30 Days of Writing for the Month of April
Thanks to the wonderful writing community on Twitter, I have discovered a new writing challenge for April, and this is no April Fool’s joke. Each day, a prompt will be posted on Twitter (#30Words30Days). Then you simply write a story of exactly 30 words inspired by the prompt. Easy peasy, right?
Unsplash image by Laura Chouette
The prompts will be tweeted out at 8 a.m. Melbourne, Australia time, which I think is 5 p.m. Central time a day ahead (I cannot be held responsible for inaccuracy of my time zone conversions).
I’m going to try my best to stick to the challenge and share my 30-word stories here. All my creative friends need to join me!
Day 1: Village
When the attack came, we were waiting. Ready. One behind the door, two against the wall, three beneath a desk, weapons drawn. No cowering. Not anymore. It takes a village.
Day 2: Communicate
They sit in silence most nights, shoulder to shoulder. Eyes and ears falter, skin sags, conversation lags. But after fifty years of marriage, they still hold hands. That’s conversation enough.
Day 3: Chief
He thinks he’s the head of the household, wants me at his beck and call. He hurts me time and time again, yet I love him still. That darned cat.
Day 4: Gather
We sit hunched over in prayer, hands grasping each other’s like a chain, straining under the weight of the empty chair at the head of the table. And we weep.
Day 5: Outcast
At fifteen, I was desperate to belong to a group, wouldn’t be caught dead alone. Please like me. At fifty, I’m content to be an outcast. Please leave me alone.
Day 6: Solitary
She watches the clock, listens to the seconds tick by, laughter and chatter fading away. When the last one leaves, she exhales, leans back, returns to her game of Solitaire.
Day 7: Identity
Mama, Mommy, Mom, Mother, Yo, Bro, Bruh, needed, shunned, wanted, shushed, drive me here, leave me there, help me, don’t, can I, please, no, don’t remember who I am anymore.
Day 8: Build
Delicate fingers snap together the final bricks of a tower so divine. Then comes a boy with a crazed karate kick, and pieces of her heart scatter amongst the Legos.
Day 9: Oppression
Oppression by Ben Harper plays on the old jukebox, and the wood-paneled room reverberates as patrons sing along and sway and tap their feet – black, white, and brown – in unison.
Day 10: Together
Charles stumbles and falls – thump – to the floor, arms splayed out as if in surrender. His ego aching more than his knees, he realizes someone tied his shoelaces together. Again.
Day 11: Sharing
“I got this one when I was five. Another one on my seventh birthday. This one, twelve. These are from thirteen to fifteen. And this one …” – Sharing my scars
Day 12: Hierarchy
Who I think the boss is: me. Who my husband thinks the boss is: him. Who my kids think the boss is: them. Who is actually the boss: the cat.
Day 13: Gang
They watched her stumble, watched her books and papers scatter. They pointed, laughed, shook their heads and kept walking. Her friend said nothing, kept walking too. This is high school.
Day 14: Motley
She was the epitome of cool in her fishnet gloves, bowed headband and jelly bracelets, her punk-rock hair sprayed in place. I cut mine to look like hers. It didn’t.
Day 15: Individual
She tried the shop-vac, lint brush, tape. Pinched each individual hair with tweezers, flinging it away. Pinch, fling, pinch, fling. Ten years later, there’s still dog hair in the car.
Day 16: Feast
The turtles feast on the leftover steak I’ve thrown into the pond, clanking carapaces in their race to get the most. We used to do this together, you and I.
Day 17: Support
At a work lunch on Friday, she split her pants. On Saturday, the rickety porch swing couldn’t support her weight. On Sunday, she heeded the signs and joined a gym.
Day 18: College
There’s nothing like the thrill of being on a college campus. Breathing in the carefree life, feeling the energy down to your bones, reaching out and catching all the possibilities.
Day 19: Stranger
They sat facing each other on the train, eyes flicking awkwardly this way and that as life zoomed past the window in a blur. Others probably thought they were strangers.
Day 20: Guest
Prerequisites in home buying:
“This will make a perfect guest room!”
“The kitchen is wonderful for entertaining.”
“The garden is divine for parties.”
Reality: Once bought, the house remains guestless.
Day 21: Ideology
Bonny blindly thrust the blade into her lover’s fleshy abdomen, so devastated was she by her recent miscarriage. She was steadfast in her ideology, after all: Eye for an eye.
Day 22: Adjacent
The adjacent apartment has a clock that blasts a bird call each hour. The sparrow sings at dawn, the meadowlark at dusk. When the loon cries, I miss you most.
Day 23: Ritual
She checks the locks once, twice, again. Turns and repeats. It’s more ritual than habitual. Being a disabled widow has made it so. Along with memories of a brutal attack.
Day 24: Clique
The geeks, the nerds, the jocks, the punks, the skaters, the goth kids, the preps – Leigh didn’t fit into a single clique. On the surface, she seemed fine with that.
Day 25: Initiation
She turned her back on this girl, once a friend – not cool enough anymore – and with a twirl of her hair and exaggerated roll of her eyes, initiation was complete.
Day 26: Native
Poison ivy, native to the sweltering and arid lands of Hell, grows in every U.S. state except Alaska and Hawaii. I check Zillow as I scratch these horrid bumps incessantly.
Day 27: Meeting
The admin team held numerous critical meetings. They reviewed notes about previous meetings. Afterward, they met again to schedule more meetings to discuss when to meet again. Productivity = 0.
Day 28: Clan
What started as one bad seed grew into a group, then a clan, then a mob too large to control, with roots so intertwined that no good could seep through.
Day 29: Company
“I like your company.” I wiped my hands on my jeans. “You brighten the room, and we have wonderful conversations.” I inhaled her lavender fragrance. Added water to her pot.
Day 30: Belong
I watch a hawk glide above the sun-soaked treetops. Listen to the frogs croak their evening songs. Hear the wind whisper in my ear. And I feel like I belong.