K.A. Ashcomb's Blog, page 6

Day 152 Writing Short Stories

Monotone

That sound, that echo, that monotone voice inside you, telling you that you are not good enough, you are wrong, you are bad, you mean nothing. How did it sneak in? How did it stay there? Why does it have such control? The shame.

Yet, it was not always there. She didn’t once recognize its power. It sneaked in when she was a kid. The first time someone asked her why she was the way she was? The first time, someone refused to play with her. Somehow, all those moments let in a monoton...

Day 151 Writing Short Stories

Mime

The frown between her eyebrows deepened under her wide-brimmed hat; she stuck her tongue out as she concentrated on what she was doing. Looping the thread through the eye of the needle took all her efforts, even when she was supposed to observe and teach her target.

She tilted her head towards the little alien with a needle and thread of its own. The creature was mimicking her movements exactly, even trying to frown and stick its green tongue between its bluish lips. Its nimble finger...

Day 150 Writing Short Stories

Deluge

The little island floated in the vast ocean. It had been a sanctuary for years. It had let him escape the real world. There had been just the necessary things one needed to do to survive, and otherwise time to watch the stars, the migrating birds, feel the changing seasons, and the sand between his toes. The island had been a paradise, not shy of hard work, hunger, or those quiet moments, where you question whether it was all worth it, yet every part of it made sense.

But nothing ev...

Day 149 Writing Short Stories

Pest

They never saw me as a human being. I was always a pest to them. I didn’t fit into their ideals of what a person has to be and aspire to be. I was never like them. So I became a pest. I became something to be hated. There have been countless tears, hate, and hurt, but somehow I got past all those. I became myself. I became something I wanted to be, and not something the world expected me to be. I never joined their race for nothing. I still can enjoy the little things that made it all wo...

Day 148 Writing Short Stories And Openings

Folly

There’s no folly like taking life seriously. There’s no folly like trying to control every outcome. There’s no folly like forgetting to experience everything.

It had been her mother’s mantra. She had become the opposite. The pencils on her desk were neatly organized. She had done nothing deviating from the plan she had made for herself when she was a kid. And now her mother was gone, dead, and all the control felt pointless. Her head was spinning into chaos, and she didn’t understand...

Day 147 Writing Short Stories

Leader

They had wanted someone who took their troubles away. They had wanted someone strong and divine. All they had gotten was her and her soft-spoken words. It had been a close call, but she had won the popular vote. And now they looked at her, expecting miracles. Miracles she had spoken of. Some wanted nothing more than her to fail.

But with her words, there were possibilities for creation. Her predecessors had left their island in ruins, people angry and desperate. She was planning to ...

Day 146 Writing Short Stories

Fear

We have this initial need for control to stifle the fear inside us. If we can just make sure everything goes according to the plan, then nothing can spook us. Imagine a society built around that fact. Certain predictability. Imagine your life in such a world. Now imagine what it is to fear the certainty. Imagine that terror is the only constant. Now imagine waking up. What do you see?

Do you see my face? Do you hear my voice?

If you want to survive, you need to move. You have slept...

Day 145 Writing Short Stories

Wine

The cat knocked the wineglass down, staining the new carpet. It continued to lick its paw on the table, occasionally giving a side glance to its human. The woman’s cursing and rushing around were amusing. But it hadn’t done the deed for entertainment. There had been a reason. The cat just couldn’t remember anymore what it was. That moment was now gone. But it had been done for matters of life and death. That was what the cats were made of—the guardians of the living. The ancient gods, wh...

Day 144 Writing Short Stories

Bell

The church bell struck midnight, and she knew what it meant. It struck only for those who knew how to listen. The sound made her skin prickle with goose bumps.

“It’s time,” she said pointlessly.

All her sisters had already gotten up. They knew the bell. They knew the dead. They knew what was expected of them.

She got her cape by the door and drew her hat deep down to shield herself from the autumn wind and the rain. Her sisters followed her.

They were not her actual sisters. ...

Day 143 Writing Short Stories

Frost

The landscape was growing colder every day that passed. She had been watching the frost color the green grass white. This was a special time of the year. This was a magical time of the year when everything was possible. Others withdrew indoors to escape the cold, and she finally ventured out to live.

The air was clear, and her thoughts were sharper with it.

Casanova

The woman swirled her dagger on the table. She had caught him at a bad time—his trousers around his ankles, and t...