Aethereal Muses: “It’s a paradox time-shift.”


A weekly compilation of collected microfictions composed by yours truly. Follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram for daily dabs of fiction. If your time is short, these are shorter!

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Featured Image: Dino Rider, by Remy Paul

“I have, superpowers?” “The family secret,” her father smiles. Aimee floats higher. “This is incredible!” “Careful, having powers made my sister dark and edgy after you were born.” “What?” “You know, an auntie-hero!” “Daaaad!” she groans as Aunt Angie smacks him. The submarine hovers in sunless depths. Its lights touch gloom. Unknown benthos. A glinting pair of eyes. Another pair. Then a multitude. Then a bang as something hits the hull. They’d come seeking knowledge. They’d found Y’ha-nthlei. Their doom. The police negotiator lifts his megaphone. “What are your demands?” “A prince!” she yells. “Okay, put the gun down and we’ll—” “AND he has to RESCUE me from the dragon!” The dragon sweats, eyes on the princess and her pistol against his head. “Rescue you?!” Edes pocketed his wallet in the parlor. “Another escape, another fisherman paid for your recapture.” The simian fish-thing from the Pacific slapped its tail and chewed on the upholstery of his favorite velvet smoking chair. “Perhaps Barnum wants a Fiji mermaid…” “Sam, it would take a scholar and a team of expert forgers to reproduce a medieval book that’s identical except for two pages.” “So—” “It’s a paradox time-shift.” He points to the illuminated manuscript. “Is that a blue box?” “And a DeLorean.” “Oh boy.” He awakens after falling down the stairs. The teddy bear he tripped over sat on his chest. “I’ll murder that kid!” he growls, trying to slap the toy. His arms stay limp. “Mean Daddy broke his neck,” the toy snarls. “Mean Daddy will never hit children again.” I dress in the neon light of the Body Shop sign. “Thanks for keeping me female.” “As a fugitive bonus, I stopped the clone transplant maturation at adolescent.” “I like the Chinese look.” “My specialty,” Doc says. “And my old body?” “Food for pigs.”

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