#VeryShortStory365 is a tweet-sized writing game based on a specific daily word prompt on Twitter. Below you will find a collection of my stories.
The waves crashed onshore beneath Cherry Grove Pier; the moon was full. I kissed her. All these years later, and I can still hear the #ocean and taste the salt on her lips. We were drinking margaritas.
The class was given the word “#Mandolin” to use in a very short story, and everyone’s thoughts turned to the music it made. But mine did not because it was my daughter’s name and she died three years ago. Her sweet music no longer plays for me.
“Nobody takes the #detour,” he said. “Work on the bridge was postponed.”
Smiling, she took his hand as the sign’s flashing yellow light faded into the distance. “Why was it postponed?” she asked.
“They found the bodies of three young girls buried under the bridge.”
“I found one daddy; it’s the color of a #sapphire.”
“Good job, sweetheart, those are precious. Very few of them exist in the Universe.”
“Can we go there?”
“One day,” he said again as he took another look through the telescope.
“Anything for a #drop of water.”
“I will give you water for your soul.”
“Anything to stop this eternal fire from evaporating my water.”
“I don’t like using the word #verve.”
“My dear son, how can we ever set ourselves apart from the commoners if you refuse to speak in a way that makes no sense to them.”
“I don’t want to be set apart, they are my friends,” replied the boy with great energy and enthusiasm.
“When I was a kid, we had to make it on our own in the wilderness. We didn’t have the #farm back then.”
“How did you survive without it?”
“You mean, how did they survive,” replied the bull as he was being forced into the trailer.
“Your book had #longueurs that left me nothing to imagine for myself. I could have watched a movie if I wanted to be passive.”
“Great, another smug writer.”
“No, just a reader,” he replied as he returned the author’s second book to the shelf.
A Scottish man stands in the #gloaming, his crops scorched; winter nears. From bloodshot eyes comes his rage. “They have destroyed everything but my sword,” he said. “I can not eat it nor can my enemy, but it will be in his gut by dawn.
“Mister Todd, you can build a fish trap right there, by pushing sticks in the mud along the #littoral zone.”
“You sure are smart.”
“I’m not just smart; I’m computer smart.”
“But, the EMP destroyed your computer.”
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t waste my time playing games?”
“I can’t think of a good story using the word #hydrangea.”
“You suck as a writer.”
“No, I don’t. I’m just having a bad day.”
“No, you suck!” I said again to myself.
“#Potvalor, dutch courage, liquid courage, whatever you want to call it, I’ve got it, so you better not F@*k with me.”
“Mr. Brooks, that’s what you told the man that sent you here.”
“Sent me where?”
“The hospital. Now let me take a look at that broken nose.”
The old man pulled the trigger, and the #buckshot flew hitting its target. “Boy should have stolen my shotgun instead of the pistol. I can’t hit shit with the pistol.”
Riddled with buckshot from the old man’s gun, the boy ran through the #slough, its waters trailing red with blood. Then a shot rang out, and the old man wondered, had he saved himself or killed himself. Those were your choices when mired in the slough at night.
The slough had but one ghost until recently; a midnight demon with bones sewn together with #sinew. But now there’s another, a boy, bleeding from his temple, who appears to those trapped in its mire. “Don’t fear your demons, lest you become one yourself,” he’d say.
A beautiful #aurora showed overhead, but no one looked up, preferring to look down at the blinding white light coming from their hand.
#Languor – An oppressive stillness of the air – or a humid, muggy, sultry, sticky, steamy, stifling, suffocating, clammy soup that will give you swamp ass here in the south.
“Let’s hear it for #Effervescent,” exclaimed the DJ from behind his mic as the young girl walked out on stage with her big blue eyes, but only one person saw them; her father, who had tried to bring her home moments earlier, but failed. His little girl was gone.
Goddess #Panacea was all healing and able to end human death. Now the first words spoken by every child are, “How do I get off this overcrowded planet?” They learn this because it’s the only words they hear.
“Sapid. Saaapid. SAPID! SapidSapidSapid. #Sapid?”
“Alright, everyone, quiet on the set. Take one.”
“Look cool while treating yourself to a strong but pleasant tasting cigarette. Sapid Cigarettes, a taste to die for.”
#VSS365 is where you get a prompt like #inure to write a story with.”
“Where do your ideas come from?”
“I use the first thing that pops into my head.”
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
“I’m not talking to myself, I’m a writer, and this conversation is taking place in my head.”
“Eat the #ambrosia; you will be immortal,” he said. So I did, then looked in the mirror and saw an old man staring back at me. Probably should have done this when I was a little younger, I thought.
“What do you call this place?”
“Seems fitting enough.”
“You want a can of beans?”
“Sure, what else you got down here?”
“Bullets, water, medical supplies. You know the usual stuff.”
The chaotic winds were at war, the #zephyr lost, and the unprepared died quickly; for those who were, death came slower, but it took them nonetheless.
I flipped from the cliff and slammed into the water. Passing out, I slowly sank to the #benthos. Awakening, I looked up at the surface light and pushed off. “Don’t breathe, not yet,” I said. Breaking the surface. I sucked in air as cheers came from above. True story.
Rioters and looters #constellate among the peaceful protesters using them as shields and tainting their message.
The students #ingurgitate all that is fed to them without reading the ingredients.
“It won’t save you,” said the women.
“Your lucky charm, it won’t save you. You’re going to starve like the rest of us.”
“True, it’s just a #periapt of no value to anyone but me.”
The women nodded, not knowing it contained a fish hook and line.
#Submontane pronounced [suhb-mon-teyn] pertains to being under or at the lower part of a mountain. The mountain tops, just like politicians, believe they are the pinnacle, but the truth is, they are nothing without their base.
The writer had a #velleity to write a novel but spent way to much time on social media, asking others how to write a novel. The answers he got were from other writers who also had a velleity to write a novel.
“I hit him in the head with my #scull.”
“I bet both of you saw stars after that.”
“Scull, not skull.”
“Never mind, help me bury the bastard before someone sees us.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“He #nixed our deal.”
“You thought you had a sure bet on the race. Why didn’t you let me in on it?”
“Cause you talk too much, that’s why.”
“And yet, you asked me to help bury a man.”
“Good point, you better start digging a second hole.”
The #skeptics laughed as he built it, called him crazy when he brought animals on board—a fool for storing food and a son of a bitch for not letting them in as the water flooded the land beneath their feet.
#Aesthetically, her face was no longer pleasing, worn down by a years-long volcanic winter. Struggling at the edge of extinction, she ate no more; such is a mother’s love. Her children must survive.
A lot of people these days could never be a #pachyderm; they’re too thin-skinned. To survive in the world, you need to have thick skin and be able to withstand the barbs thrown at you. From childhood to adulthood, they never stop.
Two strangers approach and decide as to whether or not the other is a threat. One turns and walks across the street, while the other yells out, “#xenophobe!” Continuing, he approached another stranger and robbed him. The moral of the story, strangers, can be good or bad.
#Charisma fell upon the man, giving him a fighting chance, in a world focused on looks, of which he had none. But his charm blinded the superficial eyes of all he met, allowing them to see the beauty that resides in all of us.
“We are the last one hundred, and ten of us are sure to die from the #pandemic. What should we do?”
Fifty people quickly voted to destroy the lives of all in the hopes of saving one of the ten. The other 50 said, “Wait, what?”
“I have an opinion too,” said Sarah.
“Not the right opinion,” replied Betty.
The other girls #ostracized Sarah too.
“Come with me,” she pleaded with her friends, reclaim your individuality.”
Fearing they would be without a group, they did not. But could’ve had both.
#Schism does not sound pleasant to the ear.”
“How about division, any better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“OK, you have created a division among our group. So pack your shit and get out of here.”
“Now those are words I can understand! Good day sir. And I hope you rot in hell.”
“The kids think we’re #dinosaurs, Dave. Too old to know anything.”
“I know they can’t even remember being free.”
“Yep, their grandparents sold them down the river back in 2020.”
“This place is not big enough for the two of us,” said the God of War.
The God of Peace agreed, walked a #galaxy away, turned, and fired. BANG! And just like that, a new universe was created.
“I said, I’m going exorcising with a friend of mine, and he said, ‘It’s about time, that ass of yours is getting out of hand.'”
“Why the hell did you ever marry that demon? You should #exorcise him.”
“What is your #phobia?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I’m not good enough, of being in debt, to die, and so on. Life is scary; I’m afraid of everything.”
“What scares you the most?”
“I told you, fear.”
“That will be $200, pay on your way out.”
“It’s been quiet and peaceful out here ever since the day, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I’m #nostalgic for the hum.”
“It did make life easier.”
“You don’t become a #hero with the pinning of a badge,” said the Captain to the rookie.
“If not then, when?” he asked.
“You’re about to find out,” he replied as they arrived at a fully involved high rise fire. “People trapped on the third floor. Are you ready, kid?”
It’s a piece of #paper that formed a government for the people by the people. A government ruled not by kings. It’s a piece of paper that protects our freedom; unless we let it slip away into the hands of tyrants to be burned, unknown to our children.
#Agape is a Greek word for love; some would say an unconditional love. But is not all love unconditional? If not, it’s nothing more than an overused word with no meaning at all.
“I’ve done the #math Mr. Tech. Population numbers are outstripping resources.”
“What are our choices?”
“Do nothing and let nature run its course.”
“Create a virus, scare everyone, then give them a vaccine that will secretly destroy their kid’s DNA.” “Do it.”
“Mr. Tech, the vaccine we used in 2020 to curb population growth, has succeeded. There is only one problem.”
“What is it?”
“The kids with corrupted DNA have mated with our kids.”
“How long do we have?”
“Our days are #numbered. Extinction in 69 years.”
Titus removed the last #calculus from his board. He had nothing left, having squandered his fortune in the ’80s. Rome, once a kingdom of gold, is turning into one of rust and iron.
I stared at the #vss365 prompt word for the day, my mind blank. I had no story to tell. Then I laid down a stencil and painted it red, another white—the next blue. Finally, the last stencil—fifty stars, white. My #theorem painting representing the story of America was complete.
“The 2020 word of the year is #logic.” “HAHAHAHA!” “What’s so funny, Snoopy?”
“You got your manifold right here, and this is your dipstick.”
“You’re a dipstick.”
“Alright, boy, you about to find yourself a #manifold of problems if you don’t pay attention.” “Dipstick.”
“Kid without a car for the weekend.”
I says to him, ‘you done #torus apart with your cheatin’ and imma fixin’ to leave you….’ And he snaps at me, ‘Where you gonna go.’ And I says to him as I pulled that trigger, ‘You didn’t let me finish–imma fixin to leave you dead on the floor.’
The #fields of plenty have vanished, causing the population of all species to drop and become balanced once again.
“They say #zero.”
“No they don’t, it’s blastoff.”
“Both of you are wrong. It’s liftoff.”
“Blastoff sounds cooler.”
“Yeah, it does,” they all agreed.
Their cardboard rocket slowly lifted off the ground, the universe before them.
“She’s the #one–hiccup.”
“Are you sure, Jim?”
“He’s the one–burp.”
“Are You sure, Ann? You’ve had a lot to drink.”
Later that night, it was paradise by the dashboard lights.
Later that year, they were praying for the end of time.
“Son, when I grew up, it only took one superhero to defeat the bad guy. Or, at most, one superhero and a sidekick. Hell, these days, it takes a whole damn #group.”
“There’s a lot more bad guys these days, Dad.”
“You got that right.”
The old woman rang a #triangle. Hearing it, the men came in from the field; breakfast was ready.
“Grandma, did your mom teach you to cook on an open fire?”
“No, my mom never taught me anything. She was to busy; she loved her computer more than me.”
“What’s a computer?”
Some people say I can’t write. Say my books are full of grammatical errors. And I say why so #negative? The stories I tell don’t come from the paper; they come from the mind, and I ain’t got no rules in there.
An #archaeological dig has uncovered evidence of a high tech civilization that lived in the time before time. Studies have shown they all died out of fear, afraid to go to work, living in their safe bubbles until they ran out of money and food.
“Words in a story flow like musical notes,” said the professor, “throw in one like #ulotrichous, and you break the reader’s rhythm. Some can play it, but most should not.”
“Did he insult us,” asked Jane?
“You maybe, but not me, I could play the hell out of that word.”
“Know what it means?”
“Thank you. Come again.”
“I will,” said the man as he left with the sign under his arm. On it was the word #pauciloquent.
A boy sat on a log, hungry, but said nothing. The old man continued to eat.
“Where’re your parents?”
“Dead, they weren’t prepared.”
The old man laughed and took another bite.
POW! The boy was no longer a #Groke.”