Day 136 Writing Short Stories

Greed

There are contracts, and then there is the contract. The one that was there before any other. Humans thought they were the ones who came up with the binding laws and rules. But they weren’t. Neither was it Heaven. God relied on love and belief. It was Hell where the first binding words were created. It was for those blinded by greed. In their weak moments, they gave their word ever so easily, but when it was time to collect, they backed away, insisting they hadn’t meant it. But now there was their name written in their own blood, and on the last breath drawn, the Devil came to collect.

And there her name was. She remembered signing it, and she was running out of time. She could feel death lurking around every corner. She could hear her name being whispered. Life had been good. There had been glory and wealth. They revered her even now, when she hadn’t written a book in years. They wrote about her being the literary genius of the time, her work standing the test of time.

Sometimes she lied to herself, thinking that she had done it for her words to touch all those lives as they attested they had touched. She let their changed lives justify her sins. Yet, she had done it for the fame and money. When she had signed her name to the Devil, she had wallowed in pity at being nothing, at seeing others succeed. She had done it out of jealousy and fear. There was nothing noble about her. Her children and string of husbands knew that, too. They knew she existed solely in the words the Devil had given power to enchant and shape reality.

There was that. Her words. She smiled. She rushed to her table and took her typewriter out. She began writing a story, where she cheated the Devil, besting him with his own game of words. She made the Devil release her contract.

“Too bad,” she heard a whisper. “I found the story quite amusing. You were always good with words, even before me.”

The Devil sat on the table next to her, leaning towards her. She could feel his breath on her face.

“But I wrote it, and everything I write will shape reality,” she said. “You cannot touch me,” she added.

The Devil cocked his head towards the bed, and she saw her own body on the floor, blood oozing out of her cracked skull.

The Devil smiled as she screamed in horror. “What a folly it is to be a human.”

Cheated

A musician’s record company has been stealing from them.

Duck

Wants to be an airplane.

The Prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

Argh, not feeling particularly inspired by today’s prompts. When I saw them, I wanted to walk away and do something else. Actually, I did. I scooped my muse with me and headed to the couch, and took a nap. The Hell thing was the only thing I got out of it. I feel a bit lousy about not being able to create a short story from the other prompts. I think I will leave it at this and head into the woods.

Thank you for reading! Have a day full of nature ❤ I hope your muse is working on whatever you want to create.