26 posts tagged with "micro-fiction"

The "Spring-Dodging Agency" opened a storefront at the end of the old street, the entrance so narrow it looked like a crack squeezed between two buildings. The sign was handwritten, the characters crooked and twisted, like the "ancestral secret recipes" found in old, neglected neighborhoods.

As the Spring Festival approached, the sound of firecrackers grew louder, seemingly about to shake the city. But inside the agency, it was eerily quiet. Old Liu sat behind the counter, slowly sharpening his kitchen knife, which was rumored to "dodge all disasters." He wore a grease-stained apron, his face wrinkled like an old newspaper crumpled by time.

Old Wang, the Stove God, has been very bothered lately. The Jade Emperor approved his descent to investigate public sentiment, euphemistically calling it "experiencing the human touch." He was overjoyed, thinking he'd see wisps of smoke rising from chimneys and hear cheerful laughter. But what did he find? On his first day, he was almost run over by a food delivery guy.

He transformed into a middle-aged programmer named Wang Ming, who was woken up by his alarm clock at 7:30 AM every morning. He'd hastily shove a few bites of bread into his mouth, then squeeze onto the subway to begin his daily "cultivation." Wang Ming’s "workstation" was in a transparent glass cubicle. He could see everyone in the cubicles across from him buried in their work, with only the clatter of keyboards rising and falling.

Li Ming, carrying his small red plastic stool, looked out of place in the crowded cinema ticket gate. The people around him were either carrying small stools printed with cartoon characters, holding folding chairs, or even lugging wooden benches from home. This was a new project launched by the "Starlight Cinema" in the small county – no-seat movie viewing.

He originally thought it was just a gimmick, but he didn't expect that people actually bought these tickets. The Spring Festival movies were so popular that tickets were hard to come by. Those with seats were in "emperor positions," while those without became "stool spectators." Li Ming originally grabbed a ticket with a seat, but the system crashed. After the refund, he could only helplessly choose the no-seat ticket, which was half the price.

The stage lights gradually dimmed, and the clamor of the Spring Festival Gala slowly dissipated. In the audience, scattered applause, like a faint tide, lapped at the edges of the enormous stage. Tonight, the most eye-catching were not the glamorous celebrities, but the row of precise and elegant robot dancers at the center of the stage.

They wore silver leotards, with joints that shimmered with a deep blue light. Every movement was the result of precise calculations, and every smile was as accurate as a ruler's markings. They completed their dance performance perfectly, cooperating seamlessly and flawlessly. The audience applauded their performance enthusiastically, as if they truly possessed souls.

The stage lights went out, and backstage was a mess. Props lay scattered everywhere, staff were busy cleaning up, and the air was filled with various instructions and complaints. In a corner, however, a robot numbered "Spring Festival Gala 037" was meticulously conducting a self-check. Its body was silver, and faint red lights flickered at its joints, like a warrior who had just finished a battle.

"037, you performed well today, successfully stealing the show." A middle-aged man in work clothes walked over and patted the robot's metal shell, his tone laced with tired relief. He was Lao Wang, the technician responsible for maintaining the robots, and also 037's only "friend."

Zhang Wei received a special invitation, with black lettering that read "Ms. Yang Tianzhen's Fortieth Birthday Farewell Ceremony."

She thought she was mistaken, rubbed her eyes, and confirmed it was correct. The invitation also stated the location and time, which was actually in the company's top-floor conference room.

Old Wang was driving his smart car, live-streaming using the in-car camera. Today, his challenge was to complete an "untouched steering wheel" self-driving challenge during rush hour on the Third Ring Road.

"Hey everyone, today we're going to try something exciting!" Old Wang grinned at the camera, revealing his two signature gold teeth. "Full self-driving, I'm just here to chat with you guys, it's completely safe!"

At eight in the morning, Li Mei hurried to the mall, as was her daily routine as a luxury goods saleswoman. She skillfully turned on the counter lights, arranging the newly arrived bags as if preparing for a grand ceremony. Today, she was wearing a dark blue professional suit, trying to look more professional and refined. After all, in this glamorous battlefield, any imperfection would be magnified infinitely.

"One minute left!" a sugary female voice echoed through the office from the speakers, like a death knell. Zhang Qiang looked up at the digital clock on the wall, 12:00, precise to the second.

This was the company's newly implemented "midday relaxation" session, touted as being for the health and well-being of the employees. Every day at noon, all employees had to put aside their work and participate in a "beneficial to mind and body" activity. Today's activity was "one minute of silence."

Old Wang has been troubled recently. Not because of the year-end bonus, nor the performance evaluation, but because his "color" is not pure enough.

He is a middle-level manager at a large internet company, wearing a suit and tie every day, entering and exiting high-end office buildings, looking glamorous on the surface. But Old Wang always feels that there is still some "impurity" left on him, like a white shirt that hasn't been washed clean, with a few yellowish-gray patches, especially noticeable under the light.