Portrait (DiscoverWP)

the triple life-size oil portrait
of himself behind his desk –

you know all you need about him already

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Connection (DiscoverWP)

I am still here
because of you.
As long as you read, I’ll write.*

a limerick about a broken heart
photo by Mayur Gala

*But this month, I may not post as often as you’re used to – international move etc. Once it’s done, it will be business as usual.

Unwanted Advice: Creativity Loves…

This is a story about a girl who received a piece of advice she didn’t like. One of her creative writing teachers said: Creativity loves boundaries.

100 words about creative writing advice
(c) Sonya

No, said the girl, I don’t like boundaries. I don’t want to make anything off limits. I want it all.

But all is quite a lot. Sometimes, all staring at the girl proved too much.

Maybe, said the girl. Maybe I’ll try a boundary.

One hundred words. I’m going to limit myself to 100 words, said the girl. See how it goes.

Bumpy is how it went, at first. Now, though, it’s going well.

Don’t Want to Believe

100 words about alien abductions
photo by Štefan Štefančík 

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

I don’t know if I’d said anything right away if I’d known. I mean, who was I going to tell? And what?

To tell the truth, I didn’t believe it had happened. I dismissed it as a Technicolor nightmare, fuelled by a recent SciFi movie binge.

The second time, I felt again as if I’d woken from a bad dream. Doubts began creeping in, though. I searched online and found others reporting suffering from identical dreams.

Tonight, we meet, brought together by a real-life Agent Mulder. He believes our theory that we’ve become lab rats for a hostile alien species.

***

An opening line for this week’s WP Discover Challenge? Of course I’m in.

 

Sorry Sorry

The queue moves slower than a snail. The youngster in front of me fidgets and jumps from one foot to the other and I’d like to tell him something about respecting my personal space but one doesn’t make a fuss at the post office.

The queue shuffles forward. The youngster takes a half-step back and steps on my foot. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble. He doesn’t even turn around to apologise. It’s disgraceful. When the queue moves again, I wait, painfully aware of the glaring that goes on behind my back.

I turn and mumble sorry. There are understanding nods. The relief.

***

Story 18 of 31 for Story A Day May.