An anthology of my writings ~ mostly very short stories, dialogue and poetry inspired by the Twitter #vss365 prompts.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the rapporteur for this meeting.”
“Sorry, no paparazzi allowed.”
“You misunderstand. I’m a rapporteur, not a reporter.”
“Don’t get fancy with me, missy. Go on, off you go!”
“I really have to find a new damn job,” she mumbled as she walked away.
Every eventide, the maid would enter the garden, unbeknownst to the Lady and her husband. She would distract them with tea and cake as they sat by the fire, then walk past rows of freshly pruned roses and step into the ivy covered, disused shed.
“Kneel,” he’d command.
The blade on the counter shone underneath the downlight illumination. Lana stood staring at it as though in a trance – a battle of insanity, desperation and reason raging within. The pills she mixed into his drink would wear out soon and she had a decision to make. So she did.
The King’s daughter fell for a boy,
Not knowing she would become his toy.
He left her heart utterly munted,
So for him the King’s men hunted.
He ran far and fast,
But they caught him at last.
A potion they forced down this throat,
And the boy changed forever into a goat.
He smiled as he approached her with a, ‘Hey, how you doin’?”
She responded, “I’m guessing better than your wife,” gesturing to the band on his finger. She picked up her martini and walked away.
“Idiot,” he muttered into a well deserved #facepalm.
As the hunger set in he hunched over, his spine growing out of his skin, the whites of his eyes as black as ravens. He let out a blood curling shriek, showcasing rows of dagger like teeth.
“Dude, you are not you when you’re hangry,” Bill chuckled as he ate the last fry.
“Just pick a rando and let’s go!”
“We can’t just pick any rando. It has to be the perfect rando. If the sacrifice doesn’t work this time, we’re gonna be stuck in this crappy realm forever. That what you want?”
“Good. Now go get the one with the weird rainbow eyes.”
#DESERT / #OBJECT
Across the desert dunes, an object glimmered, reflecting the suns brilliant rays that washed across the land.
“What is that?” Jonesy asked himself, his throat parched and raw as he staggered forward.
“Your oasis,” whispered a god like voice, summoning him closer.
The attack was a calculated, deliberate move to take down the Queen. Each possible retalliation tactic was considered and planned for. All he could do now was wait.
“Checkmate,” smirked the opposition.
“Dammit!” he huffed, sinking into his chair. He’ll get her next time.
Since he was named convict,
His heart had grown derelict,
With chains and shackles bound to his feet,
He wondered when his fate he would meet,
Long ago he forgot he was innocent,
There was no way out of the predicament,
Day in day out in his cell,
Trapped in his own personal hell.
I close the door behind Detective Yates, losing my grasp on the tears I’ve been fighting back. I pick up the vial on my desk, fearing the power it holds, but desperate to find my children. The cold liquid slides down my throat and within seconds I can hear the hum of the world.
The bow of the ship cast a shadow over the soft, white sand. As the gentle waves crawled to the shore, the lone Captain stepped off the ladder, taking in the beauty of the vivid plants and the singsong of birds in the treetops.
“This’ll do,” he sighed with a smile.
They lay in perfect bliss on a bed of wildflowers, the sun warming through their skin down to their bones.
“I love you,” she said reaching for his hand.
“Always and forever, baby.”
Smiling through their tears, they turned to ash, becoming one with the earth beneath them.
“Ya read the paper this morning?”
“No, not yet. Anything interesting?”
“Yeah… Something’s goin’ on in the city. Some kind of virus makin’ people act all funny.”
“Oh, really? How so?”
“Apparently, they can’t even take a damn shit without posting it on social media.”
This wasn’t the London I knew. The palace was reduced to a smouldering pile of rubble, the bridge crumbled into the river below and the people looked like they were in some sort of hypnosis, littering the streets like perfect statues. Silence didn’t suit the city.
“Why are you waving a stick around? You look like a lunatic.”
“They said if I believe hard enough the stick will turn into a wand.”
“Okay, Harry… Back to the hospital we go.”
The murderer took the stand as the little boys parents looked on, their faces contorted with anguish. Memories of their son sparked like a string of lights in their minds making every breath they took feel like a betrayal.
His eyes were like a pool of azure waters, pulling me in deeper and deeper until I was drowning, thrashing, unable to swim my way back up. The only way to free myself from him was to cut those pretty blues out… Swimming in a pool of crimson blood was easier.
The sky was awash with vibrant pink and purple streaks as the day came to a close. I couldn’t bare to look at the village I had destroyed single handedly only moments ago. But as the stench of blood grew stronger, it drew me in and I gave in to the insatiable hunger.
The word sunny was somewhat of a taboo. As the scorching sun beat down on our dry, cracked skin day after day, month after month, we prayed for the rain. We wished the cold would come and sweep us up in its chill. But as temperatures continued to soar, so did the death toll.
The girl dreaded going back home. The constant shouting, the unanticipated rain of smacks and the never ending list of chores. Somedays she imagined she was in a fairytale, like Cinderella, waiting for a prince to save her. Then she decided she’ll be her own hero.
“Quickly now! Across the bridge,” she hurried the children into the dark, the moon their only friend. The sound of rhythmic boots hitting the ground behind them and the rattle of rifles were the only motivation they needed to keep running.
His head of curly hair shimmered like golden liquid as the morning sun illuminated the blood drenched room. His precious hand tightly wrapped around my little finger and all of a sudden, an unexpected wave of guilt washed over me.
“Sorry about your mummy, little man.”
She was my first horse, my best friend for six years. She showed me patience when I didn’t have any, strength when I felt weak, and unconditional love like no other. Now it’s my turn, as she lies by the flowing stream. I soothe her broken body as she takes her last breath.
She stood on the deserted beach, her feet being hugged by the warm, golden sand. Gazing over the blue water, she wondered where all the people were. Normally the place would be packed like a tin of sardines on a glorious day like this. Then she heard the screams.
“Don’t lean on me.”
“I can’t help it, I’m so tired.”
“What am I, a potato sack?! I’m tired too.”
“You weren’t just chased for a mile by a rabid dog.”
“No, I was chased by the rabid human the rabid dog belonged to. Now, get off me.”
“Shit! They’re back!”