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.
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”?
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.
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
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
Was worthy of nothing
But then what?
Said like a snake slithering
Escaping the stomping feet of the world
A place in what lies beyond
Floating in darkness that swallows all
Nothingness is crushing
To swim forever
Wishing you’d come upon a shore
I chose to exist
Outside those words
Seemed the better alternative
My mind is wandering
Sinking in the sand
Riding cresting waves
Dappled light clearing the way
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
There’s something pooling just beyond your lips
Words spilled over, stiffening the air
Your fingers reach, drawing them away
Desperate attempts to scoop
Rest them at the back of your throat
The essence remains
Theres something in the air
Breaking from the sky
Electric shocks and torrential downpours
Splitting my silk tongue
Frayed ends tickle the throat
Tie up the lungs
Filling the belly with silken worms
There’s something to be said for catching your dreams
Wrangling them in as they claw away gravity
To find the sheen diminished
The meaning rusted
Oxidized by our expectations
Hattie almost missed the fraying brown clue blending into the brickwork.
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.”
“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