“This weekend? Sorry, I harvested peaches and I have loads of #jam to #can.” “Is that like ‘I have to wash my hair?'” “No. I’m actually making jam. I sell it. It’s my job.” He laughed. “Okay, Grandma. How about the next weekend?” “Then I have to wash my hair.”
whistpr/#flexvss
I heard a crash, but the storeroom was empty #except for a pile of mannequin parts on the floor. One of the hands began to #creep toward me of its own #volition. I’d always laughed at disembodied hands in horror films–I’d never have the chance again.
366FF/#flexvss/#bravewrite
She felt tired, beaten-down, bored with the day-to-day drudgery. Roused by the call of “Mom, the toilet’s clogged!” she trudged to the bathroom. After the final flush, she cried in triumph, “I am the #queen! May all lesser uncloggers bow before me!” “Mom’s being weird.” #whistpr
“But Sara, #love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.” “Frank, either the mustache goes or I do, Shakespeare be damned.” #flexvss
I flew to #Phoenix on the red-eye, hoping to avoid an #ambush, but the #griffin was waiting for me at the car rental counter, and he looked #hungry. “Dammit, Steve,” I muttered. I owed him far more than a Grand Slam Breakfast, but I was still annoyed. #366FF
I was nearly out of oxygen when I emerged, gasping, into the sea cave. Dark spots swam across my field of vision, but when I blinked, the woman was still there. “Are you a mermaid?” I asked. “A #naga,” she replied. “What’s the difference?” “Mermaids don’t bite.” #366FF
Listen to my Microfiction today here!
The #manticore is a #sly creature, paws padding softly on the grass, but I hear the swish of his scorpion-tail as he nears the back door. Closer, closer. I turn on the kitchen #lights and put the #kettle on since we’re both having trouble sleeping tonight.
366FF/#whistpr
“Are you going to #finish those?” she asks. Well, this date is over. Stealing French fries is a dealbreaker. “Why didn’t you order your own?” I snap. She gives me a look that could break glass. “I was going to stack the #plates for the server.” Oh, God, she’s perfect. #flexvss
#Journal Entry #73: Old Mrs. Field walks to the mailbox. Opens it. Looks disappointed. Glances up and down the street. What is she #waiting for? She waves to Mr. Peters. He looks shifty. She’s looking this way! I think she knows I’m onto her.
whistpr/#brieflywrite
Words words words 