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Archive for February, 2012

The prompt for this week’s #FridayFictioneers was the following photo:

#FridayFictioneers

Here is my 100-word story based upon the prompt:

It had been a very close call.  I had been relaxing on a rock by the brook when a lad of about ten had spotted me.

“Hey guys!  Wait! Look what I found!” the boy had shouted to his mates.

“What is it, Kyle?”

“Yeah, what did you find?”

Three more had answered back, as well, and the lot of ’em had come running to join Kyle.

Fortunately, he had turned around at their approach and that had given me enough time to become invisible.

Being a leprechaun is always more dangerous with children than with adults because kids believe.

 

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The prompt for this week’s #FridayFictioneers was the following photo:

#FridayFictioneers

Here is my 100-word story based upon the prompt:

“There’s a dead snake over here.  You find anything, Bev?”

“Not yet, Amy.  Ken?  How about you?

“Hey, yeah!  Take a look!  Here’s a broken mushroom.”

“Cool!  They aren’t that far apart, either,

“The others should be pretty close, then, don’t you think?

“Don’t know.  Who knows if everything was that close to begin with?”

“They probably aren’t even alive any more.  If the snake’s dead…”

“Hey!  Wait!  Do you two hear that?”

“What is it, Bev?”

“I can hear it, Bev.  Ken, you don’t?  It’s coming from over there.”

“Quick, guys!  There they are!  Look!  Listen!”

BADGER, BADGER, BADGER…

—-===—-

For those who don’t get it, go here.

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#FiveSentenceFiction is a flash-fiction event hosted by Lillie McFerrin.  She provides a prompt and participants post five-sentence stories – inspired by the prompt in some way – on their blogs.  This week’s prompt is “sacred.”  Since Valentine’s day will come and go before the next #FiveSentenceFiction, I decided to use that theme along with the prompt to write the following cinquain:

Lie still.
Our hearts are one.
Ignore the ringing phone.
Your worship is my only goal.
Sacred.

 

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Special Delivery

Gil had finally started writing.  For a while, he had been stuck, but now his “writer’s block” was gone and the ideas were starting to flow from his brain to his fingers and from his fingers into the computer.  At last, things were moving again.

Ding, dong.  The doorbell rang.  It was the postman.

Since Gil was expecting an important package, he got up from his chair, went to the foyer and opened the front door.  The postman didn’t have the package, yet, but handed Gil several letters and left.  Shutting the door, Gil opened one of the letters.

“Keep your woman happy all night with our revolutionary male-enhancement product.”

As he sat back down at his desk, he tore the letter in half and dropped it into the trash.  Now, where was he?  Oh, yes!  His main character was just about to discover something disturbing.  Gil turned back to the keyboard and began typing.  About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang again.

Ding, dong.  The postman had returned.

Gil stopped writing again and went to the front door a second time.

“Hello.  As an official of the government of Nigeria, I would like to request your assistance with the transfer of $23,320,000 (twenty-three million, three hundred and twenty thousand U.S. dollars).”

Rip! Another letter landed in the waste bin under his desk.  Once again, he continued writing.  Once again, the doorbell rang after about ten minutes.

Ding, dong.  Once again, it was the postman.

Back to the door he went, once again retrieving a letter.

“Hi!  It was so great to meet you the other night.  Let’s get back together again.  If you answer this letter, I’ll send you a photo of myself.”

Rip!  Another one bit the dust and Gil returned to his novel.  Ten minutes later, there was another ring.

Ding, dong.  This time, he just switched on the intercom.

“Hello?”

“You’ve got mail!”

“This junk is really interrupting my work.  You may as well just go ahead and drop it into the garbage can at the end of the driveway.”

“Suit yourself.”

Gil kept the intercom on “listen” until he heard the lid of the trash can punctuate the sound of the postman’s receding steps.  From that point, he was able to write, uninterrupted, until dinner time.

After dinner, he dumped the contents of his den’s waste bin into the bag of kitchen garbage he needed to take to the curb.

He arrived at the sidewalk as the garbage truck was just a few houses away and he lifted the lid off of the large trash can.  As he picked up the bag he had brought from the kitchen, he looked down at the garbage already in the can.

There, sitting right on top of the previous day’s kitchen bag, was the package he had been expecting.

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The following story was written for #WeekendWritercize competition.  This week, the challenge was to “Write the opening to a novel with the following title: Five O’Clock Shadows.”  Given the specifications of the competition, this story also appears as a comment at that site.

—-===—

The opening I wrote is as follows:

It was the end of his shift and Dan stepped out of the building.  Streaks of darkness fell from the telephone poles onto the ground behind them.  The city had a five o’clock shadow and so did Dan, but what he was about to do, was far darker than any shadow – on the sidewalk or on his face.  Dan was a detective, but tonight he would not be wearing his badge.

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The prompt for this week’s #FridayFictioneers was the following photo:

#FridayFictioneers

Here is my 100-word story based upon the prompt:

“How long do you suppose that will keep going? Any chance it could reach us?”

“The news is saying it may burn for weeks but probably won’t get this far.”

“Well, they had many smaller ones for years, but this is bigger than anyone ever expected.  Just never thought I’d live to see it.”

“Same here.  Those others only claimed a few homes, here or there, but this – this is something that lots of people talked about but nobody every believed could happen.”

“‘The Big One’ has finally hit.  No more San Francisco, no more Los Angeles and California burns.”

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#FiveSentenceFiction is a flash-fiction event hosted by Lillie McFerrin.  She provides a prompt and participants post five-sentence stories – inspired by the prompt in some way – on their blogs.  This week’s prompt is “shiver” and something about it triggered a memory of having read The Cyberiad by Stanislaw Lem, thus inspiring the following:

Sneakily, Sylvia stalks side streets.

Surreptitiously, she silences security.

Seething, she spies Spencer, Susan.

Spencer screams, surprised.

Shiver: Sylvia stabs Susan, spreading scarlet stains.

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