This is my first "Restack by participation" in Microdosing Fiction. I really enjoyed the challenge of creating in this format. Thanks for the invitation!
When she first saw Vei’s messengers seven years ago on that battlefield north of Ikune, where the mighty river Keksu bent just so and created a crossing ground that was always fordable in any season, she assumed it was simply the Goddess’s way of showing her love and reassuring Kivli of a place close to her when the time came.
But the visions kept happening, more often and with greater intensity. It had been clear for a while that the goddess was trying to tell her something.
In her final moments, Beverly lay beneath a knitted quilt handed down through generations, eyes misted with memories of yesteryear—dances beneath moonlight, the laughter of children, the warmth of love long passed away.
Each breath grew softer, a whisper of gratitude to the life she’d lived.
With a gentle sigh, she slipped away, heart full, soul quiet, embraced by peace.
Overshot a bit (77 words) but that's stories for you.
It was all so long ago, but Christie remembered, as if it were yesterday. How many high tides had washed the sand smooth as a mirror since then? Perhaps no one else remembered Siofra, the girl who drowned in the cove. Her old mother was dead long since and she never had a father. Even Christie was grey now, but he remembered, and he knew Siofra never drowned, and one day, she would come back for him.
“What exactly is wrong, Sir”. This rural practice was not what he’d dreamed of while studying by candlelight. To add insult, this villager in straw-flecked trousers held up with baler twine smelled of the country!
“Is it your head?”.
The wizened face contorted, gurning with pain. Gnarled fingers slapped at his furrowed brow.
Ghostly whispers, sweet sayings describing nostalgically yesteryear disrupted by apparent howling, echoed through my halls. I wandered through them, seeking for the source.
At my balcony, I overlooked my fellow kindred celebrating in all their feathery and slimy nature. The nostalgia in the spoken words served to point out the achievability of the focus for the speech and celebration: greatness.
I apologize in advance, but there was no way to do this properly in sixty words, so here's another overdose:
Dad awoke, crying out for Mom, "Molly, where are you?" The doctor had warned us about this, so we knew that it was best to make something up. The nurse explained that it would be cruel to repeatedly break his heart by reminding him that Mom had died ten years ago. He would only forget again.
"She's out shopping, Dad," I lied.
"Oh, good, she needs some time to herself to relax," he smiled. Dad's mind was lost in yesteryear. For him, today, tomorrow, and the recent past were but dreams, soon forgotten.
Fifteen minutes later, he was yelling for his glasses. At least this was an easy one: "They're hiding up here, Dad," I assured him, as I pulled them down from his forehead.
"Gotta watch them glasses. They can be sneaky little bastards," he exclaimed, as we both burst out laughing. Dad's memories might be lost in his past, but he's still here with us.
Nostalgia is a funny thing. Yesteryear feels quaint, painted in pastel watercolors. Of course, reality was just as complicated then as now. Humanity was still unkind. Money was still short. Danger may have worn different faces, but it still lurked. People dreaming of days gone by get lost in a past that never existed. Better to paint a better future.
He sat on his stoop as the steam-powered machine materialised in a shower of glitter and other shiny craft items.
I flamboyantly dressed gentleman leapt out.
“Salutations, friends!” he announced splendidly, “I come from the past. Days gone by, as it were!”
“Go back, while you still can.”
“Alrighty, then!”
And with another shower of glitter, the machine was gone.
This is my first "Restack by participation" in Microdosing Fiction. I really enjoyed the challenge of creating in this format. Thanks for the invitation!
That's awesome! Feel free to join in anytime you need a drop of inspiration :)
When she first saw Vei’s messengers seven years ago on that battlefield north of Ikune, where the mighty river Keksu bent just so and created a crossing ground that was always fordable in any season, she assumed it was simply the Goddess’s way of showing her love and reassuring Kivli of a place close to her when the time came.
But the visions kept happening, more often and with greater intensity. It had been clear for a while that the goddess was trying to tell her something.
https://shieldbreakersaga.substack.com/p/the-daughters-of-vei-chapter-1
Microfiction - 60mg of Yesteryear
===
The old wizard has only one supernatural skill: she can time travel to the past. Not any past, but one year in the past.
She is happy with the way it is. Just travel to yesteryear, no more, no less.
When asked what she did in yesteryear, she said: “I visited my younger self to tell her: you’ve got this.”
60mg of a Yesteryear:
Maeve’s boss delivers his awful news.
“…reiterate this isn’t about you, but about advances in technology…”
So yes, the efficient code scanners have replaced yesteryear’s manual ritual of stamping little cards held in pockets stuck into borrowed books.
“…wish you well on your next exciting phase…”
Yet for Maeve, this ugly 1970s library building has always been her exciting place.
There's something beautiful in stamps, real papers, handwritten stuff... I'd find the library exciting too :)
Thank you, Miguel. This happened to my mother. We've always loved libraries and she loved her job there.
Your story is beautiful, Miguel, and a reminder that time goes so, so, so, so fast!!!
It does :)
PROMPT: YESTERYEAR
THE SCIENTIST
He could remember it clearly.
Watching the moon landing on TV, with his family beside him.
The last time they were all together, and the day that began his lifelong passion for science.
It was years ago now, but felt like yesterday.
And once his time machine was finished, he was going back there, and yesterday would be today again… 👨🔬😎👨🔬
60mg - Yesteryear
___________________________
In her final moments, Beverly lay beneath a knitted quilt handed down through generations, eyes misted with memories of yesteryear—dances beneath moonlight, the laughter of children, the warmth of love long passed away.
Each breath grew softer, a whisper of gratitude to the life she’d lived.
With a gentle sigh, she slipped away, heart full, soul quiet, embraced by peace.
Overshot a bit (77 words) but that's stories for you.
It was all so long ago, but Christie remembered, as if it were yesterday. How many high tides had washed the sand smooth as a mirror since then? Perhaps no one else remembered Siofra, the girl who drowned in the cove. Her old mother was dead long since and she never had a father. Even Christie was grey now, but he remembered, and he knew Siofra never drowned, and one day, she would come back for him.
Storytelling is not harmful even in higher than recommended doses! :)
Great prompt, Miguel
Thanks!
What’s Up Doc? (60 words)
“What exactly is wrong, Sir”. This rural practice was not what he’d dreamed of while studying by candlelight. To add insult, this villager in straw-flecked trousers held up with baler twine smelled of the country!
“Is it your head?”.
The wizened face contorted, gurning with pain. Gnarled fingers slapped at his furrowed brow.
“Nose? Cheek? Ear?”
“Yes ter ear, Doctor”.
Dying lmao 🤣
💛✍️💛
LOVE this!!!!!!!
Thank you so much for the encouragement.
I lobe it
This kind compliment has a ring to it!
Ouch. 😂
Just a bit of daftness. I expect Miguel to give me a clip around the ear for my troubles!
A bit of daftness is always a good thing, in my opinion.
Ghostly whispers, sweet sayings describing nostalgically yesteryear disrupted by apparent howling, echoed through my halls. I wandered through them, seeking for the source.
At my balcony, I overlooked my fellow kindred celebrating in all their feathery and slimy nature. The nostalgia in the spoken words served to point out the achievability of the focus for the speech and celebration: greatness.
Once
Prompt by: THE FICTION DEALER: Microdosing Fiction - 60mg of a Yesteryear
Once there were dreams vast and secure.
Once there were words solid and sure.
Once there were promises for us to hold
Once we shared wondered and did behold
Once life had challenges, we didn’t pretend
Once there was a future but now there is an end.
Once you were here
Once we shared life
Once
Once
It’s not enough
It's never enough. Beautifully written.
Thank you for your comment.
I love that one, Miguel. You'll make a great father someday!
I hope so 🥹
I apologize in advance, but there was no way to do this properly in sixty words, so here's another overdose:
Dad awoke, crying out for Mom, "Molly, where are you?" The doctor had warned us about this, so we knew that it was best to make something up. The nurse explained that it would be cruel to repeatedly break his heart by reminding him that Mom had died ten years ago. He would only forget again.
"She's out shopping, Dad," I lied.
"Oh, good, she needs some time to herself to relax," he smiled. Dad's mind was lost in yesteryear. For him, today, tomorrow, and the recent past were but dreams, soon forgotten.
Fifteen minutes later, he was yelling for his glasses. At least this was an easy one: "They're hiding up here, Dad," I assured him, as I pulled them down from his forehead.
"Gotta watch them glasses. They can be sneaky little bastards," he exclaimed, as we both burst out laughing. Dad's memories might be lost in his past, but he's still here with us.
Storytelling is not harmful even in higher than recommended doses! :)
May 6 Yesteryear 60
Nostalgia is a funny thing. Yesteryear feels quaint, painted in pastel watercolors. Of course, reality was just as complicated then as now. Humanity was still unkind. Money was still short. Danger may have worn different faces, but it still lurked. People dreaming of days gone by get lost in a past that never existed. Better to paint a better future.