K.A. Ashcomb's Blog, page 2

Day 200 Writing Short Stories

Song

The lyrics, the words, the tune, it was all what she felt. There, written down by someone, sung by him. She watched him in awe as the words floated around her. The others faded away around her, and there was only the feeling inside her that made sense of everything. She stepped towards the float where he stood. It was as if the words were guiding her there. He offered her his hand and drew her up. His eyes locked with hers, and she was sure her heart would give in. She stood there, letti...

Day 199 Writing Short Stories

Gap

The paintings of angels rose above him. The Creek statues made the hollow space look even more alien than it was supposed to be. He had used the gap; he had made the space and time slide to him, and he found himself inside the Vatican. It was not what he had meant to do. Luckily, the tourist paid no attention to him materializing from thin air. He was like any other person there, irrelevant to most, and paid only little attention.

He could try to make the gap appear again, but there we...

Day 198 Writing Short Stories

Bridge

The land was scorched clean. There was nothing left of the village that had once been there. There was only the bridge leading into a black field where nothing would live for decades. She had done that. She had made the call.

The fighters were gone, and only she was left to witness the village and its destruction. Before the call, she had logged everything into the system. All the dead people taken by the fungus. All the missing people who might carry the alien pathogen.

She sigh...

Day 197 Writing Short Stories

Mark

The huge red mark on the wall was the first warning she saw when arriving in the village. As she stepped past the first house, she saw the same red mycelium spreading from house to house. She drew her scarf against her mouth and nose, holding it in place with her hand. She had arrived too late. It had taken over the entire village.

The eerie silence had taken over every inch of the place. The life that had once been there haunted the yards, but now it was absent. She waited for a chil...

Day 196 Writing Short Stories and Mulling Over Writing

Island

The hovercraft swooped over the artificial island. The city below was dark and industrial, and the streets were crowded with workers, making sure the little island city pumped electricity to the mainland. The carrier was taking the new batch of workers down from the mainland. The pilot had heard the news. There had been a significant incident last week as a maintenance pipe had erupted, taking down twenty people. He wouldn’t have paid any thought to the story if he weren’t tasked with ...

Day 195 Writing Short Stories

Lost

The moorland opened around her. There was nothing but the strange landscape with its yellowing fields and the odd twisted tree here and there. No signs of civilization. She wasn’t sure even what century it was or where she was. She had been forced to step out of the current, and here she was, lost in time and space.

She sighed and faced a random direction. There was no point in reason. She had to let her intuition guide her. It was all she had. The current was out of the question. The...

Day 194 Writing Short Stories

Train

The rain drizzled down against the high glass ceiling. She traced with her gaze the iron Gothic work keeping the glass windows up. She imagined the day they built the train station, and what it took to make all the individual pieces. It was a true marvel. She could sit there watching the high arches, the ironwork, the symbols, and the old clock face all day, but she was meant to catch a train.

It was the old ghost train that only those with special eyes saw. Her silver-blue eyes were...

Day 193 Writing Short Stories

Machine

It was a small gadget. Not really bigger than his palm. There it had been on Paul’s front steps, waiting for him this morning. And it was for him. His name was on the package. He just wasn’t sure what it was and who had sent it. He had poked it, propped it, twisted it, and nothing. The brass thing was mute.

He glanced at the clock and stared at it in disbelief. It was already noon, and he had missed going to work. He was sure he had just gotten the thing out of the box and given it...

Day 192 Writing Short Stories

Corporate

It was to be his first day in the office. He had gotten the job through his uncle’s friend, who had taken pity on him at one of his uncle’s famous parties. The man had said that a good lad like him should have a career on his way. That it was such a shame that his university degree would be wasted on him. The man had given him a business card and said to meet him there on Monday. He was making his way through the city to do just that. He wasn’t sure if it was actually a job, an inte...

Day 191 Writing Short Stories

Spoil

The girl wailed. She had been the worst spoil they had taken from their raid. Even the most perseverant advocate for transom was starting to wear out of the constant wailing. The girl didn’t make the sound because she was scared. If she were, it would have made things a lot simpler. She was demanding this and that. She was constantly complaining about how bored she was.

They were setting up a party to return her home. There was a line of volunteers for the task despite the apparent d...