More 50-Word Stories
I didn’t tell anyone about my plans. Perhaps I would turn back? Like many times before. Standing at the edge of the dark forest. My optimism faded. A familiar fear crept in. How much time had I wasted here?
Expecting relief, I took a step into the forest. None came.
We called it God but it was not really our God.
What do you call something that is nowhere and everywhere? A moment but also infinity? It taught us how to see each other and ourselves. A single day that will live forever in our mind.
We called it God.
A decade had passed since the Greenwood Outlaws’ raid that led to Dorren’s capture. Ten years of violence in service of the oppressive Bandit King.
Dorren had endured. He was a survivor. Today was his reward. He grinned as he cleaned the bloody dagger. Dorren was the new Bandit King.
Elliot found himself alone amidst the bustling crowd at his first convention. People mingled all around him, sharing secrets and laughs. Did they all know each other? He stood apart, his throat tight with questions he feared to ask, worried they’d reveal him as a fraud amidst the true masters.
Isra closed his eyes, focusing on the sensations as they emerged.
Despair. Sadness. Isolation. Shame. Others he could not name.
He shivered as they washed over him, seeping from an icy tomb sealed off long ago. He reach inward for the tears buried deep within, but the resistance held firm.
From the beginning, the end was known. Despite this, every bit of energy struggled valiantly against its fate.
As the final star succumbed to darkness the grand journey had reached its inevitable conclusion.
Time stretched on, boundless and empty, a void where struggles of the past faded into infinite silence.
The old tree basked in bliss, whispering thanks into the spring breeze that stirred tender green shoots on its gnarled limbs. Freed from the strangling vines that had sapped its strength, the tree pushed new roots into the earth, subtly signaling to nearby neighbors that it was thriving once again.
It was the age of abundance, yet everyone was bankrupt. The best era to be alive, yet it felt like the darkest. Everyone was connected, yet isolation was pervasive. Every fact was obtainable, yet consensus was elusive. We craved more, yet it drowned us.
Life moved fast, yet went nowhere.
Outside, an ambulance siren wailed mournfully, its haunting echo rattling the empty spaces between the walls. Once teeming with life, the narrow passageways had transformed into a silent tomb of failed ambitions. Amidst her motionless workers, the queen finally succumbed, her death marking the poignant end of their misguided feast.
A sinking feeling gripped me. The forest I had just left was merely one square in a vast patchwork of woods stretching endlessly into the distance. Yet, as this reality settled in, my panic unexpectedly began to subside. A sense of anticipation grew. I was eager to continue the journey.