Week 20 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 @RozLevens who’s keeping everyone on their toes with an eclectic selection of prompts. 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 is of Darnley Mausoleum. An impressive structure in the lovely Cobham woods. Built in 1786, it has had a long and chequered history, but in spite of everything, has stood the test of time. Ironically it was never used to inter bodies so it really is the very definition of a folly. It’s a shame there are not more follies.
I’d slipped into something of a funk, a #languor that would ensure I’d not eat for days at a time. Withdrawal was always tough. I’d get the usual shakes and terrible cramps, my skin would crawl it was soul-destroying. I was trying, but it was tough being a vegan vampire.
“My, what big teeth you have!”
“All the bet-“
“So white,” she continued, leaning in close. “They’re beautiful, almost #opaline.”
“Err thanks,” said the wolf, taken aback.
“What’s your secret?”
“Well, I bru-“ Shlink!
“Shhh now,” she said, blood sinking into her cloak.
For a split second, #fibrous bonds were all that held him to this world. Suspended, one inch from disaster. The whip-crack of the vines resounded down the generations. The knowledge of the perfect vine, the secret to his long lineage. Now it would be his to pass on.
With a final frenzied #flourish Fox delivered the coup de grâce.
“What the hell was that?” growled the orc, rolling aside.
“All this!” replied the Orc, mocking his moves. “Next time just kill m-”
The orcs head landed on the dusty floor.
“You’re no fun,” said Fox.
“I understand the craving,” she said, wiping cherry red lips.
“Not for blood, child! That can be satiated. Immortality is our curse and it has its own hungers.”
“When all you’d call home is dust, it will bite, a #yearning for the familiar no blood can quench.“
Inland, it was the #riparian communities that suffered most. Rain washed the pesticides from the farmlands into the rivers, concentrating and transporting the toxin through town and city. It took a generation for the insidious effects to manifest. It was too late by then.
“This time it’s broken. I don’t know what happened it all just got #muddled.”
“Let’s take a look,” said the old timesmith, expertly picking at the tangled threads. “Remember, cause and effect, one after-”
“The other. Got it. So this moment goes here.”
“There you go.”