Friday Fictioneers: Abyss

 

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It really is a strange phenomenon that as soon as I come home from college, even if it’s for only a few days, I completely neglect to work very hard on my blog work. I had even written this and the Five Sentence Fiction a day ago and yet here I am, a week later, still ironing it out for today.

Consistently inconsistent is a good way to describe a lot of my work ethic as soon as I come home, strangely. I think it comes from the fact that, with no friends around me to do such horrible things as enjoyable socialize with me,

 

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Lauren Moscato

Image Copyright: Lauren Moscato

 

Word Count: 100

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: Abyss

 

 

Dad left for the oil rig five years ago. I sent him letters for four years, one every week, asking how he was and what he thought of the pictures of me graduating from middle school, starting high school, winning the Science Olympiad, and so on and on. Then, mom finally convinced me to stop sending them. I’d like to think the day dad left, he just opened the front door and fell into an abyss. It’s not a happy answer but at least it’s something.

I’ve decided to go to college for a Sociology degree; Dad always hated Sociology.

 

 

 


 

 

I’m really not entirely happy with this one, regardless of how much I mull over it. It just didn’t stick out as having the same punch as some of my more favoured ones like Battle of Dinnerplate 6 and Remembering History. Granted, if I had the space of a few more sentences, I probably could have added something a little more surreal or symbolic to such an odd sight as a door with no floor.

But alas, them’s the 100-word breaks.

Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to continue preparing for the all-day ham-obliterating affair that is Easter.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Five Sentence Fiction: Gateway Drugs

 

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It’s true, it’s all true. What you are about to read is almost frustratingly true. It really has developed into a kind of addiction and I don’t there’s a single one of us who are feeling of the pull of said addiction that could say that we’re unhappy with it.

Which makes it seem like I’m going to be writing about some kind of extremely disreputable debauchery. Well, depending on your interpretation of success and if you have any kind of respect for monetary success, it may be some kind of pure weightless debauchery in your eyes.

But I doubt that very much, given the site I’m on.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Word of Inspiration: Entrance

Word Count: 173

Genre: Creative Non-Fiction

Title: Gateway Drugs

 

The amount of times I have heard the term “gateway drugs” thrown about like softballs has reached into the realm of new and theoretical numbers. Well, what nobody had bothered to tell us impressionable children was what exactly constituted a “gateway drug”— we thought they would just be the obvious things: green leaves that looked like mold, powder that you swear was actually salt, and really anything in a hypodermic needle found outside of a doctor’s office. But nobody had ever thought to tell us about the most addicting, most soul-strangulating drug of all, the one of black letters printed onto white pages. White pages we named ourselves and black letters of our own creation— twenty-six different letters spun in infinitely different ways so that what one of us wrote, nobody else did. I walked through the gateway f this drug when I looked back at what I written for the first time in those infinite black letters and found that I had never known real happiness until I had known real addiction.

 

 

 


 

 

Is Outlander any good? Does anybody know? I’m “watching” a little bit of it in the background now and I can’t make heads or tails of it. I feel like once watching Game of Thrones and reading Song of Ice and Fire, I can’t get as much into medieval books or shows (LOTR doesn’t count because it’s a movie and it’s beautiful) unless they’re really harsh and realistic. Then again, Outlander is in the early 1700’s, yes? Maybe I’ll just wing it. Worked with Downton Abbey, I guess.

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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