Week 21 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 looking across the lovely Lullingstone Country Park. Even an ominous overcast winter day couldn’t dampen this outing with Archer and his mates.
“No, no, dear. You must #articulate. What do we say?”
“Magic doesn’t manifest for mumblers.”
“Indeed. Take a deep breath and try again.”
“Maybe incantation isn’t the dark art for you. Have you thought about project management?”
I know not how long I’d stumbled through the dusty passages of the ruined temple. Twice I’d slept and awoken into darkness, no nearer to any exit. It was the smell of sweet #jasmine that gave me hope. Finding its source would lead me to an end, far from any salvation.
“I know you think I’m being #obstinate. Honestly, I’m not. Obstinate would imply I’ve not been persuaded by your well-thought-out and articulate argument. Which is not the case, lads.”
“You going to let us in then?”
“Well no, you’re not on the list,” said the bouncer.
“What a #rigmarole. Surely, you can’t need all this stuff?”
“Well, you could probably leave out the lizard leg and maybe the dog tongue.”
“And the dragon scale? Is it really necessary?”
“Depends if you want a love potion or an explosion.”
We knew our fate. The fate of any who’d fail the Iron Queen. The castle had been lost for want of a lookout, for the want of a word raised, for the want of a warning heard. Smelted iron would mark our crimes. I was thankful I’d not hear the sickening #cacophony for long.
Freddy’s bloated boiled corpse floated in the cauldron.
“How could this #happen?” asked the doctor.
“I told him,” said the young frog. “He said I was naive”
“As did I,” said the old frog. “He told me I was senile”
“Surely he looked at the fire himself, smelt it, felt it?”
The old magician never ceased to #amaze. His threadbare rabbit might have lost much of its stuffing but it always got a gasp. The loudest from me. I never found out how he’d pull that exact same tatty rabbit from his top hat each week. The same one he gave away each week.