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It was carnival in Venice and everyone had on masks of demons.
Two people dressed as demons, a man and a woman, met and decided to go home together.
The man took off his mask. “Now you,” he said.
“I’m not wearing a mask” she said and killed him.
:banana:
Interesting!
Okay, here goes . . .
Once upon a time a king and queen married and lived happily ever after.
my landlady's ex-husband had never given his key back. he let himself in and stared at me as i unknowingly showered. i was in utter shock as i saw his fingers extend themselves toward me. even more disbelievingly, i saw myself brain him with my hot curling iron seconds later.
Brr... Scary stories. Mine is not horror, just something i wrote after work. And it´s 50 words! :
Five hours after her death I sign all the documents and put them in a red plastic cover. I enter the archive, and lacking a ritual I whisper her name, before sorting her file according to the numbers of her birthdate. I turn off the light, and lock the door.
I think I like Mono's best. :D
They all have enormous impact though. That's just my favourite because it ends happily ever after. ;)
We met at a party. We talked all night. We discussed existence. We talked about our lives, loves, hates. We couldn't seem to get enough of each other. We drew vast energy from each other. We drank some red wine. We kissed.The sun was coming up when we parted. (50)
She used to jump over puddles.
The rainwater would splash, and often, a smatter of mud would appear on the red galoshes she wore. When she jumped over those puddles, she flew, as one flies high in the sky, without any inhibition, or fear; a feeling of vertigo that surpassed the eagles.
I forgot him at the train station. I should never have gone into the cafe, but the pastries looked so nice, and oh! those charming blue eyes... He was no longer there when I finally remembered. For a pair of blue eyes and an apricot strudel, tonight I sleep alone.
Deleting because I want to enter them in a competition, just in case they get pissy about it being "previously published online"
Deleting because I want to enter them in a competition, just in case they get pissy about it being "previously published online"
I am 80 years of age, but I haven't lived. Now I lay in the grass wondering why,why, why. Why didn't I love, play, laugh and cry. I did nothing.
I look at the sky, I fly with the sparrow. I fall in the ocean and die.
I lived.
nemi's stories are excellent.
kudos! :banana:
Crawling, curling into a tiny ball as if she could face the life nomore. Shutting herself into a cocoon so that she didn’t have to see the world and the world didn’t see her anymore. Locked up in self-imposed imprisonment for a lifetime. Until… until she was a butterfly.
Jam and toast and fruit and tea, all laid out on a pretty little tray. Put a rose in a little vase. Take it up to the bedroom, but don't be too noisy. You haven't been this thoughtful in years! You're so smart. She'll never suspect a thing.
((What a great game!))
Her new house had a fireplace. She never used it. The logs remained untouched, ornamental. In her childhood, when the bombs dropped, many hid in the cellars. Until troops used flamethrowers to flush out the enemy.
Only children and women there.
The men had all perished on the battlefield.
She was reading Kenneth Tynan’s Diaries. “Could you show me the way to Grantchester?” I asked. Smiling she said “3 rows down, top shelf”. Later, in her flat, during our fusion, her grand finale coincided with my flourish. “Oh God” I cried. “Is there honey still for tea?” she whispered.
He sat helplessly watching the monitor. Her heartbeat seemed to form a word: LIPS. He instinctively kissed her. Would she now awake from her coma? No change. He watched again. HEART it said. He kissed her soft breast. No change. Just before she flatlined, the monitor read I LOVE YOU.
AP, that's so nice... and sad... and nice... awww, poor them :(... sequel? hapilly ever after? Fairy tale ending? I know, I'm silly, sue me, can't help it :blush:
It hurts so bad sometimes; it hurts so terribly, wretchedly bad that sometimes, she thinks she'd rather not have a heart at all.
And so, she sits, watching as the world passes by, and inside, her heart is breaking into a million pieces.
But you'd never know.
I still have my old doll. I don't know why. I hug it, it comforts me. One eye is fallen out,and my dog bit of two fingers. It watches me. I read, it watches me. I undress, it watches me. I wonder what it's thinking?!
Someone gave a homeless man a dollar bill; he spent the dollar on cigarettes; someone robbed the convenience store of the dollar bill; in his escape, the robber lost the dollar bill; it floated in the wind to a woman who gave it to her child; the child tore it in half.
I saw him today. As sweet as ever, he smiled at me.I blushed. I always do. I fell in love with him when I saw his eye's last week. Brown. Love at first sight. We had coffee, in a separet corner. We don't speak the same language.
The edges of the black notebook are frayed and slightly torn, stained by the mundane occurrences of life. But it’s pretty. I kept it by my side religiously for a whole school year. 7th to 8th. I scribbled frenetic thoughts. I dabbled in poetry. I nibbled on elegance. Oh notebook.
Exactly 50 words. B)
I read the news today, about a lucky man who made the grade. And though the news was rather sad. Well I just had to laugh I saw the photograph. He blew his mind out in a car. Hadn't noticed that the lights had changed.
(I kinda stole it, I had nothing)
'This is a story with a trick beginning.'
Your man put down his pen and considered the possibility that if he left this as the only sentence then his story would also have a trick ending.
"On the Art of the Short Story," Bernard MacLaverty
...she was in for a crime she hadn't committed. afraid she would go insane if she stayed, she befriended a rat. for her love, it chewed threw cement walls, enabling her to make her escape. the warden had the prison walls restructured with inner panes of glass.
her friend died.
Rounding the corner, he observed a classy blue convertible parked in front of his house. A round woman sat at the wheel. "You been around long?" he asked. Her lip curled, Billy Idol-like. "Only since I had my baby, you Irish jerk," was her round rejoinder.
I guess you could say his hour had come round at last, eh? :p
Suddenly Death leapt off the page, its letters inflating, rotating. You sat in amazement as the word, forming a bodyshape, awkwardly ambled across to the dimmer switch, the stumps of H slowly turning down the light. The room darkened. It grew cold. You noticed the clock had stopped. Motionless silence.
her nephew hadn't appeared - strange: everyone else had before their birth. yet he was due any minute. her skin tingled; she whispered a prayer, never saw the truck run the red light...the next thing marsha knew, she was blind, slippery, and her sister was saying "my precious, precious son."
in the airdock a man asked me: "have you the time?" thank god i learned english when i was fifty.
"half past the second moon dark," i replied "and have you seen any of the crew from Lunarcha?
why did he rush off? and which galaxy am i in anyway?
She lived alone in the house of her childhood, memories her companions. She read the paper at the table she had spilled milk on when she was three and allowed the dogs to sleep on the couch where she had lost her virginity at seventeen. The circle was nearly complete.
Holding the trophy aloft, he screamed to the crowd in a confident and victorious tone, “I am your champion”. The crowd roared with enthusiasm, then promptly stoned him to death.
The old woman fell asleep. The aged, creased, yellowed piece of paper slipped from her fingers to the floor where her cat batted it lazily in the late afternoon sun. The only words still legible: "I wish......."
The old woman died smiling.
The woman never cleaned her house. She lived in the dirt. Her cat's droppings all over the floor. Pretty soon she couldn't smell it anymore. She didn't care. Then a couple appeared at her door. They cleaned her house. The cat is happy, the woman hates the fresh smell.
it stares
at me for many
weeks now.
eyepiercing
accusing
conveniently forgotten
making
me squirm
in disgust.
and with
excruciating guilt
I try to
ignore
what with
apathetical
impossible
indifferent
impassibility
as one
hugely neglected
towering clump
slumps over
the rim of this
inncocent receptacle.
Laundry
waiting
to be ironed.
The plastic bag had been there since I started. It took me six months to wonder what was in it, during which time Jane assiduously rejected me. I had just decided to look when she came in and suggested a drink. When the affair ended, the bag was gone.
Years ago, I had an intimate friend. Days passed and came between us. Once I saw her walking with a new friend hand in hand, she was happy and ignored my presence completely. Standing there, my eyes full of tears, I've learned how to forget those who don't deserve my love.
I am afraid of old books. They stare at me with their eyeless eyes, silently sussurating with their centurified pages as if they wanted to enhance me to some endless sleep. A silent and subtle death awaits them who fall a victim to them.
The question is: "Am i suicidal?"
Fifty words.
Nice game.
It was a Saturday, sunny, perfect shopping weather. Suddenly there was a scream. Crowds rushed to help. They found a body that had been battered beyond recognition with a charity collection box. A woman covered in blood stood calmly by the body all she would say is;
“Never make excuses”.
:smash: :D
50