Five Sentence Fiction — Jack

 

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Clutch

American Sentence

I was lonely, a nerd, a recluse, never fitting in, pimple faced little runt and needing someone, really anyone to understand me.

We were friends from high school, where we were first introduced.

He was a good friend that would always cut you some slack.

Being with him was like being seduced.

In conclusion please let me introduce you to my very good friend Jack.

jack

San Diego Cafe — Weekly Writing Challenge

Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge

Hunter S. Thompson was an American author and writer. (He was also a drug enthusiast, among other things, but that’s another story for another day.) His infamous, detail-dense, first-person narrative, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, spawned a genre of reporting called Gonzo journalism. Gonzo journalism differs from typical reporting in that Gonzo journalists renounce claims of objectivity, often place themselves in the story as a first-person narrator, and include verbatim dialogue to capture and convey their first-hand experiences. The work can often have a “stream-of-consciousness” feel to it. In summary, the basic hallmarks of Gonzo journalism are:

There were a range of options to take in order to participate in this weeks challenge. I picked this scenario:

You’re in a street-side café in San Diego, California. The couple seated at the next table is breaking up.

“Don’t turn around Sara. I think the couple behind you is breaking up. Apparently she has had enough of his carousing around. Oh look, no don’t look now, she’s stirring her glass with that swizzle stick so fast there is a little whirlpool going round and around. Boy is she mad. I mean really mad. She keeps pushing her hair back with that real agitated look. You know the one I mean Sara? The one that says I’m pissed.”

“What does he look like?” asked Sara.

Cindy without a pause says, “Beautiful face, beautiful body, horrible attitude. The Holy Trinity of Hot Boys.”

Sara, finally looking back, says “I would say that boy is in for one hot argument. I would not like to argue with her because I would no longer feel safe because of the possible actions she may take. Watch her start pacing back and forth real fast, breathing out her nose. I least that is what I would do to that no good cowboy. I don’t care what he has done. What do you think he has done?”

“I don’t know what he has done but it must be a really bad thing. You know what that girl will do? I’ve seen her kind. When she gets to her boiling point she will start talking in the third person. That’s scary as hell because that’s her way of telling him that from this point on, she is not responsible for none of her actions. You go Girl!, said Cindy. I tell you women are cursed and men are the proof.”

Nice Try Buddy — But No Cigar

Kevin’s brain was fogged in. Slowly, it was receding to where he could make out fuzzy things. That was an improvement over having your eyes opening and seeing nothing but blackness. This state of poor vision reminded him of the time he finally decided to have cataracts. He loved to read the paper but he found it was fuzzy and out of focus even if he extended his arms full length or put the paper up to his nose. Some of the fuzzy things were moving. Slowly he realized he must be in a hospital but how did he get here. More memories started to flood his brain to almost overflowing with  thoughts trying to catch him up to the present.

Then he began to cry as he recalled what had happened. He was recently fired from a position he had held for many years because of insubordination. His lovely wife Mary had left him about six months before that. She could not stand his temper and him coming home drunk every night. He had no friends, he had lost his father last year, his younger sister 4 years before that and his mom 6 years ago. He had no friends at work. No hobbies, except if you call watching as many sporting events as possible in 24 hours, a hobby. He couldn’t stop his drinking and he knew full well he was extremely depressed.

That last night at the bar had been the last straw. Even the old girls were laughing at his attempt to pick them up with his old corny lines. He really had not thought that much about it but maybe, just maybe, life would be better if he ended it himself. Take responsibility. Yes Sir! I made that decision. I mean who would suffer? His wife? She was already dating a young business stud working as a stock broker. She wouldn’t care one way or the other. Hell, maybe she preferred him dead. “Get out of my life!.” Those were the last words she launched at him as she slammed the door on his face. “If you don’t leave now, and I mean right now, I’m calling 911,” she said.

That was two nights ago and he had not sobered up yet. Why should he. He had nothing to live for. Absolutely nothing. Driving home the bridge across highway 101 looked like an idea solution. They would suspect he was driving drunk, which he was, but they would not label it as a suicide. Would they? He didn’t care.

He head a voice say “Mr. Cartright….Mr. Cartright?” Kevin nodded his head as much as he could to indicate that he was indeed Mr. Cartright.

“I’m Doctor Yates and you have been in a serious car accident Mr. Cartright.”

Kevin mumbling and with slurred speech said “Trrryyyyed to killll meselfs.”

“Nice try Mr. Cartright, but no cigar,” replied the Doctor Yates.”

Then and there Kevin decided he would not  try that again. Ever!

Friday Fictioneers — Time For Bed

Our fearless Friday Fictioneers fantastic female big cheese Rochelle has furnished us this weeks challenge.

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end using the picture below. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

Copyright - Erin Leary

Copyright – Erin Leary

I draw my power from this earth. Running water draws it away. Sunset up, sunrise down. I live in a land of dripping midnight waters and soft grey web. I am a pedestrian who walks this path looking for unsuspecting virgins in the night. Demons and Spirits are my precursors so they say. I believe I have no name, just this white hand, a set of yellow teeth and a cold heart. I’m a thing in a box and with daylight I must return to heal my wounds from last night. Little drops of red liquor upon my sleeping lips.

Picture It & Write

by tightsqueez

A Marines email to his mother

“I was gonna call you but the phone is broken. I hate this place more than anywhere else i’ve been. I guess is a compilation of all the time I’ve done overseas fighting. Bullshit fights, its really bringing me down. I can’t wait till all this is over…I’ll be the biggest anti-war person this country will have… at least against this war in Iraq….Let’s go fight a different one somewhere else cause this one is lost. I swear i wish you could spend a week over here…you would know it’s lost. You can’t stop ‘holy warriors,’ especially in their territory. Tonight we are about to go drop off generators to the enemy (Iraqi civilians) hoping they will give us info about the enemy (bullshit storys). The shit your tax dollars go to would make you puke. You really would puke. I almost do when i think about it….. thomas jefferson would have a heart attack if he saw all the shit goin on today. Oh well. I really hope it changes soon when Bush is out…but i doubt it. I thinks its all Gods plan…he runs the show no matter what. Fate and all that…its good to trust him.”

“…I’ll keep the machine gun lubed in hopes of killin em all at the first opportunity for you. I love you ma and i know that no matter what you support me. I hope you don’t find this email burdensome. Just hit delete if that’s the case.”

<a href="http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/category/picture-it-write/" target="_blank"><img src="https://i1.wp.com/i115.photobucket.com/albums/n320/LadySerendipity/pictureitandwrite2copy-1.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>

Trifecta Challenge 100 — The First Time

We are asking for a 33-word response to the following snippet:
The first time I saw…

Here’s the catch: all of your 33 words must be one syllable each.  We’re going low-brow on your this week.  Or not.  Can you class it up under these restrictions?  Give us your best.

The first time I saw the damn thing I had to have  it.

My eyes grew big. My mind went blank.

Oh, you say, what can that be?

A new friend? A new love? Nah, my new phone!

iphone

Wildebeest — Speakeasy #144

The rules for Speakeasy #144 are found here.

He kept glancing at the pictures on her nightstand. There was their wedding day photo. It was a small wedding in a boat on a river. She was extremely pretty. There was the picture of both of them dressed in period costume taken on the Boardwalk. He as Clyde Barrow and she as Bonnie Parker. She used that picture on her desk at work and most of her co-workers never guessed that it was them. There was the one with both of them poking their heads out of an open aired jeep on a safari in Kenya with tangerine trees and marmalade skies.

The room was always quiet. No air sucking machines, no tubes invading her body, no pill bottles,  just the slight up and down movement of her chest. No noise. She was living by sipping nourishment through a straw. That was her life now.

That trip to Kenya was a special trip for them after she became very ill. It was on this trip they made a vow and a secret word that went with that vow. A word that they both understood to signify  it was time for the grand migration to the afterlife.

He left her room and went back to his den. His den was where he went to remember. His den, except for the time with his wife, was his whole life now.

Hospice had arranged for someone to visit three times a week. This time was the only time he left her side.

He chuckled as he told her stories about their marriage. The time she thought he was putting the moves on a waitress and all he was actually doing was making arrangements for a birthday cake to be brought to their table to celebrate their anniversary. The time he finally got enough nerve to tell her the dress she had picked out for a special occasion looked like the rug pattern from his grandmother’s house. She,  who on her first round of golf with friends had picked up the dime he used to mark his ball on the green and brought it to him and said, “see honey I found a dime.” Seeing the great Pyramids, the river cruise up the Nile, Whitewater rafting in Virginia, driving a NASCAR in North Carolina, a Hot Air Balloon ride in Wyoming were some of the many adventures they experienced together.

She usually was able to smile when he talked to her like this even though he knew she didn’t understand. She was just smiling because she recognized a voice she remembered and loved. Somethings can’t be forgotten.

Yesterday morning she made no reaction at all to his attempts at comedy. On his afternoon visit he sensed she was alert with her eyes open. She raised her chin in an effort to say something. There was no mistaking what she said. “Wildebeest.”

With no hesitation he make his way to the kitchen and made her the  special tea that she liked. He added the toxic ingredient he had bought illegally for this occasion and stirred. He returned to her bedroom and leaned over her frail body and inserted the straw into her mouth. She sucked in her last taste of life. And smiled! The same smile as he was blessed with on their wedding day.

The Hospice volunteer, arriving on time as usual, called out for him. She expected him to be in her room but he wasn’t there. The volunteer knew from experience that she had passed. Rushing to the den she found him slumped over his desk with a single sheet of paper. She picked it up. All it said was “Wildebeest.”

614 Words