Day 362 Writing Short Stories

Empire

The slow, nimble dance of the fingers against the thin paper. The scribed text and then the messengers shooting out of the building made the empire. The returned papers told the tale of the state of things, what was happening in the little villages and along the borders of the great empire.

It was like magic. It kept everything together. Stronger than an army. One word could allocate resources or take them away.

And she was in charge of it all, how the papers flowed in and out of the room. This was her stage, her victory over chaos.

The papers spoke of trouble. The drought was making it hard to grow the crops. Restlessness was rising everywhere. She composed a report from the papers and sent it to the emperor. The trend was clear. It was something she had read in the history books. The empire was coming to its end if a solution was not found.

She smoothed her hand over the paper, thinking how many times she could compose her reports until everything was gone.

King

The youngest son had to go. Thus far, the stupid creature had been able to evade all his attempts to kill him. The poison went to their sister. No one really cared about that. It was nice and quiet now at the castle. Then the assassin had killed his brother’s friend on the family ride through the forest. That had stung a little, even though he had liked the friend. All this could have been avoided if their father had honored the heritage order and given the kingdom to the oldest.

He glowered as the queen came in, sobbing. Still mourning her husband and daughter. He tied his hands around her mother and said, “There, there.”

He almost pushed her away as the new king, his kid brother, marched in with his entourage. The bastard gave him courtesies as if he were the king, mocking his fall. The men following him and the new king had been going over the kingdom’s situation. They spoke of war and rebellions.

He kept her mother close and guided her to their family table. He winced as his brother sat at the head of the table, clutching his hands into fists. They took their seats, and the dinner went as it was meant to go. He had dared not try poison again. All the protocols made it difficult. He followed his brother under his brow, and hated how the kinghood suited him.

There was only one choice he could take. He would have to find that war, find that rebellion, and fuel it against his brother. Then he would inherit the seat, as he was born to do. The men on the table would fall. They should fall. They should have stand with him and contested the will of his father. They earned everything what was to come.

He would be the king even if it killed him.

Punster

I tried to write this one. But I can’t. I find that I lack the understanding of how to write puns. I even looked it up, but the instructions felt wrong. I get them when they come organically when talking to someone, but I found it difficult to write them into a story that centers on them.

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

A few days left, and then the prompts end. It feels so odd. It feels like I still have so much to learn. I have gotten too comfortable lately and not pushed myself out of my comfort zone. I’m reading the book Mad Sister of Esi by Tashan Metha, and her writing is so alive, so thoughtful. The words are lyrical and perfect. Also, I am reading Double Whammy by Carl Hiaasen, and his writing is so vivid. There’s no over-explaining. The characters’ actions and gestures are perfect, giving them their essence. I want that too. I want to make the characters alive and my prose lyrical. Yet, I don’t seem to do that with the prompts. Maybe, if and when I continue, I should raffle off the style, perspective, tone, and focus. Maybe then I wouldn’t have an excuse to fall to what I know. Hmm… there’s a thought.

Thank you for reading ❤ Have a punster day!

P.S. Leave me a pun!