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This is a platform where I share extremely short stories from time to time. Please note that any use It is not genre specific and keeps to one POV per sketch.

Definitions of short forms
A vignette is often considered poetic prose/prose poetry; it is a short and focussed narrative sketch using evocative language to convey images. In the story format, it differs from the short story by dispensing with the introduction and conclusion found in the latter genre, thereby lending it the ideal vehicle to zoom in on a snippet of information or a single scene amo

ng many, juxtaposing it in sharp focus against a lost background. Micro fiction: Micro fiction is a subset of flash fiction. Whereas flash fiction is written in 1,000—1,500 words (more or less, depending on which source you consult), micro fiction is fiction that is written in about 250—300 words; sudden fiction is written in about 500—750 words. These stories are usually ended with the words: THE END (which does not count towards the word count). The following are categories of micro fiction—these are not genre specific:
Skinny/3-word story: A complete story implied in just 3 words. Six-word & ten-word stories: A story written in exactly 6/10 words. Example: ‘For sale, baby shoes, never worn.’ (Popularly attributed to Ernest Hemingway.) Hint fiction: Robert Swartwood coined the phrase ‘hint fiction’ in 2010, describing it as: ‘A short story of 25 words or fewer suggests a larger, more complex story. … [A] successful hint fiction story stands by itself. … [I]t has a beginning, middle, and end.’
Twitterature/Twiction: Prose or poetry—Originally written in 140 characters (the allowance dictated by Twitter per post), it has now expanded to more characters, namely 280 characters (including spaces, punctuation and numbers). Mini saga/The Dribble: It is a story written in exactly 50 words. The Drabble: It is a story written in exactly 100 words—no more or not less. Haibun: It literally means haikai writings. It is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, a short story and travel journal. It may be titled or left untitled (in the fashion of haiku poetry). Generally, short stories are between 5000 and 10000 words long, depending on the particular guidelines set by the various publishers, and are genre specific. Note: The title does not count towards the word count.

01/04/2023

THE CUSTODIANS – A modern fairytale
©Suzette Richards 1 April 2023 [Updated 13 April 2023]

The twins, bathed and in their pyjamas, settled down on either side of the parent on the comfortable couch in the front room of their home. With a great flourish of ceremony, the parent opened the newly acquired book and began to read.

‘The custodians.’
[Here the parent paused dramatically.]

‘Once upon a time, when animals roamed the lush green land, and birds flew in the clear skies, and fishes* swam in the vast waters upon the earth, there were a wise old man and a cheeky teenager who admonished (that means, “ticked off”) the custodians of this magical place for not keeping it shipshape (kept clean like your room should be):

‘Hoopoes arrived early in the garden.
It was too hot for them to remain then
in their northern summer layover spot,
but their food was still frozen and a clot
in the ground with all the frost down south.
Birds sat on the hard ground with gaping mouths
wondering where the next meal would come from.
You see, the animals didn’t have a Mom.

‘If only climate change did not destroy
the habitat and was treated as a toy
by the custodians, you would have seen
all the colours of the rainbow that’s been
recorded; the brightest jewel colours.
And everything else your ancestors
couldn’t—including the elusive blues†—
after all, we all come in different hues.

‘Blue is also the colour of hottest
stars in the galaxy, also biggest.
Maybe we would one day travel afar
and visit the Red Planet (not a star).
But what to take with on this adventure;
it’s at great cost to nature, this venture.
The custodians should choose with greatest care
who to take and in what state they leave air.

‘THE FURURE’

‘Oh,’ said the twins in unison, ‘Shouldn’t it be “The End”?’
‘No,’ said the parent, ‘Not if we act wisely now and do all we could to preserve this precious heritage.’
THE END

AUTHOR’S NOTES
*The word ‘fishes’ is correct as it donates more than one species of fish being referred to.
†Regarding the reason some languages do not have a word for the colour blue: grunge.com/285728/the-real-reason-ancient-people-didnt-see-the-color-blue/

Picture: The Rising Tide Sculptures – London.

16/03/2023

THE FUTURE OF MANKIND
©Suzette Richards, 16 March 2023

Cradling the baby’s head, floccose like a ripe raspberry; I’m both filled with wonder and dread. How am I to care for this fragile being when mankind is hell bend on extirpation? Paradise razed by conflagration—the residue of a charred batch of jam: irredeemable! I can but sigh …

A Dribble: 50 words

14/03/2023

The fir tree sapling clings precariously to the edge of the canyon where it had germinated after last season’s storm that felled the forest.
© Suzette Richards 14 March 2023
Hint fiction – 24 words

09/03/2023

A TRAGIC WASTE OF SPACE
© Suzette Richards

I balance my illicitly obtained bottle of absinthe from a man who knows a man, for an exorbitant amount of Euros, on the worn wooden windowsill of my topmost room at the rundown pension overlooking the harbour. Next to it, I place my well-thumbed copy of 'La Nausée'. The dark apartment window reflects back the sparse furnishings behind me. I open the window to get a better view and my eyes are immediately drawn to the four cafés on the quayside – the object of my pilgrimage. Their incongruous proximity to one another always fascinated me as it couldn’t possibly be conducive to fair trade. The incessant wind from the Channel they have to endure in this enclave during each January was a bad trade-off for escaping the snow elsewhere.
The lights from the cafés flicker at this distance like teenagers taking selfies. What is it with people’s constant desire to touch base with one another? If we’re alone in the universe, it would be a tragic waste of space; if we’re not alone, it’s still a tragic waste of space.
I shut the window when the scent of a Gitanes lit by the occupant below wafts into the night air.
THE END

Micro-fiction Word count: 200
‘The universe is a pretty big place. If it's just us, seems like an awful waste of space.’ ~ Carl Sagan

08/03/2023

For a FREE DOWNLOAD (2.6 MB) of a selection of my short stories, and other genre, please visit my page Su's Short Stories.

04/03/2023

THE VERSATILE VIGNETTE
© Suzette Richards 4 March 2023

The term ‘vignette’ (adapted from a word in Middle French meaning ‘little vine’) referred originally to a decorative design used in books and manuscripts. The term gained its literary sense in the late 19th century.

What sets the vignette apart from other literary genre? In a nutshell: It differs from flash fiction by dispensing with the introduction and conclusion found in the latter genre.

A vignette is often considered poetic prose/prose poetry. It is a short and focussed narrative sketch using evocative language to express a certain moment, mood, aspect, setting, character, or object, juxtaposing it in sharp focus against a lost background. It might be factual or fictional in content; a standalone piece, or part of a larger script; it is not genre specific and only uses one POV per sketch. It may be very short or as many as ±800 words per piece. It is usually left untitled.

The vignette is the ideal vehicle to cleanse your palate, so to speak, between bouts of writing poetry, or to overcome the dreaded writer’s block.

MY EXAMPLES FOR COMPARISON
Vignette - 45 words:
I stood on the platform of my youth. The weeds are growing between the railway sleepers where the tracks have rusted in situ. The trains will never run again. Over the past thirty years our government had systematically neglected the basic rights of its citizens.

Micro-fiction (a subset of flash fiction) – 100 words:
I stared out of the kitchen window and noticed that the daffodil heads hung broken by the unexpected cold snap; the life sap frozen in them.

I turned back to my daughter where she sat crying at the kitchen table. I had just instructed her in a similar vein as my recently deceased mother had done when my husband’s infidelity had come to my notice. I can’t cry for that woman, my erstwhile confidante. Many years ago, Mum had told me not to bring shame upon this family by divorcing my cheating husband. Eventually, he’d died in another woman’s arms.
***
Furthermore, in poetry, the vignette (a micro poem) is formatted in open form and left untitled. It can include several short stanzas. For multiple vignettes (on the same theme) each should be labelled by a number or a letter, most commonly by Roman numerals. It does not necessarily employ metre or rhyme.

MY EXAMPLE
I
a tick-tocking in treble
dauntingly dribbling down
like water washing away wishes
II
methodical metronome of metre
evades my endeavours
silence of the iambs
III
stanzas blatantly ignored
formalistic poetic posits
that bamboozle brainiacs

Then there is ‘The Vignette’, an invented syllabic verse form introduced by Fozari Rockwood, found in Pathways for the Poet, by Viola Berg, 1977. The Vignette is an untitled, unrhymed, hexastich poem in 6 lines: 2-4-4-6-7-3 syllables per line.

MY EXAMPLE
Steaming
bowl of porridge;
cold cutlery.
A threadbare tablecloth
covering the pockmarked wood.
Impatient.

21/02/2023

MICRO-FICTION (260 words)

VALIDATION
From the onset, from my sentry position at the topmost apartment of the pension, I’ve been intrigued by the four cafés at the waterfront, of which I could merely glean a slither at their locale. With my customary glass of the 'green fairy' balancing on the wooden windowsill of the only street-facing window in my room, my thoughts turned to their purpose. I couldn’t fathom how they could survive the presumed fierce competition in their cheek by jowl position as foot traffic must by necessity be sparse in that part of town. Watching the nightly ritual of their porch lights being lit gave me a tenuous sense of participation. Only the shadows cast by a strolling soul or two, gave me some indication of a life being led outside of my observable scope.
This evening, with rain threatening, their lights were eerily reflected back by the low clouds. It was a perfect foil for my musings: I’m postulating whether it is of our own making that we put so much stock by other people’s validation. Could any one of them down there in the cluster of cafés recombobulate* my tumultuous thoughts in this enclave of intellectuals?
For a fleeting moment I was tempted to go down to the wharf despite the buffeting Channel wind, but by dint of sheer willpower the desire to meet others thankfully passed. The distinctive aroma of a freshly lit Gitanes wafted through the crisp January night air as someone opened one of the windows below mine, despite the No Smoking signs in all the rooms.
THE END

AUTHOR’S NOTE
'green fairy': absinthe
*recombobulate: (verb) To cause to think clearly again; to reorient; to put back into working order.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
Copyright © Su’s Short Stories, by Suzette Richards. 2018
ISBN 978-0-6399382-1-9
Revised 2023
________________________________________________________________
'The Absinthe Drinker', by Pablo Picasso

19/08/2022

500 WORDS
THE EVOCATION OF YOU
© Suzette Richards 2022

You had threatened to leave me so many times in the past that I did not actually see you go. Only when your mug of coffee had gone cold on the breakfast counter this morning did it register with me.

I stood for a moment, savouring the quiet, before taking my fresh cup of coffee to the window overlooking the street. Your discarded clothes got soaked in the overnight rain where you had left it on the pavement for collection by the thrift shop. In a moment of inspiration, I yanked the window open and tossed the red teddy bear sitting on the windowsill, after the pavement collection. I started to cry.

In the year that we had live together, you have only ever taken me out in public where you would not be likely to bump into your mates. You wanted me for yourself and the thought of your friends ogling me, made you angry. Well, that was your excuse – I don’t buy it anymore.

The last trip that we had made together, we went to the fairground that was set up on Bournemouth beach next to the pier. The coffee served at the restaurant on the pier, was some of the best that I have had in a long time.

The posters for the upcoming pantomime were colourful reminders that the holidays were upon us. It lifted my spirit to see the children queuing for the rides on the ferry wheel, wondering how many would keep their toffee apples down on the dizzying rides. Being in our early thirties, you reckoned that being spectators were enough when I had suggested that we should try one of the rides. To placate me, you had brought me the flame red teddy bear from a stall mainly selling tacky postcards to tourists. You had said that the red reminded you of the colour of my hair. How that could be so, baffled me; my cherry blond hair did not match the apple red of the stuffed toy.

That day at the fair, you again did that thing of yours where you touched your forehead to mine and said that that my hair was the skin of the apple, and your blond hair was the core. All around me the people were laughing in the late afternoon sun reflected off the sea. I had felt cold inside.

It did not register at the time, but you had gone uncharacteristically quiet when we had passed one of the posters and left me standing with our ice creams dripping down my wrists while you retraced your steps and took your time reading the information on the poster.

That day at the fair had been the turning point in our relationship. You took to never parting with your cell phone; even taking it to the bathroom with you. The signs were there …

The evocation of you lingers like a ghost apple after the fetid core had been dispelled, haunting me with tantalising false memories.
THE END

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STORIES IN A NUTSHELL

THE POLLINATOR

The bee, escaping poison that the farmer’s spraying, irritated the hell out of me where I sat on the dam’s pier, snacking on macadamia nuts.

GENERAL

Please note that the title of the piece does NOT count towards the word count. Keep it brief, but let it count by enhancing the contents of your story.

Unlike a vignette which does not have a beginning or end, hint fiction and micro fiction have elements of regular fiction, i.e. an introduction, plot development, and conclusion. It invites the reader’s participation, much in the vein of a well written poem.

Hint fiction and micro fiction are not genre specific, and may cover such diverse subjects as romance, horror, suspense, humour, etc.

DEFINITIONS

1. Hint fiction: Robert Swartwood coined the phrase ‘hint fiction’ in 2010 to describe this truncated micro fiction.

2. Micro fiction: Micro fiction is a subset of flash fiction. Whereas flash fiction is written 1,000 words or less, micro fiction is fiction that is written in 250 – 300 words. The following are categories of micro fiction:

2.1 Six-word story: A story written in exactly 6 words. Example: ‘For sale, baby shoes, never worn.’ (Popularly attributed to Ernest Hemingway.)

2.2 Twitterature: Originally written in 140 CHARACTERS (the allowance dictated by Twitter per post), it has now expanded to more characters. Fine examples may be found on Mike Jackson’s blogs at mjshorts.wordpress.com.

2.3 Dribble: It is a story written in exactly 50 words.

2.4 Drabble: It is a story written in exactly 100 words.