Moments Between Years

This new year, let’s remember that life’s in the little things.

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

Morning had just broken, but Elsie found her thoughts tracing the kitchen floor.  

The first hour of the year was calm, quiet – giving room for pause. Singapore was still, but her apartment was buzzing with the noise of leftover wrappers, party poppers and half-finished cans of beer from the New Year’s Eve party the night before. 

A cuckoo bird and its mate did a series of hops on the railing, as if filling the small gaps between the noise. A park lamp flickered, looking bent, as if conforming to the weight of the prior year’s unseen moments.

She strolled to the corner coffeeshop, giving silent nods to people she knew only briefly. Each step she took was a checklist of micro-decisions – taking the scenic route past the river, choosing which text message to reply to, skipping her usual cafe stop because it was too crowded. The new year was a mirror of the year before. The choices she made then rippled quietly into today.

She found herself seated on a park bench at lunch, the flavour of new year leftovers absent on her tongue. Her mind wandered as clouds drifted idly; children laughed, their chuckles filling the void in her soul.

She knew that void. The emptiness of life’s unnoticed textures -children’s laughter, an elderly woman’s chuckle-trumped the resolutions she made a year earlier. The pause before laughter was a reminder that the thought put into laughter – the little details – mattered as much as the laughter itself. Awareness in life’s small acts is what made a difference. 

She returned to her apartment, opened a few letters she’d ignored over the new year and sipped her now rancid tea. 

But for the first time in a long while, she felt as if she mattered. The clock on the TV console ticked steadily, indifferent to her presence. But she felt -there. Unrushed, with no need to know what happened next. She had already arrived.

She dialled her mother’s number, ready to finally speak to her.

Ready to address the spat they’d had a few weeks earlier.

Ready to meet the year ahead. 

Because she was in the moment. 

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

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Morning Dew & Sunlight

As we move into 2026, it’s time to recall the little joys of life.

Fleeting moments, quietly kept, ready to bloom.

🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸

Rising sun appears

Morning dew on weathered grass

Met by sprouting seed.

🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸

Raindrops gathering

Pink buds on moistened soil

Open with sunlight.

🌱🌸🌱🌸

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Fractured Midnight

The new year approaches, and as it does, cherish each second of life.

Carpe diem.

🎆

Revellers packed Franklin Street on the evening of December 31st, their steps in sync – though not quite perfectly – with the sound of fireworks.

Like everyone else, I was in awe – their patterns melded in an intricate tapestry of colours. But tinges of grey crept around the edges, like memories dying before birth.

And it wasn’t long before people began to notice the bright, yet slightly off-coloured nature of the bursts across the sky.

They knew the world was being reshaped – but not quite how, or why.

Blue sparks traversed the sky like visitors from another world, and each seemed to claim someone’s memory.

Hints of something no one could name – or wanted to.

🎆🎆

The countdown. Then, zero. Franklin Street was a mass of locked-in expressions.

The crowd’s last joyous cries were visible only to me. Only I recognised the fear in their faces.

Only I could move.

🎆🎆🎆

Then, time restarted as suddenly as it stilled.

The captured fear and joy – gone.

Life resumed, and Franklin Street was once again abuzz with frantic revelry.

I stepped forward into 2026, my hands filled with fractured moments of joy, sadness, and significance no one could recall.

Quiet seconds that mattered, to cherish – now passed.

🎆🎆🎆🎆

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Drowned in Spice

Today is National Pepper Pot Day, one that’s fitting, as we feast into the new year.

But…what do we do when something like a pepper pot wants to reach us?

Enjoy it?

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

O pepper pot, succubus winks from the stove,

First taste on buds, savouriness locked in recall

Father drowned in the viscous, moist icebergs of tender beef chunks

Doses of cayenne and cinnamon inflame his tongue

Then stay, a lovingly wrapped gift from her, heart aglow.

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

An original epulaeryu by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

Today is National Pepper Pot Day, one that’s fitting, as we feast into the new year.

But…what do we do when something like a pepper pot wants to reach us?

Enjoy it?

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

O pepper pot, succubus winks from the stove,

First taste on buds, savouriness locked in recall

Father drowned in the viscous, moist icebergs of tender beef chunks

Doses of cayenne and cinnamon inflame his tongue

Then stay, a lovingly wrapped gift from her, heart aglow.

🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥🍲🔥

An original epulaeryu by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

Through the Cosmic Lens

Today is observed in Christian Tradition as the Feast of the Holy Innocents – we observe the beauty of innocence this Yuletide.

Innocence that power consumes too easily.

Knowledge, power and recognition – at what cost?

✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐

Jeremy Tong was a recluse – he preferred the company of the universe, stars, and all, to the inane chatter of people. The young astronomer sought to map the universe’s canvas.

To be the astronomer with knowledge uncapped.

He set up a telescope on the edge of a cliff. It could trace constellations – what was beyond the universe.

The stars blinked every night, their curiosity becoming insatiable.

And Jeremy’s telescope glared at him with its cheeky lens.

The device picked up readings – what it was supposed to do. But these were – odd. The stars felt – alive. Too alive and aware.

✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐

The young astronomer was fiddling with his cosmic toy one fateful evening when the lens fogged over and became – strange.

It showed images – not of stars in their renowned patterns, but of how life was to unfold.

He saw himself, a midlife astronomer, scanning newspaper headlines. Seeking recognition.

Visions of himself as an old man gnawed at his mind’s recesses – peering at the sky, wondering what the vast black horizon lay in front of him.

HIS life.

Glimpses of the future burned into his mind – and not painlessly. Each image cut off a piece of him, as if he had surrendered himself to the cosmos.

The line between his reality and the universe blurred.

✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐

The telescope’s lens pulled back and enlarged, almost beckoning. In its lens – a sentient being. Waiting for him. It watched him, demanding his complete faithfulness. Complete belief.

For infinite knowledge in return.

The pulse of infinite minds throbbed in his veins, each beat wrenching a part of his soul.

He drew back from the lens, aghast. It dawned – knowledge wasn’t just making observations through lens – it was a transaction.

✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐

He angled his head for another look – and paused. One more glance that meant infinite knowledge.

The lens’s eternal ownership.

That final glance held both intimidation and promise.

“Come…or vanish.” The stars seemed to whisper, almost giggling.

The freedom of life – or the universe’s secret manual.

He peeked at the lens once more – and saw himself reflected in infinity.

✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐

The telescope remained on the observation deck, its lens waiting –

For others who craved discovery.

Who were aware of the cost of knowledge – but willing to pay.

The cliff stood, still sentient, still quiet.

Guarding its secrets.

Secrets best kept behind locked doors.

It rose. Patient. Hungry.

Another astronomer peered through the open mouth of its lens.

✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐✨🪐

Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

What Grew When Cut

When the hair fell, so did the truth

🌲👁️‍🗨️🌲

In a forest, dark – shadows move,

Quickly, quietly, through the groove,

Hair appears, in crested nooks,

Oft reviled, oft overlooked.

🕸️💀🕸️

The hair now grows, too long and fast

Creeps on the floor, on green ballasts,

It grips branches, lopes unseen

Its whispers carried over streams.

🪦🌑🪦

The Truth appears, grim and bare,

Towering, threatens – those who dare

Body wrapped from head to waist

In hair long and coarse, ropes from the grave.

🩸🌿🩸

Its iron grip, I cannot defy,

Joined with hair’s fears, its outright lies –

I cannot halt its onward form

Its unwieldy hair, against the norm.

🕷️🖤🕷️

A single hair, dropped, left behind,

Curls ’round the wrists, around the minds

Of those who ditch harsh truths, those who betray

The hair wraps and grips – forever stays.

🌘🕯️🌘

Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

Samson and Delilah AI image generatd by the author

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

The Ledger of Waves

Today marks the day of the 2004 Tsunami that struck the shores of several countries worldwide.

Leaving devastation.

Loss.

A weight that must be remembered.

🌊🌊🌊🌊

I watched, my waves tense, as children left chocolate wrappers on the pristine sand. Fishermen lingered at the shore, ignoring the curious dolphins poking their noses into their nets. I regarded them coldly – patient and endless, as they pursued their selfish joys.

Waiting.

They were close. Too close.

The tension caused my wavy hands to clench, ready to unleash. The veins in them were about to burst. I found myself listening to my rising impatience.

I pulled back further, gathering myself. My form stretched across horizons, waiting to release. There were the lovers. The thoughtless fishermen. The wrapper-throwing children. I recall bearing the careless weight of their ways. Each mistake, each inconsiderate act, each denial – bore into my waves.

My spindly, watery hands stilled. Grey covered the skies, along with a blanket of silence. The wind stopped blowing on my cue. Thunder growled softly, ready when I was. I stayed upright, silent, as all on the distant shores laughed without care. I waited, testing their false confidence. Nothing they did – wasted food, offensive plastic bottles – escaped my notice. I stood poised.

Ready for the inevitable.

Meanwhile, plastic bottles lay, unrisen corpses, on the shore. An angry crowd of thunderclods gathered, silent, in the background. In my watery hands were dangerous nets, uneaten food, dead fish – ready to return to those who owned them.

I carried their forgotten burdens. Each small, yet costly mistake.

Their responsibility. In my grasp.

My dirty blue fingers painfully remembered each transgression. Each misstep cut my sides.

Still, I lingered, patient, endless. Responsibility cavorted, unaware, on the trash-ridden shore.

I remembered. Always remembered. So would they.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

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Fur and Warmth

Small warmth in a weary world

🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺

🐕Soft fur warms worn hands

Small heat for the weary soul

Calms at needed times. 🐕

🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺🐕‍🦺

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

Unseen Hand

Warmth that lingers beyond notice

❄️🙏❄️🙏❄️🙏❄️🙏❄️🙏

Hands clasped together

Creates heartfelt warmth within

Heat sometimes unfelt.

❄️🙏❄️🙏❄️🙏❄️🙏❄️🙏

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

Mug in the Cold

Moments that melt the cold

🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄

Hot coffee warms hands

Casting small glow in the cold

Heat glistens in dark.

🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄☕🎄

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.