Writing Slam!

Chicken Pugget

This week (after a long holiday break) my writing group could just not think up a word to do for our Flash Fiction Writing Slam! I suggested that we go to Google, type in the word ‘Crazy’, and write about the 18th picture that showed up.

This is that picture. Sorry original photographer, but I have no idea how to credit you, this picture turned up everywhere in searches, and now it is here as well! If it is yours, let me know and I will credit you.


Chicken Pugget

Whimper.

Aristotle looked over at me longingly. I had to avert my gaze in shame.

“No,” I said, my voice riddled with guilt, “these are not for you!”

He returned a look to me that I understood all too well. That was the look that didn’t say “Yes they are for me, as I am cute!”, it was the look that said “Those are not for YOU either.”

He was right. I shouldn’t be eating these. I had made a promise, not just to myself, but to Steve, Aristotle, and everyone at the used video store when I bought my new Jazzercise VHS tape.

“Look, it was a busy day at the rollercoaster repair shop, I didn’t want to cook tonight.”

Whimper.

I wasn’t going to get away with it that easy, I could tell, but I had to try.

“You shouldn’t be eating these either you know. They are bad for dogs!”

Whimper.

“I’ll do an extra set of Jazzercise tomorrow okay? It is my weekend.”

Whimper.

“Okay fine, just one! But don’t you dare tell anyone Stots!”

The flung nugget was devoured in one swift dribble dusted bite.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone Angela, this will be our little secret.” Aristotle said, licking his lips with his oversized tongue.

“Oh right, I always forget you can speak one sentence after eating a chicken nugget.”

Whimper.


It went weird at the end there, I admit.

If you have 15 minutes to write about this picture, what would you have written about?

 

 

Impressive Too Bet Singing

This time for my writer’s group prompt there was some indecision. The words that got thrown around were ‘Impressive’, ‘Too’, ‘Bet’, and ‘Singing’. In typical CB Archer style I decided to just go with that! We had 15 minutes to write about this topic, if you had that much time to write about… something… what would you have written about?

Why did he agree to this? This was such a bad idea.

The curtain slowly rose as Paul watched for the faces of the crowd. He saw that the first two rows were packed before the blinding lights of the stage hit him. This place probably was standing room only as he had heard, who would have ever guessed that this would draw such a big crowd, that he would bring such a big crowd. It would have been impressive, if this had been his idea of a good time, or if his clumsy hands hadn’t sweated straight through the material on the insides of his jean pockets.

Paul coughed nervously once, then again. He opened his mouth wide but not a single note would escape. The timer, he could see it now, and it was already down to eight. He knew this was what they wanted, this is why this place was full, they all wanted to see him choke on stage.

He would not let that happen, he didn’t want Mickey to lose, but could only stand there helpless as each eternal second ticked by.

Seven.

Paul shifted his stance.

Six.

Paul sputtered up a feeble squeak.

Five.

Paul’s eyes got a bit more adjusted to the lights. Oh gods, this place was really packed. Full.

Four.

They were all looking at him.

Three.

Even Mickey. There was Mickey shaking his head with disappointment.

Two.

No He had to do this. He had to. For Mickey.

With a big breath Paul opened his mouth wide and let out a huge note. Mickey cheered happily, knowing the bet was won! Paul sang on happily.

Paul wouldn’t sing I’m a little teapot to a stadium full of witnesses eh Lavern? Well who is laughing now?

Lavern was. In row seven. She was also taking pictures.

The Iron

This time for our Flash Fiction we took one of the ideas I had (scary I know) and went with it. The concept: Take the absolute worst thing you can think of for a weapon, and have a character use it expertly in a combat situation. It was a bit more complicated than a normal writing prompt of just one word, but no matter, we thought it was a good idea.

I am happy to report that mine was not the grossest in the group, which is a real accomplishment considering mine uses the phrase ‘throbbing flesh petals.

Hope you enjoy!


The Iron

Pfffft. The steam gave out another pathetic sigh as it escaped the confines of the iron and Muriel mimicked the noise. She hadn’t even started to iron the actual pile yet thanks to the newly purchased ‘time-saving’ shirts.

“No wrinkle shirts,” she scoffed, “more like… uh… always wrinkle… over wrinkle… perma-wrinkle… oh whatever.”

Pfffft. She wasn’t going to have time to make breakfast this morning at this rate, and knowing Daniel he would get all – CRASH!

Through the patio glass door came a horrible creature. Once a man but now twisted, foul, evil. He was one of those ‘Infected’ Muriel had heard about on the news, there was no mistaking the half-man, half-plant for anything else.

How was this possible? All of the incidents had taken place over two thousand miles away. Possible or not, it stumbled towards the frozen housewife as it mumbled “Lungs…”

Muriel didn’t know what to do. What could she possibly do against an infected? Her lungs were as good as eaten.

Pfffft. The steam from the forgotten iron burned Muriel’s hand, and the annoying perma-wrinkle shirt. It snapped Muriel out of her trance.

“No!” Muriel shouted.

With a determination not seen since her badminton days in eleventh grade Muriel spring into action. She ripped the iron’s cord from the wall and gripped it tightly. Remembering her Wonder Woman fan club membership Muriel swung the iron over her head with a swift motion and brought the hot iron down hard on her assailant.

The Infected fell to the floor, iron mark still visibly burning its throbbing flesh petals. Muriel came down hard again with the iron and cracked the creature’s headnut, and with a final grim resolve  she used the cord to slowly strangle the plant-man until its leafy feat stopped twitching on the pollen dusted carpet.

“That’s right you bastard,” Muriel screamed with elation, “Not today. These are my lungs!”

Wiping the sweat from her brow with her apron Muriel was taken away from her victory by the sound of broken glass crunching underfoot, then a scream. Outside was Esther, Muriel’s long time cribbage partner, mercilessly beating an Infected to a pulp with her trusty rolling pin. There were a dozen more Infected that Muriel could see in Shady Acres, and more at the gate.

“Oh yeah. It’s time to get pressing.” Muriel quipped as she grabbed her battle iron and jumped into the fray.


What is the worst item you can think of to use as a weapon? If you only had 15 minutes to write about it, what would have happened?

(Yes, that iron in the picture is what my actual iron looks like, and yes, it is purple.)

Magic

This week in my writer’s group the word was Magic. We had about ten minutes to write on the topic of Magic!


Magic

The White Ogre grasped its fluttering heart and fell slowly into the flames on the ground. The black pitch smell was strong in the air, still rich from the Fire Lance, and was only slightly masked by the sweet stench of burning ogre hair.

A Calm wind breezed through the mountain canyon and the ashes from the ogre drifted away slowly, forever lost. Victory was finally obtained, the battle was over.

“No!” A shrill voice broke through the serene moment. “You can’t have defeated my ogre!”

“Oh, but I have,” a calm voice answered.

“You broke the rules.”

“Tsk, tsk, Martin. I did not. Read the description of the spell.”

Martin read loudly, brow furrowed. “instantly kill one white mana monster. No save?! That is total shit Thomas. Total Shit.”

“Sorry Martin, that’s the rule. Now pay up! i want the that last cupcake.”

Martin relented, reluctantly and threw the angel food buttercream delight in Thomas’ face. “I hate playing Magic with you. All my cards suck!”


If you only had ten minutes to write about magic, what would you have written?

Forrests

This week for Flash Fiction we decided that the word was Forrests. Well, they decided to write abut Forests, I wrote about Forrests. We had all week to write it, which allowed me time to research, but otherwise we only were allowed 15 minutes to write.

Forrests

“Oh god, not this again.” Mars Sr. said with a heavy voice, “Why does he always do this?”

Whitaker agreed with a knowing nod. He knew that there would be no stopping it now, and it irked him to no end. He couldn’t help himself and shot a disguised grimace over to Mars Sr.. Whitaker had hoped that Mars Sr. hadn’t noticed, but when the candy mogul took a telling last inhale on his Popeye cigarette before snuffing it out, Whitaker got ready for the inevitable.

“So,” Mars Sr. said after a long exuberant puff, “You are going to blame me for this aren’t you?”

Whitaker snapped back at full force, “And why wouldn’t I? You were the one who introduced him to it in the first place! This is all your fault! We all blame you!”

Mars Sr. looked around the room and met the eyes of everyone. Mims looked on stern, O’Connor couldn’t return the stare but it was there, Breyfogle took a long sip of his kool-aid through an evil glare, but then Mars Sr. saw the face of Mars Jr.. Even his own son was selling him out on this.

Mars Sr. slumped his shoulders in defeat. They were right, this was his fault.

“My momma always said life is like a box of-”

Gump was interrupted by every member of the Forrests Only Clubhouse with a hearty round of “Shut up already!”


If you only had 15 minutes to write about Forests (or Forrests) what would you write about?

Shock

This week for Flash Fiction Writing Slam the word was shock and we had 15 minutes to write something interesting!

Shock

Rumble! Jennifer felt the ground rolling under her feet as the earth shook. Before the seasick land subsided Aftershock jumped up again from the broken pavement and landed into the crowd of people. The waves of earth from his earthquake making boots threw countless citizens up into the air, Jennifer nearly fell over when she landed, but she was quick and steady. Unnaturally quick and stead for her normally awkward self.

Today had been a strange day. First there had been that mysterious job offer from the eccentric billionaire to become his personal dog walker. Then there had been the explosion at the asylum for the criminally insane. Finally there had been that kitten that had escaped from Super City’s pet shop that Aftershock had robbed the place by throwing a radioactive alien gem at. That kitten had flown on literal golden wings into Jennifer’s face this afternoon while walking Mr. Vayne’s prized wiener dog Champ.

Nothing had been right since that kitten bit her. But, it was alright. Aftershock hadn’t knocked her over. He had knocked over the rest of the citizens, but not her. Her kitten bite was glowing. Had she gotten super kitten powers? She jumped into the air and slashed with her new kitten claws, knocking Aftershock over in one blow.

She was a superhero now. A cat superhero. She would be… The Night Bat! Because she really liked bats.


If you only had 15 minutes to write about Shock, what would you have done?

Ear

This time for the Flash Fiction Writing Slam we had 15 minutes to write about a topic that came up in a conversation about necklaces. That is right, ears!


Ear

Crunch! The ear had a firm texture as he bit into it with gaping maw. Stomach rumbling, the juices trickled down his mouth as they spilled heavily from the gaping wound of the bite. He just couldn’t resist, he licked up a drip of fluid that had trickled down his arm and in his elation tried to lick his own elbow.

Another bite wouldn’t hurt, he half rationalized as he went in. Ripping the flesh from the source, he chewed it slowly, enjoying his time alone. He would not be sated with just two bites, this was fresh, he had waited a long time for it. He was going to enjoy it. Every bite.

He sat down and enjoyed the last moments of the day, ripped off chunks of flesh and laughing a bit when the silken hair got stuck in his teeth. He ate until it was bare, until the hunger was finally gone.

He thought alone for a moment. Should he look for another this night, or was his hunger satisfied. This time only comes along once a year, and he decided he was going to treat himself to another morsel before going to sleep.

He would need to hunt for the perfect one, and he slowly stalked the night. Only one more ear tonight then the long sleep. There it was. Just the right shade of yellow, this would be perfect. The corn was ready to harvest and he would need to start early tomorrow!


If you had just 15 minutes to write about ears, what would you have done?

Slime

This time for Flash Fiction we had about 15 minutes, but were kicked out early because of bad customer service so we didn’t get to read them. I did not know that I would get an awesome Cross-Over from a friend for their offering. It does explain why they wanted to use the word Slime though as the title.


Slime

It fell from the sky- black, thick, and coarse. It covered the cobblestones, the buildings, the trees, and even the water with its choking filth as it clumped together into vicious charcoal coloured globs. The girl blamed the mountain, it had began to smoke, the ashes must be falling from it. Every few years it smoked, but this time it had been particularly thick.

The other villagers were scared at first as the slow falling debris gathered. Nothing they tried could move the thick slurry. The girl tried harder than most. The black sick snuffed out fire, water caused it to plump up and grow larger, it couldn’t be shoveled away, chopped apart, or even furiously kicked apart. It was here, and it was here to stay. The girl watched it every hour, she did not trust it.

Giving up hope for their crops, houses, land, and buried memories the girl’s family packed up what they could, keeping the falling sludge off as best as they could from the meager possessions. Something stirred in the masses of clumped refuse as the girl started to trudge away, finally defeated. The blobs had reacted to her leaving, and with an unnatural quickness it consumed all of the village and all those trying to escape in a flurry of thick sludge.

The mountain roared fire, it spewed liquid flame from the top as it burst open from the very gates of hell. The fire roared through the village, but was snuffed out quickly as it hit the black sludge. It deflected the heat, absorbed the liquid rock, and grew stronger.

The girl watched in amazement as the liquid fire snuffed by her mysterious savior. The slime gathered itself, tipped its hat, and gave the girl a nod as it said, “Howdy Ma’am.


To read the awesome cross over follow this link!

http://jpmarshman.com/2015/04/23/slime/

Balloon

My writing group finally decided to do another Writing Slam, or as they actually call it Flash Fiction. We didn’t give ourselves much time this week, because we are bad at time management. Only 10 minutes to write about ‘Balloon’.

Amazingly, mine is by far the brightest and feel goodiest.


Balloon

Up it went, towards the sky, to touch the face of the heavens, and eventually vanish from sight. Where would it go? Where would it end up while leaving a telltale trail of white smoke behind it?

Chuck smiled for the first time in a long while. He loved airplanes and everything about them, but he especially loved their jet streams. Even now on his 81st birthday he stopped what he was doing and watch the plane fly by. No matter what he was doing he would watch, even if once it had caused him to cause a mild accident with a rude hipster woman.

He really should have stuck with his dream so many years ago, but there was a wife and a new child to think about back then, he had to abandon his dream of flying and take the practical job at the lumber mill. He always wondered what his life would have been like if he had just stuck with it, if he had just been stronger.

it wouldn’t be like it was today that is for sure. Stuck in the rest home, bitter after his family put him in here for having that accident with a rude hipster woman some years ago, and with another ‘celebration balloon’ to symbolize his upcoming death. God how he hated balloons, red but black as the grave.


What would you write about balloons if you had just 10 minutes?

Topless

We haven’t done a writing slam at writer’s group lately, because we are lazy lazy authors. This is one of my older ones, done before the site existed, and one of my favourites!

We had about 15 minutes to write on the topic of ‘Topless’. I was of course the one who didn’t in fact write about the topic directly (I try to never do that).


Margaret was initially confused, but as time went on things only became more muddled. It had started simple enough, just a short space schooner ride to the nearby moon to check on the goats, but somehow in this perfectly normal day things had taken a strange turn.

As Margaret fed her two favorite goats she was interrupted by a tapping on her shoulder. She was so startled by what she saw that she dropped her bucket of Solent Yellow. There was no other way to describe it, than for what it was. She had been tapped on the shoulder by an ankle, an ankle that was attached to a feminine leg, a black fishnet stalking, and a short metallic skirt, but nothing else. She was looking face to face at a pair of legs, metaphorically speaking of course.

She was too stunned to say anything as the legs glinted in the light of the setting planet. They were robotic, and likely part of a broken Synthetic Humanoid Hybrid. They were standing perfectly fine without the need for a torso, completely topless. Margaret looked silently at the pair of gams, and finally spoke out her bewilderment. “Can I help you?”

The legs nodded, which surprised Margaret, but what happened next was even more surprising. The legs spoke back.

(more…)