Mini Writings #2

by - 3:54 PM

Hey, young bloods! It's been a year since I did my first Mini Writings, but I really enjoyed it and want to do some more. It's  an awesome exercise to get writing juices flowing and have a nice brain break from working on longer works. So, sans further ado, here are some brief writing snippets based off inspiration from Pinterest! 

Everybody knows about the people who wield magic swords, but how much do you know about the swords themselves?

No, I don't mean the year they were forged, or who by, or what dragons and demons have died at their tips. I mean if they liked their masters, how they felt when they killed. Do you know things like that? Do you know a sword's real story?

Didn't think so.

But I warn you - someday, the swords will not be content with being the sidekicks to the heroes, the mere vehicles through which they perform their deeds. Unless we make an effort to understand the swords, and treat them well, and not let them rust or gather dust in a closet somewhere, someday they might decide to become their own heroes.

And the demons they start with killing will be us.

It would be awful to fall from here, Avildur thinks, peering over the edge of his outcropping. Down and down and down, a forest of three-dimensional mazes towering above, below, around him.

Dressed all in white as he is, he suspects he would look like a snowflake if one of the bitter winds currently whipping at his clothes were to shove him over the edge of the precipice. It would be a beautiful but sour end to a life he intends to live as long as he can.

Not long lives are that long at all in Zilrone. At 34, he has outlived most of his peers. Living in a world of crooked rock and cold sky is dangerous, not the least because tripping nearly always has deadly consequences.

For many of Zilrone's young, today is the day when they foolishly throw their lives away. They imagine returning to their homes to parades and red roses; their returns will be red, just not because of roses. There will be parades, but not the joyful kind. 

Avildur doesn't understand why so many choose to undergo the highly fatal tests that, if you are of the small percentage that emerges alive, will qualify you to be one of the elite warriors defending Zilrone. There is no compulsion. You could easily live a quiet, nice life in the highlands, with a family and food on the table every night. 

But so many lust for glory, so many lust for adrenaline. So many lust for the recognition of being the unexpected newcomer blazing past all the old dogs who've been at it for years. Avildur, one of the few to survive the Maze Day years ago, knows that none of that ever happens. It's just cold and bitter and wet nights up in the clouds, wishing for your family and enough food to fill your belly.

However, as the oldest member of the year's featured company, it falls to him to open the ceremonies. Knowing he's about to sign the death warrant of so many young faces, that what he's doing is as good as killing them himself, he nonetheless raises his horn and blows. It cuts cold and clear through the foggy air.

Let Maze Day begin! 

There is a skeleton on the hillside, and it is a little boy's playground.

He is grateful that the skeleton is that of a giant. If it were the skeleton of a human or an elf or even a baby dragon, it would be too small to play in. But it is that of a giant, not too large, not too small. The perfect size for a little boy who has not yet grown a heart.

He swings from the ribcage and pretends to be a monkey; he slides down the femur and imagines he is flying. He plays hide and go seek in the mouth and the nose. And when he is done, the eye sockets are the perfect place to nap in.

Perhaps, when he is older, he will look back on his current actions with disgust. But right now he is little, too small for a heart and just big enough for the skeleton, and he leaves muddy footprints on the bones wherever he trods.

Paper boats will take you anywhere you want to go.

That is what he always said to me, when the pain got too painful and the blood too abundant. When the bones got too broken and the bruises too purple. He sat me in a secret place in our closet and shined a flickering flashlight on a map of the world he'd stolen from his teacher. He'd folded up a smaller map to be a boat, and he'd written in Sharpie on it the S.S. Marie. Yes, Marie, after me. I was quite proud of that. I was very young, then.

With the yellow light sputtering over our map, he'd whisper to me, "Anywhere you want to go, the paper boat will take you. It's not like a real boat, which can sink and costs money. Paper boats can go anywhere, at any time, on any map, and they never sink. So, Captain, where shall we sail today?"

We sailed to Madagascar and Malta and France. We sailed to Thailand and Chile and Finland. We drank frothy tea in Morocco and rode camels in Egypt. All in our closet, all in our little paper boat.

He never lived to be on a real boat. Mama hit him so hard once, he fell backwards and split his skull open on the edge of a table. Only I lived to be on a real boat, and that's cause I was safely in the closet, on my paper boat, when Mama got so drunk and he died.

It's strange, really. I sit here on a real boat, and I drink real tea and I ride real camels, but I don't think it's quite the same as a paper boat.

I don't think he would have liked it quite as much, either.


Let's chat! Which writing was your favorite? What do you imagine happening in those pictures? Comment below, and remember that you are all very beautiful pickles. <3


You May Also Like


  1. Oooh, I love the story about the hovering mazes-- there's defintely something going on there, and so much unique backstory which can be drawn from that. <3 I'm glad that you started reviving this series again. Can't wait for future posts!

    xoxo Abigail Lennah

  2. This is the greatest! I love how unique every piece was. My favorite was the one on paper boats -- the first sentence hooked me right away. Thank you for being great and brave to share four of your writing pieces!

    - Andrea at A Surge of Thunder

  3. These are all really great! My favorite was the skeleton playground one–it was really intriguing! I really enjoyed reading these. :)

    ~ Lilou

  4. Awesome post! I love them all, but the first one really stands out to me, especially with that last line. Chills, much? :D

  5. Oooh, fun series! I think my favorite was the skeleton one, especially the line about "the little boy who has not yet grown a heart." I paused for a moment to savor that one. :)

    By the way, not sure if you're interested in tags, but if you ya go!


Thank you for your comment :) they make my day. Feedback is always welcome.