Dexter's Micro Fiction Stories
Micro Fiction Stories
In this form (Micro Fiction) there is a strict 100 words or less rule. The story should be complete, but with the word restriction, much of it has to be left to the reader’s inferences and interpretations. Use your imagination. Enjoy. And have fun!
Fishy
When the waves break and roll in…pushing white foam…she scampers for land.
When the water recedes back to sea, she chases it.
It appears it’s fleeing from her.
She never stops.
They called the 5- year-old “Fishy.” Her last name: Fisher. And from infancy on she was mesmerized by three fish gliding around the aquarium in her bedroom.
She always left her sandals exactly on the water line. Marking where sea and land merged and separated.
Fishy’s mom glanced up.
Fishy was gone.
Home?
The All Tooth Smile
She barely noticed the caricature pilot. Headset. Aviators. Hat.
Her headset chattered, “Cessna 287, runway 17.”
“Roger.”
Mumbling to herself. “My therapist told me to do this. She said experiencing a small plane would help. I hate flying. Deathly afraid. But my son’s going off to college. I’ll have to fly to visit.”
The engine revved. She trembled. Hands and eyes clenched.
“Wow!” she said as they leveled.
“It’s actually beautiful.”
She breathed. At last.
“Thanks,” she said, deplaning. Smiling. All lips, though. No teeth showing.
Her son’s smile was all teeth as he watched her from the pilot’s seat.
Who's That In The Mirror?
She barely noticed the caricature pilot. Headset. Aviators. Hat.
It was dawn. I looked in the mirror. I was shocked.
I never looked in the mirror much. Even as a teen. Even on my wedding day.
Never found myself especially interesting. Not handsome. Not ugly. Somewhere in the vast plainness in between.
I’d sometimes share my biggest beauty tips: Never clean your mirror. And only look in the dim light of dawn or dusk.
That morning at dawn my mirror was somehow clean. The light was on, too.
I was shocked.
I was a skeleton.
The Lady Across The Lake
I saw the lady across the lake.
Running.
I spun my wheelchair. Grabbed the binocs.
“Shit,” I said to no one. I’d been alone 10 years…since the accident.
“Oh, wait. There she is.”
She’d run so far I could barely see her.
“That’s weird. She’s in a skirt, blouse, and wedge sandals.”
I was ready the next day. Binocs in hand.
She zoomed by…five days in a row. Same outfit.
I watched. I smiled.
And then nothing.
On the tenth day I gave up, cried, denied, couldn’t breathe, chest pains.
Emptiness replaced my heart.
I’d lost my only friend.
Emerald Eyes
I saw the lady across the lake.
Running.
I spun my wheelchair. Grabbed the binocs.
“Shit,” I said to no one. I’d been alone 10 years…since the accident.
“Oh, wait. There she is.”
She’d run so far I could barely see her.
“That’s weird. She’s in a skirt, blouse, and wedge sandals.”
I was ready the next day. Binocs in hand.
She zoomed by…five days in a row. Same outfit.
I watched. I smiled.
And then nothing.
On the tenth day I gave up, cried, denied, couldn’t breathe, chest pains.
Emptiness replaced my heart.
I’d lost my only friend.
The Hummingbird, Rufus
Rain and wind bashed my window. The purple African Lilies outside bobbed and weaved. My chest was tight – worry – fear.
The hummingbirds, usually a blur of bright color, with invisible wings and powerful little hearts were gone. I didn’t blame them – seeking shelter.
I wished I had shelter from my own storm. Dr. Jennings gave me the news yesterday.
Hummingbirds. A fragile yet powerful marvel.
Wait…a glint of emerald. Really? My favorite. Rufus. Defying the storm. Sipping nectar as if it was a summer morning. Bravely challenging nature.
A flicker of hope. I breathed a little easier.
My Friend, The Wasp
I was sitting alone. Sweltering in my small RV. I knew he was around. Hiding? Keeping cool?
Out of nowhere he zoomed past my head. Oh, there you are, you rascal.
Most folks recoiled if I mentioned him.
He and I had been cohabiting for quite a while. Roomies. We had an agreement.
He was company for me. I didn’t have many friends.
And I respected his space as a living creature of the Universe. Like me. But different.
We find friends in unexpected places. My relationship with The Wasp was one of the most surprising you can imagine.
Where Daffodils Begin
She stabbed the pointed trowel into the icey earth. Then bare hands scooped. Nails chipping. Tears drying on wind-chapped cheeks.
The old garden hadn’t bloomed since he’d left. Weeds. Just weeds. And silence.
But, today she’d found his note in the shed, dated March 5th: “Plant the daffodils. Flowers of Renewal.”
Bulbs cradled in trembling palms, she placed them gently, one-by-one. Like tiny prayers whispered into the soil.
Spring would eventually come.
And maybe – just maybe – hope would rise with the yellow blooms.
She didn’t smile yet. But her hands were in the dirt.
And that was enough for today.
Angel Smoke
The fire was raging up the attic walls. Lilly, by feel, found the cedar box. Her mother’s letters. The only things she cared to save. Though yellowed and brittle, she remembered: “Even in the dark, you were always my light.”
She hadn’t cried in seventeen years.
Smoke thickened. Flames exploded. A beam cracked.
Lilly cradled the box and ran, coughing, sobbing, laughing. She didn’t stop until she hit the grass.
The house crashed. Ash and sky remained.
In the thick smoke, she swore she saw wings.
She was finally free.
And maybe… finally home.
Night Dive
The ocean swallowed her light as she descended. Just her, the black water, and the rhythmic hush of regulator breath.
Below, a flicker. Then then a flash.
She turned, searching for her dive buddy. Nothing. No bubbles, no beam.
Then – eyes. Not human. Stalking her. Glaring from the wreck.
Panic surged. Breathing dangerously fast. Her light sputtered, then died.
A hand finally grabbed hers. Human?
He grinned through his mask, pointed.
She turned back. The creature eyes were gone. Or had she imagined them?
They rose, breathless. Finally moonlight danced on the surface.
She’d never dive at night again.
Wish Swap
At 2:12 AM., they met at the crossroads. Old rules said you couldn’t make your own wish come true. But, you could swap.
“I wish to forget her,” he said.
“I wish to remember him,” she whispered.
They Pinky Swore. A spark. A blink.
He walked away with no ache in his chest. Just peace.
She stumbled into the morning sun with someone else’s memories – laughter on beaches, the smell of burnt toast, heartbreak in autumn.
Later, she’d wonder why she cried when the leaves turned.
And he’d wonder why quiet now felt so empty.
But rules were rules.
That's All It Took
The voicemail was only seven seconds. “Hey. I’m sorry. I miss you.”
Jenna stared at the screen. Her hot coffee mug suddenly felt cold.
Two years of silence undone by six words in seven stupid seconds.
She’d built a whole life around being over him. New job, new friends, new therapy.
Her lungs felt small.
She didn’t call back. Not yet.
But she didn’t block him either.
She just sat there, heart cracked open like a raw egg on a hot skillet. Whispering to no one,
“…damn it. That’s all it took?”
And, yes. For her, it was.
The Unseen Tug
She didn’t hear the whimper.
She felt the soft, warm nudge against her knee.
The park bench was hard. Cold. The textbook dense.
Her parents’ argument still echoed.
A knot in her stomach.
She shivered. Pulled her sweater tighter.
The scruffy dog, all ribs and matted fur, gazed up. Hopeful eyes meeting hers.
No leash, no collar. Nothing except maybe ancient wisdom. And a quiet plea.
She reached out, hesitant.
Its rough tongue licked her palm.
An imperceptible smile. The knot loosened. The textbook seemed lighter. The bench warmer. She scratched behind its ears.
A silent promise exchanged.
.
Leftovers
She was crying in the pantry.
Third shelf, behind the Chicken Noodle Soup. His favorite Still sealed. The date read October 2022.
He said he’d be home by winter.
She presses her forehead to the cool can, shoulders shaking.
Small footsteps echo in the kitchen above.
“Mom?”
She wipes her eyes. Her face. Smiles into the silence.
“Just grabbing something for dinner.”
She leaves the can where it is. Doesn’t need the soup tonight.
Just proof he existed.
Boots First
She spat blood and grinned.
“Is that all you got, sweetheart?”
The man blinked. He was twice her size, but she hadn’t flinched. Not when he broke the bottle. Not when he swung.
There she stood. Boot on his throat. His lip split wide.
Sheriff’s lights painted the dust red and blue.
“Again, Jessie?” the deputy sighed, stepping out.
She winked. “He touched my sister.”
Boots scraped gravel. Guns stayed holstered.
“Let’s call it self-defense.”
She tipped her hat, walked off into the dark.
Behind her, the bar door creaked. Three girls followed.
Spurs jangling like thunder.
Fireworks Start at Dusk
“Why’s she crying?” the boy whispered.
His dad handed him a sparkler, eyes fixed on the woman near the fence.
She stood alone, arms folded tight, blinking fast.
The sky boomed red and gold. Children laughed. A dog barked.
The woman didn’t flinch—just stared upward, lips pressed like a secret.
“Maybe she misses someone,” the dad said.
The boy watched her a long time.
Then walked over, held out his sparkler.
She took it.
“Thanks,” she said, voice shaking.
He smiled.
The sky lit up again.
This time, she looked down and smiled back.
Dusty Roads
The map fluttered out the window somewhere past Abilene.
Didn’t matter. She wasn’t following it anyway.
The rearview showed her wedding dress. Crumpled the backseat. Like shed snake skin.
The radio crackled. Maybe dead. Maybe searching for a signal.
Dust rose behind her, thick as memory.
He always said she’d never make it past county lines.
She passed the sign an hour ago.
Now it’s just sky, sun, and the sound of tires carving freedom into the road.
She found a station. Sang along to “On The Road Again.”
Smiled.
And didn’t look back.
The Lights Know
“I loved him,” she whispered.
The kitchen light flickered.
Across the table, her daughter stared. “Even after what he did?”
A long silence.
“I knew. Before the arrest.”
The chandelier blinked twice, then held steady.
The girl’s voice cracked. “You let him stay?”
“I was afraid.”
The hallway bulb stuttered, buzzed, then flared.
Outside, fireworks bloomed red and white against the night.
The girl stood slowly. “I won’t be like you.”
The mother didn’t move.
“Good,” she said.
Every light in the house went dark.
Fireworks and First Steps
She almost didn’t go. Crowds. Triggers. What ifs.
Her daughter tugged. “Please, Mommy? Just for the fireworks?”
She hesitated on the grass, heart racing. A year since the divorce. A lifetime of fear. Never enough. Never free.
The first boom cracked the sky. She flinched. Her daughter laughed.
And something shifted. Not in the sky. In her.
A memory from her last energy healing session: Her father screaming, “You’ll ruin everything.”
But now? She was still standing.
Tears cascaded across her smile.
The brilliant white light of hope, flickering like a sparkler, had finally outshone the darkness of fear.