This time he bought me roses. Their razor thorns grazed his face when I cracked them across his skull. They swung so smoothly through the air, whistling as they went.
Literary Lion. Call out.
Wordsmiths ahoy! In my hasty move over to wordpress.org, I Smith Words fell off the WP reader for all my lovely loyal followers, and hence none of you have been seeing the lion’s posts! I hope you are now reading me loud…
72.
72. Pink pout. Shade number 72. Cherry dreams. You’d sit beside the pool, sunshine rays, soaking up the rosy while you swallowed every drop.
Six words.
Starman. Thought you were here to stay.
Literary Lion. Fa La La La La.
Our glamorous little feline friend has had his nose in the sherry, and so he will be back for more prompts and short stories in 2016. Thank you to everyone who has taken part in the challenge so far, we shall…
Red.
Red It was all too familiar. The smoke lingering in the air, the enveloping cacophony of high pitched rings and chimes, the flickers of neon lights that winked from every corner. They had told me never to return here. The…
Ice Ice Baby.
Frozen. I’d never found courage enough to do it before. I sat with my back against the window for the first time. The subtle sound of stepping feet came first. Then the silhouette in my peripheral. Then followed the…
Step Away.
Step Away. I looked straight ahead. All I could see were the leaves whispering in the trees at the bottom of the ravine. His shadow lumbered into my peripheral. I felt the heat of his body as he eased…
Baked.
Baked. The sun crackled, singeing her skin. She drank in the heat, letting it hit the depths of her lungs as it enveloped her, invading her body with its stifling smother. She opened one eye and saw her feathery…
How to say goodbye.
How to say goodbye. The air moved a vacuum of sound. With a blunt breath and eyes on the ground, the mortal invaded, through sunlight he waded and silence was heard all the way down.
Happy Feet.
The Audition. The red door stood stark against a street of black counterparts. It was the exact shade of the virtual lipstick signature that sat at the end of the email she’d sent. She called herself Darling. I leant…
Dirty Laundry.
Dirty Laundry. The bell on the launderette door chinked as the man in the suit slinked inside. He was smartly dressed to the most meticulous detail; his cufflinks polished, the pleats of his trousers crisp, his finely crafted…
