2013: Microfiction May

I’ve been thinking for the last thirty-three days that it’s about time I took on another challenge to liven things up a bit, and a recent microfiction session I attended has inspired me to undertake Microfiction May. So my nearest, dearest and weirdest have kindly supplied me, upon request, with ‘nudges’ to inspire me to write a ten-word or less piece of microfiction each and every day throughout the month of May. I currently have over thirty-one nudges which means I have enough to see me through May and beyond. I will create something for each and every nudge I’m given, so if you’d like to provide me with a little something to inspire a little something else, then get in touch.

Lydia Crow
1 May 2013


#MicroMay 40: “Oh, I know nothing about these things. Where’s the pack-up?”
#MicroMay 39: “A diamond on the roughest sea, calling in the night.”
#MicroMay 38: “A voice so pure I couldn’t say: forget the bitch.”
#MicroMay 37: “Curled up like a fiddle scroll, and always pushing through.”
#MicroMay 36: “Sycamore and stars to a swing beat: our little dream.”
#MicroMay 35: “An endless sea of vivid leaf-green, speckled with childhood daisies.”
#MicroMay 34: “Cigarillo-smoke curling in dim light, dancing as the band plays.”
#MicroMay 33: “Gleeful head-tossing.”
#MicroMay 32: “Lamplight. And the moon on the water, filtering through shadows.”
#MicroMay 31: “Gently whisper-creaking, as the dragonflies danced.”
#MicroMay 30: “We’ll walk away, over broken glass, in our threadbare shoes.”
#MicroMay 29: “Conflicted inside, but a girl’s gotta do…”
#MicroMay 28: “An expression, a metaphor, painfully inappropriate given the circumstances.”
#MicroMay 27: “I do remember, yes. But I can’t bring it back.”
#MicroMay 26: “A farewell executed well, with joy, verve and panache.”
#MicroMay 25: “Have catsuit, will gyrate.”
#MicroMay 24: “Ode to Golden Syrup: up all night to get sticky.”
#MicroMay 23: “Searching for the right heartbeat to dance, dance, dance.”
#MicroMay 22: “Of all people, Bouazizi really knew. And understood.”
#MicroMay 21: “Ever-straining against invisible bonds, screaming with no voice.”
#MicroMay 20: “Of conflict, of war, with an echo of curious light.”
#MicroMay 19: “That which is right, respected; even when it is difficult.”
#MicroMay 18: “Waves rocking, ocean, horizon. What the hell happened last night?”
#MicroMay 17: “The sweetest, freshest of smells, promising a Prosecco summer.”
#MicroMay 16: “Something of the stillness, the simple setting, emphasised its dignity.”
#MicroMay 15: “Freedom! Though not exactly with the wind in your hair.”
#MicroMay 14: “And, reflecting, the wine may have been sweet or bitter.”
#MicroMay 13: “More than one per bullet, she thought, fanatic eyes sparkling.”
#MicroMay 12: “A quarter century, a thousand quilts. Not too much self-awareness.”
#MicroMay 11: “I’ve become my own Jörmungandr: perpetual, forever, filled with poison.”
#MicroMay 10: “Tears of rage, heart of grit. Ever onwards, Sir Harry.”
#MicroMay 9: “He nervously started tapping the Morse Telegraph, holding his breath.”
#MicroMay 8: “You don’t even see me, just through me: someone else.”
#MicroMay 7: “”Of course it’s real!” he bellowed, tapping his plastic moustache.”
#MicroMay 6: “Unsettled, they sealed the doorway. But it was too late.”
#MicroMay 5: “End of the weekend? Yeah, ok. I call detox.”
#MicroMay 4: “Dancing with the jetsam, far above the derelict and lagan.”
#MicroMay 3: “Even pure white satin looked blood red in the mirror.”
#MicroMay 2: “Ignition. Clutch. Accelerator. No map, no destination, nowhere. Just drive.”
#MicroMay 1: “Boat? Check. Pony? Check. Bite me.”