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.
Today is observed in Christian Tradition as the Feast of the Holy Innocents – we observe the beauty of innocence this Yuletide.
Innocence that power consumes too easily.
Knowledge, power and recognition – at what cost?
✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐
Jeremy Tong was a recluse – he preferred the company of the universe, stars, and all, to the inane chatter of people. The young astronomer sought to map the universe’s canvas.
To be the astronomer with knowledge uncapped.
He set up a telescope on the edge of a cliff. It could trace constellations – what was beyond the universe.
The stars blinked every night, their curiosity becoming insatiable.
And Jeremy’s telescope glared at him with its cheeky lens.
The device picked up readings – what it was supposed to do. But these were – odd. The stars felt – alive. Too alive and aware.
✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐
The young astronomer was fiddling with his cosmic toy one fateful evening when the lens fogged over and became – strange.
It showed images – not of stars in their renowned patterns, but of how life was to unfold.
He saw himself, a midlife astronomer, scanning newspaper headlines. Seeking recognition.
Visions of himself as an old man gnawed at his mind’s recesses – peering at the sky, wondering what the vast black horizon lay in front of him.
HIS life.
Glimpses of the future burned into his mind – and not painlessly. Each image cut off a piece of him, as if he had surrendered himself to the cosmos.
The line between his reality and the universe blurred.
✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐
The telescope’s lens pulled back and enlarged, almost beckoning. In its lens – a sentient being. Waiting for him. It watched him, demanding his complete faithfulness. Complete belief.
For infinite knowledge in return.
The pulse of infinite minds throbbed in his veins, each beat wrenching a part of his soul.
He drew back from the lens, aghast. It dawned – knowledge wasn’t just making observations through lens – it was a transaction.
✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐
He angled his head for another look – and paused. One more glance that meant infinite knowledge.
The lens’s eternal ownership.
That final glance held both intimidation and promise.
“Come…or vanish.” The stars seemed to whisper, almost giggling.
The freedom of life – or the universe’s secret manual.
He peeked at the lens once more – and saw himself reflected in infinity.
✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐
The telescope remained on the observation deck, its lens waiting –
For others who craved discovery.
Who were aware of the cost of knowledge – but willing to pay.
The cliff stood, still sentient, still quiet.
Guarding its secrets.
Secrets best kept behind locked doors.
It rose. Patient. Hungry.
Another astronomer peered through the open mouth of its lens.
✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐
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.
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!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Today marks the day of the 2004 Tsunami that struck the shores of several countries worldwide.
Leaving devastation.
Loss.
A weight that must be remembered.
🌊🌊🌊🌊
I watched, my waves tense, as children left chocolate wrappers on the pristine sand. Fishermen lingered at the shore, ignoring the curious dolphins poking their noses into their nets. I regarded them coldly – patient and endless, as they pursued their selfish joys.
Waiting.
They were close. Too close.
The tension caused my wavy hands to clench, ready to unleash. The veins in them were about to burst. I found myself listening to my rising impatience.
I pulled back further, gathering myself. My form stretched across horizons, waiting to release. There were the lovers. The thoughtless fishermen. The wrapper-throwing children. I recall bearing the careless weight of their ways. Each mistake, each inconsiderate act, each denial – bore into my waves.
My spindly, watery hands stilled. Grey covered the skies, along with a blanket of silence. The wind stopped blowing on my cue. Thunder growled softly, ready when I was. I stayed upright, silent, as all on the distant shores laughed without care. I waited, testing their false confidence. Nothing they did – wasted food, offensive plastic bottles – escaped my notice. I stood poised.
Ready for the inevitable.
Meanwhile, plastic bottles lay, unrisen corpses, on the shore. An angry crowd of thunderclods gathered, silent, in the background. In my watery hands were dangerous nets, uneaten food, dead fish – ready to return to those who owned them.
I carried their forgotten burdens. Each small, yet costly mistake.
Their responsibility. In my grasp.
My dirty blue fingers painfully remembered each transgression. Each misstep cut my sides.
Still, I lingered, patient, endless. Responsibility cavorted, unaware, on the trash-ridden shore.
I remembered. Always remembered. So would they.
🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊
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.
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.
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.
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 smell of chocolate chips in Canberra’s town hall was sweet.
Cloying.
Accusing.
Cookies marched to a precise line-up over long tables, their dark chocolate chips arranged in exact spaces in perfectly pressed dough.
That shaped the baker’s hearts in absolute symmetry – they HAD to get the taste of the cookies JUST SO.
A donation jar was a gracious sentient on a corner table,
greeted, then ignored.
Because the chocolate chip dough had to rise to yeast perfection.
🍪🍪
The judges’ eyes swept with laser exactness over the cookie lines, their nods synchronous- the cookies had to grace the sides of the moulds, with no hint of space.
The fingers of bakers pressed into dough with near-obsessive force, the thumps of their hearts orchestrating as they eradicate each offensive lump within.
Their eyes fell quickly on the donation jar.
That sighed, unnoticed.
🍪🍪🍪
The day of the great chocolate chip bake-off dawned, grey clouds masking sunlight.
People entered Canberra Hall in droves, greeting the immaculate cookie lines with polite applause.
The sound of the claps fell hollowly on the floor.
The donation jar stood on a table in the corner, a consummate wallflower observing the proceedings.
The guests passed it without glance or greeting.
🍪🍪🍪🍪
The day ended, success resounding from the walls of the hall.
Dusk fell with discoloured red hues.
The cookies were gone.
The donation jar peered keenly from the shadows.
🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪
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.
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.
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.
🌟
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 Getting Literal Writing Alcove 