Tag Archives: A.C. Quill

2021 Halloween Microfiction Roundup

It’s a beautiful, sunny day here in Salem MA as I write this. The tourists have gone home. The locals are emerging from their homes bleary eyed and hopeful. Another wheel of the year has turned and brings with it new promise.

This year many of our stories  centered around death. Making peace with it. Saying goodbye. Eking out the very last precious moments with loved ones. If nothing else, the pandemic has taught us the importance of human connection. I do hope you will all take a moment to revisit these stories, or read them for the first time if October was too much of a whirlwind for you.

Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies by A.C. Quill
Danse Macabre / Memento Vivere by Bernie Mojzes
Desire by DJ Tyrer
The Offering by Jennifer Williams
A Little Magic In Me by Avery Vanderlyle
Eyes Wide Shut by Elvyra Venus
The Dark Room by Cecilia Tan

I’m not going to say goodbye this year. I don’t know what the future holds. Things are in flux. Change is afoot. But death is merely transformation. We’ll still be here one way or another. The Circlet Alumni are cooking something up for next year. So long as life doesn’t get in the way you’ll hear from us again.

Until then, thank you. Thank you to everyone who submitted work. Thank you to everyone who read and shared the stories here.

Have a blessed New Year and stay safe.

Halloween Microfiction: Kindling by A.C. Quill

“Kindling”
by A.C. Quill

Sunset surprises me at half past four. I run out of my workshop and into the bathroom. I buzz off nearly all my hair, only leaving a centimeter, and shower. It’s strange to be so eager to see someone, but not to dress up: no nail varnish, no cologne, no fancy underwear. No underwear at all. Just boots and canvas overalls.

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Halloween Microfiction: The Change by A.C. Quill

“The Change”
by A.C. Quill

At midnight I was out on the hillside, drumming my fingers and toes and waiting to change. Not wearing a lot: a greatcoat, no gloves, and feet bare in my walking boots. Less to retrieve, later.

But that night, nothing happened. I rocked on the balls of my feet trying to entice the change, to spark that shift that topples me forwards. I wanted my springy legs and my sharp nose. I longed to be careening between the trees in Tentsmuir Forest.  God, I was impatient! A crotchety middle-aged bitch…

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Microfiction: Black-Hole Bookshop Boy by A.C. Quill

“Black Hole-Bookshop Boy”
by A.C. Quill

It’s been a tough day, but I’m becoming a good counselor. I try to hang on to that optimism as I weave between the High Street shoppers: a kid who crackles with crimson anger; a businessman who’s bearing a radiant golden grudge.

I pause to peer through the window of my favourite bookshop. Inside, a young man is unboxing hardbacks, graceful and precise. The satin back of his waistcoat is straining. He’s tweedy, floppy-fringed, tempting. My beautiful black-hole bookshop boy.

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