Posted in flash fiction

Purple Pigs and Green Donkeys

Today’s random sentence was: A purple pig and a green donkey flew a kite in the middle of the night and ended up sunburnt.

Here’s what came of it:

A purple pig and a green donkey flew a kite in the middle of the night and ended up sunburnt. Pig’s skin darkened into a thick dark clay while Donkey’s browned, like grass under the autumn sun. Pig swore he was fine though he moved like molasses through the field. 

“I’m just a little crunchy but it’ll peel.”

“Come on Pig, I’ll carry you.” 

Donkey’s legs, wilting like leaves, crumbled under the weight.

Posted in flash fiction

Tomatoes/Hashbrowns

I’ve been writing from a random word everyday for several weeks. Today I switched it up to a random sentence. The randomness did not disappoint.

Tomatoes make good weapons when water balloons aren’t available.

And this is where I went with it:

Tomatoes make good weapons when water balloons aren’t available. They’re just heavy enough to slow a thing down and appropriately messy. I don’t know for a fact that tomato guts to the eye will be as effective as holy water but it can’t be far off. 

My nerves settle into my belly releasing a wave of nausea. Perhaps the heaved chunks of a morning breakfast will work too. 

Just outside the metal cafeteria doors I can hear a raging river of small voices murmuring in sync. 

What is it they’re saying?

It sounds like a low squalling but a distinctive rhythm makes me pause. The murmur starts low, rising then declining again. A distinctive hum begins to form, one that has echoed through the cafeteria many times before. 

Are they chanting “hash browns”?

Posted in Writer Life

Writing Goal

One of my goals for this year is to put together another book. I’ve had a thought for a while that it would be cool to write a book with several micro fiction or vignette type pieces around a central theme or character or event.

Starting in Feb/end of Jan I’m going to try and write 1 piece a week, which after writing practically nothing last year will be a challenge.

I’ve read books like this and plan to revisit those too. What books have you read that were comprised of smaller stories centered around one event, character, etc?

I’m also excited to actually put together a book again. When I released my poetry book in 2020 it was very much an experiment for me. I picked the pieces, composed them in a way that felt good (but may not have actually flowed well), designed the cover … It was fun. I want to continue learning about that part of the process this year.

I hope you’re all doing well in this unending insanity we call life.

Posted in stream of consciousness

The Art of Languishing

I’m not just tired

My bones are melting away

Reclaimed by the universe

Ground into stardust and debris

My skin shrinks away in fear

Small fissures collapsing in on one another 

Growing caverns in the spaces I used to love

Life pooling among the rocks

A sweet elixir burning through my soul

I wanted to become

Without realizing what it meant

So no, I’m not just tired

I’m coming apart at every thread

Posted in stream of consciousness

Then What?

Though memories of childhood
Often elude my grasp
I remember moments
And words muttered
Which were never kind
Or instilling those things needed
To exist beyond their grasp
It occurs to me
Every now and then
This is why I thought life
Beyond
Was worthy of nothing
Maybe death
But then what?
Said like a snake slithering
Escaping the stomping feet of the world
Then what?
A place in what lies beyond
Floating in darkness that swallows all
Then what?
Nothingness is crushing
Exhausting
To swim forever
Wishing you’d come upon a shore
But then
I chose to exist
Outside those words
Seemed the better alternative

Posted in stream of consciousness

Mental Wanderings

My mind is wandering

Sinking in the sand

Riding cresting waves

Dappled light clearing the way

Cutting through

Water heavy with salt

We can’t help but float away

When will we know we’re lost

Where the moon rests on the coast

A horizon ever pulling back

Tempting our dreams

Foaming with life

Treading thick seams

How will we know

Posted in flash fiction

Ghost Hunting

Hattie almost missed the fraying brown clue blending into the brickwork.

Almost.

Matt would never let anyone miss it completely.

“It’s a clue!” He howled as he dropped to his belly and slithered towards the string. “Hattie. Hattie. Look. They were here.”

“I don’t see anything Matt.” He groaned and lifted the string between clenched knuckles.

“Right here. They were here.”

“Who?”

“The ghosts! Hattie! Did you forget what we were doing today?”

“I guess so Matt.”

“Ghosts. Ghost hunting. The email invite was clear.”

Hattie gazed at the sunset. Why were the cute ones always so weird?

Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers (I’m getting better at this!)
Photo credit: © CEAyr