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Very Short Stories, Week 23

Another weekend has come and gone and I already long for the next one. I find them relaxing in such a new way in the fall. Here’s hoping Autumn will help me blossom.

Anyways, I tried to not to be too repetitive with this week’s set of prompts and I think I pulled it off. Not gonna lie, I feel I have lost the sensory aspect of my writing and I’m trying to tap into it again. Working on my description that way as it were. So here’s hoping that’s noticeable in the future!

 

September 17th

The wolves prowled the ground, tracking the scent until they came across their prey. Low to the ground, they crawled forward in the dense grass. In the quiet evening sun, their paws dashed forward in thunderous waves. Their #carnivorous fangs sank into the fat of the calf.

 

September 18th

His warmth welcomes her, leaves her #infatuated with his presence. His words soothe her, teaching her to love who he is inside.

But their souls?

Those meet in the dark nights, wrapped in need and want for each other. Connecting their broken pieces for one whole being.

 

September 19th

The path into the dark is never lined with light. It’s a #cavernous descent into the bowels of one’s own soul. Eyes adjust slowly to constant night and it’s left to one’s imagination how the trail begun. But it is home now. Its warmth and smell of brimstone there always.

 

September 20th

In the heat of the moment, passion #devours the mind. Thoughts of laundry and chores vanish. And they’re at the edge, the peak, the tiptop of release. They disintegrate into a husk rocked by wave after wave of climax. The body controls the wheel and only lets go after orgasm.

 

September 21st

In the depths of her bones, in its very #marrow, were the answers to her abilities. And she couldn’t let him harvest it. Struggling against the restraints, they frayed and snapped, freeing her. She grabbed the thin shaft of the scalpel and lashed out at the doctors.

 

September 22nd

My #garden lies barren. Its soil hard and unyielding. There are no weeds to pull, no flowers to tend. Instead it weakens further, unnurtured. The sun dries it and the wind kicks at its dust. When the rain comes, I fear it will be too late. Another patch of death.

 

September 23rd

The #Equinox seemed to approach faster this year, leaving her frazzled. She ran her hand through her hair and collected the stones she owned. The polished black of the hematite called to her and she held its rounded edges in her palm. This will do, she thought and began.

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Very Short Stories, Week 22

Good Monday morning! Or at least, I hope it will turn into one if it hasn’t yet.

My dreams were sweet and intoxicating, and kept me in bed longer than I’d like. But here I am with my very short stories.

Here you go!

 

September 10th

The tree lay on its side, but relatively intact. Winds from last night’s storm #uprooted its proud base, leaving it exposed to the elements. She wandered over to it in sun’s brilliant rays and mourned its fate to shrivel and decay.

But the tree didn’t give up.

 

September 11th

#Smoke tumbles off the burning logs, crawling slowly towards the heavens. The fire’s scent hangs in the air and spreads its warmth and fond memories. Leaves rustle underfoot and form a carpet on soon to sleep grass. The taste of Autumn is in the air, beckoning.

 

September 12th

Rain gathered behind the dam’s walls. Its angered waters licked and spilled over its confinement, taunting those in its way. Shouts were scarcely heard over the storm, ordering evacuation.

The police rushed to remove those in the city below, to beat the #floodwaters.

 

September 13th

The teachers blamed the #lunar eclipse but the students only wanted freedom. From rules and regulations. From homework and grades. From the rigors suffocating creativity. They longed to spread their wings and read from forbidden works.

Really, they wanted stimulation.

 

September 14th

I remember doing #somersaults on the ground. The grass wet or dry, but soft against my clumsiness. I remember it turned into flips in the air that ended badly, too. I remember the child in me who made the attempt despite the outcome.

Where did she go?

 

September 15th

His eyes were #amber and sweet like honey. They raked over her naked body, sending shivers across her skin. Tension rose between them in the still silence. The pure sexual energy demanded release.

If she were a lock, his kiss was the key to unleash both their passion.

 

September 16th

Her fingers fluttered like hummingbirds across the keys of the piano. It was the only thing betraying her #euphoric mood. With eyes shut and lips a thin line, no one thought she was anything but serious. The notes that rose and fell were uplifting, demanding. Like her.

Very Short Stories, Week 7

Hello! Another week of very short stories is up to read now! I think some of my favourites might just be in this collection, too.

New month means new individual in charge of the word prompts and they have been wonderful thus far. I’m looking forward to seeing the challenges to come and try and push myself further with my writing, too!

 

May 28th

The computer screens flashed on the moment she touched the mouse. Her lips turned upwards in a faint smile, and she clicked the folder where her manuscript hid. A white page covered in black swirls and lines greeted her eyes, and she knew she’d never #regret writing.

 

May 29th

The grass was soft against her hands, dampened by dew. Lips curled into a smile and the chill of the air sent goosebumps along her skin. Entranced by the #Orion, she fell away from the world and the freckled boy who saw the galaxy in her emerald gaze.

 

May 30th

The #patch stood out in the crowd since it covered a woman’s eye and hid a gruesome sight. But she had known it would.

On horseback, she moved through the men and kept her gaze straight ahead. Her face kept cold as stone, she shouted above them, “You follow my lead or you die.”

 

May 31st

Sleep shed itself from her mind and left a #reverie in its wake. Images danced beneath her eyelids, enticing her to remain coddled in bed.  Invincible in a land of her making, she found happiness in ignorance and kept the curtain drawn. Forsake the day for night has come.

 

June 1st

Stones were piled to the sides around the dig and wheelbarrows brought more in a hurry. The sound of metal biting into dirt filled the day while shouts gave further instructions.

This world beneath our feet is #ancient, he spoke to his daughter. And it needs our love.

 

June 2nd

Sweat ran down her face in drips and her heart beat in excruciating bursts. I can do this, she thought, determined to beat the #crucible before her. The gates opened, unleashing her into the labyrinth, and she surged forward. Knife in her grasp, she listened for threats.

 

June 3rd

The #willow tree stood tall in the meadow and wildflowers bowed to it in the breeze. Its branches swayed to nature’s tune whilst birds fluttered underneath its canopy. Tickled by the sun, the rustling of leaves became its laughter, and joy shimmered through the grasses.

It Consumes (An Ottava rima Poem)

Fire and brimstone in her fury filled gaze

Burning her enemies, forever scarred.

She dances around the ashes and blaze,

A wicked smile bears teeth, her face unmarred.

Death abounds, surrounds, holds her in its maze.

A game she thought to play, leaves her in shards.

For Wrath creates victims, ripping out hearts.

Lives left damaged, long after it departs.

Solitude

Quiet echoes off barren walls
Darkness fills the mind
And yet
In silent contemplation
Its emptiness is comforting.
 
Day after day
Week after Week
Locked in her room
She stays
Tempted to shed this second skin.
 
Instead
She holds herself tightly
The beating of her heart
Fills her conscious
And she falls in to the abyss
of her own making.
 
A key in the lock
A click
The door opens
Light shines through
And there…
 
The one person welcome
To shatter her world
And bring her into his.