Tag Archives: Mostly Micro

CCC141: The White Swan

Marilyn prided herself on her swimming abilities – twice she had swum St George’s Channel – so when Daphne down at the White Swan challenged her to swim Dickerson’s pond she treated it as a bit of a joke. “You … Continue reading

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Louisa’s Retirement Speech

So many jobs Louisa had had, and each required a different set of skills. In each position she learned something new, many times undertaking fresh training. Yet there was a degree of overlap. By the time Louisa composed her retirement … Continue reading

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CCC140: Waiting

Freddy opened the small canvas-seated fishing stool his grandson had bought him five Christmases back and set it firmly on the woodland floor. From his satchel he pulled out his props – a sketch pad and pencil. The fabric creaked … Continue reading

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Hard Work

I wasn’t sure about answering Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt this week. Since moving, time seems always in short supply and the wordcount is high. Moreover, though I rake through my mind, nothing crops up… unlike the weeds in my new … Continue reading

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CCC136: Gusted

He asked me which I’d rather see, the sun or the clouds. I said clouds. And so he gusted up a storm and blew the thick clouds over me.

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Ten Years in Holy Orders

Who would suspect him, a monk ten years in holy orders?Although he had already lived 150. His weapon of choice?Not a blade or poison.A chord of increasing volume.Delivered within a Gregorian chant.Crescendo. 37 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: … Continue reading

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To Call a Spade a Spade

It was Adam began it. Look around you, said the Lord, at the trees, the flowers, the fruits in this garden. What will you name them? For without a name, you cannot know them. Then the Lord said, look around … Continue reading

Posted in Mostly Micro, Mythic Fiction | Tagged , , | 8 Comments

CCC131: Pigeon Holed

“Look at them.” “Look at who?” “Them. The humans. Litter-dropping, nose-picking, smelly-farting…” “Hey, you, lay off them. They feed us, don’t they?” “Can’t stand them. Always putting us into pigeon holes.”

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Hello? Anyone home?

“Guess nobody lives here anymore.” “But this is the right address.” “Yea, and no one’s used those steps in many a year. Tell me again what he looked like.” “Old. Gnarled.” “And green?” “What’re you implying?” “A short little cobbler, … Continue reading

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Misery

Mercy was her nameTo the door she cameA nurse, she wore a maskThe look she gave me, I was scared to askIn truth, I didn’t dareDoes Stephen King still live here?

Posted in Crimson's Creative Challenge, Mostly Micro, Photos, Poems (Some Silly) | Tagged , , , | 16 Comments