Here’s a collection of very short stories and poems (tweet-length) I did based on prompts from vss365today.com over this past week. I’ve found these prompts are a fun way to keep the creative juices flowing and also are seeds for potential future stories. The prompt is the word next to each date. I hope you enjoy!
It was the tradition of the elders to convey a blessing upon their children. Marcus, though, wasn’t sure what there was to offer.
For years, he watched the many-headed creatures emerge from the cave and devour the children.
It wasn’t time for blessing, but war.
4/19/21 Watch (1)
Jedidiah volunteered to take first watch. He had the sharpest eyes and keenest ears. He wasn’t as sure a shot as Ryan but could hold his own.
It didn’t matter. They’d all be dead by morning light. The creature swooped down from above. He didn’t have time to even scream.
“It’s nothing personal.”
“Then what is it, Frank?”
“I kill. It’s what I do.”
“We’ve been neighbors ten years. Our boys are best friends. We coach together.”
“Sorry, Tom. I can’t stand your laugh. I’ve hated it since I met you.”
“I thought it wasn’t personal.”
If only for a moment
Facing the setting sun
Whispering secret oaths
Raging in the dark of night
Who can stand in lasting love
As war drums beat
4/22/21 Settle (1)
“What’s in the beyond, daddy?”
I stood beside my daughter and gazed across the prairie. Humans had ventured to the Great River, but none who crossed returned.
There were rumors of unimaginable beauties, but none certain.
“Adventure.” I grinned. And new land to settle.
Steady gray eyes
Clouded in time
A mighty oak stands
Tall beside the Great River
Carried by floods
A vision, a distant thought
Tears for both
Her voice calls
The Elysian Plains
The thunder rolled, a gentle rumble across the plains. The young men labored. Rain or shine, the cattle needed care.
The old cowboy gazed toward the hills at the rider on the horse. This was no ordinary storm. For five hundred years he’d escaped. But Death had finally found him.
Lies told to win the masses
Red-faced talking heads
Tossing knives into the cage
Eat your own
Destroy the other
Where is hope?
Where is love?
The quiet stillness far away
For a better story
Image cred: unsplash.com/@noaa
When I was younger, I could write anywhere and could listen to any music in the background while I wrote. That’s less true the older I get. The best place for me to write now is someplace that I can have silence. Occasionally, I can still listen to certain songs while I write, but those moments and songs are rare.
A lot of times, I get writing done when others have gone to bed or kids are napping. My wife is supportive of my writing time, so there are times when we don’t have anything else going on that she helps me carve out time to myself. If the weather is nice, then I love being able to get some time to write outside, especially if I’m able to go to a park or someplace where I can be by myself.
So, there are several places that I consider best for me to write, but usually it involves quiet and alone time.
How about you? What if you write, draw, compose, or create in some way, what is the best environment for you to work? Also if you have any questions for a future Q&A, drop it in the comments below!
Here’s a collection of very short stories (tweet-length) I did based on prompts from vss365today.com over this past week. I’ve found these prompts are a fun way to keep the creative juices flowing and also are seeds for potential future stories. The prompt is the word next to each date. I hope you enjoy!
The last egg stares at me from the plate. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the ones the kids hadn’t found, but we were out and grandma demands them.
Ugh. I don’t feel so well. Is that a tail? And horns? Shoot! I hope I’m hallucinating. I’m afraid, though, the eggs deviled me.
“I’ve heard rumors. First, they take your ears, then your nose.”
“Charlie survived, but he was never the same.”
I leaned back, eyes closed, listening to their fears. It didn’t matter. Nothing stops a chocolate bunny’s time in the basket.
“Four, three, two, one.”
The portal opened, we expected the team back at any moment. When no one emerged, Shauna and I glanced at each other.
Ready, I stepped into the swirling lights. Once I could see, I cursed. A bloody hand lay on the ground. But whose?
There was no warning when the spaceships arrived, not even a radar blip. We weren’t prepared. They crippled our defenses and destroyed our cities before we launched a single missile.
I lived in the rubble. My world had gone silent. I missed the songs of birds most.
Sharon bought the strange-looking camera from a stranger-looking man in an alley. He promised she wouldn’t find a better one for the price.
When she snapped a picture of Earl, it emitted a beam of light. Her husband vanished, but it was the best photo she ever took.
The spaceship hovered over the zoo. A crowd gathered. Even scientists were slack-jawed.
First contact. A day so many look forward to.
The door opened. A creature emerged, strolled by the humans, and toward a hippopotamus, the most intelligent species on the planet.
Deborah set her gaze on the planet as the ship carried her away. She placed her hand on the window and whispered, “I’ll miss you, my love.”
It was the first day of exile.
Her heart ached for her husband, but leaving him stranded was the only way to keep the crew safe.
Paper Castles by B. Fox is a hopeful tragedy.
On the one hand, it offers a bleak realism of people who long for more and dream bigger dreams, but find themselves failing under the weight of unforgiving societal ills and the expectations of others.
On the other hand, it doesn’t leave the reader in despair. Glimmers of light shine in the darkness, even if they’re not always easy to see. There is tragedy and there is hope.
The book is hard to put down. The two main characters are relatable and sympathetic. You can’t help but root for them even when the world seems against them.
4.5/5 stars, an example of indie publishing at its best.
Here’s my story, enjoy!
Somewhere in Floyd County, Georgia
I watched from the bar as the short, slender man strolled through the door. He had yellow eyes, an oddity for sure, that gazed toward the stage. Thursday nights were Billy’s nights, and the young man, not even old enough to drink, stood and sawed away at his fiddle. Truth is, I never should have let Johnny in the door, and there sure shouldn’t be a cigarette hanging from his lips. My sister would kill me if she knew, but my nephew was just too darn good.
Billy’s playing was why half the men were buying whiskeys or placing more beers on their tab. The greasy blond-haired boy was good for business.
I’d never seen anyone’s fingers move so fast. Sweat flew in every direction, and Billy grinned as the crowd clapped and hollered. Then, without warning, he struck his final note and stomped the stage.
My patrons erupted, except for the yellow-eyed man.
Billy wiped his brow, took a bow, and dropped the cigarette into the ashtray. “Takin’ a little intermission. Y’all sit tight.” My nephew smiled and carried his fiddle to the bar. He never let the instrument out of sight.
“Coke?” I asked as he eased onto a stool.
“Y’ain’t gonna let me have something stronger?” Billy asked with a grin. He knew the answer. “Just a water.”
I poured the glass and eyed the short man as he approached, carrying a case in his left hand. He sat beside Billy.
“What’s your poison?” I asked.
“Fireball,” the man replied. “Leave the bottle.”
Billy giggled. “A little on the nose, don’t ya’think?”
“Come now?” the man asked.
“With eyes like that, you obviously gotta be a demon or something.”
“William,” I said, as stern as I ever spoke to the boy.
“Oh, I’m not offended,” the man said. “But I’m no demon. The name’s Lucifer. I’m their prince.”
I set the shot on the bar and rolled my eyes. What a crazy thing to say, I thought, until he opened his case.
Billy’s eyes grew big. “Is that a golden fiddle?” Light shimmered off the instrument in all directions.
“The finest fiddle there is,” Lucifer said as he pulled it from the case and ran spindly fingers along its neck and strings. “Do you want to hold it?”
“Billy, don’t,” I said.
That boy never listens. He took the fiddle from who I now assumed was actually Satan.
“You’ll never find another like it. I’ll make you a deal…”
“Like in that song?”
The devil wryly smiled. “We don’t talk about that song.”
“How’d you get it back?”
“Johnny was… Just… Never mind. Do you want the opportunity for a golden fiddle or not? Try it.”
Billy plucked a few chords. I had never heard an instrument as well-tuned.
“You’re good,” Lucifer said. “But are you as good as me?”
“Lemme guess. We duel, and if I win, I get to keep your fiddle, and if you win, you get my soul.”
“Just like the song.” Billy grinned.
The devil furrowed his brow. “Just like the song,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You’re on.” Billy handed back the violin. “Hit the stage, let’s see whatcha got.” Before I could stop him, my nephew grabbed the shot of whiskey and tossed it against the back of his throat. “Woo!” He slammed the glass on the counter as his cheeks burned. “Pour the devil another!”
Lucifer grinned and sauntered to the stage.
I leaned toward my nephew. “This is not a good idea.”
“Trust me, Uncle James, I got this.”
“Pride goes before a fall.”
“Yeah, yeah. Mama tells me that all the time.”
I sighed. I wasn’t much of the praying sort, but I made an appeal to the Good Lord for Billy’s eternal soul. I stared at the stage with my arms folded across my chest. Billy drummed the bar with his fingers as he wore a big, goofy grin.
Lucifer plucked a few strings, smiled, and set his bow. His hands flew into a frenzy, faster than Billy’s ever had. My jaw dropped at the sound.
It wasn’t what I expected.
Billy clenched his jaw and scrunched his brow. I bit my lip and shook my head. This was bad. The men and women spread throughout the tables covered their ears.
“You suck!” someone shouted. Others booed.
The screeching ruckus threatened to drive away my patrons.
“This is awful,” Billy shouted at me over the racket.
I watched as those closest to the door stood.
“Hey!” I yelled as I jumped over the bar. The devil kept playing. “Hey!” I ran onto the stage and grabbed Lucifer’s hand.
His shoulders slumped with a sigh. “I might be a little out of practice.”
“Why don’t you come to the bar,” I whispered as the boos died down. “I’ll pour you another shot, on the house. Just stop playing, please.” I was an optimist at heart. I hated to see anyone dejected, even the dark lord of hell.
Lucifer again took a seat beside my nephew.
“That was awful,” Billy said.
“I know,” Lucifer replied. “I just need a little more practice to get back in the habit. Then I’ll take you on, Billy Hogan.”
My nephew smirked. “Oh, no, no. A deal’s a deal.”
The devil rolled his eyes and handed the fiddle to Billy. As the boy ran to the stage, Lucifer sipped his shot and shook his head. “I hate humans. You’re foul, vile creatures, especially your young ones.”
Billy jumped onto the stage and grabbed the mic. “This one’s for ol’ Lucy over there.” With a toothy grin, Billy set his bow to the strings and started in on The Devil Went Down to Georgia.
The devil growled and then yelled, “I hate this song!”
Image cred: unsplash.com/@mralireza06
Meredith and Brent at dinner…
Read their story in Until Summer.
Download a Free Sample here (PDF).
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