The challenge? Write a story in 6 sentences, no more & no less, and if you’d like, share your creation or just visit and comment on others’ ideas, with GirlieOnTheEdge, Denise. The prompt is “Change”, and here’s where you join the party: Six Sentence Stories
She strolled down the street, happy to be out in the crisp fall air, barely mindful of the slick spots underneath her purple hiking boots. Their region had made a definitive step from late Autumn to early Winter, with heavy rain just past midnight, followed by a hard freeze that had stripped the trees bare, saturating the early morning dapple with the heady funk of rotting leaves softening in the rising sun. Continue reading
Cal coiled up his riata. He had no goals to improve on his already impressive rope skills, but granddaughter Flora required kid glove treatment these days. Continue reading
Pre-COVID, we met, early Saturdays, in the Midtown Market. Few stirred: lady mall cop, staff from the attached hospital, lone coffee shop doing brisk business, shops from around the world setting up. We were inspired by Heaven’s scents. Continue reading
Long, dark days alone
Habit well-practiced for years
My coffee brings cheer
Click, click, and click. She scrolled down, drumming her non-mousing hand, as pictures froze and popped at slower than a snail’s pace. Definitely not rocket science, but she had places to go, things to do, people to be. Really, she had to dust her shelves, vacuum her carpet, wash summer dust from her picture window… Continue reading
She hunches over the library table, and rubs planed fingers over an already-slick forehead. Canadian forests are burning in the northwest, and the haze is thick, humidity high from last night’s rains. Her other fingers wander back and forth across a college-ruled composition book, cheap pen jagging with arrhythmia. In search of inspiration, but there is none to be found. Continue reading
Lizzie stared at the monitor, hands folded in her lap. The cursor blinked.
Sighing, she trotted off to the kitchen for more coffee.
Returning, she sat again and watched the cursor blink.
In the sepulchral half-light, behind a fortress of tall paper stacks, the crackling tapping endures: Fast, slow, shuffle, sudden dry slap. Continue reading