It's August. It's hot. It's humid. (Though it's cooled off the past few days.)
So agent Janet Reid lamented, "Nothing to be done but torment writers with a particularly diabolical flash fiction contest!"
So for this week's Particularly Diabolical Flash Fiction Contest, she asked us to use the words:
fopdoodle (a simpleton, or fool)
stickler
Requin (French for shark)
timpani
regale
in a 100-word story.
I imagined an old fool hunting a shark, and concocted fairly quickly "Smelling Blood."
The Franco-fopdoodle tottering on his barstool waved a cautionary half-finger as he regaled a raft of downtrodden sots.
"I tried to stick le requin, how you say, shark, with my harpoon. But she escaped, and now could be anywhere."
I snorted skepticism.
"C'est vrai! Tell him, Timpani."
"It's Tiffani," she said, topping his scotch.
"Take care, mon ami. She is close. Watching. Waiting. Hoping to taste blood again."
"Sure, pal. Hey, honey," I said to Tiffani, "Another, please. Seriously, does anyone believe that guy's stories?"
"Lucky for me, almost no one," she said, flashing row upon row of razor teeth.
I'm pretty happy with it, though I wish I had said "pearly razors" instead of "razor teeth."
The results are not yet in, so keep your fingers crossed.
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