The 55 Word Leg
The flash of teeth, the scent of musk, so utterly animal. The force of the impact, but there was no real pain. Shock, I suppose. Ragged, gaping wound, bone glistens white beneath thready red meat. I should be dead, but something’s wrong (changing). I can feel it (changing), winding through my sinews and soul (changing).
Instructions
Leg 15 – The 55-Word Leg: Write a microfiction of exactly 55 words. Not 54. Not 56.
Precision is required. Strip away the fat and deliver a single, nano-stab of a fatal story. A half-narrative arc, a dying utterance, or a burst of violence.
Good? Ok.
Count your words. WE’RE watching YOU (me and the Beast).
Leave a Reply