Things have been a little hectic and there's been a few changes to life that have meant I am now making excuses for not posting anything on Friday again. Sorry!
So my time management needs a little work but for now have an untitled tale I wrote some time ago.
Phoebe flopped down on to the sofa with a huff and was immediately handed a mug of coffee.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Mal raised their eyebrows but didn’t ask. The nearest table was occupied by a civilian couple, who might have looked like they were consumed by their own conversation but it was still too much of a risk.
When a humungous dragon flaps across in front of her it sinks in that she cannot trust what she is seeing. Somewhere, deep in a corner of her mind, there’s a part of her that wants to believe. Wants to just dive headfirst into this…hallucination? Vision? Dream?
She doesn’t know, if she’s being honest.
I know, I missed Friday's post and honestly I have no excuse.
Tradition would tell you that building home means to get a house in the suburbs with a spouse and a couple of children. That spouse should be of the ‘opposite’ gender and if male, provide for the family.
Tradition can get fucked.
Sometimes I write a little story that I have no idea what happens afterwards, like a cliffhanger for myself. This is one of those, no one knows what happens after the last words.
The sword shone brightly as it swung through the air, not yet tarnished by death. There was a clang as it hit the rock at the entrance. A warning. Nothing moved. The sword clanged against the rock again. Just in case.
A note: Another non-10 Minute Tale that I've been working on for a while. Let's get allegorical!
Welcome to my house, please mind the steps they are steep and they are many.
Right in front of you is where I rest, play games and wile away the hours. It is comfy and cosy and please ignore that cold breeze, it’s not always like this. No don’t look over there, don’t give it any attention. If you pay it attention it will venture out of its dark corner and you don’t want that. No please, don’t ask. It will only make you question every decision, regret every choice, bring you nothing but a pain in your chest and a quaver in your voice.
Please do not acknowledge the Beast.
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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