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

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Clothing, My Cross To Bear

My clothing mocks me

Every time I put it on.

It whispers awful things

And makes me wish I was gone.

It hangs from my shoulders

Or hugs my flabby hips.

It tells me how fat I am

In harsh and hurtful quips.

My clothing mocks me

With its drab and ugly shapes.

I’m too big for nicer clothes

Always drawing eyes that gape.

Okay, that part might be a lie.

I keep my gaze on the ground

Afraid of their hateful stares

That judge every single pound.

In the end it’s my own sight

I wish to dodge in the mirror.

It rips me apart each time

Feeling me with dread and fear.

I wish to change,

Start down that path

But in my way

Are mocking laughs.

You see, it starts with my clothes

The ones I put on every day.

They judge me harshly

And they’re always in the way.

I wish I was skinny, healthy and free,

But I don’t know if that will ever be me.