This was a 250 word piece written based on the picture below, a large number of alpine horns. I wrote from the perspective of someone experiencing sensory issues in relation to them.
She flinched as she stepped into the station. It was silent, but she knew the horror that awaited her. It wasn’t the subway’s coming and going, that was calm, rhythmic, and comforting. It wasn’t the sound of people talking, even though it reached a dull roar. The PA system was a joke, only in the case of a delay did this place become quiet enough to hear it over the din. None of these were the sounds that she braced herself against as she entered the tunnel that would go to her train.
Maybe, maybe they weren’t here today, she hoped, a little desperate. She was halfway through and was on her way to relaxing when it started. First a small sound, tentative, but pitched in a way that made her shudder and walk faster. They had moved.
Then the first horn sounded in full, and she went from a walk to a run, trying to escape the echoing tunnel, but it was too late. Just as she turned the corner, and saw them full on, it exploded. Dozens of the alpine horns began to bellow, the sound reverberating through her head feeling as if they were rattling her brain. She froze a moment and then fled, grateful as she left the tunnel and saw the door open on an arriving train. She jumped on, hoping this was the train she had wanted to take.
As the doors closed, and silence fell, she cursed the hornists, her head pounding.
So this is another Jimmie prompt that I wrote some time back, but got pushed in posting due to camp nanowrimo, and then my August event. It was based on the picture below, and once again my microfiction is horror, is it just me or does the genre call for it?
She stepped into the empty Victorian house, and remembered what Savannah had said. “Perfect restoration except the bathrooms and kitchen. Compromise is necessary for convenience.”
It was lovely, but it felt wrong walking through alone like this. Could she really live here? It was supposed to be her sister’s fresh start. Savannah who had lived a few hard years moved in here two months prior. It seemed like everything was looking up, and then…
She shook her head to clear it as she stepped into the kitchen and saw the bulletin board. The movers must have missed it. It was covered in blank post-it notes except one in the center. It said “Make things happen” in her sister’s handwriting.
She stifled a sob as she ran her fingers over it, and as her finger brushed the next note she realized it wasn’t blank at all.
In a flash she remembered Savie’s love of mystery novels, specifically the invisible ink. She fumbled in her purse, hoping she still had a spare blacklight from work. She did.
She turned off the lights, and flipped on the flashlight. The post-ts all had the same message “Help Me”.
It was on the walls too. Dozens of different types of writing, most of which looked finger painted. Then she realized that it wasn’t paint splattered, and smeared on the walls. The black light went dead.
She stumbled blindly to the door and flung herself out onto the porch gasping. She was selling the house.
Ok, so this is the Six-sentence story of the week based on nebulous from girlontheedge. I completely forgot about posting this, and linking it, even though I wrote it Sunday night. Grammar is a little choppy, but I didn’t get back to do a full edit, and it felt like I would have to start from scratch to fix it This one is a little out there, you aren’t really sure what is going on, and a lot more is implied than stated. Tell me what you think happened in the comments!
There was coppery smell that sat heavy in the air, and it made her stomach roll with nausea every time she took in a breath. She noted the high velocity spatter on the walls with disinterest, as she walked towards the front door with the knife still clenched in her hand.
She could feel the warm liquid squelch up out of the carpet between her toes with every step, which was almost as irritating as the way her wet nightgown clung to her, sticky and rapidly cooling. Each tick of the clock hanging on the wall made her clench her teeth a little harder as she couldn’t help but flinch at the sound.
It took her three attempts to open the door as her wet hand slid from the knob, and when she finally got out into the sun she let the knife drop from her hand with a clatter, and basked in the warmth. She ignored the screams of the neighbors as the fear and anger that had overwhelmed her retreated, giving way to a nebulous feeling that she thought might be happiness.
This was for the final week of The Writer’s Mess challenge, odd celebrations. I chose the picture prompt below, and melded it a little with some good old fashioned parental bribery. Where a mother makes up a special celebration to make sure her daughter succeeds where she did not.
There was never a lot of money at their house. She had enough to eat of course, and a roof over her head. Most people thought they had more than they did, because her grandparents liked to spoil her with toys and clothes bearing labels they could never afforded. She learned young to save her money, and to really think about what she wanted. She had been thinking about this shopping trip for months.
This was the time for her favorite celebration, what her mother called “The Marking of Marks”, and the destination was the local used bookstore. While she lived at the library there were always limits to what she could find. Books though, like all magic, came at a price, especially when you were buying them Her mother wanted her to do well in school, and so it was agreed for each of her 8 classes, she would get 2 books for an A, 1 book for a B, nothing for a C, and lose 2 books for every failing grade. She was proud to say she had never lost a book.
This year was 15 books, with the only blemish on her record the B she received in Gym. They had gone to the bookstore every week since Christmas, and she already knew exactly which books she wanted. This was going to be the best Marking of Marks ever!