365 Days of Writing

  Short Story -- Bob and Reg are Back Again ‘ ‘Ey Bob!’ Reg called from the roof ridge of a house across the street. Reg couldn’t see it, but Bob rolled his eyes. He turned back to his companion, the one on the roof ridge with him, and said, ‘I am so sorry. One minute.’ Then he turned and shouted, ‘I’m talkin’ to Cynthia, Reg!’ Reg shouted back, ‘What? I can’t ’ear you!’ Bob sighed and shouted louder, ‘I’m talkin’ to Cynthia!’ ‘Oh,’ Reg called back. ‘Whatchya doin’ that for?’ At this point, Cynthia said softly to Bob, ‘Perhaps now isn’t a good time.’ ‘Naw, Cynthia. Please don’t leave because of Reg!’ Bob pleaded. He’d been trying to talk to Cynthia alone for days now. ‘Another time, Bob,’ she said apologetically and took flight. Bob watched her wistfully as she flew away. ‘I said…!’ Bob snapped back to reality and flew over to Reg, knocking him off the roof as he landed. Reg flapped back up. ‘That was a bad land in’ Bob.’ ‘Couldn’t you see I was talking to Cynthia?!’ Bob said enrag...

  Short Story -- Unknown Explorer Log: Day 576 of rain. Just kidding. Sort of. Because that’s what it feels like. I always knew I wanted to be an explorer. I longed for the unknown. I loved — and still do — a challenge. But this rain. It’s not the rain itself that’s the problem so much as the lack of sun… And the fact that all my gear is soaked. My clothes are constantly damp. Even in shelter — makeshift or a tent or a cave — you can feel the moisture. There’s not enough fire to dry things out. And they’re just going to get wet again tomorrow. Probably. This planet is beautiful though. At least the part I’m in. Because of the unending rain, vegetation is very green. There aren’t many plants that require a lot of sun or warmth. But there are flowers in a variety of hues: blues, purples, pinks, golds, reds… The temperature wouldn’t be bad if it weren’t so wet. The cold just soaks into one’s bones here. Even my paper is damp, which makes it more difficult to write legibly. I’ve not me...

  Short Story -- Monkshood Manor: Part 27 Mr Millings returned shortly with some boards and a tool box. He immediately set to work, in spite of the fact that there was still broken glass out. ‘Is something bothering you?’ Teddy asked tentatively. ‘What?’ Mr Millings asked absentmindedly. ‘Oh, no,’ he added with more assurance. ‘It’s just…’ Teddy started and left off. After all, how well did she really know Charles Millings? Yes, he’d come recommended by Mr Reed. True, Mrs Winter seemed to like him. Or like him for Teddy, that is. Monkshood hadn’t shown any signs of distrust or dislike. But she’d only known him for a handful of days. Her gut was telling her something was off. ‘You can wait to fix it until the glass has been cleaned up,’ Teddy said, softly adding, ‘if you have the time and want to.’ But Mr Millings steadily continued measuring and sawing and nailing the boarding place. He was a repairing machine! ‘Well, perhaps,’ Teddy thought, ‘at least we can clean up the whole mes...

  One sentence We finally had a sunny day! 

  Short Story -- Morning She’d always remember the way the sun came over the mountains and across the fjord in the morning. She’d wake up early, get dressed, pack her journal and her current read on her bag, and quietly leave the hotel. It wasn’t dark exactly, but the sun hadn’t fully risen yet either. As she walked through the town centre was waking up. Shop owners were arriving. Old women talked to each other out their windows. Cats sat out in the squares and swaggered down side streets. She wound through the main square and up a small alley-esque road, climbing higher and higher. Eventually she’d be walking on a dirt path that lead to what was once — and actually up until WWII — a fort a top a nearby mountain. Above the city, but below the fort, she’d stop. There was a flat slab of raised concrete there. Like a stage but without any seats for an audience. She’d scramble up and sit. She had made it in time! The pinks and yellows of the sunrise were cresting the mountains across f...

  Short Story -- Monkshood Manor: Part 26 Mr Drey walked in with both the Inspector and Mr Millings. The Inspector went immediately to the broken doors, while Charles stopped next to Teddy. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked her quietly. She nodded. Mrs Winter spoke up, ‘Teddy, here, thinks the man was Lord Tottington in disguise.’ The Inspector turned to look at Teddy, ‘What made you think that?’ ‘Something about his mannerisms and voice,’ Teddy answered. ‘But I’m not 100% sure.’ ‘How sure would you say you are?’ he asked. ‘Maybe 75-80%?’ Teddy ventured. ‘But you didn’t notice this, Althea?’ the Inspector asked turning towards Mrs Winter. ‘Not at the time,’ she admitted. ‘But after Teddy said something, I’m sure she’s correct. She’s a clever girl. And there was something about his voice.’ She paused, then added. ‘He was certainly enough of an…’ The Inspector jumped in. ‘Good enough. As you both know, he disappeared from his estate.’ The room went quiet for a minute, everyone thinking the...

  Journal The colds persist but some amazing brownies were made! 

  One sentence Little One has a cold and so do I. 

  Short Story -- The Ballad of Sir Patty Cakes Brave Sir Patty Cakes Accepted his fate And rode off down the road Ignoring the load That his armour added To his fiery steed. Arriving at the dragon’s lair He moved not, not a hair Looking in the mouth of the cave He noticed that the banner waved He dismounted from his horse Drew his sword and stepped forth. Inside was dark and gloomy And would have been quite roomy If not for the dragon Much larger than a wagon That was sleeping: eyes closed And steam rising from its nostrils. Sir Patty Cakes lifted his sword Moving fast, saying not a word And rushed the might beast Who could easily make of him a feast And cried: For country and for pride! The dragon’s golden eyes Flashed open, already wise To what was taking place. It stepped aside with grace Surprising for a creature of this size And stature. The dragon lifted a sharp claw And quickly hit the maw Of Sir Patty Cakes Leaving silence in its wake. The dragon’s golden eyes batted him ag...

  Short Story -- Archibald and Amelia He tried to do everything that dragons were supposed to do. He collected treasure in his cave. He breathed fire and made sure the smoke was seen from far away. He flew over fields and villages casting an ominous shadow. He just hoped the nearest villagers never learned that his treasure contained more acorns and interesting rocks than gold or precious gems, that he mostly used his fire breathing to heat up water for his baths and cook whatever he was having for dinner, and that his shadow only felt scary because he was a dragon of size. What sort of size you ask? Well… bigger than most of the villagers’ cottages but not so big as some of his family members who were larger than the biggest vessels that sailed the seas. In spite of his fire and his size though, Archibald was as afraid of the villagers as they were of him (neither knew it though). It was this fear that was the driving force behind him trying to cultivate such a ferocious reputatio...

  Short Story -- The Waiting Area You sat there. The room was quiet except for the occasional whisper on one language or another from parent to child, or the employees calling the next person or explaining something. People didn’t appear nervous for the most part. Perhaps by the time you got to this point in the process you felt good about your chances. There were whispers in combinations of Persian and English, a woman in a sari, a mother and daughter. Having an appointment only out you in the queue at that time, people slowly disappearing from the open main area to behind a slatted wooden screen. You’d been in places like this before; after all, you’d lived many places. So you waited patiently. You thought about how queuing looks in different cultures. The politeness of Taiwan. The ability to have a place held for you as long as you said so in Ukraine. Every time the woman comes from behind the desk, everyone sits alert. Hoping it’s their turn to go. Your posture changes too. She...