Grapefruit Juice [49]

It was hurtling towards her, and all she could think about were the unpaid bills, the untended garden, the unpicked grapefruit from the tree in the yard. Then, it burst, exploded to pieces, hurtling down towards the earth in a rain of smoke, soot, and molten rock. And she heaved a sigh, for she must return home to pay the bills. She sighed too, for the delight in pulling the weeds, squeezing the fruit, drinking the juice. She smiled and made her way home.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Sunday Morning [48]

Sunday mornings are sweeter than raspberries. But he was hungover and the tartness of the sun stung his eyes.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Slumber [47]

The robot shut down for the night, but it didn’t know how to sleep. There was no “slumber” program written in his code, nothing in his instruction manual, no manual to speak of. Instead, he went to his creator’s library and set to reading to find characters that slept. Unsurprisingly, he found no instruction in the novels, but he was fascinated by this concept of “dream,” a thing now two steps removed from his realm of possibility. He had discovered dreams in a book, and so he read on.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Hell [45]

The scent of you is hell, and it is sweet.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.

Vocabulary [44]

It was a loud manner of speech, not identified by volume, pitch, or timbre, but by the combination of tone, emphasis, and vocabulary. You couldn’t hear the words or discern the meaning, but the words that stood out stood out to all. It’s hard to ignore loud words.

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365 is a hypertext fiction project. One piece of writing every day.