Day 252 Writing Short Stories

Courage

If I had enough courage, I would say to myself not to be so silly. I would say to myself not to care about so many things. I would tell myself to be kinder. I would give myself the same courtesy I give to others. But I’m not courageous enough, so I let the whispers consume me.

Sleepless Night

She tossed on her bed, listening to the sounds of the city. It was already past two a.m., and the night seemed to be as awake as she was. The heat was making it impossible to fall asleep. The city was hot, moist, and unbearable.

Everything felt feverish. Her skin was raw from the sweat and the heat, and her mind was scattered. She watched the shadows move in her room. They had lives of their own. She pictured people dancing and fucking the hot night away. She pictured them not caring about the heat or the shadows crawling on their walls. She could taste all the sweet drinks poured tonight in bars that should soon close, but wouldn’t. People didn’t want to go home. They wanted to fuck and forget that the world existed.

She wanted that too, and not to toss on her bed and soak her sheets with her sweat.

She turned onto her back. The house moaned around her. It complained as much as she did. It creaked and scratched itself. It trembled from the trolleys passing by. She wanted to soothe it back to sleep and soothe herself back to sleep.

The shadows on her ceiling stretched down from the wall under her bed. The floor moaned. And she listened to heavy breathing under her bed. She closed her eyes and knew that bogeymen didn’t exist. It was her imagination. But the city felt different. The night felt different. It held true no longer, as if there could be a bogeyman under her breath.

She froze to listen to the sound. It was heavy. It was hungry.

Shivers ran down her back, and her skin went clammy.

She knew the laws said that if she didn’t move, if she stayed under the covers, it couldn’t get her. She lay there stagnant, waiting for the breathing to stop. She watched the shadows on her ceiling morph and twist. They turned from unshaped blobs into creatures with sharp teeth and talons. They wanted her to get up, to move. She clutched her sheet and stared at them, not wanting to blink.

They kept tempting her. The breathing got heavier. More present. A whisper. A command for her to step out of her bed. She didn’t. Only when the sun rolled over the house, the whispers were gone, and she could move again.

Third Marriage

Mr. Wilson is about to be married for the third time. I skipped this one.

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

I had to hurry to work today. So I didn’t have enough time to write the prompts the way I wanted. Though I had fun writing the second one. I would have loved more time to polish and flesh it out, but I’m happy with how it turned out. In the prompt description, there was a fire under the bed, but I skipped that detail. It didn’t fit into the narrative I wanted to write. I would have had to have made it about brimstones and demons. I didn’t like that.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a courageous day!