Very Short Stories (a work in progress).

The following are tweets as a part of the #VSS365 hashtag game on Twitter. The goal is to construct a very short story within the confines of 280 characters based on a word prompt. The prompts are in bold. I’ll be adding more periodically; hope you enjoy!

I climbed into bed with my husband yesterday. Sometime in the night, I rolled over to see a stranger’s face.

I armed myself. Gun aimed, he slipped back into focus. Still asleep; none the wiser.

It happens often now. I’m afraid for the day I don’t remember him at all.

Jacob dons his gear, his modern-day war regalia. Tar black streaks line his face. Got a helmet, pads, the number on his back, and string of waif-like girls in his wake.

Daddy yells, “That’s my boy!” from the stands.

The woman inside dies a little bit more.

Little mercy in revenge, the children died first. Strawberry blonde curls trailed across the dirt, the milky white skin of little boys and girls buried in blood. A perfect image of creation & destruction, of God & Lucifer.

More guilt to add unreconciled to his mantle.

Mother must be noticed; only exists when she’s seen. A ghost, she disappears if no one’s around. If people aren’t looking at her, talking about her, adoring her, her demure form vanishes into darkness.

She’s afraid of the dark.

So I live darkness, bathed in her shadow.

Cruelty spit through her snarled lips. Everyday, his sentiments restrained in his throat, strangled. Each opinion kissed the back of his teeth, like a swell of vomit, only to be swallowed again. There was no victory, no escape.

Her version of love is the kind he deserves.

My woman loves like a machine gun. Rapid fire hips shoot sparks into my soul, blasting holes in my defenses. A volcano pouring passion too hot to touch, her movements sear the landscape. She destroys, carving the way for new, kinetic life. Too bad she hates metaphors.

My father ebbed & flowed beneath delirium; at the moment, he was himself. “I was wrong, son.”

“It’s fi–”

His vibrant laugh contrasted vapid skin. “Just like your mom, trying to absolve me. You don’t owe me that. Now get your husband in here; I owe you boys my blessing.”

Check back for more! Is there one you want to read more about? Let me know in the comments; I may just develop your favorite into a full short.

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