Prompt: Stop procrastinating

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And procrastinate. It’s really helpful on that front (via Pixabay)

“Stop procrastinating,” she said. He knew she was right, but every time he even thought of getting up and going he was pinned to the ground by the heavy empty that had sprawled itself across the foot of his gut like an unwelcome welcome mat before a door that you knew you really ought to go through, but which was squinting at you all ornery, its knots all furrowed so you just knew it was going to scrape and scritch and clutch at the door frame like some kind of hell-Velcro, so you’d push with all your paltry, unconvinced might while all the while wishing you’d stuck to your guns and stayed snuggled in your comfy chair, one eye on Facebook and the other on Candy Crush, a gentle smile on your face, procrastinating.

Prompt: One look at his closet

Skulls and bones

But still, he can’t be all bad…

One look at his closet told me all I needed to know. The skeletons, for one thing; those would have to go. The serial killer look had been done – well – to death, and I wouldn’t be seen… with a man who… Well. They had to go.

The fact that they were skeletons and not more meat-y probably meant that they’d been here some time. That could be a good thing. It had been a long time ago. A moment of… serial madness. We all make mistakes – goodness knows I did! – but people can change! He can change.

The meat thing would make it easier to dispose of them too. Less gooey. And with them out of the closet, weighted down with rocks and dumped off Wells Point, we can put the past behind us, and start to focus on what really matters: us.

Prompt: Write about a scent


I probably wrote this around this time last summer. It’s hot.  

Dull, wet and heavy, the scent of concrete excreta hit his gag reflex the moment he stepped outside, instantly light-headed in what should have been fresh air. It was so humid the air was practically rain, a perverse kind of sticky rain that slurped at his nervously acrid temples and left him no cleaner, the kind of rain that would rain if rain could rain in soup.

With a barely perceptible swish, the glass doors closed behind him.

View from Tokyo Metropolitan Building

Tokyo in summer. It’s hot. By Caroline Hutchinson.