Day 200 Writing Short Stories

Song

The lyrics, the words, the tune, it was all what she felt. There, written down by someone, sung by him. She watched him in awe as the words floated around her. The others faded away around her, and there was only the feeling inside her that made sense of everything. She stepped towards the float where he stood. It was as if the words were guiding her there. He offered her his hand and drew her up. His eyes locked with hers, and she was sure her heart would give in. She stood there, letting him hold on to her, singing only for her.

She felt as her heart burst into a million little pieces, and when the song was done and he let go, she fell down. There was no strength. Her skin had turned all wrinkly and spotted. Her bones were hollow and thin. There was nothing left of her. She looked up to see him. He still glowed like the savior she had thought him to be. But there was no fire inside her. All there was was this dull ache of death.

Underworld

If you have ever lost a loved one, you know the pain of death. You know the heavy heart of sorrow, and you know what you give up just to see them one more time, just to know they are okay.

Death had taken away everything that mattered in his life. He had never known that she was what made him fit into the world. She was the piece inside him that made his heart beat. They said to let go. They said that time would heal him. Time didn’t. There was just the gaping hole inside him that gnawed at him piece by piece. He had been ready to give in, but then there it had been, the truth about death and life. And here he was, watching the gates of the Underworld.

He knew that the darkness behind the gates could and would consume him, but there was no turning away. She was the sparkle in the nothingness, giving meaning to all. He owed her that much. She owed to bring her back. He didn’t care about the warnings. He didn’t care what they spoke of those who had returned—all he wanted was her, and her alone. Death had no right to take her.

He stepped in, consumed by the darkness, losing all his senses. There was just the quiet echo inside him, and the ever-growing fear.

Flight Agent

The snowstorm was blowing outside, and inside the small airport, there was chaos. There were angry people in line behind the one who was yelling at him at the top of their lungs. He had already given out all the rooms at the local hotel. He had already arranged all the free cars for those who had been fast. He had done it all for hours, and all he now could do was take in the rage and apologize again and again. He understood their anger. He would be angry too.

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

Sometimes words guide you into a mood, and there is no other option than to follow. This was one of those days when I let words guide me into feeling awe, sorrow, anger, and the despair and hope behind all of them. Being human is an odd experience. We have these feelings inside us, guiding us, giving us meaning, yet they are the ones that hurt us the most. We can all know the deep cut inside us when we have been rejected or the hunger to be accepted. All twisted into our emotions and the actions of others. And all we can do is accept them, name them, and understand them.

I might have figured out what to do with my book. But it means major changes to the story and the scenes I have already written. I already started working on it, but didn’t get to the part where I have to alter everything.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a day full of clarity!