Short, short story: catch me if you can

Hobbled by his pants, he fell. Immediately the shot that ended the affair exploded in his ears.

Short, short story: just like the Bible says

I looked at her hard when she wasn't looking. I lusted for her in my loins just like the Bible says.

Short, short story: suck on this. . .then move on.

It was my mother. My brother was born a year after me. My older brother took care of me. How could I love you?

Short, short stories

I started writing short stories for Espresso Stories.

I don't remember how I found Stumble Upon, but it took me to Espresso Stories the day before yesterday. Writing is one of the topics I had selected for Stumble Upon to link to.

I started writing yesterday. So, none have been accepted yet.

A Riddle in the Old English Style

Old English riddles can be found in the Exeter Book. These riddles, as well as other Anglo Saxon writings, are divided into two half-lines. There are two beats to the half-line. Further, the style calls for alliterative verse characterized by consonants to create a staccato effect and "roughness" of a Germanic language. Many of the riddles were written by monks who took pleasure in creating suggestive pieces with a mundane solution.

The assignment in my British Literature class was to write a riddle in this style.


My quirky creation,          I’m dizzyingly dense,

now, living alone          in deepest darkness,

blackest black          of my own making,

I do dare          searchers who seek me

directly discover          my swarthy shape.

Find my effects,          proof of position,

look for my light          in hidden horizon,

blazingly bright,          but valueless vision.

Nearby my neighbors          rush to retreat,

but bringing them back,         I forge their futures.

Orbiting aught          they silently spin.

As pitch to the pooch,          so rays from my region,

disrobing the dying          clothing flung far.

Come close,          eternity’s inception.

Don’t be deceived          I own no honor.

Fascinating future          ends in extinction.

Expectant imagination,          dismal destruction.

Terrible tides          to pull you apart,

hope goes to hell          the closer you come.

We become one,          but you, left a loser.


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