30 word stories

 The thirty word stories continue. 

It's halfway through the April Writer's Victoria Flash Fiction Challenge. With my head in another place for the last week it's been a bit harder than normal to write quality 30 word stories, but nevertheless, I'm persisting. It's still great to put your head in another realm for the few minutes it takes to write these, but I wish I was feeling my writerly muse more. 

Anyway, here are my efforts for the last ten days or so (Word of the day in bold):

Burst

A woman’s problem. The glacial toilet queue. I transfer my weight from leg to leg. A stall door opens. My bursting bladder will only just hold those last few paces.

Consciousness

“Count back from one hundred.”

The needle slipped into my vein. My grip on consciousness taken away, no matter how hard I fought it. 

“Nine-nine… ninety-eight... eleventy-one…”

Gone. No control.

Scrunch

He looked cherubic, silently sleeping on his side, one hand cupping his balls. Our scrunched-up clothes the only testament to the debauchery which had occurred in the hours before.

Manifest

She could manifest a boyfriend, and she knew it! Primped, preened, perfumed, she strode into the bar, head high, chin up, secretly knowing her efforts would result in nothing.

Unravel

Sitting in the cluttered home office after the funeral, she tried to unravel her aunt’s affairs. Twenty years of paperwork, stored with hoarder’s logic, left her broken, fraught and angry.

Elaborate

We called grandma Madame Malaprop, for her propensity for leaving out her hearing aid and half hearing song lyrics. Our favourite. “Stop, elaborate and glisten. Love that Vanilla Slice guy.”

Pop

A deafening pop , then the echoing screech of brakes.

“Went off like a bag of chips.” 

Then the euphemistic tannoy announcement came.

“Person under train…”

Open

“Open your eyes.”

“No.”

He patted my hand, “Come on, wake up.”

“No.”

I’m not sure if I’d articulated this. The anaesthetic tried to pull me back into the ether.

Renew

The beautician promised the expensive facial would renew her skin, set life aglow and take years off her age. Unfortunately, after the treatment, she ended up red-faced, spotty, and broke.

Crumple

Once a testimony to utilitarian values, the aging tower block stood lonely on the horizon, looking over a forest.  With a rumble and a flash, the building crumpled into oblivion.

Illuminate

Sit, stooped.

Fingers, licked.

Inkstains blend

with aging callouses. 

Cat’s paw print

Sabotages pages,

As candlelight dims

and eyesight fades.

To illuminate

these tomes of wisdom

is a damnable  vocation.

Hands

She knew his hands. Sitting next to him on the tube, she didn’t look at his face. You never do that. The shape of his nails calcified her.

Blossom

“Don’t call me Blossom, or any other flower name!” I screamed.

How dare he? The indignation was palpable. 

He smirked from behind the desk, elbows extended, knowing he’d won.

Today's Song: