Are you ready to write?!
Last week's winner, @BedeliaJane has selected a fantastic prompt to get you writing.
Here it is:
You don't have to include the prompt verbatim, just let it guide your writing.
Remember to check the rules.
Remember to check the rules.
Have your 100 - 200 words submitted by 11:59pm Thursday, EST.
We want anything and everything: poetry, prose, fanfic, OF.
JUST GET WRITING!
Leave your entry as a comment - include your word count, and your twitter handle if you have one.
FYI - entries that exceed (or are under) the word limits will not be considered by the judge.
@shellisthimbles
ReplyDelete163 ineligible words.
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You don’t see us.
We are invisible, even when we are in your midst.
We look like you, we talk like you, we smile like you. We carry on our business amongst you.
We do coffee with you. We carpool with you. We have you over for Sunday lunch.
We wear long sleeves and high collars. We camouflage and conceal ourselves with cosmetics. We lie with our smiles.
We tell you funny stories and anecdotes. We twist the most painful truths, and make them sound pretty and amusing. We make you laugh about our deepest shame.
Do we even need our disguises? Sometimes I think that even painted black and blue, you would not notice us.
You don’t look.
In the hustle and bustle of your oh-so fulfilling lives, as you rush from here to there and back again, you are too busy to see.
Every minute drags for us.
Every second is a tortured eternity.
But you don’t have time to notice.
Word count: 158
ReplyDeleteTwitter handle: @AnnaLund2011
Ordinary. As usual. Same old, same old. All these words that just mean simple.
And yet. And yet, at times, there is that moment, that fleeting moment, when everything stands so still you can take a mental picture of it, a picture that will live in your mind for as long as you shall breathe. An image, etched into your nerve ending in such a way that it becomes indelible.
You are that image.
At times, this is all we get. The moment, that fleeting moment, comes, and then passes us by. And all we retain is the intense feeling of having seen the other side. Having seen reality. Where time comes to a standstill, colors never fade, love never diminishes and friendship lives forever.
You are that image
and all I have left
is the image
of a life
extraordinary
No more moments of sheer brilliance. Just ordinary life.
Which is kind of okay, too.
Just ordinary.
199 words.
ReplyDeleteTwitter: @megan_timms
Eat. Work. Sleep.
Repeat.
And so it went, for 3 years, since he had gone.
Day in, day out. Mundane. Lonely.
Ordinary.
She moseyed on. It could be worse.
Sometimes a song, a smell or a TV show would remind her of him. And in those moments the fury buried inside would simmer over, threatening to erupt. She would smoke her brains out and drown in red wine. And forget. Again.
Making her way to the bar, she ignored the admiring looks from other men, lowering her eyes. It was easier this way.
Heard one lie, heard them all.
This way, she was safe. Comfortable.
Ordinary.
She smacked into what felt like a brick wall. She looked up.
A broad, masculine chest
Thick black hair, flopping over his face on one side
Deep, ocean blue eyes she wanted to dive into.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the beautiful stranger said. His words were laced with velvet, dripping honey and in that moment, time stood still.
And right then she knew the walls around her heart would come tumbling down like a house of cards.
And suddenly she was ready to let go of ordinary.
@katiewinkles
ReplyDelete200 words.
~~
The tines of a fork.
Soapy water and wrinkled, pink fingers.
A plate; the sponge around, around, the front, the back.
Rinse.
The orange glow of dwindling sun shines bright through the kitchen window, rays of golden yellow casting shapes across the countertop.
A coffee cup; inside, outside, the lipstick from the rim.
The minutes feel like hours, one slipping slowly into the next, and the next, like the drip, drip, drip of a leaky tap.
Soap suds hiss and crackle beneath my fingers.
Another plate; the sponge around, around, the front, the back.
Rinse.
A memory of soft white silk and crisp black cuffs drifts into my mind making me sigh. I think of love-lit eyes and smile-sore cheeks; the sound of the tinkling of silverware against a champagne glass, the feel of lips against mine, smiling through a kiss.
An entire lifetime of love promised in just one day.
A blink of an eye and that day is over, and the promise begins to take shape.
Car keys against the countertop.
Lips against my bare shoulder, long fingers brush my arm softly.
“Long day?”
I smile, turning my head as his lips warm my cheek.
“Mm-hm. Too long.”
@twilightmomofto
ReplyDeleteWord count: 109
Weathered hands stroke softly over photographs, preserved in albums, memories of yesteryear.
When love was new and life was young.
Celebrating wedding days, children tumbling around the yard, dishes piling up in the sink because bath times and goodnight stories were more important.
School plays and field trips and cookie baking and homework assignments. Summer vacations, majestic trees, endless beaches, happy faces.
Graduations, proud parents, children growing wings to fly.
Strong arms holding her at night, quiet dinners shared between two people still in love.
Her babies had babies of their own, and Nana is her favorite word.
What seem like ordinary moments are her fondest memories.
Esme smiles.
@samrosey
ReplyDelete138 words.
He was eating crackers. That was the first time. I watched his mouth open, and form shapes that don’t exist, and as he fed himself without paying attention, the earphone wire kept getting in his way. They were big, and black, and blended into his wild hair somehow like they were permanently attached. With each chew, his lips came out in a pout, and despite his mouth being full of food, I wanted to know what it was like. Dust the crumbs off his fingers and have them play me. Put down the games, and have him slay me. His lips were swollen and pouty from eating.
Why don’t you come kiss me with those?
I couldn’t look away.
That was the first time. That was the first time I knew, I was in love with this boy.
Sherbert20111 on FF
ReplyDelete200 words
The tanker is being driven by an asshole. There are two lanes on the freeway and he wants both of them to varying degrees.
Texting, stoned, whatever, I don’t care except it’s really pissing me off. Hey buddy we are all trying to get somewhere, move the hell over.
The station wagon behind me is trying to climb in my trunk. I swear if that guy lays on his horn one more time I’m going to execute an emergency stop and scare the bejesus out of him.
My exit doesn’t come a minute too soon. Taking the inside line is technically an illegal manoeuver, but what the heck. Muted horns erupt, I’m just glad I’m out of it.
My staff are all crowded around one screen when I hit the office.
“Don’t you guys have any work to do?” I’m joking, my crew are great.
There’s a reshuffling of bodies before Ange says, “what a mess, the oil fire means they’ll have to resurface before it reopens. Traffic is going to be backed up for hours. Doesn’t the Boss come in that way?”
“Her cell’s ringing out.”
“I can’t believe someone undercut a tanker, it’s not surprising they got clipped.”
Kudos. Powerful.
DeleteThank you ;) x Sherbs
Delete@TiramiSue84
ReplyDeleteWords: 198 (bam!) :D
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Time was escaping me. Running, fleeing at a pace I couldn't keep up with and taking Life along with her.
Faster, faster, faster.
Never stopping, never taking a break, never giving me the chance to catch up. Always out of reach.
Somewhere along the way, we had parted ways. On my tiptoes, stretching as far as my body would go, I desperately grasp for them. But my fingertips won't even touch their surface, and I want to cry.
I do.
I cry and scream and plead for them to not forget about me. I'm moving at a snail's pace, trying to chase what's almost gone: freedom, passion, love... Life itself.
There's only dullness around me, though. One tedious, monotonous chore after the other; a routine, a circle I can't break. I'm stuck in quicksand, and it's pulling me under. I can't breathe.
Many years ago, I lamented that time stood still. Back then it was me who ran ahead, begging for time to get going and catch up. All I wanted was to break free and leave boredom behind, when all I had to worry about were the boundaries of youth.
I wish for those days back now.
@bkhchica
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 143 un-beta'd
A single smile, one flash of light
A heart’s quiet thrum, a silent sigh
An arm’s reach, one more touch
A rush of breath, a whisper’s brush
Against my cheek, warm and sweet
Arching, bending, pushing, pulling
Muscle, sinew, bone, and flesh
Caught up in this-
Love’s sweet dance
A kiss and a hug, a casual shrug
A moment of bliss
And a coffee mug
Thrust across a countertop,
Our fingers mingle
The world spins, then stop!
A moment in time
Your laughter’s chime
A suit and a dress
A couple of rings
A vow and promise
My soul sings
Laundry and dishes
Falling star wishes
Caught up together
No matter the weather
Storms and Pains
Joys and Strains
Ebb and flow
High and low
Young and old
Love words told
Etched in my memory
Like chisel and stone
An eternal picture
My heart’s treasure
Twitter: @hummingbirdFF
ReplyDeleteWord count: 200
~~~
Eyes open.
The early morning light makes the dust motes flicker across the sheets.
Eyes close.
Eyes open.
The phone rings faintly somewhere in the living room, but I don’t get out of bed.
Eyes close.
Eyes open.
I see you through the bathroom doorway. You’re shaving. Your eyes catch mine in the mirror, so you give me a crooked smile and a wink.
Eyes close.
Eyes open.
You toss the damp towel towards the laundry basket, but it lands on the floor.
Eyes close.
Eyes open.
You’re putting on a crisp, white button-up with that ridiculous tie I got you for Christmas. It always makes me giggle. My breath hitches.
Eyes close.
Eyes open.
You tie your shoelaces with your foot propped up on my favourite chair. Your only response to my stern glare is to blow me a kiss.
Eyes close.
Eyes open.
You button your cuffs as you walk towards the bed to kiss me goodbye.
Eyes close.
I hold my breath. Waiting. My kiss never comes.
Eyes open.
The room is empty. No towel on the floor. No shoe impression on the chair.
The lone, black dress hanging against our dresser mocks my memories.
Eyes close.
I want a flashback pls? x sherbs
Deletewelp! what happened??? please hbff, may I have some more?! <3 mabso
Delete@quietdrabble
ReplyDeleteTitle: Still Life
Word Count: 199
———————
Rushing through the bustling city on wetted streets, chasing time to get across town by noon, the rain pelted down in shimmery sheets. The foreign sights and sounds meld together in a blur as I attempted to maintain some modicum of grace, soaking myself to the bone was all I honestly achieved.
My heart thundering through my chest with a moment to spare, I lowered my ineffective umbrella beneath the golden awning. My heels had been a poor choice for exploring the exotic city in the rain. When I’d dressed it hadn’t called for rain. Curious how things can change in a matter of moments.
I checked the time, and as I looked down the tips of his shoes entered my space. Words I did not understand fell from his plush lips, the lilting quality lovely. He waited for a response, I could not grant. That was how we met. Though, it was not the best moment we have ever shared as deliciously imperfect as it was.
The best moments are suspiciously ordinary, like now. Rain rivulets replace the long gone pitter-patter of tiny feet as we snuggle together on the sofa, reading by firelight forty years later.
@mslizabeth
ReplyDelete173 words
The noise of the game blared in the background as people milled in and out of the room; some determined to catch the commercials others focused solely on the commercials.
It would have been easy to miss the small form scampering through the room except that it landed with a giggle in his lap.
His arm slid around the little body securing it to him as he was jostled on the couch, looking down to see the dimpled face grinning at him.
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, Buddy.”
“It’s football...” The small finger extended excitedly towards the television, before it balled up and fist pumped through the air triumphantly. “Go Chiefs”
His laugh shook them both as he hugged him tighter against his chest, his hand moved to smooth his son’s tiny jersey. Suddenly, it didn't matter that his team was losing or that his son was rooting for a team that wasn't even playing. The expansion in his chest told him all that was really important was held in his arms.
@mrssiobhanmasen (200 words)
ReplyDeleteMy ass is pressed against the counter as I eat my cereal. I silently watch as Adrianna runs past me, Jonathan runs right after her with his plastic sword raised, his mouth twisted in a sick grin. Andrew is in his high chair pushing Cheerios around on his tray. A few stick to his fingers and actually make it to his mouth.
Ten years and every single day has been fun, chaotic, and most of all loving. You and my kids are all I will ever need to survive.
You rush past me and push my ass out of the way as you open the drawer. I see the cheeky smile you give as I slide. You know the push will start the tug of war we play every day. I push, you pull; I tickle you, you pinch me.
I try not to smile back; I assume my best stern and disapproving look. I fail.
Your hair is wild. Your makeup from last night is still smeared across your face. I see the effects of our lovemaking on you.
I love every single tell tale sign because time stands still best in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life.
Twitter: CallMePagliacci
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 200 (whew!)
It was a bright, blue-sky day. I was driving to the store to get my wife some pickles. I thought it was just a stereotype, pregnant women and pickles. I made a left turn and saw it.
It’s my first Little League game. I catch a long fly ball and give it to my mom in the stands. She smiles, and I feel like I won the game.
I’m thirteen. I get lost in the woods on a hike, and shiver through the night.
I’m kissing Julie Christiansen at junior prom. She lets me touch her boobs in the backseat of my dad’s car.
I’m failing O-Chem. I tell my father I don’t want to be a doctor. He doesn’t tell me he loves me anyway.
A freshman in ENG2102 snarks the professor, and I ask her for coffee. We date. We fall in love. She walks towards me in shimmering white. We make love. It’s glorious.
We’re watching her first sonogram. That peanut is our baby. Our baby. Its little heart goes thrum-thrum-thrum. I whisper ‘I love you’ over and over to my wife’s belly.
I made a left turn and saw it. A semi slams into my car.
@bigblueboat
ReplyDeleteword count: 200
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Pop! Freezing water cascades against my back, slowly dripping onto the waistband of my shorts. Ducking behind the closest bush, I grab the next grenade from my supply. I ready my aim, spotting the culprit of my soaked back. Wide, the throw always goes wide – something else I need to work on to keep up with the older kids. I watch as it explodes on the cement, splashing Dad’s toes and the legs of the grill. Indicating that I correctly appointed the blame, Emmett tries to hide his smirk.
Sitting down to dinner, Dad helps me break the last balloon over Emmett’s dry head and burger. I work to repress my giggles. As Emm starts to whine, Mom cuts in. “You did overcook the meat. Your dad was just trying to replace some moisture.”
I glance at my husband and dad loitering near the grill. Everyone else is trying to escape the heat by playing in the water, Emmett dunking anyone that comes near.
The newborn stirs in my lap, demanding attention. Observing her cousins before giving in to her complaints, I whisper, “I have faith that your daddy will have better luck teaching you to throw than mine did.”
@darlingveruca
ReplyDelete183 words
If he could commit to memory everything that ever was and everything that will ever be, he would.
She said she was plain…A Plain Jane to be precise. She’d comb out her hair and stare and stare, into the mirror, with the plainest of expressions. But he’d watch then smile then turn his head, shy maybe. Too afraid to explain why he watched her when there was nothing really to watch.
If he could he would recall a single moment of nothing, a breath of time, just to say, “This is what I see. This is what you are to me.”
A confection. The best kind, honestly. The kind that lasted and never lost its flavor, sweet on the tongue and melted on fingers.
“I’m not candy,” she said. “I’m not that special. I can promise you that.”
“Oh, but you are.”
“Why? Look at these wrinkles, the gray in my hair.”
“I don’t care. I’ll show you in there.”
“Don’t rhyme. God, you’re so young.”
“What’s ten years? Stop with your fears.”
A smile. Finally, a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m in love.”
VancouverCanuckGrl on Twitter
ReplyDeleteword count: 188
======================
Writers Block. Words trapped in my head that I couldn’t translate to paper. My usual attempts to release them – a run, hot shower; Earl Grey tea – were futile. I needed something stronger but being it was only eight am, I opted for coffee.
Irritated with myself, I didn’t take pleasure in the intense smell the Sumatra blend offered. Drumming my fingers on the counter, I waited impatiently for it to brew.
I made a mental note to buy a newer, better coffee maker. Maybe a fancy Keurig because mine was so slow. And yet, watching each drop fall to the bottom of the pot was mesmerizing. Oddly enough, there was even beauty in it. As each drop fell, it joined the others in a dark pool and rippled outward.
My mind stilled. Opened.
I pictured each drop as a word being penned onto paper. One word at a time being pulled from me, amounting to something worthwhile, perhaps something as beautiful as the site before me.
I watched those drops until the pot was full. When the ripples stopped, I was left with enough clarity to write again.
199 words
ReplyDeleteMy fingers race wild over keys.
Tapping, ticking, clicking.
Fingernails like heels running on tile get tripped up.
Backspace, backspace, replace.
If I were listening, it might sound like music, like Jazz.
It’s been days since I’ve felt the sun. But I let it shine over the girl.
It’s been weeks since I’ve painted my face. But the girl paints hers.
It’s been months since I’ve been kissed. But a hand sweeps her hair, breath breezes her skin, lips touch her neck. Chills tickle her spine.
It’s been years since I’ve felt love. I let the girl feel it bone-deep.
And then I introduce heartache. The burning, the bruising, the scars.
She falls to a heap on the floor.
Over time, the cracks in my heart have hardened, but the girl’s heals. Stronger. Smarter.
When my mind slows, I look up, tap my chin--what comes next, what come next?
It’s dark. I click the desklamp on.
Hours have disappeared; a whole day felt like minutes. In those hours an entire life was shaped.
I read my work.
Maybe my heart isn’t hard. Maybe there’s more to me than I understand.
I close my laptop.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll go out.
AND TIME!
ReplyDeleteGreat job everyone! Cool entries! I'm glad I'm not the judge!
ReplyDelete