Six Sentence Stories – Beneath the Surface

She stretched herself out and waited to feel herself floating, noticing the fading light and the chill of the light breeze skipping across her skin.

She began to sink slowly, the breeze and all sound disappeared as the surface broke, then closed again overhead.

Darkness grew ever closer, rushing up from below to meet her even as she could still see the light above slipping further and further away. Her arms felt light at her sides and her hair floated in delicate tentacles in the space around her head while fragments of scenes from her memory drifted through her mind.

The images passed by and disappeared with the waning light. No longer able to reach the conscious world, she stopped trying, then turned over and welcomed the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

This week’s cue is SINK.

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.

The Bakery

The smell was exactly the same as it was forty years ago – the doughy comfort of freshly-baked bread and crescent rolls mingled with the sugary sweetness of coffee cake, shoo-fly pie, and the best cream or jelly-filled doughnuts ever made.

Instantly transported through time, I was seven years old standing with my cousin, noses pressed up against the glass of the display case where they showed a birthday cake with a menagerie of decoration options. The circus train at the edge of the cake passed by ballerinas and baseball players, a zoo’s worth of animals frozen in motion, laughing clown heads, tiny pink and blue baby bassinets, and a comparatively large bust of a graduate stuck smack in the middle of it all as if overseeing the celebration.

The display cake was long gone, but the rest was unchanged; the same tiles still shone on the walls and under our feet, the same glass cases offered the same baked goods of my childhood, and the same smells wrapped around me in a blanket of memory.

My daughter breathed deeply, taking in the smells and, I suspect, a taste of the history as we made our selections and I remembered aloud late Sunday suppers of baked goods and coffee or milk spent with family around my Grandparents’ table.

I was certain I saw my Grandfather standing there beside us just as alive as he was when he brought my cousin and me here…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

This week’s cue is BREAD.

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.

 

 

My World at Night

I’ve never been good at sleeping.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had trouble sleeping for one reason or another. Maybe it’s time to just admit I’m a lifelong insomniac. But whatever the cause, I often find myself awake at night when the rest of my immediate world is asleep.

I’d love to tell you something lovely and romantic like “I’m a writer; of course when I can’t sleep at night I get up and write all the things that swirl in my head.”

But that’s not true.

Well, sometimes it’s true. Sometimes I can’t sleep because I do have things swirling in my head that beg to be written down and won’t give me peace until I acquiesce to their urging. But other nights I can’t sleep because the words don’t come and I worry if they ever will.

Continue reading “My World at Night”

Reveille – A Six Sentence Story

There would be no battle today.

Try as he might to muster the troops, they were slow to form this morning and did not show face; they knew there was no real penalty for showing up late, aside from the steep one he would impose upon himself for failing to make them comply. But that was his problem, not theirs.

Minute after hour he coaxed, forced, and cajoled until finally they assembled, falling into haphazard ranks and files, letters becoming words, sentences, paragraphs, working in concert and flowing freely from his pen.

Still, they were in no condition for battle. The only battle fought today would be the one to save himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

This week’s cue is RANK.

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.

The Market – A Six Sentence Story

Walking into the market always felt like coming home.

As soon as she stepped through the swinging double doors, her feet knew precisely where to go. For the last fifteen years, they walked the same path, stopped at the same favorite vendors, and never really wondered why – maybe her mother walked the same path with her as a child and the memory was etched somewhere in her subconscious.

The market has a particular aroma. It is the scent of each individual offering drifting across the aisles and mingling with the scents coming from other stands. Individually, each is a perfect solitary experience, but combined, they make up the smell of the market – a hearty, briny, heady mix of life and memories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hitting the cue “cheesy” was a bit of a stretch perhaps. I was really stuck on this one, but as I walked the market for real last week, I got my inspiration as I passed the cheese shop and was thinking about the particular smell and feel of the market. So, truth – that’s where my cheesy inspiration struck.

Each week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

LAST week’s cue was CHEESY. I wrote a post, but never linked. So here it is.

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.

 

The Scent of Change – A Six Sentence Story

She hated the smell of Christmas.

Once upon a time, though, that wasn’t so. Christmastime had always provided a heady mix of memories, happy evenings spent listening to the pop and hiss of the fire as it warmed the room and all within it, breathing in the woodsy outdoors of a sledding day brought into the center of the room on snowy branches turned green and sparkling with lights and ornaments that reflected the crackling firelight.

Like her memories, the ornaments were a jumbled mess of handmade expressions of love and the store bought kind she always thought of as “fancy,” the pastel sugar-frosted ones with cut out spaces for Santa, snowmen, and angels. Christmas was always like this – a collection of perfect moments captured forever in their annual certainty.

But now, Christmas was different – still filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of years past yet empty in the moments where their smiles belonged, cut out spaces filled only with the certainty that Christmas would forever be changed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

This week’s cue is PINE. 

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.

Six Sentence Stories – An Unkindness

It was the grayest kind of day.

It was the kind of day when the sky presses low upon the earth, urging its denizens into attentiveness – every sound just a bit louder, a bit closer, the outlines of the everyday carved into distinctly sharper focus against the backdrop of something…unfamiliar.

trees-1406760_1920

A ceiling of clouds hung close and heavy, locked in the restless wind so it had no escape, the tortured air twisting, wrapping, weaving its witchcraft around the physical world, drawing life and breath in closer…closer…until that darkest cloud of anticipation fell.

The peal of a bell forced its way through the choking thickness. Neither the happy expectation of a doorbell nor the warm beckon of a church carillon, its song a strong and persistent welcome home nonetheless.

One lone raven streaked silently across the sky.

bird-1630795_1920

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six Sentence

Each week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

This week’s cue is HOME. Last week’s cue was CRAFT.

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.

 

 

 

Six Sentence Stories – First Draft

A half-balled wad of paper sailed across the room – whoosh – into the can.

The sun moved with purpose past the windows of the room and as the light waned, so did his confidence and page by page, chapter by chapter, words sailed across the room, the tightening wads a clear indicator of his mounting frustration.

paper-1484048_1920

He looked at the clock; bloody hell, I’ve only got an hour.

He rolled his chair across the room and began reclaiming the discarded prose from the trash can page by page, chapter by chapter, lovingly smoothing and stacking each one in its proper place and collecting them with a black shoelace.

A sharp knock and a voice at the door: “Sir? I’m here to pick up your draft, sir.”

He opened the door, thrust the wrinkled stack at the messenger and sighed, “Here – tell them to start with this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six SentenceEach week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

This week’s cue is DRAFT.

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.

 

 

 

Two Days of Rest – #10Thankful

Sunday evening again. My least favorite time to write a TToT post.

Why, then, does it seem that I’m always doing mine on Sunday evening?

I thought I might skip this week because I have been sick. The yearly mandatory bout with bronchitis. I tried not to let it get away from me. But it did. It always does. I think I just have to concede that I have a chronic bronchitis thing and be done with it.

But let’s commence with the thankfulness because, honestly, I have too big a headache to give this much of my energy. Sorry. That’s just the way it is.

So first off, I’m thankful that I’m writing this at all. There, I said it.

Frozen homemade spaghetti sauce with cleaned and prepped fresh broccoli, all courtesy of our wonderful CSA membership. This means my family got a good dinner and I didn’t have to do much work (or cough all over it) to get the job done.

20161106_1844071

I’m thankful that I didn’t tell off someone who really irritated me this weekend. Considering my level of crankiness due to being sick, that’s not bad. And I’m so very grateful for my mom’s friendship and guidance in that situation and in all others, always.

I have not made much tangible progress with my NaNoWriMo projects this week once we got past day one. But. I’ve been planning and plotting and doing some reading and research so as soon as I kick this germ out of me once and for all – or at least enough that I can concentrate on writing – I’ll forge ahead and hopefully catch up. And hey, I didn’t go bonkers and decide I’m a failed writer because I got behind the eight ball, like instantly. OK, maybe once. A little. But I moved on.

Here’s a little convoluted hypo-gratitude for you: I’m thankful that I’ve had bronchitis enough times to know exactly what my doctor would tell me to do and that I had all supplies and treatments on hand already. I caved and started the antibiotic this afternoon, but it was clear that we had reached that point. And I’m glad I had some at the ready in the medicine cupboard.

For hot tea and the Hub’s amazing coffee and all other manner of warm drinks to soothe my body and soul, I am grateful. For a pile of good books to plow through curled up in bed or on a chair or on a couch. For enjoying a beautiful autumn day (twice) from just inside the sliding glass doors while plowing through books. For my Hub and Zilla for being perfectly happy to have an at-home weekend while I’m sick and for the fact that we were planning that anyway since last week was crammed full. For the best snuggles ever with my Zilla. For tissues.

I am thankful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten Things of Thankful
<a href=” https://summat2thinkon.wordpress.com/ten-things-of-thankful/ ” target=”_blank”><img src=” https://summat2thinkon.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/10thankful-banner.jpg?w=700?w=700″ alt=”Ten Things of Thankful” style=”border:none;” /></a>

Your hosts

Join the Ten Things of Thankful Facebook Group

Six Sentence Stories – The Secret

“This is all your fault!” she screamed.

The demon smirked quietly to himself; maybe if she didn’t find it so thrilling to keep feeding me, she wouldn’t be in this position. But he liked her here – needy, never satisfied, desperate for the next volume and the next to feed this gorgeous compulsion he embedded in her brain.

old-books-436498_1920

He was always near, his breath in her ear sometimes the faint rustling of pages sliding smoothly against one another as they are turned, sometimes the staccatoed slap slap slapping against one another as they are hurriedly thumbed and flipped, his scent a familiar heady mixture of vanilla-anise-fruit-almond-wood, redolent of long-forgotten secrets tucked away behind eyes that still sparkled from out of a leathery face.

It began with a simple experiment: to keep a list of all the books she read in her lifetime, something that could be passed on to her children and later on to theirs so they might share her literary experiences and add their own.

When she discovered the empty leather notebook on one of her used book store digs, she knew it was the perfect vehicle for her legacy. Little did she know that within those fine papery leaves and scarred leather cover lived a demon, born of words and waiting for just the right soul to free him.

book-466730_1920

Soon her simple experiment became an obsession with reading all of the words ever written and with each dollar she spent on more books, she lost another friend, another loved one, another moment of her life.

You’re in so deep and you’ve lost everything, she felt him whisper, but none of it matters. You have your books now and you have me and we never have to leave this room again. Keep buying…keep reading…

Stick with me, my darling angel girl, and we’ll go everywhere… 

mortality-401222_1280

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each week, the lovely and talented Ivy Walker hosts a link-up challenging writers to spin a tale in six sentences – no more, no less. 

I never posted last week’s Six, so I’m at it again with a two-fer in a twelve sentence offering. I know – it’s totally cheating. 

Last week’s word was STICK and this week’s is FAULT.

Click on the link right here to link your own post and read more Six Sentence Stories from some wonderful storytellers.