Last week’s challenge: “That’s My New Band Name.”
I want to give someone a copy of 500 Ways To Tell A Better Story.
As always, you gotta dance for your dinner, though. It’s fuck-or-walk around these parts, hoss.
Put your pants on. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s a metaphor. Or something.
ANYWAY.
You’re going to tell a story in three sentences.
You will post this story here, in the comments below.
Keep it under 100 words.
You only get one entry.
I will give away three copies of the book in either ePub, MOBI or PDF format. Your choice.
You’ve got one week. Due by noon EST, July 6th, 2012.
Three sentences. Beginning, middle, end, 1, 2, 3.
Do it.
Bronson O'Quinn says:
Can I give mine a title? If so, mine is “Stage Directions”. If not, just ignore the previous sentence.
String him up, knock out the floor, and let him meet the Lord Almighty. If you see him kick, that means St. Peter tossed him out and he’s about to burn. That’s when you know he’s guilty.
June 29, 2012 — 12:54 AM
Natalie says:
Boy meets girl. Problem revealed. Problem resolved.
June 29, 2012 — 1:21 AM
AmandaKay says:
The Valkyrie ignores the tiresome buzzing of the flies as she steps over yet another one of her chosen dead. Spying her goal on the next rise, she raises her sword and calls out but the Warrior refuses to fall. “There’s still evil to battle,” he whispers and the Valkyrie, smiling, lowers her sword and turns to select another.
June 29, 2012 — 1:45 AM
X2Eliah says:
As little Timmy lay bleeding on the table, time seemingly slowed to a still-frame, spikes of pure liquid agony reaching into the very core of his being, his last thoughts were filled with anger and hate towards his world (the table, the knives), his fate (torment, misery), and his Creator, who had not even deigned to establish any necessity for his existence beyond that one simple death scene. The fact of Tim’s fictitious nature did little to alleviate the incessant torture that was his excruciatingly prolonged (though thankfully now departing) life. Gods really were straight-up bastards sometimes.As Tim lay bleeding on the table, his last thoughts were filled with anger and hate towards his world, his fate, and his Creator, who had not even deigned to establish any necessity for his existence beyond that one simple death scene. It didn’t even fill more than one sentence. What a waste.
June 29, 2012 — 2:53 AM
Van says:
Been a lurker for some time, but I thought I’d give it a shot.
His father asks him, What’s your name, sonny, and he answers. Tomorrow, the same. Repeat ad nauseam.
June 29, 2012 — 2:58 AM
Ivana says:
“Doctor… Save the child.”
The doctor started to the devour the mother, freeing the child from the dungeon of the womb. With a quick, careful move, he threw the newborn to the father, the baby’s first meal.
June 29, 2012 — 3:00 AM
Robert Thomas says:
Everything is dark as night at three in the afternoon, and the whole world is melting into the ground. It seems selfish, but all I can think is: I’ll never fuck Marilyn Monroe. Somewhere, a mushroom cloud kisses the sky.
June 29, 2012 — 3:26 AM
Erin says:
“Of course, there’s nothing you can do, now that Jimmy’s gone to the papers.” His lips curled around the cigar; smoke lazily wafted from his mouth, piling up in clouds on the Cadillac’s headliner. “I don’t pity you or Nora,” he said, stabbing at me with his sausage fingers, “and that’s a fact.”
June 29, 2012 — 3:34 AM
Bronson O'Quinn says:
@AmandaKay: I love the imagery in yours. It’s so vivid!
June 29, 2012 — 3:37 AM
Laura Libricz says:
(I don’t know about the rest of Europe, but I am suffering from an involuntary soccer overdose.)
He looked out of the goal, up into the cheering crowd’s arms waving like grain in a field, and thanked God that he had been allowed to come this far with his football career. His teammate shouted and he turned just in time to see the ball sail by and thud behind him in the net. This meant the game was over, the game was lost, so he hung his head, walked into the locker room, showered, got into his car, drove to the nearest train station and threw himself in front of the oncoming ICE.
June 29, 2012 — 4:01 AM
Lifiea says:
When you’re at the end, everyday is a beginning. At least, that’s what Tom thought as he wandered past the piles of burnt out ash, debris and dead body bits that remained of his town. Until he heard the sound of growling and felt something heavy thud into his back and then the last thing he realised that even after the end, there would just be another end.
June 29, 2012 — 4:09 AM
Andreas Habicher says:
Had Bernard known what he got out of it, he would’ve left the gold ring in the sewers. He didn’t, and so they came for him and took his house, his car, his cat, even his wife from him. When they tried to take his little girl, he freaked, he got wild, he murdered, and he left it all in the sewers, them, their guns, their boss, and the fucking ring with the silly numbers inscribed that started it all.
June 29, 2012 — 4:20 AM
Jemma says:
Not once did he glance back, or say a single word to her. NOt that she let is tmatter, she thought, with a clenched jaw and wide eyes staring stubbornly ahead at the road. Silence, for her, had become a rare field of expertise.
June 29, 2012 — 5:01 AM
Steve Lean says:
“It’s ok honey, it’s not your fault, you’re safe now, just tell mummy what the man did.”
“No, you didn’t do wrong sweetie, you’ve been a very brave and clever little girl to remember where he lives.”
“Now, you just stay here with your Granma while I take Daddy’s special box that you know you mustn’t touch round to the man’s house.”
June 29, 2012 — 5:32 AM
Tom Sharp says:
Silence returned to the room. Detective Dhillon loosened his tie, detective Brookes leafed through some notes in a folder he’d brought in with him, and McKenzie sat silently, her arms folded across her chest. And then the same questions, followed by the same answered, began all over again.
June 29, 2012 — 5:57 AM
AB Singer says:
Today we offed two common crims and a political who’d pissed off the local wog brass, yeah? The pol took a long time to croak and in the end we had to speed him on his way and that was the first time in my life I’ve ever felt bad about hurting someone. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it scared the hell out of me when it all went dark; capisce?
June 29, 2012 — 6:30 AM
Lexi Revellian says:
He had dark, unreliable eyes. She fell into their depths, knowing she was crazy to succumb. A year later he was a memory, and she couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad one; his son looked at her with the same dark eyes and made her smile.
June 29, 2012 — 6:34 AM
Shiri Sondheimer says:
The storm gathered, waited, buzzards and vultures in the contours of the clouds.
(Thirteen words seems appropriate. I’ll stop there)
June 29, 2012 — 6:41 AM
Mark Matthews says:
A crack rock sizzled in the his pipe, and his lungs burned from white acidic smoke.
Paranoid delusions in his brain sounded like footsteps on the porch, until the door busted in and guns drawn turned into gun shots.
HIs lungs would explode and burn no more.
June 29, 2012 — 7:08 AM
Lou says:
Thursday afternoons in June are the worst, especially when the air goes out. Four hundred service reps and IT guys stinking up their cubicles in an open floorplan, staring at LCD screens and flickering flourescent lights. I wonder why it doesn’t happen more often an dwhy more people didn’t die.
June 29, 2012 — 7:38 AM
Abby says:
She stood in the middle of the swamp, her bare feet squishing through the ooze and the slime that water had made from the dirt and the earth and the blood. Her foot nudged a skull and she kicked it away carelessly. The blindfold itched, soaked in sweat and dampened by the muggy air that hung, still, against her skin.
June 29, 2012 — 7:43 AM
T.J. Janneff says:
This isn’t I need. I need more of a prompt – I need results! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME WENDIGGY.
(Yes that is my actual submission. Having some struggles this morning, and hey, maybe you find that amusing. I’m sure I’ll look back on this and agree…..)
June 29, 2012 — 7:45 AM
Stephen G. Zoldi says:
She smelled blood as her eyes fled from his.
“Hello,” He said as she saw the gun.
There was a flash and oblivion.
June 29, 2012 — 7:46 AM
robert bucchianeri says:
Shirley drew a line on the hardwood floor in the middle of the bedroom with a yellow magic marker.
Bob stepped across it.
Shirley shot him.
June 29, 2012 — 8:51 AM
Steve Ince says:
Tommy Simpson breathed his last and the empty hospital room fell silent. A moment later he opened his eyes and rubbed his hands together. “Now the fun begins,” he said.
June 29, 2012 — 9:15 AM
Aisling Cahill says:
She’d failed this child, failed him utterly. As far as she was concerned, surgery was not an option, she owed him at least that. Weeping, she gritted her teeth as another contraction tore the lifeless, 12-week-old foetus from her body.
June 29, 2012 — 9:20 AM
Jessica McHugh says:
Breaking Point
“Tell us a story, Mommy,” they said.
Their pupils were dilating, but it would be another ten minutes before the toxin took full effect.
She smirked, saying, “I suppose you have time for a short story.”
June 29, 2012 — 9:23 AM
Drew Bittner says:
The lady down the block kept a teddy bear and took it with her wherever she went.
She had forgotten to feed it four years ago.
She had two children also.
June 29, 2012 — 9:27 AM
TooSweetJ says:
Fifteen years of marriage, and only cookware to show for it. He’d given someone else the diamond necklace. Well, at least she would put the frying pan to good use… .
June 29, 2012 — 9:29 AM
A.M. Schultz says:
I’ll walk the dog.
He still hasn’t pooped.
My Summer has been spent Resolving the carpet.
June 29, 2012 — 9:32 AM
Adam says:
“This looks like a job for The Flash!”
“Sir, put your pants back on, this is not a job for you.”
“I’m a lousy super hero.”
June 29, 2012 — 9:32 AM
Yehuda Cohen says:
When he was a child, he loved to watch the dominoes run.
When he was a teenager, he smoked his first pack of camels.
Six days after his wedding the final domino fell and she placed a bouquet of roses on his grave.
June 29, 2012 — 9:33 AM
Dave Redman says:
In the end there was a beginning, then a middle; all merged to a single point where there was no middle, beggining or end. ‘Maybe I am crazy,’ she muttered as she pressed her eye close to the telescopic sight, searching for the singer of fire and ice. Her final thought as she squeezed the trigger and loosed a bullet, ‘You shouldn’t of let them kill Sean Bean, you bastard!’
June 29, 2012 — 9:33 AM
Sara J. says:
I shook my head, adding an insolent pause between each repeat. Father looked at me with murder in his eyes, but he knew I knew he couldn’t do anything about it.
“Go fish,” I said sweetly.
June 29, 2012 — 9:34 AM
Irven says:
The Administrator had no idea I was coming. That last thing he’d expect a washed-up desk-shroom like me to do was kick open the fucking front door and storm the library with guns blazing. I was wrong on all counts.
June 29, 2012 — 9:37 AM
Jeremy Friesen says:
Itchy skin. Full moon. Hunger sated.
June 29, 2012 — 9:39 AM
John says:
The grape juice stuck his toes together as he hobbled into the farmhouse.
With glasses of last year’s wine they toasted him like a conquering hero.
He stood over by the window, swilling thoughts of never going home around.
June 29, 2012 — 9:45 AM
Christopher Kobar says:
On a morning languid with hazy sun and the sounds of life slowed, Professor Tillinghast foolishly chose to peruse his annotated copy of the Necronomicon with a tall glass of iced tea on the portico. The sky darkened as his habit of reading out loud awoke things best left sleeping in distant galaxies, things that answered the summons as they are wont to do, bringing with them a malefic foulness and mind-crippling terror that tested the aging pedagogue as nothing else. The battle won, he refilled his glass, put down the grimoire, and turned to the funnies instead.
June 29, 2012 — 9:48 AM
J. David Anderson says:
Roger lost everything: his job, his wife, his car, his self respect. He put a bullet through his brain on a Tuesday evening. On Wednesday, his lottery ticket had the winning numbers.
June 29, 2012 — 9:52 AM
Mainemoosetrax says:
I was born in 1977; I lived a pretty good life until my unexpected death at 35. I returned from the grave the next full moon. Hungry.
June 29, 2012 — 9:53 AM
D.B. Baldwin says:
Ebhard blinked back tears.
“I do,” said his baby girl.
The guests applauded.
June 29, 2012 — 9:55 AM
Hilary Clark says:
A Monarch butterfly flutters its orange-black wings, gliding across the wide porch to feast on the nectar of waving tiger lilies. The feisty black and white kitten pounces; remnants of wing and petal tickle her whiskers. She’ll be sick later.
June 29, 2012 — 9:55 AM
Kathlyn H says:
I liked the dead, they didn’t treat you bad, they didn’t beat you and they didn’t threaten to sell you to slavers when you messed up.
My parents were addicts, always needing another fix and always beating me up until I got their next batch, but the dead didn’t try any of that, so was it strange that I wanted my parents dead and finally killed them?
The dead were eternally patient and always forgiving; my dead parents were more loving than they ever had been in life and I had a happy and stable family, the one I’d always wanted.
June 29, 2012 — 10:05 AM
Simon Rogers says:
It’s a long, hard walk from the Grue Brother’s Funeral Home to the Interstate, but carrying a coffin and a nail gun? Even empty, the damned thing handles like a two-ton corn-dog. But that bitch cop flagged me down for a DUI and took my driver license, and he’s gotta pay.
June 29, 2012 — 10:17 AM
Devin Wren says:
One beautiful Summer day as twilight is approaching a tall brunette lady is walking rather hurriedly in the park trying to get home before darkness falls. Before she can get out of the park a sick pervert with a lust for tall brunettes spots her, catches up to her and pulls her in the bushes to do who knows what. Luckily a man who happens to be packing heat sees what happens and shoots the sick pervert leaving the tall brunette eternally grateful never having to know what could have been.
June 29, 2012 — 10:26 AM
Woodge says:
They said pigs couldn’t fly. Then my gene-splicer changed everything. Man, there’s shit everywhere now.
June 29, 2012 — 10:35 AM
Lxndr says:
He prayed for her survival. Yet, she died, suffering. He thanked God for the unanswered prayer.
June 29, 2012 — 10:35 AM
KamakaziNES says:
Hot sun crackling across the midnight sky, a young hero rose to face a terrible foe. Two titans clashed; the hero, and a sinister dragon armed with truths best left forgotten. The hero won, and his master’s mind slipped further into darkness.
June 29, 2012 — 10:38 AM
yswilliger says:
The fucking spook, weirdo, bitch—whatever—dropped her wand and smiled.
On the floor, I patted desperately at the flat space between my legs.
“That,” she said, “is what you get for screwing a witch’s sister.”
**
June 29, 2012 — 11:15 AM
Michael C. says:
I “awoke” knowing I was in a coffin, complete with five-speed transmission. Five-speeders suck, they had all sneered. Yeah, winning the first-place trophy really sucked.
June 29, 2012 — 11:15 AM