Day 271 Writing Short Stories

Fog

The fog rolled on the streets, hiding away all the evil deeds, all the blood and gore. Necropolis loved when blood ran on the streets. It loved when the screams of the dying woke up the city. It loved when people were afraid to step out. It loved when the dead bodies floated in the canals.

Death kept it alive. It made Necropolis stronger. It made it feared. It kept whispers on the lips of the dying and the living. The stories they told made Necropolis powerful. God amongst the cities. It was built on the bodies of the dead.

But now, there in the fog, a monster hunted. It had a different sort of prey in mind. It hunted the wicked. It hunted those who preyed on the innocent. It robbed away those whispers, those stories. The monster had to be killed.

Boy Band

A boy band is forced to break up because of a lawsuit. I skipped this one.

Door To Another Dimension

The downstairs cellar was always cold, even when the summer was at its hottest. It felt as if the room didn’t belong to the house. It felt like there were always whispers of other lives lingering there. She had always been scared to fetch the food from the freezer or do the laundry her mother sent her to do. She hated the cellar and its whispers, but so did her mother. So did her father. They joked that there was a portal to another dimension. They joked that someone had died there.

She didn’t like those jokes. She couldn’t brush it off as easily as her mother and father did. They believed in sensible things. They believed in the laws of physics. She didn’t. She knew those laws weren’t as fixed as her parents thought.

She shuddered as she tiptoed her way down the stairs into the basement. To be sure, she let out a prayer, asking for a safe passage to get her mother her frozen peas.

Again, the whispers welcomed her in; they haunted the cellar. They spoke of everyday things, of the mundane. She had never understood that. The scary should talk about the occult, the veil between the living and the dead, not about frozen dinners, laundry, lost socks, or breakups with boyfriends.

She was about to shout at them to stop, to go away, but she didn’t. Something glowed between the wooden boards between the freezer and the storage shelf. Something pulled her to it. She stepped closer and touched the light coming between the boards.

It was a door, and as she touched it, it pulled open.

On the other side, there was a girl no more than fourteen. She looked a lot like her, but somehow different. Instead of long hair, she had a bob. Instead of dark clothes, she was dressed colorfully. She looked happy and airheaded. The girl stared back at her as if she had seen a ghost. A version of herself that was utter terror to her.

She stepped back, and the door closed between them. She glanced down at her corduroy overalls and the dark polo she was wearing. She brushed her long black hair and shuddered. There was a version of her there that was so alien.

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

Even when I struggled with the words, and it took a lot longer to write than I would like, I had fun trying to compose the prompts. I wanted to get them right, and I think the ideas are there. Of course, the way the stories were told could use polishing. They always do. I’m still happy.

I wrote a chapter of my book today, too, slowly and distracted, but I wrote nevertheless. My thoughts keep wandering all over the place, but that’s okay. I’m having one of those days. It is funny how writing these prompts has made me more aware of my moods and how the day before affects my ability to concentrate and create. I’m more aware of what is good for me and what isn’t. However, I haven’t yet moderated those events. I think I’m okay if I don’t moderate them. I believe life needs to happen, and we can’t monitor and tinker with every aspect of our lives. Control kills creativity and joy. So I let the chaos reign, and I accept it. Though not easily.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a chaotic day!