Moments Between Years

This new year, let’s remember that life’s in the little things.

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

Morning had just broken, but Elsie found her thoughts tracing the kitchen floor.  

The first hour of the year was calm, quiet – giving room for pause. Singapore was still, but her apartment was buzzing with the noise of leftover wrappers, party poppers and half-finished cans of beer from the New Year’s Eve party the night before. 

A cuckoo bird and its mate did a series of hops on the railing, as if filling the small gaps between the noise. A park lamp flickered, looking bent, as if conforming to the weight of the prior year’s unseen moments.

She strolled to the corner coffeeshop, giving silent nods to people she knew only briefly. Each step she took was a checklist of micro-decisions – taking the scenic route past the river, choosing which text message to reply to, skipping her usual cafe stop because it was too crowded. The new year was a mirror of the year before. The choices she made then rippled quietly into today.

She found herself seated on a park bench at lunch, the flavour of new year leftovers absent on her tongue. Her mind wandered as clouds drifted idly; children laughed, their chuckles filling the void in her soul.

She knew that void. The emptiness of life’s unnoticed textures -children’s laughter, an elderly woman’s chuckle-trumped the resolutions she made a year earlier. The pause before laughter was a reminder that the thought put into laughter – the little details – mattered as much as the laughter itself. Awareness in life’s small acts is what made a difference. 

She returned to her apartment, opened a few letters she’d ignored over the new year and sipped her now rancid tea. 

But for the first time in a long while, she felt as if she mattered. The clock on the TV console ticked steadily, indifferent to her presence. But she felt -there. Unrushed, with no need to know what happened next. She had already arrived.

She dialled her mother’s number, ready to finally speak to her.

Ready to address the spat they’d had a few weeks earlier.

Ready to meet the year ahead. 

Because she was in the moment. 

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

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Fractured Midnight

The new year approaches, and as it does, cherish each second of life.

Carpe diem.

🎆

Revellers packed Franklin Street on the evening of December 31st, their steps in sync – though not quite perfectly – with the sound of fireworks.

Like everyone else, I was in awe – their patterns melded in an intricate tapestry of colours. But tinges of grey crept around the edges, like memories dying before birth.

And it wasn’t long before people began to notice the bright, yet slightly off-coloured nature of the bursts across the sky.

They knew the world was being reshaped – but not quite how, or why.

Blue sparks traversed the sky like visitors from another world, and each seemed to claim someone’s memory.

Hints of something no one could name – or wanted to.

🎆🎆

The countdown. Then, zero. Franklin Street was a mass of locked-in expressions.

The crowd’s last joyous cries were visible only to me. Only I recognised the fear in their faces.

Only I could move.

🎆🎆🎆

Then, time restarted as suddenly as it stilled.

The captured fear and joy – gone.

Life resumed, and Franklin Street was once again abuzz with frantic revelry.

I stepped forward into 2026, my hands filled with fractured moments of joy, sadness, and significance no one could recall.

Quiet seconds that mattered, to cherish – now passed.

🎆🎆🎆🎆

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Drowned in Spice

Today is National Pepper Pot Day, one that’s fitting, as we feast into the new year.

But…what do we do when something like a pepper pot wants to reach us?

Enjoy it?

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

O pepper pot, succubus winks from the stove,

First taste on buds, savouriness locked in recall

Father drowned in the viscous, moist icebergs of tender beef chunks

Doses of cayenne and cinnamon inflame his tongue

Then stay, a lovingly wrapped gift from her, heart aglow.

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

An original epulaeryu by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

Today is National Pepper Pot Day, one that’s fitting, as we feast into the new year.

But…what do we do when something like a pepper pot wants to reach us?

Enjoy it?

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

O pepper pot, succubus winks from the stove,

First taste on buds, savouriness locked in recall

Father drowned in the viscous, moist icebergs of tender beef chunks

Doses of cayenne and cinnamon inflame his tongue

Then stay, a lovingly wrapped gift from her, heart aglow.

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

An original epulaeryu by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

What Grew When Cut

When the hair fell, so did the truth

🌲👁️‍🗨️🌲

In a forest, dark – shadows move,

Quickly, quietly, through the groove,

Hair appears, in crested nooks,

Oft reviled, oft overlooked.

🕸️💀🕸️

The hair now grows, too long and fast

Creeps on the floor, on green ballasts,

It grips branches, lopes unseen

Its whispers carried over streams.

🪦🌑🪦

The Truth appears, grim and bare,

Towering, threatens – those who dare

Body wrapped from head to waist

In hair long and coarse, ropes from the grave.

🩸🌿🩸

Its iron grip, I cannot defy,

Joined with hair’s fears, its outright lies –

I cannot halt its onward form

Its unwieldy hair, against the norm.

🕷️🖤🕷️

A single hair, dropped, left behind,

Curls ’round the wrists, around the minds

Of those who ditch harsh truths, those who betray

The hair wraps and grips – forever stays.

🌘🕯️🌘

Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

Samson and Delilah AI image generatd by the author

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

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Fur and Warmth

Small warmth in a weary world

🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺

🐕Soft fur warms worn hands

Small heat for the weary soul

Calms at needed times. 🐕

🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺

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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

Mug in the Cold

Moments that melt the cold

🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄

Hot coffee warms hands

Casting small glow in the cold

Heat glistens in dark.

🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

Imparting Differences

Today is the International Day of Human Solidarity – one when a jigsaw becomes completely fitted.

When walls part, and partitions close.

When differences meet, magic happens.

🌟

The city of Parting was – parted. There were many parts, true to its name.

Every district spoke a different language. And within each language, a separate dialect.

Rules veered like cars as they steered from street to street. Neighbours saw each other – only with their eyes. Glances fleeted, lasting shorter than seconds.

🐾

Kevin frowned at George’s odd dances. Harry squirmed at Sheila’s crooked smile – one fixed on her face due to facial paralysis from an accident.

They laughed at Juno – he wrote, but climbing Everest was easier than reading.

But the little child smiled like an angel.

Then, the Mayor threw them a ball into a curve that was already curvy.

The Day of Differences. A town holiday.

To mark the day and make it as COMFORTABLE for the edgy as he could, he PAIRED the townsfolk.

Two worlds collided in a day.

Leila, the quiet librarian, frowned at George’s heady dance moves. Tom, the straightlaced mathematician, baulked at Ben’s cheeky eyebrow raising.

The differences sounded louder than cymbals.

Hearts listened, though minds ignored.

The diversity blanketed Parting – now Imparting – and beyond.

Leila held Dance Appreciation Days at the town library – with George’s help. Ben spun records at the radio station with the help of a metronome that Tom assembled – after a mouthful of quirky complaints.

And containers were no longer separate – the differences melted hard plastic partitions.

Into nothingness.

🌟

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It Thrives in Darkness

Even in darkness, small deeds shape the world.

🪱

The pale moon rises.

An earthworm’s quiet burrow.

Body shuns the light.

🪱

No fancy chorus.

It moves soil with its body.

Without wings for flight.

🪱

It hears loud footsteps.

Life pressing on its soft skin.

Learns not sounds of praise.

🪱

Roots sprout where it treads.

The soil recalls its labour,

But never its name.

🪱

It returns at dawn,

To the dark soil where it thrives

Soil’s breath now relaxes.

🪱

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

The Snowflake Thief

Sharing is the season’s greatest gift.

❄️

A Yuletide snow blanket covered Windleaf Town, turning chimneys, roofs, and roads a dirty white. Holiday lights cast their glow on streets shrouded in frost.

Marlow was the town Grinch – a staunch disbeliever in the Christmas spirit, he kept to himself. No one dared touch the toys in his store – or so he thought. Snow muffled the world’s noise – to Marlow, it was the sound of jingle bells hatching an annoying plot.

Then, Marlow’s ornaments began to disappear.

One.

By.

One.

Right under his nose.

Each missing ornament felt like a tiny stab in his back. Near the cash register, a faint jingle – reminding him of each missing bauble.

❄️❄️

The disgruntled shopkeeper refused to let missing decorations daunt him – he decided to fight the good fight.

His solution was simple: traps and a little subterfuge.

Armed with a little strategy, he placed them where kleptomaniac fingers would pinch.

Near his Christmas tree.

Near the window.

Near the cash register.

Near the mouse hole (just in case).

Traps carefully set, he waited with trepidation – his heart thumped with hope, not fear.

Trap evidence brought in the usual suspects -brown mice with cheeky grins, a gust of wind, and human footsteps craving for warmth long absent.

Then, Mary, a long-time customer, brought in a bauble.

“Doesn’t this belong to your tree?” She shot him a quizzical look

He shot her a puzzled one of his own.

Mary was a retired widow whose husband had recently passed.

Then, a nutcracker, brought in by Tim.

A man who called park benches his home.

And a little angel – whose place was the top of his tree. Brought in by Katherine.

“Is…is…this…yours?” The sentence emerged, though with some effort.

Then, mid-craft, he dropped his tools with a jolt.

Not in anger, but in realisation.

His ornaments had gone to the hands of those who needed them.

And the gruff grinch understood the gift hidden in his loss.

❄️❄️❄️

Project Catch Bauble Thief went on for two heart-stopping days.

For a grinch who often felt his heart on the wrong side of his chest.

Then – payoff.

On the store’s CCTV camera was little Elvie, placing the ornaments in gift bags, bow-tied with meticulous precision.

Sending them to the lonely and needy with thoroughness that spoke ‘care.’

He made his move on Christmas Eve.

The little boy gasped mid-gifting and dropped a bauble.

Marlow the Grinch fixed the little pilferer witha penetrating gaze.

On his face was his signature scowl – one that he dropped after a while when he thought of the little boy’s heart.

One that knew that gifts should be held by the hands which needed them.

❄️❄️❄️❄️

The grinchy shopkeeper succumbed to Yuletide’s resonating charm – he drove Elvie to homes that needed seasonal cheer.

His shop opened to customers with an unfamiliar glow.

Warm and welcoming.

It had never felt fuller or readier for a new start.

For a grouchy shopkeeper, sharing had become the season’s greatest gift.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

Gift-Wrapped Secrets

Where the glow of the season reveals what was once hidden.

🎄✨🕯️❄️

Red and green flashes, sparkling eyes,
Whispering tales that few dare speak
Bright sparks fill winter skies,
Beneath their glow, a shadow seeps.

🌙🕯️❄️

Shadows scale the darkened walls
Unopened letters on the mantle;
Confessions fill the quiet hall
Gift-wrapped truths hiding by candles

🔥📖❄️

Ember’s glow lights hidden truths
Photos, books beneath dust’s veil;
White snow falling from the roof
Red tiles that covered untold tales

🏠❄️✨

Stories told by a hearth that’s warm
Tales embracing hope and peace
Snow scales soft, the open roof,
Tales, now told, and minds at ease.

🎁🕯️❄️

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.