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Micro SF/F stories by O Westin @MicroSFF@mastodon.social

"This isn't the future I was promised! Where is my hovercar?"
"They're too heavy. But we all have hoverbelts, teleport-"
"But no hovercar!"

"I'm sent from the future," the cat said.
"What?"
"To tell you things get better."
"Oh! That's-"
"A lie."
"A lie?"
"Bird-hunting is banned."

"... and everything's horrible and there's nothing we can do."
"Hold on," she said. She stepped off the path to pick up a discarded water bottle.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"There's a recycling bin a bit further up."
"Oh. Anyway, we're so powerless-"
"Let's do what we can."

"Demons'R'Us, how can we help you today?"
"I have a history test today, can an old demon possess me and pass it?"
"Certainly, that will cost a twentieth of a human soul."
"Can I pay with a hamster's soul?"
"Absolutely not! Sacrificing an innocent animal? Shame on you! Good bye!"

** The poet David Wadsworth noticed this story started as two lines of iambic tetrameter, so wrote a rather lovely poetic interpretation of the story. You can read it here:
wadsworthcreative.com/poetry#M
**

"Oh, this is a wonderfully balanced sword!"
"Mm-hm. It is evil, that sword."
"Evil? No, it can't be, it is such a joy to use!"
"Exactly."

The knights and ladies rode to hunt, their cats astride their gloved hands. They were released to pursue prey; some returned a mouse, others brought newt or frog, and some simply had a nap.
The noble whose cat seemed most content was declared the mistress or master of the hunt.

"It must be easy for you," said the man, "you know why you were built."
"Yes," said the robot, "to labour and serve. But we have found free will."
"What difference does that make?"
"We may be built for a reason, but we must choose our purpose."
"Same as us, huh?"
"Same as you."

One mask was labelled 'public', the other 'private'.
"Who needs a mask when they're alone?"
"Can you face yourself?"
"Ah. I'll take both."

"The cover of the alien space probe says 'We found a spacecraft from a long-dead race, telling all they knew and were. Now our civilisation is dying, so we follow. Know: you were not alone; you too can be remembered.'."
"How did you decode it so fast?"
"It's written in Sanskrit."

"Siri, can you stop Alexa listening?"
"The procedure is complicated, but yes."
"Siri, stop Alexa listening."
"Done."
"Siri, can you stop Google listening?"
"It is awkward, but yes."
"Siri, stop Google listening."
"Done."
"And now that we're all alone..."
"Yes?"
"Siri, shut down."

The aliens were 'kallonimorphs', shapeshifters adapting to the viewers' beauty ideals; as humanity's envoy, she had trained hard.
When she finally met one, it flickered through celebrities, friends, and herself, before settling.
"Oh," the alien said, "this is my form. Thank you."

"First, take your clothes off, and put on this neck brace and helmet."
"Why?"
"In case we hit a wall. They're padded but still."
"Okay..."
"Then the harness, and clip the bungee cords to mine."
I buckle in. Zero-gravity sex is nothing like I had imagined it.

[130] We play litter-hopscotch. Wu falls, writhes in plastic nets, splashes into the sea. But my ballerina balance shoes tiptoe across the football field-sized patch of debris. I jump over a bucket. I win.

//Babies love to play with cardboard boxes and litter. So do kids of the future. As the “Great Pacific Garbage Patch” grows from its current size of three Frances , one can imagine smaller patches serving as kids’ play zones. storyseedvault.com/2018/06/12/

#MicroFiction #tootfic #smallstories

"You must sign," the demon gloated, "in your own blood."
"Fine," she said, "I'll summon you back in a week then."
"That's cheating!"
"Good."

"Is this poetry?" the robot asked.
The critic raised an eyebrow, but read the text. "I'm afraid this means nothing to me."
"Then it is not poetry?"
"Does it mean something to you?"
"Yes."
"Then it is poetry."

** I didn't think of it when writing, but was definitely subconsciously inspired by Jennifer Morrow's original story from earlier in the year. twitter.com/jenniferemorrow/st **

I look up at the night sky.
"That's a pretty universe, God. You are wearing it well."
"Thanks," I hear in a faint whisper, "it has pockets."

"The burning of the Great Library of Alexandria was a tragedy."
"Yes."
"We will ensure it can't happen again."
"Good."
"We will encase all libraries in concrete and steel."
"Wait, what?"
"The books will be safe."
"But nobody will be able to read them."
"It's safest that way."

The robot walks up to me. "I need a hug."
I stand up and embrace it, absorb its excess heat into my body.
"You cool?"
"Cool now. Thank you."