We have another featured author — welcome Nissa Harlow to the spotlight, with her micro “Shells and Wings”…
Shells and Wings
When I put my ear against his, I can hear the sea.
He hasn’t been the same since the day the waters tried to steal him from my arms.
When we walk at the shore, he stares at the setting sun with kelp-hued eyes until they start to water. His steps stop. His knees bend. His body twists into the sideways scuttle of a deranged crustacean. I won’t let go of his hand, so I go along for the ride as he dodges tourists and baby strollers, tangling in retractable leashes while I hop a crazy game of canine jumprope and whisper weak apologies. He always ends up in the same place, tucked in the shadow of a massive piece of driftwood, arms and legs folded into a neat package while I stand, stooped, and tug on his hand.
The doctors said he would be fine, given time.
When we order pizza, he insists on extra anchovies and eats with both hands, fingers arranged like pincers as they dart the cheesy slices toward his mouth. He won’t talk to me while he eats. He picks off the offending mushrooms with his claws and adds too much salt to his glass of water. The paper napkins with the pizzeria’s logo lie in shreds under his chair.
Time was given.
When we lie in bed, he’s as still as stone, frozen in slumber. But I can’t sleep. The sound of crashing waves keeps me awake. I take a pair of disposable earplugs from the drawer and insert them in his ears. The night grows quiet once more. But I still can’t sleep. I go to the balcony and clutch at the railing as I wait for more time. The sky tried to steal me once. That was before it changed its mind and sent me back.
The doctors said I would be fine, given time.
Time was given.
I wish for my promised wings as he wishes for his promised shell.
When he puts his ear against mine, I wonder what he hears.
The Stats:
Published: 05 April 2025
Magazine: Kinpaurak
Word Count: 341
Submission History: Rejected by Weird Wide Web, Fractured Lit, Factor Four Magazine, Flash Frog, Kaleidotrope, Menagerie, and Dream Theory Media. Withdrawn from Okay Donkey.
Payment: $5
Inspiration for the story:
“‘I wrote “Shells and Wings” for a contest on Weird Wide Web. It was one of the first times I’d written anything truly weird… and it was a lot of fun! The mental image of a man who’d had an accident and woke up thinking he was a crab sort of popped into my head. The rest followed naturally. This is one of my favourite micros, so I was disappointed when Kinpaurak and all of its wonderfully weird stories disappeared. I republished the story on my Substack on June 1, 2026… so it’s now available to read again.”
My thoughts: I sure love me some weird fiction, and I think microfiction is a well-suited vehicle for delivering a fast punch of the odd. And this opening line:
“When I put my ear against his, I can hear the sea.”
It immediately sets the tone for expecting strangeness. Who is this person? Is it even a person? After the partner is introduced, I love how the word “crab” is never used, just phrases like “kelp-hued” and “sideways scuttle.”
And then I think back on the opening line, remembering that the whole piece is colored in a supernatural wash — someone suffering from a delusion after an accident wouldn’t have ocean sounds in their ear. Something surreal is happening.
Then this hint:
“The sky tried to steal me once. That was before it changed its mind and sent me back.”
We don’t have to know exactly what happened to see the parallel, the longing in both — for the security of a shell, for the freedom of wings.
It’s a lovely juxtaposition in a haunting, strange little micro.
Micro Tip: Nissa’s story illustrates that you can often leave much unsaid in a micro. We don’t know the actual details of anything that happened, but that doesn’t matter — we can feel the strong emotions stirred, and that’s what lingers.
Thanks for being my guest author, Nissa! If you’d like to read more of Nissa’s writing, you can find her website here!
Do you want to be featured here? Of course you do! Send me some of your microfiction: literary, genre, beautiful, weird… doesn’t matter. But here’s what does matter:
it must be a reprint / previously published — I don’t want to use up any first publishing rights
it must be clearly visible online — you need to include a link to where I can see it
500 words max
you can send me up to three at a time — please don’t deluge me with your tiny treasures
if you wrote the micro to a prompt, let me know — I love to see how other people’s brains work
if you were published in one of the micro markets featured on this substack, please mention it — we need to know they are all eventually-crackable…
I’m definitely not a ‘microfiction expert,’ but I know what I like, and if you’re sending a work to me, someone else obviously liked it, too. So in addition to presenting them, I’ll add a comment on why I enjoyed the piece and what (IMO) makes it good microfiction.
So come on — toot your horn already!
I can’t wait to read your pocket-sized publications!
Here's a flier, you might remember. One of two micros I'd written before I fell into NOVEL-DRAGGING. :)
Bellringer
“Just mind the bell, Earl.”
“Yes, Pop.”
Uncle Danny touched the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll bring ya out a beer, ’right?”
Earl nodded. “Come and stay all ya like. I don’t much want the duty.”
“It’s important, Earl,” Pop said. “Doc Landy said it’s lead poisoning that got them layin so still, and us doin’ what was right. Who coulda known?”
Turning for the house, Uncle Danny said again, “I’ll bring ya a beer.”
Earl shrugged and looked at the bell, the string bright white in the moon’s eyeball, when all the rest was black. And dead.
Pinewood boards were stacked along the drainage rut, leaving gutted holes in the ground. Scratches on them planks is what scared Earl.
“The dead don’t rise, less’n yer Jesus,” he said to the pile of black-brown dirt.
That tether ran white as eye-flats, and into the new jumble of clay.
“Don’t get no ideas, Mr. Arthur. You just keep doin’ like y’are.”
Almost in answer, the bell nudged, then jingled. Then madlike, hell was pulling itself up from below.
“Pop! Uncle Danny! Mr. Arthur’s a movin’!”
Love it. Neat format, K!
Fine story, Nissa. Lands with poignancy drawn from a simple and clear prose. Nice work!