Week 13 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 in October and @banjomediocrity. I’ve taken some liberties with formatting simply because WordPress is not Twitter and to make it easier to read.
Keeping with the October theme, this week’s cover photo is Wen’s pumpkin carving efforts. I’ll be taking a break from vss365 (and other writing prompts) for the next month to focus on NaNoWriMo.
The ear-piercing #shriek, echoed through the cold night air, like fingernails dragged across a blackboard.
“There it is again!”
“Uh-huh,” replied the old security guard.
“We should go investigate”
The old boy didn’t move.
“It’s been nice knowing you, son.”
“Ok. What skills do you have?”
“I’m good at digging holes”
“Oh, I like burying things”
“Let’s take a look at what we’ve got here … Ok, there’s a vacancy in the Trump administration”
I am cursed, forced to watch the #eternal pantomime repeat.
All too familiar actors, their tired words echoing around the dusty set as they tread well worn creaking floorboards.
Out of touch with your outraged audience, deaf to any heckle, you do not perform in my name.
The icy body hung in the night sky.
A weary traveller, it longed to feel the sun’s #warm touch before its tireless journey back into darkness.
To all that saw its spectacular streaking tail, it was the harbinger of doom.
An unwelcome and terrifying visitor in the night.
“What are you in a flap about?”
“There’s a crow tapping at my window”
Tap Tap Tap
“That’s not a crow it’s a #raven”
“How can you tell the difference?”
“Well its size is a bit of a clue for starters”
“Well, it’s scratched NEVERMORE into the glass!”
He had a short #fuse.
Quick to anger, he’d lash out in the heat of the moment.
Shooting off into the night, he’d shriek and whine about his lot.
Inevitably, white-hot rage exploded into short-lived angry sparks.
We’d all just clap and dance, revelling in his poor fortune.
It was an off the #cuff remark, a slip of the tongue.
She’d known it was a mistake the moment she’d said it.
Now, as she stared into teary eyes, she felt a rising sense of guilt.
Sometimes honesty was unnecessary, cruel.
With a little white lie, she put it on the fridge.