ONE PAGE STORIES

[ANNEE]

Newbie here.  I found the short stories forum.  That's a start.  I write only one page stories.  So, they're short. I've rarely shared any of my writings.  This is kind of a first.

SHE WALKS ALONE

She walks alone.  People moving swiftly by her, but not seeing.  The glare of a concrete jungle assaults her senses.  What have we, humans, done to ourselves?

The blanket of night is falling swiftly, filing up empty crevices that hide between the city's structures.  Shadows of the night, twisted shapes, formed by scant street lights, become the living.  A life of secrets, and the unknown.

Safe, she feels safe when she can't be seen, when she can't see.  She feels safe and alive in the darkness.

She walks alone.

Down familiar streets, past now darkened store front windows, with ghostly mannequins distant in their own thoughts.  A car rattles by with its man-made sound of metal, and rubber on a paved road.  She prefers the eerie, but natural sounds of night creatures screeching from alleys, and their rat-a-tatting claws on pavement.  The night is alive.

She hears a baby cry from behind a glowing curtained window, a drunk's roar of sadness, and passionate lovers moaning their song.

She walks on.

The air dampens and whirls around her as she moves nearer the ocean shore.  Waves lap and slam their power in continuous rhythm against the sandy beach.  Seagulls squawk to each other in the unseen distance as if they're squabbling over a midnight snack.

A pier juts out through darkness above the moving darkness beneath it.  A lone light, at the end of the pier, seems as if it's floating high in the sky against a dark background of scattered clouds, and distant stars fighting to be seen.

A single figure stands below it.

He walks alone.

A love story.

[quintessentone]

Newbie here.  I found the short stories forum.  That's a start.  I write only one page stories.  So, they're short. I've rarely shared any of my writings.  This is kind of a first.

SHE WALKS ALONE

She walks alone.  People moving swiftly by her, but not seeing.  The glare of a concrete jungle assaults her senses.  What have we, humans, done to ourselves?

The blanket of night is falling swiftly, filing up empty crevices that hide between the city's structures.  Shadows of the night, twisted shapes, formed by scant street lights, become the living.  A life of secrets, and the unknown.

Safe, she feels safe when she can't be seen, when she can't see.  She feels safe and alive in the darkness.

She walks alone.

Down familiar streets, past now darkened store front windows, with ghostly mannequins distant in their own thoughts.  A car rattles by with its man-made sound of metal, and rubber on a paved road.  She prefers the eerie, but natural sounds of night creatures screeching from alleys, and their rat-a-tatting claws on pavement.  The night is alive.

She hears a baby cry from behind a glowing curtained window, a drunk's roar of sadness, and passionate lovers moaning their song.

She walks on.

The air dampens and whirls around her as she moves nearer the ocean shore.  Waves lap and slam their power in continuous rhythm against the sandy beach.  Seagulls squawk to each other in the unseen distance as if they're squabbling over a midnight snack.

A pier juts out through darkness above the moving darkness beneath it.  A lone light, at the end of the pier, seems as if it's floating high in the sky against a dark background of scattered clouds, and distant stars fighting to be seen.

A single figure stands below it.

He walks alone.

A love story.

She feels safe? That must be nice.

I tend to write longer stories, not one pagers.

[ANNEE]

Newbie here.  I found the short stories forum.  That's a start.  I write only one page stories.  So, they're short. I've rarely shared any of my writings.  This is kind of a first.

SHE WALKS ALONE

She walks alone.  People moving swiftly by her, but not seeing.  The glare of a concrete jungle assaults her senses.  What have we, humans, done to ourselves?

The blanket of night is falling swiftly, filing up empty crevices that hide between the city's structures.  Shadows of the night, twisted shapes, formed by scant street lights, become the living.  A life of secrets, and the unknown.

Safe, she feels safe when she can't be seen, when she can't see.  She feels safe and alive in the darkness.

She walks alone.

Down familiar streets, past now darkened store front windows, with ghostly mannequins distant in their own thoughts.  A car rattles by with its man-made sound of metal, and rubber on a paved road.  She prefers the eerie, but natural sounds of night creatures screeching from alleys, and their rat-a-tatting claws on pavement.  The night is alive.

She hears a baby cry from behind a glowing curtained window, a drunk's roar of sadness, and passionate lovers moaning their song.

She walks on.

The air dampens and whirls around her as she moves nearer the ocean shore.  Waves lap and slam their power in continuous rhythm against the sandy beach.  Seagulls squawk to each other in the unseen distance as if they're squabbling over a midnight snack.

A pier juts out through darkness above the moving darkness beneath it.  A lone light, at the end of the pier, seems as if it's floating high in the sky against a dark background of scattered clouds, and distant stars fighting to be seen.

A single figure stands below it.

He walks alone.

A love story.

She feels safe? That must be nice.

I tend to write longer stories, not one pagers.

I love walking alone at night.

[Ninurta]

Newbie here.  I found the short stories forum.  That's a start.  I write only one page stories.  So, they're short. I've rarely shared any of my writings.  This is kind of a first.

SHE WALKS ALONE

She walks alone.  People moving swiftly by her, but not seeing.  The glare of a concrete jungle assaults her senses.  What have we, humans, done to ourselves?

The blanket of night is falling swiftly, filing up empty crevices that hide between the city's structures.  Shadows of the night, twisted shapes, formed by scant street lights, become the living.  A life of secrets, and the unknown.

Safe, she feels safe when she can't be seen, when she can't see.  She feels safe and alive in the darkness.

She walks alone.

Down familiar streets, past now darkened store front windows, with ghostly mannequins distant in their own thoughts.  A car rattles by with its man-made sound of metal, and rubber on a paved road.  She prefers the eerie, but natural sounds of night creatures screeching from alleys, and their rat-a-tatting claws on pavement.  The night is alive.

She hears a baby cry from behind a glowing curtained window, a drunk's roar of sadness, and passionate lovers moaning their song.

She walks on.

The air dampens and whirls around her as she moves nearer the ocean shore.  Waves lap and slam their power in continuous rhythm against the sandy beach.  Seagulls squawk to each other in the unseen distance as if they're squabbling over a midnight snack.

A pier juts out through darkness above the moving darkness beneath it.  A lone light, at the end of the pier, seems as if it's floating high in the sky against a dark background of scattered clouds, and distant stars fighting to be seen.

A single figure stands below it.

He walks alone.

A love story.

She feels safe? That must be nice.

I tend to write longer stories, not one pagers.

It's an exercise in artistry to be able to pack that much descriptive prose into a single page and still have it make sense. We used to do it in a creative writing class I took a long time ago, as a creative writing exercise, but I was never any good at it, either.

.

[BIAD]

Newbie here.  I found the short stories forum.  That's a start.  I write only one page stories.  So, they're short. I've rarely shared any of my writings.  This is kind of a first.

SHE WALKS ALONE...

Nice tale.

[ANNEE]

Newbie here.  I found the short stories forum.  That's a start.  I write only one page stories.  So, they're short. I've rarely shared any of my writings.  This is kind of a first.

SHE WALKS ALONE

She walks alone.  People moving swiftly by her, but not seeing.  The glare of a concrete jungle assaults her senses.  What have we, humans, done to ourselves?

The blanket of night is falling swiftly, filing up empty crevices that hide between the city's structures.  Shadows of the night, twisted shapes, formed by scant street lights, become the living.  A life of secrets, and the unknown.

Safe, she feels safe when she can't be seen, when she can't see.  She feels safe and alive in the darkness.

She walks alone.

Down familiar streets, past now darkened store front windows, with ghostly mannequins distant in their own thoughts.  A car rattles by with its man-made sound of metal, and rubber on a paved road.  She prefers the eerie, but natural sounds of night creatures screeching from alleys, and their rat-a-tatting claws on pavement.  The night is alive.

She hears a baby cry from behind a glowing curtained window, a drunk's roar of sadness, and passionate lovers moaning their song.

She walks on.

The air dampens and whirls around her as she moves nearer the ocean shore.  Waves lap and slam their power in continuous rhythm against the sandy beach.  Seagulls squawk to each other in the unseen distance as if they're squabbling over a midnight snack.

A pier juts out through darkness above the moving darkness beneath it.  A lone light, at the end of the pier, seems as if it's floating high in the sky against a dark background of scattered clouds, and distant stars fighting to be seen.

A single figure stands below it.

He walks alone.

A love story.

She feels safe? That must be nice.

I tend to write longer stories, not one pagers.

It's an exercise in artistry to be able to pack that much descriptive prose into a single page and still have it make sense. We used to do it in a creative writing class I took a long time ago, as a creative writing exercise, but I was never any good at it, either.

.

Thank you.  Most of my writings were done "straight out of my head" with little to no editing in a 5 minute exercise in a writing group.  I've never had the desire to pursue longer stories. Yet

[quintessentone]

Newbie here.  I found the short stories forum.  That's a start.  I write only one page stories.  So, they're short. I've rarely shared any of my writings.  This is kind of a first.

SHE WALKS ALONE

She walks alone.  People moving swiftly by her, but not seeing.  The glare of a concrete jungle assaults her senses.  What have we, humans, done to ourselves?

The blanket of night is falling swiftly, filing up empty crevices that hide between the city's structures.  Shadows of the night, twisted shapes, formed by scant street lights, become the living.  A life of secrets, and the unknown.

Safe, she feels safe when she can't be seen, when she can't see.  She feels safe and alive in the darkness.

She walks alone.

Down familiar streets, past now darkened store front windows, with ghostly mannequins distant in their own thoughts.  A car rattles by with its man-made sound of metal, and rubber on a paved road.  She prefers the eerie, but natural sounds of night creatures screeching from alleys, and their rat-a-tatting claws on pavement.  The night is alive.

She hears a baby cry from behind a glowing curtained window, a drunk's roar of sadness, and passionate lovers moaning their song.

She walks on.

The air dampens and whirls around her as she moves nearer the ocean shore.  Waves lap and slam their power in continuous rhythm against the sandy beach.  Seagulls squawk to each other in the unseen distance as if they're squabbling over a midnight snack.

A pier juts out through darkness above the moving darkness beneath it.  A lone light, at the end of the pier, seems as if it's floating high in the sky against a dark background of scattered clouds, and distant stars fighting to be seen.

A single figure stands below it.

He walks alone.

A love story.

She feels safe? That must be nice.

I tend to write longer stories, not one pagers.

It's an exercise in artistry to be able to pack that much descriptive prose into a single page and still have it make sense. We used to do it in a creative writing class I took a long time ago, as a creative writing exercise, but I was never any good at it, either.

.

I also took a creative writing course where we produced one page stories but the short one pagers weren't really enough for me. What I took away from that course is how to construct the first introductory sentence or feeling to draw in a reader. I'll always remember that as being the most important part.

[BodhisattvaStyle]

I really enjoyed your story; and even identified with it as well. (I, too, walk alone) 
Very descriptive. I could see every bit of it in my minds eye.


Thanks a bunch for sharing. I hope to read some more of your work.