Sacha wants us to explain, in 52 words, why this room is empty. I don’t think it is. Not quite.
He said he was leaving despite the dreams we shared, the home we had started to build, the family we planned. Didn’t think he could live with my ‘mood swings’. So I unleashed my anger, filling the apartment with fury and hatred and destruction—dreams obliterated. He won’t be leaving after all.
For Sacha Black’s writespiration prompt, a 52 word story continuing from the intro words in bold.
It stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes through the gap between two planks of decking. We’d only been in the new house a week and already it was giving me the willies.
“I don’t know what it is, Jeff, just bring the crowbar, quick.”
The decking was old. The planks lifted easily.
“Oh my God!”
This, in 52 words is a description for Sacha Black of my ideal work place. With requested pics. In between the pics is a 52 word poem, added this minute as an afterthought. Two for the price of one.
I need a chair and a table and a laptop and an armchair for a dog and a window for light and a radiator for when it’s cold.
Birdsong beyond the window is nice and trees bending in the wind and at night a host of stars.
The last things aren’t necessary.
There’s a dog in the chair by the window,
And a cat on the sill in the sun,
There’s a rose on the terrace in full bloom,
And the breeze sighs that summer’s begun.
All I need is enclosed in this still space,
My silence within makes it my place.
For Sacha Black’s flash fiction challenge, 52 words on the theme: the distance between.
Nothing left to say, our hands lie still on the white tablecloth in the candlelight, where once fingers would have entwined, inextricable as tree roots. Now in the silence of no more words, hands lie idle, our fingers leaving a white space between your warmth and mine, the distance between the stars.
A bit of fun for Sacha Black’s 52 word story. This week the 52 words must include:
stack, juice, pigeon, time
It was time to make the pigeon juice and stack the crow nuggets in the back of the van with the stuffed sea gulls. The buffet was due to begin at noon, and I had at least an hour’s drive ahead of me. These themed lunch parties were getting weirder and weirder.
Taking a break to get my breath back after discovering that I accidentally deleted the work I did yesterday on my WIP. It had been a particularly tricky section and it had all gone. I’ve roughed it in from memory but I’ve lost some of the ideas. Oh well, maybe I found a few new ones in the process.
This is for Sacha Black’s new writing challenge: a 52 word story including the phrase ‘the timer started.’
The first evening, she was trembling with fear. He lay on the couch watching her, popping bright-coloured sweet things into his mouth, with his trim beard that didn’t hide his second chin, his dark, expressionless eyes. She had to entertain this spoilt, cruel pasha or he would kill her. The timer started.