Survivor's Guilt | A 105-Word Microfantasy

And the pain it can bring.

Hey there! It’s been a while.

I’ve been hard at work getting everything ready for the launch of my upcoming book, The Microfiction Method: 100-Word Stories, Essential Lessons & Prompts to Get You Writing (And Publishing) When Nothing Else Can. Suffice it to say that’s pulled me away somewhat from my normal schedule of posting here on Substack. But I’m happy to say the end is in sight, and I am looking forward to a return to normalcy this week!

Today’s story is inspired by a conversation I had with my grandmother over the holiday this past week.

She’s 88 years old and my last remaining grandparent. But she’s a survivor in her own right, having overcome breast cancer and genetics literally rigged against her. She told me how she watched each of her siblings die from cancer and how she could do nothing to save my grandfather from the heart attack that killed him over a decade ago.

The way she told these stories, the way she teared up telling them, and the pain of being the only one left… It was all I could do to not break down right then and there. Today’s story channels that pain.

I tried to get it to 100 words, but couldn’t quite get there. But hey, if you find yourself enjoying the story, be sure to subscribe to catch next week’s micro (and any other stories I share moving forward).

Here’s the story, “Survivor’s Guilt.”

Survivor’s Guilt

By J. Louis

Freya clutched the wound in her gut, the kind that killed slowly.

Her fallen allies surrounded her. Brinn, his bold smirk unmarred even by death, his helmet smashed in. Tris, her beautiful hair tangled with blood and gore. And Alder, hardly a man at all, his little body twisted beyond recognition.

She shook with every breath as darkness approached. She embraced it, eager to join her friends in a glorious death.

. . .

Freya awoke hours later, her wounds tended to. Disembodied voices floated nearby but out of sight.

“... only survivor,” they said.

She pulled her linens close, their warm folds smelling of lavender.

And she wept.

From the Prompt Vault

Next, its’ your turn.

Write a story inspired by a memory you have of your grandparents (or of someone who is no longer with us).

Since this is a sentimental prompt, I’ll understand if you don’t want to share it. But if you do, restack this post and tag me in it so I can read your work. I love seeing what the fantasy community comes up with week to week.

That’s all I’ve got for now. Until next time…

Cheers,

Josh

🚨 P.S. Did you catch the last story? If not, you can read it below. 🚨

Tales from the Plough & Pitchfork | A Microfantasy Story Collection