Write a story using exactly 55 words. (Not including the title, although the title should lend depth to the story and be no longer than seven words.)
The story should open with a conflict
Have a resolution--hopefully with a twist or deeper insight
FIRST PLACE ($15.55 gift card from Amazon for books):
White lady, blue sweets
The nibble-pibblies were back last night. They got under the bed again. The white lady who brings the blue sweets doesn't believe me. I don't eat the blue sweets - so I'm awake when they come. They tell me things about faces and voices, and how to make them stop. Starting with the white lady.
RUNNERS UP (each receive $5.55 gift card from Amazon for books):
He sat very still on the floor and let her build towers, tall fragile twins, one on each hand. Everyone smiled. It was rare for this child to relax and be peaceful like this. Then the towers fell down and the whole world fell apart. Outside the window, the grown-ups were as crazy as he.
Life of the Party
Tall, slim, almost sexy, she was passed willingly from guy to guy every night. She accepted any set of lips, gave herself over to every caress, soft or rough. She took on anyone who could fill the hole and feed the fire down below. Again? Yes. Again? Yes! Again? YES!
“Dude. Stop hogging the bong.”
Steven L. Hawk
Victoriana Has Its Place
They wrote a manual on their life’s passion: hunting down melancholy trivia recycled to hold mail, hold nuts, hold everyone’s attention when the conversation lagged. We gave it our best years, he said proudly. It was as good as anything we might have done to keep from finding out how much we disliked each other.
Consuelo Saah Baehr
He calls me at 10:34, but that’s all wrong.
The space is dark, muted. Its walls feel like a dead man's skin, cold to the bone. I’m hungry and my toe hurts. Then I hear someone talk, getting closer. Fuzzy red light reaches my eyes. Let's go for a T-incision the man says.
Jeroen ten Berg
He regularly came to this overlook with its view of Manhattan. One day, he noticed an attractive woman, several benches away. For many weeks, he sat at his bench; she hers. They both sat quietly staring at Manhattan. He finally decided to say hello; she got up and walked away. He never saw her again.
You’re a lying snake, Richard. That’s what you are, and you d*mn well know it. I hope cheating on me with that skank, Cindy was worth it. I hope the two of you knuckleheads had a whole lot of fun. And I hope you know that’s why I’m setting your house on fire right now.
Nexus in Texas
She flowed into the chaise like liquid silver-- an alien goddess reclined in my living room and ordered sweet Texas tea. How could I have anticipated my house would be a nexus for inter dimensional travel across the nether realms? Eureka! A way to pay my bills!
“Want that super sized for only $1000 more?”
Wrapped in a blanket of his own conceit, he strutted into the meat market. Spying a pretty blonde seated in a corner, he strutted over. Ignoring the hopeful look of her overweight friend, he asked the hot model to dance. She looked him up and down with disdain, then turned back to her conversation. Brrrrr!
Seven Thousand Island Girl Undressing
I peeled sun scorched skin from my tender shoulder and let the flake flutter down into the toilet bowl below, to accompany a recently disposed condom. I had met the Filipina only four hours ago. Things progressed quickly and here I was, removing skin and latex, telling remnants from the vices of sun and sex.
You said you no longer loved me. I gave you my heart, children, and my best years. Two decades discarded like used Kleenex. Was your time with her worth it? Well, at least I got half. I bet she and your pool boy are enjoying the other half. Do you need to blow your nose?
I can't say goodbye my love. My ethereal form lingers the feeling of your loving touch. If I crossover I will be loosing you one more time. Perhaps we will be able to communicate in your dreams. In the meantime please don't cry for me anymore.
We will be together again when you die, love.
Vianka Van Bokkem
I take to the drink, except when my insanity sufficiently intoxicates me. I drink. Hemingway drank. They say he liked to drink while he read but never when he wrote. Well I drink when I write! I’m a little drunk right now; and so, splendid buzzing prose flows from my inebriated but not inert brain.
Stupid cow. I hate her and I wish I never met her. She’s made my life miserable. She never listens, always upsets my routine and is the bane of my existence. I should get rid of her. Just get my gun and put a bullet in her head. I bet she would make great hamburgers.
The plane is delayed, tardy with your arrival. I am dressed, patiently waiting. It is hard being left behind as the one you love most is sent half a world away, to dance with the enemy. The day you left was the hardest until now. When you return in a box, ready for the earth.
Steven L. Hawk
The Repurposed Wives’ Tuesday Night Get Together
They were impatient to chime in. It was agreed. Now they had everything. Extra income, a usefulness, the bond of self-hate broken, happier children. We eat less, was said. More sex was implied. A tongue, loosened by god knows what piped up: I didn’t realize how much I hated to turn to him for money.
Consuelo Saah Baehr
Dirty little lies. A little emotional slight of hand and you won’t even see it coming. A small knife with a shiny blade so thin you barely feel it going in. Add a little twist to make sure it leaves a scar. You scratch mine and I’ll stab yours. After all, what are friends for?
Note: the entries were submitted, without the writers’ names, to three judges—a well known novelist, a published poet and a playwright/ former professor of literature.
Thank you so much for submitting your work. I intend to hold this contest again.