Metapost: Ultrashorts

Hello, all. I’m trying to work on being more economical with my words, so I’ve given myself a homework assignment. I’m writing a series of ultrashorts, 140 characters or less, on Twitter, of course. They’re not likely to be good, but the challenge is rewarding.

Try it with me, I’d love to see your short stories, and I’ll post some here.

“When it returned the 3rd night, it no longer seemed content to shriek and stare through empty sockets. It wanted something. Something alive.”

“When the sun failed to come up one autumn morning, we burned coal, wood, and our money. By winter, we were burning each other.”

“When the fire died down, and the wreckage of the crash could be sifted through, nothing made sense, least of all the dozen extra skulls.”

“We shared our last breath, back and forth, until it burned our lungs. The rising pressure of the black water played a steady funeral rhythm.”

“A silhouette projected on the blinds by streetlight frosts my heart. It is only the outline of a man. Yet this is my third floor window.”


“She looked at me with those eyes, those bloodshot eyes, and I knew this was no longer the woman I loved. She was dead to me.” – Chris Vaughn, of Terror Tortellini

“The breathing was all we heard. But when it ceased there was nothing I wanted to hear more. Until it was right behind me.” – Cameron Bell, @XxCanNibalCamxX

“I never went into her bedroom again, but made a ritual in the hall of laying down newspapers wherever she had trickled out under the door.” – Andrew

(if you object to me posting your shorts here, drop me an email, and I’ll remove them) 

All work is wholly owned by the listed creators.

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East

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the Storm.

It’s always been there, behind us, whispering through the shuddering ground. A background roar behind the wind. We’d been ahead for so long, moving slightly faster than its clockwork crawl. Until the mountains. Then, as we ground ourselves upward against these slopes, we heard it rumbling closer, a rising quake in the earth. But it’s been a while since I turned around and actually saw it. Sitting here on the side of the mountain, in the frigid morning, it fills my vision and stings my eyes with the monstrous unreality of it.

It rises like an unbroken wall into the sky, obscured only by the limits of my sight, fading into the clear blue, and stretching away north and south, curving away with the earth. The sunlight doesn’t seem to touch it. Nothing does. At the ground, where the churning wall of sickly blue lightning and black clouds grinds across the earth, I can see the Unmaking. The lower peaks, already shaking apart, burst and ablate away at the event horizon of the Storm. The land dips before the onslaught, as if shying away from the kiss of the boiling wall. I can feel the violence beneath my feet as millions of tons of ancient mountain falls away into its infinite maw.

It’s going to be on me in a few hours. I wonder if I’ll die when the peak caves away, crushed in a free-fall of slate and stone, or whether I’ll be alive when the Storm touches me, shredded and atomized, erased and Unmade. I wonder, again, what it might feel like.

Continue reading “East”