Warmup Wednesday!

Directions: Write a scene or an entire story of 100 words on the nose (no more, no fewer), inspired by this photograph. No judging. All fun. (Normal Flash! Friday guidelines regarding content apply.)
Don’t forget to add your Twitter handle & link to your blog, pretty please.

And a few words on how your week’s going? Why, thank you! We accept!

 This week’s Warmup Wednesday challenge: include a homeless person.

Sportavia Fournier RF4-Redhawks Display Team-Duxford Oct 2010. CC2.0 pic by Feggy Art.

Sportavia Fournier RF4-Redhawks Display Team-Duxford Oct 2010. CC2.0 pic by Feggy Art.


7 thoughts on “Warmup Wednesday!

  1. Crashing Waves and Heart Planes

    He laid on the beach with a 40 of Michelob and his scissor tight pants. August sun whistled with seagulls and airplanes. The smoke from his cigarette melted into sweet torch of a waxen sky.

    Ferris Wheels rotated air clocked with second children screaming with waves slight of hand. Flowers brushed the mind with lavender whispers and sweet candy caresses.

    Air show in his heart turning his past into a dizzying display of regret and turmoil. Everything faded leaving still applause and wonderment. He drank from his bottle to quench the flames of another ditching.

    A hand dropped a reflection.

  2. Love Letters

    Mark adored Emily. He knew it from the moment they kissed beneath the monkey bars back in third grade.

    As they relaxed on the porch swing of his grandmother’s porch, he promised her, “I’ll show you, my sweet Emily. I want the world to know how much I love you.”

    Emily smiled, melting his heart into goo.

    On Monday, Mark visited a friend at the airport, and a deal was struck.

    A few days later as they lunched in the park, Mark heard the planes overhead, and he pointed at the sky.

    “e-e-e. Evelyn Erin Engelbert,” he said. “Marry me.”

  3. High in the Sky

    Betty bums a cigarette from the passer-by. She blows smoke like a whale shooting water. I turn my head away. It helps a little until the stench of stale urine overpowers my nostrils. My lungs scream for the fresh air.

    You can’t afford to have the diseases of the haves on these streets; heck, you can’t even claim the fresh air. The smoke billows; I can’t see beyond the haze. My lungs refuse to let the polluted air in. The swirls rise higher and higher; my heart soars with the birds. My limp body remains still in the street below.

    100 words
    My week is filled with various aches and pains, but on the positive side, the creative juices are flowing.

  4. Twitter: @colin_d_smith
    Blog: http://www.colindsmith.com/blog/
    Title: “Broken”

    “Loop de loop… loop de loop…”

    That’s all he ever says, the battered, broken man sitting across from me, when he isn’t dipping down to spoon beef stew between his hairy lips. Then he catches my eye, and there’s a glint, a small spark, a faint twitch of the mouth. Recognition, perhaps? Who can be sure?

    The stew is actually very good. I don’t know what I expected from this homeless shelter. Been in so many, the food starts to taste the same. But now it’s time to move on.

    “Come on, Captain,” I say, grabbing the old man’s arm.

    The week’s going fine. Our bathroom floor is being replaced, so I’ll be glad when that’s finished. So will my five daughters… 🙂

  5. North

    I head north.
    I have only direction left in me.
    Under one sky!

    This is the route I must take,
    that we must all take.

    We are no longer one within ourselves.
    We are a flood;
    Humanity flowing through one corridor.
    I am indistinguishable from my comrades,
    The men, women and children who comprise
    This unwelcome rush of refugees.
    We are fleeing from war, from hunger, from death.

    We overwhelm Greece.
    We irritate Macedonia.
    We inconvenience Serbia.
    We frighten Hungary.

    I head north.
    I have only one direction in me.
    Under one sky!


    100 and counting
    As a writer, as a human, I want to not be immune from the way the world is. This week, my writing has been impacted from world events. Not totally but mostly. The issue of citizenship, of mass migration, this week at any rate, seems to have shown how frozen in inaction the world is. Fences; gates. Barriers. Other than all of this, it has been a pleasant week on my safe little Island. Last night I attended the rouch cut showing of “Going Furthur” (not a typo…though originally it was) a documentary that captured the 50th anniversary, epic 75 day journey, honoring Ken Kesey’s prankster trip in 1964.

  6. AMBIKA’S MAGIC (word count 100)

    After we’d crawled into our bedroom made of blankets and sarees attached to the car park wall, we’d go on the most amazing trips. Clapping our hands over our eyes, we pretended our tent was a palace with gold and pink domes on top. We dashed through the palace doors past the gardens down to the lake, we dangled our legs in the water and watched fish, listened to the birds and watched planes loop the loop.

    Then, the dream exploded, showering us with stardust—opening our fingers, we peeked at the street lights through the slits in our tent.

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