Week 45 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 @Ayve in July. I’ve taken some liberties with formatting simply because WordPress is not Twitter and to make it easier to read.
This week’s photo is from a lovely wander with friends through the Kent countryside. Not certain what this crop is, I’d hazard a guess at wheat. Lockdown restrictions continue to be relaxed, or abandoned dependent on your point of view at a breakneck speed. The government’s approach has the feel of just going through the motions as opposed actually following any science. I’m not aware of any scientific approach that having established a baseline advocates changing all the variables at the same time. There’s also increasing evidence to suggest the virus can transmit via aerosol. So that’s all good then. Thankfully I don’t rely on the government to perform my risk analysis for me. I have no doubt that I would not see eye to eye with Mr Cummings on the “impact” parameter.
Not much of update on writing this week. More editing and reading than anything. I have one story in progress for an anthology call that closes next week. Did some planning for another call. But, in general, a slow writing week.
On a good day, you’d have called me a #moron and pushed me aside. Bad days, I’d spend those in a stupor in some dark alleyway. I lost count of those non-days that melted into years. I never lost count of the good days though; the ones when someone acknowledged I existed.
I get it! I was a #skeptic as well. Every one is until the probe comes out. I mean, you might be able to ignore your own eyes and ears. Maybe even that acrid smell or the hair bristling static. It’s far harder to ignore the cloying taste of that well-travelled probe.
“Okay, I’m a #heretic,” I spat at the interrogator.
“That’s what they all say,” he said, pulling a poker from the fire.
“Didn’t you hear what I said! I confess! I’m a heretic,” I pleaded.
“Yeah I hear you,” he grinned. “It’s just, you know, I’m paid by the hour. Sorry!”
It took a few years for the bio-augments to reach the market. But few would forget CES 2024. An altogether different #aesthetic swept aside the clean curves of yesteryear’s tech. One that many reviewers considered a little too tentacly for their liking.
Night fishing the Zambezi is not for the faint of heart. Far worse than the hungry mosquitos are those things that go bump in the night. For not everything that strikes the canoe is going to be a log. Occasionally, you are bound to awaken a pissed off #pachyderm.
Jonah was an #orphan and not by accident. At least not by just one accident. Several foster homes later, he’d gained a reputation as an unlucky child, or lucky, dependent on your point of view. Despite all the accidents, Jonah always miraculously escaped unscathed.
I was your sister long before they drew a line in the dirt and split our forefather’s kingdom. Now we’re serfs to warring masters. Madmen that’d spill our blood in the fields we played as children. So, damn their twisted propaganda, I’ll never be a #xenophobe, brother.