I finally got onto BlueSky. I like it. I like the font, I like the people. It’s very quiet there so I’m still on the App Formerly Known as Twitter but I don’t miss the faux leather/chrome accessories feel of the place.
Janice Leagra, editor in chief of Janus Literary (amongst many other things – here’s her website https://janiceleagra.com) posts a micro prompt a day on Blue Sky, either a word or an image to inspire a story using the hashtag #mpotd
You’ll have to imagine the images (sorry) but here are my offerings for August 2023.
Lift (August 31)
Red loves giving sleazy men lifts. ‘Buckle up, sweetie,’ she says then accelerates way too fast, too soon. ‘Do you like dogs?’ she asks with Karma the Rottweiler’s hot breath already on the back of their necks. ‘I thought you liked it like that,’ she sighs and dumps them, miles from home.
Image (August 30)
Stunt dogs, Red said. Trained to bring a man down, not kill. Stan knew better. There were three bitches in that yard & only two of them had four legs. He’d only tapped her once, dammit. He shook the aerosol. He’d show her.
Over on the flat roof six amber eyes watched, unblinking.
Direction (August 29)
The weather vane swings wild & the wind lifts the roof tiles & nights like tonight I could be carried away in any direction – North to the hills or South to the sea or I could leave the door unlatched & a welcome light in the window. I could be carried away in any direction, nights like tonight.
Motel (August 28)
‘Girl’s night out,’ Margot & I told the boys but instead we drove for an hour to a neon motel & became incandescent on rented sheets & on the way home she left her hand on my thigh until the off ramp & now every car smells the same: of Margot, Margot, Margot.
#mtopd
Balloon (August 27)
You and me at the dreg-end of your party. In the garden, not quite touching, inhaling balloons.
‘I love you I love you I love you,’ I helium squeak and the words float up up up over your head, up past the marquee top, up up up past the oak – up to snag forever on the sharp edge of the moon.
Image (August 26)
Fish and chips on the beach and then home, clasped round each other. Tight as winners of a three-legged race.
Little bird me, hair-swept, sun-chapped, tucked into the rough of your musky greatcoat.
Both of us careless, wind-drunk, as if every day would be like this.
I still have that coat.
Just waving 