This challenge is, as many of them are, both simple and complex, both easy and difficult.
I want you to write a story in five sentences.
No more than 100 words.
You can view it, if you’d like, as:
Sentence 1: Beginning / Inciting Incident
Sentence 2: Middle
Sentence 3: Middle peak, act turn or pivot
Sentence 4: Climactic turn or twist
Sentence 5: Resolution
That is not a strict map, but rather, a reminder that a story is a story, not a snapshot: it has a beginning, a middle and an end.
You can post it below in the comments if you’d like, or if you’d prefer to post at your blog and offer a link back, that’s fine, too.
Please, only one story. Do not spam the comments with a ton of these.
Just one.
So, make it count.
Due by next Friday, the 18th, at noon EST.
Alice E Keyes says:
Chain Suck
The pedal stops mid-crank and midway up the hill. The third time on the bike ride it happens. I pedal backwards a half a crank and try to pedal forward before I lose all forward momentum. No, I sigh when the push of the pedal stops midway. Stuck at a standstill midway up the hill, I curse. With the quick leap off the bike, I lift the back tire with one hand and manually cranked the chain free and know I need to visit the bike shop to fix the chain suck.
http://aliceekeyes.blogspot.com
March 15, 2016 — 11:04 AM
todddillard says:
Reconnoisseur
The prisoners wouldn’t speak so we pried open their mouths and forced yarn down their throat–long yarn, gut-reaching yarn, red as a teacher’s pen. Then we started to pull. First their voices tumbled out, furry and quivering, the names of loved ones stuck to them like lint–Francine, Beatrice, Hosanna, Hosanna. But then, then the secrets slid out from between the prisoners’ teeth, glistening knowingly and stinking of something awful as we gathered them on the table. The prisoners had died by then, and their ghostly visages watched passively as our captain handed out the forks and, with hunger, we stalked forward.
March 15, 2016 — 2:48 PM
StarNinja says:
I thought I saw a turtle resting on a rock. I steadied my scope and took a closer look. My heart started racing. Unless people had gotten into the habit of painting enemy flags on turtle shells, I was in a world of trouble. The valley echoed with the sound of guns and tanks and bombs and my dreams were quiet no more.
March 15, 2016 — 3:13 PM
Amary says:
Morbid Memories
Ellie read the text one last time then slowly pushed delete. Finally her heart and her head agreed it was time to let the past go and move on. One can only mourn the loss for so long before friends begin to find it tiresome. Besides, if it hadn’t been for that text, her past would have remained her present. Instead it was the last thing he said to her before hitting the semi head-on.
March 15, 2016 — 3:17 PM
Alice E Keyes says:
http://aliceekeyes.blogspot.com
Chain Suck
The pedal stops mid-crank and midway up the hill. The third time on the bike ride it happens. I pedal backwards a half a crank and try to pedal forward before I lose all forward momentum. No, I sigh when the push of the pedal stops midway. Stuck at a standstill midway up the hill, I curse. With the quick leap off the bike, I lift the back tire with one hand and manually cranked the chain free and know I need to visit the bike shop to fix the chain suck.
March 15, 2016 — 6:49 PM
Richard Nocella says:
Unplugged
The doctor gave my family the news as they surrounded me, looking concerned.
They didn’t know I could hear them, but I could, every word.
“Terminal…breathing machine…no telling when or even if he’ll come out of it…”
When the last one left, I summoned up what strength I had and crimped my oxygen hose.
I smiled as the alarms rang, knowing they would be far too late.
March 15, 2016 — 11:28 PM
hardboiledbaby says:
Oh, nicely done!
March 20, 2016 — 3:04 AM
Princess of Dragons says:
My little story comes in at 89 words. Love the challenge of writing such short fiction ^_^
—
Liberation
It had to be done.
She reached into her pocket, and drew out the box of matches, sulphur striking the air with a hiss. A small flick, and the match landed on the pages of the open book, flames licking up and over the paper, the ink, the unnatural prison.
Her feet turned and ran, keeping ahead as the fire spread, consuming rows upon rows, shelves upon shelves of books and artefacts, the trappings of the humans peeling away to reveal what lay inside.
Magic would be free again.
March 16, 2016 — 8:42 AM
Nicole Broussard says:
Princess of Dragons: Great piece. Tidy little story in 89 words–wow!
March 16, 2016 — 10:25 AM
Mila says:
Here goes
http://blackwidowart.net/2016/03/16/a-story-in-5-sentences/
March 16, 2016 — 11:42 AM
Cynthia Hudson says:
“What a view!” Cassie thought as she looked at the sky, not realizing at that exact moment a pair of Eyes peered through a rearview mirror thinking the same thing.
Refocusing on the road ahead, Cassie became aware of the Eye’s attention on her.
Cassie yanked herself away from their distraction, focused back to the blurred road lest she allowed the Eyes to spellbind her.
Unexpectedly the car holding the “Eyes” slowed in speed, momentarily looked away as a Hand readjusted the mirror, presenting a full Face to her view.
Cassie, relieved, smiled for the Face belong to mi amore.
March 16, 2016 — 3:29 PM
Cynthia Hudson says:
I got rather excited and too quickly posted my story. Last line should read: Cassie, relieved, smiled for the Face belong to her Love. Haste makes grammatical errors real! 🙂
March 16, 2016 — 5:11 PM
annwjwhite says:
Bubbles filled the sink at precisely seven o’clock. The dishes danced a conga line, vying for the first position in line. When the whistle blew, there was a flurry of jostling. Splashing and singing with joy, the coordinated place settings suddenly blushed. A whistle blew at eight o’clock and the cupboards filled with clean, politely stacked dinnerware
March 16, 2016 — 5:23 PM
Lilla Miro says:
She picked up the phone, that was Sanders, the guy she outflanked with the latest order.
“You fucking bitch!” he yelled, “Your company will never get a job anymore, I’ll call some very serious people!”
All these months flashed before her eyes: all strivings, all her hard work, and finally, the Bobby’s cherubic face, the face of her sweet baby. She had to stop Sanders, she thought while her fingers opened sites, she looked at the fate lines, chose recipients, words and messages to sent them…
It’s easy to be the master of dark PR when you’re a prophet.
March 17, 2016 — 8:20 AM
Mel says:
Ooooh, love this!
March 17, 2016 — 2:46 PM
Lilla Miro says:
Thank you!
March 17, 2016 — 3:51 PM
kconstantine says:
This was fun, thanks! (And thank you Heather!). Also on my website at: http://kathleenconstantine.com/reveries/
WILD RIDE
I sensed the pull of him as he passed, heard him call “race you to the park,” and followed the flash of his smile. My pumping the pedals was futile though, and his bike shorts fluttered into the distance.
Later I collapsed onto the grass, falling into his arm, into his scent—as familiar as his “I told you so” expression. It felt warm and right, until I slipped off with the cold turn of his shoulder and his snide, “Your lack of training shows.”
I rode home alone, wildflowers setting the hills ablaze in bright orange sparks.
March 17, 2016 — 8:32 AM
Bagels says:
The Ghost of Steve:
“How do you drop an iPhone in a toilet?” asked Jane incredulously.
“I don’t know, it just happened!” said John
“Aaaaah, my parents are going to” — there was a flash of lightning, and the Ghost of Steve Jobs rose out of the submerged iPhone.
“What have you done,” the Ghost of Steve Jobs said disapprovingly.
Jane flushed the toilet and neither the iPhone nor the Ghost of Steve Jobs were ever heard of again.
March 17, 2016 — 1:26 PM
Mel says:
Haha shenanigans. I like it!
March 17, 2016 — 2:47 PM
rebekahspark says:
The first butterflies
At his best friends fifteenth birthday…
“What do you think I’m going to ask you?” His mouth was close to my ear.
His arms wrapped around me, as I stood by the camp-fire.
He was my stepsister’s boyfriend first, back before I’d come on the scene. It started a war at home, never took much to stoke the fires of her jealousy. Twenty five years on and that hasn’t changed.
I’ve thought of him over time, wondered where he is, how he is. Eventually I found him, my friend requests went unanswered. Still we always remember our first stomach butterflies.
March 17, 2016 — 7:07 PM
Jemima Pett says:
I seem to have trouble reading the rules at present.
Here is my 100 word story, with twists and structure as prescribed, I hop… but in 18 sentences!
http://jemimapett.com/blog/2016/03/18/fridayflash-fiction-not-a-bad-egg/
March 18, 2016 — 9:13 AM
thatcalamity says:
“I ask only once,” The man with lightning at his neck says in perfect French, “where have you hidden the Maiden’s heart?”
Around us his men ransack the archives, searching for the unburnt organ that once led France to victory.
A soft click behind my ear tells me that the man’s second in command grows tired of waiting. I cross myself and murmur the Maiden’s prayer with ashy, bloody, lips that taste of desperate measures.
Lord God forgive me, the Maiden’s sacred heart will never reach Berlin.
March 18, 2016 — 9:32 AM
glenavailable says:
Very, very good.
March 18, 2016 — 6:27 PM
True story. Really. says:
Because dogs have stories to tell too:
https://truestoryreally.wordpress.com/2016/03/18/rescue/
March 18, 2016 — 11:24 AM
glenavailable says:
Prize for best ever Gravatar photo. Milk that hippo!
March 18, 2016 — 6:11 PM
Nicole Broussard says:
My three German Shepards and I loved this.
March 18, 2016 — 7:46 PM
Veronica Martinez says:
The killer walked into the room and looked at all his options.
Someone would die tonight, and every person there knew it.
Bribes and pleas were shouted at him as the minute hand made it’s sweep.
They saw in his eyes when the decision was made and fell silent.
His laughter rang in their ears, til it was drowned out by the explosion.
March 18, 2016 — 12:05 PM
john freeter says:
If it would’ve rhymed, it would’ve been perfect
March 19, 2016 — 12:50 AM
Jim Woods (@jimwoodswrites) says:
Hands shaking, he held the gun up to his temple. Thoughts flashed through his mind faster than the speed of light. Then darkness–pure darkness. The body lie on the ground in a pool of blood as vultures flew overhead. A good meal is very satisfying.
March 18, 2016 — 3:48 PM
Henry says:
There’s blood pooling on the floor. It drips from my hands. I’m so sorry.
I should have been more careful with the transfusion bag. I’ll just … go get a mop.
March 19, 2016 — 2:52 PM
Lilla Miro says:
Great!
March 20, 2016 — 6:41 AM