Very Short Stories, Week 3

Despite being sick the whole week with a cold that knocked me on my ass, I kept strong with the very short stories. Gave me a reason to crawl out of bed, and shun sleep a little while longer. Hope you enjoy them!

April 30th

Like a flash of lightning, her last breath was gone. She was still as if made of stone, laid on the bed. Only a hint of air shifted her grey hair; the only movement in the silent room.

Death’s cloak enveloped her, hands held in solitude, and they #vanished together.

 

May 1st

The flutist’s fingers were adept upon the keys of her instrument, creating an illusion of springtime. The scent of flowers, lustrous and bright, filled the air, and the audience edged ever forward. A soft note echoed, the #cadence fulfilled, and the band joined in her.

 

May 2nd

#Effervescence was the only word to describe the thunderstorm. Lightning crackled in forked vines across a liquid black sky. The flashes sparkled in the droplets of rain, danced about by the fierce wind. It all hit the ground in large crashes, loud enough to tumble houses.

 

May 3rd

The battle rang with steel clashing against steel, and the whistles of arrows meant to kill. Yet there was a lone woman on the field, surrounded by enemies. Attired in light leather, she looked #demure even with a long sword clenched in her fists, raised to her opponents.

 

May 4th

Waves of navy blue crested in white caps rocked the ship from side to side. The wind screamed against the haul, whipping the men about underneath the rain.
“At least it can’t get any worse!” they said.
Looking past the stern, the captain screamed in fury, “#maelstrom!”

 

May 5th

Gunfire ricocheted off the buildings along with the sound of footsteps and shouted commands. Shaking off the nostalgia of buried memories, she raced towards her brothers at arms. This is no time to #reminisce, she brooded, and showered her enemies with metallic death.

May 6th

The #waif stood alone, hidden in the shadows cast by a noon day sun. A weak smile took form on his thin lips at the sight of the man in a suit. The man’s pocket drooped with the weight of a wallet, and the child would gladly take the burden from him.

Very Short Stories, Week 1

As promised, here are my #vss365(s) for the week. It isn’t quite a full seven days, but I want to make a habit of posting them on Mondays.

I have enjoyed the prompts so far, and toyed with themes of nature, love, comedy, and death. It will be interesting to see where the prompts continue to take me. I’ve enjoyed the challenge thus far, after all!

The prompt words are in bold letters, and I would love to see some Very Short Stories of your own! Also, if you want to see any of this in a poem or short story let me know!

Anyways, here they are!

April 17th

The #veneer covered the coarseness of the room, calming it into a beauty, but she could only hate it. It is a mask, a facade, she thought as her eyes longed for the rugged stone and rough wood beneath it. “Why must we hide the beauty of truth?”

 

April 18th

This Love was poison, slithering through the veins like a snake until it found the heart. Latching on with a bite, the #venom burned with need and longing, forsaking everything for the One. A thoughtless victim to Love’s cruel whims. But it felt so damn good.

 

April 19th

Burgers sizzled on the grill of the bbq, to the left of the wooden deck. Chatter filled the air, mingled with laughter, and tummies growled beneath the noise. “Hey!” the people greeted the new guest, rose to give hugs. “Burgers?” she asked, “But I’m #vegan.”

 

April 20th

Mist filtered off the lake in swaths, hiding the calm water. Dew clung to the green blades of grass, and birds called from the leaf burdened trees. Each morning, blooming flowers greeted the sun as it lifted nature’s #veil on the world. All while I sipped tea on my deck.

 

April 21st

The house was caked in filth. Dust on every surface. Grime on all the furniture. Not one wanted to clean the bathroom. The kitchen is where the downfall of the owner could be found. Copious amounts of empty liquer bottles killed the small space. His #vice had killed him.

 

April 22nd

The #vague memories of her past tugged on the corners of her mind. Images flashed before her eyes like still shots, and taunted her with silence. A puzzle of color, and her world was shades of grey. Dreary rain tapped at the windows. She could only move forward now.