A 170 character story for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales.
Photo by Glamazon at Pixabay.com
So many have gone, so many faces. She could paper a wall with their photos. She places flowers by a single picture frame, leaves it empty. Her memory provides the images.
A 211 character tale for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales prompt. I know she doesn’t look like a Hippy really, but you get the idea.
Photo by Graehawk at Pixabay.com
We’ve all had that feeling of being the odd one out, the sore thumb, and when you can’t change your clothes from what you were wearing when you fell under a bus leaving Woodstock, you take it beyond the grave.
A tale in 250 characters for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales prompt.
Photo by dlife88 at Pixabay.com
There are bars at the windows to stop us flying away, but the sisters are waiting. It’s coming, they say, and when the sky is black with crow wings and the sun and moon are eggs cracked open and eaten, their light devoured, no bars will hold us back.
For Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales. A 250 character story.
The god of the apocalypse bent down, intrigued by the fiery reflection in the still lake water. His beard brushed the mirror with a hiss, and the lake water dolphin-leapt joyfully, quenching the fire in the sky. Nature smiled.
“It’s not your time yet.”
A 276 character story for Kat Myrman’s twittering tales photo prompt.
Photo by Alistair MacRobert via Unsplash.com
Jilly tugged her big brother’s hand. “Why’s there a big wind coming out of Mr Roberts’, Darryl?”
Darryl shrugged. “One of his daft inventions probably.”
“Darryl? Can you see a cat’s face at the window?”
Darryl’s eyes narrowed then widened in fear.
“Darryl, where’s the rest of it?”
280 characters or Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales. I don’t know what got into me with this one, honest, nor why I called him Harvey…
Photo by Fabio Santaniello Bruun at Unsplash.com
Jim heaved himself through the manhole gasping for breath the fumes of toxic gas billowing around him. Heavy hands on his shoulders stopped him. Harvey.
“Back you go. The fire’s not out yet.”
With a grin Harvey slammed the manhole cover back in place and hurried back to Jim’s wife.
A 277 character story for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales
He told her to wait at the end of the hallway. There was nowhere to sit, no music no TV to watch no other candidates to stare at just a row of closed doors. She frowned as a word—Gladiator—jogged a memory. An instant later the doors flew open on a yelling sword-swirling horde.