Last week's winner, @femme_mal, has selected two prompts for this week's #fanficflashfic. Use both or either to inspire your writing.
credit: Bill Gracey via Flickr (CC-licensed for nonprofit use)
credit: rvaphotodude via Flickr (CC-licensed for nonprofit use)
Remember to check the rules.
Have your 100 - 200 words submitted by 12:00am Friday, May 10, US EDST.
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
ReplyDelete194 words
...
...
gaudy neon lights outside a grimy diner
he lifts his shoulder as if to say
this is the best I can do
for now
she smiles and nods, red light bouncing
off the apples of her cheeks and
turning her blue eyes purple
over spring rolls and dim sum
he asks all the right questions
and listens to every words she says
his eyes never leaving her lips
she wipes her mouth and he laughs
when the jasmine tea in the pot
between them turns cold and astringent
and the tannins make them grimace
he stands up and offers her his arm
and a smile
her fingers tucked in to his elbow hinge
she click-clacks in the shoes
she hoped would make her legs look longer
he keeps listening to all the silly stories
and trivial anecdotes that carry
on the puffs of her misty breath
at her front door she bites her lip
and looks at his mouth
he hopes he’s reading her right
he walks home with his hands in his pockets
his heart dancing like fred astaire
and he’s sure he’ll never forget
the feel of her smile pressed against his
That was so very sweet.
DeleteAlso, I'm craving Chinese now.
.
.
And maybe a date, too :)
@moonlit__girl
ReplyDelete200 words
Fifteen
I watch you walk heavily down the path, and
though i can't hear it through the leaded glass window,
I know the leaves are crunching under your bare feet.
The oars slide and bump awkwardly under your arm and
though I can't see your face, I know you are
biting your bottom lip in frustration.
You want this to go swiftly, smoothly, this walking away.
You want to be graceful in your anger but instead
the weathered wood of the old canoe cuts into your hand
as you drag it towards the lake. Tree roots slow
your progress, sweat beads on your forehead and
drips into your eyes.
It stings.
You set her in the water and push off,
wobble as you climb in, sit quickly. Your fingers
grip the oars tightly and you lean into it.
I can’t see you anymore but I know you’ll be back
in an hour, or two, or maybe half a day.
By sundown at least.
When you were small I used to tell you
that the lake would take your anger and
give it to the sun, and the sun
would bleed your feelings away in a sunset.
Parents say silly things sometimes.
Word count: 200 words, on the nose
ReplyDeleteTwitter handle: @AnnaLund2011
(Going with the row boat image)
~~~~~~~~~
”Pull harder, girl!”
”I’m trying, Grandpa, but I’m too darned little!” I’m hollering at the top of my eight-year-old lungs.
”They’re getting away!”
”I know! I can’t hold it anymore, I’m—I’m—”
And—kaplunk-boink-splash—there I am, dans la flotte, (as Grandpa always said when he told the story years later), struggling for my life, hanging on to a net full of really pissed-off herrings.
Grandpa is holding his belly with one hand, and slapping his knee with the other, screaming with laughter. He knows I’m a champion swimmer, and that I never, ever give up. So he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
I am still clutching the net, and the fish, and I am pulling for all I’m worth.
Grandma, on the sandy beach, muttering about “Lunch”, and “Easier ways”, and “Fishmongers”, and “They fish it, they clean it”.
My eyes and ears are full of water as I manage to pull the net to shore. For the WIN!
It’s an added bonus to see that Grandpa has lost both oars, and is jumping in to get them, pulling the boat back to shore by the line.
In his teeth.
Oh, the summers when I was a kid.
~~~~~~~~
Note: Dans la flotte means in the water. Google translate won't get that right for you.
Deletethis made me *grin*
Delete@moonlit__girl
Word count = 199 (on Gdocs)
ReplyDelete@sandyquill
Ref: Picture #1 (the rowboats)
= = =
“Come on, Anne!” Gilbert Blythe held the small rowboat in place with one foot, his other firmly on the shore to keep the craft close enough for Anne Shirley to board. He held his hand out to her, his heart in his eyes.
“I’m sixteen,” she reminded him, stepping forward. “Too old for playing Elaine.”
She didn’t take his hand yet, but what he saw in her luminous eyes kept his heart pounding. He nodded. “I know. But we agreed to be friends, right?”
Her gaze leapt from his hand to his face. “Right.” She inhaled and nodded in her decisive way. A red curl slipped from her done-up hair to hit her shoulder and he swallowed, hard.
“But only because I feel bad about what happened the last time we were in a rowboat together,” she added.
Triumph and joy unfurled in his chest and he reached for her hand. “Good. Not that you feel bad,” he qualified hurriedly, “but because you’ll come rowing with me.”
Helping her over the shallow bow of the craft, he relished the opportunity to hold her in even so light a manner. Hope burned bright. Someday, he would be worthy of her.
@TiramiSue84
ReplyDeleteWord count: 200
-------------
They say opposites attract, and that's exactly how it was.
She, the city girl, flourished on crowded concrete grounds, neon lights, buildings that touched the sky and the never diminishing noise of traffic.
He, the country boy, preferred the idyllic scenery and serenity woods and lakes offered him.
Hadn't she taken that wrong turn on her way to one of those secluded, yet awfully exclusive spas, and then gotten stranded somewhere in the middle of nowhere, they probably wouldn't have met. Driving by in his pick-up truck, he found her sitting on top of her shiny Mercedes, sulking, puffing a cigarette. As fate would have it, he was a mechanic; towing her to his small-town garage and fixing what needed to be fixed, he became her hero.
They fell hard and instantly.
She seduced him into the city, but every so often he pulled her back to where they met, took her hiking or down the river in his little rowboat.
Standing by the river bank, the old man remembers it all with clarity: their lives, their love.
His loss.
“C'mon, Rosie, let's take her out one last time.”
He grunts as he shuffles toward the blue boat.
I really like this. I can see it.
DeleteThank you so much! <3
DeleteWordcount 200
ReplyDeleteSherbert20111 on FF
I might be drunk. I should be, I’ve been trying pretty hard. He’s playing a supporting role. My friends call him metrosexual, I’ve called him an honorary girl to his face.
He just laughed and let me paint his toenails black. He says it’s a function of his job, being cabin crew, it’s contagious.
“You need food,” he says, manoeuvring the pair of us up some rickety stairs. I bump a bit, he’s pretty solid, but his hands are soft, like a girl's and tentative, like a new guy.
They put us by the window, the flashing sign outside makes the menu stop,go. Stop,go.
“So what happened, exactly? You were talking marriage?” He ticks off points on his slim fingers.
“He’s a pilot, you’re a pilot. You both like to travel You could move in together right away?”
He tails off, trails off, “Two Tiger beers please? Dim sum?”
“Two of everything, like the Ark.”
“We went for a drink,” I explain. “He got a text from a friend, an ‘old’ friend’
“And?”
“It said, ‘are you out?’”
“So?”
“He didn’t reply – to say he was out with his fiancée – he just didn’t reply. I’m not an idiot.”
I’m not.
@sparrownotes24
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 199
You catch my eye as I serve ice-cold beers to the table, your friends’ leers clinging to my body like the red satin of my dress.
Rowdy anticipation packaged in the khaki-clad bodies of soldiers, raw power waiting to be unleashed.
You bring the bottle to your lips, fingertips smudging the frosty condensation, a smile tugging at your cheek.
I overhear you’re shipping out.
All night, your eyes caress me—heat rising a hundred degrees as if the dragons, embroidered on my dress, are breathing fire onto my skin.
.
I crack a fortune cookie in my palm.
“You believe in those?” Your unexpected, honey-gravelled voice makes me shiver with desire.
I ache to touch your newly shaven hair, a reminder of fleeting time. “I’m not sure. Do you?”
Cast red under the neon sign, you dip, brushing a soft, breath-hitching kiss on my lips. “My heart is telling me all I need to know.”
.
We swap hastily inked numbers. Mine on your palm. Yours on the back of my unread fortune.
Unravelling the slip of paper, the printed words are bold. “Someone will change your life today.”
I turn it over and smile. “His name is Edward.”
Cuteness!
DeletePinkcookie (PM me at fanfiction.net)
ReplyDelete199 words
Wandering aimlessly I find myself standing underneath the neon sign of your Chinese/American restaurant. I never cared much for Chinese food, but the “American” selection here consisted of an extremely dry hamburger listed as “chopped steak,” and “spaghetti” that was really only some rice noodles in a watery tomato sauce. So, I learned to eat the savory Hunan and fiery Szechuan dishes that you recommended. I can’t say that Chinese food became my favorite cuisine, but the walnut shrimp and beef with spicy chili sauce were pretty good. In the alley I sidle up to the kitchen door and look inside to see if you happen to be there picking up food for the dining room. I hear your voice before I see you. You are speaking rapid Chinese and I don’t understand a word. But, from your tone I know you are mad at the cook and demanding something from him. I have only heard that tone from you once—the time you demanded I marry you or let you go. The cook bows and places a new dish on your tray. You seem satisfied. If only I could have made a new me for you as easily.
@sri_ffn
ReplyDeleteWord count: 140 words
It’s a shack,
It’s in scrambles,
It’s old and washed up,
It may be,
But it’s beautiful,
It’s my baby.
You’re delusional,
He will never come back,
He’s gone for good,
I’m confident,
He cannot stay away,
He’s on his way,
You’ll die worrying,
I’ll die peacefully in my boat fishing,
Your shack with its tequila shots will crumble,
My son will resurrect it and make it better.
I’m in love, Dad,
I want her to be my wife,
That’s great! Do I meet her?
See that’s the thing,
She says your place is a shack,
She says its rubble,
Do you believe it to be so?
We told you so.
No I don’t,
We’ll be there tomorrow,
We’re on our way home,
We’ll build it right up,
You’ll die in that old boat, old man,
I told you so.
~~End~~
@twilightmomofto
ReplyDeleteWords: 145
Joy entering my life was a coincidence, really. I had just taken a photograph of the restaurant sign for the ad in the paper, when I lowered my lens and saw her standing underneath it. She was pointing at it, giggling with her friend. Intrigued, I walked closer, wondering what they found so funny.
"Sure, they named it after you." The friend laughed. "Though it should be Joy's Garden, don'tcha think?"
I couldn't help the smile. Joy. What a pretty name for a beautiful woman. They caught me staring, of course.
“Hi. I'm Bill.”
She smiled, her blue eyes dancing. “I'm Joy.”
I grinned and fell in love.
We had dinner at Joy Garden that evening, and when we bought the blue row boat for the lake behind our house years later, we named it Joy. For her. My love, my life, my wife.
@CrackedFic
ReplyDelete185 words
***
Evelyn Ryker stooped low. She put her hand on the side of the skiff and she squinted her eyes and held her breath and with her free hand she put a handkerchief to her face because she could smell it already.
She looked and she confirmed her suspicions and she said, "It's him" to the forensic team and thus began a flurry of activity in which she had little interest.
The answers were apparent already.
She removed her hand from the skiff and shielded her eyes from the sun and stepped away to let the boys do their work.
She had tracked this man and now he was dead, rotting away on a fine spring afternoon under a boat named Joy in a garden of Eden just outside Sonoma, California.
That was all the clue she needed.
She mentally stocked the facts and she packed up her things and she headed back into town with a smirk on her face and a spring in her step. What a fun game this was.
Joy Garden, she thought. Clever. But not clever enough. It's my turn now.
Abkhchica
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 200 (according to gdocs)
Alone.
Lonely.
Single.
Solitary.
How many ways can I say it?
You were here and then you were gone.
And I miss you.
The way you kiss.
The way you touched me.
They way you sighed my name because you were happy.
I miss your face.
Twinkling blue eyes.
Dimpled cheeks when you smiled.
How every grin lit your face.
But you made me love you when you weren’t mine to love.
You took me places I’d never been- let me experience things that weren’t mine to experience.
They were yours.
And hers.
But never mine.
You should have let me be. I was fine before you.
Now I’m broken.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
And incomplete.
I left him for you. You didn’t do the same.
You made promises that weren’t yours to make.
Promises that weren’t mine to take.
Each breath pricks, stings.
Each heartbeat reminds me I’m alive... When I don’t want to be.
So I sit in this canoe- your canoe; her canoe- and reminisce.
Memories that shouldn’t be mine.
Love that you never gave- never took.
I want to jump in the still waters and stay there.
But life beckons.
And I breathe again.
Even though it hurts.
Oops. that should be @bkhchica not Abkhchica. Sorry!
ReplyDeleteTwitter: @bigblueboat
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 191
************************
We laid around, staring up at the few stars peaking through the clouds and palm trees.
“Dude, I need some grub. I can’t believe we forgot to pack snacks.”
“Yes! Funyuns would definitely hit the right spot after those brownies.”
“Stupid small town. Ain’t nothin’ open past nine.”
“Not true. If we take the boats down river, there is an old Chinese place open till two a.m.”
“I guess sweet and sour chicken will have to do.”
Struggling to get to their feet, the three boys stumbled across the small island toward their boats.
They all clamored into the boat and pushed off into the river. Letting the current do the work, they floated along.
Halfway down the river, one of them spoke up. “Guys, where are the oars?”
“How can I be left to do everything? Couldn’t one of you have thought to throw them in while I pushed us off?”
Stranded in the middle of the river, the boys drooled as they drifted past the colorful neon lights from the Chinese restaurant.
“Dude, wish we still had an oar. I could really dig into some sweet and sour chicken.”
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete@Deebelle1
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 200
I sat alone, stuffing my face with fried rice from the Joy Garden as I listened to Maury tell another useless whore and the gullible man sitting beside her that he wasn’t her baby daddy.
God my life was pathetic. A single woman trapped behind the four tiny walls of my one-room studio apartment. It was all I could afford. My life was nothing like I had thought it would be back when I was an impressionable teenager who thought the world was her oyster.
Back when you and I spent summers on the lake; canoeing everywhere so we could steel kisses and speak of unattainable dreams. Back when my world revolved around you.
I snorted as the “gullible man” cried and yelled at the whore on the screen.
Why he trusted her is beyond me, I could tell she was trouble; it was written on her face. Much like it was yours, but I couldn’t see it then either.
That last summer changed my life when I watched you take her out in our canoe. You kissed her just like you kissed me.
I shake my head at my thoughts, oh well, at least I still have my Chinese.
@Alesoflyy
ReplyDeleteword count: 200
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
You just laugh and jump in the canoe as we float away. “What are you scared of? Getting caught?”
I merely nod.
You snort.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Trees surround the lake, houses every few miles. The sun is hours away from setting and the bright, golden hue it casts makes this place seem like something out of a dream.
Then when I look at you, working hard to get us anywhere but where we were two minutes ago, I can’t help but think that’s true. It’s too perfect to be reality.
You catch me staring. “What?” you ask amused.
I shake my head.
When we’re in the middle of the lake, you leave your spot and move closer to me.
“What are you doing?”
You rock the canoe and I tell you to stop.
You smirk, rocking from side to side until my scream disturbs the wildlife and we topple over. We both come up spluttering water.
“What was that for, asshole?”
You grab my waist and pull me closer. And then you capture a kiss, making up for the years we didn’t act on.
“I finally caught you,” you whisper after.