Nothing she could say would assuage their grief; the country they called home had become a corporation, a tyrant, a leviathan. Still she mustered the strength to stand tall and speak, “Fuck him!”
Moira crouched in the underbrush, sword in hand. Daylight and the horrors it brought wouldn’t stop her. If she could reach those church doors, she could end this whole thing.
Cries of the wild echoed around her, and she knew she had no time left. She sprinted towards the church. The doors burst open as she reached them. A host of demons with a thirst for her blood rushed towards her.
Moira lifted the sword over her head and jumped to the side with a laugh, “The end.”
The last thing she saw was the rocket speeding down the path.
My very good writing buddy, Newshound to Novelist, has a weekly prompt pot that she hosts. It’s a lot of fun! All you have to do is write 100-words towards a prompt (usually a single word, but this week was the above quote), and link to the original post she wrote.
“Life,” he mutters.
His eyes reflect the twinkle of the night sky as their barrel of fire crackles.
The sounds of the bridge above drown his ramblings. Still, he continues, “How unlikely our life is in the universe, yet here we are.”
The flames licked the charcoal with feverish intensity.
I thought it would be easier. The tiny bag of dulled emotions – these specks of crystal – teased me, “You need me.”
But I didn’t and felt free as I chucked it into the fire.
Decades of her words.
Unfolding From the Fog (or What I Think About When I Walk My Dog)
Try. Try again.
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J. R. R. Tolkien
Short stories and general observations about the world of writing.
Crochet inspiration and design from Sweden
A collection of stories & poems
Creative crochet designs with a touch of pink!