Many, many ages ago, there was a stone mountain in the southern corner of Ireland shaped in a peculiar heart formation. One particularly electric night, a bolt of lightning shot off a large boulder and sent it flying down to the field below. It stayed there for countless centuries, and lent shade to many a lovers’ picnic.
But destiny would not have it. For a vicious storm passed and another fateful lightning bolt struck, and suddenly, that absolute monolith was split into two.
At first, the divided boulder mourned its separation. But as time passed, the two stones grew so accustomed to their new positions that it appeared as if they had never been one stone at all. That, one may argue, was the greatest tragedy of the stone mountain.
Word count: 130. For a flash fiction challenge. Well, I tried.
The team employed the use of Nightshade to get the information they wanted from their captive.
With poisonous extractions from nightshade foliage combined with an assortment of other unfriendly matter, the team transplanted the mix into a tube of rose DNA and created the Nightshade- a deathly white flower whose scent proved fatal to those exposed to it for more than five days. The symptoms were horrible, painful to observe, and the deaths were always consistently slow and dragged out. Most prisoners relented information under the false hope that they’d receive an antidote. Even more deadly, it seemed, than the Nightshade itself were its administers. They were young adults with trademark snowy hair, pale skin, and translucent irises, who had all developed resistance to the poisonous plant due to staggered exposure since birth. They were known to be silent killers, but as current captive Nikolai Reminovsky knew to be true, they were all still human.
Word count: 139. For Monday’s Finish-the-Story. I guess this one wasn’t much a story than a bunch of setting vomit, but ah well.
“Emma, can’t you come bowling with us?”
“Sorry, but I’m broke.”
“I bought a selfie stick.”
“It was surprisingly more expensive than I had expected.”
“Oh, it wasn’t for me.”
“Does your dad know?”
“He does now. Dad loves his new selfie stick.”
For the 5o-word story challenges. “Selfie stick” was the one I attempted today. And failed, because that was just a bunch of dialogue, and not at all a story. Blargh.
She was a dancer from Brooklyn- poised, heart-faced, and graced with long legs. She performed in competitions and shows and won ribbon after medal after trophy.
“She’ll make it big,” the critics raved.
“She’s already big,” the crowd roared.
Then the dancer from Brooklyn retired in seclusion, preferring quieter things.
While this one wasn’t as good, I’d say it’s more a “story” than a “moment”, so that’s improvement, eh? For the 50-word story challenge found here. The prompt was “grace”.
Billy was simply furious. As a pro cowboy, said man ought to sit upon big animals and do tricks. I will not purify any stalls again, as long as I am living, Billy thought angrily. I am so sick of bull poop. I did not sign up for this gross insanity. Unsurprisingly, a particular cowboy quit his job.
Rules copy-pasted off the original post:
1) Write a whole paragraph ( a paragraph sounds easy right?) without any word containing the letter “e” (still easy for ya?)
2) By reading this you are already signed up.
3) Challenge at least five bloggers to do the challenge. They must do it within 24 hours or it is considered as failure.
4) If you fail or pass, suffer in the Page of Lame.
5) If you win, wallow in the Page of Fame.
And it seems I won! *does a mini-dance in the Page of Fame simply because I can* This challenge was surprisingly hard! Gosh, I don’t know what I’d do without the letter “e”… Although I’m going to be a rebel here and not follow rule #3. Simply put, if you are reading this, you are already tagged. 🙂
I was trapped in a labyrinth, and the memories crawling behind me forced me into an intersection. The left and right hallways were dimly lit, yet unsure. There was also the option to go straight, but the path declined into darkness. The mind was a difficult place to escape from.
Oh whoop-de-doo, look who wrote a moment instead of a story! At least I’m improving… I hope. One of (many to come) 50-word stories.
“These ice sculptures are surprisingly not that boring.”
“Mhmm,” I said, scanning the area. The lot behind the city art hall had been strung with Christmas lights. People milled around in winter jackets to admire the handiwork of the sculptors. But no sign of-
Something socked me in the shoulder. I turned around to find Fred frowning up at me.
“What was that for?”
Fred sighed. “Dude, you haven’t been paying attention… to anything.”
“Have I?” I mumbled, glancing over the lot again, my eyes widening as my sight locked upon twin braids and a purple beanie.
Fred followed my gaze. “Anya’s here?”
“Come on,” I beckoned, then broke into a sprint in her direction.
Fred chased after me. “No wonder you’ve been so absentminded!” A loud groan could be heard. “Now why did I have to be best friends with a romantic?”
Word count: 144. For this week’s Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer.