Three Sentence Stories to Pass the Time #2 feat. Miss. Interpretation

So I’m back at uni now and I’m going to start getting really busy soon. I’m going to try and make an effort to write as much as I can in my spare time. Expect my next few posts to be mainly three sentence stories and (hopefully) my two part horror novella.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy these three sentence stories as I much as I enjoyed writing them! The connected stories this time focus on a sweet dimpled girl who probably needs to be taught what metaphors and euphemisms are.



Weighing in at a muscly 300 pounds, Robert “The Brute” Adams is one of the world’s most renowned heavyweight wrestlers. During the day, he body slams opponents into the centre of the ring for the adoration of his cheering crowd. At night, he spends hours in his home studio perfecting his pirouettes as he listens to ‘The Blue Danube’.


Gertrude felt the blood rush from her face as she saw what her darling daughter was doing in the courtyard. Her little blue eyed princess was wrangling a fallen baby sparrow in her chubby little hands. “But Mumsy,” the confused girl said to her distraught mother, “you always told me a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!”


The ‘street artist’ snuck onto the train tracks at night and headed towards the huge unused billboard. Unable to resist the temptation of an empty canvas, she wrote in a big black scrawling letters ‘Havoc is here’. As Marcus rode the train to school the next day, he was surprised to see the usually blank billboard now had a message printed on it in neat, red font: ‘Havoc was here’.


Gertrude let out a horrified scream as she opened the door to her daughter’s bedroom. Her little blonde locked angel was crouching over the family poodle, holding the severed head of their cat in one hand and a sewing needle in the other. “I’m doing an experiment Mumsy,” said the adorable little girl, “to see if two heads really are better than one!”


We all rejoiced when the aliens came down from the sky and declared that they were an advanced and intelligent species. They explained that they had discovered our primitive little planet and that they were going to teach us everything they know. When they began forcefully assimilating us into their society and taking our children away ‘for their own good’, some people knew it was history repeating itself and the rest of us just felt ashamed.


Gertrude rolled on her side to face her husband and let out a choked gasp. Sitting between the couple was their small porcelain skinned daughter, all smiles and with blood dripping from her clenched fists. “What’s wrong Mumsy,” her daughter whispered, “everybody always says that I have Daddy’s eyes, so I wanna play with them!”


Short Story-Time: Nip’s Voyage

This is a comfy short story that I wrote over a few days. I’ve always wanted to write a piece of fiction about space and now I’ve finally done it!

I think it’s best enjoyed at night, right before going to bed. Oh yeah, and it’s kid friendly too!

If you want a bit of ambience to go with the story, listen to a bit of this while reading it.

Goodnight WordPress and sweet dreams!


Nip loved to stargaze. No; she loved how the stars gazed at her.

The fact that her spacecraft was transparent made her all the more happier. It didn’t matter whether she looked at the floor or at the ceiling. Nip was engulfed in the universe.

Sitting back in her cozy nest, she allowed her eyes to trace along the burning spheres of gas like a dot to dot picture. In her mind, she turned each patch of stars into a different animal.

To the left of a spiralling purple galaxy was a giraffe, its elongated neck arched as though it was reaching for tree leaves. Beside the docile herbivore was a ferocious tiger. The starry beast leapt over a bright blue nebula, it’s bright eyes glimmering with intensity as it glared at the girl huddled in her little clam-shaped nest.

Nip took in the spectacle before her as she sipped from the silver bottle in her lap. It was delicious; she called it her ‘moon juice’. Today, the juice had the flavour of freshly squeezed apples with just a hint of blackcurrants. Sometimes, it tasted like hot chocolate with melting marshmallows and whenever they passed close to a sun, it became plain water, tasteless but refreshing.

Although she knew it was silly, Nip sometimes liked to imagine that the colourless liquid existed on the Moon. She would daydream about splashing about in its huge craters and bobbing on her back so she could look at the endless galaxies above her.

Nip found herself remembering the rotund hunk of space rock. Ever since she could remember, she had studied the natural satellite that orbited Earth. Though it paled in comparison to many of the wonders in the galaxy, something about the little humble moon made Nip sympathise with it. They did have a lot in common, after all. Both the girl and the moon were small, lonely space dwellers.

A calm voice entered her thoughts. It spoke in a soft and feminine tone which reminded Nip of her Mentor. Although the memory was quite fuzzy, she could still remember the kindly woman’s smile and her warm hugs. Sometimes Nip wished she could see her again.

The voice repeated its message to the distracted girl.

“Nip, is everything okay?”

“Yep!” Nip replied, nodding her head.

Her movements caused the thick ashen curls in front of her face to bounce. She wished she could tie up her own hair, but whenever she did she always messed it up. She once asked ALOE to help her, but the kind voice had explained to her she couldn’t as she didn’t have any hands.

“Don’t fib to me, Nip. You had a sad thought, didn’t you?”

The voice had become the slightest bit sterner. Nip bit her lip. ALOE always sounded like this when she suspected that Nip was lying to her. Although she was glad ALOE was so loving, Nip sometimes wished the spacecraft couldn’t read her mind.

“ALOE, when am I gonna be at my new home again?”

The spacecraft stayed quiet for a few moments as it calculated its next statement.

“We’re nearly at your new home now, Nip.”

Nip beamed and tapped her feet together. She wiggled her toes, making them dance against the star speckled backdrop.

As always, time continued to pass by at a snail’s pace. Nip finished her drink, did an hour of her astrology studies, played virtuoso checkers with ALOE, sprayed herself with anti-bac, read her favourite holo-book ‘Animals of Earth’ and laid to rest in her nest.

She yawned as the lights in the spacecraft dimmed and her nest closed over her. Shrouded in darkness, Nip snuggled in her blankets and embraced her stuffed panda, Kiki.

“What theme do you want tonight?” ALOE asked the tired girl. “Rippling waves? Tropical rainforest?”

“Full moon.” Nip whispered.

Moments later, the darkness surrounding her was lit up by a single cream orb that floated above her body. Nip gazed over the spherical space rock, her eyes wide with joy. She reached out to touch it and felt nothing as her hand passed through the hologram.

Soon, the young girl’s eyes grew heavy and she drifted off into a blissful sleep.

In her dreams, she was swimming through the stars with a herd of giraffes. She flew up as high as she could and dove down under a small blue planet. She grabbed the tail of a starry tiger as it leapt from star to star.

Soon, it came to a stop and glanced at her expectedly. Nip saw where they were and she smiled. Nip petted the creature’s glittery fur and glided towards the powdery round moon.

Just as she landed feet first onto the dusty surface, the ground below her began to shake violently. She wobbled but managed to keep her balance.

“Nip.. Nip…”

The young girl heard ALOE calling to her. In the distance, she could hear the sound of a wailing siren.

Nip was jolted awake as she was slammed against the top of her nest. Her head spun as she was blindly knocked about the small enclosure. She screamed for ALOE but the friendly voice was no longer there.

Instead, a strong, intimidating voice started shouting instructions to her:


With great difficulty, Nip managed to find her seat and snapped the lifebelt across her body in an x-shape. Despite being held back by the safety harness her body still flailed about, making her feel like a rag doll.

The whole pod shook and Nip began to feel hot. Her clothes stuck to her skin and her brow became wet with sweat. She gasped for air and kept calling out for ALOE. ALOE didn’t reply.

She heard loud clicks and whirs and suddenly the nest began to fall.

Nip closed her eyes and gripped the ends of her seat as her stomach dropped. With a sudden lurch, the nest slowed its descent.

There was a loud thud as the nest came to a sudden halt. Nip let out a shocked cry and whimpered in fear. After a few silent moments, she opened her eyes. She was still trapped inside the nest.

She undid her lifebelt and pressed a button above her head to manually open the enclosure. With a soft click, the sleeping nest opened.

Stumbling out of the nesting pod, she fell face first onto the dusty ground below. With shaky feet, she stood and looked the remains of her spacecraft. The clear outer layer of craft had been ejected during the descent. Half of the pod was now covered in a thin material that felt like silk.

Her eyes were drawn to the bright red words engraved on the side of the silver pod she had spent the majority of her life in.

Automated Life-sustaining Offspring Enclosure
Sector: Astrology and Ecology

“ALOE…” Nip whispered, touching the side of the craft.

She glanced over the landscape. In the soft light of dusk, she could just make out the outline of exotic jungles and strange landscapes filled with foreign structures. She became overwhelmed with feelings of fear.

Then something familiar caught her eye. The young human girl looked up at the universe she had become so accustomed to. Her eyes widened as she saw the large, crater spotted face staring down at her from the night sky.

In front of the pale moon, she could just make out dozens of other silver pods, floating down with the aid of parachutes.

A whirring sound came from her own fallen spacecraft as a recorded message played. A soft and familiar voice began to speak with the slightest hint of sentimentality.

“My dear Nip, thank you for being so brave.

I’m sorry I am unable to continue this journey with you, but I would just like you to know how proud I am of you. You have grown into the intelligent and lovely girl we all knew you’d be. I have no doubts that you and your fellow bio-neers are going to lead humanity into it’s next golden age.

On behalf of myself and everyone associated with Project Odyssey, I would like to welcome you to the planet of both your ancestors and your future children, Earth.

I hope you like your new home.”

Three Sentence Stories to Pass the Time

I apologise for not updating for some time, I’ve been a little lazy with my writing.

As of now, I am also waiting for a friend of mine to proofread my short horror novella, Willow Worshipped. Once she is finished and I have fixed it all up, I will be posting the novella in short parts for your viewing pleasure (or horror, I suspect).

To make up for the long wait, I have spent the last couple of hours creating a small anthology of three sentence stories, mostly horror and sci-fi themed. I was originally going to do two sentence stories but I found it hard to write a good story in only two sentences.

Some of these stories have a running theme, others are just stand-alones. The micro-stories with the running theme were inspired by an idea I had for a compilation of short stories. Who knows, I may even turn them into proper short stories someday.

Please enjoy!


Thanks to powerful advancements in technology, virtual reality headsets have changed the way we use popular social media sites such as Facebook. Nowadays, we can ‘react’ to anything within our field of vision, ‘block’ anyone we don’t want to see and ‘friend’ anybody with just a wink of an eye. Just this morning I not only sent a frowny face hovering over a horrific traffic accident on the M1, I also blocked (and muted) the screaming idiot in the truck who caused the crash and friended the blood-soaked woman lying on the road so I could write a tasteful message on her wall to let her loved ones know she had died almost instantaneously.


My name is Celeste and I had always wanted to use an Ouija board. Yes, it was during my first use of the supposed ghost summoning device that the roof collapsed and my neck was crushed by a wooden beam. Goodbye.


Ever since I got my virtual reality headset, my life has become a lot more liveable and enjoyable. My favourite part is Facebook’s fantastic ‘block’ feature which ensures I don’t have to see or hear the people who I cannot stand the most.  Now I can shop peacefully in an empty aisle, complete my job sans annoying co-workers and rest at home without having my god awful teenager screaming in my face about how much she hates me; such bliss!


Moments after my death, He met me at the fiery gates of the spiralling abyss. As I tried to convince him of my devotion to my religion, to Him, He let out a rumbling noise which I assumed was laughter. In the distance, I heard the collective scream of humanity and in that moment I knew that we had all been wrong.


Ever since Mum bought me my first ever virtual reality headset a week ago, I now have over one thousand friends on Facebook! It’s so insane but so cool how you can befriend anyone you can see walking down the street, all you have to do is wink at them and if they wink back you have a brand new friend! Yesterday, I kept trying to wink at this old guy and he just stared at me like I was some sort of freak and I realised that he didn’t have a VA headset on; thank god I could block him, it was so awkies!


After much research into supernatural phenomena, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as ghost, demons or the paranormal. In fact, I believe that any photo or video featuring poltergeist behaviour or ghostly apparitions with no earthly explanation can instead be credited as the work of beings in a dimension that we as human are unable to perceive.  So if you always get the feeling that someone is watching you in bed or in the shower  the culprit is less likely to be a ghost or bogeymen and more likely to be an incomprehensible life form who has formed a great attachment to you and your physical form.


These godforsaken virtual whatever-the-hell-they-ares have destroyed what is left of this society. Every day I would walk down the street and see people screaming ‘SADFACE’ at the homeless and ‘ANGRYFACE’ at the church and whenever I would try to start up a conversation with someone on the bus they would always shout ‘BLOCK’ right in my face and ignore me for the rest of the ride. It’s been two hours now and I’m still lying crumpled in a heap at the bottom of these blasted stairs and although I’ve screamed myself hoarse my children and wife still haven’t acknowledged me even once.


For more updates on my online horror novella Willow Worshipped, consider following me on Twitter – @AlthaeaProse.

Visual Verse Update – Our Gothic Dreamhouse

Image by Grant Wood; Taken from

After a wonderful holiday with some good friends, I came back onto the internet and discovered something awesome. Visual Verse has added my little story to their most recent chapter!

If you click on the above link, you can find my story on page 131. However for the sake of showing off I’ll also include my story below.

I hope you enjoy it!


Our Gothic Dreamhouse

This was their dream.

A beautiful Gothic homestead in the suburbs.

A place where she could cook him meals, knit him sweaters, satisfy his every need.

It was only fair; after all, he had worked for so long for this moment.

Thirty years, in fact.

Thirty years of his life toiling in a field where nothing dared to grow.

Thirty years spent dealing with dry spells, locust plagues and suspiciously poisoned crops.

Thirty years of having her tired blue eyes staring down his back as he walked out of the door to work every morning, only to have the same reception when he came home every night.

Thirty years without intimacy, thirty years childless.

Thirty years in the same country, in the same state, in the same house.

But not anymore.

Now, for the first time in thirty years, they could spend their days side by side, locked in unending holy matrimony right here.

A beautiful Gothic homestead in the suburbs.

This was their dream.


For more information about Visual Verse and how to submit a story, check out my blog post about it here.

FFftPP Week #7 2016

It’s that time again. Flash Fiction time! Today, the little pupper below provides the inspiration for my writing. For more information about Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner and rules for entering, click here.


Photo Source:

“…for the thousandth time, I promise you, it wasn’t me!”

The small canine glanced at me, a patient look in its eyes. Its black tail thumped against the wooden boardwalk. The sound reminded me of my own quickening heartbeat.

I could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on my brow.

“I didn’t drink from your bottle again, honest!”

Its stare was unflinching.  The wet patches under my arms were getting bigger.

“A-alright, so I took the tiniest of swigs…just a sip! I mean, come on…it’s probably only put a few more years onto my life!”

“Jackson Smith, you’ve been alive for three hundred and sixty five years.”

A deafening voice echoed around me, making me fall to my knees. The black puppy gazed at me. Without moving its mouth it boomed one final message.

“Your time has come.”

“No…please no!”

The ground below me opened into a swirling vortex of brimstone and smoke. I began to scream as my body started to sink.

The tiny labrador turned and started to patter its way down the pier. Its little wagging tail was the last thing I saw before the whirling spiral engulfed my head.



Short Story-Time: The Terrible Truth About Valentine’s Day

Here is my contribution to what is arguably the most romantic day of the year.

Be sure to send it (or link it) to all of your loved ones, preferably those who are single, hate Valentine’s Day or love a bit of dark (and somewhat skewed) history.

For maximum enjoyment, read it out loud a few days before Valentine’s Day and after a couple of glasses of your preferred alcoholic beverage.



Hey you, the one with the big gloomy frown!

Yes I’m talking to you. Don’t look so shocked.

Why have you been actively avoiding all those mushy romantic posts on Facebook and WordPress for the past week? What’s with that big blank space in your diary on February 14th? Why do you roll your eyes every time you see a big Valentine’s Day get-a-treat-for-your-special-someone sale advertised on TV?

Oh, I get it. No really, I do.

It’s because you’re single, right? Or is it because you’re just sick to death of all of this, as you call it, ‘commercialised Hallmark holiday bullshit’?

Maybe it’s a little from column A and a little from column B.

No, wait! I’m not mocking you; honest!

Listen; just listen to me, okay? You’re perfect, you’re just the type of person I want to talk to.

I want to tell you something that is really important. You could go as far as to say that it may even save your life.

Are you sitting down? Okay, here it goes, then.

I am going to tell you the terrible truth about Valentine’s Day.

What!?  You already know the truth? Not only that, you also know the origin of Saint Valentine’s Day already?

Okay, let’s hear it then. I’m all ears.

Woah, woah, woah…where the hell did you hear that?

Secret marriages? Old men in funny looking hats?

Persecuted Christians!?

Valentine’s Day was never a Christian celebration!  That’s like calling Christmas a Jewish celebration.

For crying out loud, it isn’t even supposed to be called Valentine’s Day!

Your ignorance astounds me, it genuinely does.

Now listen up, I’m going to give you a very important history lesson.

Before some guy came along and decided February 14th should be named after some other guy, February 14th was part of a three day festival of purification.

During the time of Ancient Rome it was known as Lupercalia, or ‘Wolf Festival’. It was said to be a celebration dedicated to the founders of Rome, Remus and Romulus as well as the she-wolf who raised them.

Of course, that was how the Romans celebrated it. Long before they took over the tradition, the festival was held by a group of nomad shepherds. These shepherds lived in an unmarked region which overlapped with Rome, hence how the Romans came to know of the festival.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter who holds the festival, what matters is what occurs during the main ceremony of the festival.

Before the ceremony began, a group of priests (the Romans called them Luperci or “brothers of the wolf”) would gather at a special cave. They believed this was where the twin boys Romulus and Remus were raised by their wolf mother.

At this cave, the priests would perform a purification ceremony. This ritual was very specific and as such entailed the use of very specific objects. This included two male goats, a dog, a small bronze dagger, sheep wool and the milk of a pregnant she-goat.

The ceremony always started with the sacrifice of the two male goats and dog with the dagger. Once that had been performed, two young men would be led to the altar. It was of utmost importance that these young men were of noble birth.

The head priest would then wipe the sacrificed blood off the dagger using a swab of wool. Of course, the wool must have already been soaked in the she- goat’s milk overnight. It couldn’t have just been given a quick dunk; it must have absorbed the milk completely.

After this has been done, the two young men would have their foreheads anointed with the sacrificial blood off of the wool.

The next step was a crucial part of the ritual. With blood dripping down their foreheads, the two young men would have to laugh. Their laughter must have been loud enough to echo throughout the interior of cave. The louder and the more joyful it sounded, the better.

I know this sounds weird but trust me; I’ve been studying this ceremony for decades.

The hides of the sacrificed goats would then have to be stripped clean off. Some of the skins would be draped over the priests while others would be cut into lengths and dipped in the sacrificial blood.

The priests would then run back into town, slapping any crops, buildings or women who they happened to pass with the lengths of goat skin.

For Romans, this process was thought to have helped increase fertility in women and reduce complications during childbirth. They also considered it an important cleansing ritual that would purify their city and chase away evil.

At least they got part of it right, I suppose.

The Lupercalia Festival went on for many centuries.

Then the Christians came along, scrutinised the festival’s apparent deviousness and banned its proceedings in Rome.  By the end of the 5th century, Lupercalia was no more.

Oh, so you found that interesting, did you? You say it’s opened your eyes to the misconceptions of the past?

Well, I’m glad to hear that, I guess.

Do you remember how I said this ceremony was celebrated long before the Romans? Well, it’s true. The purification festival has been going on for a very long time. I dare to say that it was around even before the nomad shepherds existed. They just recorded the finer details of the ceremony and the Romans managed to perfect it.

I suppose the only thing the Romans got wrong was how often the ritual needed to be done. They always performed it once a year whereas the shepherds estimated it only needed to be carried out once every century.

Perhaps the Luperci were just being safe.

What’s that you say? How long has it been since the last ritual?

Well if we assume the ceremonies stopped at the end of the 5th century, the last one would have been done approximately 1500 years ago.

That’s fifteen ceremonies that have not been performed.

I would consider that a pretty damn lucky streak. The shepherds estimated that the amount of times the ritual could be avoided was maybe eight or nine times. They weren’t stupid enough to give it a try, of course.

What’s that? What would happen if the ceremony wasn’t performed?

Unfortunately my friend, that is where my knowledge on the subject stops.

However, I’m certain the shepherds did have some idea what the ramifications were of not performing the ceremony. The problem is that all they seemed to refuse to tell anyone who wasn’t a shepherd.

No really! I have read a replicated recount of a shepherd who was brutally killed by other shepherds for insinuating that he was going to write the consequences down for future shepherds to read.

I guess they didn’t like to keep records of it. I wonder how they would feel knowing the ceremony hadn’t been performed for nearly an entire millennium.

Fifteen missed ceremonies going on sixteen missed ceremonies.

If you want my opinion on the absence of purification ceremonies, I’d say it’d be kind of like if you skipped insurance payments.  Sure, you never think anything bad will happen, so you might not make a payment for a little while. You might even drop the payments entirely and laugh it all off as a useless investment.  Then all of a sudden, something bad happens to you, but oops! You didn’t make any payments, so you’re on your own. You’d be in some serious trouble, I imagine.

Now replace insurance with purification ceremonies, you with the entirety of humanity and something bad with something bad which may have ramifications for all life as we know it.

Yeah, looks pretty bleak, doesn’t it?

Could we do something about it, you ask? Could we perhaps make preparations to begin this ceremony as soon as the 14th comes around again?

I’m assuming you didn’t know that the three day purification festival actually starts on the 12th  and not on the 14th, right?

Oh don’t fret; it’s only one more missed ceremony. We’re doing pretty well so far, I think. Surely one more isn’t going to be that big of a deal.

We can afford to miss one more insurance payment, can’t we?

Besides, this gives us plenty of time to start getting ready for next year.

So, what do you want to do first then? Find the goats or round up some rich frat boys?

Scene Challenge of the Week

I’ve decided to have a go at writing in a flash fiction challenge.

What is flash fiction? Well, it’s a story that usually has less than 1000 words. This particular flash fiction challenge comes from ‘The Art of Writing‘, a blog run by Tobias Mastgrave.

The rules are simple: write a 150 word story that is just one, continuous sentence. Okay, so it isn’t that simple but it sure is interesting.

The cue for this week is “Papa, I want…”

Without further ado, here is my entry for the Scene Challenge of the Week:


“Papa, I want a dolly with a pretty pink petticoat, brown button eyes and sparkling ballet shoes;

a music box that plays soothing lullabies that I can listen to while I sleep;

a brand new diary made of the finest leather so I can write all my secrets inside it along with a matching feathery quill;

oh and I would absolutely die for a piece of chocolate cake made of the finest Belgian chocolate with a strawberry on top of it as well as a cool, refreshing glass of milk to wash it down with;

if it’s not too much trouble, could I also get a nice clean blanket to keep me warm at night and if it’s quite alright with you could I also get a pretty blonde wig so I can brush my hair again and a lovely new dress to replace these stripy blue and white pyjamas…Papa, why are you crying?”