Day 230 Writing Short Stories

Precious

The green moss agate stone shone on the white gold ring. She watched it sparkle in her hand. It had been the most precious thing she had owned all her life. It was her dead mother’s ring. She closed her eyes and remembered all the stories her mother had told her about the world of the fantastic and the darkness. She had thought of them as stories. They had sounded so silly. The trolls under the bridge. The werewolves in the shadows. The fallen princesses at the grocery stores. All stories.

Now the light cut the reality in half, showing her what her mother had seen. The path in front of her through the stone showed a castle lane, but when she tilted her head back to the shadows, she saw just the normal city steps.

The man lingering at the corner store was just a man in reality, but when she looked at him through her stone, he was a troll. He gave her a wink.

She put the ring back on her finger and approached the man. He could barely keep himself propped up. He swayed, and the closer she got, the more he smelled of booze and days forth of dirt and grease.

She cleared her throat and asked, “How can I help?” That was what her mother had done in the stories. She had always helped the fantastics and the dark, never telling them how their nature should be, just guiding them back into themselves.

The troll groaned for her to piss off.

She lifted the ring between them, letting him see her through the stone. The man stopped swaying, and his eyes drew into focus.

“Forgive me, your sacredness, I met it with no disregard.”

Book Fort

He watched triumphantly the fort he had built, standing on his grandfather’s desk. The books lined up to form a magnificent structure that would keep the enemy at bay. The green soldiers attacked the fort on every side. Their army was small and feeble against his fortified walls.

He let out a roar, commanding his own army to attack the invaders.

They did. Fighting bravely against the enemy.

He was about to command them to seize the green soldiers, but then the door to his grandfather’s study blew open.

His grandfather stood there. His face was twisted into an O-shape, and there were definitely angry lines on his forehead.

He heard his grandfather gush out something about first editions and collections.

He just stood there on the desk, waiting for the yelling to start and the command to disband the magnificent fort of true ingeniousness. But it never came. The yell turned into a roar of laughter.

His grandfather joined him on the desk, and together they defeated the enemies, inventing new battles one after another.

King’s Mistress

A nobleman falls in love with Louis XIV’s mistress. I skipped this one.

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

I learned a new word today. It is might. Might is there to replace should. Should is a default mode, a thought without consideration; might is a possibility you let yourself play with. A world full of mights sounds better than a world full of shoulds.

I love how the first story turned out. As I wrote the first sentence, I didn’t know where it would lead, but then the stories entered the picture, and it all came about kindness and the fantastical. That was the reason I fell in love with stories as a child. I loved how they used to have morals, how goodness always triumphed. I loved that world. It feels so far away now. Kindness doesn’t always win. People suffer when they shouldn’t. Yet, I don’t think we should throw hope away, nor kindness. They are all we have.

Thank you for reading ❤ I hope your day is kind to you!