Some years ago I came across ‘Twitter Stories’ and suddenly found a use for my Twitter account! There are some great daily prompts out there for both poetry and stories. My favourites at the moment are – #ThePush, #microprompt and #haikuchallenge
Sometimes I just put them up with the hashtag #vss.
Here are a few of my offerings:
At the end of a lengthy build I’d gained a tremendous looking conservatory and disposed of a seriously tedious wife.
He felt her pat on his shoulder, it was time. Entering the regeneration chamber he wondered if she’d be part of his next life.
The fold in his neck, where one layer of fat overlapped another, is where I inserted the needle. He didn’t feel a thing.
She used to get under my skin, so annoying. She’d paddle around in my blood stream and then exit from one orifice or another.
It was officially the last day of his life. A van had arrived to take him away to be incinerated. A new baby could now be born.
Poured his life-saving medicine down the sink; flushed his tablets down the toilet. Now let’s see how long the bastard lasts!
Heard her again last night, whispering in the shadows. Wish now I’d cut her tongue out before I buried her in the basement.
The knowledge that it was your fault was tearing me apart. I could either tell someone or kill you myself. I chose the latter.
I wait by your body until I’m sure you’ve breathed your last breath. Then I wait some more just to ensure you’re really dead.
He was pleased that, at last, the boy had climbed the beanstalk. He’d run out of bread and needed new bones to bake some more.
Managed to get him to curl up tight before rigour mortis set in. That way I had no trouble getting his body into the suitcase.
I told them I’d had enough. All I wanted to do was curl up and die.They had a quick meeting and agreed to my request.
The television watched me intently. Every time I tried to change channel to watch the football it gave me a menacing growl.
They stood on the bridge, looking at the dark water below. “We’ll go together,” she said. As he leapt, she changed her mind.
In a panic goldilocks shot Baby Bear dead. Mummy and Daddy Bear rushed towards her. She fired twice more before returning to her porridge.
The call of love was in the air. Trouble was, I was getting so much earache from the wife, I never heard it.
I was able to hop over the growing pool of his blood without messing up my new trainers. Now, what to do with the bloody knife?
She listened to the message again.
“Guess what? I’m out. Thought I’d give you a call.”
She shivered. How’d he got her number?
The tattoo on her breast said,”If you can read this, you’re too close!” As I looked up she buried her teeth into my neck.
The vicar’s venomous sermon filled the church. Watching angels could take no more. The lightning bolt hit him mid-sentence.
they don’t work on me,
the pathetic, tearful eyes –
I’m not your mother
Her pithy, sarcastic comments, cut through me like a knife. My revenge would be equally short and sweet, if a little bloodier.
The wound was painful but superficial. The sunglasses would help. Keep people from noticing. She wouldn’t tell, she never did.
He was the master of the one line, pithy comment, delivered effortlessly, with that sarcastic grin. Our leader was a monster.
As soon as she came through the door I saw the red rose pinned to her coat. I quickly tore mine from my lapel and headed for the exit.
His pithy Facebook comments were witty and cutting. You dreaded that invitation to be ‘a friend’.
He was in the market for souls, lost or otherwise. His contract promised them the earth. Desperate folk never read the small print.
She’d given him a choice, “Leave or I’ll shoot you’. By the look on his face she knew he was going to be difficult. She fired.
On his way to market Harry was offered magic beans for his cow. He hesitated briefly before saying no. What was Voldermot up to?
She wasn’t keeping up with the others, so Jenny was put in the ‘slow readers group’. This suited her. It’s where all the boys were.
Every year fresh daisies grew up around where we’d buried her body – forcing their way up through cracks in the concrete patio.
The pink cherry blossom caught in her long blond hair contrasted beautifully with the blood oozing from the hole in her forehead.
Not keeping up with the Jones’ was a cardinal sin. Punishment was swift – snubbed by the neighbours and barred from the Golf Club.
I feel nothing –
your untimely death is
He was not keeping up with them as they trudged towards the last spaceship. If he missed it he’d have a 20 minute wait for the next.
Yellow puss oozed from the swollen blisters around his lips. She licked her lips in anticipation of their first kiss.
He knew they were there, lurking beneath the manhole covers. These monsters once lived in his head now they were on the move.
you create havoc –
as you waltz through our lives
destroying our dreams
No one saw him lift the manhole cover and drop her unconscious body into the murky depths. The sewer rats would soon finish her off.
The missing hat from the coat stand in the hallway worried her. He wasn’t here yet. Something must be wrong. He was never late.
It was a complete mix up. She wanted love, a home, a huge mortgage, marriage, lots of children, commitment. I just wanted sex.
to fill empty veins
he would have to strike again
before the sun rose
What a mix up at the airport. The wife arrested for drug smuggling, the kids taken into care. Looks like being a restful holiday.
Everything had been going so well until that fateful mix up. He still had his own mind, but where the hell had this body come from.
new teach yourself book –
’10 Ways To Kill Your Husband’ –
first one didn’t work
He cringed. What a mix up. Somehow he’d managed to get the wrong body into the wrong coffin. Fortunately, nobody really cared.
It was a comprehensive list, with helpful illustrations, entitled – ’10 Ways To Kill Your Husband’. Number 6 worked a treat.
saw Daddy Bear
Goldilocks knew Humpty was planning on going to the papers. He’d become a threat to her plans. Killing him was her only option.
him, next door but one,
would visit mum on Tuesdays –
dad had no idea
As the dinner gong sounded the girls noticed young Ben was missing. They licked their lips. They’d not had roast boy for ages.
He went to wipe the jam from the corner of her mouth, she growled and bit his finger. Maybe it was time Gran went into a home.
the key to your heart
is so broken and rusty
I’ll never get in
Cinderella left the ball early and made sure she took her shoes with her. There’s no way she wanted that creepy prince finding her.
The box arrived in the post this morning. Her limbs and torso were as I had packed them but, to my horror, her head was missing.
The King was at a loss for words. How on earth was he going to get Humpty’s remain off the croquet lawn before afternoon tea.
According to the pictures in her new book, “13 Ways To Kill Your Husband’, he shouldn’t be moving like that, so she hit him again.
Cinders had no intention of going to the ball. She pawned the silver shoes and put the coach on eBay. Come midnight she’d be long gone.
They carved their initials into the trunk. The gnarly tree winced as the knife sliced through its skin. Another unwanted tattoo.