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sonamdrukpa
Wayfarer


Registered: 10/18/11
Posts: 2,777
Last seen: 2 months, 8 days
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55 word fiction 1
#18771262 - 08/28/13 11:36 PM (10 years, 5 months ago) |
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Post your own flash fiction! 55 word maximum. Absolutely no flaming or shitting on other people's work. Here goes:
"Not too much, not too much," she said, "the stars are cold and there won't be another harvest."
She took 3 bites of stale bread. Minutes passed by.
She wrapped the bread in white cloth. Her hands were gnarled. "They are all gone," she reminded herself, at the end of time, "They are all gone."
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Seriously_trippin
Cosmic Guru Ganesh



Registered: 07/12/13
Posts: 14,471
Last seen: 18 hours, 9 minutes
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A little over 55 words its 57 but I haven't written poetry since middle school and this sparked my imagination
A beautiful sunrise, brings the light to the grassland to reveal decimation. The putrid stench of piles of bodies decayed days passed fills the air with the same potency as a fresh apple pie.Whispers of the dead and damned ask the same question,was Antietam worth it? Soldiers who changed America never to know their impact.
-------------------- R.I.P Zombi3, Blue Helix Modest Mouse Zappa Slothie That Kid With The face ShLong Le Canard split_by_nine & Big Worm Forever Etched in the sands of time in the shroomery and ever so beloved and deeply missed by many
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MorphinTime
Tulpa



Registered: 09/05/11
Posts: 7,151
Loc: Angel Grove
Last seen: 18 hours, 33 minutes
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Exhausted, he slumped down onto a weathered log for a short recess. The tunnel's support beams appeared robust enough for his taste, but once under the lake excavation would become increasingly hazardous.
Allan allowed a moment's glance at the small ceder chest and retied his laces before collecting his tools and relighting his propane lantern.
Edited by MorphinTime (08/29/13 03:32 AM)
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MorphinTime
Tulpa



Registered: 09/05/11
Posts: 7,151
Loc: Angel Grove
Last seen: 18 hours, 33 minutes
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"With no guitar this pinky's useless," he said to himself, trying to rationalize the action he was about to make.
"I can use my waistband as a tourniquet of sorts," Reimi offered, "it's good elastic."
"Honestly, I'd rather eat the baby than that smelly, callused digit of yours. That squealer'll die first anyway," Jasper complained.
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Seriously_trippin
Cosmic Guru Ganesh



Registered: 07/12/13
Posts: 14,471
Last seen: 18 hours, 9 minutes
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Quote:
MorphinTime said: "With no guitar this pinky's useless," he said to himself, trying to rationalize the action he was about to make.
"I can use my waistband as a tourniquet of sorts," Reimi offered, "it's good elastic."
"Honestly, I'd rather eat the baby than that smelly, callused digit of yours. That squealer'll die first anyway," Jasper complained.
Damn that's dark,but I like it =P
-------------------- R.I.P Zombi3, Blue Helix Modest Mouse Zappa Slothie That Kid With The face ShLong Le Canard split_by_nine & Big Worm Forever Etched in the sands of time in the shroomery and ever so beloved and deeply missed by many
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abltsandwich
JFK = Jelly Donut




Registered: 06/16/09
Posts: 11,537
Loc: Dildoville
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Cleetus likes to practice anus stretching. He bought a butt plug stretch kit after thorough research. There's nothing like a tight fit on the next size up. He's at 3 5/8" with no discomfort on ingress, though a little tight on egress. He needs to practice the Relax & Push tek. He'll get to 5" by next April.
Edited by abltsandwich (08/29/13 12:54 AM)
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Niffla



Registered: 06/09/08
Posts: 46,485
Loc: Texas
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The old, blind Indian man smiles toothlessly and brings the cobra closer. It's enough to send me reeling back where I bump into a wooden stand filled with little statues of Indian deities. One of the statues, a woman who is all arms with a face bent on terror, falls to the ground. Kali, the destroyer. Lately, Mother has accused me of keeping her as my unofficial patron saint. Lately, Mother and I haven't been getting on very well. She claims it's because I've reached an impossible age. I state emphatically to anyone who will listen that it's all because she refuses to take me to London.
"I hear in London, you don't have to defang your meals first," I say. We're moving past the cobra man and into the throng of people crowding every inch of Bombay's frenzied marketplace. Mother doesn't answer but waves away an organ-grinder and his monkey. It's unbearably hot. Beneath my cotton dress and crinolines, sweat streaks down my body. The flies-my most ardent admirers-dart about my face. I swat at one of the little winged beasts, but it escapes and I can almost swear I hear it mocking me. My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
Overhead, the clouds are thick and dark, giving warning that this is monsoon season, when floods of rain could fall from the sky in a matter of minutes. In the dusty bazaar the turbaned men chatter and squawk and bargain, lifting brightly colored silks toward us with brown, sunbaked hands. Everywhere there are carts lined with straw baskets offering every sort of ware and edible-thin, coppery vases; wooden boxes carved into intricate flower designs; and mangos ripening in the heat.
"How much farther to Mrs. Talbot's new house? Couldn't we please take a carriage?" I ask with what I hope is a noticeable annoyance.
"It's a nice day for a walk. And I'll thank you to keep a civil tone."
My annoyance has indeed been noted.
Sarita, our long-suffering housekeeper, offers pomegranates in her leathery hand. "Memsahib, these are very nice. Perhaps we will take them to your father, yes?"
If I were a good daughter, I'd bring some to my father, watch his blue eyes twinkle as he slices open the rich, red fruit, then eats the tiny seeds with a silver spoon just like a proper British gentleman.
"He'll only stain his white suit," I grumble. My mother starts to say something to me, thinks better of it, sighs-as usual. We used to go everywhere together, my mother and I-visiting ancient temples, exploring local customs, watching Hindu festivals, staying up late to see the streets bloom with candlelight. Now, she barely takes me on social calls. It's as if I'm a leper without a colony.
"He will stain his suit. He always does," I mumble in my defense, though no one is paying me a bit of attention except for the organ-grinder and his monkey. They're following my every step, hoping to amuse me for money. The high lace collar of my dress is soaked with perspiration. I long for the cool, lush green of England, which I've only read about in my grandmother's letters. Letters filled with gossip about tea dances and balls and who has scandalized whom half a world away, while I am stranded in boring, dusty India watching an organ-grinder's monkey do a juggling trick with dates, the same trick he's been performing for a year.
"Look at the monkey, memsahib. How adorable he is!" Sarita says this as if I were still three and clinging to the bottoms of her sari skirts. No one seems to understand that I am fully sixteen and want, no, need to be in London, where I can be close to the museums and the balls and men who are older than six and younger than sixty.
"Sarita, that monkey is a trained thief who will be begging for your wages in a moment," I say with a sigh. As if on cue, the furry urchin scrambles up and sits on my shoulder with his palm outstretched. "How would you like to end up in a birthday stew?" I tell him through clenched teeth. The monkey hisses. Mother grimaces at my ill manners and drops a coin in its owner's cup. The monkey grins triumphantly and leaps across my head before running away.
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HAIL OUR NEW OTD KING
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Niffla



Registered: 06/09/08
Posts: 46,485
Loc: Texas
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Re: 55 word fiction [Re: Niffla]
#18771711 - 08/29/13 03:05 AM (10 years, 5 months ago) |
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okay that was like 58 words
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HAIL OUR NEW OTD KING
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Konyap

Registered: 06/30/07
Posts: 33,945
Loc: Planet Piss
Last seen: 4 years, 2 months
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Re: 55 word fiction [Re: Niffla]
#18771716 - 08/29/13 03:11 AM (10 years, 5 months ago) |
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...
The mushrooms kicked in right as everyone showed up. Everything was starting to get really painted looking and he couldn't stand up straight anymore. The overwhelming chatter and noise from the speaker was starting to make him sweat, when a little purple monkey ran at his feet! He jumped back and it vanished. He spent the rest of the night curled up in his friends bedroom watching the posters on the wall taunt him.
Edited by Konyap (08/29/13 03:27 AM)
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MorphinTime
Tulpa



Registered: 09/05/11
Posts: 7,151
Loc: Angel Grove
Last seen: 18 hours, 33 minutes
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Steak was on the mind, but what cut? The decision wasn't easy when the hunger set. And that carnivorous calling had terrible timing when hijacking his mind and muddling his thought processes.
Days since his appetite for bovine flesh was sated, he stepped inside the fence with a wild look in his eye at dawn.
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