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shallownessFiclets: all original fiction, the first two are probably rated universal, and the third probably PG. Anything over 100 words will also be posted at AO3.
Say twenty-six, twenty-seven years later, Original fic, OCs, 76 words. Future fic. Second person POV. Written for the prompt ‘Any, Any, six-seven’ at the Three Sentence Ficathon 2026.
You are just standing there in the park, in public, when, embarrassingly, your dad and his oldest friend do this weird thing with their hands and shout 'six-seven' at each other with too much energy for fogies like them. You look at your sister, and for a second, your issues with each other melt away in solidarity. "Grandma says it was something they used to do when they were your age," she mumbles, and you cringe.
Key change, Original fic, OC, 71 words. Written for the prompt ‘Any, any, life is a song’ at the Three Sentence Ficathon 2026.
Her uncle always claimed that life was a song, and sometimes she humoured him, but not so much recently, which she regrets now that he's passed away and left her - HER! - everything he had. Seems his saying got under her skin too, because she decides that now is the time for a key change. He didn't have much, but it's enough for her to buy that ticket and leave.
Indictment, Original fic, OCs. 111 words. Written for the prompt ‘My songs know what you did in the dark’ at the Three Sentence Ficathon 2026.
The inn is lit by candlelight, the mood is mellow, for there is a singer in tonight, and he is tricked into being less alert than if he were on a job, some mead already inside him when he starts to truly listen. The singer, a woman, young in years, but perhaps not in experience, is singing in the old tongue that few here truly understand. But he can, and every lyric is an indictment of the orphans he has made, the betrayals of the knife that killed his own mentor, and he cannot drink another drop, he cannot move until she is done, frozen in the grip of her songs.
Say twenty-six, twenty-seven years later, Original fic, OCs, 76 words. Future fic. Second person POV. Written for the prompt ‘Any, Any, six-seven’ at the Three Sentence Ficathon 2026.
You are just standing there in the park, in public, when, embarrassingly, your dad and his oldest friend do this weird thing with their hands and shout 'six-seven' at each other with too much energy for fogies like them. You look at your sister, and for a second, your issues with each other melt away in solidarity. "Grandma says it was something they used to do when they were your age," she mumbles, and you cringe.
Key change, Original fic, OC, 71 words. Written for the prompt ‘Any, any, life is a song’ at the Three Sentence Ficathon 2026.
Her uncle always claimed that life was a song, and sometimes she humoured him, but not so much recently, which she regrets now that he's passed away and left her - HER! - everything he had. Seems his saying got under her skin too, because she decides that now is the time for a key change. He didn't have much, but it's enough for her to buy that ticket and leave.
Indictment, Original fic, OCs. 111 words. Written for the prompt ‘My songs know what you did in the dark’ at the Three Sentence Ficathon 2026.
The inn is lit by candlelight, the mood is mellow, for there is a singer in tonight, and he is tricked into being less alert than if he were on a job, some mead already inside him when he starts to truly listen. The singer, a woman, young in years, but perhaps not in experience, is singing in the old tongue that few here truly understand. But he can, and every lyric is an indictment of the orphans he has made, the betrayals of the knife that killed his own mentor, and he cannot drink another drop, he cannot move until she is done, frozen in the grip of her songs.
