Wednesday Prompt Smash: I could sleep forever

A/N: BOOM it's on time this week. Bet you didn't see that coming. As always Sasha writes cool stuff to, it's mandatory, go and read it now.


I could sleep forever
200 words

I think if pressed to answer, gun to my head. My one true love is sleep. I can’t get enough sleep, I have alarms set early in the morning so that I can groggily look at them, turn them off and drift back into the slumber I crave so much.

Some days life is hard to deal with, shit goes wrong, people are jerks. You know what never goes wrong? Sleep. You know what is never a jerk to you? You guessed it, sleep.

If people would let me, I truly think that I could sleep forever. Every time I try I keep waking up though. I go to sleep, I wake up. I go to sleep I wake up. Repeat ad nauseum.

Most days I wish that I wouldn’t wake up.

132 words (get over it)

Wednesday word prompt: My body wants to kill me

A/N: Another week, another post. It's late again this week. As always check out Sasha's writing because it's good. An on time.

My body wants to kill me
150 words

I went to the gym yesterday. Hey, stop that, don’t laugh. It’s true I really did. It was as horrible as I always imagined it would be. I was dragged there by Stefan, a stupid name for a stupid person.

Anyway, the gym. There were muscles and sweat everywhere. Bars, weights, and machines littered the room with little thought to form, function or the appropriate fung shei. Do you know what else? Mirrors. Every wall a damn mirror. Who wants to see themselves in stupid positions struggling to exercise.

It’s all madness I tell you. The whole ‘gym’ thing is a scam to help people with not enough brain gain extra muscle instead.

And you know the worst part? The pain. My body has aches in places that I didn’t know even existed. I’m pretty sure my body wants to kill me after my short foray. I shan't be going again.

151 words.

Wednesday Word Prompt: Anxious

A/N: It's Friday, I'm two days late for this prompt. But it hardly matters, no-one reads these anyway.

Anxious, 100 words

Heart pumping, blood rushing, pounding in your ears. Anxious.

Palms are sweaty, you wipe them on your pants, but they are wet again in seconds. Anxious.

Butterflies in your stomach, threatening to violently tear their way out of your insides. Anxious.

Shifting weight from foot to foot, uncontrollable fidgeting, hands moving of their own accord. Anxious.

Mind racing, won't stop dwelling, what if? What if? Anxious.

Fucking, not knowing how to end this writing piece. Anxious.

76 words.

Wednesday Word Prompt: It's good to be king

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

It's good to be king.

200 words

Some days being the ruler of your own sovereign nation was a very difficult thing indeed. There were wars to be planned, generals to execute. Some days the king would have to meet the peasants, always such a smelly, disgusting, beggy lot. But they are subjects, and that’s just what you have to do. Some days you have to go to the dentist, no matter how much you don’t want to. Some days are spent quietly in the small council chambers, talking about things like taxes, and the state of the sewer system.

Today was not one of those days. Today was like of those days where you ride your griffin into the mountains and visit the wizard priest. Today was like wading into glorious combat, your blade slick with the shiny red blood of your enemies. Today was a good day.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ mum is shouting, I’m hugged, I’m whisked downstairs to breakfast, and after. It is a good day.

’Look at all these presents, take of that silly crown and let’s open them.’

175 words

Wednesday Prompt: Bitten Fingernails

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Bitten Fingernails

50 words

Fun fact: I don’t usually bite my fingernails, except when I am really drunk. I know I have had a big night when I wake up the next day with a massive hang over, and everything I try to do is hampered by the fact that I have bitten the nails so short it is painful.

56 words.

Wednesday Prompt: Even gods sleep in sometimes

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Even gods sleep in sometimes.

150 words

There is a banging at the door. ‘Go away!’ can be heard muffled from the other side, as if the voice has come from beneath a pillow.

The banging continues unabated and the knocker, a short, but tanned and muscular boy yells out ‘Wake up brother, or you will be late for the battle.’ There is a thump, and then mighty footsteps rattle their way to the door.

The door clicks and creaks open to reveal a man twelve foot tall, horns protruding from his head, veins spidering across his skin, blue against his almost opalescent skin. ‘If you are in such a hurry, I am here.’

As the identical twin brothers of war walk down the hallway to the kitchens, one 12 foot tall, the other barely 5 the world shivers in anticipation for the day's mighty combats.

139 words

Wednesday Prompt: Damn You, Postman

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Damn You, Postman

100 Words

Where is that asshole? I’ve been waiting for this package for almost a week since I ordered it online. I’ve been checking the tracking religiously. I know it left the compound for deliveries at 8:13am this morning. It has to be here soon.

It’s late afternoon, he never came. I’m still sitting outside waiting. I pull out my phone and swear. The tracking now says ‘attempted delivery.’ But I have been here watching all day, we didn’t have any post.

I go down the path to the mailbox and sure enough inside is a little parcel collection slip. When did the postman come? Damn you, postman.

106 Words

Wednesday Prompt: Hiccups

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

HiccupsWord Limit: 50

I wake up to the screaming, my eyes flutter open and I have trouble recognising what I am looking at. There is blood and gore everywhere. My roommate, his face half torn off screaming in my face.

“AAAARRRGGGGHHHHH, Do you still have hiccups?”

All this to get rid of some lousy hiccups. The blood doesn’t even look real.

58 Words.

Wednesday Prompt: Bad Grammar

A/N: What follows is a mixture of L33T speak and Textese. While I can read them both almost fluently I am not cool enough to tell them apart. So they are kinda mashed together. Apologies in advance. As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Bad Grammar
Word Limit: 100

70 Words.

Final thoughts: This was actually painful for me to write. I’ve done some research into textese and I am fine with it as a convergent language in its own right. But my brain just isn’t wired to write it.

Wednesday Prompt: Intergalactic Deity.

A/N: For any confused after reading this story, look up the church of the flying spaghetti monster. As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Intergalactic Deity

Word Limit: 200

It may be common knowledge now, but to say that we were surprised would be the understatement of the century. To think that a tiny little religion, on a tiny little planet in the outer arms of the Milky Way Galaxy would come up with the same answer as the Voss.

A little background for those who have been hiding under a rock, or like my cousin Stefan in a literal cave. The Voss are an extra-galactic universe spanning civilisation. They aren’t from the milky way, they aren’t even from our nearest neighbours. We share nothing in common with them, they aren’t carbon based. They don’t use vibrations in the air to communicate, they are the antithesis of human.

All except for one thing. God. Human and Voss share a religion. Something no other two species have ever had upon ascension. But when humans first reached the stars the Voss took the believers to a place in space so far from Earth that the light of the sun would not reach it for another billion years.

And it was there that mankind first looked upon god. Man reached out and pressed his hand against the window, and god reached back with his noodly appendage.

A/N: Yes my cousin went into hiding in a cave when the aliens landed.

200 Words.

Wednesday Prompt: Broken Glasses

A/N: This one is a little sweary. As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Broken Glasses

Word Limit: 100

There is screaming in the house, there is always screaming in the house. What have they done this time the little shits. Probably broken something of mine, something that I love, maybe my TV this time. Little brats. The screaming is louder now, I pull myself out of my daze and check.

There they are, the two of them, the bane of my existence. Standing in the middle of the room, and there is glass, everywhere. It looks like every glass in the house is shattered on the ground. The little fucks, What am I going to have my beer out of now?

103 Words.

Wednesday Prompt: It's not dinner time yet

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

It's not dinner time yet.
Word Limit: 50

I’ll have my steak medium rare please, I say as I sit down in the restuarant. It’s been a good holiday so far, nothing could ruin these last few days.

It’s not dinner time yet sir, it’s 6 in the morning.

And with that, my holiday ruined.

47 Words.

Wednesday Prompt: Wrath of the Elven

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Wrath of the Elven
Word Limit: 300

We used to make fun of the elves. When I say we I do mean everyone, myself included. ‘Hey Knife-ear,’ ‘Forest Lover,’ even less polite ‘Forest Fucker.’

We didn’t know the role they played in the world. Quite frankly we didn’t much care about their feelings or their precious forests. We had houses to build, fires to maintain. How could we have known what was to come? Should we have listened?

It happened slowly at first, I don’t think anyone even truly realised the elves were disappearing until they were just gone. Furthermore, when they were gone it took us much too long to recognise the impact their absence was causing.

At first, the spring rains were a little late, but then they didn’t come at all. Everyone tried their own way to bring back the rain, shamans, priests, devil worshipers, wicca, witches. Everyone tried their best, most tried to fix the problem, call rain. Not the Wiccans, they attempted to contact the elves. No response.

Summer came, it was scorching. Autumn came, the leaves fell from the trees for the last time. Winter, the cold, the snow, the chills, the first deaths.

The forests are all but dead now. The dwarves don’t answer the doors of their ancient halls. Never did like those short gits anyway.

It’s all coming to a close now. Those left alive collect water dearly, they feed it to their house plants. One day hoping to bring life back to a dying world.

Where the elves went no-one really ever found out. Maybe they moved onto another plane of existence. Maybe fed up with all our shit they decided to just move to a tropical island somewhere to live out the last of their stupidly long lives.

292 words.

Wednesday Prompt: Taxi Ride

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Taxi Ride
Word Limit: 300

‘Let’s go through this one more time shall we Mr. Smith.’

‘Smythe, my name is Smythe, how many times should I have to tell you this. I’ve been involved in a crime. Show some professionalism.’

The police officers stare blankly at Robert Smythe, ‘Please, continue.’

‘I was on main st. It must have been about 10 o’clock. I’d had a few drinks with the boys after work, O’Malley’s. We were at O’Malley’s. We got a lift home together, James watched to catch an Uber or Lyft or some shit. I dragged us into a taxi. You gotta look after them, they are losing their jobs. So it’s all fine and we are dropping everyone off. Dave first, then Andy. Then it was just James and me in the taxi’

He stops for a moment, takes a deep breath and continues.

‘Just me and James, and the cab. It pulls onto the interstate entrance. I told the guy that he was going the wrong way. But he just stared out the front, his dead charcoal eyes not moving. We banged on the plexiglass barrier. He didn’t turn, James eventually tried to open the door to jump out, but they were locked. He must have driven until well after sunup, except for. Well. The sun didn’t come up. It was just dark, what must have been like 18 hours later I fell asleep. I woke up at home, I don’t know how. I called James to see if he was alright, but his phone has been disconnected. He never pays his bills on time. I called Dave and he is pretending not to know James.’

Robert looks at the two police officers sitting in front of him. ‘Shouldn’t you be writing this down? James is missing.’

One officer shuffles some clearly blank paper. ‘This would be James McFadden?’

‘That’s right.’

‘We’ll make some inquiries Mr. Smith, thank you for coming to us so promptly.’ The officer says as he gently ushers Robert Smythe out the door.

334 words.

Wednesday Prompt: Super Secret Hawaiian Punch

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Super Secret Hawaiian Punch
Word Limit: 100

I think they call it a luau. There has been dancing, which was cool and everyone wore grass skirts. There was so much food, all cooked until the meat fell apart as you ate it.

But that isn’t why I’m writing about this. I’m writing because of what I drank. It’s some kind of super secret Hawaiian punch. There was rum, vodka, and I think some triple sec. But there was something else I could not place.

I begged people all night to let me in on the secret to the punch and no-one would until the very end of the night as I was leaving an elderly woman whispered in my ear ‘It’s pineapple liqueur.’

117 words.

Wednesday Prompt: Put on your slippers and Let's Rock

A/N: As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Put on your slippers and let's rock.Word Limit: 100

‘Simon!’ I hear a familiar voice cry from some very distant place. The name washes over me without meaning.

‘Simon!’ There it goes again, but I’m being shaken this time. I am Simon. Simon, the man who has now been rudely awakened 3 times this week by his annoying roommate.

‘Simon, you’re awake. Excellent, throw on your slippers.’ He excitedly babbles.

‘Wha..’ is all I manage to get out before I am being forced into my slippers and out the front door.

‘I have tickets to this awesome rock concert.’

‘Rock concert?’

92 words

Wednesday Prompt: Fold Out Beds

Authors Note: So I've been bad, It's been two years since I last posted. Which isn't ideal for a "weekly" prompt. I have however been writing while I was away, and I am pretty much up to date (or as up to date as I plan to get) So without further ado my weekly prompt. As always check out The Short Story Press for Sasha's prompt. We give them to each other every Friday and post on Wednesdays. At least Sasha posts Wednesdays, I post when I post.

Fold Out Beds

Word Limit: 100

I’ve been here for four days now. A few have been here longer. Eight days since frail old Mrs Johnson hobbled into the shelter with her dog, Spike. It’s still here pretty early, so I have a fold out bed to myself. If you got here two days ago, you have a bit of floor space, roughly the size of what a fold out bed should be allocated to you. The people are still pouring in, at least they are trying to. I can’t be sure, but it looks like the little army officer running this place was turning people away this morning.

103 words.