The challenge? Write a story in exactly 6 sentences based on Denise’s one word prompt: GESTURE. Visit, comment, and write & post your own on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. The Café is open. Come as you are!
He jumped at the slap of the screen door, so sharp against the morning’s murmurings, and dropped his fae knife between the stems of thick ferns sheltering his now-habitual observation point.
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Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE. (07/18/2025). No more than 250 words in length.
The room is cool, a soothing respite from the blistering heat outside its door. Her bare feet shuffle across the smooth wood floor. She reviews each object of art: bucolic landscapes, highland towers, night streets, dawning oceans. Paintings stop in interesting places, to continue with other voices, other rooms. Perhaps a novel, or love-lost poem?
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The challenge? Write a story in exactly 6 sentences based on Denise’s one word prompt: PERFECT. Visit, comment, and write & post your own on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. The Café is open. Come as you are!
If at first you don’t succeed
Play a tune upon the reed.
Add an extra dash or two
Of lemon pepper, mountain dew.
If that didn’t work the way you wished
Dump it out and then…go fish.
When the rains passed, and evening was well on its way (though the sun still burned white-hot in the firmament), Little Blue lifted her head from under the scrap of newsprint and sighed.
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“And you’re sure this will work?” Katya turned her head, one side then to the other. The image she saw before her wobbled, a reflection of her inner state. Straightening her back with grace, head held high and neck long, flashing dark eyes and firm jaw, hair silken and perfectly dressed—the mirror now truthfully reflected the young woman before her. Running damp hands down the length of her embroidered full length skirt, she checked her silken slippers, the laces of her bodice, the knot, center and top, that shaped and lifted. Continue reading
© Ayr/Gray
Justin sniffed the icy air, noting a trace of seaweed amongst the familiar salt. A stiff breeze from the north was clearing out the clouds. With it, the temperatures dropped. Huddling deeper into his duffle coat, he wished he’d worn a hat. But Clara loved to run her fingers though his dark curls, and laughing, call him “Pony Boy.” Better to face a little chill as they hiked the pebbled shore, away from the hotel and toward her childhood cottage; he knew so little about her, but was almost sure she was The One. Continue reading
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