Yet another week has passed, and Denise has given us a new prompt word—THUNDER—for the Six Sentence Story. As promised, here is the link to all the SSC&B entries in one place to make it easier for the other participants and the readers to follow the Nervous Poet. I will also add it to the bottom of every post. All the other entries for this week's prompt, including the ongoing storyline, can be found at the link-up.
I also found a few editors on Instagram who teach their craft, and I tried to apply some of their advice, which is why it took me longer to edit this time (English is my second language, after all but the demand for only six sentences makes it even harder). To anyone looking for a weekly exercise to help hone their writing skills, come and join us... it's fun... I promise...
At the roof of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro
The Nervous Poet's attention to the gravel-embedded asphalt was interrupted by a noise resembling old, rusty, grinding gears, and before she could inspect it, a clack loud enough to make her jump out of her boots made her turn around mid-walk.
"Oh, it's that insanely tall man... and someone... it would be awkward to interrupt them," she thought out loud while giving them a wave, plopping her butt down on the asphalt, and getting drawn in by the second figure nodding and talking to an invisible third.
"A person that talks to themselves doesn't care if someone else is a bit odd," she acted out the thought while feeling the ground under her fingertips before impersonating the voice of the entity she called the inner commentator: "Depends on what the voices tell them."
"Oh, this person must be a writer," she continued as her attention shifted to a woman with red hair—just as the man shifted his position, leaving the tall man behind—with her rather curious companion pirouetting midair.
"Is that a faerie or a pixie or what," she blurted out with a laugh that could win against thunder in a noise-level contest before getting distracted from her favourite companion—her own mind—by her phone vibrating as it lit up with a text: "Everything OK up there?"
"Alis supperBRB down the stairs," she sent before rereading the text, brushing the dust off her buttocks as she made her way to the doorway, and finally looking down into what appeared to be an abyss with a single distant, flickering light.
There's more of my work:
If you like short stories I have them scooped up into one category (including the six-sentence stories).
The Nervous Poet at the SSC&B can be followed here.
There is also poetry.
More personal entries can be found at the Blog.
There's also the IT studies blog in Estonian and "Chaos in Spring" on YouTube, Spotify and other streaming services.
As a person who talks to themself- I can assure you we gravitate toward people with eccentricities- as if the normal ones were interesting- we wouldn’t be talking to ourselves!
I know right! It’s something I have done since I was a kid though now I know when not to I still slip sometimes. I was more concerned finding out that people don’t have an inner voice… Than people thinking out loud…
(well, we do have standards for conversational partners and given the level of… whatever these days, better a devil I know than a dullard I don’t.)
Most excellent Six!
(in all the ways that matter: good story providing reference to other characters (with a touch of detail for each) and a tie into the future ‘BRBdownstairs’.)
excellentatamous*
*not, of course, a ‘real’ word
Thank you so much,
Your comment is most appreciated!
(And well, nothing wrong with having standards for a conversational partner…)
Good point about those inner commentators: “Depends on what the voices tell them.”
Thank you Frank and I do wanna know what the voice told you in your story…
Oh, this is going so well. I’m loving all of this. “I must really find other people outside these strange Rooms,” said the red headed writer, “and soon!”
Awe. Thank you. It seems Aurelia found you amusing too :).
I really like this six-sentence story 👍 It’s going really well.
Thank you so much! Am glad you liked it.
I think it’s safe to say the Nervous Poet has lost her self-consciousness, “…plopping her butt down on the asphalt…” That visual made me smile – yeah, she’s pretty comfortable, lol Excellent last sentence, Reelika. It leaves the door wide open.
Thank you so much! I thiyshe is beginning to understand that the place is not as scary as she may have thought in the beginning.
I hope the light is the right one to follow.
Thank you, I do too!