Midnight. Body aching post 8 hour shift. Aware in a mere 5 hours, two small boys will demand my attention. I stand still, listening for the soft, slow breathing. Then a rustle and dragging of little feet. Crooked smile, ruffled hair and 3 year old squinty eyes meet me in the hall. Our nocturnal ritual. My absence forgiven by a snuggle over a cup of tea, before return to slumber.
As someone who follows the sun, I read your story and felt a glimmer of understanding about what it is to be a proverbial night owl. Even felt some envy. The stillness is very enticing.
Grief is a nocturnal animal; a creature creeping through the shadows of sweat-soaked bedsheets; a tiger hiding under tear-stained pillows. I can still feel the ghost of your warm hand in mine. The day gasped for air as dusk held a final deep breath - then night came, breathing in and out the waves of moonlight, suffocating you in your savanna sleep.
My nightly prayers are my nocturnal petitions. I pray for forgiveness for my diurnal ambitions. I pray for remorse after criminal admissions. I pray for less pride, which is my internal attrition. I pray for redemption granting me eternal permission. May the Lord lay me down to sleep, which is nocturnal submission, to make me too busy for nocturnal emissions.
In the still hush of midnight, Cat tapped her paw to Lioness across time zones. Panther, cloaked in shadows, joined in with a grin. Though worlds apart, their paws met in stories—of laughter, pain, and silent knowing. Nocturnal hearts syncing across distance. A trio, not by blood, but by choice. Friendship: wild, playful, and deeply rooted in seeing one another.
Sandra, that’s such a beautiful way to put it—there’s something magic in every feline form, isn’t there? From the tiniest blink of a newborn to the thunder of a roar echoing through night. Wild hearts, soft paws, and ancient eyes. 🐾🖤
I live a rather nocturnal life. My heart has always carried a North American beat, and even my biological clock agrees—rising around what’s noon in Germany and resting only in the early morning hours. If you’re a Leo, a cat lover, or part of my pride—then yes, absolutely. Welcome.
Afternoon, gray sky, coolness, dampens spud spirits. Planted potatoes eyes to thwart nocturnal critters. Sprouts are scattered; fresh soil from pots lay on side kicked. No potatoes. No revealing footprints. Sneaky repeats. Day after day. Screened, nocturnal cloaked may be; I’ll never know What remains to be seen nameless, the gardeners and Harry Potter‘s nemesis, perhaps it’s Voldemort, the skunk..
I love how this captures the mystery and quiet persistence of the unknown. There’s something almost poetic about the repetition—both in the sneaky creature’s visits and your determined replanting. I grinned at the Voldemort twist—perfectly absurd and oddly fitting. Sixty nights, a potato saga in disguise. I’m rooting for the spuds... and for the gardener’s sanity.
I paused for a moment—thinking about my own life. And yes, I’ve seen it too: persistence and iteration eventually dissolve even the most stubborn dilemmas.
I walk the night streets, cross the bridge where no cars pass, into the silent dark of the house, rooms shrouded in shadow, swollen with grieving. I open the door where you will be sleeping, no tears left, no bright plans, and I stroke your face with a faint breeze, leave the ghostly scent of a rose on your pillow.
Moonlight spilled across her windowsill as Maya's eyes opened. The house slumbered. She was wide awake. Always awake. Shadows danced and whispered secrets only Maya could hear. Her nocturnal world swayed to the silent music. A symphony of darkness where dreams and reality blurred. Maya its sole conductor.
No matter how I try, my thoughts gallop like a tireless steed running free and wild across a plain, or creep as stealthily as a nocturnal cat prowling through a jungle.
I punch my pillow in frustration, roll over, turn on the lamp, and find my answer.
Water and my forgotten nightly sleep aid to the rescue!
I’ve definitely known those wild steed nights—mind racing, body still. And then the cat—quiet, lurking thoughts just beneath the surface. I love how your piece shifts from restlessness to resolution with such a simple truth. The image of water and that forgotten sleep aid feels like a soft exhale. Sometimes it really is just that small act that brings peace.
Midnight. Body aching post 8 hour shift. Aware in a mere 5 hours, two small boys will demand my attention. I stand still, listening for the soft, slow breathing. Then a rustle and dragging of little feet. Crooked smile, ruffled hair and 3 year old squinty eyes meet me in the hall. Our nocturnal ritual. My absence forgiven by a snuggle over a cup of tea, before return to slumber.
PROMPT: NOCTURNAL
THE CANDLE
They feared the light.
The monsters who lurked in the darkness.
As long as it was burning bright, we were safe.
They couldn’t harm us.
But there was just one problem.
We were down to our last candle.
And there was little hope of it remaining lit until the morning… 🕯️😎🕯️
You struck me right through. I'm mostly a night owl and the night is something I am sworn to too. Lovely little story Miguel ❤️
🦉🦉🦉i sometimes feel misunderstood because the world is very unfair to night owls 😭
It certainly makes life a little more challenging.
As someone who follows the sun, I read your story and felt a glimmer of understanding about what it is to be a proverbial night owl. Even felt some envy. The stillness is very enticing.
I lay down on loamy soil beneath spiralling trees.
My formal clothes cover me well—better than the old familiar rags ever did.
Nocturnal creatures tickle my bare feet as I imprint myself into the earth.
Without more wine, my brain chatters away silently, except she’s no longer here to listen.
No. She’s six feet below, deafened by the soil.
You just described me...! 😈
Night Owls Unite! 😈
Yay!! 🙌
Grief is a nocturnal animal; a creature creeping through the shadows of sweat-soaked bedsheets; a tiger hiding under tear-stained pillows. I can still feel the ghost of your warm hand in mine. The day gasped for air as dusk held a final deep breath - then night came, breathing in and out the waves of moonlight, suffocating you in your savanna sleep.
Nice one Mike!
Thanks bud!
60-word challenge: "Nocturnal"
My nightly prayers are my nocturnal petitions. I pray for forgiveness for my diurnal ambitions. I pray for remorse after criminal admissions. I pray for less pride, which is my internal attrition. I pray for redemption granting me eternal permission. May the Lord lay me down to sleep, which is nocturnal submission, to make me too busy for nocturnal emissions.
"For the Night" -- 60 word erotica (NSFW)
Angie leaves the hotel in the short dress she wore to the reception, lace underwear tucked into her Staud shoulder bag.
The full moon hangs between tall buildings as she thinks about the man she left sleeping upstairs.
The sweet caress of his hands. Firm press of his tongue. Deep penetration of his cock.
She has already forgotten his name.
https://substack.com/@emastonig
NOCTURNAL -- 60 Words
The nocturnal woods were dark and thick with fog.
Jeremy and Heidi got lost on their camping trip.
The air was cold, and strange noises echoed around them.
Suddenly, Heidi stopped. "Jeremy?" She whispered.
He was gone.
The noises grew louder—closer.
Then, a scream cut through the night. Heidi froze.
She was alone now.
And something was watching her.
60 mg of Nocturnal
In the still hush of midnight, Cat tapped her paw to Lioness across time zones. Panther, cloaked in shadows, joined in with a grin. Though worlds apart, their paws met in stories—of laughter, pain, and silent knowing. Nocturnal hearts syncing across distance. A trio, not by blood, but by choice. Friendship: wild, playful, and deeply rooted in seeing one another.
I love cats, from the smallest kitten with eyes not yet open to the largest cat with the loudest roar.
Sandra, that’s such a beautiful way to put it—there’s something magic in every feline form, isn’t there? From the tiniest blink of a newborn to the thunder of a roar echoing through night. Wild hearts, soft paws, and ancient eyes. 🐾🖤
I love this one Jay! Are we the cats connecting in late hours?
Part of my pride.
I live a rather nocturnal life. My heart has always carried a North American beat, and even my biological clock agrees—rising around what’s noon in Germany and resting only in the early morning hours. If you’re a Leo, a cat lover, or part of my pride—then yes, absolutely. Welcome.
Leo, cat pride solar disc to heal your heart with rays of light
Yes, Richard—solar heart medicine. Light streaming through fur and ribs, warming the whole pride.
Or if you'd like something a little more playful:
Leo-approved. Rays received. Heart: purring.
60 nights
Afternoon, gray sky, coolness, dampens spud spirits. Planted potatoes eyes to thwart nocturnal critters. Sprouts are scattered; fresh soil from pots lay on side kicked. No potatoes. No revealing footprints. Sneaky repeats. Day after day. Screened, nocturnal cloaked may be; I’ll never know What remains to be seen nameless, the gardeners and Harry Potter‘s nemesis, perhaps it’s Voldemort, the skunk..
I love how this captures the mystery and quiet persistence of the unknown. There’s something almost poetic about the repetition—both in the sneaky creature’s visits and your determined replanting. I grinned at the Voldemort twist—perfectly absurd and oddly fitting. Sixty nights, a potato saga in disguise. I’m rooting for the spuds... and for the gardener’s sanity.
Persistent problems will be resolved by action taken regardless of replacement and repetition.
I paused for a moment—thinking about my own life. And yes, I’ve seen it too: persistence and iteration eventually dissolve even the most stubborn dilemmas.
The one who shall not be named... the skunk... 😂
Yes a black and white with shades of gray. Pepe le Peu. But no residual offensive odor.
Nocturnal visitor
I walk the night streets, cross the bridge where no cars pass, into the silent dark of the house, rooms shrouded in shadow, swollen with grieving. I open the door where you will be sleeping, no tears left, no bright plans, and I stroke your face with a faint breeze, leave the ghostly scent of a rose on your pillow.
Love this Jane! Your poetic takes are always soooo touching. I don't have better way to describe it.
Thanks Miguel. We all have our own writing style and mine is definitely not crime thriller style!
Moonlight spilled across her windowsill as Maya's eyes opened. The house slumbered. She was wide awake. Always awake. Shadows danced and whispered secrets only Maya could hear. Her nocturnal world swayed to the silent music. A symphony of darkness where dreams and reality blurred. Maya its sole conductor.
No matter how I try, my thoughts gallop like a tireless steed running free and wild across a plain, or creep as stealthily as a nocturnal cat prowling through a jungle.
I punch my pillow in frustration, roll over, turn on the lamp, and find my answer.
Water and my forgotten nightly sleep aid to the rescue!
I’ve definitely known those wild steed nights—mind racing, body still. And then the cat—quiet, lurking thoughts just beneath the surface. I love how your piece shifts from restlessness to resolution with such a simple truth. The image of water and that forgotten sleep aid feels like a soft exhale. Sometimes it really is just that small act that brings peace.
Thank you!
"Diurnal or Nocturnal?" It was a simple enough question. Blake just stupidly stared at her.
"Isn't that kind of personal? I'm a dude; I stand."
Samantha rolled her eyes, deftly entering the code word into her phone. Lily's callback will trigger an excuse to escape from this idiot.
"Not urinal. Dies, meaning day. Nox, meaning night."
First dates are rough.
I love how you squeezed an entire character dynamic into so few lines. First dates are rough, and sometimes Latin roots are the final straw.
😂😂
😅