Here are three story starters, help me decide which one to develop into my next short story.
It snowed on a day it shouldn't have. Thick blobs, wet and white, drifted from the sky, unbeknownst to those staring blankly at them; they were cold messengers of what was to come. On that day the world shifted but no one knew it, not then, only later. On that day, people just went about their busy lives, failing to notice the change that sent ripples through the air. In life there are those that notice and those that ignore, and those that make up stories to weave a false sense of security when there should be panic.
Some evil walks on two legs, some on four, some slither in the dark night and others are obscured by the bright sunlight, but perhaps the most deadly drifts on the very air we breath. The air vents wheezed and spluttered in the heat wave, the air conditioner working hard to cool the building but finding it an endless cycle, never really bringing blessed relief to the ones huddled in the building,
The feral cat crouched at the base of the wall, frightened perhaps by the honking horns and bright lights of Shanghai's distracted drivers. The road just feet away brimmed with cars, rushing along the road, so wrapped up in moving to their next location, they were blinded to the sights that flowed passed their windshields. Most were meaningless anyway, other people's problems, other peoples trash, colorful laundry dripping on poles stretched from balconies.
But the feral cat, thin and cautious, stopped at a hole at the base of the wall. He glanced up and perhaps if cats could think as elaborately as humans, he might have wondered about the broken shards of glass embedded in the concrete at the top of the fence, crowned with barbed wire. He might have paused and considered whether it was keeping things out or keeping something in. Alas he was only a cat and he squeezed his slender, hungry body through the small gap at the base of the wall. He could have wondered about the loose dirt and why the pile dug out of the hole was on the inside of the fence and not the outside. He might have contemplated what had scratched at the dry, harden dirt, throwing it loosely behind itself while making the hole just a fraction bigger with each scoop. But he didn't, he was too intent on finding something to make his tummy rumble less.
Please post a comment with which story you think should be developed into a short story. You can comment here on the blog or on the post over on the Facebook page. The story starter with the most votes will be the one I write next.