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.
mandy says:
The New Kid
Lester stares at the moss in the cracks of the quadrangle as the jeering behind him grows louder, cockier. An empty bottle whizzes past his head, his school bag is ripped from his shoulder, fire bucket chained to the schoolyard fence, tossed into next door’s railway yards.
All those promises of things being different this time fall flat on their arse at three-twenty-five on day one.
Lester turns, punches, and the toughest looking boy drops, cracks his head on the concrete so hard it bounces once, twice.
Lester’s done with making promises.
March 11, 2016 — 4:58 PM
imagenn793 says:
My entry is uploaded on my blog site, if you would like to check it out :):
https://imagenn793.wordpress.com/2016/03/11/a-story-in-five-sentences/
March 11, 2016 — 5:59 PM
hardboiledbaby says:
HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE (100 words)
“Damn you, don’t you dare leave me,” she said, desperation making her normally sweet voice rough and strained.
I let her cling to me, hoping she could hear what I couldn’t say out loud: ‘I don’t want to, sweetheart, but this isn’t my choice.’
“What if I don’t let you go, what then?” she cried, holding on even tighter than before.
‘Oh God, no, don’t do that,’ I thought, feeling myself grow cold at the very idea… even colder than I already was.
“C’mon, honey,” her mother said as she gently drew my darling away, “Let them close the coffin.”
March 11, 2016 — 7:21 PM
imagenn793 says:
Wow, this story is quite sad and very moving. Beautifully written xx
March 17, 2016 — 5:26 AM
hardboiledbaby says:
Thank you 🙂
March 20, 2016 — 3:29 AM
Nicole Broussard says:
99 WORDS NO TITLE
Adriana stops in the middle of the desolate blacktop road, desperately trying to catch her breath.
Behind her, insipid beams of light steal through the fog failing to produce the slightest trace of shadow onto the rain-slick road.
The screeching wallop from an air horn pierces her brain; she’s darting out of the road seconds before she realizes she’s still capable of movement.
She reaches the shoulder, franticly waving for help, as a filthy tsunami of water from the speeding rear wheels shrouds her.
On the far side of the road the massive grizzly waits for the truck’s departure.
March 11, 2016 — 7:30 PM
Skye Overall says:
Eh, it’s 101 words. Close enough?
“What do you think?” he asked, leaning closer and opening a black velvet ring box.
It was the ugliest ring I had ever seen: thick, yellow gold band, with a pear-shaped diamond that had a prominent flaw in the center.
I sat in the crowded bar for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, wondering what his ring choice said her.
I thought of all the times she smiled at me with her lips, but her eyes glinted with a scornful edge, as if she was plotting me out of his life.
“It suits her perfectly.”
March 11, 2016 — 8:33 PM
maryblackhill says:
Had to read it twice, but then I got it. Nice one. And you can tighten up even more, I promise!
March 12, 2016 — 8:40 AM
Nicole Broussard says:
Like this one!
March 12, 2016 — 7:11 PM
thedebc says:
Lol payback?
March 13, 2016 — 6:43 PM
Diedra Black says:
I would be interested to know who the POV character is. Buddy? Mother? Adult child?
March 20, 2016 — 11:13 PM
Elizabeth Mallory says:
CITY OF LIGHT
Of all the things I’ve discovered in my soup, the thousand-dollar AshoTrain ticket was a first. The next came through in twenty-three minutes and I was twenty-two from the station, so it’s good I didn’t take long making up my mind.
As I found a seat, I watched the city recede too quickly and wondered if my impulsiveness had gotten me in serious trouble again – until the skyline erupted in light.
I collapsed onto velvet, horrified, staring at the distant mushroom. The shockwave knocked me sideways into a porter, who murmured: “Careful, Ms. Burns, you were chosen for a reason.”
March 11, 2016 — 9:02 PM
Nicole Broussard says:
Very nice. What’s next?
March 12, 2016 — 7:20 PM
thedebc says:
Mmm, sounds like the start of a good story
March 13, 2016 — 7:10 PM
Veronica Martinez says:
Nice.
March 18, 2016 — 12:06 PM
boundbeautifunk says:
A (Semi)Personal Essay in 96 Words
I have a bladder full of urgency, but Amishmen are everywhere, grinders shooting sparks and starting fires in the straw. Usual piss spots are being traipsed across by young men whose beards, suspenders, and worth ethics put hipsters to shame, but I’m in dire straits. My urethra is twisted up like a dehydrated earthworm when I give in at an intersection of wall and silo, hoping for thirty seconds. He walks around the corner with a clipboard and comes up short when he sees me squatting. Our eyes connect, each measuring the other’s loss of modesty.
March 11, 2016 — 10:31 PM
thedebc says:
Sounds like a nightmare lol
March 13, 2016 — 6:58 PM
Dani says:
Blew the word count (by 7! I swear it was 200 words when I started, but any less than this and it starts to unravel…that word count really forces you to edit out useless phrases and adjectives.)
“Nymph in the Fountain”
She fell in love twice a week—on Wednesdays watching the hustle of workers commuting home and when midnight struck open the weekend spilling out pursuits to capture pleasure and flesh.
This week she hadn’t fallen in love, she hadn’t seen anyone interesting.
Her heart wasn’t still captive to the bearded man; when he came to her fountain, clean shaven, all lust was gone.
A coin splashed into her face and she saw the lover who had doomed her to love like this; she sent a watery spray to caress his face.
But her flesh shuddered into droplets as she tried to drown him in watery rage.
March 12, 2016 — 2:02 AM
maryblackhill says:
I love your opening line here, and I love the story. I agree, the word count really enforces discipline; you have to make every word count
March 12, 2016 — 8:59 AM
Dani says:
Aw, thank you! 🙂
I really hated cutting out the adjectives–really threw off my rhythm in how I’d structured it. And I lost some of the stuff I loved out of the first line. 🙁
March 12, 2016 — 5:20 PM
thedebc says:
Unrequited lust ?
March 13, 2016 — 7:11 PM
Dani says:
Not exactly what I had meant, but yeah I could see how a certain type of person would cast a love curse on someone if they’d been rebuffed. And that would be an interesting story too. 🙂
If I’d had another couple of sentences [or another hundred words!] I would have gone more in the direction of “fine you want to give all your love out to everyone, here have at it” and done the more normal cheating route, but hey ho. I had what I had.
March 14, 2016 — 1:47 AM
thedebc says:
I loved the imagery of the water.
March 14, 2016 — 8:32 AM
William Rutter says:
5 sentences, 32 words. A Barbarian and a Gentleman. Thanks!
https://williamrutter.wordpress.com/2016/03/12/a-barbarian-and-a-gentleman/
March 12, 2016 — 8:08 AM
Fred G. Yost says:
“The Dog’s Dream”
The dog barked at the birds outside the window, protecting his family from the intruders in the lawn.
The birds enraged him, not just for being in his yard, but he envied their flight, their freedom.
On a walk, an ancient sorceress (nearly twenty) offered to turn him into a cardinal.
The former dog soared through the skies on scarlet wings, but his heart felt hollow.
He spent the rest of his days on a branch outside the window, singing songs to the family he loved, wishing he could come inside just one last time.
March 12, 2016 — 9:59 AM
Nicole Broussard says:
Good story that does what I assume you were going for: made you think. Nice.
March 12, 2016 — 7:26 PM
Ridley Kemp says:
Somewhere between a fable and O. Henry. I like this.
March 12, 2016 — 9:00 PM
thedebc says:
Aww very sweet. I really like the end
March 13, 2016 — 7:14 PM
maryblackhill says:
Ohhhhh, (sniffs) so sad……..
March 14, 2016 — 6:42 AM
billthescribe says:
🙂
That’s all.
Just 🙂
March 15, 2016 — 5:48 AM
Richard Nocella says:
I really like how you got the dog’s whole arc in so few words in a bittersweet tale.
March 15, 2016 — 11:06 PM
Rich Hayden says:
Perfect. Great job.
March 16, 2016 — 6:06 PM
hardboiledbaby says:
How lovely and poignant.
March 20, 2016 — 2:38 AM
Jason Magnason says:
The bomb was set to go off in ten minutes, and the bank vault was full of innocents.
Sweat beaded on Johnson’s forehead, as he disarmed the bomb just in time.
A disembodied voice spoke through the bombs device, “congratulations, by disarming the bomb, you initiated the other twelve.”
Johnson spoke,”I know, we moved them to your location about an hour ago; happy trails.”
March 12, 2016 — 10:02 AM
Veronica Martinez says:
*laughs* Sweet.
March 18, 2016 — 12:09 PM
C.K. Black says:
Mary sighed as she opened the refrigerator. The remote control for the television sat in a puddle of milk, its container toppled over on its side. On the counter, a soiled pair of boxers hung from a sterling silver fruit tree, a gift from their daughter for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. From the bedroom, her husband Edgar pointed a banana at the television and yelled to her the remote control wasn’t working again.
Tomorrow, she thought as she cleaned the mess, I’ll call tomorrow.
March 12, 2016 — 10:33 AM
thedebc says:
A whole story in a few sentences …. Very sad, but well done.
March 13, 2016 — 7:22 PM
maryblackhill says:
Poignant and nicely done.
March 14, 2016 — 6:47 AM
hardboiledbaby says:
A sad story, very well told.
March 20, 2016 — 2:40 AM
rhythmandcrime says:
You must accept my apologies, however, if you are reading this, you will be dead in just a moment.
I know, you are feeling fine, safe, never been better, but let me assure you, beg you to beleive, nothing could be further from the truth.
You must listen to me right now before it’s too late as what I say next will save your life.
Do not look behind you, do not; say these words out loud, “In the terror and fury, in the. Blood of the beast, my heart must remain and your darkness will cease!”
Now, start counting upwards and if you reach the number five, congratulations, you are still alive.
March 12, 2016 — 12:42 PM
Dani says:
This feels almost like something Dr Who would say…almost like a sequel of sorts to “Don’t Blink”–which is not a bad thing in my book, since I’m a huge Who fan. 🙂
I really wanna know if the character makes it to five now…
March 12, 2016 — 5:16 PM
rhythmandcrime says:
I love the comparison. It’s much more likable once you place it in the Whoverse.
March 14, 2016 — 11:18 AM
thedebc says:
I wanna see what happens now lol
March 13, 2016 — 7:35 PM
cleefrost says:
The Secret in Papa Hem’s House
After Papa Hemingway left to go fishing, the housecleaner Xiomara approached the typewriter in the corner of the room. The keys worked her fingers like the muse worked her imagination. The notebook tallying his daily word count lay open beside the clacking typewriter. She smiled at the competing muses. She collected her pages and hid them away; she beat him again.
March 12, 2016 — 1:11 PM
tygertygre says:
Great job here! Complete and just a little over half of the word limit 🙂 That is some really tight story-telling.
March 12, 2016 — 10:26 PM
thedebc says:
So cute … Love it
March 13, 2016 — 7:27 PM
billthescribe says:
Ha! I really liked the simplicity of this one.
March 15, 2016 — 5:51 AM
Ridley Kemp says:
“The End of the Beginning”
When the apocalypse arrived, it did so in an unobtrusive, almost apologetic fashion.
For twenty years, we carried on as though nothing had happened even though the future was slowly draining away like water through a crack in the bottom of a swimming pool.
It felt as though we should be doing something, struggling, fighting, every tooth and nail, but how do you even begin to confront something like the world coming to an end?
So, in the end, we didn’t; we did the only thing we could think of an embraced it instead of going to war with it.
As it turned out, the end of the universe was just the end of who we were and all we needed to do was to let it go to become what we were always meant to be.
(Apologies to ACC. I just like the first sentence and it flowed from there)
March 12, 2016 — 1:37 PM
Ridley Kemp says:
(edited to get my word count down because it turns out I can’t read):
“The End of the Beginning”
When the apocalypse arrived, it did so in an unobtrusive, almost apologetic fashion.
For years, we carried on as though nothing had happened even though the future was slowly draining away.
It felt like we should be doing something but how do you confront something like the world coming to an end?
In the end, we didn’t; we embraced it instead of going to war with it.
The end of the universe was just the end of who we were and all we needed to do was to let it go to become what we were always meant to be.
March 12, 2016 — 1:41 PM
Nicole Broussard says:
Nice. And interesting to see how much tighter it gets when we edit with a hatcher.
March 12, 2016 — 7:24 PM
thedebc says:
Perfectly composed, great job
March 13, 2016 — 7:17 PM
thedebc says:
For the record I missed the word count criteria the first time too lol
March 13, 2016 — 7:37 PM
maryblackhill says:
And – this one is better and tighter. Love that word count restriction!
March 14, 2016 — 6:51 AM
Mel says:
Very nice.
March 14, 2016 — 7:44 PM
Simon Billinton says:
Thanks to Chuck for the suggestion. My first time at writing micro fiction and I enjoyed the process. My effort below came in at 95 words.
Joseph closed the freezer door, slid off the ready meal’s packaging and placed it in the microwave. As the minutes ticked by, he looked at the calendar stuck on the cupboard day and sighed. Once it was ready, he settled on the sofa and began to eat. The doorbell rang. He got up and trudged to the door, opened it, but saw nobody there. Instead, on the step, were two ready meals wrapped in a red bow with a card attached. He bent, opened the card and smiled. It read ‘Will you be my Valentine?’
March 12, 2016 — 2:24 PM
Rich Hayden says:
A little nugget from a back-burner project that’s been kicking around my noggin.
The river, I thought I’d never get here.
It’s quiet now, and I can’t help but think of all I’ve done.
It sure is noisy inside my mind though, thinking back to all they’d done to me.
But it’s done now, just one last stain to wash out.
I think I’ll go in and let the waves scrub away the filth, until the water runs clear.
March 12, 2016 — 6:48 PM
thedebc says:
Sounds like a metaphor ,, well done
March 13, 2016 — 7:08 PM
KA Morh says:
I hated him in that moment. I didn’t care if he died as he fished his finger into the dark red gaping wound that encircled his neck. I could see the jugular was still intact. He fucked that up too. The salty sickening smell of blood was all too familiar as I stared angrily in the mirror thinking to myself, “Why wouldn’t he just die?”
March 12, 2016 — 7:11 PM
hardboiledbaby says:
Ooh, nice twist 🙂
March 20, 2016 — 2:45 AM
thisdamkid says:
Welp, either I’m blind or my comment was deleted, that’s ok. Great submissions here!
March 12, 2016 — 7:46 PM
SB Crawford says:
I’ll have a go. This one is called “Sara’s Stone”
Sara stopped running. She was tired of being scared, ready to do the thing she vowed she would never do again. She turned to meet the monster approaching her. Her eyes closed as she focused on the stone. The magic spilled into her, black and horrible. Her husband raised the bat, ready to usher a final crushing blow. Before he could swing, the dark magic roared out of her, consuming him. His body cracked and crumpled to the ground. Death. She felt it burn her soul, and she would never be the same again.
March 12, 2016 — 11:24 PM
Deb Cerrito says:
Okay Chuck, here’s my post apocalyptic story in 5 sentences. Hit me up, tell me what you think!
http://wp.me/p6e1eO-3P
March 13, 2016 — 1:00 AM
Demetrius says:
Here is mine. I hope I did ok.
https://deepmarvel.wordpress.com/2016/03/11/a-story-in-five-sentences/
March 13, 2016 — 7:42 AM
GuyOHarrison says:
The clean up crew.
His good eye opened and followed me around the room as I disinfected the air.
“I’m not contagious anymore, you can untie me.” I ignored him and adjusted my face mask, his weeping scabs spoke more truth than he did.
“You’re going on a trip,” I said, as I tightened his constraints.
I cycled through the airlock, hit the PURGE button and watched, as another friend circled into the sun.
March 13, 2016 — 1:10 PM
the story hive says:
ADDS
A big, unusual looking white wolf stood on top of the hill, the forest in its back, stretched its hind paws and yawned. Maybe its sky-colored eyes, or its gold dipped tail, or its huge glistening fangs made it look so exceptional…
Just before sunrise, the horizon started glowing and writing flashed to rush across the sky, as it always did.
The wolf read it out: “Thank you for choosing Strix Planetary Maintenance Systems. Kindly let us know, how to improve our product.”
“Time to upgrade,” the wolf rolled its eyes.
March 13, 2016 — 2:02 PM
Nicole Broussard says:
Ohh, like this!
March 13, 2016 — 2:10 PM
thedebc says:
Clever, 🙂
March 13, 2016 — 6:48 PM
maryblackhill says:
This got a smile. Nice one!
March 14, 2016 — 6:52 AM
the story hive says:
thank you very much!
March 15, 2016 — 11:42 AM
the story hive says:
have some other 100 words stories: https://thestoryhive.wordpress.com/2016/03/13/no-one-calls-vespa-names/
March 19, 2016 — 1:56 PM
JJ Geraci says:
Miles of Blues by JJ Geraci
Miles’s “Kinda Blue” is on the stereo when Gina comes over, unzips and gives me a peek of her cupcakes.
I roll a doobie and pretty soon, we’re rolling on the couch in what becomes our daily routine – music, sex, food. Not always in that order.
Then one night Gina calls, “I’m late.”
WTF? “How can you be late?” I ask, although I already know how – she forgot to take her pills.
So I’m sitting in front of the computer and I’m listing on eBay: For Sale, Miles Davis, “Kinda Blue” – only played a couple of times.
March 13, 2016 — 2:47 PM
thedebc says:
Lol funny
March 13, 2016 — 6:41 PM
Anna says:
Here’s mine: The Charred Heart
On his way back from work on a grey Wednesday, Mr. Johansson discovered he had misplaced his heart.
Feeling hollow, he slumped in his bland Ikea chair at his bland Ikea table and thought about when he had last used it, but couldn’t remember.
Determined, he searched and finally found one piece tucked inside his favorite book, another in the jar of gingersnaps, some shards at his father’s grave, and a few charred pieces stuck to his work jacket.
He glued them together and stuck the singed little heart into his chest.
It wasn’t much, but he’d make it grow.
March 13, 2016 — 5:32 PM
Nicole B says:
Very nice! I like it!
March 13, 2016 — 5:36 PM
Nicole Broussard says:
Greeting moderator,
Have I been confused with someone of questionable commenting status? I am new here. My comments and my FF submission, of March 11, 7:30 pm, said “awaiting moderation” and nothing shows up? Por que? Thanks.
March 13, 2016 — 5:42 PM
thedebc says:
I love this story! Its heart wrenching yet sweet and hopeful!
March 13, 2016 — 6:26 PM
Ridley Kemp says:
I know this feel. Yes. Very yes.
March 14, 2016 — 12:44 PM
Mel says:
Oh, I love this!
March 14, 2016 — 7:39 PM
Anna says:
Thanks, guys, I’m glad you liked it!
March 16, 2016 — 9:53 AM
hardboiledbaby says:
Aw, sweet!
March 20, 2016 — 2:53 AM
thedebc says:
5 sentence Story
It’s sunrise and I’m gazing through a window that was once the portal to a paradise.
The only sound is the wind that rustles through the Palm trees which have grown wild after the fire storms.
I pray to see another of my kind, also seeking shelter.
If I could find one other human, there might still be hope for my species to rebuild what was once ours.
But the breeze carries the yellow death of chemical warfare, and my last breath brings no comfort in the knowledge that the earth shall flourish without us.
March 13, 2016 — 6:08 PM
thedebc says:
I tried to post with a link to my web but it didn’t work. (That was good because I forgot it had to be under 100 words lol) this is the edited version at 98 words.
March 13, 2016 — 7:16 PM
Dani says:
And now I wanna know how one person survived the chemical warfare when no others did…
March 14, 2016 — 1:49 AM
thedebc says:
‘Someone’ has to be the last … Even if it’s just for a short time 🙁
March 14, 2016 — 8:30 AM
thedebc says:
Guess I’ll need another hundred words lol
March 14, 2016 — 8:31 AM
Ridley Kemp says:
It’s very “On The Beach” which is one of my faves. Nice.
March 14, 2016 — 11:13 AM
Mel says:
Quite haunting. I could definitely see this one being expanded upon!
March 14, 2016 — 7:37 PM
Deb Cerrito says:
Thx 🙂
March 14, 2016 — 9:26 PM
grahamwrites says:
I stared at his tiny hands, mesmerised, as always. The way a baby’s fingers open and close, as if in time to some symphony only they can hear in their infant slumber. Asleep, and silent, not even his breaths made a sound. But then it was not his cries that had brought me here in the dead of night, but the memory of seeing him in his pushchair at the park that morning and, as I took him in my arms and climbed back out of the window, the realisation that he belonged with me.
https://grahamwrites.wordpress.com/2016/03/13/flash-fiction-5-sentences-100-words/
March 13, 2016 — 7:34 PM
rebekahspark says:
Well written and very chilling.
March 17, 2016 — 7:15 PM
hardboiledbaby says:
Ooh, creepy! Well done.
March 20, 2016 — 2:55 AM
Sam Brady says:
The Path Not Taken
The bass makes her fillings vibrate. She knows he’s talking to her; she can see his lips moving. She points to her ears then gestures futilely at the throbbing air, as if to say I can’t hear you. He starts to lean in closer, then stands instead and leaves the club, going out alone into the night. She continues to sip her drink, head bobbing to the beat.
———
I also posted it at my blog, if you want to go shower me with likes and comments over there. #shamelessselfpromotion
https://sambrady.wordpress.com/2016/03/13/chuck-wendig-the-path-not-taken/
March 13, 2016 — 8:21 PM
Tracy S says:
MATURITY (100 words, five sentences)
When Miriam left to touch up her makeup Joshua fixed me with an intense stare from the worn couch. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t treat her good, don’t you?”
There was no threat in the question, only a reminder that there are boundaries that mustn’t be crossed and consequences to be paid if they were, and the fact he was only twelve was irrelevant. He had the soul of a man, accepted a man’s responsibilities to look out for his family, *was* a man, and treating him as a child would be wrong.
“I’ll treat your mother right.”
March 13, 2016 — 9:33 PM
hardboiledbaby says:
Nicely done!
March 20, 2016 — 2:56 AM
P.J. Post says:
Leeward, by P.J. Post
The fishermen are out.
Reluctant surf caresses blackened pilings; a palimpsest of manhood, hints of salt struggle against the scent of baking whoopee pies.
Nose running, eastward eyes watering into the unforgiving wind, cheeks burning, lips cracking no matter how often you lick them, wringing hands, but the holes in your mittens refuse to allow the warmth to gather; your toes feel dead inside secondhand summer oxfords.
The day creeps into town, revealing worn awnings furled tight against frosted windows, and generations of paint curling away from once proud, revolutionary-red brick walls.
Today, the fishermen will be forever out.
March 14, 2016 — 1:47 AM
rebekahspark says:
Wow!
March 17, 2016 — 7:17 PM
maryblackhill says:
Breaking the rules here, because we’re not supposed to submit more than one – but, hey, both of mine are really short…. Please let me have this one too? Pretty please?
Song to the Moon
Enrico and Maria lifted their voices in a love duet and entwined harmonies into the soul of the night.
The perfection of that shared music lifted each of their hearts in rapture.
The sudden deluge that drenched them drowned the song in their throats.
“Damned caterwauling!”
Above them, the window slammed shut.
March 14, 2016 — 7:15 AM
Simon Billinton says:
Just a test comment as they don’t seem to appearing?
March 14, 2016 — 7:28 AM
grahamwrites says:
I stared at his tiny hands, mesmerized, as always. The way a baby’s fingers open and close, as if in time to some symphony only they can hear in their infant slumber. Asleep, and silent, not even his breaths made a sound. But then it was not his cries that had brought me here in the dead of night, but the memory of seeing him in his pushchair at the park that morning and, as I took him in my arms and climbed back out of the window, the realization that he belonged with me.
https://grahamwrites.wordpress.com/2016/03/13/flash-fiction-5-sentences-100-words/
March 14, 2016 — 9:10 AM
Pavowski says:
102 words. Eh.
Cindy gave her sorority sisters the slip and went to the party anyway. They’d never let her pledge if they found out.
She drank too much. Danced all night. Deftly parried the drunken advances of some guy in a crown.
Next morning, the house was aflutter; the fraternity president was making rounds to name his queen for the spring formal. He had the shoe, he proclaimed, of the magical girl whose company he had shared the night before.
Cindy ran upstairs and threw her mismatched pump in the garbage chute, vowing never again to waste her time with silly boys in costumes.
March 14, 2016 — 9:20 AM
Deb cerrito says:
Haha that was a good one!
March 14, 2016 — 2:20 PM
Mel says:
Love it! You rebel. 🙂
March 14, 2016 — 7:35 PM
maryblackhill says:
Fun!
March 15, 2016 — 9:50 AM
rebekahspark says:
Great job! loved it
March 16, 2016 — 5:53 AM
Lostcarlson says:
He was a strong swimmer, she not so much; he waded in not looking back. The current sucked at his legs, he laid his entirety over the foam, sinuous arms and legs, sewing a seam through the undulating force. Sundra felt the heat at her back. The fire had followed them as fast as they’d run. The sand wicked the heat toward her heels, she began to laugh; strange that her two most fears would be encountered simultaneously. As slave, she’d known fear, but never trust. He didn’t offer her any. The elements congealed in finality; he waved glistening from the island.
March 14, 2016 — 11:20 AM
Tsara Shelton says:
I chatted quietly and sweetly in the back of the police cruiser, smiling and giggling and apologizing and nervously covering up my deep fear, taking action by putting my sweetness and youth on display.
I’d never been arrested before and I never imagined that I could be; I was a sweet girl who was afraid of authority so I rarely broke rules, other than ones of necessity.
By the time I was locked up with the others I had reassured myself that I didn’t belong, that I could at least enjoy a night with a roof over my head until this mess was cleaned up and my obvious goodness was clear and understood. Avoiding eye contact with the large black woman pooping on the toilet four feet from my mismatched sneakers I promised myself that I would be extra good and do exactly what I was told.
Then I would be free.
March 14, 2016 — 4:01 PM
glenavailable says:
Definitely ‘Alcatrazian’ and yes, avoiding eye contact is absolutely the way to go.
This is well done.
March 14, 2016 — 4:06 PM
Tsara Shelton says:
Thank you! I enjoyed writing it. Though I completely forgot about the 100 word guideline. Perhaps I can offer this excuse: I no longer want to be nice and sweet and follow the rules.
tee hee!
March 14, 2016 — 5:47 PM
glenavailable says:
I’m pretty sure rule breaking is in the writer’s DNA. In a not entirely related way it reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw the other day – “I got the boob so I make the rules”. Funny at the time.
March 15, 2016 — 3:33 AM
Tsara Shelton says:
Random Share: I like boobs! New boobs, big boobs, small boobs, old boobs, firm boobs, deflated boobs. I even like the word boob. It’s bouncy and fun, like boobs themselves.
Your story had me thinking about that, and then I saw this comment of yours. I have a feeling I’ll be thinking about boobs all day. Fun!!
March 15, 2016 — 9:50 AM
glenavailable says:
Fun? Absolutely.. until someone mentions man boobs.
March 16, 2016 — 3:09 AM
greenrambler says:
Can a person cut out their own eye?
I’m sitting here, with some scissors..and a goddamn migraine that feels like the Packers are trying to punch it in..4th and inches only it’s like 84th and inches..above my left eyebrow.
Favre hands off, they crash into my skull again- and that’s when I decide they need a hole next play.
I put the cool blade against that little red nub, in the corner of my left eye, so the next time that sonovabitch Favre tries that play, he’s going to get a surprise.
My wife says I watch too much football.
March 14, 2016 — 4:38 PM
Charles Junior says:
I was off by one sentence, but this is my story.
Aportis the frog walked up the grassy hill towards his final destination, an ancient and forgotten alter.
He opened the bag he had been carrying with him and took out a smalland aged book, a jug of muddy river water, and a fresh and bloody goat heart.
Aportis placed the heart upon the altar , uncorked the river water and poured it on the heart.
He opend his book to a dog eared page and began to recite incantation: “Oh Great and Powerful Oeryisrus, heed the call of one of your many followers, I ask for audeince with you, my lord and master, hear my cry!
Suddenly a yellow vortex opened up over Aportis and the altar, a booming voice coming directly from it, “The Great and Powerful Oeryisrus can not be summoned to your dimension at this time, feel free to try again later.
The Yellow Vortex closed and the sky became blue again, and Aportis the frog threw his book into the bag and made his way home disappointedly.
March 14, 2016 — 5:47 PM
Dani says:
Voicemail response to a summoning? Love it! 🙂
But seriously, you had me hooked at Aportis the frog….
March 15, 2016 — 1:20 AM
Charles Junior says:
Thank you, I am glad you liked it.
March 15, 2016 — 8:07 AM
aloiamoa says:
Carver’s eardrums had rotted off long ago, so he only saw flashes as the food pointed a metal object at nearby non-food and juicy brains exploded into the air.
The food pointed at Carver, a wild look in its eyes.
Carver flinched.
The food paused.
Carver ate it anyway.
March 14, 2016 — 11:04 PM
the story hive says:
love how you do not use the Z-word, well done!
March 15, 2016 — 11:46 AM
denmaniacs4 says:
Tasty morsel told awfully well.
March 16, 2016 — 12:07 PM
aloiamoa says:
Thanks for all the kind words. Just having someone read something I wrote is really cool.
March 16, 2016 — 6:34 PM
Maryam says:
I knew it was not right but he had hurt me and the pain wouldn’t stop. I had tied him up for days. I made him tell me he loved me, a different way every day. It wasn’t satisfying. I wanted him to touch me. I untied his hands and reached up to take off his gag. I felt a piercing pain in my chest, where my heart had once been was a shard of old glass that I should have seen. Blood dripped from my hands and a certain peace overcame me. At last the pain had stopped.
March 15, 2016 — 3:27 AM
billthescribe says:
No one walks into a PI’s office like a tall blonde in mourning.
I spent a week looking for the spot her husband hid the money from the bank job.
The morning after I found it, I rolled over and said, “Mexico?”
She smiled, kissed me hard on the mouth, and shoved a gun in my ribs.
I limped into La Playa Real with a broken hand, sixty grand in the bank, and brunette who was more than willing to nurse me back to health.
March 15, 2016 — 5:28 AM
glenavailable says:
Humphrey Bogart R.I.P.
March 15, 2016 — 6:09 AM
maryblackhill says:
That first line…..absolutely gripping! And then it continued to grip. Fantastic job. Well done.
March 15, 2016 — 9:53 AM
John says:
My favorite. It is all there, beginning, middle, end, characters…
March 15, 2016 — 10:13 AM
the story hive says:
the noir voice is great, vividly written- I raise my imaginary hat to you!
March 15, 2016 — 11:39 AM
aloiamoa says:
Brilliantly done. Just enough information to convey the story and the twist at the end was perfect.
March 15, 2016 — 5:34 PM
Ridley Kemp says:
Lovely…I wouldn’t have even tried this genre in five sentences, but it works.
March 15, 2016 — 10:40 PM
addy says:
I was always the outcast of the village, with no family to speak of and no friend to call my own.
The village did need me however; I was their physician when the people were ill and their undertaker when they died.
But I also loved a woman who was spoken for, and when the sickness came I was to prepare her corpse, I always had a way with the dead.
They didn’t miss it this time, I couldn’t pass it off as an illness that was cured, they knew she was dead before I got to her and now I am to be burned at the stake.
It’s a shame; I’ve tried killing myself too, it doesn’t work
March 15, 2016 — 6:58 AM
Richard Nocella says:
That one’s going to stick with me for a while. Nicely done.
March 15, 2016 — 11:17 PM
rebekahspark says:
Amnesia
I passed out at the party. There was violence in the kitchen so I fled into the hall, through a crowd of leering faces with groping hands and tripping feet that would love to see me fall.
Outside on the street, I wrapped my arms around my chest and frightened ran for home.
With a shock I realized I was running with great excursion not on, but above the ground. Elated I flapped my arms and as I lifted higher I just had to laugh. Silly me! I’d forgotten that I know how to fly.
March 15, 2016 — 7:01 AM
john freeter says:
Well, that’s kinda dark. Nice!
March 15, 2016 — 9:42 AM