Having spent the past hour dithering between Wimbledon watching, work and this blog post, I am struggling to find more words than the six below. Welcome to The Hemingway Day…
Hide.
The wind disguised his skulking inside.
Thanks to The Daily Post for the photo prompt this week, here are some other photos of doors.
Not quite The Hemingway Day today, simply because I have too many words and not enough brain power left to edit them. I think I’ll go and plug myself into the mains and get a recharge. If only.
Run.
Her footsteps blended into the pounding of each rain drop. As each one plummeted down his cheeks, she managed to get further away.
This post was inspired by the weekly photo challenge, and the photo is a still from a short film I made whilst at university, which all seems like a very long time ago now (because I am almost thirty, and very very tired.)
I have penned a little fool inspired story in honour of April the 1st. Here’s hoping you haven’t been subject to too many mischievous escapades this morning…
Fool.
Him:
The tears loomed above her eyelashes, threatening to slither down her cheeks at any moment. With a hand clutching at her stomach, she signalled for me to stop.
I did. Begrudgingly.
Next to me her chest rapidly yo-yoed as she lay sprawled on the floor.
She was ticklish to the extent where even the threatening movement of fingers would spawn banshee screams and rapid movement in the opposite direction.
As she basked in the post tickle glow her eyes flickered towards mine. I reached for a jelly ring. She grew weak at the gesture. I asked the question. Her tears returned. I put the ring on her finger.
I have until midday to tell her she’s the April Fool right?
Her:
Laughter had always trudged that fine line between love and hate. The laughter that made my stomach ache as though my insides were wrangling a way out.
The pit of my gut wrenched and the noiseless hilarity seemed as though it would never end. I held my hands up in surrender.
Silence. Our pupils locked as I wondered how often in life these little moments of flawlessness drifted on in. His grinning face sobered.
“Marry me?”
His pupils flooded with fear the moment my tears fell.
If only he knew I was well aware that even his gluttonous sweet tooth didn’t care for the saccharine sweetness of those jelly rings. The ones he’d bought an entire sweet shop box of just last night, the night before the April the 1st.
Midday snack it is.
Check out some other April Foolers on The Daily Post
Thank goodness for that little moment on a Friday afternoon when you realise there are two days of bliss ahead. Here’s a few seconds of literary escapism in celebration…
The Hemingway Day. Crack.
The cracks echoed, fracturing. He froze.
Thank you to The Daily Post for the photo prompt
I am a writer of many syllables, and so today’s monosyllabic writing task for the Daily Prompt proved a rather tricky prospect for my frantic pen…
She said that she should hide the tops of those legs, they were grim. She said she should hide the tops of those arms, they were grim too. Put all out of sight that is much the same as the peel of that fruit that the red-top sharp-wits like to spend their day’s words on. But what if your face is foul too?
Today’s Daily Prompt is rather apt for someone who is entering the last year of her twenties tomorrow… “You’re tasked with creating a brand new astrological sign for the people born around your birthday — based solely on yourself. What would your new sign be, and how would you describe those who share it?”
Her teeth looked like they would bite with the weight of the earth behind them. Her lips quivered as she curled them in an angry grimace. The twisted smile was a word of warning.
Laura didn’t have an imaginary friend. But she did have a series of Take That dolls that were entirely representative of their real life counterparts when they whispered sweet nothings to her.
This post is in response to today’s Daily Prompt, Imaginary Friend…
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/imaginary-friend/trackback/
Vampire.
My trainers were the whitest of white. Blobs of blood plummeted onto the milky leather, instantly at odds with their crisp colour.
My foot had slipped along the metal pole where the paint was cracked and flakes of rusty brown were starting to take ownership. On the way down my two front teeth met the metal bar, grinding between the dirty surface and my gums as the roots bent, the enamel crumbled and they tumbled to the floor.
I ran home, blood spurting from my mouth and down to my white trainers, a gap in my gums that rendered the remaining fangs vampire like in their protrusion against the void. For the first time, my childlike vision of immortality was shattered.
This post is in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt “At what age did you realize you were not immortal? How did you react to that discovery?” http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/finite-creatures/
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