WeirdMicro

we will always fall in love and it will inevitably be like the final submission #WeirdMicro #Final_Submission #poetry #WritingCommunity

literary oblivion third favorite thing to do in bed #WeirdMicro #Literary_Oblivion #poetry #WritingCommunity

It appears those inside jokers were perpetrators of the inside job. Willing participants in the so called unresolved plot. Down to Plan Z, taking a risk was their last job! It seems life's well worn paths led to this spot. #DailyPrompt, #WeirdMicro, #vssfantasy, #OurPoetryX

#WeirdMicro People hurried from the smoke on the far side of the square, the crowd too dense to run. One name was on everyone’s lips, steeped in well founded disbelief. The king was alive. An unresolved plot, no matter whose it was. No one noticed me watching on.

Septic language eats the soul alive. #MyDarkScribbles🖊 #WeirdMicro #HorrorInSix

Septic language, filthy and bright, lightening the night with warm sewage that feels just right. #WeirdMicro

A nightshift wordsmith with poisonous septic language? Hazardous material not perfumed consumed with pain / anguish. Manners coarse par for the course; business as usual? Damned if we do or don't; Tom Jones? it's not unusual! #horrorprompt,#WeirdMicro,#vssmagic,#VSSTimeTravel

Unresolved plot devours leaving voids behind. #MyDarkScribbles🖊 #WeirdMicro #HorrorInSix

#vss365 #horrorprompt #WeirdMicro Don't #entreat. Wait & see what natural plan is meant to be. Our place is in a predestined age. Sit back. Watch what this timeline engages. You know a preacher man & demons share a tactic that uses an emotional twist along with a guilt trip.

#WeirdMicro "Emotional twist" – a flash on shared sorrow and quiet betrayal. The Wrong Vial The community center smelled of old coffee and damp carpet, same as every Thursday. I pushed through the double doors at 7:02, late again, coat still damp from the drizzle. The circle was already formed—twelve folding chairs, twelve people, no one looking directly at anyone else. Marla stood at the front with her tray of glass vials. Each one no bigger than a shot glass, stoppered with cork, labeled in neat black ink. Today the emotions were narrow: regret over a child’s birthday, the ache after a phone call that ended in silence, grief for a dog that died on a Tuesday. None said wife who left six weeks ago and took the houseplants. I reached for the vial marked miscellaneous sorrow (recent). My fingers brushed another hand—cold, steady. The man beside me, gray sweater, kind eyes, smiled and let go. I took it anyway. We sat. Marla started the sharing. One by one they spoke of the weight they carried, but their words kept circling the same details: the way she folded my socks in pairs, the creak of the porch step she never fixed, the hospital smell that clung to my coat for days after she walked out. They described it gently, like something they had lived themselves. My throat closed. I hadn’t said a word yet. When my turn came I tried to speak, but the vial in my palm grew warm, almost hot. The liquid inside shifted—dark amber threading through clear, like ink dropped in water. I uncorked it without thinking. One swallow. It tasted like salt and the metal tang of her keychain. The room exhaled. Every face turned to me at once, soft, pitying. The same small smile on every mouth. Marla’s voice came quiet. “We’ve been holding the edges for you. It was getting heavy.” I looked down. My vial was empty now, but the others glowed faintly, fuller than before. The man in the gray sweater reached over, patted my knee. “You’re complete again,” he said. “We’re so glad you finally came.” I felt the sorrow settle—not lighter, just distributed. Thinly spread across twelve chests instead of one. I could still feel it, sharp and personal, but now it wore twelve gentle faces, twelve knowing nods. I stood to leave. No one stopped me. At the door I glanced back. They were already passing the tray to the next newcomer, smiling the same way they had smiled at me. Outside, the drizzle had stopped. My coat was dry. For the first time in weeks I didn’t feel alone with it. I hated that most of all. #EricJFlash #SpeculativeFiction #FlashFiction #WeirdFiction

Emotional twist; It replaced me inside. #MyDarkScribbles🖊 #WeirdMicro #vsshorror

Phonetic gravity screams your name alive. #MyDarkScribbles🖊 #WeirdMicro #vsshorror

Each story I begin with tantalizingly crafted phrases, words on iridescent wings. And, then, I stop, move on, they're gone. Lost, to literary oblivion. #WeirdMicro literary oblivion

Good afternoon, writers of the strange and beautiful. Here is today’s #WeirdMicro #Writingprompt: Fake citations @MadQueenStorm @the_scribblings @foxlovealways @Morgan_R_R_Haze @PPPRetw88t

Good afternoon, writers of the strange and beautiful. Here is today’s #WeirdMicro #Writingprompt: Septic language @MadQueenStorm @the_scribblings @foxlovealways @Morgan_R_R_Haze @PPPRetw88t