50 words

[paradoxical]

Since we have a thread for stories with 150 words, I thought maybe we could try 50 words or less. I'll start and hopefully other people will reply.

* * *

I turn the corner and see a trail of flame making its way to the truck, a man running away. The gasoline burns until the fuel tank explodes. Glass windows flex outward then shatter. I get out of there before the police arrive, I have enough problems of my own.

[Dodo25]

I can't bear the thought of spending this sunny afternoon in my stuffy office. Yet not showing up would bring trouble. This decision is too difficult, too much responsibility. I let fate decide: heads for work, tails for fun. Heads. Shouldn't you flip the coin after catching? F*** work.

[dizzydoll]

I‘ve just one request when we meet at the airport! What’s that?

You may look, and you may touch, but you may not talk for 10 minutes. Do you think you can manage that? Well I dunno, where can I touch?

Your lips on mine. Cool, it'd be my pleasure.

:blush:

[SilentLove]

When I left the side of the piano, I found him there, waiting. His eyes trained solemnly on me, watching. I drifted over quietly, and nuzzled into his side. His arms wrapped around me and nothing could have left my soul more nourished than that simple gesture. What is love.

[DocHeart]

She points to the kitchen surface. "What's all this then? You're a collector of empty Haig bottles now?"

"Been too busy to tidy up. Sorry."

"Why don't you just admit your life's been a wreck since I moved out."

"Okay, I admit it."

"Good. I'm moving back in."

[dizzydoll]

"Coo-wee how about a little chinwag" The rough voice of the flap neck chameleon called from the Mukwa tree.

"What's your name?" asked the bush baby.

"I'm the famous Art Deco, surely you've heard of me! And you?"

"I'm new here, my name is Jewels" he said lost in thought.

[DocHeart]

"Something about the Empire State depresses me. Or could it just be that you're seeing someone else?" She fumbles in her purse for something.

"New York could be mistaken for a Persian carpet from up here," I say absentmindedly.

"Why don't you take your fake one-liners elsewhere, too?" she laughs.

[dizzydoll]

I'll never forget the day of my Persian carpet ride. It happened right after I swallowed that little blue microdot pill. Blew my mind to kingdom come where pixies and fairies live among colors that are almost luminous. Too bad I had to come back down to earth again.

[paradoxical]

There's been some really good stories posted in this thread. I'll try to come up with another one, but I'm finding it much harder then I thought to write a story in only 50 words.

Also, it seems like there is a fine line between flash fiction and prose poetry. I was wondering if it has to do with plot? Maybe someone here could explain the difference. I believe some of the things I've written may actually be considered prose poetry instead of a short short story.

[overnight life]

He woke to the sound of her(?) ... inching the drawers out --- aligning them to be one inch out but flush. Then, she straightened all the pens to be parallel. Oh boy, he thought, as he noticed her multiple bottles of medication. If I can just find my clothes ...

[overnight life]

the difference is the portrayal of time. fiction is time beating away in real time. This, then that, then this. Poetry is the idea of concepts which don't need time, like

The bees are free to leave,
the queen is a slave to the hive.

No time passes in that, it is just concepts mixing about.





Life is but a walking shadow,
A poor player that struts and frets,
His hour upon the stage,
Then is heard no more.

No time passes in that though time is mentioned, the hour is just a portrayal of insignificance against eternity. The first line is the focal point, the next three are the metaphor that exemplify that first line.




Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need.

On the other hand ........

For fiction to be fiction must have at least some motion and some time, even if that motion and that time is someone thinking, such as ....

He stared into the mirror. "What happened ?" he thought as he noticed the scrape on his hand, then heard the sirens.

Both action, thought and time pass in this, so it is fiction.

Blood on the hands,
Sirens in the distance,
And a piercing headache
Means trouble.

THAT'S poetry because these are universally stated as a set circumstances that lead to a principle, like a Confucius quote.


Now let's make the analogy to the shakespeare quote

Trouble will soon arrive,
If blood is on the hands,
Sirens are in the distance
And your head is cloudy.




Poetry is timeless and generalized. Fiction progresses with some evidence of time and is more specific.

[overnight life]

THIS WOULD BE THE FICTION VERSION

He woke to the sound of her(?) ... inching the drawers out --- aligning them to be one inch out but flush. Then, she straightened all the pens to be parallel. Oh boy, he thought, as he noticed her multiple bottles of medication. If I can just find my clothes ...

THIS WOULD BE THE POETRY VERSION

If you wake in a strange woman's home
To find her practicing her neurotic tendencies
Surrounded by her medication ...
Find your clothes.

The poetry one sounds urgent and funny. The fiction one sounds mysterious and cautious, less panicky.

[overnight life]

He woke to the sound of her(?) ... inching the drawers out --- aligning them to be one inch out but flush. Then, she straightened all the pens to be parallel. Oh boy, he thought, as he noticed her multiple bottles of medication. If I can just find my clothes ...

[dizzydoll]

While Dave made rooibos tea, I glanced out the window to see the elephants sauntering past the Ford for their daily drink. Only 3 today, I thought wondering if HPH swimming pool water is bad for them, good thing the gate is open today after they ripped the last from its hinges.

..

PS. This story is based on fact.

[Captain Pike]

Driving to work one morning, I heard a snapping beneath the car, and saw profuse smoke in the rearview mirror. I pulled immediately into a convenient garage with my oil light flashing. I couldn't believe -- he had a plug! But it was too late -- my engine was ruined.

[dizzydoll]

...turns what we've got into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow. :banana:

[dizzydoll]

Why do you keep doing it? What on earth do you expect to gain? You pierce the hearts of a nation while you lay in wait with evil intent. Shame on you. They say we operate from motive, so please tell me yours.

[misterblok]

Passing

A blurred white light, eyes open, but unable to focus. Without practice. Covered in fluid. Red. Transparent. Noises, muffled, spoken through a barrier. The smell of life, fresh and incomparable. The firm contact of a gloved hand with naked flesh. Nothing made any difference, it was too late already. Life was short, but it was still lived.

[dizzydoll]

It was dead quiet as I crept through the endless graveyard. The tombstones seemed to be watching my every move. Some wilted flowers in vasts with no water did nothing to brighten this eerie boneyard. Suddenly he jumped from behind a bush and grabbed me, I screamed but nobody heard.

[RaoulDuke]

I remember she used to take her ring off before we made love. This evening, I lay next to her warm, satisfied body, feeling the cold metal in my clasped hands. She keeps it on now, becuase this one was mine to give.

[moonbird]

"Where the hell are your shoes?" she demands, towering above my bare-footed self in her six-inch stilettos. "We're models, honey, we have to look beautiful, and you can't do that without shoes!"
"Of course I'm wearing shoes," I reply. "You like them?" I walk out onto the runway.

[Tarvaa]

It fell to the floor and shattered. A manifestation of concern traced across her brow. Admission was unnecessarily honest. Concealment pointless. With a sigh to dispel her paralyzing thoughts, she slowly turned and walked away. It wasn’t me, she would say.