Day 274 Writing Short Stories

Letter

He had gotten the letter yesterday. He had waited for the perfect moment to open it. Now, as the whole house was sleeping, and the snow was slowly drifting down, he opened the letter his brother had sent. He had wanted to steal a moment of peaceful family life before the news would tear their world apart.

His brother wrote at length. He begged him to come and risk his life through the torn land. Land that had been turned into a mockery of society, where the most powerful had their own armies and their own laws.

There was no longer electricity, no schools, no newspapers. Just lonely men and women traveling through the country, if it could be called that, and delivering letters and news of the rest of the land.

He had been lucky to bring his family here, away from the madness, to a piece of land where things still grew. But his brother hadn’t been as lucky. He had stayed behind in the city, thinking civility would prevail. It hadn’t. There was just more chaos and unnecessary deaths.

He had known what it meant when the empires collapsed; his brother hadn’t. But he was still his brother, and blood was blood. He would help and leave his family behind.

Wannabes

Twenty-something wannabes are discussing things of importance in a crowded train, disturbing other passengers. I skipped this one.

Nightmares

They always came at night. They always took half the city down when they came. She saw them hunting and killing. They were monstrous. They came from the sky. She had had the same nightmare for years now. It came and went, but it always happened the same way. She was on the street when the incident happened. When the fireball came and crashed into the city. People were shocked, but that shock turned to real terror when the creatures emerged from the fire and began hunting people.

She just stood there, immobile, her books clutched against her chest as the creatures stormed past her and ripped a man apart. She could do nothing but witness the devastation. There was no sound in the dream, just muted horror.

She had had that dream last night. It had felt more pressing, more real. It had plagued her thoughts all day, and now, as she was making her way home after work, having stopped at the bookstore, she felt jittery. She kept glancing over her shoulder, waiting for her dream to happen.

Only now did she notice that she was wearing the same cardigan she had in the dream. The same trousers. The same boots. And she was clutching a blue book as if she had done in the dream so many times.

She stepped aside as a man rushed past him. He was on his phone, shouting something she couldn’t hear. It was as if the city had gotten dead quiet all of a sudden, like a prey.

She lifted her gaze to the sky. The clouds glowed fiery orange. And then the city exploded. The man she had seen talking on his phone had stopped and stood there in the middle of the street, watching towards downtown. He stood there, frozen.

She wanted to scream at him to flee, that he would soon die, but there was no voice in her. There was just the same silence as in the dream. And then they came. The man was cut in half. So were others around her. She pushed herself against the shop wall, unable to do anything other than witness people dying. It was as if she were invisible to the monsters.

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

It feels so good to be able to write my book and know that the plot is finally there, and I know where it is going. I have been more content and confident in myself, not to mention more satisfied with my writing, which is going so well. Oh, I know there will be times when it doesn’t. That’s part of the process, but today I got to enjoy the flow.

It felt good to write the prompts, too. I could concentrate on them and feel the flow at times.

Now I have to hurry to work.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a day of flow!