Very Short Story Picture is a Twitter writing prompt that offers a picture a week for people to write a story about (I should mention that I am part of the team that runs it). Most of the stories I write for this prompt come out as one would expect from a writing exercise, a solid meh. However, I am fond of a few of them, and some got a lot of Twitter attention. I decided to place those few here, where I can reread them as often as I’d like and maybe entertain a different audience.
He said, “wait,” while he went to find what was stealing the grain. I stood with my small red umbrella and stickered backpack and watched him vanish. I was 10.
I come every Thursday and wait like he asked, silently daring the grain thief to come for me.
10/6/22
Photo by Victoria_rt /Pixabay
The last time I saw you I bottled up the stars of memory and placed them on my shelf. They smoldered in the dark, hidden, too hot to keep in glass for long. Heartache makes me wait. When I let them explode from the jar, a galaxy of us swirls into the night. I watch us go.
6/30/22
The ancient projector plays the movie of me: the real, the wished, the fake. Visions dance in the dark room. I play with the light, trying to grasp the images. Who am I? But all I do is disturb the smoke as the light weaves and slips through my fingers.
4/26/22
Photo by Reflex_Production on Pixabay
Every wilted rose he touched smoked. Curling sulfur weaving upward like an offering of sighed prayers.
3/10/22
Dear Whoever-you-are,
Last night was weird, and so were the four nights before that. I’m sure you’re lovely, but kidnapping a stranger into your dreams suggests that you need therapy. Please stop.
Enclosed is a number for a therapist.
1/28/22
Nobody knew where the rift would go, but we had to leave Earth. Several went through, the bravest of souls. We’re safe, waiting for the others. It’s been years. I stare at our sun through the vortex and hope I’m looking back in time.
They’re still coming.
We aren’t alone.
7/23/21
I wrote my new story on porcelain beauty. I loved it, even the bad bits that I couldn’t smudge. You did not and used careless words to shatter it. I waited until you left before grabbing golden glue. I wrote my new story on porcelain beauty and wove gold in the cracks.
3/16/21
Photo by @CjdHerts
I went searching for my childhood under the ashes of forced adulthood. I sifted through the rumble. Surely the little girl in me was torn to shreds, and nothing remained. I lifted a box and there it sat, expectant. Dirty, ashy, and…soft.
1/11/21
Making the decision was the hard part; packing and leaving, not so much. Wisdom and defiance filled my bag. I should’ve asked, but I knew they’d argue, so I packed up Earth without them knowing, then grabbed Jupiter to protect and Mars to inspire. I saved the humans, but don’t tell them.
1/30/21
Photo by Jordan Singh @jordansingh838
We’d lost our way in the cold, in the fog. It didn’t matter. It never does when I’m with you. The lurking colors of grey and black hide nothing from me when you hold my hand. My heart flings color-blurring images till all I can see is your love for me.
11/21/20
I’ll never forget that day. The despair in my heart. The shame on my shoulders. I was lost in the woods. Timid and scared of things I didn’t know, I walked into the church. He removed my shame with a smile. He put joy in me with a touch. Love clings to me now.
11/21/20
I stopped him from touching the gold glasses by resting my hand on his arm.
“No need for that,” I murmured.
“I thought you told the truth.”
“I did.”
He picked up the binoculars and looked at me through them.
I heard him catch his breath and hated that he could now see me.
8/14/20
Photo by @CinnamonRoad
“Excuse me, can I leave?” I asked the man at the information desk.
“There’s the door.”
“Is there another?”
He looked down his nose at me and tapped his pen. “You don’t get to change your mind. You have to go through that door.”
But I could smell emptiness and despair through that door, not my promise. “Can I stay?”
7/10/20
Photo by Joe Green http://unsplash.com/@jg
Written In Ink 