By Michael Seese
Janet is at it again. Apparently, she's painting. Something. She didn't specify whether she was talking about her home or her office.
Regardless, it inspired another 100 word contest. Our words:
straw
butterfly
wing
sage
peach
Please partake of A(nother) Lifetime Ago*
Sage closed her eyes and ventured back. Back in time.
Back to her childhood home.
She tasted her mother's cobbler, laden with peaches
picked from the orchard. She smelled the freshly cut straw piled in
the barn. (After discovering boys, she would form a whole new set of
associations with the scent of straw.) She felt the tickle of a
butterfly which alighted on her nose, its wings casting a kaleidoscope
across her field of vision.
These memories sustained her, and helped counteract
the bile which rose in her throat each time another john laid a
twenty on the nightstand.
* the title is an homage to "A Lifetime Ago," which won Janet's contest in January.
Please share your thoughts on A(nother) Lifetime Ago.
Showing posts with label fine print literary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fine print literary. Show all posts
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Saturday, November 9, 2013
False Appearances
By Michael Seese
A 100-word contest, with a twist. Normally, in agent Janet Reid's contests, she asks for a 100-word flash fiction piece that incorporates five key words. This time, she is trying something different.
Our mission: craft a story which includes a collective noun of our own creation. So, for example, we could not use "a murder of crows."
I concocted "a giggle of teenagers" for "False Appearances."
A giggle of teenagers converged on a lawn.
“This is gonna be great!” Tyler gushed.
“You sure this is the right house?” Josh whispered.
“The mailbox says Buckholtz. How many can there be?”
“But...”
“But nothing.”
“I don’t know, guys. She’s not the meanest teacher.”
“You in or out?” hissed Susan.
“In.”
Rotten eggs flung, and epithets scrawled on the windows with soap, the teens dissolved into the night.
Later, a lone figure lurked beneath the Buckholtz kitchen window. The air reeked of gasoline. He struck a match,.
“Give me a fucking F!” Josh said. “Funny. Fire starts with F.”
Feel free to share your thoughts of "False Appearances." BTW, it's open until 10:00 a.m., Sunday 11/10, should you wish to try your hand....
A 100-word contest, with a twist. Normally, in agent Janet Reid's contests, she asks for a 100-word flash fiction piece that incorporates five key words. This time, she is trying something different.
Our mission: craft a story which includes a collective noun of our own creation. So, for example, we could not use "a murder of crows."
I concocted "a giggle of teenagers" for "False Appearances."
A giggle of teenagers converged on a lawn.
“This is gonna be great!” Tyler gushed.
“You sure this is the right house?” Josh whispered.
“The mailbox says Buckholtz. How many can there be?”
“But...”
“But nothing.”
“I don’t know, guys. She’s not the meanest teacher.”
“You in or out?” hissed Susan.
“In.”
Rotten eggs flung, and epithets scrawled on the windows with soap, the teens dissolved into the night.
Later, a lone figure lurked beneath the Buckholtz kitchen window. The air reeked of gasoline. He struck a match,.
“Give me a fucking F!” Josh said. “Funny. Fire starts with F.”
Feel free to share your thoughts of "False Appearances." BTW, it's open until 10:00 a.m., Sunday 11/10, should you wish to try your hand....
Sunday, August 18, 2013
100 Degrees Of Separation
By Michael Seese
Janet is at it again. I think this is the fourth or fifth week in a row for the 100-word contests. In her blog, Janet related a funny six (or three) degrees of separation involving authors Christi Corbett, Dan Krokos, and Jeff Somers. This time, use the words:
3
degree
chum
bucket
pants
Here is my entry.
3 degrees are all that separated me from death. Normal body temperature is 37°C, give or take a half. Hypothermia starts at 35. Uncontrollable shivering. Blue fingers, lips. Confusion. Then, the big sleep. What a bucket of shite this night was. One minute, I’m in the pub with me chums, chatting up a lovely, trying to charm her pants off. The next, I’m swimming the Thames, having cheesed off her mister. I’d half a mind to go back and mash him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards.
There’s the pisser. I was on the wrong side of those 3 degrees.
Feel free to share your thoughts of "3 degrees."
Is "3 degrees" really hot? Click to tweet.
Janet is at it again. I think this is the fourth or fifth week in a row for the 100-word contests. In her blog, Janet related a funny six (or three) degrees of separation involving authors Christi Corbett, Dan Krokos, and Jeff Somers. This time, use the words:
3
degree
chum
bucket
pants
Here is my entry.
3 degrees are all that separated me from death. Normal body temperature is 37°C, give or take a half. Hypothermia starts at 35. Uncontrollable shivering. Blue fingers, lips. Confusion. Then, the big sleep. What a bucket of shite this night was. One minute, I’m in the pub with me chums, chatting up a lovely, trying to charm her pants off. The next, I’m swimming the Thames, having cheesed off her mister. I’d half a mind to go back and mash him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards.
There’s the pisser. I was on the wrong side of those 3 degrees.
Feel free to share your thoughts of "3 degrees."
Is "3 degrees" really hot? Click to tweet.
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