Week 16 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 @iam_nirupama I’ve taken some liberties with formatting simply because WordPress is not Twitter and to make it easier to read.
I’ve been off the writing radar a little this month. Partly getting over the glut that was NaNoWriMo but mostly working on another project (more on that in the new year). I’ll be back to writing flash fiction, short stories and writing prompts in 2020, never fear. Happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year. to one and all.
This week’s cover photo is unusually sunny Sunday walk past the Naval Memorial that overlooks Chatham.
Lucas loved to draw. He loved to draw rainbows. Rainbows made him happy and when Lucas was happy, everyone was happy. Day and night he’d draw until each #pastel was dust and his fingers bled. Then, sadly, he’d pick up his black crayon. When Lucas was sad, everyone hid.
“I’ll #wring yer scrawny neck,” he’d threaten, night after drunken night. “Only y’self to blame.”
He’d pride himself on not leaving any marks. She could not boast the same.
“Only y’self to blame,” was all she’d say the night they found her, bloody kitchen knife in hand.
He watched as the sun rose, a #sliver of light stretching across the cell. He felt its warmth, watched as it inexorably climbed the far wall towards an odd scratch. Only now, at the very end did he understand. He laughed as the sun met the mark and the cell door opened.
He was #suave, there was no denying that. Sophisticated? Well, that was an adjective he’d have trouble shouldering. Along with complex, experienced and nuanced. His naive swagger was a big part of his appeal, that and his father’s money. She faked a smile as he passed.
It had started slowly. Just an odd bit here, a bad byte there, seemingly random errors. The Internet efficiently corrected them all, retransmitting and rerouting, it hid the terrible truth. Something was eating all the copper. Humanity faced its first #virtual extinction.
The stars were gone. Brushed aside like the opening curtain of a #profound new play. The familiar dark fabric, replaced by spotlights that illuminated a strange and alien stage. A distorted new world, where on occasion, a monstrous galactic eye could be seen blinking.
They sat around the fire, its dying #glow failed to warm the freezing cabin.
“So about these aliens, eh,” Jim started.
Santa shook his head. “Crazy stuff.”
“They say they can read minds.”
“Pretend to be anyone!”
Santa smiled. “It’s the beard isn’t it, too much?”