noise of the thing plowing into the surface is nothing compared to the explosion when it hits our ship’s plasma core. A firework of shrapnel and meat bursts overhead.

And then it’s over.

Ellis and I lay there a long time, coated in guts and not saying a word. Just sucking pure oxygen and trying not to puke.

Then I radio Command. We’re going to need a ride home.

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.

Soaking in memory

Day 03: Luxuriant
No Novel November 2020

Blue water bubble bath

She slides down in the tub, letting the steaming water rise over her collarbone, her toes curling as she stretches beneath the surface, muscles lengthening and loosening in the heat. Heady-scented fizz and foam swirl around her throat to the thrum of the rushing water.

She closes her eyes, lids heavy and dull, inhaling deeply as the memories come.

This time, she welcomes them.

They bubble up in the darkness, gently at first, tickling her chin, teasing her lips, brushing her ears and neck. The smell of them, so sweet and familiar, blush the scalding pink of her skin to crimson. Their cascading current sends tremors along her back, and she sinks lower to meet their touch.

The water rushes on, churning the depths of her memories into effervescent clouds that encircle her face, steadily rising until a liquid crown envelops her hair, until the water runs out, until the steam fades, until memories are all that is left.

This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.