The last time I did this was more than a year ago. This is my second attempt at writing six-word stories to polish my creative skills.
You can see what I had written earlier here.
This time wrote 132 six-word stories, kept about 68 out of those, and deleted the rest during revision as they appeared too generic.
Also, I did one thing differently
Since I didn’t want the work to be mediocre or based on usual themes, I wrote some rules to ensure that I put a sincere effort into what I did.
- No half-assed editing.
- Be decisive.
- Pour some soul.
I wrote these three rules at the top of the word file before jotting down a single story.
Now, I don’t say that doing so breathtakingly changed my attitude, but writing those rules was my way of staying honest with my creative side.
So here’s the work:
- Wore school pants to birthday parties.
- Kissed my girl, lowered her coffin.
- Awoke on bedsheets. Slept on spreadsheets.
- Undisputed king, jealous of philosopher’s rags.
- Peer pressure: follow fools, avoid embarrassment.
- UFOs don’t exist. Unless we reveal.
- Alone in the morgue. Shoulder touched.
- Visited our favorite spot, but alone.
- “Write your about section.” Existential crisis.
- The author picked awards. Ghostwriters smiled.
- Arranged peas by size before cooking.
- Near butcher’s feet, little lamb hopped.
- Whale exploded. Calf circled the beach.
- Pet fish glows. Kisses bowl, too.
- Her shadow walked faster than her.
- “Snack time!” announced Alzheimer’s patient, again.
- Cop cornered smuggler. Went home stoned.
- His in-laws liked him. “Tastes good!”
- Green grass grew in his mouth.
- Home alone, the hour hand ticks.
- We paid him for counting leaves.
- Awaited his muse. Kept waiting. Died.
- Electric chair: Executioner, an old friend.
- I carried my wife. Till pyre.
- Forests burned. Some pockets got deeper.
- Screamed slogans. Received bribes. Stopped slogans.
- An Atheist. Waited outside heaven’s gate.
- Went missing once. Shares alien stories.
- Licked dynamites. Ignited shoelaces. Drunk bastard.
- Gasoline fumes around. He smoked anyway.
- Dreamt small, because they were rich.
- Dad returned, took his lighter, vanished.
- Brandishing swords waited. Fat canons laughed.
- She wished her mother Father’s Day.
- Some reunion – I uninvite myself. Hypocrites.
- Clinking glasses. Flashy jewelry. Tedious hearts.
- Chubby cheeks. Pink lips. Bloody nails.
- CV: “Leadership.” Internship: “Not my job.”
- First cake. 79th birthday. Nursing home.
- Twitter is poisonous. I like it.
- The magician chops volunteer. Assistant’s betrayal.
- Tired of whistling, slept under glaciers.
- Undone kindergarten homework – her last memory.
- They never erased those crayon scribbles.
- Kept chocolates inside the gun cover.
- Golden river, no gold, only goldfish.
- Empty paper. Filled pen. Trembling hands.
- Grandma’s book. Dog-eared pages. Black magic.
- Two lovers. Hands clenched. The lake splashed.
- Cat’s eyes shone at aunt’s sight.
- Poet hushed when writing about love.
- Hospitalized dog, wagged its fractured tail.
- My wife attended my funeral, twice.
- Traced murderer’s footsteps; reached my brother.
- My cat doesn’t cast a shadow.
- I rode elephants until tables turned.
- Chumps brought guns. Couldn’t afford bullets.
- Found passport in a stolen wallet.
- No cash, big balls. Broke records.
- Dad returned … our gifts and letters.
- Barber’s, now open. Visit, never return.
- No more debts. One kidney, nevermind.
- He dug graves to free them.
- I walk, and she follows gliding.
- A cemetery near the hospital – convenient.
- No emails today, it’s my funeral.
Now not all of these are exactly stories, but it was interesting to write them because I had to escape the usual themes that my head is filled with.
The takeaway? You may want to attempt it if you’re searching for a way to stretch your creative muscles.