Very Short Stories, Week 24

I missed the weekend prompts for my posts this week so there a bit short. Hope you don’t mind!

 

September 24th

#Fire licked across the stacked logs, surrounded by placed brick. It grew until it crackled and sparked and its flames reached for the starry night sky. She sat with her husband on folding lawn chairs. No words passed between them as the heat warmed them.

 

September 25th

She wrapped the #sinew around the willow twigs that formed a circle. It required a soft touch and yet force was needed too. She continued until the web was formed, decorated with beads the colour of rainbows. As she kissed her son’s head that night, she hung the dream catcher

 

September 26th

Night #consumes the day and she readies herself. Dressed in black, she lifts herself onto the window sill. Its tracks bite into her palms and she drops when it’s time. The two-storey fall is quick and she lands with a thud, rolling for cover. She draws in a deep breath.

 

September 27th

 

Stars twinkle in distant #universes, lighting skies above alien life. Through telescopes, gazes meet but remain unaware. Life continues its circling dance. She dreams of unknown planets and longs to walk on foreign soil. Her imagination is a playground of planets.

 

September 28th

 

September 29th

 

September 30th

His bare feet were numb on the cold, wet road. The ragged clothes on his body were no shelter from the howling wind. There was no frown on this boy’s face. He wore a stubborn scowl like a shield and pressed forward. It was #inevitable in his mind that he’d find shelter.

BraveWrite, Week 3

September 19th

She fears its gentle hands have found her again. It whispers in her ear all the things she shouldn’t to hear. The truth long gone, her heart long since battered, she welcomes the cold. It hollows her out. Vacant of emotion. It’s too late when she names it. #Depression

 

September 20th

In the state of #jejune, we were all consumed by our fables. We were a unique center whose storms were unlike any other. The Gods aimed for us, small and insignificant though we KNEW different. But then our eyes opened. We wore others’ shoes and heeded our empathy.

 

September 21st

Their trunks, china cabinet, and every nook and cranny served as a #cache for their precious items. The house seemed willing to burst at the seams with their collections. It was a glorified storage unit filled with the sentimental. She worried it would go up in flames

 

September 22nd

The world is full of the #esoteric. It haunts the realms of math and science. It teases everyone. But it belongs to the artists most of all. The ones who draw, paint, compose and write for themselves, hoping some will understand. They bare their hearts for acceptance.

 

September 23rd

Wanna know what I think? she asked all of a sudden.

What? His eyebrows raised above a curious gaze.

I think life is a marinade in which we all #marinate. It’s experiences, people, and choices are all the spices we added, She smiled and nudged him, Don’t you think?

 

September 24th

The clock chimed #twelve in the middle of the night and summoned the witch from her workings. Her feet bounced down the stairs, jostling the book she held in her arms.

Ah, there it is, she said while flipping through the aged pages. Clearing her throat, she began to recite.

 

September 25th

The abyss was #tempting, as always. It called to her in seductive whispers. It threaded its fingers into hers, holding her hand, pulling. Her shoulders drooped in defeat and matched the dark bags under her eyes. The image in the mirror wasn’t her so why continue?

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.

Very Short Stories, Week 21

This past week has been tougher day by day. I feel stuck. I feel completely different. And the worst part? I have no idea how to change it.

I’m pushing through trying to stick to some routine and tackle things around the house, but I feel hollow about it all. My hope was writing more types of prompts would help, but it isn’t working so far.

Great segwey, eh? You’ll be seeing some #vsspoem posts once a week from now on and same with #BraveWrite. If I stick with it, who knows what might happen, right?

Anyways, here are my very short stories for the week without any further rambling.

 

September 3rd

Her #mysteries were caged in barbed wire. They surrounded her, welcomed her darkness. Whispered horrors and sordid images filled her every waking breath. And yet the Evil she held remained a secret. She wiped sweat from her brow and walked away from the newly dug hole.

 

September 4th

She chased the glowing #horizon

Its edge calling to her

She longed to free fall

into the abyss

Sink or swim

in a sea of words

 

Her fingers could craft

poems

short stories

novels

if given reign

 

And so she chased

the glowing #horizon

for a future it might hold

if she caught it

 

September 5th

Words of strange properties leapt from her lips as a soft whisper. Her magic danced in colourful swirls along the rocks she’d gathered. It caressed and curled about the stones like a lover. Before her gaze, they #crystallized, clear and crisp like an autumn day.

 

September 6th

The night put its arms around her, an old and welcome friend. Her radiant smile shone light upon the tides she taunted into play. In the black sky, she gossiped with the stars, twinkling by her side. And as the sun cast golden rays on the horizon, she waved hello to #daybreak.

 

September 7th

The #serendipity of it all, she determined, typing a response to a stranger’s message. And yet… he wasn’t a stranger. Her heart and soul knew he was meant for her like the sun and moon belonged to the sky. Eight years later, she still couldn’t pinpoint how she had known.

 

September 8th

#Comets blazed through the sky and diminished into nothing more than cosmic dust. From the comfort of her room, she chased their wandering trails with her eyes. They must live brilliant lives to be gone so quickly from existence, she mused. If only I could chart myself a course.

 

September 9th

The tree that grew in her backyard served as a reminder. #Souls have branches, roots. They reach, connect, support, and thrive with companionship. She couldn’t keep hers locked in a jar for fear of rejection or failure.

She had to open it. And she did. Her soul had wings now.

Hurt does Hurt

Hearts house many things
     Not all are fluffy dreams.
           Some are the darkest beings
                Demons dressed as sheep.
                      They dwell in broken children
                            Crying into the night.
 
       Answering prayers for vengeance
             Their darkness can only spread.
                    Bullies’ words are their weapons
                          Weighted like sharp boulders.
                                 Lashing out in violence
                                       These demons scar another’s life.
 
                  The blackest of evils
                        help those who cannot rise
                              Not with encouragement
                                    But knives dressed as lies.
                                         Sharpened by daily suffering
                                                They seek out their vicious prey.
 
If only kind words were cheap
           They might help save a life.
                        But hey, we’re only human
                                     And we all live in various strife.

Mourning

She clasped her grandmother’s hand in hers,
stunned by the weakness and frailty
of the skinny fingers.
 
Machines beeped in the sanitary hospital room.
The words ‘Palliative Care’
Crisp on the walls.
 
A sob was wrenched from her mother’s throat
And she watched the first tear drop
Many would soon follow.
 
Wetness coated her own cheeks in silence
Unable to disrupt the mourning
Despite the life beside them.
 
That night her father came to get her from the dreary room
And her mother urged her to go and said,
“Grandma won’t pass if you’re here.”
 
She offered a weak smile, knowing her grandpa was there
In spirit for both her mom and grandma
And she walked away willingly.
 
In the middle of the night, she woke to heartbreak
And knew her grandma had left this world.
A happy soul now gone forever.
 
Cries echoed down the hallway when her mother returned
And she wiped away her own sorrows to put on her face.
A warrior’s mask to support her mom
And fight her demons with her.