Week 33 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 of Archer enjoying the bluebells that are out in full bloom at the moment. The local country parks in my area shut their car parks to dissuade people from flocking together. The upshot of this is significantly less footfall for the time of year. As we know nature abhors a vacuum and the local wildlife is in the process of reclaiming the woods. Which is nice to see.
We’re now twenty-six days into the lockdown with another three-week extension announced. Given we are only just seeing a flattening of the new cases in the UK it is the only sensible option. Having read several of the scientific papers the government are using (lot’s of time on my hands) there’s no way of escaping we are in for the long haul. Several diminishing (if they get it right) waves as lockdowns are relaxed and reinforced to gate the spread before a vaccine is available.
Writing progress this week. Well, I’ve actually made some which is a bonus. At the 11th hour, I decided to enter something for the Eerie River Publishing monthly writing prompt. This months theme is cursed objects. Not sure it’ll be good enough it’s written as a bit of a monologue. Which may or may not work. I’ve also made progress on another short story (for another anthology). The outline is almost there it just needs an ending. Oh and I fired a drabble out for another anthology. Overall a little more productive than the last couple of weeks.
The bandana hid his face, but it could not disguise the desperation in his eyes. She hesitated ringing up the items. “Three max!”
“It’s for a neighbour,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
She shook her head, in no doubt he was just another sad toilet paper #desperado.
There was no denying route 666 was poorly signposted. What it lacked in road markings it made up for in potholes. Add to that the lack of any mobile reception, a flat tire and an approaching storm and I was starting to understand why it was the #road less travelled.
“I never asked you to #shelter me,” she cried, tears welling. He smiled at her, a rivulet of dark blood trickling from his lips. She ran a trembling hand along the arrow’s shaft. A message meant for her. Its point crystal, clear.
He held her hand. “You never had to ask.”
I’m used to tripping and #tumbling from time to time. It’s nothing unusual. I’ve always been clumsy. One minute I’ll be in the grocery store picking up milk, the next minute who knows when. For most people time is an escalator. For me, it’s an ice rink I’ve yet to master.
The four horsemen stared across another dead city, nothing but #desolation to the horizon. Conquest climbed down from his white horse and taking a handful of dust let the grains run through his fingers.
“Well?” asked Death.
“Looks like they beat us to it,” said Conquest.
He’d had nervous jumpers before. Reluctant clients goaded into throwing themselves from the bridge by good friends. This one was different. When he gave her a helpful nudge, she screamed but failed to fall. Rather she clung on grimly, gravity #arrested for just a moment.
I think I remember. It was the colour of the sky and the oceans before the pandemic. Before Conevirus-22 swept the globe and damaged everyone’s retinas. Now the world is green and red. Shades of grey hint at what used to be back when the world was #blue and I wasn’t.