Day 208 Writing Short Stories

City

Once there had been hope. There had been the possibility of building something beautiful and everlasting. Yet, now the city was in ruins, torn down by the battles lost and won. She had taken shelter from the fallen residential building, and she was watching as the private army patrolled through the streets, looting all they could get their hands on, which wasn’t much. The city had been picked clean, and now there was only the question of territory.

She was there to reckon the situation. Up in the mountains, she and a few others had taken residence, hidden in the cave systems. She remembered the day she had lived in one of these buildings. She remembered a day when she just walked to the local cafe and enjoyed a quiet morning. There was nothing left of that life. There was only the grime, the constant ache in her body, and the fear that this was how it was for now and from here to eternity.

It had all collapsed so fast. It had taken one thing to ignite the civil war. One entitled man to think that he could have the city. In a way, he did.

The patrol moved past the spot she was hiding. She squeezed her rifle hard, ready to put it to use. She didn’t have to. They were too arrogant to think that any resistance was left. Those who remained in the fallen city didn’t cause alarm. They accepted the misery and the rations and worked to build the city as was wanted, with no pay other than the food afforded to them.

She wished that she had taken the bombs with her. A few strategic placements, and all this could be ended. She stood up, pushing her back against the wall. She had seen enough. She would report back.

Necklace

She opened the box her grandma had left her. She took the necklace out. The one that she had seen her grandma wear every day. It had sparkled like real rubies and emeralds when she had been a child. Now the stones looked like glass. Still, her grandmother had cherished the thing. The story of how she had gotten the necklace had changed every time she told it. Once it was from her grandfather. Then it was a gift from a sultan. Then it was a buried treasure she had found as a child. Crow had brought it. It was an enchanted heirloom gifted from generation to generation.

She smoothed her fingers over the stones. They felt hot against her skin, making her skin prickle.

This was all that was left of her now. Everything else had been sold or donated away. Her father had graciously let her keep the necklace while eradicating every other memory of his mother. It was as if he didn’t want to remember. He had always put a stop to his mother’s tales. He had vowed to her not to believe a single thing her grandma said. She had promised her father. Of course, she had.

Yet, now she missed all the wild tales her grandma had told. She couldn’t remember even half of them. There had been so many. Her grandma’s world was full of magicians, fairies, ghosts, monsters, princesses, and all that could be imagined; how she longed to live in that world.

She slipped the necklace back into the box. She would always cherish it and her grandma.

Absolution

He had been a bad man. He had done horrible things to others, and he had paid for them. He had accepted his punishment, and the only thing he now wanted was to redeem his sins and beg for absolution.

—

I don’t know where to take this one, so I leave it now as I have to leave to work.

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

I’m happy that I cut my morning stretching short and decided to allocate more time to writing before work. I feel more at peace when I write, yet too often I prioritize my exercise over my writing. It is so much easier to obtain, to see the progress, and feel altogether. Writing doesn’t give back the same feedback, so the motivation has to come from within, and there are days it is hard to motivate oneself. Luckily, today it wasn’t.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a prolific day!