This week's judge, @sandyquill, has selected two prompts.
Use either or both to inspire your writing.
Remember to check the rules.
Have your 100 - 200 words submitted by 12:00am Friday, July 5, 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.
Probably good practice to reference any source material, too.
FYI - entries that exceed (or are under) the word limits will not be considered by the judge.
P.S. If you look to the right, where it says "flashers," you'll see I'm linking the places where people are posting their flash fics - either on fanfiction.net or on blog sites or whatever. If you'd like me to add you over there, just say so, and include the link with your entry today. Shell xo
P.S. If you look to the right, where it says "flashers," you'll see I'm linking the places where people are posting their flash fics - either on fanfiction.net or on blog sites or whatever. If you'd like me to add you over there, just say so, and include the link with your entry today. Shell xo
Pinkcookie (at fanfiction.net)
ReplyDelete200 words
Sarg is giving me a shitload of grief again. The sun is so goddamn hot; if I lose any more weight from sweating – Christ, I’ll be just a bone by the time I go home. And not having any appetite because of the fucking heat is not helping.
I need to get into camp to at least feel the breeze from a fan before I fucking go crazy. Poor Thor with that fur coat – I don’t know how he stands it. He’ll probably be just as happy as I will to leave this god-forsaken piece of desert. I’ve done a shit-ton of paperwork to take him home with me, and he certainly deserves it. He’s saved our asses a dozen times.
Someone yells, “INCOMING!” Suddenly we’re under mortar attack! The big gun is useless because the enemy is too close. We run for cover, Thor in the lead. Air support is called in. We hunker down waiting for the assist. A mortar explodes so close the concussion knocks the air from me.
I flash back to a long ago fourth of July. My sister Julie and I play Yankee-Doodle Dandy at the fireworks celebration.
I just want to go home.
@QuinnSkylark
ReplyDeletewords: 187
Ode to the 60s
You awake before the dawn
A firefight won’t let you sleep
As bullets zip past your ears
When your buddy falls
There is little you can do
And no emotion is found anymore
It has been bled from you
Because war is a leech
Sucking you dry
Perhaps next year you’ll be home
Maybe the next 4th of July you’ll see the fireworks
Instead of the burning of napalm
At the same time
In another world
You dance to the beat of your own drum
Life is so different for you
But nonetheless important
The ideals which you battle for today
Is the change you wish to see
The difference you will be in this place
Your fight is gallant
Your cause is just
Equality and rights
And speaking for those without a voice
Possibly the next Independence Day
Will mean independence for all
Between you both
Your commonplace is this
Rock ‘n’ Roll
Change
Adventure
Life
Ingrained within is the hope for a new world order
A chance for the generations to come
Optimism for something new
Freedom
And we thank you
@KekahJ
ReplyDelete200 words
We love. We don’t know each other, but we love. There’s something about the crowd of strangers drawn together for a single purpose. The rhythm of the music flows through the air. It’s so heavy we can almost taste it on our tongues as it pulses and moves around us. It swells and seems to push us closer together as the crowd becomes one, pressing together, moving together. The heat is intense, the fire of dozens of frenzied bodies, but somehow it only adds to our experience. What would otherwise be sweltering bonds us further. Where we were before this moment doesn’t matter. Where we’ll be after doesn’t concern us. There is only here and now. There is only us, brought together by a common love, and we are one. We are no longer individuals, unique in our backgrounds and pasts. The music fills our ears, and the transformation from strangers to lovers feels almost complete. We cry out as the music dies, voices raised in protest and passion. It’s quiet now. The din of a thousand voices the only sound. The moment has passed, but somehow we know we’re forever bonded, forged together in a way we’ll never forget.
Word count: 200 words, on the nose
ReplyDeleteTwitter handle: @AnnaLund2011
~~~~~~~~~
I danced that summer. While my heart was breaking, I sang.
We railed against the powers that be; I loved, oh, how I loved!
We were everything; we ruled the world, in that one, long weekend, music running through our veins like psychedelic notes of truth.
All time high. Everyone was happy, sated, at peace. Dancing. Singing. We made love, not war. Yes, better to love, and feel, and sing, and dance. This was our first chance. Our last chance.
Our only chance.
The world stood still as we waded, hand in hand, through the muddy fields. Happiness made so much more acute by the knowledge that it was ephemeral; yet our future beckoned.
As we lay in the dirty grass, alone in the crowds, with eyes for one another only, nobody could break our peace. Nowhere more important to be, nothing more important to do.
Love.
We tried to change the world. We got lost in the music and the love. Those few days were all we ever got. You shipped one week later.
Solace, a long time coming. But something did change.
My love, you never came home.
***
I went to Woodstock.
You guys saw the movie.
~~~~~~~~~
“I’m telling ya, Corporal, we should start sending out more than one team at a time,” I pleaded my case yet again to the hard-headed fool. I didn’t know if it was the heat or what, but I felt like I was talking to a brick wall.
ReplyDeleteHe looked down and kicked the earth with his boot. After our camp took on some enemy fire last night, we had to repair the sandbag wall bunker surrounding the cannon this morning.
“It ain’t my call, Specialist Martin. I’ll mention it in the next briefing,” he muttered and walked away.
Maybe I finally got through to him. My canine partner, Dusty, was panting in the sun up on the wall. I patted him before I put a hand beside him, jumped up, kicked my legs over the sandbags, and landed in a sitting position next to him. “Nice way to spend the Fourth of July, huh?”
He groaned in agreement before resting his head on my leg. I pet his head before scratching around his ears the way he liked. Quiet afternoons were rare, so I was going to enjoy it while it lasted.
@LouiseClark75
192 words
used the bottom pic prompt
Watching the street performers from afar wasn’t working for me. Just hearing their music and feeling the energy of the people dancing was pulling me toward them like a magnet.
ReplyDeleteI throw my arms up and let the music guide me as I move along with everyone else. I feel like I belonged again, and it’s a good feeling.
Looking up with a smile on my face, I notice him. He’s dressed just like the last time I saw him, even with the same knowing smirk he always wore. He loved watching me dance, he said it was the freest I ever looked.
I used to love holidays like this, where we would celebrate our country and rejoice in what we had. Even in the energy of the dancers I knew things would never be the same. For the boy wasn’t real, I lost him when he fought for this country and I would never get him back. But in this moment, as I let myself go and his dog tags move with my dancing, I feel free again because I know he will always be with me. God bless America for giving me him, even for a little bit.
@TinsleyWarren
Words: 200
@ChocoMG2112
ReplyDeleteWord count: 198
It was a hot, sweltering afternoon on July 4th, 1969. The weather and temperature held no power over me, but affected the humans. These temperatures frayed tempers and tested patience. People with short fuses and tenuous grasps on reality were pushed to the brink. Now, what I saw troubled me beyond measure.
“Darling, come look at this.”
Wisps of ethereal smoke were all that remained of my beloved wife. It tortured me every time I remembered the fate that befell her. Befell us.
She emerged from her portrait and drifted down to where I sat on the settee.
“Yes, my love.”
I gestured at the television set in front of me. I paused the picture, so it captured a moment in time.
“Look behind the woman playing the flute – on the ground.”
“Is that Archibald?” I nodded. “Why is he in the United States?
“Look, his eyes are glowing. Can you comprehend the havoc he can wreak in that environment? Those people are already taking hallucinogens. With Archibald wandering among them, he will turn that festival into a bloodbath!”
She whispered in my ear, “Go love. Go and stop him before it is too late for us all.”
Great job! I just noticed the dog in the picture. :)
Delete@ordinary_vamp
ReplyDelete163 words
~:~
Music is not the Moment, not in the Everything. It is felt by neither one nor one hundred. When it stretches out, stretches passed what Is and moves into the Unknown. It inhabits something Else and is experienced by everyone. And people are helpless to stop it.
It begins with a woman and her flute, soon joined by a man and his drums. The music is simple, felt by the duet. Their tempo and rhythm feeds off each other, building, layering growing. It encompasses the few people around them. And then.
They are brought into the Unknown.
Music is not from the ether. It comes from the small things—started with a few instruments. Added is the stomping feet of people dancing, the clapping of wallflowers and the swish-swish of two men holding tight, holding close, as their shirts flutter together.
The room is filled with people filled with music. There is giving and taking and balance.
Music is the equilibrium in Life.
@SerendipitousMC
ReplyDeleteWord count: 196
Whenever I think of him, and I think of him often, I always picture him in the best possible situations.
Talking safely with civilians. Playing soccer with local children. Sound asleep, although it might be on an uncomfortable cot. Adopting a dog to remind him of home, even if there are guns two feet away.
Not all the faces of war have to be ugly or deadly. I trust every day that he finds the ones that belong to those who are peaceful or kind where he is stationed overseas. I know he will see violence, for there is no war without it; but with all my heart I pray he survives it.
The damage inflicted by this war is not only physical but emotional. It isn't enough to want him to come home to me, whole in body. I want to know that his mind will heal from all that he's seen. It might seem odd, worrying about that when there are IEDs along the roadside and other serious dangers, but I know him. I love him and I know him. He needs to believe that humanity can overcome atrocity. He has to see hope.
@Aleeab4u
ReplyDeleteWords: 200
. . . . . .
It's a peace rally. A love-in. A fog of musky marijuana hangs heavy in the air, blurring her edges, the taste of strawberry wine light on her tongue, heavy in her blood. She sits on the grass, surrounded by dancing, fervent protestors, glorious in their righteous indignation.
She used to be one of them, making love not war. Now it's a slogan, her life in limbo.
Her gaze drops to the letter in her lap, fingers tracing the familiar scrawl of handwriting. She remembers the boy who kissed her goodbye, tasting of apology and fiery determination, comparing him to the man who writes...
I miss you. The smell of your hair. The taste of your skin. The way you sigh when I love you just right. This place wears deep grooves in my soul, baby.
She stares at the picture he sent. Black and white - a somber contrast to the vivid colors surrounding her. She flips it over, his words on the back breaking her heart.
Our platoon adopted a stray dog. We call her Liberty. Here's hoping she survives this hell.
All around her the protestors sway, and she cries silent tears wishing it mattered at all.
. . . . . .
@bebeginja
ReplyDeleteWord count: 174
I was born on the fourth of July, while he was dug deep in a jungle. Fighting for an unknown cause, but staying the course. It was in his blood from the start. Yes, sir. Rise and shine. He was made for this. No one will know the price he paid for their freedom. Freedom to dance in the streets. To indulge in free love. Freedom to use their voice.
That's where she was. He left her there, contradicting everything he believed in, but fighting for her to have that choice. Both of them picking a fight with no one who mattered. She shook her fist as she swayed her hips. Preached words of wisdom to deaf ears.
And still, he returned to her. Weary from battle, they both were. Scarred in different ways. After the smoke cleared and the songs were silenced, she found real peace in his arms. The gentle in her welcome healed his wounds.
They wanted to change the world. Do their part.
And because they did, I am. Free.
@adriftinmyhead
ReplyDelete196 words
I looked through the viewfinder and adjusted the focus. I wanted to make sure I got the Company’s mascot, Duke, in the right light. Happy with the composition I snapped the photo and put my camera down. Looking around I shook my head, my mind still trying to adjust to my new environment. I’d only been here for three days and I think I was still in shock. I walked off towards my tent to change out the film, trudging through the mud that sucked at my boots.
A week ago I’d also been ankle deep in mud but the surroundings couldn’t have been more of a contrast. There, I’d snapped photos of bodies twisted around each other in ecstasy, but here they were twisted in pain. There, I’d listened to the music of guitars and drums and voices raised in joy, but here it was the music of mortars and machine guns and agony.
Last week I’d been enjoying the free love of Woodstock, this week the hell of Vietnam.
I went where they sent me, documenting the world through my camera. I just hoped I made it out of this assignment in one piece.
@moonlit__girl
ReplyDelete200 words, though it was probably better at 298
i can tell mom’s hiding something.
our nightly phone calls
are part of my routine,
the routine that’s been keeping me sane
for four months and seventeen days.
wake at 5am,
dress,
make breakfast/lunch,
wake noah,
dress him,
drive to daycare,
drive to school,
student teach,
daycare pick-up,
drive home,
make dinner,
eat,
after-dinner walk,
bathtime,
storytime,
bedtime,
dishes,
shower,
planning,
talk to mom,
sleep,
repeat.
i hope noah’s not as bored as i am.
i hope he doesn’t miss his daddy
as much as i do.
i don’t say this to mom.
i tell her happy things. yes,
noah ate his carrots. yes,
the petunias are still alive. yes,
i’m fine. really. yes.
she pauses, asks if i’ve heard from sis.
she knows i haven’t.
i wait.
mom sighs. tells me
there might be a picture in the paper
of sis dancing at a peace rally. but
just dancing, not burning a flag
like last time.
i laugh but it’s an ugly, bitter sound.
angry words spill from my lips
before i can stop them.
mom sighs.
i tell her i’m tired.
hang up the phone.
cross a day off the calendar.
set the alarm.
close my eyes.
hahaha i guess these are ineligible too- i dont even know what day it is anymore
Deletemoonlit__girl
I'm a whole day late on this, but I couldn't help myself.
ReplyDelete@CrackedFic
199 (totally ineligible) words
***
Stupid humans.
I've got my back to 'em, my back to the battlefield, and even I can tell there's some kinda dark figure lurking out there.
Probably has an AK-47 with him. This is a war zone.
But what are these two Schmoes doing? Arguing over a girl. No armor, no helmets. They're standing up, for fuck's sake.
I leap onto the sandbags -- away from the scary dark figure, of course. I may be a dog, but I ain't stupid.
The dark guy is coming. Sure enough, he smells like a gunpowder factory.
I sigh. Squint. Shake my head. I'd smirk if I could.
Still, no one notices.
"Woof," I say, and the shirtless dumbass scratches behind my ear. Normally, that'd be awesome, but not now. I rebuff him and snarl. I don't want to do this, not in this heat, but I get up, turn, hunch down and bark, all mean and shit.
"Whoa, dude," shirtless asshat says. He laughs and backs away.
I sigh, leap the sandbags, and hit the dark figure hard. I rip his neck to shreds, of course. It's the only way to be sure he'll stay down.
Stupid humans.