A selection of Micro fiction stories written by Karlstan Vance
The sound of the helicopter shatters my daydream. My eyes now fully take in the luxury of this room. Yesterday, I had complete control. A tyrant, some called me. I never cared for titles or what anyone else thought of me. I just took what I wanted until someone was strong enough to stop me. It took the combined strength of the masses currently beating down my door. In a moment this place will be overrun by them. I will be gone by then. Salvation awaits on the roof. I will survive. I will be reborn and then I will start to take again.
The Last Few Seconds
The explosion took him quite by surprise. Gex only had a few seconds between the time he saw the fireball and the end. He had let many unusual freighters and frigates through his port but his gut told him that there was something very wrong with the last one. He ignored it, let him pass, and now his dust will float in the outer reaches of space with the rest of the hundred thousand souls on this station. It is amazing how many thoughts you can have in the final few seconds of your life. Gex experienced another lifetime in that moment and then was gone.
The Once and Future President
Genevieve usually did not care for the pomp and circumstance, but today was an exception. It was not every day that she created a future president. She rubbed her eyes, struggling to keep them open after the marathon, weaving session. It has taken 72 hours, but she was particularly proud of this one. The archivist had recovered samples from some of the strongest leaders all the way back to the great rebuild of the late 22nd century. Time would tell if her sequencing would produce a hero reminiscent of that time or a dictator that would destroy everything for which they had worked. Humanity was anticipating a champion if it were to survive and rebuild this time. The freshly crafted egg was reverently placed in the incubator. It would take five years for the process to finish. Genevieve prayed society could hold together that long.
This is How the World Ends
Do not let my diminutive stature deceive you. I have ended this world twice over and I am contemplating it again. I sit in a glass display case on the desk of a man who just discerned the reality of fae. I sit and I plot. My plans are increasingly foul the longer I remain here. To have such infinite power thwarted by a simple construction of heated sand is infuriating. Mortals, however, are curious and careless. I will be free soon enough. I have the luxury of time and I will take it to devise an especially creative cataclysm.
We are fewer but our allocation does not increase. The camp feels more empty than ever before. Thick soldiers search for the scrawny survivors to toss a bowl of the pasty substance they call food. It sticks to roof of my mouth. The ache in my belly remains. I have lost track of the days. I know not if the war still rages or if the rest of my people suffer my same fate. The bell rings and a commotion stirs on the far side of the camp. Another death, but not mine – not today.
His hands felt the bristle of the rope as he grabbed it. This was the final obstacle. His heart slammed into his chest as exhaustion fought to end his audition. Hand over hand, he pulled against the rope until he cleared the wall. Racing to the pedestal, he grasped the hourglass with a few grains of sand, still in the top, and tipped it on its side. His legs collapsed as fatigue overwhelmed him. Looking down at his blood stained cloak, he smiled. Fighting off all contenders, he beat the guild’s toughest game. He was an assassin now.