Day 239 Writing Short Stories

Bustle

She loved the city. It had been her home for a month now, and there were endless secrets to be found. She loved walking in the streets, where there were always people around her. The bustle made her invisible, letting her observe as people lived their lives. She especially loved that there was no person a like in the city. There were the orcs that behaved so differently here than in the countryside. Then, there were the gnomes, but gnomes were gnomes wherever they were. She liked them. They always had something mad going on.

She didn’t mind that in here, she was no one, and no one knew her. In here, she could be anyone. Now, she was a messenger. The local business owners trusted her with their deliveries, letters, and notes to banks. It kept her busy and fed. It let her explore the city and its ancient buildings and waterfalls.

And she had a sense that the next big adventure was just around the corner, waiting for her.

Funeral

The coffin was laid at the center of the altar. It was customary for mourners to pay their respects to the dead. He waited for the crowd to gather in the church so he could start his ceremony. The mother to whom he had spoken several times on the phone sat in the front row. She was dressed in a blue tracksuit and looked impatiently at the coffin. The only other person who arrived late sat at the back. The man was dressed in a black business suit.

He did his Fatherly duties and blessed the man on his last journey.

Once the man was taken to his grave and buried, he made his way to his mother. They spoke briefly about dying and mourning. She didn’t seem too bothered about her son being dead. He had seen what death did to mothers, and this was not it. Of course, people mourned in their own ways, yet he pecked himself a good judge of character, and the mother was going through what needed to be done and no more.

“Ma’am,” he parted his way to make way for the man.

“Father,” the man greeted him instantly as he came close.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied.

“Thanks, but there is no need. I came to see here that he stays dead,” the man said. His eyes flashed completely black, then returned to normal.

He shook his head as if to shake off the image, but it was still there. So was the man’s smirk.

“Don’t worry, Father, he will not rise from the dead. And if he did, there are ways to make sure he goes back six feet under.”

“I’m not sure I’m following, sir,” he replied.

“It is a rare person who does. Good day, Father.”

The man left him standing there on the grave. He glanced at the coffin, and there was an eerie feeling.

Owls

A student can’t sleep because of Owls. A cop gets a call about a crazy woman throwing books at owls and speaking in Latin.

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

Both of my cats are around me. One is sleeping on the desk, the other one is on my lap. They know the two-week rest is over, and I have to go to work. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel rested yesterday. I just fretted going back to work today, but now, as I woke at 5 a.m. I feel okay. Maybe it is the cats. See you tomorrow.

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