Saturday, October 24, 2015


Heather stopped in the doorway. She stared, mouth agape, silent. Frozen in place, she watched. A man hovered by the bed. He bent down over its occupant. It was her son, Aidan. The boy was only five. Inwardly, she prayed for his safety. Outwardly, she did nothing. The man bent still closer. Aidan stirred. He must have felt the man’s breath. Maybe he could smell it. Heather choked on it from a distance. It stank of death and decay. The man stretched out one gnarled finger. He laid it gently on Aidan’s cheek. Aidan’s eyes shot open, searching the darkness. That gnarled finger was ready. It moved just as Aidan cried out. It pressed down hard on his lips. His cry was cut off. Only a short, sharp bark escaped. A gasp simultaneously escaped Heather. Terrified, she sprung into action. She rocketed across the room, wailing.

About this piece

In this piece I aimed to write a paragraph of tense narrative in sentences of fewer than seven words. Sentence fragments were off limits, and I tried to vary word lengths and sentence structures.

No comments: