#30Words30Days

It’s April again, and that means that we’re writing tiny stories again all month with prompts from WritingDani over on Twitter. These bite-sized stories are such a good exercise to get the creative juices flowing again.

Here are mine from the first two weeks:

Get in touch with nature, he said. Find myself, he said. Cleansing and growth, he said. All he found was a bellyful of giardia. Suppose that’s kind of a cleanse.

Let some part of you remain a bit untamed. Roar into the forest what no other should hear. Bathe your scars beneath a warm spring rain. Run wild. Come home.

A blossom of crimson unfurls in icy water as the click of unrepentant heels fades into the night. Her final goodbye? The knife from her back straight to his heart.

Facing tempest of unrelenting woes, I’m left little choice but find sanctuary in worlds of my own creation, where events I set in motion might let me write their end.

Intrepid scaly bodies carve their path against the flow, reaching ancestral destinations tattered, beaten, worn. A fight by nature against nature, the only goal is to survive. And what for?

Never occurred to Ronan’s under-developed teenage brain that when he chucked a potato-sized rock through Mr. Garfield’s bathroom window, it might actually strike a living target. Substitute teacher on Monday.

I’ve tried to fake it ’til I make it for so long, only to discover: no matter how I shake it, I’m the same me that just can’t take it.

Myrtle was never this dynamic as a youngster, but forgot to pack her inhibitions when she moved to retirement home. She gives Walt’s thigh a squeeze under the table. Bingo!

“I am not a firework,” she cried. “There’s no need to ruin me just to see my light.” But when her final fuse was lit, oh, how dazzling her flight.

Your eyes as remote as the windswept shores of our youth, your presence outlived the planned obsolescence of your promises. It would hurt less if you cared enough to leave.

I can write without adjectives, in the spirit of simplicity. I don’t always have to convolute. I just like words so much, you see, that I layer them with alacrity.

Fire! Fire! Fire! Alarms shriek. Sirens blare. Tinderbox histories go up in smoke as sooty faces stand and watch them burn. Only one of them is relieved to start anew.

The ad said it was a great starter home, a bit of a project, a fixer-upper. They neglected to mention the incessant creeping damp, poisoning the air with toxic mould.

Ever stood at the brink?
Felt the void of space within your heart? Gasped for breath, drowning in a crowd? Hurled silent screams into the wind? Dared yourself to hope?

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Why not head over to Twitter and give it a try yourself? Write a 30-word story using the prompt for inspiration. Post with the hashtag #30Words30Days, and enjoy reading and cheering everyone’s stories.