Teeny Tiny Tales #22
“Our life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson. 3.19.25 through 3.25.25.
This is where I present my daily microfiction stories, mostly based on the past week’s prompts from The Fiction Dealer. By posting my humble tales - the good, bad, silly, and indifferent - I hope to inspire others to allow their creativity to come out and play.
Teeny Tiny Tales #1 - Teeny Tiny Tales #2 - Teeny Tiny Tales #3 - Teeny Tiny Tales #4 - Teeny Tiny Tales #5 -Teeny Tiny Tales #6 - Teeny Tiny Tales #7 - Teeny Tiny Tales #8 - Teeny Tiny Tales #9 - Teeny Tiny Tales #10 - Teeny Tiny Tales #11 - Teeny Tiny Tales #12 - Teeny Tiny Tales #13 - Teeny Tiny Tales #14 - Teeny Tiny Tales #15 - Teeny Tiny Tales #16 - Teeny Tiny Tales #17 - Teeny Tiny Tales #18 - Teeny Tiny Tales #19 - Teeny Tiny Tales #20 - Teeny Tiny Tales #21
March 19, 2025
Microdosing - 90 mg of Rain
It was a rainy day and Jess was bored. She decided to brave the storm to see what she could find outdoors. The fun of puddle jumping soon palled ("Baby stuff," she scoffed), so she wandered into the forest. There she heard the rain pattering onto the leaves above her head and the tiny frogs singing joyous hallelujahs in the swamp. And finally, best of all, hovering among the tiny orange jewelweed, she spotted the hummingbirds, easily dodging raindrops. She learned that there is beauty in even the soggiest days.
March 20, 2025
Microdosing - 70 mg of Midnight Thoughts
Now I lay me down to sleep
And pray the midnight thoughts won't creep,
To wake up deeply buried memories
And my worst nightmares to release.
They remind me of my worst sins past,
There's no forgiveness, the guilt grows and lasts.
My eyes freeze wide open, wide awake,
This midnight thinking my poor heart breaks.
My eyes are leaking, cold tears will seep,
With midnight thoughts my soul still weeps.
March 21, 2025
Microdosing - Fiction Sesh
Assignment: Craft a story in 50-250 words based on the prompt, “Journey of Stillness.”
Featured in The Journey of Stillness by The Fiction Cartel 🤗
The Journey of Stillness
A sequel to One Last Dance with Roberto
Hall lay in his bed, dreaming of Molly, of their first meeting at Mr. Malcolm’s farm, where they’d both landed summer jobs. Molly was different from the other girls, she was more of a tomboy, but he loved the way that she wasn't afraid of anything, and could work as hard and long as he, but was smart as a whip, too. Mr. Malcolm’s sheep had escaped that day and were gobbling up the peppers, so Hall and Molly helped the old farmer herd them back to the pasture. Of course this was much easier said than done, and by the time the gate was securely latched behind the last woolly truant, they were covered in sweat and dust and burrs, but Molly just grinned merrily as though it had all been great fun. And of course, with her by his side, it had been a grand adventure. The vision of Mr. Malcolm's farm began to fade... “Molly, Molly, where are you,” he cried. He awoke, but everything was indistinct and foggy, except for the pain ripping back into his innards.
His daughter, Jess had been holding his wasted hand as he slept. She saw his hands contract into tight balls, as he began to stir, moaning inarticulate sounds that she didn’t understand. It was time for the hospice nurse to give Hall more morphine. As the pain eased, Hall slipped back to the dream world, where his Molly still lived.
Hall dreamed of long past family celebrations, of long walks in the woods with Molly, of sitting together before the fireplace, reading books as the winter winds howled outside the windows. He dreamed of the tastes of the first harvest of asparagus, the sweetness of new strawberries, the buttery feasts of corn on the cob. He dreamed of the rich tang of freshly baked sourdough bread, the soft powdery scent of their newborn children’s hair, the welcome perfume of lilacs blooming in spring. He dreamed of all the things that he and Molly had ever shared, awakening from time to time into pain-filled confusion, only to be gently lulled back into his happy remembrances.
After his last dose of morphine, Hall’s breathing became shallow and labored, and it was clear that he would not awaken again. As his children tearfully gathered about his bed to keep him company during his last journey of stillness, Hall dreamed one last dream of Molly, a dream of quite another kind of journey. They were sitting on the deck during the last summer before her death, watching the hummingbirds swoop and hover around the feeders, Molly holding his hand. One of the hummingbirds, the one Molly liked to call Roberto, landed upon their intertwined fingers, and that was when Hall felt himself dissolving with Molly, into a mist of swirling colors. The cloud that had once been Hall and Molly merged with Roberto, who took off into the promising blue skies, carrying the old lovers away from pain and into the eternal joy of togetherness.
March 22, 2025
Microdosing - 60 mg of an Explosion
Prompt from Miguel S.’s book, “Micro Dosing Fiction"
When Mr. Smith got to Uranus, Billy piped up and everybody laughed - everybody except me, because I didn't get it. My doctor says I’m too literal.
After the class quieted, Mr. Smith continued until I suddenly understood. A trickle, a torrent, and finally an explosion of laughter burst forth. I missed the rest of class, but I’ll never forget Uranus.
March 23, 2025
Microdosing - Unlimited mg of Wankerous
Personal prompt, inspired by , who used the term in her introduction to this week's installnent of Saturday Pomes & Words. Click the video below to hear a fun use of the word, “wankerous.”
.jpg){kind=link}
There is a man so wankerous,
He thinks he’s better than the rest of us.
I have to say, I really must,
That this man is so damned wankerous.
You wonder why I make a fuss
And why I’m such a gloomy Gus.
I’ll tell you: The world’s a hopeless mess,
And I blame it on Sir Wankerous.
The man is evil, libelous,
Dishonest, vain, and venomous.
Who is this wanker maximus?
His name is Mister Wankerous!
March 24, 2025
Microdosing - 70 mg of a Lazy Day
Shep and I glared out the window. Yesterday was warm and sweet, with spring bulbs sprouting and nesting birds singing. Today, March betrayed us: Everything was buried beneath four inches of snow, with more coming down.
Disgusted, we curled up on the couch, but soon our imaginations cheered us, as we dreamed of the return of the lazy days of summer, when Shep and I become woodland creatures once again.
March 25, 2025
Microdosing - 80 mg of Hurt
For fifty years I've lived in pain.
Fifty years I've borne this shame.
I never should have learned to care.
I should leave, but I don't dare.
He hurts my ever loving heart.
He tears my hopes and dreams apart.
My life's a nightmare, void of sleep.
The hurt digs down, deep down so deep.
I fear the future still to come,
When fifty years turns fifty-one.
I only have myself to blame
For living my whole life in pain.
🐪🐫🐪🐫🐪🐫🐪
Haiku on Wednesday
Will turn Hump Day to Fun Day
I'm thrilled to join in! 😋
Posted on March 21, 2025 in comment section of 's House of Haiku introductory post.
😜😜😜😜😜😜
Too bad for jokesters,
April first is on Tuesday.
No Haikus for fools. 😥
Posted on March 23, 2025 in comment section of
's House of Haiku introductory post.
Thanks for Mentioning the 'House of Haiku'! This is a wonderful collection, and it's a really lovely idea to put together a weekly post like this featuring all your brilliant contributions to the prompt challenges... 😎
Yay! Thank you for being inspired by my silliness! Mind you there's a lot more truth to your poem in the real world. And it is a fantastic little ditty!
Your Journey to stillness was simply beautiful. And magical. And, as far as I am concerned, completely true...