Tag: writing

One Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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I know that there wasn’t enough air in the base for everyone to survive until the resupply craft arrived, but that doesn’t help as I stare at the floating corpses through the window, still screaming and reaching for me.

I can still feel my missing hand from time to time and for the most part I try to ignore it, but when I feel a cold hand in mine, I let it lead me away from the train tracks.

Stumbling into the bathroom after unlocking bedroom door, he realised with horror that the door only locked from the inside and he lived alone.

 

A Perfect Portrait (Part 2)

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Alex had never considered himself someone who loved their job.

He liked it well enough on average, but that day he felt strangely energised. The walk there had lifted his mood with every step and he almost forgot to take his breaks, given how much energy he had. While sitting outside for his enforced break he wasn’t even bothered that he didn’t have the money for lunch. Sitting in the dappled sunshine was enough.

This mood followed him all the way through the day, towards his building, up the stairs and all the way to the door. The moment he stepped through the threshold, he found his face dropping its smile and he only walked far enough forward that most of him would land on the bed.

He wanted to sleep more than anything, but his phone buzzed in his pocket and he had the energy to check that, at least. It was a message from an old friend asking when his new place would be ready to host a games night. Looking around his living meagre space, Alex reasoned it might never fit particularly since apart from the chair he couldn’t exactly move the furniture around. He was in the middle of replying when he realised that something was wrong.

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A Perfect Portrait (Part 1)

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It was only when Alex finished unpacking his few possessions that he noticed the painting.

His room was relatively plain. The walls were painted cream and the hardwood floors were thoroughly scuffed.  It had a bed, a desk, a bedside table with drawers and a wardrobe. He remembered those from his hurried inspection of the room a week ago, but he did not remember the painting.

The wooden frame appeared was the same colour as the rest of the furniture in the room and it sat so flush against the wall when he inspected it that Alex concluded it was glued in place.

What was particularly odd was the subject matter. It was a painting of a plain room with a chair off to one side. The room pictured had green carpet and a faded wallpaper design made of yellow flowers and white stripes and grey stripes. For a prominent painting, it was incredibly boring, except for how real it looked. As the sun set through the window, he could swear he saw the shadow of the chair shifting to match the time. It was only when he found himself leaning closer, straining to see the painting that he realised his room had grown dark without him noticing. He quickly put the light on and shook his head, wondering how he could let time get away from him like that. He sat back on his new bed, which felt much sturdier than his last. Like all the furniture included in the room, it was built into the wall. He suspected that might be why the painting was stuck to the wall – maybe the landlord had a problem with theft?

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One Sentence Stories

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I pick up my beloved childhood ragdoll from the attic floor and as I embrace her I am horrified to feel bones moving under the fabric.

The noise-cancelling earphones helped, but he could could always hear the scream of the pedestrian he’d hit a year ago.

She opened the lovingly wrapped gift box to find that it contained every item she’d lost during her lifetime; earrings, keys, and more worryingly her baby teeth.

 

Two Sentence Stories (Part 7)

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On his deathbed the man confessed to his crimes, safe in the knowledge that he had escaped any punishment in this life. I simply listened to his admission, then his shaking, pain-wracked breaths and waited for him to awaken to re-live his last day again.

I walk amongst my party guests, watching them anxiously trying to figure out who the sacrifice is going to be that night. I see one place a glass down with a coaster and subtly touch her shoulder as I pass by, followed by eager eyes.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that the dishes were done this morning. It was less pleasant when I remembered that my husband died two weeks ago.

 

Three Sentence Stories (Part 5)

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It’s rare that someone I met online looks exactly like their profile photo.

I thought that when I met him I would be able to bust him for using someone else’s photo, but as he introduces himself I find myself silent. He looks exactly like the last photo that was taken of my friend before he disappeared ten years ago, down to the birthmark on his neck.

He collapsed, panting and drenched in blood that was too dark to be human. The corpse of the monster lay still in front of him with far too many legs curled up around its torso.

It was such a shame that he never had time to realise that it was only a child.

I can hear my children beating at the boarded door and see their silhouettes, backlit by the setting sun. I remain quiet and listen for the approach of the creatures waiting in the darkness. While waiting for the problem to resolve itself, I hug my remaining child and gently remind him that this is why he should always listen to his mother and not stay outside after dark.

 

Four Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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I never know what to do when someone is singing me happy birthday. It’s why I never tell anyone when my birthday is. It’s also why I make sure I’m home alone all day.

So I refuse to open my eyes as I hear someone singing above my bed, leaning in closer and closer.

After my daughter woke my up for the third night in a row, I was getting near the end of my tether. After she stopped babbling about the man at the window, I finally convinced her to let me tuck her back into bed.

When she finally settled, I opened her window for some fresh air and saw a figure on the street, smiling far too widely. As it turns to walk away on limbs that don’t quite bend right, I lean out and find my hands resting on scratch marks on the window frame of my fifth floor apartment.

I never got over the death of my twin sister. My parents seemed to move on quickly, they always said that they were just happy to still have me.

I miss Jennifer.

I miss being called by name and I hate that I had to move into her old room and wear her old clothes.

 

Five Sentence Stories (Part 2)

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Richard had always dreamed of visiting this cathedral.
He had never heard of it before, but standing before it he realised that it was the same cathedral he had visited in his dreams throughout his entire life.
As he stared at the building, the eyes of the gargoyles seemed to watch him intently and as he circled it, their heads turned to follow him. Finally he found an empty platform, the gargoyle beside it extending its arm downwards towards him.
If the tour guide that passed that spot ten minutes later noticed the new gargoyle, he didn’t include it in his speech.

I think I was just born.

There are people standing around me talking, but I don’t understand them yet. I hope they like me.
It takes a few seconds, but I start to understand some of what they are saying. “Artificial intelligence” “six years” “project funding” “Shut d-“

It was a shock when I woke up to find a set of footprints in the snow leading to my front door. What was worse was that they clearly spent some time pacing near the door, before heading towards the window to the laundry at the back of the house. Fortunately I had awoken in the middle of the night and it didn’t appear they had been hiding in the laundry for very long.

Quietly stalking my hallway, I held the already bloody knife tightly. I had already taken this home for myself to get out of the cold and no one was going to take it from me.

Six Sentence Stories

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I beam as I sign my entry in the hotel guestbook.

The receptionist stares at me dispassionately but I continue smiling as I casually mention that I might go for a stroll to see the hotel’s undoubtedly lovely surroundings. He still does not move, so I laugh, shrug and turn back to the guestbook as though I had only been kidding.

Flipping back through the book, I look at the now familiar entries of previous guests. This hotel only held one guest at a time, and so most entries were a series of daily compliments from one person that end when they were not effusive enough or hid a plea for help – but either way the blood spray signalled the end of that guest’s stay.

I flip back to my eighteenth entry and nod at the receptionist as I walk back to my room, quickly looking at where the front door once was.

I’m certain that I’ve lost my mind.

My husband thinks I must have started hoarding items while he’s been at work, but I honestly don’t remember buying any of this.

I don’t understand why I bought a dog bed and dog food when we’ve never had a dog. I don’t know how or when I decorated the spare room for a baby girl – I’ve never even been pregnant, for God’s sake!

As I go to my bedroom to rest I am shocked to see the amount of men’s clothing in the wardrobe and I am sure that I need to seek help. At least no one will know I’ve lost my mind, as I have always lived alone.

 

Five Sentence Stories

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Kathy rarely left her house, so the lockdown didn’t really bother her much.

What really annoyed her was having her house-mates home all the time, banging around below her attic room with no consideration. Kathy had lived with Dave and Liz for almost 3 years now and they’d never clashed before, or even had an awkward conversation. Up until now, they had been the perfect housemates.

They didn’t know she was there, mind, but it was all very inconsiderate and she would need to confront their rude behaviour soon.

My doctor always insisted that I not watch when she gave me my shots. I thought she was worried I would pass out or tense up too much, despite receiving the shots on a regular basis for years.

I’ve been sick my whole life and now that my father has passed from the same sickness, I’ve convinced myself that this treatment is the only thing keeping me alive. For the first time, I attend my appointment alone and without him sitting beside me, I can see a reflection in the window of the doctor preparing my shot.

I see the wriggling needle at the end of the syringe and I brace for the familiar biting sensation.

Ray had agreed to DJ the party for free, mostly so he would have an excuse to leave the dancefloor whenever he got tired of socialising. He looked at the long mirror hanging on the same wall his kit was set up against and watched the reflected versions of his friends dance.

It took him a moment to realise that their moves did not match the beat that was playing, and a few more to notice that the familiar moves were to the next song in the playlist. He saw a stain on the dress of a furious Emma and turned to see her unblemished in reality.

He watched her dance partner spill a drink on her and turned back to the wall, where he saw a fire beginning to trap the mirrored figures.