Let me start of by apologizing for what I am sure are some of the worst very short stories I’ve ever written. My brother’s wedding was this past Saturday, the 15th, and I spent most of the week leading up to it at my mom’s getting some things together.
Feeling rushed, I’m sure these are not my best works. (I also wrote the last three today, because time did not work for me this weekend.)
On another note, I did managed to edit a chapter a day since I needed to do something for me. Plus, my brother and his wife seem to think my book (and hopeful livelihood) are much less important than their wedding was, but were not really around to help either. Bit of a double standard when your family is fixing your mistakes and last minute forgetfulness, too. They also thought since they didn’t directly request my help, it shouldn’t matter to them what I could be doing instead. Sibling love, right?
Anyways, I apologize for the rant and bitching. Here are my very short stories!
His world was painted in colours, not the dreary greys of others. They suffered their days, filled by pain, yet he danced away, unscathed. Had he listened a second He’d have heard their desires Greys would have stomped out His colours. But he had no time No #empathy.
Bindings held down her breasts beneath a jersey cloth t-shirt. Her hair kept short, and hopefully masculine. A deep breath left her, and she entered the ring. She squared off to her opponent, a thick man covered in muscle. The first punch was his. Her #ruse was working.
#Midnight blue waters swept her further from shore at the moon’s bidding. Ivory skin disappeared from sight despite its luminescence, but no one was searching for her. The stars kept her company with their whispered secrets and hushed giggles. Her new home beckoned.
Lightning cracked the sky
Its #bolts forking
Illuminating a pure darkness
And those within
Rain dripped from ruptures
In menacing clouds
Earth scorched by heat
From the Heavens
In the late writer’s office sat a typewriter, and papers surrounded it. The pages once covered in words, had faded lettering from unread sentences. Untouched for decades, the room had become a #vintage ode to the world of writing. The lack of electronic hum was calming.
The yellow cedar wood had been debarked, barren of all branches and leaves. Naked, it stood vulnerable, unidentifiable.
Sharpened rocks, seashells, and beaver’s teeth lay out on a leather mat, ready for the carver. With one in hand, he set to work on the clan’s #totem.
#Fog crawled over the land, in slow yet sprawling steps. Solid white, it hid the world, and itself from sight. It crept in through open windows, and woke those inside to a white blanket of blindness. Silence reigned for hours before the screams first began. A subtle chaos.