Day 171 Writing Short Things

Grave

The soft morning light and the frozen grass made the place feel magical. It was the kind of magic where everything stayed still and the same, and what was once lost still was there forever. She could feel her stomach tighten. There it was, the stone, the flowers, and the name written in gold. The soft morning light cast its light on the grave.

The place reminded her that kindness was not enough. That even with love, things were not destined to end like a fairytale. But in the end, there was nothing but love and kindness left to value, even when it sometimes brought only tears.

She knelt on her father’s grave, picking up the dead flowers and leaving fresh new ones there.

A Small, Dense Forest

He stood behind his friend, watching the dark forest rise above their heads. He didn’t want to go in, but he didn’t want to be called a pansy or any other name. His friend was certain that the legends of the forest were rubbish and that it would be a laugh to enter the forest at midnight. He didn’t find it funny. He could feel the darkness stretching thick and deep into the forest. It had a sinister feel, and he was sure he would die tonight.

He glanced back at where their bikes were. He so wished he were brave enough to get to his bike and leave his friend behind, but he was a pansy even when it came to that.

His friend stepped in, brushing past the first trees, shining his flashlight’s beam on the ground. He followed in and jumped from every creek, every crack, and every hoot. They felt so substantial.

When they had walked enough, he said, “There’s nothing. Let’s go home.”

“No, now we wait.” His friend turned his flashlight off, showing him that he should do the same.

His hands shook as he shut the beam, letting the darkness engulf them.

There were the distant hoots again, making him shiver.

They stood there waiting, but nothing happened. He was sure someone was watching them, but whenever he looked over his shoulder, there was nothing there but the trees.

“Let’s go then,” his friend sighed.

“What did you expect?” His voice squeaked.

They walked back the way they had come. He could already see their bikes. He wanted nothing more than to run out of the forest, but his friend was slowly making his way out. As he stepped out, something brushed his shoulder. He spun around, and there was a ghoulish creature, but when he blinked, it was gone. There was only a hollow laugh.

He rushed to his bike and rode home as fast as he could.

Octopus

Octopuses are divine creatures. I love them to bits, but not with my teeth, but with my mind. I don’t have time to write this one, so I leave you to ponder what the plural of octopus is.

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

My wrist is broken. I just booked an appointment with my doctor. Let’s see, do I need surgery? Otherwise, I’m relatively fine. Almost hopeful about the possible free time I will have soon in my hands.

But I have to admit, that my head wasn’t in the prompts. I found it hard to focus on the stories or the words.

Thank you for reading ❤ I wish you a wonderful day.