K.A. Ashcomb's Blog

Day 209 Writing Short Stories

Daunting

Oh, what a daunting task it is to exist. If I could, I would mix all the laws, all the rules, and all what is so that it would make sense. I would send a duck as a messenger to bring the word. I would turn everything around so that there would be no need for all the ache. If I could, we would exist in a constant state of curiosity.

Duck

The library door swung open. The people huddled in the middle, who had taken shelter from the raging vortex outside, turned to face the door in...

Day 208 Writing Short Stories

City

Once there had been hope. There had been the possibility of building something beautiful and everlasting. Yet, now the city was in ruins, torn down by the battles lost and won. She had taken shelter from the fallen residential building, and she was watching as the private army patrolled through the streets, looting all they could get their hands on, which wasn’t much. The city had been picked clean, and now there was only the question of territory.

She was there to reckon the situatio...

Day 207 Writing Short Stories

Hill

The city was burning. The airplanes swooped over the destruction, feeding the fire. The outbreak had taken over the city, and there was no other option but containment. The fortress up on the hill felt so distant from the dead and dying. She could separate herself from reality and concentrate on her work to find a cure. But down there, under the airplanes, and in the fire, real people were burning alive, not only the dead. She knew she should feel something. She hadn’t in days. There was...

Day 206 Writing Short Stories

Trudge

Behind her came shuffle, then silence, then shuffle again. She knew what that sound meant. It was a shambler. From the sound of it, the zombie hadn’t yet spotted her. Its trudge was repetitive and confined. She glanced just in case behind her, and the small street between the tall oak trees at the luxury mansion cul-de-sac. The roads were empty. She knew they should be empty. There hadn’t been a breach for months now. But just notions didn’t keep you alive.

There was a driveway to o...

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Day 205 Writing Short Stories

Sea

The dance of the waves against the shore rocks
The endlessness
The longing to sail away to the open waters and never to return
In that cold water, my heart lies

Back Home

The tightness in the chest was getting stronger, spreading its spidery legs to her arms and legs. The closer she drove to the house she grew up in, the tighter the hold got. She wanted to push the brakes and make the car turn around, but she had to go back home. Her mother had fallen ill, and her sister would never fo...

Day 204 Writing Short Stories

Ship

The harbor was never this full. She had been watching the ships sailing into the dock all week. They were like little letters of hope that the world was changing, that the war that was still raging over the kingdom would soon be forgotten. But the one hope she was looking for had yet to arrive. Among all the soldiers returning with their mended wounds and high spirits, her father was not among them. She had looked for them. She had felt a little twinge of pain in her chest every day, tha...

Day 203 Writing Short Stories

Comply

The stone walls were high and rugged. They stood there mocking him, telling him to stay where he was meant to stay. He had never been that good at complying. His mother always complained that he was born under unruly stars. Now she wanted him to stay in the castle, to be its prisoner, to behave and, one day, take his place as the king. He was not made to be a king. He dreamed of days on the road. The distant lands that he could explore and not conquer.

If he wanted that, the wall co...

Day 202 Writing Short Stories

Belief

My life would have turned out differently if the reality hadn’t stretched as it did. I had a pretty normal childhood. You know, family, bike, friends, and unremarkable disposition. All good. All fine. I could have become a corporate lawyer or an unemployed dreamer if it hadn’t been for that day and that book opening my third eye. Then there was no question of belief. There was certainty that the lines between what was seen and not seen were not as simple as they said them to be.

Onc...

Day 201 Writing Short Stories

Heart

What if I said I were a dragon slayer? What if I told you that a brave heart needs just imagination? What if I told you that if you tilted your head, closed your eyes, and listened really carefully, you could be a dragon slayer too? See, it is as simple as that. The sword in your hand grows. Your body morphs deadly. And there’s only a need for a dragon.

A brave heart needs dragons to become a hero and a king. Brave hearts need legends to feel alive. A brave heart needs to flow in act...