Writing Prompt #17

I’m not lazy! Okay?!

I’ve literally been writing and walking around and writing some more today. Just, not on what you’re reading now.

Which is why this will be the smallest, shortest, littlest short story ever written.

Are you ready for this?! Because it’s mind blowing…..


I know. I know exactly what you’re thinking. This is a period, Ciara Jude. And that might be what you see.

But I grab a magnifying glass from the confines of my mind. I pinch the screen on my phone and zoom in and in and in and in.

You do the same.

Still can’t see it?

Ugh, fine. I’ll read it out, just for you:
An old man is perched on a bench. He tosses something by the water side, his hat flapping with the coolness of the breeze. He bundles up in his coat; his little pet nuzzling for warmth beside him.

I watch him from my place across the big puddle, and then I look closely to what he’s throwing on the ground. It looks like that cardboard stuff I poked at yesterday. Except more flimsy. And with whitish green specks dotted across it.

He sits there smiling, inviting all of the fowl of the air to partake in a little feast.

Look, I think. I don’t trust this guy.

My mother doesn’t seem to mind, splashing into the water. My siblings follow after her, and I stand there stubbornly.

It’s food! She shouts back at me, before my father all but shoves me in.


Crap, that water’s cold! I blur past my siblings, but my mother is slow and patient.


When we finally do make it across the oceanic tundra, the wind slices through my feathers, so I huddle by my family of morons for any kind of heat.

All of this for a piece of….

BREAD! Oh, I take a bite it and IT. IS. HEAVENLY! Fluffy! Sweet!

I peck at my brother who cuts in to gobble it up. MUST HAVE MORE!

But it’s gone all too soon, and the old man gets up and walks away.

I want to follow after him. To demand him for more.

But then we’re getting back in formation to once again hop in the water and make the treacherous journey across the….


Wasn’t it warm just yesterday?!

The End.


What were you expecting? Some beautifully woven metaphor of how that little dot was whatever story you made it? Well, that’s just it. That’s the story that I made it to be.

Now look harder and get your own! 😝

***Writing Prompt: force the reader to have to use their imagination.

I guess I took this one a little literally today. 🤤


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