Day 335 Writing Short Stories

Wave

If I said everything was made of waves, that you and I are connected, would you believe me? Would you believe me if I said that even here, far away, I can touch you and your life, and you can mine?

Now, if you close your eyes, if you really concentrate, you can feel the wave loop back to you, twisted in time and gravity, but still reach you. Sometimes instantly. Sometimes with a delay.

Now, if you can believe that, then you know, you know, that person walking past you on the street, that man sleeping in the shadow of the doorway is as much connected to you as I am. So is that bird in the sky, swooping over you and letting out its spring songs.

And yet, yet, we feel so alien to each other. So removed from each other. But we are the same. My waves and yours entangled until the ripples fade away.

Pet Peeve

Write about a pet peeve. I cannot think of anything. If I have peeves now, they are towards myself and in the areas I need to grow. But even those elude me now. All I can think of is the swooping birds and the woman in her black coat walking past my house.

Botanist

The garden bloomed around him. He watered the soil with his special cocktail of nutrients, nourishing the exotic plants that he had cultivated for healing and eating. People all over the kingdom and the little village they lived in came to marvel at his gardens and buy his plants and remedies.

He glanced over him, hearing the door open behind him. He saw his father and his long shadow stretch between the garden paths. His frown was as deep as it always was. His father had a different kind of reputation than he did. His father was the king’s warrior, and he had wanted the same fate for his son, too.

His father took long strides towards him, the frown growing deeper on his forehead and around his eyes.

He embraced hearing his father’s speech on lost potential and women’s work, but it never came.

“I’m sorry,” his father coughed. His voice was all raspy and weak. Something it never was.

He stood there, stunned, unable to move or say anything.

His father cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“I accept,” he mumbled, not sure what to make of the words.

“The king is here,” his father proclaimed. “He has come to see your garden.”

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

Last night I dreamed of an alien invasion. I was so disappointed to wake up from my perfect dream. It was so fantastic that I half-wished it to be true. But I guess the monsters from outer space will not come today, despite the fact that it might be the best thing for our world now. It’s strange when presidents make speeches that the only way humanity will come together is if there is an outside threat. And I fear we are in a desperate need of that outside threat, or we’ll do something really silly and fuck up the planet for our animals, too.

So I keep my fingers crossed and hope for that invasion.

I finished editing my book, yet again. Though I think I will have another poke around. I got more betareader feedback a few days ago, and there was a valid point I need to check out and fix. It was about the relationship between the two brothers in my book. I will retouch that and fix any over-explaining, then let it go and hope the book is good enough to be published.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a day full of aliens!

And again, if you find one, please let me know. Good news is always appreciated.