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.

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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.

Anxious Honesty

The voice in my head is telling me I’ve wasted two years on a dream that will never come true. I had a book idea and I ran with it. I didn’t fight hard enough for it though.

More and more, my husband seems to get mad that I’m not working on my book. That I’m not bringing in any money. That I’m just ‘lounging’ around the house.

It doesn’t matter that I clean the house top to bottom by myself. I weed the gardens and mow the lawn and whippersnip, by myself. I feed the cats and dogs day and night by myself. I do the laundry, by myself. I make the appointments for both of us. Keep a running list of things. Try to be the voice of reason more often than not. (I will admit he helps on occasion, but not near enough…)

I wish I was bringing in money. I wish I had fought harder for my book. It feels like the only choice is to abandon it entirely. It’s not what I want, but I always put everyone else ahead of me.

But then that leaves me with a blog and a twitter account that serve no real purpose anymore, right?

So, I’ve applied to part-time jobs in the mean time. I’ve started freelance transcribing again for Rev. I’ve created a Ko-Fi account in hopes of some additional help so that I can keep writing.

I want to keep writing, I really do, but this voice tells me there’s no point anymore. If I was really passionate about it, I’d be somewhere other than editing, right?

Anyways, that’s the end, (I think), of my self-pitying post. I had to say it before it ate me alive though I still think it might.

 

https://ko-fi.com/kemwriting is the link to donate to my creative path. I’m sure after a decent cry, I’ll be up to fighting again…

Very Short Stories, Week 16!!!

Hey, guys! I can’t believe it has been FOUR MONTHS since I started doing the very short stories prompts on Twitter. It has kept me writing and challenged me in new ways.

The best thing I like about the #vss365 is it continually challenges my creativity and my ability to show rather than tell. Sometimes, I don’t deliver what I really want, but most of the time I really enjoy them!

My nephew has gone home and so it is time to settle back into a familiar routine that includes working on my manuscript. I’m prepping somemore tools to really help me get it to that polished level.

Anyways, I’ll keep this short. Here are my very short stories for the week!

 

July 30th

Birds of a feather #flock together, she told her daughter and ruffled her hair. You’ll be fine! I promise.

The daughter nodded and grabbed the familiar hand of her mother, worn with age. They walked down the gravel road of their drive way to wait for the school bus.

 

July 31st

The #Queen of Darkness reigned over nightmares and relished the sounds of screams. Pained wails bounced off the remains of her stone castle that night. The cries mingled with the smell of spilt blood to soothe her soul and she dreamed of red drops in the depths of depravity.

 

August 1st

The #cellar doors were smashed bits, surrounding the poorly lit opening. Its stairs descended into the pitch black with no end in sight. The flashlight shook in her hands but she clicked the light on. Cautious steps took her down the steps. The creaking echoed for miles.

 

August 2nd

#Familiar hands clasped hers, warm and soothing. But she didn’t hear his words. She’d vanished into a funeral in her mind’s eye, surrounded by fragrant flowers and the tears of the mourning. The coffin before her was made of oak, strong and sturdy like her father had been in life.

 

August 3rd

It’s a tough lesson when it comes to #sacrifice, the teacher said. His high school students sat there, bored but silent. Their gaze weighed on his shoulders and he breathed deeply. You see, certain jobs have more risks than others. They require a willingness to give and not get.

 

August 4th

Stars shimmered in the night sky like glitter on a black cloth. The pale face of the moon was absent, waiting rebirth the next night. She moved the telescope slowly, hunting for a different celestial body. Aha! She exclaimed as #Jupiter came into focus. Just beautiful!

 

August 5th

The #Empress stood still and silent, an observer of her husband’s power. Her role was nothing more than to enhance his presence.

She loathed him for it.

Her eyes roamed the army til they spotted her soldier. His attire shone in the light. Memories of his touch tempted her again.