Part of WordPress’s writing course Finding Everyday Inspiration.
Today’s challenge is to play with word count. I don’t consider word count too attractive a toy to play with, but out of sense of duty, I shall oblige. I’ve been producing posts of unchristian length lately, so in contrast, here’s a post of a christian length.
A short short story, I mean. Six-word-story, precisely. I did this format before in a characteristically cheerful and optimistic post (I mean the opposite of what I say), but once you and your blog reach a certain age, you can’t probably reasonably expect to do something new.
She prayed for help. Unheard, unheeded.
And that’s all of my writing assignment for today!
In response to Laura Feasey’s Literary Lion challenge: Drink Me.
Long time nae see.
He stroked the bottle.
Ye cannae face life when yer dry.
Sammy took a gulp.
Ah’ll miss ye when I’m deid.
He would take Ben for a walk. He loved Ben. He always wanted a dog. But father didn’t let him. No animals in the house, he said. He didn’t love father so much. Mother was way better. She allowed him Ben. As long as it’s just THIS, father said. But he was angry.
Now he would walk Ben. He put him on the leash. Ben didn’t like the leash. He chewed it. But he would learn. He would teach him tricks too. He carried him down the stairs. Ben was still small. But he would grow. He would be as big as him.
He met Mrs Nowak at the stairs. She was good. She would take him to her kitchen and give him tea. But only when father was angry. Now Mrs Nowak smiled at him. He said hello. She said, Oh, hello, Ben, now, that’s a cute guinea pig, but why do you have him on the leash?
The neighbour’s kid was a queer fish, she thought. They must be abusing him, a bad family, fighting on the regular. A person can’t have a moment of peace, and she was fed up. She was making her mind to call child welfare. This used to be such a quiet house, it would be nice to have it back.
In response to Laura Feasey’s Literary Lion challenge: Pool.
The old man didn’t like doing that. But someone had to. It had been raining and the old corroded tub in the backyard was half-filled with dirty water. That would do. It was about time too. They were already starting to crawl, squealing like rats as they were stumbling and falling on their faces. Silly little things. He picked the nearest one and carried it to the tub. It shrank to half its size when immersed. Just like a wet rat. Two more to go. He really hoped that the cat wouldn’t have any more this season. One was enough.
In response to Laura Feasey’s Literary Lion challenge: Star.
She * collapsed * and * turned * into * stardust.