2017 writing challenge:
Short Stories here.
Micro fictions here.
Published works here.
While I mostly focus on Novel writing, I occasionally dabble into short stories and micro fictions in order to help maintain and improve my writing ability. Below are the few pieces of short fiction pre-2017 that I am quite fond of.
Winter Storm – A sensory prompt written in fifteen minutes in one of my university classes (unedited, and for that I apologise).
Featherweight – A short story about a drunken birthday girl. (Tell me, do you think the narrator is a boy or a girl?).
“For a moment I consider hauling her up to her room, but she looks so content. Calm. Calmer than she’s been in a long time. So I go to the kitchen and fill up a glass of water, pop two aspirins and leave them on the coffee table.”
Happy Birthday – A micro fiction about the sometimes painful repetitious nature of life.
I want to tear at the letters. I hate that date. I hate Fridays. Every remark about luck, or lack of it, grinds my teeth and tears fresh holes in my heart. How do I move on?”
They are always there, in some form or another, floating on air, on that invisible barrier. A shield between us and that constant translucent world of, of what?
Of nothing? Of waves? Of whisps and streaks, churning and puffing their way around and around the world.
Shifting from those soft, dismembered cotton balls to fierce towers of grey and green, illuminating and darkening all at once. Building a brief twilight. A glimpse into an other, an ether, a place that thrums and hums with energy and power and then…
Then they are the calm again. Sailing in on puffs and poofs and fluffy white stains. Like someone has trailed a white paintbrush across a blue canvas. Leaving a trail of pebble waves, that dragons and dinosaurs soar out of, splashing across a blue backdrop only to disappear beneath the waves again.
They are a constant to rely on, a reflection or distraction from the chaos of life. Trailing above like a comforting blanket in winter. A blanket of quiet, of hushed moments.
They are always there, in some form or another, floating on air…