6MS: The Gift That Wasn’t

Forgot to blog this morning! But it’s a writing day, so here’s a six minute story:

Black and white. I couldn’t believe Dad had done it again.

I know I’m lucky, I do. You can say I’m spoiled if you like, but it doesn’t matter – I’d asked for ONE THING this Christmas, and it was colour.

I looked up at my father, tried to fake a smile, and said ‘Thanks’. As soon as he turned away, I rolled my eyes, and unwrapped my next present.

A sweater. Great. I wondered what colour it was – if I went out wearing this and one of my friends actually GOT what she asked for and could see whether or not it matched my jeans, my hair…I was screwed.

My brother Billy opened his present next. A jigsaw puzzle. Thanks Dad. How are we meant to do that when we can’t even tell which bits are sky??

Maybe it would be better, I sometimes thought, if we weren’t even in a privileged family. Maybe if I knew there was NO chance of getting colour, even for a few days, it wouldn’t bug me so much that we didn’t have it. Maybe I’d consider myself lucky to even have black and white – I know that some families have to rely on government hand-outs, and they only get two-tone. At least our black and white is greyscale.

But it’s just annoying, when your Dad works at the company, and makes enough that they could easily get it for the whole family.

I forced a smile again as I opened a gift from Stacey, Dad’s new girl-of-the-year. It was a hat. Great.

It looked like it was patterned, but without colour, there was no way to know for sure. I put it on, and saw her start to correct me, before guiltily stopping.

It took me another present or two to put it together, and then I exploded.

“you got HER colour!? HER!??”


6MS: The Disco Bull

Um, so I'm not really sure what happened here. Sorry about this. That's the nature of six minute stories, I guess – even if you have nothing to say, you have to keep writing. If you'd like to read something that's actually good, I recommend this short story by my 15-year old brother.

Prompt: “The disco ball was turning.”

The disco ball was turning.

The Mighty Fwarriors turned in shock. Their ambush on the Gold Chain Club had been going well – too well. Now they watched, as the disco ball slowly turned…into Disco Bull.

“Curses!” shouted Melissa, leader of the Fwarriors. She'd hoped that just once, just this one time, they could have a successful ambush, but she knew that it was probably too much to ask for.

Superheroes, supervillains – these are normally pretty clear cut terms. One group fight on the side of good, the other on the side of “evil”. But in the real world, such terms are never as clear-cut as they appear in comics.

The Mighty Fwarriors considered themselves good, of course – who doesn't? Their attack on the Gold Chain Club to take out Disco Bull and his reign of capitalism came from nothing but the best of intentions.

But Disco Bull wasn't enslaving orphans, or planning to destroy the world. His focus was on bringing back the disco, bringing back the traditions of his parents' generation, creating a place where people could come and groove without the trappings and complications that the modern day had brought.

He'd banned drugs and he'd banned sex. But had he gone too far by banning mobile phones? The Mighty Fwarriors thought so, but without the clear division of “good” and “evil” it was hard to say.

Life is hard.

6MS: The Many (Fatal) Loves of Sal

I’m about to start my writing for the day, so I whipped out a 6 minute story. I kept an eye too close to the time, and so the program stopped letting me type with one word to go (and a typo in the final sentence.)

I considered fixing it before posting it here, but I’m confident that my readers can work out what I was trying to say. (or maybe not! There are two possible endings, now that I think about it. Which one I meant will never be known.)



Sal was in love.

A part of her felt that she’d always been in love, and almost each time with a different man. But this time she knew it was real. For this man, she’d been in love with twice.

Sal had first met Harold two years ago, when he was about to be hit by a falling piano. That was when she’d known it was love most true, love most divine.

If Sal possessed anything close to an introspective nature, she may have realised that each and every time she fell in love, it was with someone on the brink of tragedy, most often death.

There was Timothy, who had been diagnosed with cancer mere seconds before Sal had realised that their love was true and eternal. There was Michael, who had just found out that the mob had a hit out on him, and when he’d told Sal, she’d almost fallen to her knees and wept at the power of their love.

And now, when she saw Harold unwittingly walk into the path of a runaway train, she’d realised that this was love most tender, most pure. She’d realised that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Harold (or at least the rest of his life) – she wanted to be with him always, and share their deepest innermost thoughts and desires.

Sal’s hand went into her pocket, where the ring sat. She’d bought it on a whim, almost a decade ago, when she’d heard about a natural disaster taking out half of a city. Her heart had pined, she’d vowed to make sure that she always followed the path of love, and she’d walked into the nearest jewellers and purchased an engagement ring.

Now, at last, the opportunity to use it had come. Now, at last, she could enter into that most sacred covenant, pure bliss, the most holy of ceremonies.

Now, at last, she could get married.

She stepped forward to propose to Harold, who she hadn’t seen in so many years. She stepped forward to profess her love.

But bvefore she could, a train hit h

Read it on the site.

6MS: Passport Problems

SixMinuteStory.com gives you a piece of creative commons stimulus and six minutes to write a story. No revisions are allowed; you have six minutes, and then you’re done.

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I looked at the passport, and then back up at the woman standing in front of me.

“Are you serious?” I asked, a puzzled look on my face.

She looked sad.

“What is to be funny?” she said, her broken English somehow endearing.

“I don’t know how they do things in…” I turned her passport over, and looked at the country name listed. It took up three lines, and many of the letters just looked like squiggles to me. “…your home country, but over here we do things differently.”

“Is me!” she smiled, and I felt my tough exterior melting slightly. “Is me, is true! I swear it to be!”

“Excuse me, sir.” Turning to the man behind her, I borrowed his passport to use as an example. “You see, your typical passport will have a photo like this in it. Yours…well for one, it looks hand-drawn.”

“Yes, yes!” she cried excitedly. “Is hand-drawn by Duke of Yoggolomoniantia! He best drawn hand in world. Passport is good, yes?”

“No, I…”

I sighed.

“Listen, I’m afraid that I can’t let you in. Not with this…I mean, for heaven’s sake, one of your tit is showing!”

“Is good tit!” she said, and started to remove her top to show me. “Is best tit in all of Hagroniantominialopskell! You like?”

I stared at her tit briefly, and then looked down at the passport.

“Oh,” I said. “I suppose it is you.”

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New Routine

I work from home these days, and so I’m always meddling with my routine, trying to get more work done without burning out. I’ve recently started listening to the podcast Home Work, which is chock full of suggestions on how to become more efficient and all that jazz, and so I thought I’d try something new.

I’m going to start each day with a blog post. (I’ve been wanting to get back into blogging for literally years now, so this is a great way to accomplish double avian homicide using minimal rubble.) Some days they’ll be long, some days they’ll be short, but I’m hoping that if I start each day with a concrete accomplishment, it’ll help give the rest of my time a bit more structure.

I’m also going to do a Six Minute Story before I start writing each day, and I’ll post them over here as well. Each blog post will be redrafted twice, and in the spirit of flash fiction, each 6MS will be redrafted zero times.

What does this mean for you, my currently-nonexistent readers? It means you can expect at least one blog-post each weekday; two, on days when I’ve also got writing to do. I’m not giving myself any rules about what the blog-posts can be about, which means they’ll be anything from “what I’m working on” to “reviews” to “here is a thought I had which doesn’t quite make sense but I’m going to share it anyway.”

Of course, given my track record of keeping things updated, this may fizzle out in less than a week. We’ll see!

Today’s a writing day, so you can expect a 6MS to come up straight after this entry. If there’s anything you particularly want me to blog about, leave a comment. I’m not promising anything (I have a big backlist of topics I’ve wanted to talk about for a while) but I’ll see what I can do.

I’m also going to use this blog to store any other writing projects I do, like Kiandacorp. And if I ever get back into vlogging (something else I’ve been wanting to start up again for years now) you’ll see those popping up here as well!