Three Words #6

Three Words is a writing game. I am not sure of the origin. Me and one of my high school friends used to play it. How it works is you swap lists of three words. You then write a story using those words. It is a great way to get inspiration.

Here are three words for you to try out. Also, if you leave a comment with a list of three words, I will write a story using them and post it next week. Last week my good friend Jen gave me the three word that inspired the story below.

Three Words

• Raid
• Tree
• Sparrow

Flash Fiction

Using the Three Words: Scissors, Wheat, Fire from Jen

I brushed through my hair one last time. As the brush moved through my locks I admired the long flowing curls. I tilted my head back and forth, watching the light from the fire make it glow like a field of wheat in the morning.

I sighed and took up the scissors with my hand. I pulled a fist full of hair away from my head, poised the twin metal blades around it, and closed my eyes. Snip. The first cut was done. Feeling an odd sense of energy from severing my hair, I attacked it with the scissors. In no time at all the floor around my feet was covered in long strips of curly hair.

Done, I let the scissors fall and inspected the damage in the mirror. I still looked feminine, if you looked closely enough. But if I smeared my face with dirt and put on boys clothing, I might just pass.

Moving with all possible speed, I dressed in the trousers and shirt I had liberated from the stable boy. I took up the bundle from where I had laid it with care on the bed and slipped into the hall outside my room.

The halls were dark and quiet. I had no trouble sneaking into the open courtyard and then to the gate. A loud, ominous creak filled the night air as I swung the gate open. Tensing I listened to see if the sound raised any alarms. No one stirred.

Confident that I had not been discovered I inched my way through the small opening in the gate and emerged onto the road.

My breath created a small cloud before my face as I sighed in relief. Slinging the pack over my shoulder I attempted to strut down the road, whistling a nameless tune as I went.