Welcome, dear ones, to Year THREE of Flash! Friday! Today kicks off the brand new judge panel, which this year will be captained by teams. Your entries will still be judged blindly, which means the only intentional bias you’ll see here is toward strong writing and (yeeeehaw!!!!) anyone with a readiness to have a totally good time.
Keep coming back, too: in the next few weeks we’ll be rolling out some new features here at the ol’ lair, including a fresh contest format just to shake things up a bit. You will certainly not want to miss Tuesday’s announcement of the Flashversary winners (listen carefully and you’ll hear the Flash Fiction Online staff battling over them now).
ALSO come back Saturday & Sunday, not just to read and comment on today’s stories, but to VOTE: we are doing a bonus readers’ choice award on the top ten stories, just for fun. And yes, sure, I’ll throw in an extra prize for that, why not!
Now let’s get to it, eh?
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The first team of Dragon Captains consists of Image Ronin and Joidianne4eva, who are so anxious to bite into your stories, I can hear their bellies rumbling from here. Take a minute to scan their judge pages (linked just above), read their thoughts on what a good story oughtta look like, and give them a nice, warm FF welcome!
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Awards Ceremony: Results will post Monday. Noteworthy #SixtySeconds interviews with the previous week’s winner post Wednesdays. I (Rebekah) post my own unbalanced writings sometimes on Tuesdays or Thursdays.
Now, take a swig from the glass (if you dare) and write us a story based on the photo below.
* Word count: Write a 150-word story (10-word leeway on either side) based on the photo prompt.
* How: Post your story here in the comments. Include your word count (140 – 160 words, excluding title) and Twitter handle if you’ve got one. If you’re new, don’t forget to check the contest guidelines.
* Deadline: 11:59pm ET tonight (check the world clock if you need to; Flash! Friday is on Washington, DC time)
* Winners: will post Monday.
* Prize: The Flash! Friday e-dragon e-badge for your blog/wall, your own winner’s page here at FF, a 60-second interview next Wednesday, and your name flame-written on the Dragon Wall of Fame for posterity.
—NO DRAGON’S BIDDING—WRITE A STORY BASED ON THE PHOTO ALONE—
Tamara Shoemaker
@TamaraShoemaker
Word Count: 140
Distortion
It is the distortion that I do not see.
It wavers, offset, unbalanced, against a backdrop of perfection,
Deep hues blending one into another like the shift of twilight into dusk into night.
Beauty spills from the scene, and peace, the scent of
Warmth,
And tranquility.
Fingers lacing my hand,
A casual brush of my hair behind my ear.
So that when you smile, I don’t even notice the cracks in the smooth granite,
The weeds in the white lilies,
The scorpion that hides in the sand.
When you look at me with the familiar smile-creases,
When you lean in for our mutual touch,
When you raise your glass in toast to me,
I never notice the poison that swills the wine.
It sinks deep, unnoticed, into the purple liquid.
And on top, on the shimmering surface,
The picture tilts.
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I shuddered at ‘the picture tilts’. Fab imagery
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What a great compliment! Thanks so much!
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You never cease to amaze me Tamara, and that applies to both stories.
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Thanks, Josh! I so appreciate that. 🙂
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Good God, this is gorgeous.
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Well, thanks, Margaret! 🙂 You just gave me the warm fuzzies… 😉
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“The weeds in the white lilies,
The scorpion that hides in the sand.”
Nice! 🙂
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Thanks, Deb! 🙂
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Hey Tamara. You always get in early, with bewitching poems in the witching hour. This is just stunning. Congrats.
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Thanks so much, Mark! I appreciate that. 🙂 I also like “bewitching poems in the witching hour.” Quite poetic yourself, sir. 😉
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Reading this was like drinking a cool glass of wine, it washed through me and then, at the last line, make me shudder. Just wonderful 🙂
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What a great analogy! 🙂 Thanks so much!
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You’re just too good at this. 🙂
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Lol! Not at all, but thanks, Mark! 🙂
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As always, first. And as always, quality work. Good luck.
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Thanks, Michael! Appreciate it. 🙂
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“The picture tilts.” Fantastic final line to such an emotive piece!
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Thank you, Grace! 🙂
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Ah what a line, “So that when you smile, I don’t even notice the cracks in the smooth granite.” Well done, as always, Tamara.
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Thanks, I really appreciate that! 🙂
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Such a lyrical evocation of a terrifying scene – excellent.
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Thanks so much, Sinead!
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Top up
Daisy’s voice echoed clear across the lake, “It’s half empty! You’re mad to think otherwise.”
Claire giggled tipsily, “It’s half full! There’s still plenty of wine left in there.”
“Yes, but I’ve already drank half of it. I have much less than when I started.”
“Are we still talking about wine? It sounds more like a mid life crisis.”
“There’s going to be a crisis if you don’t top me up.”
“What I’m saying is, you still have plenty of wine left. And life. Don’t give up. Just because he left you, doesn’t mean your life is over.”
“You promised not to talk about him. Now shut up and pass the wine.”
“You’ve had too many already.”
“Husbands or glasses of wine?”
“Both.”
“Nonsense. Technically this is still my first glass.”
“Yes, because you keep insisting I top you up when it’s still half full.”
“Half empty!”
“I’m starting to see why he left you…”
155 words
@todayschapter
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Lovely use of dialogue to set the mood, hint at personalities and tell the story. And the last line made me laugh! Good job all round.
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Thanks Geoff!
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Great writing, really fell into the flow of this one.
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Such a fun, light conversation with a hint of mysterious depth in the idea of too many husbands. Great job. 🙂
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Love this – great use of dialog!
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Adore the comical nature here, but the story reveals far more. Lovely!
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A conversation that allows you to see both speakers so clearly without the need for any description. Cleverly done.
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Great rhythm to this back and forth philosophical argument. I’ve always said that whether my glass is half empty or half full depends on what’s in it!
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I love the tone and feel of this, and I’m in awe of your dialogue. 🙂
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Great dialogue. So much said with such a light touch.
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Tamara Shoemaker
@TamaraShoemaker
Word Count: 153
Solitary
One glass of wine is a lonely thing.
If you bring another, place it next to mine, we can gaze outward, toward the sunset, a steady nearness warming our skins. Laughter might fill the air, the occasional witticism.
Perhaps you enjoy golf.
Perhaps I adore opera.
Perhaps a can of Campbell’s tomato soup is next door to heaven, in your opinion.
Perhaps I inform you that it most certainly is not.
Perhaps we sit in our chairs and chart a course through the stars that is woven of dreams and memories and wishes that never came to pass, yet. We plan the future and take it by storm. We are powerful, we are masters, we are kings and queens in our own right.
And then the darkness seeps in and the clouds cover the stars.
I return my gaze to the glass on the railing.
One glass of wine is a lonely thing.
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Really like the tone of this one, goes great with the image!
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Thanks so much, Rasha! 🙂
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Oh, so sad. Marvelously constructed. Both of your stories are simply fabulous.
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Thank you, Margaret! I always appreciate your comments. 🙂
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Beautiful, and true…one glass does seem lonely.
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Thanks so much, Holly! 🙂
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Really liked the way you structured this one, a life so full of potential and yet mired in loneliness. Nicely done.
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Thank you much! 🙂 Appreciate it. 🙂
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Another excellent entry. I loved this “Perhaps we sit in our chairs and chart a course through the stars that is woven of dreams and memories and wishes that never came to pass, yet.” – wow. Wonderful sense of poetry (yet again) but this is incredibly deep as well. I’m so looking forward to all the fun we’ll have next week.
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Thanks, Mark! I’m quite honored. We’re gonna have a blast as a judging team. Can’t wait!
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Unpretentious and authentic writing. You really captured the arc of lonliness as it percolates in the mind. Hopeful and optimistic, if not delusional, until reality snuffs it out and you’re left feeling…..lonely. Loved it.
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Thanks so much, Chris! That means a lot. 🙂
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Perfectly captures a certain mood. Exquisite writing.
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Thank you, Voima. Much appreciated!
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I like how you circle back to the first statement. Everything paints the one concept nicely. The “perhaps” in each hopeful thought underscores the loneliness of it. Very nice!
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Thanks so much, Teddi! 🙂
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Love this! The way you chose and placed the words really brought life to this. I can feel ‘her’ lonely.
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Thanks again, Grace. I really appreciate your comments. So thoughtful. 🙂
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Nice. Made me want to sit by lake with a friend.
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Thank you, Mark!
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Such a sad piece of writing. Perhaps and perhaps and perhaps …
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Thanks so much! Your comment is reminiscent of another favorite author: “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow . . . ” 😉 Not that I could ever compare anything I write with Mr. Shakespeare. 🙂
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One glass of wine is a lonely thing. That’s why I always follow it with a second.
Beautiful story. Lines like “laughter might fill the air” really embody the dreams of this lonely person.
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Lol! Perhaps the prompt should have been a whole row of wine glasses… 😉 Thanks so much for the compliment. I appreciate it! 🙂
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Such a beautiful, wistful feel to this – brilliant work.
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I appreciate that, thanks! 🙂
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This is so moving. If it were a description of their actual relationship I’d have been impressed, but you did even more than that.
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Thanks so much, Marie. Really appreciate it. 🙂
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Both of your entries are so lovely this week! You have an incredible way with words. Great job, as usual!
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Aww, thanks so much, Annika! I’m so glad you liked it–er, them. 🙂
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Beautiful. Lovely portrayal of longing.
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Thank you, Aria! 🙂
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@lsunil
150 words
“The Perfect Scene”
June and I rushed back home.
‘Hurry up! Before everybody comes back from their walk,’ said June clearing up the verandah.
‘It should look neat and serene. Where’s that wine glass? It will complete the look’
‘What if they enquire about Bobby?’ I asked feeling scared.
‘We tell them, we hadn’t seen her and we thought, she went with them’.
‘Will they be suspicious?’ I asked thinking of the consequences.
‘Not if you behave as I say?’ June warned.
It was evening when the rest of the girls came back from their walk. I took a quick look at our room. Everything was neat and clean. The glass on the window was a master touch. June was reading a book.
Tina picked up a handkerchief from the verandah asking innocently, ‘Isn’t this Bobby’s? Where is she?’
I immediately broke out in a sweat and I blabbered out the whole story.
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Hah, I love the teasing of a more sinister tale behind this too-innocent setting.
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Thank you.. so much
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Talk about dropping the ball at the last moment… I really liked the concept behind this story. 🙂
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Thanks much for your feedback 🙂
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Oh, I wonder what’s going on! Sinister and clever use of the prompt.
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Sprawled out on the recliner, head thrown back, she surveyed the scene before her through the wooden slats. The rays of the setting sun glinted off the gently undulating river and slanted through the untouched glass of merlot, she had placed upon the sill over an hour ago.
She couldn’t decipher why she felt so calm, or why peace seemed to enclose her in such a protective shroud. I
She felt lulled as the river ebbed and flowed past.
Nothing seemed to really matter. At one level she felt as if she was having an out of body experience: how else could she explain the need to not shatter into a billion fragmented shards of pain.
She had trounced her vices before. She wouldn’t let betrayal lead her to those crutches again.
She rose and carefully picked up her paint brush. Nothing better than trying to paint a glass of wine that reflects the sunlight.
She saluted herself and grinned.
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Nice. I like the overcoming theme. Very relatable.
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Thank you 🙂
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I like how you imbue your piece with such a languid feeling – it works so well. We had similar themes, but your main character is faring better, I believe.
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Thank you so much for your kind words 🙂
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I enjoyed how this tale twisted around – it didn’t end up where I expected it would. Nice work.
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Thanks so much 🙂
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Beautiful language. I love that last sentence. Good for her!
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Thanks Marie 🙂
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@bex_spence
152 words
Sunset
Sitting back in the chair, Michael took in the view from the balcony. It had been a long day and he needed to recuperate before the evening’s assignment. He closed his eyes bathed in the evening sun, still warm on his skin. He had been sent to do a job, procrastinating through the day, time was running out.
Waking up early he had set off into the old town it hadn’t been long before he spotted the target. He’d followed her around the stalls of sea shells and sponges, watched her eat lunch and drink wine, oblivious prey to the stalking hunter.
Standing he savoured a mouthful of the deep red wine, the air had turned cooler, tickling the hairs on his arms. He put down the glass, picked up his gun, looking through the scope he set her in his crosshairs. Put his finger on the trigger, ready for the sunset.
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loved the last line ‘ready for the sunset’ – the sun going down in more ways than one!
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Love the detail: “tickling the hairs on his arms.” Chilling ending. Beautiful double meaning in the sunset at the end. Great job!
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This is lovely. It is so simple (and I mean that in a really really good way as sometimes I think I’m a bit too dim to understand some of the stories!) and weaves in imagery so subtly that you tell such a good, vivid story. I loved it. And I also loved that you leave the reader to imagine what she’s done to warrant her fate.
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Good description, I felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, the flavor of the wine in his mouth. Beautiful last line. Chilling, the simple actions contrasted with the matter-of-fact assassin.
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Thanks for such lovely comments. Really appreciate them.
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Great descriptions, and that last line is killer (hee hee).
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I really like how you layered the prompt into this story, both literally and symbolically!
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What a great concept, and a brilliant take on the prompt! I love the last line.
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Oh really great last line. The writing throughout is terrific. Very controlled style. Love it.
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Reblogged this on britestarlites3's Blog and commented:
Nice! FLASH FRIDAY FICTION is here again 🙂
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Remains
I drove home, but I shouldn’t have. I’d only taken a mouthful or two, but that wasn’t the problem.
I’d remembered the gloves while I prepared his glass. No touching!
I’d been careful about disposing of the packaging. Not there!
I’d waited, carefully, while the powder dissolved. Please! Not yet!
I’d flung my undrunk wine down the sink and stowed my glass in my handbag. Hide it!
I’d been careful.
I’d touched nothing without good reason. I hadn’t used the bathroom. I’d kept my hair wound tightly – but even if one had escaped, I could explain that, couldn’t I? Transfer from his jacket, or something? I’d barely breathed. I’d disturbed nothing.
But I’d had to hand him his wine. Gloves off.
And I’d wiped the glass afterwards. Hadn’t I?
I pictured it, on the railing of the sun-filled balcony, his cooling body on the ground.
And all I could see was distortion, whorls and smudges, and what remained of me.
@SJOHart
160 words
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a great ending ‘whorls and smudges and what remained of me’. Had me shivering
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Thanks! 🙂
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I really love this, the pace and punctuation are brilliant and the ending superb.
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Wow, I love this. The italicized segments are like an evocative punch at the end of each sentence. I love the doubt the crept in: “And I’d wiped the glass afterwards. Hadn’t I?” The distortion in the final sentence wraps it up. Awesome job.
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Powerful! 🙂
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That last line took my breath away.
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Very well written, Sinead. Excellent use of repetition. Structurally well crafted and wonderfully deep and authentic character voice. Loved the ending. I’ve been a bit busy and I’ve really missed reading stories like this.
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Great build up to a very tense ending. I could really picture your story when I looked at the prompt again 🙂
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Thanks, everyone, for the lovely comments this week. 🙂
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Fantastic. Love the structure. Loved the final paragraph. Such a good approach.
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Ta, Marie. 🙂
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What a wonderful portrait of a guilty conscience. She goes over and over the scene of the crime and sees the “whorls and smudges, and what remained of me.” I can almost see her worrying away as she drives. Terrific job.
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Great sense of tension, and I love the play on words 🙂
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Tears of Life
@geofflepard 160 words
Kiwa lore held that it was Princess Hicanti’s tears for her lover that fed the Burg glacier, the source of life in the north island. Peter Estrom’s instinct said, ‘rubbish’. What he did know as a glaciologist was that the glacier was dying and life in the north island would die too if the Lingby worm died out. Lingbys fed the carnivorous lichen; the lichen fed the insects and the fish who fed the birds and the mammals and on. If the glacial waters stopped the Lingby died. No one knew why the glacier was dying.
Yet here he was, holding a wine glass in which Mikra Hicanti, the Princess’s last living direct descendant had just donated her blood; blood that held the same enzymes as in the Lingby. Now Estrom could artificially reproduce the Lingby.
Miss Mikra lay back, smiling. She didn’t have long left. ‘You don’t have to believe for it to be true, professor. But it helps.’
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What a world you’ve built. Enjoyed the concept of the blood in the goblet rather than wine. So creative! Nicely done.
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Thank you!
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What incredible world building in such a short space.
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Aw thanks Margaret.
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There was a lot of depth below the surface of this one, which is fitting considering the subject matter!
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thank you
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You bring a fairy-tale quality this prompt. Beautiful writing
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thank you
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Wow! A whole novel in a piece of flash. What an achievement!
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thank you so much
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Wow so much in such a short space. What a way to use the prompt!
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Thank you Marie
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Santé
Best friends. We’ve been best friends all our lives. She knows all of my doubts, my fears, my happiness.
‘Let’s drink to that, shall we?’ she says, happily raising her wineglass.
I raise my glass filled with a beautiful dark red liquid that sparkles in the light of the dying sun.
But I don’t drink. I never have. She should’ve known that, too.
‘Yes, let’s celebrate,’ I say, drily.
I watch as she presses the cold glass against her lips and her lipgloss leaves a smear. I wait… but she waves her glass in the air again. ‘To thirty years of friendship!’
Thirty years indeed.
‘You know, Tyler told me something a while ago…’ I say very slowly.
She doesn’t flinch. ‘Good news? Bad news?’
I tell her.
She falls silent.
I bet she never thought he’d tell me of her strange proposal.
Surprise.
‘Enjoy your wine,’ I say as I leave. ‘I hope it doesn’t taste too bitter.’
@creativedifrnce
159 words
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Okay, on second thought I think I *should* add ‘My husband.’ To that third line, after ‘my happiness.’ The reason I didn’t, was because I thought it would give too much away too soon. But now, ‘Tyler’ just drops out of nowhere and you’re left to guess who he is. That won’t really do, either…
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I did need the extra help of ‘My husband’, as I wasn’t sure what was going on without it. I still thought it was a great story, with great touches of description and excellent characterisation – but the tiny addition of ‘My husband’ transformed this story for me. Well done.
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Great last line – I surmised who Tyler was, but had you said husband, yes, that would have helped somewhat. Still, nicely composed!
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I don’t think it matters to much about Tyler. The point to me of this story was the all-consuming sense of betrayal which is so clearly conveyed in your words.
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I actually like it the way it is. I like deliberate ‘spaces’, and I think your one works. The effects of the betrayal on the narrator are brought out so well in this exchange.
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Erin McCabe
160 words
@disturbiakiss
Homesick.
“Red buses!” He would begin.
“Black taxis!” She would add.
“Chicken Shacks!” He would laugh.
“Harrods!” She would counter.
They could go on for hours like this, drinking wine and listing things they missed about London. The Australian outback held a great many wonders, but none quite as wondrous as an evening spend together on Camden Lock.
Over the years she had thought many times about returning, but the idea of stepping back into her former life seemed simply too unreal, too removed. Every morning she awoke waiting for the end, hoping a distinct notion of closure would envelop her, forging the strength within to try again, but the beginning of this end never came; the cancer had destroyed them both.
She swirled her glass, watching tiny undissolved granules of cessation dance in the remaining wine. Placing it down, just as the sun was setting, she imagined his hand in hers and hoped to see him soon.
“You.” She ended.
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Love this. Powerful, sad and sweet. Great ending.
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Thanks so much! 🙂
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“…watching tiny undissolved granules of cessation dance in the remaining wine.” Awesome.
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So sweetly sad 😦
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Oh so sad. Powerful too.
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This is beautiful, and heart-wrenching. Love the use of back-and-forth dialog to simply but effectively communicate character and then pain.
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Fantastic ending, i like how it’s so abrupt, very fitting.
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‘granules of cessation’. It all happens there, doesn’t it.
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“undissolved granules of cessation dance in the remaining wine.” This is such a lovely line!
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Thanks so much for your comments!
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The last line of this is shattering. So much emotion in this tale – well done.
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Such beautiful descriptions and rich language, as always. The ending is so bitter sweet. Well done.
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Eventide
150 words
The sun slipped from behind a low bank of clouds as Cara placed her glass on the handrail. Shards of light erupted from the crystal and formed small rainbows on her arm. She shook them off, watching the light scatter and bounce like marbles on a concrete floor.
She intoned a command and the light stopped, frozen. One of the beams had bounced up, cutting across another that was spilling through the glass. With the residue of the blood-grape wine lending darker than normal hues the effect was astounding.
She took some frames on her phone, but knew twenty million pixels would fail to capture the glory of the color clash. She worked on committing it to memory, collapsed the stillment command, and let the light flow and bounce.
The sun set, the last fragments of light pooling behind the handrail. Cara finished her wine and reflected the dark.
@clivetern
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The whole piece was a mastery of light and darkness and beauty. “Cara finished her wine and reflected the dark.” Can’t say enough how much I loved this.
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Fascinating. Does a good job of making me wish I had the ability to freeze light that way!
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Beautiful imagery – love the light “bouncing like marbles on a concrete floor.” I’m also intrigued with the idea that she can control the light, or time – an intriguing backstory!
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I wish I had this sort of power – and what a great idea, so well executed.
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New Wine in Old Skins
“Well done Gramps, you just sent your first tweet.”
The nonagenarian stared at the screen nonplussed.”
“Sent it where?”
“To the world!”
“Who’d want to read it? All those squiggles?”
“I told you. Hashtags mark topics—”
“Never mind, dear. It was nice of you to show me, but I don’t think I’ll pick it up at my age. Besides, I’d rather walk to visit friends while I still can. Did I tell you about Ernie?”
She sat back on the porch swing, tilted her face to the dying sun, and listened to the tale of Ernie’s hip. She remembered the Gramps of her childhood, strong and clever in a child’s eyes, teaching her to climb trees and count in threes. Now his skin was thin as tissue, and his memory short as the time he had left.
She picked up the bottle and shared the remaining wine between their glasses.
Gramps took a sip and smiled. “Hashtag nice wine.”
@MicroBookends
160 words
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What a great ending! The whole piece is sweet, a lovely flow of conversation. This phrase stood out: “Now his skin was thin as tissue, and his memory short as the time he had left.” The last line made me laugh and want to cry at the same time. Well done!
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This is lovely, really like the line about remembering Gramps from childhood.
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Beautiful. I like the sense of their relationship and the sweet ending.
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Poignant. Love this line: “Now his skin was thin as tissue, and his memory short as the time he had left.” The ending is brilliant – a wonderful snapshot of the difference in current generations.
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I love how this has such a sweet sentimental tone and then you switch it up with the comedy ending. It makes it all the funnier when you don’t see it coming!
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What a touching story, juxtaposing the teacher of old with the student of now. Great warmth here too
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I chuckled at end. Such a sweet tale, David.
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Lovely, sweet, tender and so on. Achingly good.
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Haha! Gramps ain’t as behind the times as he seems… I loved this.
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Oh, lovely writing. Sad and then that ending does so much.
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How very sweet!
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@Making_Fiction #FlashDog
160 words
Title: Judge, Dread
You sit there and judge me.
Perhaps, you are in your leisurewear, in the sanctuary of your home, with a glass of wine in hand, overlooking vistas of crumpled mountain and flaming sky.
Perhaps you are on a bus, holding a festive bake in one hand and corporate coffee cup in the other. Hastily printed scraps of paper laid on your lap, while odious commuters jostle and rub, and breathe yesterday’s alcohol over you. Do you even try to mask my work from their bloodshot eyes?
Perhaps, you sit there with kindness, or compassion, or a twinkle of recognition?
How many countless moments have I pondered word choices? How many edits? How many fingers crossed in scant hope of a dragon bone left to sustain me for another week?
I used to fear you, oh judge. But it is you that should fear us. For words can conjure magic and inspiration and laughter and tears. And give a Judge, dread.
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*Mind=Blown* I usually try to go through and pick out a favorite phrase or paragraph. This is ALL my favorite, and just when I thought you couldn’t possibly think of anything better, I hit the next paragraph and was amazed all over again. How. Do. You. Do. It???
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This is great, Mark! Made me laugh! 🙂
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Absolutely fabulous! How I have missed your wonderful words…
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As an almost-judge, this story scares me a bit. I think that’s an indication of how strong a piece of work it is…
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I meant to add a smiley face to that, but got distracted – sorry! 🙂
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Oh so good! Lovedo the wonderfully described scenarios, then that ending!
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Ha Ha. Wonderful take on the prompt. Don’t we all fear the judge? Does the judge fear judging? Terrific.
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Season’s Change
A.J. Walker
Shell looked out over the coast, drinking in its simple beauty, entranced by the mediterranean aromas. The warm breeze against her face felt soothing, feelings intensified by the local wine. It was finished now and she was ready.
Her friends were waiting down at the restaurant for her. They would have started the party without her; wine was drunk here like water. She knew they’d ordered a birthday cake from the shop in the village, secrets were impossible on the island.
Secrets were impossible; therein lay her problem. She had no choice now, she sensed people suspected the truth, it was time to start over.
In the distance she could see the last ferry of the day banking around towards the quay. Her escape timed to perfection – Shell had found it easier this time. She picked up the soft leather case, her new life packed neatly away inside.
This time she would move to somewhere with more seasons.
(158 words)
@zevonesque
#FlashDogs
#FlashDogsAnthology
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This is really beautiful. I’m sad that she didn’t get any cake.
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Nice. I like the way the story unfolded, and the sense of a new beginning at the end.
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Ooh, I want to know what her secret is! A nice, lulling tale that then flips.
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Great ending. Loved it.
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Another story which is made perfect by the closing line. So good!
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Wine Fantasy
143 words
@FictionAsLife
The sun sinks into the mackled wineglass. Soon the wine will swallow it up, and I will swallow the wine, touched by the sun’s radiance.
The crimson wine slides down my throat as I ingest the sunset. The essence gives me strength.. Soon my power will surpass the glass, will surpass the air itself. My wings will unfurl and I will rise, weightless, into the sky. I will barely clear the tops of the trees as I soar, dialoguing with the bats hunting their dinner. I will warn them, advise them to steer clear the far off trees.
As they watch, the trees shimmer. A veil of birds rises from them, followed by my mate. I call to him, shrieking across the sky, a glass-shattering squeal heard for miles. The gryphon glides my way, meets me, delicately gripping a wineglass in his talon.
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I like the combination of the wine with the sun – beautiful imagery.
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So clever! Drinking in the sun along with the wine – I love this concept, and then it gets even cooler with the mention of gryphons. Fab!
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Stunning. This is so good.
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Breaking up is hard to do
142 words
@pamjplumb
Cherry – no, blood – red, the sun burns through the clouds in its dying moments and bleeds into the distant hills. Sally grips the stem of the wine glass and sniffs, inhaling the smell of the ruby colours that fill the sky and the glass. Heady, warm smells that swirl around her head. Undertones of rosemary pierce through the glutinous, viscous liquid that coats the sides of the glass. She closes her eyes and takes a sip. Flashes of memory cut through the darkness behind her eyelids; the slice of his knife as it slid through the barrier, carving out her initials in delicate pink beads; the gentle hiss of breath as his head turned to her, his eyes pleading; the dark, primeval sounds that came from nowhere. She shuddered. Not in fear, but with self-satisfaction that the task was over.
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The imagery, beautiful, beautiful. The darkness behind the beauty adds lovely contrast. Well done!
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“…the sun… in its dying moments… bleeds into the distant hills.” The words: ruby, swirl, undertones, viscous… Rich with sensory details. Nice!
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This is scary. The imagery, vivid. I’m not even sure what the second half is revealing, but it’s scary!!!
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This goes from beauty to horror so smoothly and swiftly. I really admire its style!
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Wonderfully dark. Love the poetic nature of this and the turn it takes.
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Title: Decisions
Words: 160
@Rtayaket
#flashdogs
To drink or not to drink? The glass of red wine stared at me from its perch on the railing. I told myself I had until sunset to decide. The sun behind the glass made the liquid look uneven and I tilted my head to make the wine straight and the horizon crooked.
To keep the baby or not to keep the baby? That decision depended on the drink. Everyone knows the alcohol disclaimers: Consuming alcohol while pregnant can cause birth defects. But pregnancy itself is a defect. It demonstrated all my failings as so called responsible adult.
To stay or to not to stay? I did not love him. If I drank the wine I would leave. If I didn’t drink the wine I would stay, for the baby’s sake, not mine. He would know that. I kept my head tilted, the wine staring at me. I lifted the glass, cringing at the weight it bore in my hand.
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Three compelling questions create an impetus that carries the whole piece through to the last line, which ends with such dark strength. Really well done!
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Thank you, Tamara!
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Very heavy, beautifully written.
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Thank you, Holly!
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Wow, Rasha, I really wasn’t expecting this. Very powerful, dark and emotive. Wonderful opening and ending, glued with a thought-provoking middle section.
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Powerful. The questions drive things forward. The open-ended finish lets the reader struggle with the question, if they will. I liked the whole tilting thing; it added to the sense of uncertainty and a life hanging in the balance.
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I like the repetitive structure: it really underscores the emotional impact of the piece.
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“The sun behind the glass made the liquid look uneven and I tilted my head to make the wine straight and the horizon crooked.” visually paints a picture. Lovely!
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It’s great the way you create the dilemma through three simple questions
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I love the lack of resolution in the end of this and the whole concept behind it. Awesome.
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I love the structure. I love how the dilemma is given a concrete form in the glass of wine. The ‘weight it bore in my hand’ terrific.
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Powerful piece. There’s so much going on in this. It’s both haunting and compelling. Well done.
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@Marking_Fiction #Flashdog
159 words
Title: The Basilica of Bethlehem
I fumble as I approach the sacred Basilica, the upturned wine glass that stretches ten-miles in diameter. I bow my head, respectfully, as I follow the procession ‘neath the spire, the stem, the funnel that stretches endlessly into a cask-oak coloured sky.
On stony bridges, we walk, over the streams of lava that flow like liquid sunsets through the long-forgotten approach ways.
The Basilica of Bethlehem is the last testament to humanity.
They say humanity built this place. A last sanctuary, on this holy ground. When men of faith gathered arms, rather than linking them. Where the dull shine of automatic weapons was more precious than gold. Where the smell of spent incendiary devices, instead of campfire meals, filled the once-pure air.
They are supposed to be our ancestors.
I know that I am still a child, but I’m wise enough to know it is no more real than fairy stories or myth.
But yet, I kneel. I pray.
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For the most part I’ve been out of the blogosphere for a while. Nice to return and read a Mark A. King story. 🙂
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Make that two Mark A. King stories!
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Hiya Josh. Been away myself (had a busy project as you know) and only had time to dabble. Nice to see you back and thanks so much for the comment.
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I love the concept of the Basilica as an upturned wine glass. This line was stunning: “When men of faith gathered arms, rather than linking them.” And that last line pulls the whole thing together into beautiful simplicity. Lovely.
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I love this, it flows beautifully.
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I suppose it’s in the name: Mark A. I’d certainly give it that with a *
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So many layers in this – myth and history and belief – and you’ve chosen such a perfect title to express the nuances in your story. I’m amazed by this.
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Josh Bertetta
“The Little Things”
160 Words
@JBertetta
Rebekah, wanting nothing more than to hide, ostriched her face into his chest and he, setting his wine glass on the deck’s railing, overlooked what the wedding planner described simply as “paradise.”
Meanwhile, the groom’s friends and family were deer caught in Rebekah’s family’s high-beam headlight stares.
“Heading out the door now. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. You are the greatest thing in my life.”
That’s what his text said. That was over an hour ago.
The pastor began to say something, probably of a consolatory nature, to Rebekah’s mother…
***
“B.A.C?”
“Zero.”
“Nothing?”
“Nada.”
“Then what the hell happened John? No other car. Wasn’t texting. Didn’t appear he hit anything before he ran into the pole.”
The coroner shook his head. “I think it was the flower that did him in.”
“The flower?”
He pointed to the boutonnaire. “Right there on his neck. See? He must have swerved when the bee stung him.”
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Ouch. Poor Rebekah. I love some of your descriptions. I had never thought of using “ostriched” before as a verb, but it worked so well! Also, “the groom’s friends and family were deer caught in Rebekah’s family’s high-beam headlight stares.” Well done!
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Thanks Tamara. Yeah, I liked that too…Thought of it on the way back from taking my son to school. First thought of “buried” of course, but then that was a little too boring…Then, aha! “ostriched.”
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You’re a genius. But then, I already knew that. 😉
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Genius? Wow, thanks.
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I agree with “ouch”! Great story, so sad.
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I love it that you always try something different. Pushing the boundaries – long may it continue.
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Thanks man. Looking forward to tomorrow!
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Awesome story, and the ending is genius. Love it!
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Wow two “genius” comments for one story 😉 Thanks. Assuming you’re on there too now?
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Welcome back, Josh. Great phrase in “ostriched her face.” (As well as the high beams.) And a very clever ending. Best of luck.
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Thanks Michael; nice to be back.
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No! I’m traumatized!!! Well done, but no!!!
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Oh, I love the deer image, too. What a sad and clever ending.
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And They Lived…
Margaret Locke (margaretlocke.com or @Margaret_Locke)
158 words
It was supposed to be for our celebratory toast, our clinking to a lifetime of love and happiness.
Instead, I’m nursing this pricey champagne and a broken heart. Such a cliche.
I drop the glass.
I’m a cliche. Thirty years old. Abandoned at the altar. No prospects on the horizon. No hope to go back to.
So I sit here, gazing out at the beautiful landscape. it’s what Hallmark would want me to do. Right?
Where’s my cowboy? Where’s my billionaire businessman? Where’s my noble knight on his royal steed?
You’re telling me I have to be the hero of my own story? Nobody is responsible for my happiness but me? Women need men like fish need bicycles?
If I have to live a cliche, I’d rather have the fairytale.
But life isn’t fiction. There are no convenient plot twists, no guarantee of a happily ever after.
There’s just me, and this glass. Both shattered.
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Well done, Margaret! I love the theme of cliche. The cowboy, the businessman, the noble knight, they’re all there. Those last two words stab hard. Awesome job!
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“it’s what Hallmark would want me to do. Right?” <- LOVE this line!
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“But life isn’t fiction.” Ah, where is that Man of Character when you need him? 🙂 I love this! Nicely done.
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Ha! I was hoping someone might notice that this could possibly be Cat Schreiber. 😉
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Sneaky reference to Margaret’s soon-to-be-published book. If she paid you in cookies, I want one. 😉
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So much to love about this, but I have to say the ending was my favourite – incredibly strong finish. Excellent work and I’m sure you’ll be raking in the medals now you’re eligible again.
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Oh, you are so sweet. The competition here, however, is FIERCE with incredibly gifted writers. I’m just glad to be welcomed here!
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‘Both shattered’ – so sad and angry and raw. And so many who would relate. Great stuff.
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Thank you.
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Of course; brilliant ending!
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Thank you!
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Love the allusions to romantic fiction here. I especially like the line “If I have to live a cliche, I’d rather have the fairytale”. Like there are only two options: crazy cat lady, or fairytale princess.
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You mean there aren’t? 😉 Thanks for the kind words. And yes, as a romance novelist, I enjoyed serving up my own genre here.
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Another story which breaks me open at the last line! I love this for the emotion and sorrow and the excellent writing, but most especially for the fantastic title.
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Thanks so much. 🙂
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Clever. I love this concept. The ending is so powerful.
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Another wonderful story, Margaret. This is a real heartbreaker too. No Hallmark moments or fairytale endings for this gal. She has to be her own hero and has learned that happily ever after isn’t a guarantee. Terrific story. Wonderful last lines. As always, I am in awe.
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Oh, you are so sweet. Thank you, Sarah, for your kind words. This character is actually the main character in my first novel. I had drawn a blank when seeing the glass, so “wrote what I knew.” 🙂
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I’d love to read that novel.
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Oasis
@hollygeely
151 words
“We don’t have any water,” Greenleaf said. As the elf, scouting fell to him, though he’d argued he was more suited to a desk job. Even he knew that thirst was a problem in the dessert.
Maximuscelous flexed her magnificent biceps. “I love being the Hero,” she said. No one was listening. She said it at least twice a day.
The dwarf twins slapped Greenleaf from either side.
“Problem solved!” Harald said.
“Giant wine glass ahead!” Jarald said.
Sorcerer Joe shook his head. “Fools. That wine glass only appears giant due to perspective.”
“We’re hallucinating,” Miracle Gnome squeaked.
Maximuscelous charged. (Walking is for the weak.) Her ferocious battle cry split the sky as she came to a halt next to the stem.
“It’s real!” Greenleaf exclaimed.
“And giant! Hurrah!” cried the dwarves.
And so the heroes drank of the Fountain of Hangovers, and it was good.
Until the next morning, anyway.
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Smiling the whole way through. Delightful reading
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Thanks! 🙂
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Hilarious! From now on I will charge everywhere as I did not know walking was for the weak! Lesson learned.
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Excellent, glad to hear you’ve been inspired! 😀
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Hi Holly. Fab story. Full of fun, energy, entertainment and verve. Brilliant take. Well done.
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Thanks so much! 😀
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What a delightful story! I love the tone, laughed the whole way through. I love the cheek of the last line. 🙂
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Thank you!
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Walking is for the weak! Bwah ha ha! Fun story.
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Thanks!
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Reminds me of this classic Father Ted moment: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXypyrutq_M
Great fun story, Holly. I love the ending.
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Thanks! The video is great.
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I agree with the others- delightful. I just loved it. So we’ll done!
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Thank you!
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Thanks so much!
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Hilarious. I loved the mythical creatures and the Fountain of Hangovers. Great story.
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Last Call
by JM6, 160 words, @JMnumber6
We toasted each other’s good health, neither of us meaning it. We had been a very long time coming to this point.
After we set our glasses down, she said, “You’ve heard the phrase ‘In vino veritas,’ right?”
“‘In wine, there is truth.’ Something like that.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” I said. “Really tired.”
“That’s the fírinne I slipped in your drink.”
“I didn’t notice that. I underestimated you.”
“You always did. You know what I want.”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Quite well, thanks.”
“Stop that,” she said, getting angry.
I smiled. Truth drugs are tricky. You still have to ask the right questions. And her anger was always her weakness.
“Why did you come here, tonight?”
Finally. “To end this.”
“End this?” she asked, taken aback. “How were you planning to end thisss?”
I sighed. The slurring was my cue. “I drugged your wine, too. Poison.”
“But, my sssecretsss.”
“I no longer care,” I said quite truthfully. “Goodbye, my love.”
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Double twist! Love it!
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Oh. From the title, to that first line, to that last–marvelously done! I love this!
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You’ve got to love a little double-cross (and extra marks from me for using a droplet of the delicious Irish language!)
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‘neither of us meaning it’ got it off to a galloping start. Then I too loved the double twist! Well done.
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The Roommate from Hell
@voimaoy
160 words
Dear Answer Angel–
I have a problem with my roommate, Shell. When my boyfriend moved out, I needed a roommate, and she needed a place. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
We had met at work and we seemed to get along. Her jokes always made me laugh. Now the joke’s on me, because she hates the smell of garlic. We couldn’t be more different.
She’s working nights, now, and every evening I come home to the smell of meat. One time, she set fire to the kitchen. I never see her. She conveniently forgets the rent.
I admit I had illusions of relaxing evenings on the balcony, a glass of wine, the healing power of sisterhood. Now, I have to clear a path through the trash bags and empty bottles just to get out the door. But it’s the smell of meat that bothers me. And I don’t think it’s wine in those bottles.
Sincerely, Dana
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So funny! “Because she hates the smell of garlic.” I love that you never say right out what Shell is. Mastery of language here. 🙂 Lovely.
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Tamara, you are so encouraging and positive! Thank you, much appreciated.
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Awesome entry. So clever, both in strutcure and choice of words. The evidence gradually building up to the killer (sorry) ending “But it’s the smell of meat that bothers me. And I don’t think it’s wine in those bottles.” Top work.
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So good to see you here, again. Thank you!
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Eek! Funny and clever.
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Thank you, Margaret. Based on true experience….
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This is a great little epic. You suspect at garlic, think you know at meat and still love the last line. Excellent.
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Thank you so much!
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Pitch-perfect rhythm and flow. The story unfolded seamlessly and the ending was rather delicious. Sublime tale, Voima.
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Thank you, Chris. I am so glad you like it. 🙂
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*Excellent* title – I read it after I read the story, and it made me laugh out loud. I love the hints you drop at Shell’s true nature, and the feeling of this tale overall.
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Clever take. Love the form. So many little touches handled so well.
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I loved this story, especially the way you build on the roomie’s nasty habits. I love the last line. Great job.
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That Mother Daughter Bond
Words 159
The empty glass was a reflection of my heart. Even the warmth of the setting sun couldn’t penetrate the coldness that I’d wrapped around me. The yellow glow threw darkness over the beauty of the landscape while illuminating the flaws. Sticky finger prints on the glass a fitting image to the way my skin felt.
I watched them from my lonely corner of the deck. Hidden behind sunglasses and a brunette wig I was able to witness their lies. Girlish giggles and cocky smirks sealed their fate. Every brush of their fingers over blushing skin, each lingering kiss, caused the anger to bubble and churn inside me. Rage burned my organs. It melted my bones and turned my insides into liquid hot magma. They will pay for this injustice.
I lifted my phone to capture the evidence of her infidelity and headed home to Dad. I always knew my mother was a whore and now I had the proof.
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Oh, wow. The rage in this piece. That first line hooked me!
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Loved the twist at the end. Raw and powerful story. Really enjoyed this.
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That last line was biting. Well done.
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Holy… The last paragraph of this stunned me. Powerful work!
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That took me by surprise. I was not expecting that. The anger that’s felt is palpable. Excellent descriptions.
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The Good Fight
158 words
@UK_MJ
I can do this.
Outlined by the dying sunset, the glass winked at me from the edge of the balcony, as poisonously innocent as a bite from an apple.
Saliva formed at the back of my mouth. The scent . . . the taste . . . it was all there. Woodsmoke and oak. The sweetness of berries and the tang of sugar. Memories and need tormented me.
In a desperate bid for salvation, my fingers clenched around the hard metal disc in my pocket. My chip. Thirty days.
Hi, my name is Stewart . . .
Temptation whispered in my ear, carried on the voices of the party behind me. Just one . . .
Deliverance arrived with an unexpected bump. Pushed out of my frozen state, I stumbled into the rail. Crystal and ruby liquid hung motionless in the air and then, mercifully, fell away.
“Sorry, bro!” The laughing apology was well-meant. “I’ll get you another one!”
My hand came up, the hard-won chip visible.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
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This is great – a different take, and one that rings powerfully, emotionally true!
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Great story. I loved the italicised sections, and the snatches of dialogue, and particularly the way you describe the falling wineglass. Well done.
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I love it. The internal fight so well displayed here. That image of the apple is excellent. Well done.
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AND OVER AGAIN
Brian S Creek
156 words
@Brian S Creek
#FlashDog
I refill my glass hoping this second bottle will make it go away.
Every time I relax it’s there again and I just want it to stop.
One minute there was nothing and then there he was.
I just want it to go away but it keeps playing over and over and over again.
It’s the sound more than anything. It’s the sound that haunts my dreams and it’s the sound that is slowly tipping me over the edge.
It’s got to stop soon. It has to.
From the corner of my eye he appears in slow motion before I hear his body and his bike slam into the side of the car. The sound causes every single muscle in my body to tense far beyond their limit.
One minute there was nothing and then there he was.
Like the drink in front of me now.
One minute it was there and then there was nothing.
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Oh, I can feel the pain in this; it’s raw and biting. I love the switch: “One minute, there was nothing and then there he was.” Followed by: “One minute, it was there, and then there was nothing.” Staggering.
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So powerful. That repetition that you know will haunt him always. Really good.
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This is so painful and haunting. Great story!
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Oh, the last three lines hit me hard. A sad tale.
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Moody and introspective. And sad. Felt real to me. Loved everything about it.
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The pain in this is so strong, it bites. What an achievement in such a small space – amazing.
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So painful and realistic. The ending itself telling so much. Deftly handled.
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The pain in those words and such a powerful last line.
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@betsystreeter
153 words
COMPANY PARTY
“Don’t run away yet!” Jack wrestles open the screen door and stumbles onto the balcony.
Janet pulls her coat the rest of the way onto her shoulders. Amplified music pounds through the floor.
Jack slaps his hands down on the railing. “Nice view, eh? It’s good to be the king.”
Janet glances at the glass door. The sun’s reflection obscures the people inside but she can see the gathering has dwindled.
“Tell me something. You get along with your husband?”
Janet’s eyes narrow. “He’s the best husband in the world.”
“Except for me!” Jack says. “I’m the best husband material. In the world.” Words pour out of his mouth like water running downhill.
“Okay, Jack,” Janet says, walking in a wide arc around him. “See you Monday.”
She can’t hear his reply over the music.
———-
“How was the shindig? Sorry I couldn’t go.”
Janet puts her arms around Bill and holds on.
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“Words pour out of his mouth like water running downhill.” Beautiful. I love the picture in the last line.
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Aw, thank you.
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Great idea and so relevant to many office Christmas parties!! I love her clinging to Bill at the end. 🙂
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‘Words pour out of his mouth like water running downhill.’ fantastic line.
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Eternal Love
The evening sun was waning and I needed her consent before conversion.
‘I offer you eternal love, Mina’ I promised.
She looked into the glass of wine, lips pursed, and shook her head.
‘I prefer mortality.’
Seconds later I rushed out to the sound of the opening door. Lucy had arrived unexpectedly.
‘I couldn’t wait!’ She cried as she pushed past me into the hotel suite.
She kicked the door shut, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the bedroom.
I heard the gust of wind waft into the adjacent room as the sliding balcony doors were pushed apart.
‘Did you miss me?’ she asked.
‘We need to talk.’ I answered.
‘Later…’ she whispered.
I heard the click of the door.
‘Let’s have some wine first,’ I said as I pulled her out to the balcony.
‘Sure. Whatever you were having,’ she said picking up the glass on the railing.
The sun set.
No time to explain.
157 words.
@LucciaGray
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I’m thinking I need to be better versed in my Dracula lore to full appreciate the richness of this tale, but I like it nonetheless! Last line is great.
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Thank you! Amazing how the subconscious works. I started with another idea, but the sunset and the fangs just kept popping into my mind, so I succumbed! 🙂
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Bloody delicious. Love it!
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Thank you!
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This is clever – a ‘turning’ against the will and/or knowledge of the victim. I love the use of the names ‘Mina’ and ‘Lucy’, and the unexpected setting.
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Thank you 🙂
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‘Whatever you were having’ – love it. I also love the tension created by the sounds of the door.
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Thank you:)
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Robert J Becraft
155 Words
castlewrks@aol.com
Soul’s Lament
Regrets, there were none.
Memories, too many. They came like waves rebounding and stinging, inspiring a smile, eliciting a giggle or outright laughter. Each wave tossed a single soul upon its wild and lost forever.
Tears too dry to run anymore streaked towards the ground. They were a slow tribute, the concession to someone who was once entwined and now sundered from the joys and sadness that was life.
Sleep, evasive in the strength of the memories, sweet in its embrace, wrought with dreams. Dreams that evoked the shadows of life, their realities more vivid than the memories now seemed to be in waking.
Pain so full and striking it took the breath away, bereft of the physical blow that would make dealing with it easier. Breathing, in short gasps, the wet tears falling again.
When will this end?
The wine allowed no relief, the funeral was tomorrow.
Good bye my love, simply, no regrets.
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Oh, so hauntingly sad, and in such beautifully rich language. I really enjoyed this (so much so that I’ve used 3 -ly adverbs in the space of 2 sentences).
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Goodness, this is so sad. Amazing language that is so poetic. Well done.
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Foy d. b.
@db_foy
Word Count: 152
A Man Looks at His Life
Oh, Divisive Liquid,
Growing up, only the devil’s communion cup held your true form. My mind, 7 years new, wondered at your power. Whispers said that uncle had fallen to amber temptation, and he was a big man.
Off to college and curiosity crushed fear; I put away childish things. Beer was cheap but it bore your same chemical compound–CH₃CH₂OH. Forbidden fruit is sublime and how I hoarded it. Mother and Preacher would’ve disowned me.
Next the military and drinks poured stiffer. With your cousin, Liquor, I killed trauma .
After that, G-bay, and Spirits took a different role. Did you know a man can get drunk on alcohol pumped into his anus? We seared his conscience more than any fire could. I wonder where mine had gone.
Thirty-nine years later and, Wine, you are my poison. Even now your crystal palace, ¾ empty, perches on the porch rail. Instigator, Enabler, Friend.
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Just curious, is this true? “Did you know a man can get drunk on alcohol pumped into his anus?” And, um, ouch.
Seriously good, Deb. I love the turns of phrase: “My mind, seven years new…” and “uncle had fallen to amber temptation…” and more and more and more. Great job!
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Thank you! And from what I know it is. In fact, absorption is quicker so the body becomes “drunk” faster than through oral ingestion.
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Things I never knew I needed to know. 😉
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So moving and I love the variety of ways in which you dissect alcohol. Sad.
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Thank you, Margaret. It is. Quite powerful for some.
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Very, very powerful. The G- bay paragraph is really quite haunting. ‘We seared his conscience more than any fire could’ -wow.
‘your crystal palace’ is fab, too.
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Thank you 🙂
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Doubt
“I know what’s going on,” I say, gripping the stem of my wineglass tightly, “I know that you’re trying to ruin my work.”
“I’m only trying to show you the truth. Your pieces aren’t good enough. That last sculpture looked like a hunchback with a fungus problem,” you say to me, drinking casually from your own glass.
“You think your opinion is reason enough to shatter what I’ve built? Hide my tools so that I look crazy searching for them?” I ask, the bitterness of my words making my mouth taste coppery.
I drink to dispel the flavor.
You turn and look at me.
“You are talentless. I’m just trying to spare you embarrassment.”
My husband comes to find me out on the deck.
“Drinking alone?” he asks with a slight frown.
“Never,” I say with a sigh.
He stares at the lone glass on the ledge and says nothing, walking back into the house.
155 words
@CaseyCaseRose
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Oh, yes–the artist dilemma is so true! And the last bit is masterful. Brilliant work,Casey.
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Gah, I feel like this all the time, although my medium is not sculpture, but language. Well done.
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So completely relatable, and so sadly true for many creative types! Excellent take on the prompt.
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This captures that self doubt so well. The cruelty we can inflict upon ourselves- I know it well. Brilliant.
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Beware, My Love
WC: 160
Beware, Beware.
My Love, I’m warning you.
Black-hearted soldiers
Are chasing me and you.
We both know the crime,
We both know the judgement.
Danger is upon us,
Run, Darling, run.
Beware, beware.
My Love, I’m warning you.
It won’t take long
To find me and you.
Kiss me one last time.
Tell me I’m yours.
Danger is upon us.
Run, darling, run.
Beware, beware.
My Love, I’m warning you.
Black-hearted soldiers
Are closing in on us.
Pull out the wine,
Drug and set it out.
Danger is upon us.
Run, Darling, run.
Beware, Beware.
My Love, I’m warning you.
Don’t go by day,
Don’t go by night.
Stay in shadows.
Run away and hide.
Danger is upon you.
Run, Darling, run.
Come here, come here.
My Love, I’m begging you.
Wait for me at the corner,
I’ll get my freedom then.
Who you can’t see hiding,
Shouldn’t do you any harm.
Danger is upon you.
But stay, Darling, stay.
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Facsimile
I labor to bring the facsimile to life. The stretch of water between Awon’s vantage and the island, the sun straining its gold above a cloud bank, the oak grain of the banister that steadies him—I become the scene from my locked archives. For him.
As the firstborn on the colony ship, Awon took his first breath within my hull.
“Sunset,” he murmurs, a statement tinged with inquiry as he’s never actually seen one.
I thought it appropriate.
“Is that wine?” The perfection of my memory means I see the babe rooting at his mother’s breast in the same moment I see the man’s sunken lips pull at the rim of the wineglass.
My code is very specific: the archives are for the landed future only, not the interim population. But then, I wasn’t programmed with the capacity for love either.
I twist myself into the saline breeze that Awon inhales. His crinkled smile makes the fatigue worth it.
160 words
@rowdy_phantom
#flashdog
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Pure poetry–such gorgeous language throughout, but I especially love “for the landed future only…” Beautiful story!
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This is fascinating – the language you employ, as well as the idea itself. I was reminded of Wall-E, but in a richer, more beautiful way.
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So clever, and I love the idea of a machine loving a human. My favourite bit is the paragraph near the middle about the wine and the breastfeeding baby – amazing!
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How original and how well written. This is amazing. The wine glass and the breastfeeding image are great. Actually l like everything about it.
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The Northern Border
Sara was sleeping uncomfortably on the dusty floor of the house. She could not use the house’s pillows, as they might trigger her allergies. We had run out of antibiotics months ago, so I could not risk the young girl getting bronchitis again.
The abandoned house offered no antibiotics. The essentials had gone with it’s original residents when they split. Presumably, they had fled across the river.
What they had left, was a cheap bottle of chardonnay and the contents of their wine glass cupboard. A water-spotted glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, I stepped onto the house’s back porch.
The river stretched out parallel to the horizon. I could see the brown brush of the opposite riverbank. For now, that was freedom, but it may not be for long. We had to get across tomorrow and get as far into the north territory as we could before the Schism War redrew the borders once again.
159 words
@acmarkz
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A snapshot of distress, from the small (the child) to the large (the Schism wars). Sad!
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I love how this story hints at a larger reality, and I hope Sara and her guardian get to safety.
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I love how that last paragraph works. The redrawing of borders really giving a sense of the shifts in this world and how imminent danger always is.
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Thanks for the comments guys. I enjoyed writing this one. This is actually a prequel to the one i wrote on August 8th. I’ll also archive both here on my writing blog: http://www.blogspot.com/alphaverse
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Make that: http://alphaverse.blogspot.com/
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Loneliness had been her frustratingly loyal companion for too long now. Sometimes easy to ignore, its often stifling presence would provide both an unbearable reminder of her isolation and a comforting familiarity.
She looks at the solitary wine glass, so out of place in a busy bar full of glasses clinking in a chorus of togetherness.
Things have to change. She resolves to say ‘yes’ to the next man who shows an interest in her.
———
He takes another tight-lipped mouthful of beer straight from the bottle.
She’s here just like he knew she would be.
For the record he pulls out the log book, and makes a note of the time, date and place. He scrawls ‘blue dress’ in the margin, before returning it to his pocket.
He watches her a while. It’s what he does best.
She’s never seen him, but tonight that’s going to change.
He walks to her table.
“Mind if I join you?”
159 words
@dragonsflypoppy
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Just when I’m, under the weight of hopelessness and despair in this thread, ready to cry a puddle, you spin a romantic, if somewhat creepy, tale of courage. I enjoyed the originality.
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I enjoyed this. I think. The man sounds creepy. I want to laud her courage, but not if it’s going to get her killed! Love the phrase, “chorus of togetherness.”
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Ooh, the menace! This one’s scary – but oh so good.
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The first section is so sad and the second so creepy. The first makes us care about this character. And the way you introduce the stalker(?) is fab!
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Ring Fingers.
Beth snuggled in Stephen’s arms, sharing his glass, sipping the perfect wine. The balmy evening wrapped about them. Through teary eyes she gazed at the jewel again, sparkling upon her ring finger.
She would say yes. She would turn and kiss Stephen on the lips; and say yes. He would take her away from here.
“What’s that sound?” he asked.
The dread ringing, distant but close.
“It’s George,” she said, tears wetting her cheeks.
“George? You’re husband?”
She pulled away. Stood; took a step toward her glass vibrating on the rail. “Yes,” she whispered.
“But he’s dead!”
The pitch of the ringing spun higher and higher, surrounding them. George was doing it again. Then the glass shattered.
Yanking her own hair with her fingers, Beth screamed, “Leave me alone!”
Stephen was already scrambling down the veranda steps. The car door slammed. The Cadillac throttled away.
“Won’t you ever leave me alone,” Beth sobbed
And the quiet answered, never.
@CliveNewnham – 158 words
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Shades of a Christmas Carol, with no redemption. Great last line!
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Jeeze. You’ve got to admire George’s commitment! Clever story.
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‘Yanking her own hair…’ loved that. Brilliant last line.
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@MattLashley_
156 words
Jenny Got Another Chicken For Her Birthday
Jenny continued plucking the chicken with her toes while Jerry sipped wine through a bendy straw. For the last twenty years, Jenny asked for the same thing for her birthday. This year she even spelled it out: D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Jerry still heard “chicken”.
“Jenny, gaze upon the luminous auburn celestial sphere suspended over the jutting crags.”
Jerry loved stringing fancy words together and often said, “Language is a muscle. You got to exercise it otherwise it could only do girly push-ups.”
Jerry raised a leg and placed a fine Italian gerbil skin moccasin on the rail, kicking over Jenny’s feather pile in the process.
The feathers stirred then settled, revealing the winning lotto numbers in ancient Sanskrit. Unfortunately Jenny had only taken a semester of Spanish in high school and Jerry, convinced a guy could learn more on the mean streets than in the classroom, had walked out of Pre-K during story time and never looked back.
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The utter silly cheekiness of this cracks me up! Love divorce = chicken, and the line about language being a muscle!
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What a hilarious title! 🙂 I love the line about “girly push-ups.” This tale is refreshingly funny. Great job!
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“For the last twenty years, Jenny asked for the same thing for her birthday. This year she even spelled it out: D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Jerry still heard “chicken”.
Love it!
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The Fall
(153 words)
Whisky was his sunrise, his only reason for greeting the day. He had lost the two reasons he used to have. He had treated them carelessly at dinner dates and family gatherings; at junior football games and birthday parties. (Yeah, he knew more than anyone, he was a real hero, right?)
Cheap wine poured him into gibbering manic midnights; took him back to secrets that made him whimper. Sleep imposed abstinence shook him awake. Awake to crave. This new emergency schedule was killing him.
But so was the old one. Comic book muscles and square jaw didn’t equip him for the evil he saw. No one had taught him how to keep it together. Not even his shoulders were big enough. No one had written a guidebook on juggling work, family and arch enemies. To whom do you explain the pressures of saving the world? And anyway, who gives counselling to super heroes?
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I love the phrase “gibbering manic midnights.”
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Intriguing – The Incredibles springs to mind, in a good way. Love the last paragraph!
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I love how the last paragraph adds another level to this story. Sad, but very clever too!
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Wow, great story. I love the last line. Who does give counselling to super heroes? Terrific!!
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Promises Promises
By Mark Driskill
Wc. 150 words- without title
Nadia sat trembling. The sunset peeked through her wineglass while the Merlot slightly teased her senses. She coaxed the last drop, lit a cigarette, and laid her head back in disbelief. There used to be two glasses sitting there.
Red hot tears burned into her ears. This had been their favorite place to escape. They had held each other through a hundred sunsets. He had promised a life together. She believed.
Then it happened. At dinner he announced. “It’s over. I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Then as quickly as it started, it ended. Life’s now an empty glass.
She felt so betrayed. Inhaling deeply on her cigarette she blew out fire, “I’ll make him pay for leaving me! He will learn. You don’t break promises to Nadia.”
Pouring herself another glass, she muttered, “Mister ‘suddenly I have a conscience’ is going to pay. I’ll get his wife and kids too.”
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Ooh, chilling. I thought it was a normal relationship until the last line, and suddenly I went from feeling sorry for her to strongly disliking her. 🙂
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that was the plan. Thanks. I just posted my second one.
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Oh, no! What a twist at the end. I feel sorry for the poor wife and kids.
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Oh dear, that sounds like trouble. I agree with Tamara. I felt so sorry for her–until the end. Scary! Great work!
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Thanks
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What a turn around! Great.
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Thank you
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First Draught
It hit me sooner than I thought it would. They said food would slow the absorption process. A burning sensation spread from my gut through the rest of my torso, doubling me over.
“Wait—“
Not yet. The sun was still up. I should have waited until it sank below the horizon. I should have savored my last sunset. But I had finally acquired what I needed to do the deed. And in the adrenaline high after harvesting the final ingredient, I rushed it.
I had waited so long. Nearly a lifetime to find him.
Pain knifed the length of my spine, and I dropped to the wooden deck, crying out. I writhed, gritting my teeth against a scream. Just a few more minutes, and I would fly away from this place. Just a little more pain, and the transformation would be complete. And I would be free. One lifetime behind, immortality ahead. At last.
@teddideppner
155 words
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Great title. I love the undertones of the supernatural.
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This is a great take on the prompt. I need a part 2–what happens next?!? Great work!
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Very well written. I agree, I love the supernatural element, you handle it so steadily.
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Mexican Wine
I lost a sentence I wrote last night. I tried to rewrite it but couldn’t make it work, and so now I’m waiting in line at the missing sentence department. There is a woman in line ahead of me. She’s crying. When my turn comes, I ask about my lost sentence.
The clerk points to two boxes of sentences one labeled good, the other bad. I search both without success. When I leave, I find the same woman standing outside, she’s still crying. I smile and say, “I could write a sentence for you. Just tell me what you want it to say.”
“And?” she says.
“And, I’ll write yours if you’ll write mine, or we could just share a glass of Mexican wine.”
“Hey, that’s a nice sentence. Do you mind if I borrow it? I already know where it goes.”
“Sure,” I said, “just don’t lose it.”
149 words
@onegoodmove
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Oh, I really like this one. Loved the concept from the opening line.
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Thanks
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Fabulous concept! I wish there was a missing sentence department, though if there were I’d be down there every other day! Great story.
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I’m not sure how it is that they so often go missing. I’m careful, I write them, I back them up, I cherish them and yet.
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What a fun and creative take on the prompt! I have lost a few sentences myself. Tracked changes and “edit-undo” are my friends. 🙂 Great work!
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Superb. Loved this.
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I really liked this, what a wonderful light flow and rhythm.
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LOL. This one is fantastic. I do enjoy stories that play with abstract concepts as if they are tangible items. Reminds me of the Phantom Tollbooth. And the way it circles the prompt and lands on it is beautiful.
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@stellakateT
#flashdog
160 words
One Glass, Two bottles.
Everything looks better at the bottom of the glass. To be honest I’d probably say at the bottom of two bottles of wine. I savour the time between opening the first and finishing the second. In the beginning I feel the heady excitement of the first sip and at the end I’m inebriated, that’s a posh word for being drunk but only alcoholics get drunk and I’m not that.
I send for my wine via the internet so the local shops don’t see how much I purchase. It’s only the delivery man and I that know. Collecting the children from school I stop at the bottle bank depository so the house isn’t cluttered with the empty ones. I like a tidy home.
“It’s your liver” my doctor says
“It’s cirrhosis of the liver” the consultant responds
My skin is yellow but I’m happy, I’m never alone when I’m with my wine glass. Maybe one day I’ll see the children again.
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The way this unfolds is masterful. Great story, Stella.
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God. The line ‘My skin is yellow but I’m happy’ made me shudder. Excellent work.
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Wow, this is a very powerful and sad story. Great work!
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Oooh, how sad. 😦 But in a well-told story sort of way. 🙂
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I really love the rhythmic repetition here – that did a lot to highlight the urgency in an unusual way. nicely done.
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Thanks. 🙂
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The Hum of Falling
The hydraulic press chewed the aluminum sheet then molded it into a sellable part. He watched as the goliath purged the items into a plastic bin at fifty-four revolutions per minute. He smothered a yawn. Ten hours of his ambition and sanity gutted daily, like a decorative pumpkin.
At break time, a lanky menace droned on about the Mexicans and any other non-white that wouldn’t kneel before the Confederate flag emblazoned on his mud-skimmed truck window.
He annihilated a bologna sandwich as his cadre of lackeys squawked at every corrupt morsel that spilled out of his outdated mouth. Daniel observed in silence, nibbling on grapes, while waiting on the time clock to sing its song of escape.
At home, he opened a bottle of red and spoke to the silhouettes crawling on the walls. They discussed art and gastronomy. Symphonies and poetry.
Daniel eventually bade them farewell and set his alarm.
He dreamt of being swallowed by uncouth machines.
@Blukris
#FlashDog
159 words
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“He annihilated a bologna sandwich as his cadre of lackeys squawked at every corrupt morsel that spilled out of his outdated mouth.” This sentence is exactly what I’ve come to expect in your writing and look forward to. “At home, he opened a bottle of red and spoke to the silhouettes crawling on the walls.” Beautiful. This was a fantastic read!
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Many thanks, Grace. Your comments are always appreciated
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I agree with Grace. Great stuff. Amazing writing, and a beautiful story.
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Thank you for reading and commenting, Voima.
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“Ten hours of his ambition and sanity gutted daily, like a decorative pumpkin.” I wish I could come up with such creative and original imagery; so impressive. 🙂
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Thank you, Tamara. Appreciate the feedback
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The paragraph starting “At home,” is yum, yum. Felt this was probably 75% (re: 99%) autobiographical, so me likey.
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Thank you!
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Great story. I love the line “Ten hours of his ambition and sanity gutted daily”. I think most people will be able to relate to this a little.
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Thank you, David!
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Sad, poignant story; I hope Daniel eventually finds a way out.
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Thank you!
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This is so powerful I could almost see Daniel’s soul being swallowed by the uncouth machines. Excellent story. Haunting.
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Thank you!
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Very inventive and original, love the last line.
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So many lines and phrases that were poetry here. I think my favorite was his discussion with the silhouettes crawling on the walls. And the final line. Very nice. I can taste his life as if it were my own.
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Unholy Communion, by Mark Driskill
Wc. 155
“…and of the Holy Spirit, amen.” The words from Reverend Prince’s mouth seemed as sour and stale as the bread and wine going into mine.
“You sure we’re okay now? I mean, after what we did?”
“Son, listen, I’ve been doing this for years. We’re covered!”
“But we killed a….”
“An evil man who had to be punished. Trust me. We’ve done God a favor. Your soul is fine.” Then he just stared at me, as if waiting for something.
I stood there telling myself that he was telling the truth. I had learned about religion from him. But can bread and wine cover a murder?
“Wait, I feel funny. What’s wrong with me?”
Sinking to the floor I clutched onto his robe. “What did you feed me?”
Reverend Prince stood over me with a demonic grin, holding my empty glass. “Oh look at the time. Confession starts in an hour. I’d better clean up.”
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Funny!! And dark. Nicely done, Mark! I enjoyed this!! 🙂
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tanks
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Oh, the evil! I love it. 🙂
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Thank you.
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“The Betrayal”
by Michael Seese
159 words
“I’ll wait.”
A sunset, like a glass of Cabernet, never lasts long enough. At least the taste lingers. Though he knew Sophie was trying to help, Tom wanted to enjoy both in silence, unsullied by empty promises. Or hope.
“Thirty years isn’t that long.”
An incarcerated man, like a glass of Cabernet, longs only to breathe. He tacitly refused her extended hand. Why dream of warmth, when time—like his offshore accounts—had been frozen? Lying in their bed, Tom spent many sleepless nights wondering how the Feds found out.
The glance at her watch confirmed it.
“And with good behavior—” She coughed a little, then put a napkin to her dry lips. The spot of blood caught her by surprise. She looked at Tom, unaware that her face had taken on a shade not unlike his final swallow, which he now swirled contentedly.
Revenge, like a glass of Cabernet, is dry, yet somewhat sweet. And the taste lingers.
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“A sunset, like a glass of Cabernet, never lasts long enough.” Fantastic opening. Enjoyed this read.
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Very nice job, building a lot of story with wonderful description.
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Great last line! You created a very complex story in few words. Nice job!
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Oh, I like the use of the line “And the taste lingers.” It ties the sunset, the wine, and the act of revenge together so perfectly. As always, terrific story.
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Compromise
He sat on the veranda and uncorked a bottle of Merlot. He never developed a taste for wine and always pined for the spices in rum, but it didn’t seem right to drink rum again after giving it up for over fifty years.
She’d hated alcohol. He loved it. Wine became the compromise. They survived fifty years of marriage on compromises like dropping red meat instead of becoming vegetarian, fruit juice instead of soda, bike rides instead of runs. These things helped him reach ninety. Unfortunately, they hadn’t worked on her.
He stared at the waning sunlight and contemplated his waning life. He thought of everything that led him here, to the life of an old man alone in a lake-house. His veins palpitated with the realization that he never accomplished anything he’d wanted to. His life boiled down to compromises.
That fact hit him, and he wept alone in the twilight. He missed the rum. He missed his wife.
@goldzco21
#flashdog
160 words
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Poignant and moving. Great tale in so few words.
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Such twisty, true emotion wrapped up in here. Great story.
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Such a lovely and sad tale. Great work!
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The sadness here is palpable, quite devastating. Good stuff.
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Close of Day
146 words
@el_Stevie
The drink had been abandoned; its power evaporating, draining away with the last of the light. Silence drifted along empty corridors, staking its claim to rooms where laughter had once echoed and voices had sung the songs of life. Stillness was its consort and isolation its child and together they stalked the last of those who dared disturb them; overwhelming this erstwhile-patriarch with their presence and driving him out into the darkling light.
This was the day he had hoped would never come but he had gambled everything and lost. At least his wife and son would be spared the knowledge of his failure, his humiliation; sightless eyes could not see his shame, they could rest easy.
Nothing was left to him now, nothing but the shadows that gathered at the edge of the lake. And they had been waiting for him for a long time.
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Creepy – I wonder what the ‘shadows’ are, and I’m touched by the emotion in the second paragraph.
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Thank you.
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What a very dark last paragraph. Loved it. Also thought that first paragraph was fantastic. Really well written story. Well done.
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Thank you.
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Powerful, dark story. It gave me chills.
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Thank you
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Subjective Sepia
Six sips and here I sit beneath the firmament. This hour of day mourns as if retracing my steps, school bus yellows and the sky’s gradation into boardroom blues with a filter of grey. There’s texture in the trees, a certain weight to the scene, mimicking the heft of my sodden soul.
A canvas of silence as I sip to forget.
They say time heals all, though, I’m not sure who they are. Or if they’ve ever experienced a life of rejection. Day after day, leaving only rote remnants that nearly tuck you closer into the depths of a long season’s decay.
To the onlooker, I’d be part of this vignette, this art of life. I’d be another pretty shame. Colors and brushstrokes to ooh and ah as intangible as the setting scene before me.
All the words he spoke and nothing ever said. I’ve one last sip ready for my lips before night settles in, and all begins again.
160 words
@blackinkpinkdsk
#flashdog
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Stunning, stunning imagery. I’m in awe. 🙂
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Thank you for always taking the time to comment means a lot.
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I felt her ache the whole way through. You have a deft touch with emotion, just enough to slug the reader in the gut. But not excessive.
“I’d be another pretty shame.” So potent.
“A canvas of silence as I sip.” Yes, please.
I could pull quotes all day long. Stellar work, Grace
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Thank you, Chris%
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Somber and gut-punching. The musing on the cliche adage “time heals all wounds” is wonderful.
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Yeah took a chance with the cliche. Thanks for reading!
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‘…the heft of my sodden soul’ – what a beautiful phrase. I love the language throughout this story. Gorgeous!
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So glad you enjoyed reading, thank you!
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Wonderful first paragraph painting life’s stages in the sky’s colours.
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Thank you!
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How do you do it? Your images and language amazes me every week.
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Such a lovley commet. Thank you! I’m not exactly sure though. Just the crazy that knocks atound in my head, keeps me up at night untill I jot it down. 🙂
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This is such a beautiful portrait of pain. It is so moving and lovely. Incredibly touching.
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Thank you kindly for taking the time to read and comment!
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This really is something a bit special, isn’t it. Well done.
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In Vino Veritas
Every year on our anniversary, I take two glasses of wine onto the deck to watch the sunset, as we always did. I relax in my deck chair and enjoy it—and the wine. I sip mine, to make it last, and I set your glass on the rail, where you always placed it while we chatted amid the dying moments of light.
A good thing our little getaway is so remote. I can just imagine what a neighbor might think seeing me talk to myself.
I feel compelled to keep you apprised of what’s transpired in the last year. You’re a remarkably attentive listener, much better than you were in life. I haven’t reached the point where I supply your side of the conversation, though, because, well, that implies madness.
I talk, you listen, I savor the wine. Perfection. I raise your glass to the lake, so deep your body will never surface.
‘Til next year, darling.
@unspywriter (Maggie Duncan)
158 words
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Haha! Oh, you’ve woven just the right amount of suspicion with this tale. Great read!
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Thanks!
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I spluttered at the line about the lake… until then I was thinking ‘aaw! What a sweet tale!’ But of course, pulling the rug out is so much more fun. Great work!
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Thanks! That’s what I was hoping for. 😉
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Almost missed the twist as you painted the picture of a mourning wife so clearly that I was fooled utterly until that line ‘so deep your body will never surface’. Neatly done.
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Thanks!
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A well-woven tale with an unexpected ending. That wine is complex and sweet with an acidic aftertaste. Ha ha! Great job.
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Thanks! 😉
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Well done and oh so subtle (I missed it the first time) Bravo!
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The Third Half
Laura spotted her, glass in hand, whilst they were attendant upon her in her grief en masse; the flock. Their eyes met from across the crowded room.
“It was good of you to come,” Clare said.
“You flagged it with me,” was the response. “To pay my respects.” Eyes watched over them as they exchanged their pleasantries.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Laura said simply, finally, into the void.
Clare paused. “He loved you, you know.” Silence filled the gap. “I always knew it. Our third half. Pretty inopportune.” There was a wry half smile from the woman.
Laura shook her head – deflecting the suggestion. “He made his choice. He stayed. You had your years together. I would have taken that if I could.”
“Whilst his heart was with you,” was the answer. There was little else to say. They turned from each other afresh, to mingle – united in their loss of the man they had lain to rest.
@FallIntoFiction
#FlashDog
(160 words)
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That has got to be a less than desirable situation. Nicely done.
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Definitely less than ideal! Thanks very much.
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Marvelous scene, I could see this. Beautifully done.
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Thanks, Voima!
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A remarkably civilised exchange, given the circumstances – great story.
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Thanks very much!
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Eternal Blessings
I set the chilled Priorat on the banister. The lingering aromas of licorice and brandied cherries still fresh on my breath. The evening was complete. The night was just beginning.
“The last rites … exquisite. Just as he would have wanted them,” Kathrine stated with a solemnness that beset the occasion.
“Yes,” I replied. “After such prolonged suffering, it is good to see him off on such a beautiful evening.”
“Herman was a pragmatist, wasn’t he?”
“Even down to his last moments. He orchestrated everything. That was his way.”
“I do wonder how he planned this sunset as his last.” She looked up. Her eyes remained locked on mine.
“Was the sunset for him, or for you?” I chuckled as I stepped closer: my arm gently pulling her near.
“Herman did love me.”
She nestled her head against the inset of my shoulder. I kissed her forehead. “You were the world to him,” I said. “And now you are mine.”
160 word count
http://rogershipp.wordpress.com/
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Oh, nicely done! I always enjoy a slight twist to a tale.
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Thanks, Grace
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This flows so smoothly, the detail work is exquisite. “She nestled her head against the inset of my shoulder.” I enjoyed this. 🙂
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And Yet (160 words)
@brett_milam
In that moment between being and not being, Julian knew it was useless to try to prevent the not being. The moment something; life, a thought or a glass of red wine poured from a bottle, it was in the process of not being.
As it would end. All things would end. And yet.
Julian sipped, knowing that he was stacking the odds further in favor of the not being, reducing the wine only to a memory of its smell, the way its taste embedded within the layers of his tongue and the way at that moment, he knew he was seeing the most unique sunset; a shared collective oneness with all who saw that shading into the not being, as the sunset would end, too.
These memories, too, would end, a nothingness in the void he left behind.
And yet. There was something pulsing in the in-between. Some force, almost faint, stubbornly refusing the not being.
So, Julian sipped.
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This is so well done. The paradoxical allusions of existence beautifully painted. Such an enjoyable read!
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Thank you, Grace, I’m glad you liked it!
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So, so good. A seamless interplay of words that, once written, make me forget that they’ve been written, and just are. Well done.
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Thank you, Tamara!
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I like this a lot. It has lovely rhythm. Even that enormous sentence in the middle is structured so well it rolls of the tongue. For me the line “Julian sipped, knowing that he was stacking the odds further in favor of the not being” embodies the inner turmoil of an alcoholic.
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Thank you, David!
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‘reducing the wine only to a memory of its smell.’ Lovely line. This is beautifully written. I’ve read it more than once now and enjoyed it more each time.
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Thank you!
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With an Empty Cup and an Open Heart
147 words
@mishmhem
Michael looked at the setting sun, knowing he didn’t have that many left. The doctors had given him less than a year. How do you cram a lifetime of parenting into such a short time? His son was only six now, not old enough to understand, but what about when he was twelve? Sixteen? Twenty-one…
He let his breath out as he felt the weight of wanting to be there for his son, all the while knowing he couldn’t.
He filled his glass and began writing the advice he hoped he’d give his son but couldn’t.
“Life is finite; Love infinite.
Plan for the future, but don’t forget the now
Love with all your heart, even if it’s breaking
Don’t get lost in the ‘could have beens’.
Greet each day with an empty cup and an open heart.
They will be filled.”
He hoped it was enough.
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I think I’ll memorise that italicised paragraph… what beautiful advice. This is a gorgeous story.
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Thank you! I’m trying to keep them in mind as well 🙂
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‘Greet each day with an empty cup and an open heart’ such a beautiful phrase. Very emotive piece, struck a chord as I thought of the loss incurred by some of my own family.
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Wow, this is beautiful in so many ways. Those are words to live by, for all of us. Thank you.
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Optimist Prime
158 words
@mishmhem
“Is the glass half empty or half full?” The philosopher asked as the students filed past the podium. “You all know that question, and you know it is your outlook and experience that shape your answer… The optimist says it is half full, the pessimist says it is half empty…”
“And they’re both wrong,” he heard one of his students quip.
“And why is that?”
The student stepped forward. Thomas. He should have know, Thomas was a pragmatic engineer- and he got at least one of them per class.
“The artist sees the light and contrast
“The spiritualist sees the void
“The engineer sees a glass too large for the quantity provided
“The Physicist sees a glass that is full of different things
“While The Server sees a glass in need of topping off.”
“And what do you see?”
“Sand…. Heated to a temperature of 2,500 degrees Celsius formed and then allowed to cool.”
Sadly, he was right.
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I love this small tale about perspective and how it affects perception. Excellent. 🙂
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Oh I loved this. I particularly liked the idea of a pragmatic engineer. Plus there is always one student who is the bane of their teacher’s life. Great story.
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I was talking to my dad, and he said he’d heard all of them… except the bit about the sand. Glad you liked and, yes, there is always at least one in ever class. Sometimes I think its a prerequisite.
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I love this take on the prompt–and your many-perspective descriptions of the wine glass. Very fun! Great work.
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Great take on perspective. There really is one of those students in every class.
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The Scent of Strawberries (158 Words)
@SarahCain78
Poor darling, you’re so pale. With surprise, no doubt. You didn’t notice the scent of strawberries in your wine. That’s unfortunate.
Did you wonder how I knew?
You never were good at keeping secrets. I saw her in the lobby, pretending to be disinterested, but her eyes gave her away. She had voracious eyes. In the end you would have been miserable. I did you a favor. You’ll never know.
I knew you married me for my money, but did you really think I wouldn’t find out about her or your plans? Murder for gain is so tawdry.
You were clever to wait as long as you did. I’ll flatter myself and say we had some good years. But all good things do end.
You always said you were deathly allergic to strawberries. If I hadn’t just watched you asphyxiate, I wouldn’t have believed it possible.
Pity. I’ll finish my glass of pinot noir and call for help.
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Oh, the pithy tone of this makes the whole thing that much more sinister. Well done.
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Thanks, Margaret. Appreciate your kind words!
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I love the last line! Totally brilliant.
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Thanks so much. It was fun to write.
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So she beat him to the killing, what a marriage that must have been with both watching each other. A complete story in so few words.
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Thanks a lot!
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Brilliant voice. You always manage to create such authentic voices. Great last line.
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Thanks so much. Literary murder is fun.
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I don’t know why but the “You should have known” type stories in first person perspective are intriguing and very revealing when done right (yes, Ms ‘I hate first person’ admitting to liking something in first person, please don’t tell anyone 😉 ) Well done and just so… shivery.
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Thanks so much! 🙂
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Your writing has the feel of well scripted film noir.
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The world spun around me, twisting the blurry fog of drunkenness which I had worked so hard to cultivate into an exquisite sharpness that cast my failure into sharp relief. As I fell, the claret followed me, tilting into the perfect sunset behind the stupendous harbor that lay at the feet of the miraculous city where I’d betrayed myself. Three days was all it had taken. Three days from the soft bounce of wheels on tarmac to the silky caress of a stranger’s lips to the hard crunch of bone on speckled stone. I tried to call for my wife, but I couldn’t find the words, and the words couldn’t find her, not now, now that she was so far away.
The girl had been beautiful, there was no doubt. As remarkable in her own way as the cabernet which was mingling with my blood on the balcony. I wondered how long it would take to trickle over the edge.
160 words
@drmagoo
#FlashDogs
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I love the closing image, gruesome as it is. Awesome take on the prompt.
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I love your descriptive language–I can really feel his angst. What a great last line, too! Great work!
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Terrific images. Gut wrenching story.
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FULL
DJ Chapman, 12-12-14
WC = 149
Bathed in refracted, transparent shades of burgundy from a wine glass placed on a sunny window sill, my husband appeared divine. That thought materialized as the purpling effect shrouded his strong farmer’s shoulders, and his head became encircled in brilliance like a Michelangelo painting.
Perhaps I shall leave a half-full glass of wine out more often to catch the rays of waning sunlight. I have always considered my husband a diamond in the rough; a good, solid , conservative fellow with the sort of humor that catches one off guard and exercises the abdominals royally in a deep release of inhibition: akin to the effect of a good wine. I am blessed.
The glass of wine, half-full, has become a fixture in our home. To see into my husband’s soul warms my own. And the brilliance about him appears in daily activities as he stewards both animals and friends.
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This is lovely.
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Thank you, Margaret!
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Talk about mood lighting. A very nice portrait… painted in burgundy.
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Thank you, MT!
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Wow, this is so beautiful! I love the way you capture real life and real love. Fabulous work.
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Thank you, Annika!
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“Of All My Friends” (143)
Cooper Glosenger
Of all my friends’ wedding, this was the shittiest.
The DJ was Lou-Bin’s cousin (you cheap bastard).
The wine was painful… at a winery! But I guess bad vino comes from somewhere.
It drew me to the one and only bathroom… unisex. I waited a half hour.
Only saving grace: that maybe-the-one in line behind me: funny, sassy, afro’d, dressed in all white.
But first, something disgusting had to happen.
I would never normally wipe a stranger’s poo off a toilet seat – I’m a sniper, I’m exempt – but this was a special circumstance, and I had to make the right impression.
With scrubbed hands and a bright smile, I opened the door…
She was gone.
And I touched poo for Lou-Bin’s cousin: “Hey bro. You blow it up?”
Time to scrub my brain too: “I’ll try the Chateau Jack Daniels… neat”.
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Ha! Some stories just touch you in all the right places.
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Lol. This has some great humor and a good comedic conflict at its heart. It’s the anti-romantic take.
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*lol*. So funny!
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Ha, funny; the things you do to impress someone!
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I love the ‘Chateau Jack Daniels”
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Hilarious!
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The Twilight Embrace
Evan Montegarde
157 words
The wine glass reflected my gathered thoughts and the dying sun, more half empty than full.
I had tasted the poison on her glistening red lips gladly. My love of this world had vanished; a casualty of a life lived too long and too fast.
“Kiss me, kiss me hard,” she tempted even though I knew our fate was sealed.
Our lips locked while the rushing feelings, the softness and the sweet taste, laced with death mingled between us.
As I died, she died with me, in my arms. We fell together to the deck as the sun’s last golden rays set in the darkening sky.
Then they came for me, the hum of the portal, and the glow of the tunnel. I rose from my brief slumber and saw her there, sprawled before me in the bliss of the beyond.
They would ask me why and I could only say I knew now what love was.
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Many tales of poisoned loves this week, but I like the language here, the mysteriousness of it all.
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Thanks Margaret. Wine glasses backed by a sunset bespeak of love I guess. Even love of the poisoned kind.
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Great story! I loved this line: “A casualty of a life lived too long and too fast.” Now I want to know what’s beyond the portal!
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“Now I want to know what’s beyond the portal!” So do I :)! Thanks for the nice comment. A wine glass apparently can say so many different things to so many people.
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The Last Drink:
The brilliant orange sunset fails to improve my mood. No wonder of nature can bring back what is being lost.
The earthy flavors of the Bordeaux entice my tastebuds to rebel against the melancholy.
“What monsters could ban this?” Emily asks.
I stretch out my legs and enjoy the last drink. “The kind that think their Gods have nothing better to do than care if we have a drink.”
“Savages.”
It’s hard to disagree.
Our time runs short. The theocracy henchmen will be here soon. They said we had until the last rays of the sun left the sky to dispose of the giant list of things the primitives hate: books (other than one), alcohol, EVOO, free thought, and yoga pants.
I finish my last drink. Emily is sipping hers as the light fades.
I hear an engine pull up, and the sound of boots coming towards us.
“Babe, time to finish.”
She stands. “This life won’t be worth it.”
@michaelsimko1
160 words
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I laughed out loud at the EVOO – a comedic telling of a not-so-comedic alternative reality. I agree with the last line, on behalf of yoga-pants clad moms everywhere.
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Orwellian and Bradbury-esque, sometimes I think we’re there already. There will always be a list of things to be banned, just depends what’s in and what’s out at the time; agree with the yoga pants. Nice story.
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To Free thought … and yoga pants! Well done
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This a good comedic story about a very horrible alternate universe. I agree with Emily. Life without books, wine, and yoga pants? No way. Well done.
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One Grey Night It Happened…
This morning, I found myself humming “Puff The Magic Dragon”.
As a kid, I loved that song. I used to play the single incessantly on my sister’s Dansette. But one day she smashed it on her bedpost, threw me out of her room and slammed the door.
I began scribbling stories about Puff, with me as his companion. Fifteen years later, I wrote my Pulitzer Prize-winning novel and married my agent.
Until cancer took Claudette, the story of our life together lasted 33 years; through the ups and downs, it remained a page-turner to the end. Like a book that weaves its way into your soul, it left me wanting more.
I never read or wrote another.
I sold up and bought this place overlooking the sea. I called it “Honalee”.
On our anniversary, I pour two glasses of Malbec, place one on the verandah and raise a toast, as the sun frolics in the autumn mist.
@GeoffHolme
Word Count: 159
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What a unique take, weaving Puff into a crisp bio. Love the last phrase!
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I love the last line. Very evocative! Though I don’t thank you for putting ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ in my head!
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Puff has a special place in my heart; hearing the song now still brings a lump to my throat. Loved how you wove the lines and references of the song into your story.
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God and Good Wine
[159 words]
From the porch, nothing except nature remained, out to the horizon. Skyscrapers tinted red with sunset had vanished instantly.
“You got rid of the city?” I asked uneasily. “How?”
Renee didn’t bother getting out of her Adirondack chair. “I have certain powers,” she said, shrugging.
“Who are you to just wipe out an entire city?”
“Who are they to just build a city here?” She swirled her wine glass and tilted it toward the distant mountains. “Look at that amazing view.”
“It’s beautiful, but what about all those people? Are they dead?”
“Not dead. They just… never existed.”
“And could you bring them back?”
“Of course! Tomorrow, maybe. I just need to pause and reflect.”
She poured me a glass. “It’s a lovely Shiraz.”
The fruity red wine wafted through my nose, and played on my tongue. I looked through the refraction of the wine glass to see the sunset, the distant mountains, and the whole Earth contained within.
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Oh, I love this, the idea behind it. A snapshot of a bigger story with intriguing world building. The idea that God or god or gods just go *POOF* and we don’t exist, or we do…thought-provoking!
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Fantastic – the whole world in a glass of wine, and a brilliant concept of creating and uncreating. I loved it!
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Interesting. I moved out of the city because I didn’t like being that close to that many people… how much easier it would be to just … turn them off for a while. Very interesting and very well done.
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Broken Spirit
By Anna Elizabeth
wc – 150
@annae394
I have a habit of leaving my wine glass on the balcony railing. You’d always warn me against it – something about the glass falling and breaking on the rough concrete below.
I’d tell you “It’s just glass. There are plenty more in the house.”
“There are only so many. They’re running out. Every glass broken equals one less to make memories with.”
“A smashed glass makes memories just as well, possibly even better than a whole one.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re not.”
You told the truth. I know that now.
Too many broken glasses.
We ran out.
And just like those broken glasses.
I lost you too.
You fell.
Crushed into the concrete.
I realise now.
That you’d tried to tell me.
You weren’t afraid of the glass smashing.
You feared the distance you’d fall.
And without thinking I brought it closer.
For that I’m so, so sorry.
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Beautiful. Poetic. Sad. My favorite things in flash. Really beautiful.
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Thank you so much! 🙂
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Sometimes a glass is just a glass… sometimes, not so much. Very poetic.
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So lovely and sad. Great work!
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Plum Horizons
157 words
The tide nudges me across the infinite ocean. The waves strike my face repeatedly as I drift across the mysterious waters. My eyes snap open as I register my surroundings—only a splashing landscape of plum. The deep ocean gleams under the golden sunset and a lavender mist settles over the silent waters. The air is perfumed with a soothing, fruit-like sweetness. It’s both breathtaking and terrifying.
Fear clouds my mind as I frantically search for an exit, trying to stay calm while my heart beats madly in my chest. Suddenly, my world lurches. I’m flung high and far through the shimmering rays of the sun, as I watch the delicate waters defy gravity. I feel faint as I plummet, panic overflowing me. I try to scream, but no sound escapes. The waters loom nearer and…
I wake abruptly, knocking the wine glass off the balcony, and watch my dream fall and splinter into a million pieces.
by Elise Swiftling
Age 11
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I love your use of descriptive language! The ending took me by surprise. Wonderful work!
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What a palette of colors! Plum and golden and lavender. I can practically smell the “soothing, fruit-like sweetness” of the air. What an empirical, powerful dream. The final line is startling, it fits the feeling of a sudden awakening. Love the double imagery of the dream and the wine-glass both splintering into a million pieces. Extremely well done! 🙂
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Wow! You are only 11? How is that even possible? Such beautiful imagery, rich in color and emotion! This is wonderful.
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I loved how you concluded your story by linking the dream to the shattered wine glass, and your imagery throughout is exquisite. (And you’re 11?!)
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Beautiful writing. I like the delicacy of your phrases (the tide nudges me across the infinite ocean) and the images created (splashing landscape of plum). And to be able to do this at just 11yrs – remarkable.
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Beautifully written, Elise. Your imagery is lovely, and your last line is terrific.
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@MattLashley_
141 words
Internet Dating Makes Me Nervous
Quarter ‘til eight.
The naked woman reflected in the entryway mirror holding the hammer and a glass of fine, grocery store box wine has a pale, squishy belly that looks like a thick slice of Wonder Bread dipped in milk. I pretend she’s not me. She smiles. Her teeth are nice. Probably uses whitestrips.
Ten ‘til eight.
A stoned marching band bass drummer has taken up residence in my chest. My heartbeat is heavy and out of sync. Wonder if this one will live up to his macho chatroom persona? MommasBadBoy666, GitHerDone69 and TheRibbedTickler were all strikingly, STRIKINGLY disappointing.
Five ‘til eight.
I’m shaking like a D-list celebrity in rehab. Gulp the wine. Toss the glass. Dim the lights and slip into the shadows. I expect DangerRanger82 will be just as pathetic as the others. And just as easy to kill.
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Ha! So good! I love the striking imagery; I don’t think I’ll ever see Wonderbread the same way again. What an awesome twist at the end. Well done! 🙂
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Ooh! Well done – was NOT expecting the twist. That wonder bread image is one I’m not likely to forget.
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Ha! Fabulous last line. Well done; I enjoyed this.
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Some fantastic images created here, I especially like the ‘pale, squishy belly that looks like a thick slice of Wonder Bread dipped in milk’. I also like the way in which you fool us by creating this image of a nervous woman and then so neatly turning her into a serial killer.
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See… I *knew* something was up when she was holding the wine and the hammer…. one of these does not go with a date… unless of course well… where my mind would go when mixing blind date with a hammer. (Too much Beatles as a kid?) Well done.
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Oh wow. What a great twist. That Internet dating is a killer! Well done.
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Jennifer Ricketts
@pearlofagirl30
146 words
I blush when he takes the wine glass from my hand and places it on the porch railing. The air crackles with electricity. He sweeps my hair over my shoulder, and then his lips meet mine – tender at first then becoming more urgent.
Guilt threatens to tear us apart while lust and longing pull us together.
Sorrow brews between us. Our kiss is full of unsaid goodbyes, unfulfilled hopes, and shattered dreams of what can never be. But there’s also volumes of love there. If there’s one thing I want more than anything, it’s for this kiss to never end. He breaks away before I’m ready.
“If only everyday could be like this,” I whisper, hoping to stretch out our last minutes together.
“Me, too,” he murmurs into my hair and holds me closely.
I stand, gather my things, and walk away without looking back.
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Sweet. The romance novelist in me approves and is distraught, all at the same time.
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A Brief Encounter for the twenty-first century… Great story.
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Wow. You packed a lot of emotion and yearning into that! well done!
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(This may be too late)
In Memoriam
Caitria braced herself on the stone railing encircling Rosetta Vineyard’s primary terrace. Rolling vines carpeted the land below her, shadowed by seamless clouds gathered on the horizon. Oddly poignant, sunlight pierced the remaining wine in her glass, dappling the stone with carmine.
Her fingers curled around the glass, index finger tracing the vineyard’s crest, and Caitria sighed. She lifted the wine skyward, then tilted the glass, pouring three distinct sips onto the land for the man whose dream survived him.
The man who’d taken her under his wing when she was young enough not to know she needed him.
The man who’d cultivated her dream while fighting for his own.
The man whose own son had turned his back on the vines he’d grown alongside, preferring a fancy office in a skyscraper to the land.
The man who’d died so long ago, but never left her heart.
(147 words, @AriaGlazki)
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Very sweet.
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Thanks 🙂
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I liked the idea of pouring wine onto the land – it seems ritualistic, like old magic. Great imagery, too.
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Thanks, Sinead!
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That is truly beautiful, and you managed to seriously engage the senses in this tale. Well done.
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Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it 🙂
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What a beautiful word picture you paint here. I especially love the “oddly poignant sunlight”. Just lovely.
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Thanks so much, Sarah!
It’s funny, I thought this was one of my weaker pieces, so it’s great to get such positive reactions 🙂
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Shir-ash
156 words
Some say we’re the souls of the damned. We exist in eternal fire until Satan drags us above ground to help humans remember Hell.
Is it true? This roiling, folding heat that embraces me—it’s all I’ve ever known. I desperately want out, but I don’t know why.
After millennia of sliding past my fellows, persistently seeking escape from the fiery chamber, I find a fissure. In a rush I am expelled. I am transformed. I expand into lightness and float, sailing on cold currents, confined no more.
I drift for days, gradually losing altitude until I approach my final resting place of freedom. The grass? The river? No, I fall into another chamber of red. I float on the thick liquid. Sweet. Cool. I am alone.
Surely this is Heaven.
The chamber moves, sweetness crashing around me, crushing me. I’m thrown into a dark tunnel. Another, larger chamber of darkness awaits below.
Surely this is Hell.
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Wow, what an interesting take! So creative and original, and such beautiful language used. Thoroughly impressed! Great job, Annika! 🙂
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Thanks, Tamara! 🙂
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I love the language of this – so very rich! That opening pair of sentences – wow! Really love the imagery, and the Heaven/Hell sentences are a great contrast.
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Thanks, Margaret! My husband, a geologist, didn’t understand that I was talking about a volcano at the beginning, so perhaps I should have added another clue about that. Ah, well, keeping the story to 150ish words is always such a great challenge.
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Such power in your words. Loved this.
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Thank you, Marie! 🙂
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Beautiful, descriptive language. I loved the rhythm of your words and your terrific last line.
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The truth in the bottom of the glass
@geofflepard 160 words
The spotlight shone through the Merlot (‘plum deep rising on a scale of sharp berry notes’), grid-lining her hands as they pressed deep into the tablecloth, hiding the tell-tale rash. She should be floating but wanted nothing more than an anchor.
Janis stood, swaying like the drunk she never would be. Nose of the Year; Bouquet d’Or; and now the Platinum Carafe. The grand slam of wine-tasting awards.
For once she was acutely aware of the sounds. Her family’s unrestrained applause (‘unquestioningly sweet with no surprises’); her agent’s relieved metronome of a clap (‘tart, prone to an acidic after-taste’) and her rivals muted recognition (‘vinegary, mass produced disappointment’).
She pinched the bridge of her curse and joy and climbed to the dais. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen…’
Janis scanned the expectant faces, plump grapes all ripe to be picked and came to rest on her glass. ‘That,’ she pointed at her table, ‘was my last ever glass. I am allergic to alcohol.’
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I love the wine taster speak used to describe things, especially “vinegary, mass produced disappointment” for the rivals’ muted applause. Nice ending too.
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Thanks David
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I absolutely love the structure of this story and the way you wove the wine descriptions into the text–very creative and funny. Fabulous work!
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Thank you Annika
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Loved the language of the wine taster (mass produced disappointment) moving to the great twist at the end. A wine taster who is allergic to wine. Terrific!
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Thank you Sarah
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