Unruly penguins dancing to the thunder of the sea, a skidding flapping chaos. Then they dive, the ultimate display of grace.
As she folded and smoothed the bedsheets over and over, minutes edged into hours. As she perfected one corner, another would rumple, but she kept on trying.
“If I can just get this one thing right, it will be the start of a perfect life,” she thought.
I always read the ideas on Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie but never get round to doing them in time, so today I’ve pulled my finger out so I can play the game (I think those metaphors together may be dubious, but I’ll keep on).
This is for prompt 2
In 25 words or less, write a story (beginning, middle, and end) about what’s happening in this photograph.
So my brief story:
The tree reminded her of her mother, a dramatic and looming presence, and she always worked harder beneath its stern gaze.
He didn’t dislike people, he just believed there were too many of them and it was his duty as a concerned citizen to fix that. With a sigh, he pulled on his boots and grabbed his lunch. It was going to be a tough day, but a satisfying one.
Her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, she flicked her hair and giggled.
“There’s power in being underestimated,” she said sweetly, safe in the knowledge he wasn’t really listening and wouldn’t notice his wallet was gone until he went to the bar.
Listening in, at Tesco…
Bloke: You know, I’d rather talk to a cat than a person.
Woman: Oh that’s so-
Bloke: Yeh, better talking to a cat than a person.
Woman: Oh yes, well my-
Bloke: Because cats really listen and people never do.
And again, some one line stories:
We knew it would end like this, not with a bang or a whimper, but with a loud harrumph.
“That’s just how it is,” he rasped, “men show their feelings by hitting each other, women by affection.” And that was when I knew I wanted to be a woman.
“Drunken poetry,” she wrote with a flourish in pink biro, “it contains all truth. Drunken poetry,” then she gave up, as the rhymes deserted her.
A light flickered, the air grew cold. Grandma had returned.
“That’s just how it is,” she ranted, “men prove their strength by striding round the world conquering things. Women prove their strength by enduring, by suffering.” And that was when I knew, I wanted to be a man.
Leading a double life was difficult with Facebook, it took planning and copious notes.
He woke up slowly, his head thundering and his stomach lurching. He eased himself onto his side and saw the Devil sleeping peacefully beside him. I am never drinking again, he thought.
“That’s just how it is,” they shouted, “people are selfish. They all want to be rich, and they don’t care who suffers as a result.” And that was when I knew I wanted to be an alien.
(I struggled for ages figuring out how to write these…)
And just like that, he vanished.
The army he commanded was tiny.
A flattery chain: Ponzi ego scheme
A crack appeared, the world split
One by one, the cities sank.
Basement sealed. It won’t escape again.
Thanks to Wisp of Smoke for inspiring the title. Some more very small tales, unconnected, although I always end up imagining a story that ties them altogether. Anyway…
Inside the locket she kept a demon’s egg.
He carved and whittled, preserving the faces of the dead in fruit. It was the least he could do.
“It was just easier to be clever, when there was so much less to know,” said the polymath, mournfully.
She sat on the bus, gripping the seat in front, with her eyes shut. ‘They ripped him out of me’, she whispered to no one in particular.
His expression flicked back and forth from hopeful to blank to hopeful; as nothing helpful continued to happen.