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.
April 17, 2025: Our first violets! Spring is finally springing! Photo by Jeannine.
Write a flash fiction story of less than 1500 words, using the prompt, "A fortune appears on a protagonist’s wrist every morning."
🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠
Grandma’s Secret Imperatives
Joey was more than bummed out. He was more than sad. His parents had recently been killed in a car crash, and he’d had to move in with Grandma. Joey was in a very deep funk.
He’d always been an indifferent scholar, but recent events had put even the smallest thought of doing any schoolwork right out of his head. Joey was sixteen years old and reading at a third grade level. Grandma was worried. She was old, and wouldn’t be around forever. Joey needed to find some way to support himself - preferably something that he enjoyed
She tried leaving all kinds of books out for him: Science fiction, fantasy, fables, legends, mythology, nonfiction, but nothing interested him. He preferred television to books. One pleasure he shared with Grandma was a love for good food.
Finally, Grandma had an idea. Joey was a very heavy sleeper. She often joked that he could sleep through a fire. So one night she slipped into his room and used a black sharpie to write a message on his wrist: “This is your secret imperative: Bake some cookies!” When he read the message the next morning, he puzzled briefly about the origin of the message, but wasn’t too concerned - he wasn’t all that deep a thinker. But he did think some cookies would he nice. So he asked Grandma for some.
“Sorry, Hon, we’re out of cookies, and I’m too busy to bake today. But here’s a recipe that you might enjoy.”
“But Grandma, I’ve never cooked before,” Joey objected.
“You’re a clever lad, you can learn. Let me know if you have any questions.”
By now, Joey really wanted some cookies, so he took the recipe and headed into the kitchen. He needed to ask Grandma a few questions, but a couple hours later the counter was covered with cooling confections. Joey brought one to his grandmother, asking, “What do you think?”
“Delicious, Joey! I can’t believe this is your first time baking! They are so good,” she gushed. He really did have a knack for it!
Every night, Grandma wrote a different “secret imperative” on Joey’s wrist. Within a year, he had become an extremely competent cook. Even better, he had developed a great interest in reading cookbooks!
Grandma talked to Mr. Jacoby, a friend of hers who owned a restaurant, praising Joey’s skills. He assured her that if Joey was as talented as she said, he would happily take him on as an apprentice. That night’s message was a bit different: “Your secret imperative: Go talk to Mr. Jacoby.”
And so Joey’s future was assured. He flourished under Mr. Jacoby’s tutelage, and eventually became a great chef. He even wrote a cookbook, which he dedicated to his grandmother: “To Grandma, the magical inventor of the not-so-secret imperatives. Thank you for saving my life!” And they lived happily for the rest of their lives.
We used to laugh at Fred, who spent all his time in the woods, talking to wild animals. But we were all grateful to him after the hurricane. We were stranded with no electricity, no food, no running water. Luckily, Fred was kind enough to forgive us and helped us all survive, using the skills he'd learned in Nature's Academy.
Ben popped into Stella’s kitchen. “Where are all your kids?”
Stella grinned. “They’re already sacked out. Mom wore them out.”
Ben scoffed, “C’mon, she’s like 85! How hard can it be?”
“Why don’t you visit her tomorrow? It’s about time you were properly introduced.”
The next night, Ben was exhausted. "Oh, man! We weeded, mucked out stalls, and turned the compost. And that was just before lunch! Then we picked vegetables, gathered eggs, baked bread, and delivered everything to the food bank. And your Mom was going faster than any of us!"
Stella giggled, “You’ll have to learn to keep up!”
Steve had fretted about what he would say to Emma for weeks. It was time for confrontation.
“Emma, we need to discuss our relationship...”
She interrupted, “I’m in agreement, that’s a noteworthy insight, exactly right.” *
“No, you have to listen, this isn’t working out...”
“I’m on board with that, you make a great case, indeed.” *
“Emma, please shut up, you have to stop interrupting m...”
She cheerfully butted in, asserting, “I second that, that’s a reasonable assertion, definitely. I accept that, that’s a pertinent observation, absolutely correct.” *
Steve stood up. “Oh what’s the use,” he muttered as he stormed out, never to return.
Emma grinned as she closed the door behind him and turned towards her laptop. “I see your point, that’s a strong argument, absolutely.” *
She chuckled as she began scrolling through Substack accounts, looking for her next victim.
🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖🤖
* Verbatim quote from “Emma Horsedick (don't laugh),” a bot who attacked “The Fiction Dealer” on April 19, 2025.
Do you remember those middle of the night squalls, when I cradled his tiny body, cuddling him close as he nursed? Remember feeling his soft hair, smelling his milky burps, marveling at his perfect fingers? Our baby boy’s grown to manhood, but those sweet night memories remain as our reward.
I haven't even read the stories yet but I love that little video! Your chickens are magnificent! I love the way they all come out when you chit at them - presumably they were expecting something tasty to eat.
And I also love your donkeys!
The ending of the video was perfect as well with that cock-a-coo.
I haven't even read the stories yet but I love that little video! Your chickens are magnificent! I love the way they all come out when you chit at them - presumably they were expecting something tasty to eat.
And I also love your donkeys!
The ending of the video was perfect as well with that cock-a-coo.
Thumbs up from me for more vids like this.