Friday Fictioneers: “Growing Pains”

 

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Wow, I actually have inspiration to write something coherent this time? AND I have a new idea for Lorequest? Amazing.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Luther Siler

Image Copyright: Luther Siler

 

Title: Growing Pains

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

 

If mom says I’m having growing pains (or did she say I was the ‘growing pain’?), this duck is going to redefine the term. My little brother shouldn’t be playing with stuffed animals anymore anyway. An old remote-control robot of mine will wear this duck’s skin just as good.

I send my Frankenstein (which squeaks like a dog in pain) into Ronnie’s room, to scare the prissy girliness right out of him.

He squeals. I run to see, to laugh in his blubbering, snotty face.

But Ronnie’s hugging the stupid thing like it just gave him a kitten for Christmas.

 

 

 


 

 

Beeble dee bee, it’s off to bed with me!

Because I stayed up too late. Again. Too much to do on these stupid stupid Fridays.

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Friday Fictioneers: “Old, Familiar World”

 

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I feel like I’m obligated to write something about Thanksgiving this time around. It’s a shame I don’t also feel obligated to submit these darn things on time!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Sandra Crook

Image Copyright: Sandra Crook

 

Title: Old, Familiar World

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

When I was a boy, a ship carrying my family, a wolf-eyed father and a mother with dawn in her hair, departed for the sunset horizon. I was to wait until the New World was ‘settled and civilized.’

Thus I watched for the ship from a grassy seaside cliff every day.

Years passed and not even the gout stopped me from climbing the cliff. I came less often after I was wed. And even less after my son was born. I promised to never leave them for new worlds— no family should have to wait like widows on a watch.

 

 

 


 

 

For those who are wondering, I didn’t actually have a historical ship in mind when I made this. Just any old early England/Ireland-to New World voyage where everybody died because of the cold/the Yetis/Odin cultists. Not like that narrows it down any.

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Flash! Friday: “May-Born”

 

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Well, with the announcement that this is going to be Flash! Friday’s last entry, I figured I’d make something a little referential to that fact. I’m sad to see it go, even though I’ve only been writing for it for a few months. It was a very unique (if a bit stressful) challenge. Ah well, here’s to an ending.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: May-Born

Character: Twins Fated to Die at the Same Instant

Theme: Magical Realism

Word Count: 200

 

Inspiration had a cold. He has such a poor immune system. Ambition can’t sit still, and she certainly can’t see to her twin brother’s needs.

Outside their windows, Chicago lays sleeping with its eyes open. The snow’s falling is just a ploy; a pale attempt to smother the city.

“Come on,” Ambition said, sitting at her computer. “This story won’t write itself.”

Inspiration rolls over on the sofa. He covers his greening body in a thick white blanket. He coughs, exhaustingly. “Do we have to?” he whines.

“Yes,” Ambition says. Her hair is tangled— Medusa’s defanged. “We’re running out of time. Look outside. This can only mean the end is coming.”

Inspiration wraps himself up further, like he’s spinning a cocoon. His form is beautiful, like a winter bay-blue with moonlight.

Ambition stands up, in a huff. Fleet-footed Mercury runs through her as she walks and fumes, a curse of her May-time birth.

“This is our rambling end, huh?” she cries, slowly stopping and her hand on the cold windowsill.

“Looks like it,” I said. I add a bit of self-insertion at the end, just for completion’s sake, and walk away to stare out my window at the falling snow.

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

And yes, it IS snowing outside right now. Quite a lot, actually. It’s freaking beautiful. And I actually live outside of Chicago, right where suburbia meets the country (typical of me, May-born Gemini that I am).

 

Yes, the Ambition and Inspiration from above are actually mine. And yes they both suck.

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Flash! Friday: “A Better Day”

 

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Quick quick, I’ve got to leave! Copy and paste faster, darn you!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: A Better Day

Theme: Desperation

Setting: A War-Torn City

Word Count: 159

 

 

“It’s almost the 21st century, goddammit,” I say, pulling my tattered blanket close to me. “Shouldn’t we be beyond all this by now?”

A shell, or something like it, goes off down the street. The silence that follows is worse than any scream. There could be a family, decades of history, in that space.

My brother and cousin set up his game of dominoes. Again. That’s all they do now, quietly play dominoes and slowly waste away. In their glazed eyes, I see a graveyard. Me, I can at least linger and stare at the horizon, hoping against hope that one day I’ll see the sun rise and not dread the thought of another day.

In the bedroom, I lean down next to my sunny-haired wife. Stolen meds ring around her bed like roses around a coffin. Her breath is weak and low. Somewhere else in the world, somebody is having a bad day because they stubbed their toe.

 

 

 

THE OTHERS

 

 


 

 

If I don’t do this now, it’ll never get done! Because I’ll be gone all day. I’m not gonna burst into flames or anything. Yet.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Friday Fictioneers: Prometheus of the Depths

 

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Honestly? It’s practically Halloween and the picture for this week has tentacles and sunken stone remnants in it. Of course I’m going Lovecraftian!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Dale Rogerson

Image Copyright: Dale Rogerson

 

Title: Prometheus of the Depths

Genre: Fantasy/Horror/Lovecraftian

Word Count: 100

 

 

Tip your hat to the man on the dock       

                Lest horrid fog find you on the loch…

 

Supposedly he’s been there, smelling of fish and death, since Herbert’s founding. It would be a beautiful town if not for him; he scares visitors away with his profane rambling and glassy, hateful eyes.

From my boat, I curse his eyes and toss his ratty hat overboard— tipping it, in a way.

A fellow fisherman shouts. He’s pointing at the abysmal tentacles rising from the depths. They smell of fish and death. And the fog rolling in will keep our deaths a secret…

 

 

 

 


 

 

Maybe I should go as an overzealous editor for Halloween this year and write disparaging comments on everything, particularly things that people are fond of.

But we must not stare into that abyss for too long, lest we become monsters editors ourselves…

I actually love editors. I’ve had nothing but good experiences with them thus far. But I must fulfill my societal contract of daily mental/emotional stonings and antagonism by editors. Its in the fine print of a writer’s life contract.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Friday Fictioneers: Lucid Dreaming

 

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Seems I made this blog two year ago today. Why on earth I chose to make it in October I’ll never know. Heck, I didn’t even do anything with this until July or so of last year.

The totally irrelevant and largely not-worth-investigating mysteries of life.

But hey, I guess this means that I almost share an anniversary with Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s reign of Friday Fictioneers? Now that’s actually interesting!

 

Have fun~

 


 

Image Copyright: Ron Pruitt

Image Copyright: Ron Pruitt

 

Title: Lucid Dreaming

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

Like a time machine set to 1863 (hurry, the Battle of Gettysburg is starting soon), my mind is thrown backwards to a land that is familiar, untouched, and thus, alien.

I still have a wife, a son, a purpose to live. Back then, Father’s Day didn’t feel like a funeral. Like a great battle, the causalities were absolute in the war between my wife and I, though we couldn’t tell you who fired the first shot.

I suppose I expected myself to wake up from that nightmare until the lucidity becomes normality. There’s no waking up from an arresting reality.

 

 

 

 


 

 

I think I ended up turning this one into a dream because of all of the lucid dreaming I’ve been doing recently. I tell you, it’s a lot less fun than it sounds when you’re attacked by a spider so large that it bumps your whole body as it runs under you which causes you to wake up in real life very afraid and very spazzy.

Still cool though, in retrospect.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Friday Fictioneers: “Rivers Flows Through Us”

 

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Rain’s weird. It’s so damn neutral. Just nature being nature, not messing up lives or helping them. Just continuing the cycle, spinning nature’s big wheel. And it’s too quiet and contemplative to make a real plot out of.

At least my tired brain says so.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Image Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Title: River Flows Through Us

Genre: Fantasy (?)

Word Count: 100

 

I wish my antlers could grow leaves. I could be more like unto my lord, nature itself. The way each drop falls from one leaf to the next one down to my own head and then to the soil. Rain is nature’s great river, touching everything in its flow on the way down.

My fawns are young but they know this to be true. They hold their heads up skyward, even without their antlers.

We all laugh, content to be part of the flow of the river, while humans run and hide from it all, running from parts of themselves.

 

 

 


 

 

There should be a law about making young people go to bed on Friday before 1:00AM. Just doesn’t seem right.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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