Week 32 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 @Zevonesque in April. I’ve taken some liberties with formatting simply because WordPress is not Twitter and to make it easier to read.
This weeks photo is from another of our walks this week. Far far from the beaten track. Tomorrow will be 20 days in lockdown. The good news is everyone’s efforts appear to be starting to show signs of working. In spite of the tiny minority of idiots. It will take a few more weeks to know if we’ve got the worst of this first wave behind us. Fingers crossed. Key-workers across the board continue to do an extraordinary job in some truly terrible conditions. There will need to be some changes after this, we can’t be this badly prepared in the future.
Writing progress this week has been almost non-existent. It is a little easy to get distracted at the moment. A mixture of news and the good weather meaning the garden has needed a lot of attention. I am determined to finish one of the short stories I’ve been working on next week and get back into the habit of writing.
Her ex had loved that car. It was his pride and joy. He’d often joke that he’d spent more time with it than with her, that it was cheaper to run. She’d long stopped laughing. Watching the flames rise from the canyon she felt a pang of guilt. It truly was a #classic.
“I told you it was a waste of money,” she spat as the shuttle scorched its way through the atmosphere, ionising gasses bathed the cockpit in an orange glow. The occasional flare of bright yellow #chrome melting, a costly testament to his gullibility.
“Bloody salesman!”
Hanging from the train window, she desperately tried to #crane her neck for one last glimpse. Their silhouettes still waving as the steam enveloped them, and the train lurched from the platform. Falling into her seat, she wept, knowing she’d likely never see them again.
It was an exclusive group. Few knew of its existence. Even fewer knew of its unique entrance requirements. For eight hundred years the club had operated a strict one out one in policy. Eva realised she’d have to take matters into her own hands to join the Hashishin #Club.
Thursday 9th April – Telegraph
Bill turned over his cards, aces and tens. The kid thought about making a move. Staring down the barrel of Bill’s revolver, he hesitated.
“Son,” said Bill, “Ya sending more messages than the #telegraph. Best you stick to the day job. Gamblin and shootin ain’t for you.”
“Who’s held here?” the journalist asked, staring at the cells.
“Sadly, some patients need #isolation,” said the doctor showing him to an empty padded cell.
Looking around the cramped space. “Why?”
“Asking awkward questions!” said the doctor as the door slammed closed.
The door crashed open revealing a tall handsome knight.
“Princess, I’m here to #rescue you.”
The Princess sighed. “Really? What part of self #isolation are you guys not getting? Guards!”
Two burly guards seized the knight.
“Put him in a cell next to the other idiots.”
