Six Sentence Sunday is open to all writers. Just pick a six sentence passage from anything you’ve written—published, unpublished, whatever—and post it on your blog on Sunday.
Registration for the upcoming Sunday list opens the previous Tuesday evening at 5pm CST. More information is here.
Six more from my drawer novel.
I signed over the desk to my third shift replacement, clocked out at 2100 hours, and let my car—a nifty little Ford Shirataki I had just paid off—take me home.
I plugged the Shirataki into its charger, locked the garage door behind me, and trudged around to the front. There hadn’t been enough credit in my accounts to get a Security Garage Door installed, so I’d had the connecting door to the house and the back door sealed until I did—I’d had break-ins that first year, people looking for revenge, an excusable target, or just souvenirs.
I keyed my code into the DoorPost, which released a hardcopy letter from Aunt Rosie and announced that it had recorded thirty-four messages and had issued a trespassing alert, one warning blast, no fatalities.
I walked up the path to the Door, which let me in and locked behind me.
Home Sweet Home.