Literary Labyrinth: The Six Word Story

It may be legend, or perhaps fact, Ernest Hemingway is said to have been challenged to write a story in six words. Now, a popular practice in academia and in casual on a so-titled subreddit.

The end of the year is festive, whether you actively participate or, like me, soak in the air of optimism and exuberance – either way, good for reflection. I challenge my readers, if you’d like, to write your own six words about your year. Here’s something thoughtful about mine:

In media res, late or lucky?  

All the best,

Josh

The Stylist’s Curse

Foreword: Though the elements of horror fiction commonly make their way into my writing, it is oddly one of my least common reading choices. The bulk of which, when I do partake, is centered on a psychological component. In appreciation, few other subjects offer a laboratory as free for exploration. I felt, in holiday spirit, what’s the harm? Hope you enjoy.

S.D.B.Q!

Fixing
instruments of death. 
A wrench
turning man. 
the author of apocalypse - 
swift rivers’ final breath. 
A demon, 
fears 
of every depth. 
Purged 
of amnesty.
Hedge rows 
trimmed to hypocrisy. 
A lesson, some say, 
learned -
apple rotting on the desk. 
A monster
lamenting only failure. 

Bar Setting

Message from the awful truths 
nothing stronger than full proof. 
Bits and pieces of presumption. 

Little takeaways for view - 
pleasure emptier than the room. 
Rise to the occasion or rise to nothing. 

Gracious notes from old to new: 
scrambled eggs and beatnik floof. 
Flowers on collars and shelves of buttons. 

Let the setting scene
fade to view. 

you my

My mind buzzes over you.
No use hiding from the truth.
I hope it’s coming,
what we’ve got coming - 
I need it. 
I need to feel inside,
a castle on the hill
with faces in the vines. 
I need you. 


No use hiding every night.
I see something in your eyes.
If you’re not something, 
I’ve got nothing. 
I need it. 
Fuel the fire inside 
a wood burned stove 
with glassy eyed cries. 
I need you. 


I don’t know where time has gone.
Last I seen, it up and run. 
Ah, but nothing,
it’s all nothing. 
I don’t need it. 
A crumbling tide. 
The house fell down, 
nobody inside. 
I need you. 

I need you. 

Tumble Cake

If I could have an ice cream,
I’d rather buy two.
If I could take a walk,
I’d rather go with you.

If I could make a home, 
I’d build it with a view.
Large windows while you’re outside
so I could stare at you.

Whenever I’m alone, dear,
you’re inside my head.
All the things I’m missing
I’d hear from you instead.

Hold Cloak, Bring Dagger

Skepticism in its sheath,
a proverb donned on me. 
Judgement come cloud,
some lost and some found,
repetitious melody. 

Anticipate their looks, 
the mile long stares, 
breeding surreptitiously. 
Eyes bounce and hang;
besieging pack of googlies.