Tag Archives: Stories

Six Word Stories (Plus a Secret Story)

I like writing (and reading) six word stories. They can be fun writing prompts because they leave so much left for the imagination to figure out. Such a little bunch of words can make you laugh, wrench your heart out, or make you raise your eyebrows at someone’s cleverness. These stories can help you to appreciate the art of writing, too. I mean, some of these tales are pretty awesome, right?
Here are some of mine. Enjoy.

He handed her a single rose.
She twirled and spun and laughed.
“We have come to kill you.”
She took her backpack and ran.
She took it, smiled, then left.

“Will you please dance with me?”
She gave it all to Him.
The whole family resented that man.
But he couldn’t let her go.
She didn’t remember anything at all.
He received the letter, then disappeared.
Time went so fast back then.
He begged her to not go.
The little girl lost her balloon.
His anger destroyed all of them.
“I can’t do this any longer.”
After much begging, she finally consented.
They still laugh at year-old jokes.
(That counts. Hyphens mean one word.)
See what I did there? Six!
They dated for two whole years.
“Just let go. I’ll catch you.”
They sung songs all night long.
She fell asleep under the stars.
They’ve been married for twelve years.

Now for the secret story part! Somewhere in here is a hidden story (it’s not individual words. I’ll {possibly} do that another time. But just worry about the sentences for this one). Whoever can find the story wins! But you don’t get anything. Sorry.
HINT: It contains 7 of the sentences (gee, I practically gave it away right there).

Have fun!


An Excerpt

Here’s a little passage from my NaNoWriMo novel (the title is still Curiously Crazy, as of right now. Keep reading and you’ll understand). It’s a pretty strange excerpt, but I wanted to let you know that most of the crazy people on the streets/sidewalks are people I’ve seen. So don’t judge my super-duper crazy, wacky, over-imaginative thoughts (although I do tend to have quite a few of those).

ANYWAY! Here you go. (Goldie is a dog, by the way.)

     After about fifteen minutes, we drive into the craziest city I’ve ever seen. Cars are recklessly driven. People are walking and running and shouting everywhere, oblivious to cars, other people, and the farmer who’s walking his pig on the sidewalk like it’s a dog. Goldie howls and scratches on the car window, wishing he could run free with all the craziness.

     A kid is standing in the middle of the road with a wheelbarrow full of boxes next to him. He’s reading a piece of paper, completely unaware of the cars whizzing by him.

     Maybe this is completely normal. I’ve never been to a big city, so I wouldn’t know. Still, this doesn’t feel normal. It’s too chaotic. From the pig and the woman walking across the street with her nose in a book, to the group of young kids singing Christmas carols even though it’s fall. Maybe I’m dreaming.

     Drew leans over and whispers in my ear, “Is this real?”

     “Yes.” The words didn’t come from me. They came from the kid up front. I don’t know how he heard over Goldie’s howling.

     In a little while, we come across a small part of the city that isn’t decorated with tall buildings and colorful, flashing lights. The roads turns from pavement to dirt, and a huge farmhouse comes into view. It’s surrounded by half-dead grass, various kinds of farm animals, and a small barn. A few children are playing in a leaf pile, and an old man is sitting on a rocking chair on the house’s porch, smoking a pipe. The kids wave enthusiastically when they see the car pull up.


Have a Laugh.

The other morning, I was determined to write a short story. About what, I had no clue. So I just sat there in a rocking chair on the front porch, staring into space. Nothing came to me. My mind was blank. Then an idea came to me. I would write a short story about my problem! I would write about writer’s block.
Now, the only way you’re going to find this funny is if you know my name. So. Does anyone know who I am? Anyone? Well, for those of you who don’t… Rebekah.

Now read. I promise it’s not long, and you’ll at least smile when you get to the end. Even if it’s only mentally.

Greg sighed. He hated writer’s block. The whiteness of the notebook page almost seemed sinful to him. Poking the page with his pen, Greg tried to think up a first sentence. Even a word would do.
Greg had gotten up early to write. Always had. Before the kids bounced down the stairs with their cheerful noise, he’d tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. He’d woken up his wife, Cherry, because he’d stepped on a LEGO and sworn slightly louder than he’d planned.
All for nothing. The only thing he could think of was how awful writer’s block was. He’d read many articles on how to “Rid Writer’s Block for Good,” or on “Making Writer’s Block your Friend,” but nothing helped.
Then Greg got an idea. He’d write about writer’s block. Carefully, he formed his dot into an “R” and wrote, “Rebekah sighed. She hated writer’s block…”

Have a lovely day.


A Short Story—Jason

So. This is the second time I’ve posted a piece of my writing, and I don’t think I’m going to hide in my closet this time. Maybe under my bed. Or outside. Definitely not the basement. Too many spiders. Or maybe I won’t hide at all.  But I’ll stop talking now and get onto the actual point of this post.

“Jason?” Clarence called up their apartment stairs. The two brothers—twins, actually—had decided to share an apartment in their senior year of college. Money was tight, and since Clarence had transferred to Jason’s college, it seemed like the best option to be roommates.

“Yeah, I’m up here,” Jason yelled through the bedroom door. “Need something?”

“I’m going on a run. If you need me, I have my cell.”

“Have fun. Thanks.” Jason let out a sigh of half-depression and pulled out his supplies—his iPod, a notebook, and a pen. He was nervous. Usually, he just prepared for a game with a short nap, a brisk walk, and then prayer. But this basketball game was different. It practically decided the rest of his career. Jason was restless, nervous, and stressed.

Clarence didn’t notice the difference because he was too busy studying for finals. So Jason did things differently. No nap. No walk. No prayer. He just scribbled, blasting music in his ears. He threw the black ink across the page until it was a deep, black abyss. When Jason couldn’t find one more white speck on the paper, he sat back, temporary feeling satisfaction. But eventually he just felt worse. Jason tried sit-ups, push-ups, even doing some dishes. But no matter what, he just fell further into despair. He sighed and plopped down onto his unmade bed. What if he failed? His whole life depended on this game. He needed to calm down, but what therapy was left?

Then Jason paused and listened to what was rushing through his ear buds. “I am with you, I will carry you through it all, I won’t leave you, I will catch you, when you feel like letting go, cause you’re not alone.”

It hit Jason that he hadn’t tried everything. He’d completely overlooked the best place to toss his worries, restlessness, weakness, and despair. So Jason turned off his iPod, knelt down on his knees, and humbled himself before God with tears of shame.

As Jason’s day went on, he felt the calming and peaceful grace of God flow through him. When it came time for his big game, he was prepared—no matter what happened. As he ran out with his teammates, he quietly thanked God for His beautiful strength and mercy.

*Song lyrics belong to the band Red.*


Welcome Home

This is a story I wrote about a time I went back into the woods at my house. I’ve only shown this to two other people, so this is scary.

Like, I’m gonna go hide in my closet for the next few days because this is so embarrassing kind of scary. I’ve never shown a piece of writing to more than five people–and never on the internet. But I’ve decided to post it. And live afterwards.


     It had been a few days. Due to the weather, my trips into the woods had become more infrequent. But today I ventured back to my true home.

     Before I went into the depths of the forest, I made a special trip up a path toward the edge of the woods. After travelling uphill for a little while, I came to my newest discovery: a clearing with a few trees and bushes, and beautifully white trillium covering all of the ground in sight. My secret garden was at peace and void of any animals I could see. Breathing in the sweet scent of the flowers, I pictured the place full of deer, bunnies, squirrels, and chirping birds. But I had to move on. The best was yet to come.

     As I crossed the bridge, the trees greeted me, whispering their “hellos” as the wind gently caressed their fresh green leaves. The older trees stood by, almost leafless, but still acknowledging my return.

     The creek continued its usual babbling, laughing and cheering that their young mistress had returned. The water looked inviting, but I knew better than to fall for its deception. I lightly brushed the moving liquid with my fingers to find it icy cold. There was no way I was stepping into the water until summer.

     The vines reached out, encouraging me to imagine yet again that I’m in Tarzan, swinging back and forth. But I shook my head. Not this time. This time, I’m here for a different reason. This time, I have my camera.

     The squirrels and chipmunks scrambled out of my sight seconds after I spotted them. The birds chirped their warnings and then shut their beaks for as long as I was around. A couple braver ones stayed in sight but still kept their distance from me. If I tried to get too close for a good picture, they took off in flight. No matter how sneaky and stealthy I was, they always knew I was there.

     The butterflies, on the other hand, let me come closer. One even landed on me. I’d snap a picture, and they wouldn’t react. They just sat there until they noticed my shadow cross over them. That’s when they would fly away, lazily flitting back and forth. Up the hills and down the hills, over the rocks and through the woods.

     I crunched through the fallen leaves and twigs, tromped through the mud, climbed up the steep hill, and finally made it to one of my favorite places. It was a big, twisted vine that actually held my weight. When I sat down, it only sagged slightly.

     I was completely still, and soon enough wildlife started cautiously creeping out of hiding. Birds came closer, and the squirrels and chipmunks inched back onto the path. Not for long, though, because I had to keep going. When I got up, the animals scurried away. The birds flew high into the trees as I walked the opposite of my usual route.

     Things quickly changed. Thorns were plentiful, and the leafless trees scowled at me, hissing that I should depart from their sight. The wind was dead and the creek’s cheerful noise was too far away to hear. No wildlife was in sight or in earshot. There was only one word that could describe the sudden change in the forest’s mood and atmosphere: cold.

     Quickly zipping up my coat, I walked toward a path leading out of the woods and into the vineyard. I stepped out of the trees, and could almost hear them relaxing as things gradually adjusted to the lack of human presence again. Next time, I think I’ll take a different route.

Like it?