Week 12 participating in the very popular #vss365 challenge on Twitter. The aim, to write a daily Very Short Story in less than 280 characters, a single tweet. Yes, that’s characters! Not words.
The prompts themselves are seemingly random single words, the whim of this month’s challenge setter. This months fun has been organised by @AuthorBertEdens. I’ve taken some liberties with formatting simply because WordPress is not Twitter and to make it easier to read.
This week’s cover photo continues the autumnal feel with another photo of Archer as always half way to the horizon.
Through gully and ditch, they wriggle and roll, sliding and slipping in every #dirt hole.
Shallow or deep, high or low, they’ll find each puddle, it’s as if they know.
No shame, no name, will call them back, they won’t be happy until they are black.
“Is this #oblivion?”
“Yea, it must be a bit of a surprise.”
“To be honest, I was looking forward to some peace and quiet.”
“Ah. It can get a bit lively.”
“So I see. Am I in heaven?”
“Think of it more like the after-party that never ends.”
The beggar was an old #soul, the oldest of them all.
Sleeping rough, he’d fitfully dream of the sweetness of that first apple and the coldness of that first night.
The wilderness never got any warmer and the fruits, never so sweet, no matter how much he drank to remember.
They believed themselves #invincible.
Never defeated, they carved their way across a continent before they faltered.
Before they met their match in that frigid tundra.
Mother nature would do what no army could and stop them in their icy tracks.
Exhausted, frozen, undone.
My house is old, it has many rooms, beware the one where death looms.
Down the stairs in the dark dank #cellar, is where you might meet that fella.
Within the shadows and disrepair, I pray you to remember … the broken stair.
I could run no further.
The woods were too dark, the brambles too thick.
The night was #alive with nocturnal terrors.
Tiny sharp teeth and claws threatened.
Silent screams echoed as I felt their cold breath upon my neck.
The pull of my hair, a scratch … “Eww bat!”
With shaking hands, I typed my last.
It could not, would not, be surpassed.
A tale of #horror so dark and twisted.
A titan of literature, a legend, I’d be listed.
What folly, what hubris I’d realise my mistake.
The news that night would set me straight.