The Last Gift and other Microfictions.

The Ink-Drinker: He didn't read books; he drank them. He’d squeeze the pages until the words dripped into a glass. After consuming a Shakespearean tragedy, he’d weep for days in perfect iambic pentameter. He died after drinking a dictionary, his last breath a chaotic jumble of every word for "goodbye."

The Shadow’s Reflection: I stood before a mirror and saw my shadow, but not myself. The shadow was busy living a life I had abandoned—it was painting, laughing, and holding a woman’s hand. I realized I was the silhouette, and the dark shape on the wall was the only part of me that was truly alive.

The Gravity Well: A farmer found a hole in his field where things fell up. He used it to dispose of trash until the sky turned black with debris. One night, he tripped and fell into the hole; he spent eternity falling through the stars, a lonely man in a suit of overalls.

The Secret Garden: The flowers in her garden only bloomed when someone told them a secret. The roses were blood-red from confessions of murder, while the lilies were pale from white lies. Her garden was the most beautiful in the world, and also the most terrifying place to have a conversation.

The Time-Traveler’s Wife: She waited for him at the same bench every Tuesday. He would appear, sometimes as a boy of ten, sometimes as a man of eighty. They never had a full life together, just a thousand Tuesdays scattered across a century, held together by the smell of rain and peppermint.

The Transparent City: The walls were made of glass, and privacy was illegal. People learned to hide their thoughts in the rhythm of their breathing. The city fell when a single man forgot how to lie to himself, and his shame shattered every window from the suburbs to the city center.

The Memory Collector: He carried a jar of fireflies, but each light was a forgotten childhood memory. He offered them to the elderly for a price. Most bought back their first love, but one old man paid his life savings just to remember the name of the dog he’d lost in 1954.

The Unfinished Bridge: It stretched halfway across the ocean and stopped. People lived on the edge, waiting for the workers to return. They built a city on the pylons, forgetting that the bridge wasn't meant to be a home, but a way to get to the other side.

The Song of the Earth: A scientist built a microphone sensitive enough to hear the tectonic plates shifting. He expected a grind, but he heard a lullaby. The Earth wasn't moving because of heat; it was rocking itself to sleep, and we were the restless dreams it was trying to ignore.

The Last Gift: On his deathbed, the magician performed one last trick. He didn't disappear; he turned everyone in the room into a version of themselves that was ten years younger. He died smiling, watching his grieving children suddenly remember how to play tag in the hospital hallway.