Very Short Stories, Week 17

This past week has been amazing! It started off on a rocky foot, but I’ve managed to take the punches and bounce back.

My book is being edited again. No more excuses. I’m making the time and it’s moving fairly quickly since I’m eager to see it completed!

From the looks of things, I will probably self-publish, but I need to do some further research on it. I’ve had amazing alpha/beta readers, and Grammarly has helped me fix any other mistakes left unnoticed. Once it’s done, I’ll probably get them to do another read and hope it’s as polished as my hands could make it!

The Very Short Stories I’m writing, to me, have started to change since I use them as a sort of warm before I edit my novel. I’ve also allowed myself to play more than I normally do.

Plus, I’ve started adding my main character from my book, Vivian, to some of them to tempt. (Though who knows if that’s what it’s doing.) Those tidbits are more her past and backbone for her story. Thus, you get to see the antagonist, Dr Embridge, too.

Anyways, here they are! Hope you enjoy!

 

August 6th

Kisses burn

With passion’s flame

Spreading

Spreading

like #Wildfire

to her core

now fire herself

She threatens to consume

Him

and his body

Satisfy a woman’s needs

might cool

the heat

but embers catch

alight again

the Pattern repeats

until they’re One

in Lust’s hold

 

August 7th

Vivian’s eyes shifted colours, betraying her #emotions. The deep blues of the ocean formed in her gaze and she wept. Her sister, Ravenna, stared like an unmoving stone statue at her, cold.

Embridge’s voice called her attention, Deal with her, please.

Vivian’s world went black.

 

August 8th

The ocean spray reached for her white robes and dampened her hair before the early sun. The water kissed her pale feet, tugging at the fringe of her outfit. She heard it whisper, Join us….

But she couldn’t. The wet wilderness would #evaporate if she failed her task.

 

August 9th

Morning #glory grew beside the stone cottage. It climbed it, surrounded it like it had caged those inside. Flowers bloomed on its vines, dark violets and sapphires.

The young woman let out a calming breath and approached the only visible part of a door. Her knock rang out.

 

August 10th

Her body curved, dipped, and dived. Its subtle #peaks tempted him in every way. He grazed across her soft skin with the tip of his tongue until he reached the junction between her thighs. Tasting her sweet nectar, he groaned with need. Her moans encouraged him further.

 

August 11th

The walls were a bold #vermillion and screamed of hunger. Mind you, that could be the blood stains, he mused as he sat. As usual, he didn’t have to say a word for the waiter to bring him his meal. Thankful for the privacy, he pulled a thin blade from his pocket.

Gentle as a butterfly’s wing, he cut a sharp line an inch long in his human’s wrist. He used the crystal goblet he’d been given to collect it and licked the wound closed when he was done. Fangs appeared where his canines should be as he sipped the warmth of the blood.

 

August 12th

She wears a #shell to protect her thin skin. It’s lined with shelves filled with words collected through the day. At night, she sheds the second skin, dissects her collection. The sentences run on the treadmill of her mind until they are broken into every hurtful meaning.

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Feverish Dreams

My dreams plague me with vivid realities so farfetched and daunting I’ve no choice, but to run. My feet pound against barren dirt, stirring dust into the air. Despite the burning feel of it, I must push on.
 
Glancing behind me, I see a pack of wolves. Scratch that. They’re much bigger than wolves. Much faster, too. Their snarls echo off the cave walls I’ve been placed in by my overactive imagination. I know it’s not real and yet my heart races.
 
Teeth sink into my calf and I fall forward with a scream. The wet, slickness of blood drips down my leg and sends these unknown creatures into a frenzy. Their bites shred my arms to ribbons.
 
Just when I’m about to pass out, I have been transported to the centre of a storm. No shelter in sight. But of course, I say to myself and will my sleeping self to rouse. It’s of no use.
 
The rain shifts from small drops to heavy bullets, or so it feels. My skin tingles and bruises under the assault. Thankfully my limbs are restored and I can run towards the edge of the clouds. The ground is wet and I slip with each step. Mud grabs my shoe off and I keep running, leaving it to the land. I can see the sun shining beyond the black clouds and I yearn for its serenity.
 
It’s too late, though. Hail the size of watermelons falls from the clouds. Lightning forks, stabbing at my tiny presence on the ground. The thunder sounds like laughter amidst the roar of the storm.
 
For the first time in years, I stop running. I stand in the centre of the chaos and let the storm strike me down. It doesn’t take long. Both hail and lightning hit me and it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.
 
I wake with a shout and feel my head, inspect my pillows for blood. Everything’s wet from my sweating heat and my skin’s red. Upon closer inspection, I see white forks winding under my skin, following my veins.
 
Not again, I think and lapse back into darkness.
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Very Short Stories, Week 8

Your favourite Monday post is here, and it contains my #vss365 for the week! Seems like I enjoyed darker themes, but they have their place, too, right?

Twitter’s #vss365 has kept me going, and engaged on otherwise horrible days of late. It has kept my anxiety, depression, and etc at bay. I am very thankful for the word prompts that @_Irene_Dreams_ is coming up with, day after day, as a result. Check her out if you want some inspiration on a less than inspiring day!

Anyways, here are my very short stories!

 

June 4th

Sitting in the #lotus pose, she imagined a shield surrounding the green energy of her mind. Like a gardener, she plucked out the colours that belonged to others, and reinforced the wall. One day this will be second nature, she hoped, but first I must control this gift.

 

June 5th

Dressed in black, the figure stood before him, surrounded by fog. He clasped his hands before him in silent prayer, desperate for the #phantasm to evaporate. Eyes shut tight, he was startled by the weight of a hand on his shoulder, and he screamed his fear like a banshee.

 

June 6th

Words unspoken clawed at her throat, desperate to be released. But she knew if said, the divide would be too great, and the fires would burn past remembrance. Instead she played the part of a #craven, and smothered them into her darkest depths. Hopefully it was worth it.

 

June 7th

The #century’s past was one mired in
blood, sweat, broken bones,
and mangled bodies.
War,
Famine,
Pestilence,
and Death
rode forth,
claiming time
and land
with their cruelties.
Those with Faith
remained strong
and rallied.
Fighting for a Dawn
still hiding.

 

June 8th

Pillars of #smoke darkened the sky, and blocked the warmth of the sun. Rubble littered the street with both the dead and the living. Buildings stood on toppled legs, waiting to fall. The eerie silence filled with wails, and commands.

All on an otherwise normal day.

 

June 9th

The greens and browns of the room spoke to a woodland #motif, calming and wholesome. A crib made of maple stood in the corner, and beside it, a changing station. Sat in the nursing chair, she folded clothing on her growing tummy, and hummed lullabies to her future babe.

 

June 10th

#Wings float and flare above the water
Wings dip and dive through the air
Wings lift and laugh with the sunlight

Wings share the colours
Of a forgotten rainbow

Wings twirl and dance before our eyes
Wings magic and muster joy inside
Wings falter and fall from our lives

#Demure

The battle rang with steel clashing against steel,

and the whistles of arrows meant to kill.

Yet there was a lone woman on the field,

surrounded by enemies.

Attired in light leather, she looked demure

even with a long sword clenched in her fists,

raised to her opponents.

 

A roar ripped through her and she charged.

She parried strike after strike

lashing out in studied motions

And sliced the men down in a blood rage.

It held its grip and she looked for another.

Another enemy to lay to waste.
Her sword was coated with gore

But did not dull her blade’s bite.

Glancing at her brothers-in-arms,

She saw their opponents drop.

One

By

One.

Until the shouts of retreat were heard

Filling the field in desperation.

 

They let the men run from them,

Tails tucked between their legs,

And they roared with victory.

 

She held her sword to the sky,

ignoring the blood covering her,

And watched the sun fall

setting aflame the field

In crimson.

 

 

Savagery’s Cost

Blood fed the barren ground

Bodies decorated it

Like discarded toys.

Swords pierced the Earth

Beside the crippled, lifeless corpses

And yet

There was a Beauty in this Darkness

In the Savagery of War.

Life fled this land

Once rife with the green blades of Grass

Replaced now by blades of Iron and Steel.

For what, they ask

The Glory of Battle, the Honour it gave.

No structures of stone or wood

Stood in sight of the horizon.

A vast Nothingness claimed these lives

And Nature would take its Victims.

Limbs bared to Bones, sinking in dirt.

Rust from fruitless rains would claim the soiled metal.

The Shadows of carrion birds’ wings filled the sky

Their caws shredded the Silence, deafening.

Beaks ripped at stripped Flesh

As the Sun set, its rays of Light frightened by the field.

It seems a Horrible Dream.

An Evil that Desecrates the Human Soul.

Wars are waged, the Cost ignored.