We listened to the radio drama, closely. They talked about us. You said, 'Everything can be asphalted over.' I looked inside myself, but there was only emptiness. #microfiction

The frost bursted the lung walls, nerves were torn from their roots, and synapses flickered in a weary waltz, accompanied by your hammer blows. #microfiction

Standing here waiting for you feels like I am being swallowed by your face in white, where pink worms have penetrated your eye sockets. #microfiction

​You were remolded. Your entire self was turned inside out, and the sound was disgusting. A deep, gurgling noise, the snap of a few tendons, the crush of gristle. #microfiction

You said we were invisible. That we couldn't see, or feel. That the forests had turned into concrete and waste. That the centering had become a cage. #microfiction

Then we were dead, for a while. It's possible to be dead if you are hell-bent on returning. But I took a wrong turn and vanished, in the periphery of death. #microfiction

The red came in between, reshaped, and became a question. That question was taken seriously by someone, and my nerves twisted into a gray cocoon. #microfiction

Micro-fictions by author M. Larsson exploring existential dread, chaos, and the crushing reality of Train 152.

Your journey begins now. Follow for daily dispatches from the periphery of existence. All aboard. 🖤

#MicroFiction #Existentialism #Surrealism #FlashFiction #MicroNovella #Minimalism