No, really short
Wed, 2001-05-02 08:06
#1
No, really short
Okay, it becomes impossible to follow the twists of the soaps sometimes, so this is a new spin on familiar theme. Self-contained story or poem, 50 words or less. The title does not count in the word count and you are not supposed to use portmantaeu words a la James Joyce.
"Weather can be very important"
Jed wakes, the cell is warm. Dull guard arrives, to accompany him, though he has knows where the Chair is. Everyone knows the way there, there isn't a route back.
They have to offer him the last meal - rules.
"Bud, chicken wings, fresh tomatoes."
Jed pauses, "As a picnic."
mississippi
What no goldfish?
max
it drowned
Taj Hayer
If only fish weren't so stupid. That's not an insult to all you piscine people out there. I'm just lamenting low marine education standards (and to think of all the taxes they pay).
Emily Dubberley
Trashy Novel
She waited for the phone to ring, wondering if it was true love. It had only been one night, but what a night! She drank. Ate. Got up. Went to work. Repeated the cycle for another month. The phone rang. She didn’t pick it up. Settled for her flatmate instead.
andrew pack
Taj - and they're in schools every day *groans*
This is not my original thought, but I wanted to share it anyway. You know goldfish have memories of only last 30 seconds ? Well, if you take a goldfish out of its bowl and leave it on the table, by the time it has flopped around, gasping for breath, and finally reaches the last seconds of its life - it thinks its whole life has been like that.
It's difficult to feel poignant about fish, but that's quite sad.
Taj Hayer
At least they'll never get bored. Unless they've got real short attention spans as well (which would be twice as cruel really).
mark yelland-brown
The mornings were always chilly. Sarah awoke, rubbed her frozen feet and reached across for a ciggarette.
It was time for her morning cough.
Gavin stirred as the acrid smoke invaded his nostrils.
"Ah, I love the smell of `Malborough`in the morning!"
He whispered, eyes still closed.
(That feels too much like, `Worst opening line of a novel, not enough closure. Oh well.)
Julius_Petrel
Veni,
vidi,
vici.
max
Golden Years
Bert's golden carriage clock chimed,
a golden wedding anniversary present
not a proverbial golden handshake.
Filling his pipe with Golden Virginia
he admired his golden daffodils.
Red, his golden retriever
buried a golden delicious apple
amongst marigold seedlings.
Bert chuckled, winked at his goldfinch
whistling in its golden gilded cage.