#thousandwordstories

He loved this street, it was a mish mash of smells that you didn’t often get going together, all of them so distinct, yet somehow they mixed together like an Avant Garde jazz symphony that almost sounded

There she is, in the queue, saving my space. How incredibly lucky am I to be with her. Those white jeans are more second skin as opposed to skin tight. Her body resembles one of those Insta models I used

What struck him about the sky over here was how angry it seemed. The sky back home was never angry, in Ireland the sky could be sad, or it could be sullen, often it was miserable, or depressed, he’d even

Lanced steel bolts of lightning pierced the atmosphere as the raid ships rained down an ungodly torrent of death and destruction. Haamal watched as the city she once knew was turned to rubble, distant

The sleeves of his waterproof were angry flags protesting their existence as they whipped noisily around his arms. He glanced at his wrist for what he realised was the eighth time in less than twelve seconds.