**NOTE** Flash! Friday is on Washington, DC time, which means we’ve changed clocks for Daylight Savings. **
WELCOME!! What a fabulous week it’s been — if you didn’t catch superfreelancer Carol Tice‘s interview, chock-full of meaty publishing/marketing advice, be sure to do so (here)!!! — and I’m still rolling in laughter at #WarmupWednesday’s crazy genre mixup (for which, ahem, I wrote a poem, which may or may not have behaved itself). Y’all prove over and over again your master ability to stick your writerly tongues out at whatever challenge you’re given, and triumph over it. Here’s to doing so all over again today!
DRUM ROLL: Visiting us in our next Tuesday #Spotlight interview is clever and hilarious Jeff Gerke, who is beloved for lots of things, not the least of which includes several books for Writer’s Digest (take Plot vs Character or The First Fifty Pages for starters). I’m mentioning this now because on Tuesday, Flash! Friday will give away a prize of a professional 2-page excerpt (or query letter) critique by Jeff in connection with this interview. Will you win it??
WALL OF FLAME: The Wall of Flame is where you will find the current Ring of Fire badge holders. Starting next week, writers can begin claiming eligibility for a MARCH badge. Remember: prizes at calendar year’s end from among those with the most badges in 2015! Details here.
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Judging today is Dragon Team Two, consisting of fiery dragon captains Tamara Shoemaker & Mark King. (Be sure to follow this team on Twitter, where they cause all sorts of mayhem while salivating over your stories.) Git those stories OUTTA THE BOX, they both say. Pit your protagonist up against a heap of trouble, says Mark. Rip out your heart and give it to me, says Tamara. Don’t ask for much, do they?!
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Awards Ceremony: Results will post Monday. Noteworthy #SixtySeconds interviews with the previous week’s winner post Thursdays.
Now, grab your Muse and write!
* Word count: Write a 200-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 (min 190 – max 210 words, excluding title/byline) 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 Thursday, and your name flame-written on the Dragon Wall of Fame for posterity.
AND HERE IS YOUR TWO-PART PROMPT:
(1) Required story element (this week: character. The below character type must be the central focus of your story–NOTE: read a good description of this character type here):
(2) Photo prompt to incorporate:
Paidia’s Questions
The privileged and elected few who live here, never know the multitudes who live next door. It’s the way things are.
But I don’t know how to explain that to Paidia, my four year old daughter, as we shuffle from one alley to another, hoping for some warmth, some rest, some safety.
Moving between those who are here by choice, courtesy of drugs and alcohol; watching for those who are here by necessity, driven by schizophrenia or some other psychosis; and hoping for kindred souls who are here by economic upheavals, victims of outsourcing, downsizing, and whatever new term they dream up to explain poverty.
For most of us it’s some combination. The streets will make you crazy, even if you aren’t born to it. The streets will offer you chemicals, wearing down your resolve until a moments anesthesia from real life seems worth it. But I have to hold it together for Paidia.
Paidia, the girl next door to the president. Paidia, who is one of hundreds, maybe thousands.
Paidia wants to know if she can be president when she grows up.
I don’t know how to answer that anymore.
191 words
@CharlesWShort
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Nice work Charles, I thought you did a good job of describing life on the streets. I really like the way you opened the story up. it’s sad how some members of society have no idea of what others have to live like.
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Thank you. I saw your story just now too. Apparently we were thinking alike. Although this week I may enter a second, I see several possibilities.
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lol, yes, it seems as though we were thinking along the same lines. I didn’t read yours until after I’d posted mine, honestly, I swear, really, no kidding 🙂
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I believe you. I bet a lot of stories find this common theme.
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great write x
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Heartbreaking, beautiful, and true.
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Thank you.
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Living the American Dream, uh? Powerful story of the haves and the have nots. I hope Paidia makes it one day. Good work, Charles.
(‘…whatever new term they dream up to explain poverty.’ – human resource re-alignment?)
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We reinvent new terms as an excuse for not problem solving. Thought I would sneak in the minor scold this week.
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This is beautiful, Charles! Stark contrasts indeed. I particularly liked, “a moments anesthesia from real life seems worth it.”
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Thanks Foy.
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Charles, that third paragraph is excellent. Great last sentence. I really like this haunting piece.
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Glad you liked it.
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Touchingly true to life. Good one Charles
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Thanks.
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Sad – but somehow hopeful too – Paidia’s future is not yet decided and her father is keeping himself together for her 🙂
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Father? I pictured mother the whole time I wrote it. But chose not to specify.
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Powerful story with a truly powerful ending. What a hopeful refrain it was for me to hear as a child that even I could become president. Bitterly beautiful.
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Thank you. Yes, I started with the ending so to speak.
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I love this story and how ‘the dream’ seems even further away than it once was. Sad.
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Thanks Luccia.
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A very sad tale. You cover a number of grave issues in a short space. Very measured and highly effective.
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Thanks. The mention of the other homeless in categories is so contradictory.
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Very moving.
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Thank you.
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Hi Charles – gosh – yes – I see that you didn’t specify at all now 🙂 Might just be my slow-brain making assumptions? I guess usually we would imagine a child being with their mother. V interesting – thanks for replying – it has made me think! 🙂
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Thanks for reading. Originally I was choosing a mom to make the reader for sympathetic to the plight of trying to protect a child on the street, but it didn’t seem that was the affect so I edited it out. Now its up to the readers mind. Most homeless are men, and shelters for women are easier to find. (At least where I live.)
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Such a grim picture, true of any society I think, not just the US; sadly there will always be the haves wanting more and the have-nots just wanting a little and not even getting a chance. I don’t know what the answer is to the greed that drives the few. 😦 Very thought-provoking piece.
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True freedom is the opportunity to do for self. A land with insufficient employment then is never really free. It would be good, therefore, to return some respect to job creators. Of course, that is a moments observation to an enduring problem.
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Wow, that was amazingly well-written. You did an excellent job writing a believable inner monologue for a dispossessed mother trying to raise a child in a land of “plenty.”
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Thank you for being so complimentary.
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What a haunting ending! You show the reader so much in under 200 words here. A very thought provoking piece.
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Thanks
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In the Shadows
(209 words)
Everyday Erica looked through the gate at the fine mansion across the lush green lawn. She often wondered what it would be like to live in that other world.
She pitied those who were stuck behind security gates and cut off from society. Erica wondered how people could live like that, hiding away behind immense white walls and great pillars.
On weekends, expensive cars would pass by her as the rich attended fine dinners at the mansion. Most times she couldn’t see the occupants through the darkened windows. One time a limousine stopped for a moment, the window rolling down part way. A gloved hand held some money out of the window and a veiled woman told Erica to buy herself some food or warm clothes.
As the window slowly closed the woman told Erica that if she worked hard enough, she could have her own mansion one day.
But her cardboard box was Erica’s mansion. Ragged clothes were her fine wardrobe. Discarded food from a restaurant was her exquisite cuisine. She lived in a world that was incomprehensible to all who passed through the magnificent gates. Erica was the girl next door that lived in the shadows of privilege and wealth.
Erica wouldn’t have it any other way.
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I agree with Erica in so far as I wouldn’t in a thousand years want to run for office and live behind gates and pomp. Nicely done.
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Thanks Foy!
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very nice Erica rocks x
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Yep who is the real prisoner here? Great flash.
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Thanks TanGental
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Lovely story. It’s good to know that Erica knows what she doesn’t want her life to be like.
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Thak you lucciagray
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Very interesting perspective that I hadn’t expected at all.
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Thanks mariemck, although I’m sure this perspective will come out a few more times at least in other stories, lol.
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A strong character 🙂
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Thanks! I think it would take an exceptionally strong person to survive on the streets!
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Lovely character.
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Thanks Holly
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I like Erica’s take on life, regarding freedom and being amongst people no matter the circumstances as the real wealth, dismisses materialism for the prison it becomes.
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Love Erica’s attitude! Smooth piece, thanks for sharing!
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Such an interesting twist on the girl next door as a neighbor in a cardboard box. Well done!
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@RL_Ames
(210 words)
Cinderella
On the outside, everything seems perfect. The glare of the spotlight, the pop of a thousand flashbulbs; even they can’t see beneath the carefully crafted façade.
Behind closed doors, once they’re alone: that’s the closest they ever come to normal. But even then there’s always someone lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting, making sure she doesn’t step out of line.
At first, it had all been so thrilling: a man of such power and importance wanting her. There’d been dining and dancing, and the paparazzi seemed like a heady new drug she was quickly becoming addicted to. She’d been their new darling, a girl next door turned fairy princess, and the press gobbled it up.
But then the magic faded, and she was left with a man she barely knew and a small army of heavily muscled, sunglass-wearing, silent but unyielding babysitters.
Now she spends much of her day staring out the window at the expansive and immaculate lawns of her new home. The bars that are meant to protect her, shield her from the dangerous world seem more like a cage: gilded and beautiful, but a cage nonetheless.
She wonders what it’s like beyond her wrought iron prison; tries to remember what life was like before she was Cinderella.
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I like your twist on the story of “Cinderella.” Perhaps a life of privelge isn’t that great after all. Nice job.
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Thank you! Maybe not all it’s cracked up to be after all. 🙂
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sad but great x
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Poor Cinderella 😦 Be careful what you wish for? “silent but unyielding babysitters.” I like this line. lol
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Haha! Thanks! It made me laugh thinking of the secret service guys. 🙂
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So sad. Silent but unyielding babysitters. Lovely
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Thank you!! 🙂 Glad you liked it.
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You’ve been to see “Into The Woods”, haven’t you? Nice take on the prompt.
[ I would have thought that ‘fairy-tale princess’ would have been more accurate than ‘fairy princess’, without exceeding the word count. 😀 ]
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Guilty! Love Into the Woods. And you are totally right. Fairytale is what I meant. As soon as I posted I realized what I’d done. Thanks for reading! 🙂
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Wonderful twist on the fairytale. Can’t help but wonder how spot on this is for some people finding themselves on the pedestal.
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Thank you! I am afraid it might be true for some, unfortunately. Glad you liked it!
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Another lovely story. So now Cinderella knows why money doesn’t buy happiness. Sad.
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Thank you! So glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for taking the time to comment! 🙂
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A man she hardly knew- love that perspective on the fairy- tale. Very thought provoking.
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I will definitely take making you think for a compliment. 🙂 Thanks for reading! 🙂
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I like the words ‘…..heady new drug…….’ the trap of addiction.
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Indeed! Addiction can be so appealing…at first. Thanks so much!
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Really nice, especially the last line.
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I love when I can come up with powerful last lines. Glad you liked it. Thanks! 🙂
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Nice twist. When you describe the press action in they ‘gobbled it up’, the words brought thoughts of wolves to mind, very in keeping with your fairy tale theme.
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Thank you! I personally often tend to associate the press with wolves. 🙂
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Great descriptors. I love the fast forward of how her life transformed and her palpable regret.
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Thanks so much!!
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I’ve always agreed with this view of Cinderella, so I love this!
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@bex_spence
196 words
Window
The gate a keep, the house a hold. The boys peered through the iron railings, hoping for a glimpse of her pale moon face. she appeared at the window sometimes, a waif figure trapped in a dream. The boys rode their bikes past each day, creating stories in their minds. They imagined the house was full of secret tunnels, passages to the unknown. At home the drew up plans on graph paper, seeking for the secret entrance that would carry them to her.
She never smiled, their apparition, just stood at the dusty window, staring out to the world. One rainy day she held up her hand to the window pane, drops streaming, window crying. The creases of her palm pressed into the layers of dirt, calling for companionship. the imprint stayed for days after, though the girl didn’t reappear.
They hoped her adventures continued, that she had found a story to tell. They didn’t dream of her loneliness of her crumbling fading soul. She never made it out of the house, stayed trapped within. The boys rode their bikes past, stole a passing glance. The girl next door was gone, her window was shut now.
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Gorgeous opening line! “The gate a keep, the house a hold” I love switch to the outside peeking in at the GND. Lovely phrases throughout. 🙂
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lovely write x
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Thanks, I wanted to set the story with this.
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The creases of her palm … Calling for companionship. Nice phrasing
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There’s a beautiful rythm to the language and the story is heart-breakingly beautiful. Well done.
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Haunting and beautiful.
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Love those boys plotting a rescue mission 🙂 Sad and lovely story 🙂
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Well done!
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Oh, I wish that somehow they had got in to see her. Too much loneliness to bear, beautifully sad story.
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What a poetic and lyrical writer you are. Just lovely imagery. I adore the boys drawing on graph paper…reminds me of my daughter scheming out her plans to live in a house with her bff some day.
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Thank you for your wonderful comments.
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Haunting and beautifully done. A much larger story left in the reader’s memory.
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Why?
Ian Martyn (@IBMartyn)
207 words
I’d glimpsed her in the garden so many times, the hem of her dress caressing the manicured lawn as she strolled. Always a book in her hand, her left hand, yet I never witnessed her sitting or reading, only walking. But there was nowhere to go behind the solid walls and protective gates. I was drawn to those gates, to peer through, to watch and wonder. It wasn’t infatuation, although I admit she was pretty in a detached, unsmiling way. No, I felt sorry for her and at the same time intrigued. When you could imagine anything why imagine that? All straight lines and symmetry. Denying the blissful company of flowers and the trees the joy of leaf. And then you imprison yourself.
One day I called to her. She feigned ignorance of me. But from the way she tucked her hair behind her ear I knew she’d heard. Perhaps I should have been offended and crawled away like a jilted lover. But we weren’t lovers and I had to know. What had happened to her in life. What horrors had she had visited on her or seen, that in this of all places, she chose to shut herself away, hiding behind such modest, banal, colourless conformity.
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“All straight lines and symmetry.” Beautiful. You capture the bitter beauty of isolation well.
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great write x
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I love the point of view in this piece, that the MC is so certain that his intriguing woman chose this life, or even that this style of life could be oppressive to her. Your words are beautiful and your character so specific.
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Makes me what to hear more – Why? indeed, – and I love that this could really go anywhere if you were to write more 🙂
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I had a very vivid mental image reading this, very nice.
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A mystery I want to know the answer to. Intriguing idea that she has chosen to imprison herself in this way.
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“Her dress caressing the manicured lawn.” Wonderfully poetic. Lovely story.
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The White House Episode
by JM6, 210 words, @JMnumber6
“No one told me it would be like this,” he said in a ghostly whisper.
“That’s right. Tell it to the camera.”
“It was just a job. No one said I would have to stay here forever. I didn’t even like it when I was alive.”
The camera swung around to reveal the host.
“That’s right, folks. This is Conchita Tanaka-Smith for GHOST-STALKERS and we’re here interviewing the ghost of President William Henry Harrison, the ninth President of the United States and the first to die in office, IN THE WHITE HOUSE!”
The camera swung around to face the ghost again.
“Why? Why is my soul trapped here?”
“President Harrison,” Tanaka-Smith said, “when did you first realize that anyone who dies at the White House is bound to it for eternity?”
“Why?” the dead president kept muttering. “Why?”
“Ignore him,” another ghost interrupted.
“And who are you?” Tanaka-Smith asked.
“I’m Letitia Tyler.”
“Who?”
“Letitia Tyler, First Lady for President John Tyler, the *tenth* President. I died in the room next door to old Tippecanoe, two years after he did, and the man has never stopped complaining.”
“Cut!” Tanaka-Smith said. “Please leave. No one cares about the ghosts of First Ladies unless it’s Jackie. Okay! Let’s take it from the top!”
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Haha!! Hilarious!!
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lol nice x
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Well done! This made me laugh.
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Love this! Those last lines, ““Cut!” Tanaka-Smith said. “Please leave. No one cares about the ghosts of First Ladies unless it’s Jackie.” So perfect.
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Great. Love the spirit snobbery
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Brilliant take on the photo prompt to go inside the White House; even more brilliant take on the story element prompt! Hats off to you, sir!
‘No one cares about the ghosts of First Ladies unless it’s Jackie.’ Ha! That is so funny because it’s so true!
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Oh – this made me smile 🙂 brilliant take on the cues 🙂
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Nice, cute take on the prompt.
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Great fun. Like the put-down to First Lady ghosts unless they happen to be Jackie.
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A great piece and love the end! Thanks!
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What a fantastic parting line! This is so witty and clever.
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Learning How to Fly
We stream into school like reluctant anti-matter, trapped in the pull of a black hole. The school motto, etched proudly above the crumbling lintel, is redundant as we are compelled into the void of pointless learning.
I slouch into my splintered chair and ritually scan the room for her. It’s Tuesday and she has to wait for her dad to get in from the nightshift, so she’s late, but while our embittered teacher battles for quiet, she slips in past shelves of shabby text-books and takes her place at the desk next to me. I smile at her but her head is bowed as she takes out her books.
We have surrendered to a life behind checkouts. My kid sister still comes home dreaming of being a vet or a doctor or a princess. Truth is, in ten years time, she’ll be fighting off a STD and serving pizza. Any aspirations we had have been crushed out of us but her, this girl next door, she dares to dream; longs to shed this second-hand living, run past the gates and inhale freedom.
We never speak, but this morning she passes me a note.
‘Why don’t you come too?’
A slightly healthier 198 words
@_sarahmiles_
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Sad yet hopeful. Only 198 words but I already care very much about your characters; I hope he does decide to go with. 🙂
Also, “reluctant anti-matter, trapped in the pull of a black hole” says so so much!
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nice x
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Fighting off an STD and serving pizza. What a great way to describe aspirations crushed
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I want to know what happens next….I wish you could write part two. And three.
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Beautiful. The note feels like a life-line – would love to hear more 🙂
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I really like the ending.
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“Why don’t you come too?”
Love the completion of this. There is something beautiful about those who can dream well.
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Lovely last line – nice element of hope to contrast to the narrator’s despairing outlook.
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“We have surrendered to a life behind checkouts” is so brilliant. And unfortunately, often so true to life. Great thoughtful piece.
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Great concept, wonderfully woven.
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Western Values
I am a prisoner.
That’s what you think, isn’t it? That I am trapped by these iron gates and peer out on a world I can only dream of. To you, I am shrouded in darkness; shackled and bound. You think you hold the key.
I am dangerous.
You think I have something to hide, that I wish you harm. You cross the road, suspiciously guiding your children away from me. They point at me and ask questions and you shake your head, shrug your shoulders. I see you looking at me, judging me. But have you looked into my eyes? Do they show hate? Go on, look. Come closer. I dare you.
I am repressed.
You pity me; you think I have no life. You feel sorry for me, but not enough to ask me out. You think I should be free to go dancing, drink vodka and get laid like you do. Every weekend. Poor girl, stuck at home.
My prison walls are built with your stones. My burka is my freedom, my choice. I am your sister, your daughter, your friend.
I am the girl next door.
192 words
@_sarahmiles_
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I like how you’ve given us a statement through another’s eyes and stripped it in the next paragraph. Though not everyone who dons a burka does so b/c they’re compelled, my heart goes out to those who would consider themselves prisoners and repressed beneath that or any other religious cloth.
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great x
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Very strong 🙂
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Great piece, love the final paragraph…’My prison walls are built with your stones’ so true in so many ways.
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A piece to make you think. ‘My prison walls are built with your stones. My burka is my freedom’. Great lines.
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Fascinating take on the prompt. I like that the burka is “my freedom, my choice.” Very thought provoking.
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Role Model
200 words
Charlotte sat for breakfast, ignoring her Mother’s disapproving glare.
“Dear,” her Mother said, “can’t you make a little effort to look—“
“Look what, Mother? Like Miss Prim-and-proper next door?”
“It certainly wouldn’t hurt. She’s always well presented. Takes pride in her appearance.”
Comparisons to the Elsbeth were regular, and Charlotte had learnt to ignore them. Telling Mother about the rumors of Elsbeth’s extra-curricular activities had been pointless. The girl was as sacrosanct as the President.
“Can you remember and come straight home?” Mother asked. “The Housemans are coming over this evening.”
Charlotte nodded, finished breakfast, and ran for the bus.
§
When Charlotte got home the house was in darkness.
“Mom?”
No answer, but there was a sniffle from the front room. Her mother was sat with a half-empty brandy decanter and a half-full glass.
“Mom?”
“He’s gone,” her Mother said.
“Dad?” Charlotte’s stomach lurched. “What’s happened? Where is he?” Images of a plane crash, or car crash filled her mind.
“He’s left me for someone else.”
“What?” Charlotte’s fear turned to surprise. “Who?”
Her Mother laughed, a strangled noise which turned into a bout of sobbing. She sniffed. “You’re friend from next door,” she said.
@clivetern
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Well done. Mommy got her come-uppins!
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very nice x
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Could I make a request to our Dragony leader? On the 5th line I have a rogue ‘the’. Could you amend it to read ‘Comparisons to Elsbeth’ please?
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Snap! Great twist on that one, Clive. What’s worse than being left holding two rings? Being left for your daughter’s friend next door. Gracious! I love the hint you dropped in the first section with her “extra-curricular activities.”
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Very American beauty
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Great story, Clive.
A really great mix of takes on the prompt this week.
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Ooooh – that Elspeth!! Satisfying turn around 🙂
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I like the twist at the end.
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Like it.
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Brilliant, Clive! Well done!
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Nice story.
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Such a huge story for the word count! Great twist.
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Chasing Fireflies
@laurenegreene
Word Count: 193
Growing up, I had a crush on the girl next door. She lived in the massive white house with columns. When I was little, my dad would talk about Richard Nixon and the White House, and I thought Amanda was the president’s daughter. She wasn’t the typical girl next door—no plain Jane.
She had a tongue on her, Amanda did. First, it was pigtails, mud pies, and wiffle ball games—she always beat me. Later she used that tongue, stuck it in my mouth while playing H-O-R-S-E. I hadn’t even made the first move. She had our marriage planned before I was eighteen. I was just strung along.
We live in a white house now, one without columns. My son is obsessed with his own girl next door. I told him to be careful, before she traps him the way his mother trapped me. But honestly, I don’t mind. My best memory is of us sitting on top of her Ford, catching fireflies and staring up at the moon, with her hand securely tucked into mine. Hopefully, my son’s girl next door will be as bold as mine was, and still is.
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awww I like that. fireflies and the moon is a great image.
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Thanks! Brought me back to my childhood.
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ah really sweet x
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Awww 🙂 My grandmother proposed to my grandfather b/c he was too shy. Bold women rock!
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So sweet. I love the idea of young love lasting, even though I have no experience with that personally!
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She had our marriage planned before I was eighteen. Frightening.
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I looked at it as touching! But, yeah, not for me!
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I was a little apprehensive at this point, especially after reading ‘I was just strung along.’ I took this to mean ‘I was given false hope.’ (Perhaps the ‘was’ is a typo? 😉 ) But all was well in the end. Lovely tale of young love, Lauren.
[ Maybe I’ve led a sheltered life, but I must admit that I have no idea what H-O-R-S-E is…]
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That’s lovely! Glad they’ve gone the distance. Like the idea the son is now preoccupied with his own girl next door.
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Thank you. I had fun with it. Not my usual “dark” story. Trying to branch out!
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Lovely – romantic without being sugary 🙂
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Ah, the warm fuzzies. Lovely story.
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Thanks Holly!
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Nice story of young love (and I too will admit to not knowing what H-O-R-S-E is – is it an American thing?) 🙂
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It must be American. Here’s a link. It’s a basketball game I used to play as a child. http://www.wikihow.com/Play-Horse-(the-Basketball-Game)
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Geoff Holme: For some reason, I can’t apply to your comment. But here’s a link to H-O-R-S-E. It’s a basketball game. http://www.wikihow.com/Play-Horse-(the-Basketball-Game)
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Reply, not apply. Jeez–typos!
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You know, I played a ton of horse in my basketball days, and I don’t recall that ever happening. Apparently, I was doing it wrong.
Wonderful, fun story.
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(209)
@Viking_Ma
Neighbourhood Watch
At the quiet times she would look forlornly out of the basement grill and just catch a glimpse of the most famous house in the world. She hugged her doll tightly as the morning sun shone through the white house.
The house that represented the people; well, maybe the brave ones.
The house that was the symbol of the home of the free.
Her eyes filled with the same old tears. She wasn’t brave, and had never been free.
Except in her dreams. There she prowled steaming jungles as a tiger, swam warm blue depths as a shark. She stood tall on misty hills as a gorilla, joyfully sloshed her family with red mud when an elephant.
She dreamed as animals as they were infinitely better than humans. She dreamed herself strength as the life she lived was one of weakness.
He was calling her now, his voice wheedling through her reverie. She swiped the tears angrily, and slid off the small window shelf. It was a busy day, no time to be sad. The clients didn’t like it. Clients came first, especially those from the most famous house in the world.
Some of the men who worked there paid a lot for her. Weakness was valued by some.
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“The house that represented the people; well, maybe the brave ones.” Now that’s a statement if I ever read one! I loved her escape into “steaming jungles as a tiger,” “blue depths as a shark,” “misty hills as a gorilla.”
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thank you.
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so sad but a great write x
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Nicely twisted at the end. Weakness was valued by some. Sadly too true
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depressed me after I wrote it, thanks x
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It’s a bummer when we do that, Isn’t it?
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The animal dreams were really well done Carolyn
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That second paragraph is stunning. The ending is so sad and you reveal the situation so well.
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I love the 2nd paragraph where this character is talking about her dreams – beautiful imagery 🙂
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Very sad. Powerful writing–the second paragraph is beautiful stuff.
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thank you.
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Sad and beautifully written.
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cheers Holly.
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Great word pictures, and courageous choice to talk about slavery.
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Such a sad story. Thought-provoking way of flagging up the morality/hypocrisy of those in power.
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The Doll’s House
(209 words)
Mummy Doll is in the bedroom behind the veil of the four poster bed. Daddy Doll is in the library sitting on the stripy chair. He doesn’t have the same face as Real Daddy.
Mummy Doll is taking one of her naps. Daddy Doll is reading one of the miniature books with a great big smile on his face that never fades.
Dolly Me is in the kitchen making cookies for Mummy Doll; it is important not to disturb Daddy Doll.
Now, Dolly Girl is knocking at the front door. She’s from next door.
Dolly Me doesn’t answer the door. That’s Daddy Doll’s job. Daddy Doll straightens up and jumps down each step with sack race legs.
Dolly Me doesn’t look as Daddy Doll, still smiling, pushes Dolly Girl into the livingroom. Where the computer should be, there is a tiny grandfather clock standing in the corner alongside a tiny fireplace, its warm glow painted on.
Dolly Me doesn’t hear Dolly Girl’s tiny sobs. Instead, Dolly Me rattles tiny pink pots in the tiny pink kitchen.
Dolly Me doesn’t hear Daddy Doll’s rasping whispers.
Dolly Me bends her elbows so her moulded hands reach her ears and she won’t hear Daddy Doll tell Dolly Girl, ‘Don’t tell. Don’t tell.’
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‘sack race legs’ is lovely. sad story, and dolls make it more sinister
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Thanks. I’m so glad you liked that image!
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brill x
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Ohmyword! So creepy! The repetition of the Doll names MAKES this. I want to stick lots of pins in Daddy Doll.
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Thanks, Deb. Glad you thought the repetition worked.
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You painted this picture oerftkybMarie.
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Thank you!
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I went very quiet for a moment or two… Powerful stuff, Marie. All the more so for telling the story using a child’s toys. Loved the hints of something sinister, building from ‘He doesn’t have the same face as Real Daddy.’
Top marks, Marie.
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Thanks for reading and for the detailed feedback. Very much appreciated.
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Oh – so sinister – had me enthralled. 🙂
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Thank you! I really appreciate that.
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Scary, powerful, and the format is very effective.
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Thanks, Holly. Glad you thought format worked.
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Sad, powerful, and the way a child would deal with that sort of trauma. Well done.
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Thank you!
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A very chilling story made the more so by your repetition of ‘Dolly’ throughout. Great take.
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Thanks for that feedback, Steph.
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Unnerving and addictive, great combination.
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Thank you!
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The Lady in White
Margaret Locke (margaretlocke.com or @Margaret_Locke)
202 words
He doesn’t notice me. Not really. It’s the people around me he comes to see.
Day after day, I stand here, watching, waiting for him. He’s all I can think about. Those dashing blue eyes, that shock of blonde hair. Boots that glisten in the sun.
I long to get close to him, but there are so many barriers in our way. Physical, emotional, social. He remains a fantasy. I, a wallflower.
What would it feel like for him to touch me? For me to enfold him, welcome him in? I can’t see that happening, though. The fences between us are mighty.
Sometimes I think he must feel it, too, this longing. Why else would he return, day after day?
There’ve been others before him. There’ll be others after. They flock to me, the well-adorned spectacle. They can’t stay away. But they can’t approach, either.
If only everyone weren’t so overprotective. If only I were free. I’d make myself approachable. I’d welcome him in with doors wide open.
As it is, I stand here, as I have for hundreds of years. A lonely edifice of self, serving others, but rarely seen for who I am.
I am so much more than stone.
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“The fences between us are mighty.” Gorgeous, gorgeous phrase! I love this, Margaret. So much depth and painful beauty.
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Thanks, Foy! I appreciate that.
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great x
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A lonely edifice of self. Seen everything and yet invisible to all. Super Margaret
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Thanks so much – I wasn’t sure it worked, so I’m glad a few people found it worth reading. 😉
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Love the use of the fence in the prompt, fits so well with issues of boundaries, hard, stone boundaries.
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Thanks, Josh. 🙂
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Beautiful. I too love ‘a lonely edifice of self’.
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Thanks, Marie. 🙂
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Love that you have the house as a character. Fab last line 🙂
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Thanks so much – it was fun to write it from a building’s perspective. Because I’m loony enough to like to think buildings are alive.
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Lovely, especially the last line.
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Thanks so much, Holly!
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This reminded me of “Sylvester and the Magic Pebble,” by William Steig so much! In fact, I may have to go home and read that to the kiddos tonight. Well done.
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I’ve never heard of that story – guess I need to go look it up! 🙂
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Never thought I would feel sorry for just bricks and mortar. Great job.
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Thanks so much, Steph. 🙂
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Love this. It’s a really beautiful piece and a great take on the prompt.
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Thanks so much. 🙂
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Nice take on the prompt.
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Thanks, Michael. 🙂
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One ring to ruin them all,
The vacuum in my ear matches the one in my soul. Siobhan, the girl next door, is doing our cleaning again. She screams when she rounds to the couch where least night’s dalliance took place.
She pulls her earbuds. “Gian. Why are you sleeping out here?”
“Nita, or Malinda, liked the idea.” I stand up, not caring about my lack of clothes. As a POW, we weren’t allowed clothes. If I can take batons and scorn, then I can handle being naked in front of her.
She, however, seems less comfortable with this. But she doesn’t turn away. They never do. Not since 95% of the men in our generation failed to return from the war. Not since women realized they have to trap us into marriage.
Unconsciously, I thumb the lock on my ring finger—the male chastity belt. It prevents women from sliding a ring on there and claiming me. The better girls try to sleep their way into marriage, and I’m happy to let them try. But too many of my friends have woken into marriage to not wear protection.
“Gian, a quick question.”
“Okay?”
Siobhan shoves a rag in my face. “What does chloroform smell like?”
200 Words
@michaelsimko1
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The moment I read “Siobhan” I loved this story. Chloroform use or no any MC with that name is fine by me. 🙂
“I thumb the lock on my ring finger—the male chastity belt” Great line.
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Siobhán with a fada is the irish for my name susan great write x
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I loved, “The vacuum in my ear matches the one in my soul.”
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I’m making a mental note to name every female character Siobhan from now on. 🙂 Thanks.
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That’s the only way forward. 😉
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If I can take batons and scorn.. Captures the essence so neatly.
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Thank you. I figured if we’re going middle earth death rate then capture might be the only way through it
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Love the line, “the male chastity belt.” And Siobhan, what a great girl next door. What’s she going to do with Gian? Continue…
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I really like your first line – leads us in to see what/who will force its/their way in 🙂
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And sometimes you have to force a vacuum. Thank you.
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Creepy. Neat take on the prompt.
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Very ‘Lord of the Rings’! Love the different view of protection through the male chastity belt.
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F. E. Clark
@feclarkart
#Flashdog
209 words.
International Sign Language
“Oh-mi-gawd! It’s HER” Susan stopped dead. “Look!”
A wraith like figure stood at one of the windows of The Big House.
Susan and I were on our morning march through the estate
“Do you think she speaks English?” I wonder.
“She looks SO young. That dirty auld goat.” said Susan.
“Shhh, someone will hear you.” I hiss.
The village had been rumour riven for weeks, fuelled by lack of information. The laird had a new, much younger wife, a ‘foreigner’. We had waited for the welcome party, but nothing happened, except the shiny black Landrovers zooming in and out of The Big House drive.
“So what?”
We were both looking now. The girl in the window looked down at us.
“She looks so lost and lonely.”
“No wonder, never been out of that house, no one has seen her since she arrived – he’s keeping her prisoner in there. If only we could get a message to her…” Susan was rummaging in her day pack. “Let her know she’s not alone, that she doesn’t have to be used like this……….”
“Susan.”
“She could stay in my spare room for a while.”
“Eh, SUSAN.”
I nod towards the window.
The poor child bride of Archie McLeod was giving us the finger.
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Haha! Oh that last line is perfect! Universal sign language indeed. 🙂
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brill lol x
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🙂 thanks Foy.
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I laughed out loud at that last line.
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thanks Clive 🙂
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Great combo of title and last line!
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Thanks TanGental 🙂
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Hah! Love the ending!
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Thanks Holly 🙂
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This has an almost Gothic feel…and that twist at the end! Love it!
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Thanks Voima 🙂
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Very good! love the title and how it works with the ending. ‘rumour riven’ is a brilliant description.
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So funny! I loved the ending.
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Love the twist following their assumption that all was not well with her!
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Love the build up to the surprise ending, that last line was perfect!
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@colin_d_smith
200 words
When Tessa’s parents were sent on a diplomatic mission to Nigeria, naturally she came to stay with us. Our parents were close, and she loved our white mansion and wide open fields.
I was thirteen, she was sixteen, and I crushed hard. Her long blond hair, the poise of her walk, the curve of her face. She wasn’t overtly sexual, but her subtlety, charm, and modesty drove my hormones to distraction.
This made conversation awkward at first. I’m not easy-going with girls. But she seemed to find my stumbling attempts at communication amusing, and gave me the benefit of her pity. She sat next to me at meals, and would talk to me about the food, the weather, and what a delightful home we had.
Then at night, she would visit from the room next door, clothed in her long white neck-high nightgown, and perch on the end of my bed. That was when she would tell me her secret dreams. Travel. The kind of man she wanted to marry. How she wished she had a brother so she could understand boys.
Perhaps that was why I was the only one left alive in the house the day she disappeared.
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Intriguing. I want to know more about this mysterious Tessa and her lone survivor…
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great x
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So much in this story, both before and after. I want to know more
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Mysterious – yes – I would like to hear more too 🙂
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I agree – very mysterious. And the last line is creepy. Well done!
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‘gave me the benefit of her pity’- love that.
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Oh Tessa. A killer in disguise. Were her parents really heading to Nigeria? So many questions!!!
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Creepily mysterious last line – was it her or him ‘wot dunnit’?
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Thanks everyone for the comments. I’m glad you are intrigued… 🙂
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Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda (209 words)
Rhonda’s ears were always in need of a Q-tip. She smelled like tater-tots and hand lotion which isn’t really a good combination. Rhonda was heavy. Rotunda was her nickname. I kind of was forced to go to prom with her my senior year in high school. Bummer, right? Rhonda’s dad was my dad’s best friend. My dad went to college with the guy and they lived directly behind us. My dad told me if I took Rhonda to the Senior Prom he would give me his old Chevy Impala. That was a no brainer, right? I ditched her as soon as we walked in under those goofy balloon arches, but the nerdy photographer geek snapped pictures to record my humiliation for all of mankind. She said she had the best night of her life. Crazy, huh? I took off from home after graduation and got hitched my freshman year in college. We got married while still in school because, well, we had a baby. Hey, things happen ok? Rhonda, as we all know, is the the first women President. Yes, that Rhonda. I know, right? Last night on the news she was giving a speech in the Capital Rotunda. Crazy, huh?
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What an opening Rhondas ears were always in need of a Q tip. Disgusting and you know her immediately
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Thanks, I wanted to use that line for about a year. Now I don’t have to think about it any more!
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lol great and I was born in Rotunda Hospital x
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Like TanGental said, first line = powerfully ewww. But ugly ducklings makes highly motivated swans! Is that how that saying goes? Great story. 🙂
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I like the way this character sounds puzzled as to how his life turned out. And – oh Rotunda – fab cruel nickname 🙂
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Yeah, it cracked me up when I thought of it.
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Great story.
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Yeppers, life has its little twists and turns. Rotunda. lol
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I am so glad Rhonda did so well. I really like how you created this voice throughout.
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The title kind of makes one think that maybe the narrator wanted to be “First Husband.”
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I love how Rhonda turned around (pun intended). Great descriptions, painted a mental picture for sure!
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Brilliantly disgusting imagery in that first line. So glad she turned the tables on everyone.
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Hopscotch Dreaming (210 words)
Claire has no one to play with. Sure she has all the toys any little girl could want. She receives gifts from visiting dignitaries and world leaders. Children in classrooms around the country write her as a school project and send her little things. But there is nobody her age to play with. She likes most of her tutors. The math man is a little too touchy feely and she actually may tell her mom soon. The lady that brings art supplies for “creative time” is neat even though she’s a little hippy dippy and smells like strange smoke sometimes. Claire spends the most time with “daddy’s men” as she calls them. The Secret Service agents never leave her side except when she sleeps or uses the bathroom. They don’t seem friendly because they never smile, but her mom and dad say they are her friends. Claire was thinking about that last night and she cried herself to sleep. She doesn’t want these statue men as her friends. Claire wants a girl who lives next door and wants to play like normal kids. Maybe, she wonders, if she tells someone about her daddy’s girlfriend he won’t get elected again and they can go home.
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Ha the secret power of hthe quiet child eh. Nice.
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ah lovely x
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“She doesn’t want these statue men as her friends.” This broke my heart!
Quite the scheming young brain. 😉
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I almost took the word “statue” out to stay within the limit. I’m glad I didn’t!
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Like the ‘statue men’ image……And the threat of what might happen if Claire does spill about her daddy’s girlfriend!
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Great ending!
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Daddy’s girlfriend. yea, that might do it. might not in today’s world
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You’re right Charles. It may not make a difference. Sad commentary on our moral fiber…
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Poor Claire. Her Dad needs to stop seeing the other woman and give the poor child a sibling. I felt for her! I loved the “statue men” line.
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Such a sad little girl. I hope her dad does get found out.
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Really loved the imagery here, I felt so sorry for this little girl who is probably one of the most spoiled children in existence!
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Fall Out Girl (200 words)
Sue was a daddy’s girl. When her father left for the war she was devastated. She didn’t eat for a week and missed almost a month of school. Sue refused to drive in the car with her mother because she once heard her dad mumble something about “women drivers” and she believed everything her dad said. The year before he left she had gone through some rough patches. Sue just turned thirteen and had begun to hangout and drink with some new older friends. Daddy drank with his friends, so she figured it is what one is supposed to do. When he caught her and told her it was wrong for his little girl, she never even thought of doing it again. As her little brother Joey grew older she saw him as competition. Sue would hide his baseball glove or puncture his basketball. She wanted her dad all to herself. Now her hero was gone; taken by the government to the scary places she would see on nightly news programs. She wanted revenge. The drone, she stole from Joey. The explosives, she learned how to make from the internet. Now Sue was on the evening news.
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Great build up to the climax. Quite a take on the power of envy.
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great x
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Oh no! At that painfully dangerous age. Beautifully written, makes me want Sue to redeem herself somehow….
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Steven: we’ve got a two-story limit where contest eligibility is concerned. Which two of your three would you like considered for the contest? Just note it here, and I’ll alert the judges. Thanks!
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Sorry! Please accept the first two Rebekah. While I like the fact that Sue stole her little brother’s drone to seek her distorted revenge, the third story still kind of gives me the creeps. If I had 250 words I would have written that her dad came home safely and Sue got appropriate counseling.
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Chilling story.
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America’s Got Talent
Washington Daily Star
It has been three years since the country demanded serious reform of government institutions.
“After the constitution spontaneously combusted it seemed like a sign,”- the platform of many who helped implement the be voting system.
“Hi, I’m Holly Monroe, I’m your typical girl next door, but don’t let that moniker fool you! I love to ride my bike in the mud when I’m not singing. My grandpa used to tell me I had the voice of an angel before he died. Singing saved me when I was diagnosed with skin cancer and had to have a significant portion of my leg removed. I sing through my troubles and help lift the spirits of everyone else going through hard times. If you vote for me I promise that I have the skills to keep the country happy and every day I will sing for and with our nation’s brothers and sisters across the world.”
Soon to be President Monroe, Miss Monroe’s campaign statement, along with her video of her singing “I Will Always Love You” received 189 million votes online. She follows former stand up comedian Nathan Amrite and talking dog, Sylvester, to become our third one-year term sitting president in our new post-modern democracy.
209 words
@CaseyCaseRose
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Whatever next. Democracy via big brother vote off? Laughed at this. Brill
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It seems plausible, doesn’t it? Glad it gave you a laugh 🙂
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lol great x
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““After the constitution spontaneously combusted it seemed like a sign,” Lol’ed for realz at this line. Great take on the prompt! Singing sob story presidents might not be too far off in our future.
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Thank you! I feel like at some the it feels inevitable that the constitution will feel the metaphysical desire to give up.
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Love this 🙂 Reality show sympathy-stealing-story being used to win – but not just any win – to be elected president – a terrifying thought. Fab. 🙂
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Thank you, it is terrifying to think how easily the worlds could blend 😉
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I would so vote for a talking dog. Cute story!
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I hate to admit it, but I’d vote for a talking dog too!
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Terrifying and incredibly amusing all at the same time!
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That might be the summary of my autobiography some day… 😉 Thanks, Marie!
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Oh wonderful. I so dislike the tendency of programmers to introduce ‘sob story’ elements to get the votes on these sort of shows. I like the way you’ve used that element in this election.
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Thank you, I’m glad you appreciated that. It’s tough line to walk; hating the way people’s hardships get twisted to suit their purposes but knowing first hand what a bitch cancer is.
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The Reflection
@EmilyJuneStreet
205 words
She sits beside the fountain, fresh-faced, milk-fed, sun-kissed. She wears a short gingham dress. Delicate freckles splash her nose and cheeks.
She never moves from her perch beside the fountain. A large house rises behind her, complete with columns and manicured shrubberies. No one has ever seen her enter the house.
The neighborhood boys peer through the gate to watch her, mesmerized by her tanned sleek thighs and full breasts. They make a bet about who might win the favors of the girl next door.
A bold youth climbs the wrought-iron fence. “Why do you never leave the fountain?” he asks.
Ancient sorrows tinge the girl’s eyes. “I cannot leave until my true love comes.”
“I’ll love you,” he offers like a true gallant. “I’ve been watching you so long I already do.”
“Look at my reflection,” she says. “Then tell me you love me.”
The youth casts his gaze into the fountain’s murky waters.
A deathly queen leers back at him. She wears a crown of burned love-letters, a corset made of flesh, and a necklace of skulls. Red rage swells in her eye sockets. She wields a vicious blade.
“Give me your heart,” the reflection hisses. “I have been starving for so long.”
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“A crown of burned love letters.” What a great image. Love the building up the “false image,” then that twist. Great job as always Emily. 🙂
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fab x
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Thanks Susan
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I love this so much! Not everything is as it appears. I’d love to know what the boy chose. 😉
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Interesting that you thought he had a choice…
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I love the deliciously dark fairytale feel of this story 🙂
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I love this, it reminds me of old-school fairy tales right down to how dark it is. Awesome.
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Beautiful at the outset. Awesome conclusion.
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Dark and twisted. I like it!
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Like the fairy-tale horror of this. the ‘crown of burned loveletters, a corset made of flesh, and a necklace of skulls’ – great imagery.
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Nothing like a happy ending.. Great story. You knew it wasn’t going to go well from the tanned sleek thighs and full breasts…
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“The Girl Next Door”
210 Words
@JBertetta
The girl next door.
I hate that shit. Conjures up too many male fucking fantasies.
But that’s how they see me. Plain Jane.
Doesn’t help my name’s Jane.
They said I’d never amount to much. A secretary maybe.
But I proved them wrong.
I got me a job in the White House.
I’m a cook there.
I can’t tell you how many politicians and foreign dignitaries I’ve made the most exquisite food for.
It’s pretty exciting really. Stressful, but exciting.
You’d think people like that would act the part, but they don’t really. The men and women you see smiling in the newspapers and on the web aren’t the people I know. You think politicians would act more politically correct and foreign dignitaries more dignified.
But I can’t tell you how many “innocent” hugs I’ve received or how many lewd comments I’ve heard under the breath.
Mostly men of course.
Men of power, who can make or break nations.
Oh how I hate how they puff themselves up and think they can get away with whatever they want when the cameras aren’t flashing.
Sure, they have power.
But I have power too, you see.
I can spit, or put whatever, in their food.
Not bad for the girl next door.
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Nasty!! Great job, Josh. So little power but sometimes all it takes it that edge for us to feel happy about our accomplishments.
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Thanks Deb and yes, indeed, you are so right.
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Hah – like this character 🙂
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Hah! Go Jane!
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Right?
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I like your character a lot!
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Thanks Marie…I liked her too. Quite different for me. It sure was fun.
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Ughh–every restaurant goers worse nightmare. Well done. So gross.
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Like her little acts of revenge!
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Word Count – 196
@SusanOReilly3
Flown
A beautiful flower, preserved
never given a change to grow
secreted away, by one who
says his reason is love
Allowed freedom of the house
as long as she’s silent
dreaming of the outside world
locked away, if visitors arrive
Everything fine until she was eleven
he looked at her differently
whispered “my, how you have grown”
and swore to protect her
He smashed every mirror
left her one, cracked
just like his mind
she’s long since given up reaching
She sits at the window
gazing at the sky, pen poised
this is her escape
what keeps her sane
Today no words will come
she’s utterly heartbroken
what else is there for her
can’t see any way out
Her mother was a beauty
departed this world long ago
she envies her, her release
and longs to see her again
She takes the tablets slowly
relishing the dryness of each one
penning her goodbye, drifting away
he got his way, she’s forever young
She does not live next door any more
Escaped to a new world forever
He weeps nightly over a lock of her hair
If he had let her go she’d still be here
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Susan, I love the structure of this piece. It makes it feel like prose trapped in poetry or the retelling of an ancient fairytale.
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ah thanks Foy cheers x
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Not wishing to sound patronising, because I really envy you, but you certainly have made vast strides in your flash fiction journey, Susan!
That was a great story, very well told.
(I loved ‘She takes the tablets slowly/relishing the dryness of each one’.)
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ah Geoff I’m chuffed thanks so much I do really enjoy it which is the main thing cheers x
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Beautiful and sad, makes me glad this character escaped.
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thanks very much F.E. X
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GREAT last line!
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thanks Betsy x
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I really like that tablet line too. Well done.
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thanks very much marie x
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Love the flow of this poem and the tale it tells; beautifully structured.
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ah thanks Steph appreciated x
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So sad. Moving.
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thanks legreene x
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If he had let her go she’d still be here. Brilliant.
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thanks very much TanGental x
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Really enjoyed reading this, so many good lines.
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thanks so much evening scribbles x
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Jenny’s Side
@hollygeely
209 words
Whose side are you on?
*
Her name was Jennifer. I fell in love with her dimpled smile. The first time she kissed me it felt natural.
Jenny. Brown hair, brown eyes, cut-off jeans, flip-flops, colourful tank tops and oversized button-ups. Sure, she had the antennae, but everyone’s got their flaws. I didn’t judge.
*
I assumed her parents were loaded because they lived in that gigantic house. I used to stop and look at it through the fence and wonder what kind of movie star would be able to afford it. It was prettier than the White House.
I was right.
*
One day she said “Marianne, we need to talk,” and I thought she was breaking up with me. Instead, she patted my knee, flicked one of her antennae, and said “I’m an alien.”
Her parents were alien space-drug smugglers. They lived on Earth for the fertile soil.
*
She looked sad when she told me. couldn’t see why.
“It’s not your fault your parents are drug dealers. Why would I love you any less?”
It turned out she was more worried about the alien thing but I didn’t care about that either.
*
We were happily married until the invasion.
Now guess which side I’m on.
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Haha! Nice 🙂 If survival is key I think I’d side with sweet antennaed Jenny 😉
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So would I!
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great x
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I’d love to hear more 🙂
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🙂 Thanks.
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Love “more worried about the alien thing.” Heh!!
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Heh, thanks!
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Amazing, Holly!!
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Thank you!
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Your description of her has a poetic rhythm to it that I really love. I also love where you took this – unique and quirky. Well done!
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Thanks! 🙂
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“…she had an antennae, but everyone’s got their flaws.” I laughed so hard at this line. Great story. Funny and sweet! Pretty sure she went the side of Jenny.
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Like the way he accepts her for what she is regardless of ‘antenna’! Quirky story.
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Thanks!
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Mark this as the only time when a girlfriend/wife says, “we need to talk” that it ended well. Quirky fun story.
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Inside Looking Out
@sara_tranum
210 words
“Daddy, who is that girl is over there?”
The President lowered his newspaper as daughter gestured out the tinted window at a woman and girl in worn clothes by the northeast gates. He frowned. “Just a homeless girl, sweetie. Not to worry, she can’t hurt us.” He flipped the paper back up and resumed reading.
“She looks like she’s about Mel’s age. Why do you think she’s homeless?”
The President closed the paper, folded it onto his lap, and followed her gaze. “Sometimes people make bad choices and get into trouble. Or sometimes events happen you can’t control and you lose things, like your car or house.”
“Do you think she needs our help?”
He glanced down at his daughter, her brown eyes still fixated on the pair outside the gates.
“Now, Sash, we have programs to help girls like that. One of the things we work on every day is improving opportunities for people who need help. Let me work on that. You focus on preparing for school and that spelling test.”
Sasha watched the girl as she stared through the fence at her sister and dog, playing on the front lawn. The girl gave a slight wave to Melanie before running after the woman and out of sight.
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Aw. Well done.
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Thanks!
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great x
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At least the daughter notices. Notice he gives a politician’s answer to his daughter’s question.
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Indeed. Precisely the division I envisioned for the father-daughter perspectives. Thanks!
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Outside Looking IN
@sara_tranum
207 words
“Mama, who lives there,” asked a little voice. Sasha peered through the gates while her mother re-packed their bag.
Angela paused, her back smarting as she straightened it to follow the girl’s gaze. She had stopped to reposition their belongings under a heavily leafed tree on the sidewalk by the White House North Lawn. An early morning rousing had sent them scurrying from Lafayette Square.
“The President lives there, baby, with his family. Now c’mone, let’s go. You need to get to school in time for breakfast.”
“Are they like our neighbors, Mama?”
Angela smiled slightly. “I guess so, baby.” She returned to repacking the bag.
“Mama, look! There’s a girl and a dog! Do you think she’ll take him to the park like Mrs. Morris and Roscoe?”
Angela stopped her packing again and looked down at the hopeful look on her daughter’s face. One calloused hand reached out to stroke the girl’s hair. “Maybe another day, baby. Let’s go now. What’s test is today?”
“Spelling,” Sasha reluctantly released the fence and followed Angela down the street, glancing again at the girl across the lush green lawn, who was now staring back. She raised her hand in a slight wave before turning to trot after her mother.
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Nice. I like how you’ve given both sides. 🙂
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Thanks!
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I agree, they fit together well.
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I liked both of these – the similarities between the girls lives, make the differences we imagine more awful.
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Thanks for reading and sharing!
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I too like how we get both sides.
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Thanks! I started with the idea of both perspectives in one piece, but found I couldn’t get enough from each girl in it…so fittingly, I think, they each got to tell their own (super short) story. I’m glad you liked it!
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I like that we see both sides of the gate and both girls – so similar and yet worlds apart.
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Thanks!
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Great take. Tearful really. The reality is a fence keeps both sides trapped
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Reblogged this on The Mom Who Runs and commented:
Outside Looking In
@sara_tranum
207 words
“Mama, who lives there,” asked a little voice. Sasha peered through the gates while her mother re-packed their bag.
Angela paused, her back smarting as she straightened it to follow the girl’s gaze. She had stopped to reposition their belongings under a heavily leafed tree on the sidewalk by the White House North Lawn. An early morning rousing had sent them scurrying from Lafayette Square.
“The President lives there, baby, with his family. Now c’mone, let’s go. You need to get to school in time for breakfast.”
“Are they like our neighbors, Mama?”
Angela smiled slightly. “I guess so, baby.” She returned to repacking the bag.
“Mama, look! There’s a girl and a dog! Do you think she’ll take him to the park like Mrs. Morris and Roscoe?”
Angela stopped her packing again and looked down at the hopeful look on her daughter’s face. One calloused hand reached out to stroke the girl’s hair. “Maybe another day, baby. Let’s go now. What’s test is today?”
“Spelling,” Sasha reluctantly released the fence and followed Angela down the street, glancing again at the girl across the lush green lawn, who was now staring back. She raised her hand in a slight wave before turning to trot after her mother.
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In Our Town
@voimaoy
209 words
In our town are many fine old houses, with big front yards. Some have green lawns, carefully tended. Some have wildflowers. Our town embraces diversity. Our town welcomes all.
In our town, there are a few rules. Odd-numbered houses must water on odd-numbered days. Recycling must be placed in the designated bins and sorted–glass, paper plastic. In the winter, walks must be shoveled along the common way. This is for the good of all.
In the summer in our town, there is music in the park, and people walk along the main street eating ice cream. The movie theatre has been newly restored, a palace with a bright marquee. Now Playing “The Girl Next Door” starring our town’s most famous citizen, Jana Landry. I lived just down the street from her.
It’s been years since she went to school here, yet who could forget her flashing eyes and bright smile. Even then, people knew she was going places. It’s true, she was arrested, once. A minor incident involving a fire at the high school, in which there may have been blood. And there was the time in the forest preserve with that boy who was never found.
Jana always lived by her own rules. She’s making horror movies, now.
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Great “Stepford Wives” vibe, then the darker undertones and chilling ending. Very well structured. Liking it!
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Thank you! So glad you enjoyed 🙂
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fab x
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Love that the perfection of the town begins to ring alarm bells. I would love to read more about the narrator and Jana 🙂
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Thank you so much! Yes, more to this story…
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Loved this, all the way through.
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Thank you, Holly! Much appreciated.
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Brilliant, Voima! I love the soft slow build up to the truth. Great job. 🙂
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Thank you, Ms. Foy, for encouraging words!
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Love the details about the town Love the tone of the whole piece.
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Thank you, Marie. Much appreciated!
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Agree with the Stepford Wives impression; would love to hear more of Jana’s story.
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Thank you, Steph. Yes, maybe I should have focused on Jana more…Much appreciate your feedback 🙂
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I would have loved to have read the next 210 words. Or more.
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Steven, thank you so much for encouraging feedback!
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The Speech
(210 words)
“She was not just a girl next door.”
“She was America’s girl next door.”
“When I spoke with her parents, I was offered a glimpse into her life.”
“She was a cheerleader. She loved to help others and be there to cheer them on to victory. She believed in the ideals of America, that everyone should have a chance to grow and become more than they were the day before.”
“Her smile could light up a room and it drew everyone to her, as our great nation is a light of freedom that draws people from around the world in search of a better life.
“Her sacrifice in this war will not be forgotten.”
“You can rest assured that even though the flags are at half-mast across our great nation, our resolve to defend our freedoms and way of life has never been higher.”
“God bless America.”
The president left the podium and returned to the oval office. He smirked as he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his neck. His smirk turned into a grin as he put his feet on the desk.
He was sure the well-rehearsed crackle in his voice and crocodile tears should help move his numbers up in the popularity poll.
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Gosh – what a hateful character that president is 🙂
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LOL, I agree. i have to admit it was inspired by Kevin Spacey’s character on “House of Card.” Real life politicians would never spin things for their own politican gain!
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great x
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Well done, I definitely hate this guy.
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Thanks Holly!
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Very hard hitting. Like it. (Also love ‘House of Cards’)
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I hate your character, but that’s what you were going for, so good job!
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I too am a ‘House of Cards’ fan (US version rather than UK which I should get round to watching as it came first!). I can see Kevin Spacy smirking at his desk even now. Nice take.
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Not Her Dream House
(209 words)
Sometimes it felt like a prison rather than the White House. The weight of the history swallowed her like a great white whale, and Judith fumbled in rooms afraid to bump into the sacred objects of great men’s lives. Lincoln slept in that bed. Dolly Madison had rescued this painting. Taft had splashed in the bathtub. Pat Nixon roses bloomed in the garden.
She wondered where the Roosevelt children’s rabbit was buried in the lawn. If her dinner plates had stared at Winston Churchill.
She longed for her parent’s comfortable three-bedroom ranch house in the suburbs, the house built just for them, raw and new and free of memories. Her husband even asked her when they’d moved in yesterday, “Tell me again why we fought so hard to live in this house?”
They only had a four-year lease.
If it was her house, she’d paint it a soft ivory. Something to show it had mellowed in the centuries. The facade looked like an over-whitened smile, too bright to be believable. She’d plant a cottage garden full of hollyhocks and haphazard old-fashioned flowers in front. Put climbing roses on that ugly metal fence.
It wasn’t her home. She was merely a president, another person swallowed by the great White House.
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Makes me hope that this character escapes in the end. The house sounds so claustrophobic with history.
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great read x
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I like your last line, to me it speaks of how people can be changed whe they step into the world of politics, sometimes not for the best.
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Lovely.
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It would definitely NOT be my dream house either. I loved this line, “If her dinner plates had stared at Winston Churchill.”
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I love all the different references and how they build to that final brilliant line.
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Very well done. I have wondered if presidents feel this way, becoming part of history, and having to “fill shoes,” so to speak.
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Almost as if she’s living in a museum; I like the way they know the transient nature of their stay, their inability to really make their mark on the house – an analogy perhaps for how weak they think the effect of their policies on the country will be?
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Churchill’s face does look like dinner plates. Perfect words.
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Different Lives
(210 words)
@Laura_M_Clark
Amy grips tightly onto the gates outside of the house. It isn’t the biggest building in the world, but to her it’s a mansion: she can imagine long, impressive hallways, a large dining room with a full spread on the table, and a bedroom decorated with cushions, blankets and toys.
In the window, there’s a boy about her age playing with a train. Amy is the new girl next door, at least for now. The boy’s hair has been brushed neatly and his clothes are simple but clean; to him, they’re probably everyday things, but to Amy they’re symbols of a loving family. She watches the boy with interest. She wonders what he worries about: his grades, losing his toys, how late he can stay up each night. He plays happily, a picture of childhood innocence.
Amy’s lived near many children who’ve had no worries, children living in enormous houses who enjoy the privileges of family life without recognising how lucky they are. To her, they live in luxury. She’s lived near them, next to them, but she’s never experienced how they live.
Amy releases the gates, letting out a long breath. She spins around, settling back down on the kerb and wrapping herself in her blanket.
‘Spare change, sir?’
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Really shows the gulf between those with a home and those who are homeless. Makes me want to hear more about Amy – she sounds like she might be a character to change things, even if only in small ways. 🙂
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ah brilliant x
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Very different lives indeed. 😦
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Another sad tale of homelessness.
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The Haves and the Have Nots Very poignant.
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@betsystreeter
206 words
COMINGS AND GOINGS
Sitting legs-out crashing Matchbox cars on the hot concrete driveway, he hears a sniff and looks up.
An eye fills the hole in the fence. Bright blue, big as the sky. The eye blinks, then disappears.
School day. The door slams and a blonde ponytail pops above the fence with each squeaky sneaker skip.
“I’m go-ing to be pres-i-dent,” she sings, and disappears up the sidewalk.
Rolling down the driveway, backpack slung over one shoulder, his board’s wheels hop the curb and grind in the street. Her new puppy chases him but just to the edge of her lawn. He pushes off and gains speed.
Backing out the car, his dad tensed up tight on the passenger side. Please don’t crash into the fence. She’s right there. He avoids the fence but kills the engine. His face reddens. She pretends not to see.
Packing up. He wedges a laundry basket into the back seat. What’s the drive, six hours? Maybe seven.
He crosses the driveway.
I’m sorry, she left two days ago. Studying political science, of course. Text her when you get down, she’d love to hear from you. Good luck at school, son. Oh okay, ma’am. Thanks. The door clicks shut.
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I like how this is formatted, really lovely piece.
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Had to read this through twice to catch everything. Beautiful story and brings me back to college days. Gorgeous line here, ” Bright blue, big as the sky.”
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I love the different ways you indicate the passage of time. I love ‘An eye fills the hole in the fence. Bright blue, big as the sky.’ Your writing is always so strong.
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I like your skateboard line ‘He pushes off and gains speed’, it gives a nice lead-in, a physical speeding up to the later years that follow.
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Truly epic great way to describe the passing of time.
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I like the rhythm of this 🙂 lovely and fresh. I feel for sure that these two will meet up again – and maybe she will be president. 🙂
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David and Bathsheba: And Who is My Neighbor?
“His name is David Henderson, but he is not addressed as King David. The custom is to call him President Henderson.”
“President? Are you sure?” asked the monarch.
“Yes, your majesty. The story we are using to couch this meeting is ancient and times have changed.”
The queen, drummed her eight blue fingers on the table.
“I apologize, your majesty, I don’t mean any disrespect.”
“So my name will be Bathsheba?”
“If you wish, but that name is ancient. I suggest Mary DuMont.”
Her majesty turned, and stared at her most trusted aide, who became most troubled.
“Mary is a highly trusted name. DuMont will sound foreign to him, covering any places where our research fell short.”
Her majesty turned back to the mirror and the aide started breathing again. Just then the lights in the room flashed from white to blue and back. It was time; they were in orbit.
The queen flipped a switch in her armor, changing her appearance. She was suddenly a skinny human girl with a blue peasant dress, green eyes and straight black hair.
Nodding approval, she was transported to the oval office. She bowed before the president, playing the part of the girl next door, just four galaxies over.
206 words
@CharlesWShort (Second Entry)
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I love the idea of the next door galaxies 🙂
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Glad you liked it.
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Neat. I liked the transcendence of genres, biblical, sci-fi, and modern day. 🙂
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Thanks. There is a little genre bending going on there.
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Like the inter-galactic nature of this.
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Thank you.
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Wow, out of this world Charles. My favorite line is “covering any places where our research fell short.” I must admit my mind went to the other famous blue dress that was in the oval office. Sorry, couldn’t help it! Great story.
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Glad you liked it. I actually thought of suggesting the name Monica, but backed off of that.
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The Gatekeeper
@el_Stevie
205 words
Feet shuffle forward as the gate opens and we press together in the hope of admittance. Few will be allowed through. The gatekeeper briefly surveys our never-ending queue of hopelessness. Cold eyes close us out of both sight and mind, leaving us stuck in our own private hell, unable to move on or go back. Limbo has claimed us.
Did she see me? Would she remember me if she did? When she had been this side of the gate all those years ago, she had lived next door and together we had travelled the same roads. Then she had jumped the queue and moved on to another life.
At last I reached her and she opened the gate. But she would not allow me to enter.
“It is not your time,” she said.
I could see figures looming over her shoulders. Faces I recognised from days gone by. I missed them all so much.
“No,” she said, softer now. “One day the gate will open for you but not yet. You must go back. You must open your eyes …”
A strange sound made me turn, the queue was fading. I heard a bleep and then a voice, “He’s coming round”.
I opened my eyes.
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Great ending!
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Thank you.
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love it x
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Love, love, love this! NDEs are one of my favorite things to read about and i think you’ve created this well. 🙂
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Thank you. I saw the prompt before I went to work this morning and amazingly was able to write the story before I had to leave the house (subject to editing/word-cutting), it just appeared. Glad it worked for you.
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Love that first paragraph. ‘Faces I recognised from days gone by.’ – great images.
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Thanks, Marie!
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Fab original take on the barriers between us. Love the end too 🙂
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First Daughter
(209)
No one ever saw me when I was lived here. Now, every once in a while, a Secret Service agent will cringe when I pass him in the hall late at night. A First daughter saw me as she snuck down to the kitchens for a snack a few years ago, and screamed. Caused all kinds of alerts, folks running around with guns, but that didn’t bother me.
You can’t kill a ghost.
Daddy said I had to be kept out of sight. A President can’t have his bastard daughter appearing at public events, not when she looks so much like her old man. That hair is hard to hide, he says. Those eyes. That nose. So my nurse kept me in my rooms, and no one ever talked about the little girl who lived upstairs. Back then, people were better at keeping secrets.
Of course, when I died it was harder to keep things quiet. They smuggled my body out at night, and took me to the family plot. My stone doesn’t record my real name, just my age. Ten. Daddy kept his secret from the history books.
It’s like I never existed.
Only problem is, I haunt the White House. Put that in your history books.
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I like it, well done.
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Ooh, nice ghost story. Love the defiance of that last line.
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Yes! I’ve read every story and this is MY FAVORITE. Ghost bastard girl haunting the halls of the White House. Amazing concept. I can see this apparition scaring Secret Service agents and First family members for all of eternity. Those eyes. That nose. This ten year old ghost will be reminding people of the randy President that once held office. I love her attitude: “Put that in your history books.” I’ll remember this one for a long time. I just made five friends read it. Great job Eliza! This made my day.
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I am so glad you enjoyed it!
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I love the line ‘You can’t kill a ghost’ 🙂 Love to hear more from this character – she immediately has me rooting for her.
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The Temptation of Elliot Ness.
209 words
Candles flickered as the storm raged. I watched shadows while Catherine draped herself over a chaise lounge. Stockinged legs, silken lingerie, and sinful suggestiveness.
“Elliot,” she said, “How lovely to see you.” She shifted, the silk house coat slid to reveal suspenders snaking up her thigh; a thin, ivory colored, invitation to perfidy. “Have a drink, and let’s talk.”
Her butler appeared with a glass half full of bourbon.
“Really, Catherine?” I said.
“It was worth a try. You weren’t always dry.”
“It’s also a long time since you were the girl next door.”
“I bet we’d still be good at doctors and nurses together.”
I smiled. We probably would. But life had taken us in different directions.
“So, what’s this all about, Mr. Ness?” she asked.
“You know why I’m here, Catherine. A huge lawn and big gates don’t make you immune to the law.”
“Oh darling, Elliot, of course it doesn’t.” She laughed. The innocent tinkling sound I remembered was now harsher, more knowing. “Being fabulously wealthy does that.”
She walked me to the hall, holding my arm. After putting my hat and coat on I opened the door, and pointed to the wind and rain.
“This is nothing, Catherine” I said. “There’s a real storm coming.”
@clivetern
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V atmospheric 🙂
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Argh – auto-correct is a curse! If a dragon this way flaps, could she wave a sparkly wand and return Lounge to Longue?
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I see what you did there. 😉
Lovely story and it echoed of something else I’ve read, I think from you…
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Elliot DOES sound so familiar, doesn’t he…?! If only I could place him…
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‘Invitation to perfidy’ – great line.
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Very atmospheric. You put it in its context very well
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Word Count – 210
@SusanOReilly3
Thirsty
Jealous I was, couldn’t believe her good luck. Stuck in this hellhole of an orphanage but she always said she wouldn’t be long the girl next door.
Within six months she was gone got a job as a governess. She made the house sound fabulous, all rich reds and greens and covered in the most fabulous tapestries. I lived for her letters, loved the way she wrote my name Mary.
I never saw her again and the letters stopped many years ago, she didn’t do the house justice or its owner, he’s ethereal, god-like, flowing long blond hair but needs a manicure, his nails are longer than mine.
He beckons me in with a curtsey. I have to contain my giggles my set defence when confronted with gorgeousness. I ask him about Terri tell him I had always wondered what had happened to her.
He informed me that they are married and extremely happy and would I like to see her. I’m beside myself with excitement but this can’t be Terri she looks exactly the same but younger somehow. It’s like she’s been frozen in time and miserable with it.
She clasps me firmly not the hug I was expecting ‘Tobias fetch us a drink, I’ll have a bloody Mary.’
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Oooo!! Vampiric. I like this take, Susan. 🙂
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thanks Foy x
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First vampire story. Great – love that last line.
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ah thanks Steph it made me smile writing it x
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“I lived for her letters, loved the way she wrote my name Mary” That’s a really nice line.
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thanks very much Steven x
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I get the giggles too when unsure in a presence. Great story
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thanks very much TanGental and I’m glad I’m not the only one x
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Beautifully gothic 🙂
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thanks very much F.E. x
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Genesis Reflux
@geofflepard 209 words
She screams like her soul is being waxed – her words, filtered by brick and plaster to an incoherence of despair, but I understand. Does she hear my moans; do they interrupt her divine demands? At least I know He hears me; she’s still debating away her doubts but she will learn. I will teach her.
The staff confide she’s a challenge; if I concentrate I can hear them as they meet her challenge. She moans then; she doesn’t know yet but He hears.
Last week I saw her outside, across the lawns and through the fence to the main house. She was dancing while two unbelievers held dog leads attached to her wrists. She wouldn’t let me meet her eyes but she will and they will be golden. Prophet’s eyes.
The signs appeared, yesterday, in the lines they mowed on His green page, in the message He shadowed through the trees. She is my Eve.
Today when they come, I will be ready. They will not neutralise my soul. He has called me.
She’s calmer now, she hears their steps. Soon, Eve, your Adam will be with you and we will exult Him in our frenzy. They will be gone and Eden will be ours at last.
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This is lovely, Geoff. 🙂
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brill x
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Wonderful tale of madness.
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Wow. This blows me away. I had to read it three times and each time it was more disturbing/fascinating/eerie. Your words make stories out of each sentence. I feel like I just read a book.
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Steven that is easily the nicest comment I’ve had about my flash. Thank you
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Amazing. I love the perspective. I have read it a few times and enjoyed it more each time.
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Thank you Marie
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Fab first line 🙂 I keep coming back to that – I can almost hear it. This narrator is intensely fascinating.
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Thanks FE
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Love the first line, really pulls you in.
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Title: Knocking
Words: 209
@RTayaket
#flashdogs
Knock Knock
I opened the door.
“Hi Peter. Before we go I want to make it very clear that I’m not the girl next door. Well, literally, I am a girl who lives next door. But I’m not “the girl next door.” You know the type – perfect hair, smile, teeth, and outfits. She’s pure and perfect in every guy’s fantasy. And you’ve only lived on this block a couple weeks so you don’t know me.
Well, let me tell you, I don’t live in the white house with a cast iron fence. I don’t smile through the pain and wear makeup every day. I wear mismatched socks and don’t brush my hair. I’m emotional, not poised. I’m brutally honest, not fashionably kind. I drink. I have sex. I am not some untainted rose for you to pluck. So, if you came knocking on my door expecting to see your “girl next door” fantasy, it’s the wrong door.
I’m going to close the door now. If you’re still interested knock three times and we’ll go out. If you were expecting your fantasy instead of me, then go back to your house.”
I closed the door.
Knock… knock…
And I heard his footsteps walking off my porch.
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AH!!! Only the first “knock knock” is italicized!! I must not have closed the code right….
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Sure looks right to me. But then my eyes see things SO wacky sometimes.
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Thank you, Rebekah!!!!
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great and I can never do italics here what code ?
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Snap! Good for her. 🙂
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Actually I feel sorry for her at the end, that last line hints at a touch of sadness that he didn’t knock three times.
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Love that last ambiguity. She wanted three knocks, right? Or did she? Next episode needed! Love it.
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Och that Peter – she’s better off without him!
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SUMMER OF ‘95
Brian S Creek
208 words
@BrianSCreek
#FlashDog
Jodie Jenkins. That was her name. She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the class except maybe on the inside. I wish I’d understood that better back then.
Her family moved in next door when I was five and we grew up on opposite sides of the same garden fence. We stayed friends despite the later years when we drifted a little (girls become girls and boys will be boys) but there was always that look, that nod, that smile that comes from growing up together.
It all changed in the summer of ’95 when we left Tommy Wainer’s party holding hands and kissing. That summer felt like a life time; I was on cloud nine and Jodie was my whole world.
Jodie forever. Jodie I love you.
Sometimes I wonder what I’d give up to see her again. My job? My house? My family? But I know I can’t, not in my position. Something like that would tarnish my reputation and reputation equals votes.
So I keep that summer with Jodie locked up deep inside where it will never change. Instead, all I can do is wonder; wonder how she’s doing, wonder what she’s like, wonder if she still thinks of me.
Jodie forever. Jodie I loved you.
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Sweet. 🙂
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lovely x
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Sweet tale of first love.
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Love never ends. Well told.
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Oh – sad. I want to hear more about that summer and why this character is not still with Jodie……..and what Jodie thinks 🙂
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Mark Morris: High Office – 185 words
Rosemary Schroder stepped out of the people carrier, her retinue of protectors forming a ring around her. She’d fought to become President against the odds, her opponents eventually giving up when they realised she was whiter than white; a person with the support of most of the minorities and all of the main groups in the voting public.
Never parted from her brother, he’d been her main support throughout the whole campaign. Never leaving her side, he’d deflected most of the difficult questions, his keen analytical mind and his quiet voice always at her service.
And now she was going to take control of the most powerful nation on earth.
Walking together, Rosemary and her brother entered The White House to a hailstorm of camera flashes, the two of them standing clear of their ring of followers for the first time. The world media and the paparazzi loved them, everyone else in the world knowing of them and the struggles they’d both faced to get here: Rosemary Schroder and her brother Charles; the world’s first conjoined twins to rise to the highest office on the planet.
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Didn’t see that ending. 🙂 I was wondering how she managed to have such a devoted brother. 😉
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You can’t get more girl next door than a conjoined sister! 😉
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great x
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Wow, what an original idea. Loved it.
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Thanks, Steph!
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I really enjoyed this Mark. Very well written and the ending made me go back and read it again. The second time through was filled with amazing images of these two sibs. I hope they agree on their politics or it’s going to make for some sleepless nights.
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I really love this take on girl next door. I like how ‘walking together’ and your otjer references work so well on different levels.
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other – sorry.
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Brilliant idea 🙂 love this 🙂
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INTER DIMANSIONAL
Brian S Creek
208 words
@BrianSCreek
#FlashDog
(note – this is my 100th Flash Fiction story – Woo Hoo!!!)
Zoey was very open minded.
That’s why, when a loud noise and her natural curiosity put her in the back garden one evening, she just accepted the sight of a mansion that wasn’t there before dinner time. That’s also why she climbed her garden fence and ran towards the big house. And that’s why, when the front door of the mansion opened, she knew she wasn’t just looking in a mirror.
“Who are you?” said Zoey.
“I’m Zoey,” said Zoey.
Silence engulfed them both as the peculiar facts swirled around in the cold night-time air. Finally, Zoey at the top of the steps held her hand out to Zoey at the bottom of the steps. “Come with me if you want to live,” she said.
That’s when the ground began to shake. Without hesitation Zoey followed Zoey into the mansion.
“Oh,” said Zoey. “It’s smaller on the inside.”
“Well,” said Zoey, “there’s not much room left once you take the Transdimensional engines into account.” She pressed some buttons on a console and the structure began to vibrate.
Zoey felt her stomach lurch. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere but here,” said Zoey. “It’s the end of this planet Earth.” She turned and smiled “But the beginning of everything else.”
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““It’s smaller on the inside.”” this made me laugh b/c I’ve heard the White House is so much smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside.
p.s. Congratulations on you 100th!! I think this was a worthy tale for the number. 🙂
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Congrats on the 100th flash story. Felt like a cross between Dr Who and Hitchhiker’s Guide in terms of her rescue. Nice story.
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Congrats on the milestone! This was a great story to mark your century of flash 😉
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Congratulations! Love” ‘I’m Zoey,’ said Zoey” etc. Made me smile. Nice last line.
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Excellen homage piece. All it needed was the murderous poetry.. Loved it.
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Love that Zoey is saving Zoey 🙂 would love to hear more of this adventure.
Well done on your 100th Flash Friday 🙂
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Fantastic! I’m getting Hitchhiker’s Guide, Terminator and Doctor Who, and loving every word of it. Well done, and congrats on your 100th story!
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Great read, world of possibilities open to the two of them.
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Mark Morris: High Office – 193 words (I underworded before. Sorry!)
Rosemary Schroder stepped out of the people carrier, her retinue of protectors forming a ring around her. She’d fought to become President against the odds, her opponents eventually giving up when they realised she was whiter than white; a person with the support of most of the minorities and all of the main groups in the voting public.
Never parted from her brother, he’d been her main support throughout the whole campaign. Never leaving her side, he’d deflected most of the difficult questions, his keen analytical mind and his quiet voice always at her service.
And now she was going to take control of the most powerful nation on earth: the pair of them working together in unison.
Walking together, Rosemary and her brother entered The White House to a hailstorm of camera flashes, the two of them standing clear of their ring of followers for the first time. The world media and the paparazzi loved them, everyone else in the world knowing of them and the struggles they’d both faced to get here: Rosemary Schroder and her brother Charles; the world’s first conjoined twins to rise to the highest office on the planet.
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DB Foy
@db_foy
WC: 206
Me, Myself, and I
“You’re nothing. A fake.”
“Privacy is your oxygen. You’d suffocate the first day of ‘pomp and circumcision.’”
“This is what I want.”
“Who would read it? No one wants another white-bread man’s story – unless you were born female.”
“Celia and the kids would lose the safety of anonymity.”
“They understand I have a voice to share.”
“It’s not unique. Not when 7 billion throats all clamor for attention.”
“Just imagine 14 billion eyes watching you. There’d be no quiet walks, no peaceful outings.”
“Others have done it without withering in the spotlight. I’ll use a nom de plume.”
“Why are we still discussing privacy? You’ll never get to the point you have to worry about it.”
“They can track you down. A single forgotten picture posted by your Aunt Imogen and they’d know your face.”
“My relatives respect my desire for normalcy.”
“You’re the male equivalent of that nice girl you grew up with two houses over. What’s her face? The one everyone forgot on looking away.”
“You can kiss public transportation goodbye. Try riding the tube with a ‘please, my boy wants your autograph’ or ‘could you take a photo with my dog?’ every three seconds.”
“Just – stop!”
silence
“I’ve got to try.”
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This almost sounds autobiographical…
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great and I like pomp and circumcision x
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Um, did I read that right? ‘first day of ‘pomp and circumcision’? I’m getting strange images in my head – however – nice story!
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You did. The voice is drawing a comparison shall we say from that to pomp and circumstance. 😉
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“They understand I have a voice to share.” When he said that I thought…are you sure or do you just want to believe that? I love well written dialogue. It’s like your a fly on the wall. Great job Foy.
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Thank you, Steven! My own internal wall. 🙂
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I like the follow-up to 7 billion throats in the form of “Just imagine 14 billion eyes watching you.”
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Glad you liked it, Michael. 🙂
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Great dynamic dialogue. I like how you introduce the girl next door – that anonymity.
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Thanks, Marie!
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This does ring horribly true Deb. I kinda wish I hadn’t read it – in a good way of course.
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Oh no! It wasn’t meant to be sad. lol
These are the voices I hear in my own head and I was happy to silence them yesterday. 🙂
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Just my weekly neurotic ‘can I really write anything’ moment!
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I feel all of this. Well, except maybe the circumcision part. Nicely done – that inner angst and doubt warring with the desire to speak and be heard.
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Thanks, Margaret! I image putting up with pomp and circumstance might be akin to a circumcision of the heart, giving up peace and privacy. The image might be too jarring to work though 😛
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The Fan
207 words
@cynthiafbuck
Looking through the wrought iron fence surrounding her house, I wonder what she’s doing in there right this moment. I really don’t know because she doesn’t do the same thing at the same time everyday. That makes my task a little harder. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from her. She’s as smart as she is beautiful.
She’s the typical looking girl-next-door. Golden blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and mile long legs. It’s true that these are qualities most men find attractive, but she’s so much more than that. She also has a good head on her shoulders. She stays out of trouble despite there being a lot of temptations in her line of work. She lends her name to many worthy charities and even started her own foundation. She’s built a business empire that includes a clothing line and her own fragrances. And her talent is unmatched. I still get goose bumps every time she hits the stage.
She’s the perfect woman.
And here I am in front of her house. I’m so close but I need to get closer. I need to show her that I’m not just another obsessed fan. I need to show her that I’m the only one for her.
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*Don’t go outside!! Run away!!*
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wow great x
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Oh creepy. Love those last lines that deny obsession whilst clearly showing it.
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Just the right amount of creepy here, love that it is from the perspective of the mildly obsessed fan 🙂
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Chilling! Stalkers are a scary bunch.
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Susan watched Marjorie with a pair of used binoculars from her second story bedroom for two years before they ever met in person.
She recorded everything Marjorie wore, what she ate, even how long she slept in a handwritten diary her mother gave her for a birthday gift the year before she died. Marjorie never left her home but had groceries delivered once a week. Susan dreamed of Marjorie, of creating a life together, and wrote long poems to her that she never sent.
One day Marjorie looked right at Susan and beckoned with her finger. Susan felt tingles up and down her spine and slipped out the door in her house dress and barefoot.
The iron gate opened as Susan approached as well as the door to Marjorie’s home. Inside Susan called out to her love, searching every room until she reached the a room on the third floor with a window where Marjorie often sat. Susan looked out across the yard to the gate just in time to see a small figure rush through and the gate close behind her.
Susan doesn’t leave the house now. She has groceries delivered once a week and waits for someone to move into the old two story house next door.
209 words
@joshbgosh
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Remind me to invest in curtains. *shivers*
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Got the creeps at the end. Great story.
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Oh how hitchcockian. This is a great nightmare piece.
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Oh no, Susan! I love the circular nature of this story – and also the way at the beginning I am not liking Susan at all, but then by the end I am sorry for her. I’d love to hear about the character who might break this circle 🙂
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So creepy! Great story.
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Re-read this straight away. Great rhythm to it.
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“Eve”
by Michael Seese
202 words
She is guilty.
She is just a child.
She is amoral. Loose. Wild.
She is free.
She is a temptress. A harlot. A whore.
She is giving. Nothing more.
She is evil in the flesh.
She is wholesome. Apple pie. Pure.
The serpent used the apple as a lure.
What about her scares you so?
Wisdom does not fall from a tree. Wisdom must be earned.
And so you cast aside all she has learned?
She is Purgatory. Or worse.
She is the Heartland. Cornfields. A white picket fence.
Beware of implicating yourself through her defense.
Are you now putting me on trial?
A trial suggests a jury.
I don’t understand your concern. Your worry.
We are not afraid of a naif.
Yes. She strikes fear in you. She threatens your ivory tower.
You’d be wise to realize who holds the seat of power.
Censor!
Traitor!
Bigot. Hater.
Lies! Lies! LIES!
Honesty is her only vice.
Hold your tongue! You’re dancing on thin ice.
Open your eyes. You’ll see the light.
Revolutions begin with a spark.
You cannot live forever in the dark.
Playing with fire is never safe.
She holds the key to untold riches.
Guilty by association. We will burn two witches.
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This is awesome, Michael! I loved the flow and back and forth. Well done. 🙂
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great x
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Love these two voices and their rhythm.
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“Molly”
by Michael Seese
207 words
Molly’s the best babysitter. EVER! When she comes over, she always brings M&Ms.
“Ssh!” she says. “Our little secret.”
We play checkers. But she’s so bad at it. I ALWAYS beat her. We play superhero. I get to be the superhero. She’s just the President, calling me for help. Molly says she’d like to be the President some day. She also lets me watch anything I want on TV and play games on her phone when she’s upstairs. When she kisses her boyfriend goodbye, that’s our little secret, too.
Last night, Molly told me she has to go away soon.
“Are you going to learn how to be the President?” I asked.
“Something like that,” she said. She was crying when she said it.
I’ll miss Molly.
I wanted to see her before she left. I wanted to ask her what a whore is. I’m not sure. But it didn’t sound like something good, the way her Dad yelled it at her. I also wanted to ask her what pregnant means.
But I won’t be able to ask Molly anything. Ever.
Superman is faster than a speeding bullet. I wish I was Superman. That way, I could have flown over there in time to stop her Dad.
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So sad, but what a sweet little boy.
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So much Awwwwwwww in this story!
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sad but lovely x
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Awww 😦
I liked how you revealed a little at a time as the story unfolded.
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Great voice. Those little secrets get you in trouble every time.
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I liked hearing this story from the child’s point of view – brought innocence to a sad/nasty event – poor Molly.
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@stellakateT
210 words
Thursday’s Peril
It had been an eventful day. She watched people eating course after course. Plates piled high. It was a feeding frenzy. Bodies that looked like a few days of starvation might be a healthier option. Banquets were always like this at the Big House. She’d been a silver service waitress for as long as she could remember. She’d never liked Thursdays; recalling her own wedding day, twenty years ago, it had been wet, dull and permanently grey.
She’d had been so excited when her wedding flowers had arrived, opening the large white box to see the perfect bridesmaids bouquets, the men’s buttonholes and her bouquet. The reception was in the tiny room at the back of the Big House, she’d got a hefty discount. Her happiness had lasted a few months before she realised her mistake.
She’d married a man who leant on the bar night after night, swaggering home, full of self importance, lashing out at her, fists flying. She was childless. He if asked would say “women’s problems” not low sperm count.
Tonight her worries would be over. She’d paid a man to see that her husband came to harm. She looked forward to going home to carnage. The boy should never have married the girl next door.
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Ooo! I love the connection to the rhyme. Well done. 🙂
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Thanks Foy 🙂
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sweet revenge x
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Middle-Class Martyrdom
(200 words)
I’m tired of looking at them through twisted iron gates: their façade of exclusivity made tangible. Blocked off from hundreds of yards- miles away: the stretch of green in between me and them gives them their status. They stay nestled up in their white houses that contrast with their black suits- a more accurate reflection of their insides.
But I’ll show their insides are just as red as anyone else’s, and that their ivory towers are stolen from a much less endangered bourgeoisie. I’ll make a name for myself, and inspire others to do the same. I’ll put martyrs back to the top of the worshipped hierarchy. I’ll show that anyone can have their name spread across the world; it’s not as hard as they’d like you to think, and many times not for good deeds.
They’ll talk about me for years. My name will be on a list; our own working-class Walk of Fame. I’ll be researched, written about, analyzed, and posted up on every channel. They’ll keep me famous for a long time, because they won’t be able to figure me out. No family trouble, no religion, no politics, no mental instability. I’m just the girl next door.
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What a novel approach to the girl next door! Nicely done.
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Thank you! It’s my first time writing for this, and I was tempted to look at what everyone else was doing, but stopped myself so I wouldn’t be influenced. I’ve been going back through and reading them, and it seems like few people took this route. Cheers!
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Cheers!
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Serious Business
208 Words
@mishmhem
#FlashDogs
Vaughn took another drag of his cigarette and watched as the smoke rose to join the dark cloud that was forming above the table. There was no way to sugar coat it: Jack was dead and the job they’d planned was dead with him
Booker and Doud, had been pouring their notes and plans, looking for an opening but there was nothing.
Vaughn let out another breath of smoke and shook his head before tossing his cigarette into the ashtray and joining his partners in crime.
“Give me some good new,” he implored them, the knot in the pit of his stomach tightening.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Booker answered.
Though his voice was quiet, Vaughn could sense the frustration in his friend’s tone.
They’d worked hard, and were set to make a killing, but one bullet had pretty much ended Vaughn’s career.
Booker and Doud, always in the background, could find other jobs but Vaughn had been the front man, the face and voice to their business.
There was plenty Vaughn could do—but they knew no-one would see past his record.
Booker sighed and shook his head. “Let’s face it- with Jack gone, Jackie, Caroline and John-John are off limits, and Kennedy Impersonators are right out…”
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And… I forgot to turn off my bold… sorry.
This piece is a tribute to a very talented comedian /comedic team from the 1960’s. Comedian, musician, actor and impersonator Vaughn Meader, worked with writers Bob Booker and Earle Doud to create a comedy album titled ‘ The First Family’
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Looks turned off to ME. But, yknow, fuzzy brain, bad eyes, and terrible at foreign accents, so.
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@Angelique_Rider
199 words {sans title}
The Loneliest Job in the World
Bright blue eyes peered through the iron fence, searching for the matching pair. Hidden within carefully manicured shrubbery, she could just fit into a tiny cave within the leaves and branches that pressed up to the fence. She heard a rustle from the other side, and a moment later, the eyes she’d been seeking met her own. Both faces were solemn, as they clasped hands through the fence, just two girls next door.
“I…miss you.”
“I know. Miss you too.”
“This…it’s just too hard for me. I came to tell you, this is the last time.”
“Oh….I had a feeling. I understand.”
“I’ll always….well, you know….”
The other nodded, unshed tears bright in her eyes. “I do. I will too…you know that…but…”
A quick nod. “I know.”
They sat, silent, holding hands as best they could for several minutes. Night was coming on and the sounds of the capitol city surrounded them.
“I have to go. I’ll think of you whenever I hear our song and remember the night of the Ball.”
A final handclasp, a kiss pressed to fingers and a rustle of leaves, and she was gone.
Being the President’s daughter brought no joy. It never had.
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Ikiryō
Well, now. Carson didn’t know being a ghost would be so fun. Her Japanese grandmother used to talk about ikiryō, ghosts of living people, but she hadn’t believed. To manifest as ikiryō, you must be gravely wronged, so in a perverse way she was grateful to Maggie for jilting her so dramatically. How pleasant to be drifting around Foggy Bottom, starting an avalanche of grocery store oranges and blowing on babies’ faces until they cried. Carson passed through the White House walls, wanting to whisper something historically influential into the ear of the President, but she didn’t follow politics and had nothing to say.
Ikiryō were supposed to be task-oriented. Carson tried to focus on vengeance but got sidetracked untying merchant’s shoes at the fish market. Besides, if she enacted her revenge on Maggie, would she cease manifesting as ikiryō? What a bummer! No, what she needed was a fellow drifter, someone to laugh as she haunted the dog park.
Someone like the pretty woman who lived next door. Jennifer: upbeat and corruptible. Ghost-Carson could murmur to Jennifer’s husband—urge him toward infidelity or vice. Sitting on the chest of an early-season sunbather, Carson tried to predict how much fury it takes to pop a ghost from the shell.
209 words
@jes3ica
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Nice ghost story. It shows their human (or post-human) side.
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I love a good ghost story! I like that your ghost just digs her new life and likes playing (mostly) harmless pranks. Yet, she’s still creepy, and I feel bad for poor, unsuspecting Jennifer.
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ah sad x
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Little White House
202 words, @pmcolt
My childhood memories revolve around that little white house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Her mother paid me $5.01 — two Lincolns, as she said — to mow whenever the Sergeant was on base. A stickler for the perfect lawn, he claimed any frisbees that landed there.
She was my best buddy. Summer afternoons we’d bike to the creek. I’d splash through the cool water, oblivious to her tied t-shirt and cutoffs.
Evenings I’d memorize twenty digits of pi for extra credit, and she’d dress as George Washington for rehearsal. I’d gush about cheerleader crushes, and she’d let me win at Mario Kart. Then we’d laugh until her mother came to check that the bedroom door was open.
Graduation day we hugged, cheered, and celebrated freedom. Graduation night we drank, cried, and promised we’d be friends forever. Though I met new people at college, she was always on my mind. I awaited her daily emails about Poli. Sci. class… then doctors… then T-cell counts.
That summer, silence echoed through her empty room. She had moved down the road, to a stone building, on an immaculate lawn inside a wrought iron fence. That little white house will never be the same without her.
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so sad lovely x
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The Elector
207 words
“This season’s president will be revealed on tonight’s episode of The Elector,” the narrator sang.
Pssskah, Dave cracked another can of his kingly draught. As he thought, which he sometimes did during commercial breaks if there were no dancing girls or football highlights, or new texts to check, he pondered the advantages of the Elector’s choosing the president from a pool of “smokin’ hot ladies”.
“After all,” thought Dave, his inner monologue buzzing comfortably, “We just text our vote to the Elector ‘n don’t need to leave the couch or nothin’, values our opinions, that guy, he says so and The Times says he’s trustworthy, and why would they lie? ‘Sides, even if it’s the wrong decision, we just try again next season.”
He vaguely recalled an old argument about an “electrical college” and that it had worked just the same as the Elector, and that it had made America great, so why change greatness?
The Elector now stood before a lovely, freckled woman whose name Dave never remembered, but for whom he voted as “Freckles.” She looked so like Dave’s first girlfriend, Milly. He really hoped she would win. Then the Elector’s voice rang out ceremoniously, “Jennifer Ann May, will you be my president?”
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Cold Sweats
A.J. Walker
Travis Roseguarden was not sleeping. It was 5.30am and he’d had 40 minutes the entire night. He felt the damp sheets, the cold sweats had been thorough; all brought about by the dreams of the girl next door.
He’d never understood that phrase; what would it mean to a kid who grew up next door to Marilyn Monroe or Salma Hayek, or for that matter Sarah Palin or Tillie Klimek? This thinking was not helping him sleep.
Natasha Lofthouse was a weird one in anyone’s book – a science freak loner who kicked dogs, loved cats and spent her time locked in her shed doing… well, who knows what.
Last month she’d set fire to next door’s clothes line; she’d blamed a firework but Travis suspected an explosion from the shed. She’d taken to flying a drone around the neighbourhood with a modified hopper and bomb bay door.
Yesterday Nat had waved Travis over and asked him to look after her cats – Armageddon & Reckoning – should anything happen to her. He smiled hoping she’d take it as a ‘yes’; confident it wouldn’t be binding in court.
She’d said she was off to Washington and advised him to buy filter masks and antibiotics.
Tomorrow would be another sleepless night.
(210 words)
@zevonesque
#FlashDogs
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Modularity
210 words
@rowdy_phantom
The girl next door has nine semi-translucent arms.
Sara trills when I reach through the fissure between our enclosures. And I do, a lot, hoping to catch her between hibernation periods. Fringed arms flap and coil around mine like willow branches discombobulated by a breeze.
At least they’re warm.
The holo-marquee above her enclosure says “[upside-down F]-[cottony blob]-[Nike swish]”. Mine says “EARTHLING”. See? Our keepers have a measure of cultural sensitivity.
The real Sara came with me from earth. A moment before the Poachers snatched us up, I’d finally gotten up the nerve to say “hi” over the partition between our cubicles. Her sunbeam smile made my entire fluorescent existence worth it.
That euphoria didn’t die in the early days of our abduction. Here we were, lone humans with a whole galaxy to explore (once we got out). At least we had each other.
But she was all rebellion: “I’m nobody’s pet!”
Yes! Right!
Then, the ragged ballpoint pen wounds punctuated her resistance, wrists bleeding out into the fountain fronting the Earthling exhibit.
Woof.
I suppose I could find a way to check out, too, but don’t (they took away all the pens). Coward or optimist, I’m holding out for something—even it’s for the next warm caress of tentacles.
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The Date the Earth Stood Still
201 words, @pmcolt
“Why so glum, Kelsea?” her manager asked as he wiped down the high top tables.
“I’unno.” she sighed, leaning against the bar during the mid-morning lull. “I guess I just thought Washington would be more exciting.”
“Exciting? Kid, we have power players coming through every day. That ain’t exciting enough for ya?”
She shrugged. “They never notice me. Except Half-Caff Soy Latte who complains that I’m too slow.”
“What about that saucer?” he nodded toward the South Lawn, where the shiny metallic disk still stood motionless near the White House on its three spindly legs. “That’s pretty exciting.”
“It’s just sitting there. Besides, any aliens are gonna talk to the President. I’ll never even see any little green men.” It took her a minute to realize that her boss’s gaze was fixated out the window. A creature approached, short, green-skinned, with a bulbous head and tentacles.
The alien being entered the coffeeshop, followed at a distance by soldiers, Secret Service, reporters, and awed onlookers. Its mouth tendrils trembled as it waddled up to Kelsea’s register and stared at her with bulging black eyes. Then it spoke in perfect English.
“Hi. I’ve seen you around, and… would you go out with me?”
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Miss Practicality
@CliveNewnham – 209 words
Buffeting, tarmac grey, streaming beneath the tyres. Almost through the chicane, steering control vibrating, a jolt, what the…
Machines roar by. White flashes; dark moments; a subliminal face inside black pain. Drifting away on a sea of years…
One wheel turning on its broken axle, the go-kart lay on its side.
“You okay?” I ask, a picture of indifferent concern. “You’re on our drive.”
Charlie used to tease me about looking up at me there in my plain pink blouse, grey skirt, navy-blue knickers and knobbly knees. I don’t have the curls no more either.
“You want that I call your mom,” I’d said, “only your leg don’t look right.”
He’d wanted to weep a hurricane not for the smashed up rig, not for the embarrassment of being talked to by Miss Practicality Me, but because of the agony in his broken leg. But he couldn’t show me tears, so had bit so hard on his lip it had bled.
His mom, like mine, was out, so I phoned for an ambulance, When the medics arrived, I flagged them down and demanded that they be careful when they tended him.
Who’d have believed it? Charlie sits beside my hospital bed, he the darling doctor and I the racing driver.
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“Treasure Hunt”
by Sydney Scrogham (@sydney_writer)
204 words
Bet you didn’t know there’s a secret tunnel under the White House.
I found out in seventh grade when Bekah asked me to go treasure hunting. The Men In Black squad corralled her constantly, so it wasn’t any secret to me that she’s the President’s daughter. Five years later, we still haven’t found any treasure, but we keep meeting up in the dark with flashlights.
Tonight, I’m going to ask her out.
The sound of Bekah’s footsteps clatters down the empty stone walls. She shines her light into her face. Her curly hair is white in light and black in shadows.
“I have something to tell you,” she says.
I gulp. “Me, too. But you first.”
She squeezes her flashlight with both hands and jumps up and down. “I got my acceptance letter for Stanford!”
I break in half while part of me soars for her and the other part sinks down through the floor. “That’s… great.” This is her dream. Go to Stanford, study law, make a difference. I can’t ask her to sacrifice her dream for my dream. Be with her.
Her brown eyes shine. “What’s your news?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I forgot.”
Bet you didn’t know she’s the treasure I found.
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Strangers
The last time we spoke, we slopped in the shallows of Seneca, mud sloshing up to our knees, catching crayfish and splitting a Jif and Jet-Puff sandwich: politely he’d tell me there was marshmallow crème in my hair again. I’d teach him—again—the proper way to bait a hook.
He never knew his appeal.
We were inseparable then. Innocent, unchangeable: confident, terrified.
Neighbors.
She’d bait the hook for me, on the banks of that lake, focusing as the worm crossed-curved-looped and laced around the barb and the point just right—stretched perfectly so he wriggled just enough to catch the bluegill’s interest. Then she’d pull me by my hands—barefoot—away from the shore, clay collecting in our toes.
She never knew her beauty.
We were inseparable then. Innocent, unchangeable: confident, terrified.
Friends.
I’ll never forget the first time: how I long to relive those days, lazily taking in the mid-July heat as we watched the boatlights and counted stars—tracing pictures of our lives—hand in hand, heart to heart.
We were inseparable then. Innocent, unchanged by society: confident, terrified.
Partners.
But as I wait for him from within this prison…
But as I wait for her outside the gates…
I wonder what could have been.
@WHealyWrites
208 Words
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Come Dancing
@JamieRHersh
210 Words
I met Robbie Krezenski in 10th grade Drama class. He fell for me immediately, and I wanted to like him back – he was the smartest guy I’d ever met, and he made me laugh – but I never felt physically attracted to him.
We loved being partnered up for the dance numbers. He loved to slip his arms around my waist and sing into my ear. I loved to close my eyes and fantasize that I could love him.
During our Senior Class Trip, I remember standing hand in hand with Robbie and looking at the White House.
“I’m going to be inside one day,” he’d said, half promise, half premonition.
After High School, Robbie went away to college. I stayed home.
He became a lawyer. I married a soldier.
Eventually, Robbie became a Senator, and I became a widow.
His letter came yesterday – fancy paper bearing a fancy seal and a phone number.
I called it.
He’s running for President, he says, and needs a First Lady.
Turns out, I am “the right type.”
“Come to D.C.,” he says, “dance with me again.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling as we disconnect.
Running my hand over his picture in the paper, I wonder if I will still have to close my eyes.
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The Sins of Our Fathers
Spring air filled the hedgerow-bordered lane. Bees sauntered for pollen in lazy light. Harry’s feet trod the path that he had ventured a thousand times before. The envelope in his hand the catalyst.
Harry had found it slipped under the front door. A clumsy H scrawled. Breakfast had been interminable, a tedium of parental chastisement and burnt toast. The dried bluebell, pressed against his chest under his t-shirt.
Bluebells.
They covered the meadow the first time they met, Harry trespassing, she exploring. She lived in the large mansion with just her father, “genetic lottery” as she put it. He was some sort of doctor, the only time Harry had glimpsed him was silhouetted in a window, a skeleton peering out.
The gate was still chained shut, corrosion marking her absence. Harry’s parents had tried to shield him from the loss, why silence had fallen over bluebells which once danced to their laughter.
He stared at the building, the weed strewn gravel drive. Then the door opened and she walked out, an arm gnarled like a twisted branch. Then another, face devoid of eyes and nose. Then another. An endless procession formed of the girl who’d died years ago, stepping into the world.
Each carrying a bluebell.
Harry screamed.
@imageronin
208 words
#flashdog
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Ohhhhh….I like this!
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Gorgeous and creepy–love it!
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Nobody’s Business
It took me a long time to find my gift. The irony is that people had been telling me what it was my whole life, I just didn’t listen.
They’d say it politely of course. I’m a plain Jane, a six out of ten, the girl next door. I was furious for a while, nobody wants to be a nobody. I’d focus my anger on the platinum blondes that sashayed down the halls. They don’t notice me of course. I am invisible to them, not pretty enough to be competition, not ugly enough to bully. If only I’d figured this out sooner!
The party’s in full force when I arrive. It’s like a scene from a beer commercial, everyone young, attractive and having a good time. I wasn’t invited of course. I stroll past the crowds, confident in my power. No-one talks to me or even looks at me. I’m not worthy of their attention.
I locate the master bedroom. The jewelry box is brimming with goodies. I select a stunning sapphire necklace and place it carefully around my neck. I dig out matching earrings, because a girl’s got to accessorize. Then I amble right out again. It may suck to be a nobody, but it pays the bills.
210 words
@todayschapter
I’m dedicating this weeks entry to Sir Terry Pratchett, who was an inspiration to me both as a young reader and more recently as a not so young writer. His books made me laugh out loud so often that I literally couldn’t drink while reading them, for fear of choking. His characters were so full of life and personality, it was like having a group of hilarious friends that you could call upon whenever you liked. Except Granny Weatherwax of course, she doesn’t come running for anybody. The world he created was fantastical, but the real magic was the way he turned every day things into page turning adventures. You will truly be missed Sir Terry. I will never forget your immortal words – The pen is mightier than the sword, if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp.
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smartly done. I can definitely see this being a character that Sam Vimes & crew would run across
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Your title flows wonderfully with the theme. Well done! And I ‘d never read that Terry quote but it’s perfect. 🙂
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In There
210 words
@rowdy_phantom
I’ve glimpsed her drifting around the sprawling lawn like a phantom and wondered where her governess might be. She’s about my age but Mummy says they don’t commit children to places like that.
Unless they’ve perpetuated adult-grade evil.
Mummy and Daddy don’t approve of the proximity of that sort of establishment. Not one bit. Even Holly, the youngest of my guardians, when taking the avenue that passes in front of the gate, crosses herself as if it were a graveyard.
Disapproval. At the graveside, their cold stone faces frowned like headstones. Sorrow sublimated by how all this would look.
I sneak out alone to the fountain. I fold notebook paper into boats for beetles and send them to their water-logged dooms. Autumn leaves rust the water like the blood of the drowned. Above the gurgle of water, I hear a pssst!
From the sycamore that peeks over the top of the perimeter wall, her pale-eyed wonder fixes on me.
“Why are you in there?”
A game, really fun game.
Maybe she is crazy. “I live here.”
Her forehead crumples. “Did you do something bad?”
Her blue eyes staring up through rusty water.
Thunder breaks against my eardrums. I whisper into the roar, “You look just like her.”
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This is gorgeous, Nancy! I love the sounds and images it conjures.
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I love “adult-grade evil.” Beautiful imagery and a compelling, creepy story!
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See Me, Know Me, Love Me
In life, Perdita neither fell in love nor was loved. She was alone, but not lonely. She wasn’t gorgeous, but she wasn’t plain or ugly. Most don’t notice her, but she isn’t so invisible as to be unseen.
Most of the time I feel invisible, but Perdita always sees me.
I don’t think of her house as haunted, even though Perdita is a ghost and kids dare each other to step inside on Halloween. Her house stands, barely, at the end of my street, an eyesore looming over modern, cookie-cutter homes. Beside boarded windows whose glass shattered long ago, shutters cling desperately to once-white clapboards. Inside, spider webs hang in place of draperies.
As soon as I step through the squeaky old gate, I feel at home.
Perdita’s life ended simply, with bad wiring, smoke, and a fire that failed to consume more than a single room. She didn’t mind. She enjoys the solitude and slow pace of the afterlife.
Sometimes I want that solitude, too.
Tonight, I told my mother my truth, hoping her love for me would let her accept me, be the ally I need.
I run to Perdita a newly minted orphan. She sings my tears dry, and I finally feel loved.
@twinkieconfit
208 words
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Simply lovely, Mimi. I read through it twice to catch everything.
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Thank you!
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great x
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Downpour
203 words
@highspot_437
His face remained impassive as swollen eyes watched the flag slowly drop to half-staff. The air was still and thick, the red, white and blue hanging lifelessly on a bed of ashen clouds. A sea of gray obscured the morning sun and cast the entire campus of his old high school in a monochromatic pallor. His head lowered and he shut his eyes.
He saw her face. Her picture had been all over the news and her name had been on the tongues of everyone in town over the last few days. Mention of her had invariably been accompanied by the words “hometown hero” or “fallen soldier,” but all he saw was the girl he grew up with. The girl that used to tease him mercilessly whenever she beat him in a race. The girl he had shared his first kiss with at their senior prom. The girl that went away after high school and would never return.
As the air began to move in erratic gusts of wind, he looked up with damp eyes and watched the flag wave in heaving spasms. Behind it, the swollen clouds hung heavy with the weight of water, churning violently and threatening to unleash a downpour.
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Such a heartbreaking story of loss.
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Good-bye Norma Jean
207 words
When little Norma Jean Neilson said she wanted to be president, her parents encouraged her fantasies.
When she organized and campaigned her way through high school, her peers flocked around her.
When she graduated Summa Cum Laude in Political Science, the public started to pay attention.
As she worked her way up the political ladder, her reputation grew with every successful campaign.
When she finally announced her intention to be the first woman in the Oval Office, the Media dubbed her ‘The Girl Next Door.”
And when she won?
She spoke as the voice of the nation – never forgetting that she worked for the people, and not those who would enslave the people for their own materialistic gains. She exposed the worst of the corruption and doggedly shoved real reform through the convoluted political system.
She turned Political Theatre into a cowardly act, greed into a foul word. She gave America back to the American People.
And, as often as her duties permitted, she tended the Rose Garden on the south lawn of the White House.
She never saw the minute flash from the top of the DAR building, never heard the pop from the silenced sniper rifle.
Those in power are loathe to give it up.
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If only we had a Norma Jean to lead us. That ending was quite a blow after all the hope and happiness. Well done.
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I wanted it to have a happy ending…I really did!
I started this one with the name. Norma. The iconic Girl Next Door is your average, normal human being in female form. All I had to do was drop the ‘L’.
As I’m ramping through her life – the sniper slipped onto the roof and started humming ‘Good-bye Norma Jean.’ I couldn’t let that title go unwritten.
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great x
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Do I know you from somewhere?
It was just barely cold enough to snow, and the flakes soaked the ground before accumulating. By the time the sun disappeared, everything I owned was covered by a layer of slush. There weren’t many good places to sleep in the park, not with the number of guards around, but there were a few, if you knew where to look and if you were one of the regulars and had one of those faces. Tourists gave me hot cocoa or a muffin they picked up at Starbucks. They told me with their eyes that I reminded them of their sister or a friend, and then they walked off into better lives.
My blanket was too wet to sleep under, so I burrowed underneath my bench, setting the blanket up as a windbreak. I thought I might be able to sleep if I could keep the wind off me.
A light flicked on in the house on the other side of the fence. There were two girls who lived there, about my age. One of them even looked a little like me. I tried to imagine what it would be like to live their lives, but the wind was sharp tonight, and the tears just froze on my face.
208 words
@drmagoo
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So sad!
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so sad but just lovely x
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DAY 1273
205 words
by Alicia VanNoy Call
@callthewriter
The end of the world always comes when the White House gets blown up, or Lady Liberty’s head goes bouncing down the street. At least that’s how it happens in the movies.
But this isn’t the movies.
We ran out of candles last month.
Penny and I, we used to talk about how we would know. When we’re at the end.
At first, the total darkness was disorienting. We stumbled over each other. Collided in the blackness. Now we move in sync, feeling the air around one another and knowing where to go.
I set out supplies for meals and Penny reconstitutes them. We eat in silence. I can hear her chew. Even in the pitch midnight of the shelter I can see her freckled cheeks, the blue eyes that met mine through the backyard fence.
It’s always been Penny and me.
After dinner, we sit back to back and Penny reminds me about the time we spent the night in the tree house. When we were just kids.
I can feel her shoulder blades through my shirt, the knobs of her vertebrae. We’ll run out of food in sixty-three more days. Then, Penny says, we’ll know.
Not like in the movies. But we’ll know.
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I love end of the world stories like this, the ones that feel so true and so real. Frightening, sad and touching. Well done.
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An Irrational Fear of Pi
192 Words
@mishmhem
#FlashDogs
Robbert “Don’t call me Bob” Matthews paced the confines of his hotel room. He had finally made it to the Mathletes National Championships, and his team had been put up in the Willard Hotel.
He longed to see the sights but it had been late when they arrived and the historical sites were closed, and the White House was in mourning. Excited, disappointed and unable to rest, he flipped through the channels until he’d realized all he’d see at this time of night was televangelists and paid programming.
With nothing else to do, he reached into the nightstand and pulled out the Gideons Bible. He opened it and started flipping through, but instead of words of wisdom he found page after page of quadratic equations; factoring and trigonometry. Confused he closed the book and saw, ‘This book placed by the Pythagoreans” engraved on the cover.
He quickly looked around the room to see if anyone was watching, which was when he saw a girl standing in the pass through doorway.
“Could you help me?” She asked holding out her own Pythagorean book. “I seem to have developed an irrational fear of Pi.
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Lol! A Pi Day story! I love it.
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