Writespiration #40

Writespiration #40

One of my favourite writing procrastinations is the Six Word Memoir website. Doing exactly what it says on the tin, asking you to write a memoir or story in six words. So I challenge you to do the same, right here, right now, and I will post it with next weeks Writespiration. While your at it, why not post on their website too?

Here’s mine:

He said “Will you…?”

“I’m Gay!”


To last weeks entrants and a LOT of sex – quite how we got from insects to sex I’m not sure, but I will remember that for future prompts!

Geoff starts us off with a banging (see what I did there!) tale of sex, wings, dancing and a little more sex! 🙂

Just One Day

I knew it would be tough, getting out of the chrysalis – you know it will be a struggle, but you’re ready for it. Just before the skin cracks you don’t want it to happen but the air is on your eyes, the light – sharp, caustic – is like a magnet and you pull like you’ve never pulled.
This is your time. This is why you’ve been kept boxed tight for so long. The new wings, freed of their wrapping unfurl alone and you sit on the reed, exhausted, happy, dizzy as you dry.
Vaguely you become aware of others, spiralling about you, a dusty cloud of other May Flies – a dance of daring and death.
Seeing them draws from you a new strength, you let go and…
I’m flying, spinning and twisting. And I have one thing on my mind. The only thing that matters. The only reason I’m here. The only thing that I will have time for. No eating, no sleeping, no rocket science or choosing which socks to buy my dad for Christmas. My life is the envy of every living thing. It’s the reason I have two penises. Today is my day and my day will be full of
And then I’ll die. The French for orgasm is La Petite Mort. They know something, those Frenchies…


Nicholas C Rossis joined us for the first time this week, and gave a vivid tale of mating courtship and a humorous reminder that not all sex ends well!


“How about sex and dinner?” she asked, her throaty voice sending tingles to play on the fine hairs on his neck. She rubbed one fine, slender foot on her lengthy leg, to stress her point.
Her audacity caught his breath. They hardly knew each other, having met only a few minutes earlier. And yet here she was, her naked flesh provoking him into a frenzy. There was no mistaking the hunger in her eyes; the need for his body; her desire for his flesh.

He swallowed and tried to look away, to avoid her burning stare. She snickered at his discomfort as he lowered his eyes to examine his trembling fingers. Speak! Say something! His mouth obeyed the mental command and opened, but words failed him. His gaze caressed her nude body to linger once more on trim legs that seemed to go on forever. He bit his lip, his heart skipping a beat. She had him now; he would stop at nothing to slither between her mounds, to experience the ecstasy promised by her inviting, crooked smile; consequences be damned.

His determination slipped fast. With the last remnants of his strength, he made a final, desperate attempt to negotiate. To save himself. “Why not dinner first?” he croaked, a thick bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.

Her raspy laugh made his knees tremble. He leaned against a tree to stop himself from shaking. A delightful, mortified shiver travelled through his body and onto the wrinkled bark at her next words.

“Don’t be silly,” she said with a smirk. “Who’s ever heard of a praying mantis eating before sex?” She inched closer, her faceted, emerald eyes gazing softly at his smooth skin. He closed his eyes as her mouth brushed against his ear. Her hot breath tickled him, made his heart race. A long tongue slithered out of her lipless mouth to lick his slender neck. “That would ruin my appetite.”



  1. Here’s my entry for this week, Sacha, in fact, there are three… you might see a bit of a theme going on!

    1. Birds sing. Darkness into light. Dawn.
    2. Last breath. Darkness into light. Reborn.
    3. Study hard. Darkness into light. Illumination.

    I really wanted to submit an insect story last week, but life got a bit in the way! Can I still write it here?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love six-word stories. I didn’t know there was a website, though! That’s good to know. Here’s mine:

    1. Teacher of preschoolers; learner of preschoolers.
    2. I read, I write, I create.

    The second is my tagline on my blog, so I guess that one is cheating a bit… oh, well. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Well… I didn’t technically start, yet… lol.

        I’m doing a series for June’s Short Story Sunday and that’s starring Lilah and George following Lilah in third person. So far I am seeing a slight different in George, but I think that’s just because I’m not as focused on him.

        But I also want to try Lilah in first person as well as George in third person. I want to get a feel for all my options. I’ll pick the one that seems to work the best and then try a rewrite and see how it works in the actual story.

        I may be making way too much work for myself, but this was the easiest way I could think of doing it; especially with everything else going on.


      1. I confessed to the Textiliste- I had to have been drunk or simple minded – that at the start of the uni year she was third n my list of girls to ask out! What an utter prannock. She saw past my twitishness happily!

        Liked by 3 people

  3. Here’s my late entry for last weeks Writespiration.

    I am Etain. Once I was Sidhe, and a Queen, adored and admired. Now, I spread my wings, and they are beautiful, vibrant, shimmering. The wind catches them, takes me up into its arms, and I am airborne. Invisible lips blow me here, there, and I delight in my freedom, my weightlessness.

    When I tire, I alight on a blossom. The petals are no match for me; they pale in my shadow, for I am a purple jewel carved from living flesh by an alien hand. The sun warms my body; I glitter in its light. I flutter my wings, and radiate bright ripples of colour and fierce joy.

    But I am distracted. The flower hides a secret. Its scent draws me in, more powerful, more intoxicating than I ever experienced in my past incarnation. My wings fold as I feed on nectar sweeter than honey, more precious than the Gods’ ambrosia.

    Giddy with sweetness, greedy for more, I leap from bloom to bloom, heedless of the darkening sky, and the wind which whips the trees into clumsy dance. Raindrops fall, hard and heavy, brushing the colour from my wings like dust. Bruised and battered, I realise the wind is no longer my friend, and I am buffeted before it without mercy.

    Until kind Óengus takes me in. He builds me a crystal bower, where I rest and recover. He feeds me pollen and sugar, and I need do nothing more in return but shimmy my wings now and then for his pleasure. It feels good to be adored again.

    But a wild creature needs its freedom. I exchange my crystal prison for air and sunlight, and journey where life takes me. Then one day, I hear a sound I have long missed, and I am lured by my longing.

    A man is playing a harp, its light liquid notes falling through the air more silver than birdsong. Men and women gather to listen; they talk and laugh softly, and I am struck with the sharp pain of sudden loneliness. I perch on the rim of a goblet, but there is so much beauty around them, I am unnoticed.

    When she lifts the vessel to her lips, I tumble into the swirling red depths. I desperately beat my wings, but they are immersed, trapped in the fluid as if it was glue. Unknowing, she swallows more than wine. I flutter my wings, and she feels those faint stirrings, for she places a hand softly over her belly.

    I am Etain. Once I was Sidhe, then I was dealan-dhe. Now, from the dark, warm recesses of woman, I will be born mortal.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Wonderful, Ali. I couldn’t think of anything insecty. It hadn’t occurred to me that butterflies are insects 🙂 We have a problem with identification of species in this family. The youngest is the worst. Recently we were having a typical sort of conversation about what penguins taste like. Somebody said they taste like fish. Youngest chips in with “But penguins ARE fish.”

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Strangely, I reckon they taste like PENGUIN! Ha! Conor thinks they taste like chocolate, but he doesnt eat chocolate that often lol!

        Liked by 1 person

    2. Wow, I don’t even know what to write. Your power to captivate the reader is quite frankly annoyingly brilliant. You create just the most vivid images, Ali. The ending – so sad, but brilliant all the same. LOVE this one, a lot.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Lol! Thanks Sacha! 😊 But the original story is a really old Irish tragic love story, so I can’t take any credit. I just retold a tiny fragment in my own words.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Here’s a few six word stories instead. No penguins.

    Night-driving drowsiness
    explosive impact
    two orphans.

    Dead star
    black waters
    eternal night.

    Bright horizon
    a sail
    your boat.


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