Cell formating.

Twenty five words, by twenty five words...

He sized up the cell's dimensions...

No, there was no doubt about it.


Writing was the only escape.

Never before, had it been so clear to him; the blank page itself was the plot.

Words slid down its surface like drops of blood.

He laid out the sheet, only to be met with the disturbing presence of eighteen anonymous animals.

He longed for the reassurance of recognisable companions.

Was there no peace here?

Pages turned slowly, fluttering in the wind, affronted, assaulted, apeing sense.

What if the story was cyclical?

Words were sized, seized, surface shrapnel.

They were no more than fragments, cuttings, of broken narrative.

Whose narrative was this?

His eyes struggled for focus, blurred by text and movement.

Numbers, hours, days, weeks, words.

25, 24, 7, 52, 365, 25

Numbers, not random, patterned a narrative flow.

Whose narrative was this?

There was not enough time.

He heard a key-stroke, from outside the margins.

"I never count words, I just write." 

Kevin was there.

Something was transformed.

The story became a foothold...

This was the way out.

A co-authored exploration of digital inarrative 

Twitter hashtag, #25wordstory, 

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@sensor63

@dogtrax 

18 anonymous animals

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