Jason froze mid swig. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Guy countered.
“That noise. Like a scratching noise. Coming from the walls, I think.”
As described in my last post, I’m setting myself (and inviting others to join) a writing challenge designed to stretch unused writing muscles and limber up the creativity. Each month a new topic will be set, and each Friday we’ll write something based around that subject.
Gulls cried raucously above as they journeyed to their nesting place. Below, field mice scurried amongst autumn’s detritus. And perched atop the bare, limestone cliffs between above and below, was she – the embodiment of patience
The aspen watched from a distance as the sharp teeth of a chainsaw cut cruelly into the weathered bark of the old sycamore.
Fluffy Easter chicks
Three for five dollars—
Silent, midnight silk,
starlight eyes in winter sky.
I’m being followed.
One micey. Two micey. Three micey. Four—
He stopped, stock still, on the gleaming barbed wire fence. The fourth spike was empty. Where was four micey?
Adorned with a crown of jewels, she sat regal on her throne, watching the comings and goings of her subjects below.
She felt it before she saw the first clouds shadowing the horizon. The gentle breeze changed swiftly, picking up speed, gusting through her feathers, urging her, fly! fly!
In the depths of the forest he toiled for hours, sweeping his stage of errant leaves and broken twigs, preening each magnificent tail-feather to perfection.