How to Spontaneously write fiction 

About a month back I saw a beautiful girl and couldn’t help staring. I immediately wrote about the encounter in a series of tweets, adding my narrative flair. 

I didn’t take notice at first because she wore a surgical mask for a cold, something that normally exaggerates the beauty of the eyes, but she looked down at the paper at her desk. It was her hair that first grabbed me. A perfect, silky dome of black, as thick as it seemed soft. 

She coughed and tilted her head, thinking about the contents, and then when she raised up her legs to sit cross legged on the chair I fell in love. Such a small gesture was a bold statement of individuality in this culture, especially when surrounded by her peers.

My mind lit up with further possibilities. Perhaps she liked all night movie marathons and exploring abandoned buildings and parks. Perhaps a beer drinker in the morning, or a musician, a writer, a rebel, an adventurer or a pilot. I stared. I stared for too long because my mind is perverted.

She picked and played with a strand of her hair twirling it like she was winding up a clock. She saw me. I blushed. The futures ended. 

I immediately saved the tweets and published them in a moment because I knew they’d get lost amongst my other tweets when I would want to read it later. 

A while passed, and then yesterday I had a random idea for a story. Rather than just tweet ‘hey, I have this idea!’ and nobody listen. I thought that I’d best just write it. So I did. In tweets. I then added it to the Sponty Fixtion Moment. So I think it’s a series now. 

Father stood by the bathroom sink, bags under his eyes, uttering agreements as his two year old daughter played at washing her face. He hoped that soon she would lose interest in her reflection and finish so she would go to bed.

“Soap bulack ya blah puh la face!”


“Sululu balac ta bulah!” she said.

“Yes, I agree,” he said without thinking. 

Suddenly there was a shimmer of heat and a terrible smell. Then came the distant cries of billions of souls burning in fire. Just as suddenly as it came, it stopped but out of the shimmer stepped … a spike covered demon, a creature of sharp angles and jagged brimstone, crooked limbs and fire filled maw.

“Hello,” it said.

It held a bundle of rocks and fire, and passed it to father to hold. Petrified, and with his daughter in stunned silence, he did not reject. 

“I’ll be back around 6am, only I’ve got so many souls to burn. We’re backed up!”

Father stared at the bundle and realized it was a baby one. It gurgled fire at him that jumped onto the sleeve of his shirt. He screamed.

“Ex-excuse me… er… sir, wha-?”

“This is the babysitter?”

“I can’t take this!” Father cried. “I don’t know the slightest thing about… fire demons”

The larger pile of rock and fire gasped.

“We don’t use that language around little ones!”

“But.. but…”

The demon roared. “You called the advert and agreed the contract,” it said.

“Your small one said it and you agreed”

The father looked stunned at his daughter who was now starting to leak at the eyeballs from fear or perhaps smoke.

“I’ll be back at 6 am.” It moved to leave but turned back “And I suggest you are careful what you agree to in future”

I quite like writing fiction on Twitter. Something about the character limit is less threatening than a larger project and allows me to take it in bite sized chunks. 

If you enjoyed this keep an eye on my moments in Twitter. I’ll be adding to them and I’ll save some of the best comments from readers too. So please leave your feedback! 


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