Day 320 Writing Short Stories

Soul

Her father’s ghost had been following her around all day as she moved around the house, arranging his things into boxes. It was like he was still there, to be touched, to be interacted with. But she knew he was a hologram, a presentation of time that didn’t exist as advertised. No soul hung around her. He was a product of the physical universe, where everything was and would be at once.

Yet, while her mind processed his presence as something physical, her heart ached. There was a need for souls, ghosts. For the presence to contain the past as material.

The boxes were piled in the hallway. The light shifted as she pulled down the translucent curtains. The little cones folded neatly against the fabric and then disappeared into cardboard boxes. That was matter for you. She doubted it was real. The solidity of things was an illusion.

The ghost gradually faded away. She was the only one to remember him. Once the new people settled into the house, they would fill it with new memories, new presentation of time and space, and she and he would be just a background noise.

When the last box was taken away, the door locked behind her, the soul was gone. The house was just an empty shell.

Two People Walk Along A Long, Empty Road

Two people walk along a long, empty road. They have been walking for a long time. Time they don’t have, but time that has to be taken. Both of them have been silent for hours, unable to speak of the horrors they have witnessed, knowing that once the road comes to an end, they have to remember.

The land they come from is now gone. The men with dragons came. They took it. They burned it. They murdered those who didn’t obey and slaved those who did.

The two people are left free, carrying the message for the kingdoms beyond their borders. They trust no one. Trust is a luxury they abandoned. Trust is to be earned. They have only it with each other, but with strains and strings attached.

They have not spoken in ages. They listen to the dull ache in their feet, feeling every pebble in their soles. The road turns from dust to stones, then to bigger blocks. Instead of fields, the buildings dominate the landscape. They have arrived, and the message is to be heard.

Their words are not to be believed. Their stories are twisted. No one wants to hear the truth about the dragons and the men that possess them. They don’t want to know about the killed children. They seek justification, fantasies, clinging to them as shields.

It would be too easy to forget, to let those fantasies fill them like the food in their bellies, but they still see the eyes of their loved ones, and once you see that, there is no forgetting. They speak for their truth while no one wants to listen, until the fields beyond the walls burn and the dragons fly in the sky.

Sweethearts

High school sweethearts grow apart. I skipped this one.

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

I sit here on my computer, unsure where my thoughts are. It is like there is this thing inside me that tries to shape me anew. The old thoughts claw at me, sinking their talons into my flesh, and I feel the ache. I know not what to do with those thoughts. I know that everything is about to change, and yet nothing changes, as it is with every transformation. I let it sit; if I fight it, it just stirs my mind more. I have experienced this before. I know it is natural, a part of learning and growing. All I can do is let it be and see what comes out of it.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a day of learning!