Every day, she dressed her shell.
That day, when the cyclist hit her, she fell to the ground.
He drove his bike back and offered his hand. He had kind eyes, but she had a shell.
She got up by herself, spit on his face, and walked away. She had a hard shell.
Note: This piece was written for 53 Press monthly challenge, where you have to write a piece with exactly 53 words. The prompt for July 2020 was “shell”.
It is the day of the Sun. (...) Note: This piece was written for 53 Press monthly challenge, where you have to write a piece with exactly 53 words. The prompt for August 2020 was “Sunday”.
The planet is ours again. Hares, squirrels and geese in parks, fish on the shore, (...) I wrote this piece to enter Fish Publishing's Lockdown Prize, where writers were asked to submit pocket prose of up to 100 words on the theme: “Coronavirus – the writer’s response to the strange times of 2020”.
Ever since I entered this path, it has been shakes, bumps, and skids. (...) This piece was written for 53 Press monthly challenge, where you have to write a piece with exactly 53 words. The prompt for June 2020 was “rocky road”.
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