ABadChoiceOfWords
@abadchoiceofwords.bsky.social
By moonlight they come
Some sing
Some sob
Some scream
But they all come
Into the light of the night
Some sing
Some sob
Some scream
But they all come
Into the light of the night
Pinned
Hi. I write. You'll find a pile of stories, just below. Little things, tiny: hopes, fears, delusions, dreams. Sometimes, sorrows. Manytimes, monsters. Here, even, be dragons. Sit a little. Read a while. We won't bite.
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
A bird sits at my window. He was there yesterday. He’ll be there tomorrow. I hope.
He sings soft when I’m sad. He grins wide when I’m glad.
Our neighbors lay traps to snap rat necks. They snap birds, too.
Mine, he’s lucky. He’s been lucky. He’ll be lucky. I hope.
I hope.
#vss #writer
He sings soft when I’m sad. He grins wide when I’m glad.
Our neighbors lay traps to snap rat necks. They snap birds, too.
Mine, he’s lucky. He’s been lucky. He’ll be lucky. I hope.
I hope.
#vss #writer
July 17, 2024 at 6:13 AM
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
The risk you run, hunting monsters: sometimes they’re sweet.
I met him in the trestles. He tended birds up there—flocked with them, flew at night. He asked me along.
I’d never hung to a beast I wasn’t trying to kill. His fur, so soft; his snout, so warm; his heart, so 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥.
#vss #amwriting
I met him in the trestles. He tended birds up there—flocked with them, flew at night. He asked me along.
I’d never hung to a beast I wasn’t trying to kill. His fur, so soft; his snout, so warm; his heart, so 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥.
#vss #amwriting
April 14, 2024 at 9:17 PM
The risk you run, hunting monsters: sometimes they’re sweet.
I met him in the trestles. He tended birds up there—flocked with them, flew at night. He asked me along.
I’d never hung to a beast I wasn’t trying to kill. His fur, so soft; his snout, so warm; his heart, so 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥.
#vss #amwriting
I met him in the trestles. He tended birds up there—flocked with them, flew at night. He asked me along.
I’d never hung to a beast I wasn’t trying to kill. His fur, so soft; his snout, so warm; his heart, so 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥.
#vss #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
This morning they found three more holes. Smashed headstones, same as. Also same, none remember what those read.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
July 11, 2025 at 6:20 AM
This morning they found three more holes. Smashed headstones, same as. Also same, none remember what those read.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
Vicar held prayer midday. Rain. Dozen showed. Some left flowers.
Will speak with him this evening, see what he’ll tell a worried soul. Darker clouds come. Rough winds.
Love,
A.
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
A crowd. A man in their middle. He’s tied to a post. Bruised. Bloody.
They turn to you. “You a fag, too?” A second rope waits.
You step up. You swing. You hit him. Again. You hit. Again! Hit. Harder. Hit! Harder!
His face rips. Your knuckles drip. Your life depends on it.
#vss
They turn to you. “You a fag, too?” A second rope waits.
You step up. You swing. You hit him. Again. You hit. Again! Hit. Harder. Hit! Harder!
His face rips. Your knuckles drip. Your life depends on it.
#vss
January 1, 2025 at 11:00 PM
A crowd. A man in their middle. He’s tied to a post. Bruised. Bloody.
They turn to you. “You a fag, too?” A second rope waits.
You step up. You swing. You hit him. Again. You hit. Again! Hit. Harder. Hit! Harder!
His face rips. Your knuckles drip. Your life depends on it.
#vss
They turn to you. “You a fag, too?” A second rope waits.
You step up. You swing. You hit him. Again. You hit. Again! Hit. Harder. Hit! Harder!
His face rips. Your knuckles drip. Your life depends on it.
#vss
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
Into my prayers, God spoke.
“It is mine. He took it. You will take it back.”
So I sought my teachers, their elders, the One on High. They each told the same: it is what God says.
I still pray and God still speaks—ever, ever, ever the same. Is this all we have left?
#vss #writer #microfiction
“It is mine. He took it. You will take it back.”
So I sought my teachers, their elders, the One on High. They each told the same: it is what God says.
I still pray and God still speaks—ever, ever, ever the same. Is this all we have left?
#vss #writer #microfiction
December 25, 2024 at 12:45 PM
Into my prayers, God spoke.
“It is mine. He took it. You will take it back.”
So I sought my teachers, their elders, the One on High. They each told the same: it is what God says.
I still pray and God still speaks—ever, ever, ever the same. Is this all we have left?
#vss #writer #microfiction
“It is mine. He took it. You will take it back.”
So I sought my teachers, their elders, the One on High. They each told the same: it is what God says.
I still pray and God still speaks—ever, ever, ever the same. Is this all we have left?
#vss #writer #microfiction
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
“How long’s she have?”
“A year. Two. I cannot tell, true.”
“Will we know, when it comes?”
“She shall feel kinship of the bones below.”
Anna bit her lip, pinched her eyes, squeezed tears. Then, “We’ll make it a good year.”
“Or two.”
“Yea,” she tried a grin, “or two.”
#vss #writer #amwriting
“A year. Two. I cannot tell, true.”
“Will we know, when it comes?”
“She shall feel kinship of the bones below.”
Anna bit her lip, pinched her eyes, squeezed tears. Then, “We’ll make it a good year.”
“Or two.”
“Yea,” she tried a grin, “or two.”
#vss #writer #amwriting
December 12, 2024 at 9:14 PM
“How long’s she have?”
“A year. Two. I cannot tell, true.”
“Will we know, when it comes?”
“She shall feel kinship of the bones below.”
Anna bit her lip, pinched her eyes, squeezed tears. Then, “We’ll make it a good year.”
“Or two.”
“Yea,” she tried a grin, “or two.”
#vss #writer #amwriting
“A year. Two. I cannot tell, true.”
“Will we know, when it comes?”
“She shall feel kinship of the bones below.”
Anna bit her lip, pinched her eyes, squeezed tears. Then, “We’ll make it a good year.”
“Or two.”
“Yea,” she tried a grin, “or two.”
#vss #writer #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
I called a demon. He did what I bid. And before the Hells retook him, I shared him a pastry.
He came again next night to beg my recipe. I gave, gladly—but he was demonic, and my last ingredient: love.
The night after, he brought me his batch. They were perfect.
#vss #writer #microfiction
He came again next night to beg my recipe. I gave, gladly—but he was demonic, and my last ingredient: love.
The night after, he brought me his batch. They were perfect.
#vss #writer #microfiction
December 12, 2024 at 8:37 PM
I called a demon. He did what I bid. And before the Hells retook him, I shared him a pastry.
He came again next night to beg my recipe. I gave, gladly—but he was demonic, and my last ingredient: love.
The night after, he brought me his batch. They were perfect.
#vss #writer #microfiction
He came again next night to beg my recipe. I gave, gladly—but he was demonic, and my last ingredient: love.
The night after, he brought me his batch. They were perfect.
#vss #writer #microfiction
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
I knelt on the hill.
He sat at my side.
“There’s a lot of ‘em.”
He nodded.
“Ever seen so many?”
He shook.
“Think we can take ‘em?”
Shook harder.
“Me neither.”
He put a paw in his saddlebag. Crust of bread, skin of wine.
“A sorry last supper.”
He nodded.
We ate.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
He sat at my side.
“There’s a lot of ‘em.”
He nodded.
“Ever seen so many?”
He shook.
“Think we can take ‘em?”
Shook harder.
“Me neither.”
He put a paw in his saddlebag. Crust of bread, skin of wine.
“A sorry last supper.”
He nodded.
We ate.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
October 26, 2024 at 10:10 PM
I knelt on the hill.
He sat at my side.
“There’s a lot of ‘em.”
He nodded.
“Ever seen so many?”
He shook.
“Think we can take ‘em?”
Shook harder.
“Me neither.”
He put a paw in his saddlebag. Crust of bread, skin of wine.
“A sorry last supper.”
He nodded.
We ate.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
He sat at my side.
“There’s a lot of ‘em.”
He nodded.
“Ever seen so many?”
He shook.
“Think we can take ‘em?”
Shook harder.
“Me neither.”
He put a paw in his saddlebag. Crust of bread, skin of wine.
“A sorry last supper.”
He nodded.
We ate.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
The broods fled down, down, down, and there swore their return.
Now, ages-molten from the deep heats, they remember so little else. Our winds crack their bodies, still their hearts—no more the kind skies they still dream.
We must have ruined it. They must smelt the fix.
#vss #writer #amwriting
Now, ages-molten from the deep heats, they remember so little else. Our winds crack their bodies, still their hearts—no more the kind skies they still dream.
We must have ruined it. They must smelt the fix.
#vss #writer #amwriting
December 22, 2023 at 3:51 AM
The broods fled down, down, down, and there swore their return.
Now, ages-molten from the deep heats, they remember so little else. Our winds crack their bodies, still their hearts—no more the kind skies they still dream.
We must have ruined it. They must smelt the fix.
#vss #writer #amwriting
Now, ages-molten from the deep heats, they remember so little else. Our winds crack their bodies, still their hearts—no more the kind skies they still dream.
We must have ruined it. They must smelt the fix.
#vss #writer #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
Some of them are criminals. But most of them are victims! So we must keep them all monitored, all restrained. For their own good! Because any one of them could be criminal. And at the slightest sign, whatever it might be, we must be ready—we must be there!—to take them down.
#vss #writer
#vss #writer
November 28, 2023 at 9:47 PM
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
The air was cool, the sky was blue, the sand was gold below. It was my first time up so high. It all flew by so fast.
There were blocks ahead, houses. Then streets. Then people. Then him.
I didn’t want to hit my target. He looked like such a nice boy.
#vss
There were blocks ahead, houses. Then streets. Then people. Then him.
I didn’t want to hit my target. He looked like such a nice boy.
#vss
November 4, 2023 at 7:23 AM
The air was cool, the sky was blue, the sand was gold below. It was my first time up so high. It all flew by so fast.
There were blocks ahead, houses. Then streets. Then people. Then him.
I didn’t want to hit my target. He looked like such a nice boy.
#vss
There were blocks ahead, houses. Then streets. Then people. Then him.
I didn’t want to hit my target. He looked like such a nice boy.
#vss
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
Papa stepped out to see. They shot him. Mama screamed. They shot her. Sis ran. Shot. Bro cried. Shot.
I lived because I hid. So I kept hiding. We made weapons. We made bombs. We hurt them back.
Then they came, shot me, my wife. But our girl, we taught her to hide.
#vss #writer
I lived because I hid. So I kept hiding. We made weapons. We made bombs. We hurt them back.
Then they came, shot me, my wife. But our girl, we taught her to hide.
#vss #writer
November 9, 2023 at 12:15 PM
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
At morn, the beast lay at the foot of our wall. One of the men slung down his spear. It struck scales, it split in twain. He begged another. That shattered, too.
Night, now. The beast paces—snarls—just out of our torchlight. The men don’t sleep. I can’t. We’ll not wake.
#vss #writer #fic
Night, now. The beast paces—snarls—just out of our torchlight. The men don’t sleep. I can’t. We’ll not wake.
#vss #writer #fic
July 20, 2024 at 1:10 AM
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
There’s monsters in our library. There’s beasts in these books. Dreadful, wondrous—waiting, wanting for you to turn the page and let them loose.
They roar, they whisper: terrible truths, lovely lies, songs never sung, secrets so simple they cannot be seen. Come. Sit. Read.
#vss #writer #fic
They roar, they whisper: terrible truths, lovely lies, songs never sung, secrets so simple they cannot be seen. Come. Sit. Read.
#vss #writer #fic
July 17, 2024 at 9:21 PM
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
“This way, madness,” screams the scrawl, etched in stone and steel, “This way, glory. This way, death.”
Sane men turn. Sane men run. Sane men never look back.
I am not sane, and I am not man.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
Sane men turn. Sane men run. Sane men never look back.
I am not sane, and I am not man.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
July 18, 2024 at 12:03 PM
“This way, madness,” screams the scrawl, etched in stone and steel, “This way, glory. This way, death.”
Sane men turn. Sane men run. Sane men never look back.
I am not sane, and I am not man.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
Sane men turn. Sane men run. Sane men never look back.
I am not sane, and I am not man.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
I grew up on the right side of the tracks. Sure, everyone called it wrong—but all those clean kids from big houses that didn’t go past the end of their block or out at night? They didn’t see the bodies. They never thought that could be them. They didn’t know when to run.
#vss #writer #amwriting
#vss #writer #amwriting
June 19, 2024 at 8:31 PM
I grew up on the right side of the tracks. Sure, everyone called it wrong—but all those clean kids from big houses that didn’t go past the end of their block or out at night? They didn’t see the bodies. They never thought that could be them. They didn’t know when to run.
#vss #writer #amwriting
#vss #writer #amwriting
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
To the old gods, blood. To the new sire, song.
Dance, boys!
Strike your spears, beat your beaks!
Teach them terror, deal them death!
And when all is done—sleep, boys, sleep. Your sons will sing your honor and glory, that these bones you leave be never forgotten.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
Dance, boys!
Strike your spears, beat your beaks!
Teach them terror, deal them death!
And when all is done—sleep, boys, sleep. Your sons will sing your honor and glory, that these bones you leave be never forgotten.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
June 7, 2024 at 11:42 PM
To the old gods, blood. To the new sire, song.
Dance, boys!
Strike your spears, beat your beaks!
Teach them terror, deal them death!
And when all is done—sleep, boys, sleep. Your sons will sing your honor and glory, that these bones you leave be never forgotten.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
Dance, boys!
Strike your spears, beat your beaks!
Teach them terror, deal them death!
And when all is done—sleep, boys, sleep. Your sons will sing your honor and glory, that these bones you leave be never forgotten.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfic
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
Our gods are dead. We still pray, but only monsters hear. Men of Order slay knowings of these, that ignorance spread in its stead. They do this for fear, and rightly so: if ‘twas known these monsters listen—they answer!—we would make of them new and monstrous gods.
#vss #writer #men&monsters
#vss #writer #men&monsters
December 3, 2023 at 10:46 PM
Our gods are dead. We still pray, but only monsters hear. Men of Order slay knowings of these, that ignorance spread in its stead. They do this for fear, and rightly so: if ‘twas known these monsters listen—they answer!—we would make of them new and monstrous gods.
#vss #writer #men&monsters
#vss #writer #men&monsters
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
Did lotsa running for Mr. MacAllen. Always he had something coming or going, or coming and going. Even going and coming! Those were the hardest. But I’m good at running. And jumping. And climbing! And squeezing in hidey-holes all over the roofs.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
June 1, 2024 at 12:21 PM
Did lotsa running for Mr. MacAllen. Always he had something coming or going, or coming and going. Even going and coming! Those were the hardest. But I’m good at running. And jumping. And climbing! And squeezing in hidey-holes all over the roofs.
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
#vss #writer #amwriting #microfiction
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
“Do naught if you wish, but men come for them still. She stands with her kith. They will fight and they will die. Then that death will come for you, and—fight or flee—you will fall alone. So stand here, fight here! Die at her side! Die in her arms!”
#vss #writer #men&monsters
#vss #writer #men&monsters
December 2, 2023 at 10:33 PM
“Do naught if you wish, but men come for them still. She stands with her kith. They will fight and they will die. Then that death will come for you, and—fight or flee—you will fall alone. So stand here, fight here! Die at her side! Die in her arms!”
#vss #writer #men&monsters
#vss #writer #men&monsters
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
“The nestlin’-men call we all feder, but they grins wider when is me. I’s their Feder. I’s 𝘩𝘦𝘳 Feder.” She went quieter. “But now they’s bigger and says it diff’rent, like they’s spittin’. So I’s Fred now. Anna grins wider when she says. Is better name.”
#vss #writer #men&monsters
#vss #writer #men&monsters
December 2, 2023 at 11:51 AM
“The nestlin’-men call we all feder, but they grins wider when is me. I’s their Feder. I’s 𝘩𝘦𝘳 Feder.” She went quieter. “But now they’s bigger and says it diff’rent, like they’s spittin’. So I’s Fred now. Anna grins wider when she says. Is better name.”
#vss #writer #men&monsters
#vss #writer #men&monsters
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
They call him wretched. Why? In every telling of the tales, ‘twas his fate to perish for the saving of all. Yet he strode from that storm of smoke and blood, and between his palms beat the heart of the world. This he kept, duly won; and for that, too, he was despised.
#vss #writer #vssmagic
#vss #writer #vssmagic
December 4, 2023 at 10:12 PM
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
We put the knife in. She screamed. He screamed. But it had to be done, for all our sakes.
Tonight, I hear screams again. No. They wouldn’t dare. Not her, not mine.
The door is locked. No, no. At the cracks, I see fire, smell it. No, no, no! Not her! 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳!
#vss #writer #microfiction
Tonight, I hear screams again. No. They wouldn’t dare. Not her, not mine.
The door is locked. No, no. At the cracks, I see fire, smell it. No, no, no! Not her! 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳!
#vss #writer #microfiction
May 18, 2024 at 12:10 AM
We put the knife in. She screamed. He screamed. But it had to be done, for all our sakes.
Tonight, I hear screams again. No. They wouldn’t dare. Not her, not mine.
The door is locked. No, no. At the cracks, I see fire, smell it. No, no, no! Not her! 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳!
#vss #writer #microfiction
Tonight, I hear screams again. No. They wouldn’t dare. Not her, not mine.
The door is locked. No, no. At the cracks, I see fire, smell it. No, no, no! Not her! 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳!
#vss #writer #microfiction
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
Once ‘round the pen, twice the barn, then home. They’d done it so many times—dusk didn't make it hard, even in high crops.
But brother didn’t come back out. They called him. Then went in to look.
The screams woke Mother. Hers, Father. He got his gun.
It wasn’t enough.
#vss #writer #story
But brother didn’t come back out. They called him. Then went in to look.
The screams woke Mother. Hers, Father. He got his gun.
It wasn’t enough.
#vss #writer #story
May 17, 2024 at 10:02 AM
Reposted by ABadChoiceOfWords
This night is shining.
You are alone and the wind is cold.
Your head turns. Your ear flicks.
That howl is me, you cannot see.
You run.
I chase.
Branches, twigs, snow, ice.
A slip. A tumble. A hillside, down.
You hit bottom; red steams up.
I smell it. I know.
It is a mercy.
#vss #poetry #writer
You are alone and the wind is cold.
Your head turns. Your ear flicks.
That howl is me, you cannot see.
You run.
I chase.
Branches, twigs, snow, ice.
A slip. A tumble. A hillside, down.
You hit bottom; red steams up.
I smell it. I know.
It is a mercy.
#vss #poetry #writer
January 7, 2024 at 10:09 PM