Day 265 Writing Short Stories

Hurry

The white snow spread around them, glowing in the right morning sun. She was happy she had her sunglasses on, or she would be blinded, not knowing where to go or where it was safe to step. The snow-peaked mountain surged up, piercing the sky and the gossamer clouds.

She was the last of the expedition, tied to them by a rope. The ascent had been hard, and she was ready to take her midday rest, but the others had insisted that they should head up a few more steps. She had agreed. She was the junior, and she had no clout to ask otherwise. And she wasn’t willing to pull the fatigue and danger card out. Not yet. This was normal wear from the ascent.

When they finally stopped, and she could tear into her rations, she was glad that others were too concentrated on their own eating to notice her raccoon-like behavior. She listened to the Sherpas speak in their native language. She caught a word here and there, but not the entire conversation. They did this all year long. They barely looked exhausted from the effort.

But she had caught one word, and that was Yeti. There had been reports of sightings from reliable sources. It would be fantastic if they could find traces of the Yeti. That was why they were here. She, like the others, was part of the paranormal investigation team. She had trained for years to become part of the team. It was physically and intellectually demanding. Only the best and brightest were chosen, and she sometimes thought they had made a mistake with her, even though she was proud of all the work she had put in to get the position.

She signaled her supervisor, and the supervisor nodded, agreeing that she had heard the magic word, too.

—

I forgot to add or explain how the word “hurry” relates to the story. I initially thought it had something to do with the snow. The story didn’t take it there. I could have added a flimsy sentence at the end about hurrying, but I didn’t want to. Not today.

Poem

The thick tome of biology looked scary. She was pretty sure that she would pass the exam. She was pretty sure that the lecturer had picked the book just to fuck with them. The man looked like Napoleon of biology, and what she had heard of was that he had the temper to show for it.

Hauling the book home was a forewarning of all the reading that was to follow.

She sat on her dormitory room bed and flipped the book open. The small print on the columns detailed the cell structure. She could lose herself in any minutiae on the page, yet have no clue what she should memorize down to every detail.

She tilted onto her back and lifted the book into the air, watching the letters swirl. A note slipped out of the book on her chest. She put the book away and took the note. It was a handwritten poem about quantum mechanics.

She sighed. Only at university, she thought.

She recited the poem aloud—the bed she lay on spun. The light flickered over her. Then there was a flash, and nothing. She sat up, looking at the poem that was now just a smudge on the page. She glanced at the biology book and felt as if its content had warped inside her head. She could read it from memory.

Memory Loss

A man loses his memory in an accident, and years later, a girl, who says he is her father, finds him. I skipped this one.

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

Yesterday, writing came easily. Today, it hides from me. Every word feels strange and wrong. Every thought is wrong. It is as if stories are hiding from me. Today is not a day I write my greatest story. Today is a day better spent reading.

I wish you a day full of stories. Thank you for reading ❤