Week 23 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 is organised by @Katz. 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 irrefutable evidence that we are indeed facing the end of days. When cats lay down with dogs and snuggle up, you know something is amiss. The blog has been quiet this week. I’ve been tapping away at a story for an anthology. I also found some time to pick back up my WIP (from NaNoWriMo). The good news is it isn’t totally terrible. The bad news is it’s going to take months to finish and months to polish/edit. What’s the saying – nothing worth doing is ever easy.
How long could you hold on if your life depended on it?
Before fingers tire and tendons fail.
Before strength and #sanity are lost.
Before all anger and rage are exhausted.
Before my trembling grip would finally falter.
Tell me, how long before you stop struggling.
“Don’t worry,” said the Doctor. “Your son is fine. Imaginary friends are quite normal at his age.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I know it’s just …”
“Well, should I be able to see these #fantasy friends? Like now. That one. Sitting there. Should I be able to see him!?”
The creak of a stair, claws on wood, he was coming. She slunk under the blanket and prayed. He drew nearer, his breath warm now on her neck, his body pushing down on her. No escape. Pulling back the blanket she stared into #frantic eyes. “Okay boy, I’ll let you out.”
It was an #atlas of sorts, a collection of hurriedly sketched maps and cryptic notes that were both alien and yet strangely familiar. Something from a dream? More likely a nightmare. He traced a finger along a charcoal coastline, certain he’d travelled its shores before.
A world without #ritual is a world without love. That’s what the old monk used to say. He’d thought him a fool, naive to the demands of the real world beyond the temple walls. A lifetime later he finally understood.
“Grandad! You’re reading it wrong. Read it properly!”
He was #enchanted from the moment he saw her and fifty years on she still bewitched him every day. Until today. The day the clasp of her magic necklace failed. Anger in his eyes, he tore the trinket from her hand and kissed her passionately. “You think that ever worked?”
The old #mule track meandered up the side of the mountain far into the heavens. The reserve of mountain goats and those foolhardy to dream they could stand on top of the world. Many would make the pilgrimage up the treacherous path. Far far fewer ever walked back down.