Great Production. New Story Machine?

Good month for me so far, three stories, two flashes, six poems, 8,179 words.

I'd like to rest, but I'm grabbig this while it's here!

I can worry about redrafting, edits, and reewriting when I'm old.



PROMPT BLOCK


Take 1-2-3-all of these


The more of these you use the more you will find an amazing story in you


but read the whle thing a few times first and let the phrases sing to you, get into your consciousness.

Yesterday from the same set of prompts I read two 120+ stories that used ALL the prompts. One turned out to be a dark murder story, the othr was about a Falklands veteran walking on a beach1

But on my walk I find three : I employ more people than Henry Ford : The poor little children vomited and wept : Rabbits. Deer. Because of a principle. : She is behind : I would have heard them : Red than Dead. Because the Ruskies : Women marched. Held Hands : Via Aldermaston : Twelve thousand men : Trucks, concrete. Frighted away : Travel steerage by air : To slip back into France. Because of an Austrian : To rest. Because they walk : To my right : To less effect, obviously : Though I loved Cairo : They marched so close to my house : I've been to paralysed to write : It was really terrifying : Then returning I found that my house was not ready : The trip back was something : Who got away : The trickling sun, the sprinkle : The sun was like a spirit : The sun slits through leaves : When I turn away, my shadow : Were footsteps, horseshoes : The root was not quite right. : The path was old. Through the trees : The path is well-trod : The missiles went, the concrete : The chaps are drilling again : Talking on her mobile. : Strategic Air Command, the skies : Soldiers drilled. Left-Right : Snorting. : Reclaimed, relaid and fox and stoat : Polythene bags of shit : The little tea-house, and scones; : The key to all our futures, better : Plover rush. Because of Sarajevo. : Past the cruise-missile silos : November. Glorious : Morning run : Missiles came. Because they could. : Left, a crow sits quietly : Is in front of me. : In little bags : I know they pick up shit : I knew that : I imagined my own death : I hear dogs. : I came to take a photograph : He's pullovered, green : He doesn't look : Hanging from saplings : Had buried many. Thrown down wells : grilling on the chain-link fence : Got ten cartons of cigarettes in Karachi : Glorious again : Four hundred years deep : Faintly pleasant, it was : Eyes front. Missed the Golden : Essex ran for London. His men : Early morning light through trees. : Dear Brother : Cut Ties, Cut Fences. But still : Chopped in bits. Because times changed : Catch the sun, pause, it's pleasant : But she is halting : But I was disappointed : But graffiti too. Because he is bored. : Beneath my feet : As though he is alone : As I pass, my shadow : Approaching : And turn inside out : And talked to themselves and never, never stopped : And rabbit, cow, deer alive, mosses : And on my return : And making planes that glide : And laughed and ran up and down and sang : Americans, steam-rollers, giant : All horrible. Because of a King. : A treaty signed, not here, away