Last week's winner @AnnaLund2011 has provided a fabulous prompt for this week's fanficflashfic.
Here it is:
Remember to check the rules.
Have your 100 - 200 words submitted by 12:00am Friday, May 3, US EDST.
We want anything and everything: poetry, prose, fanfic, OF.
JUST GET WRITING!
Leave your entry as a comment - include your word count, and your twitter handle if you have one.
FYI - entries that exceed (or are under) the word limits will not be considered by the judge.
I blink against the dappled sunlight
ReplyDeletesplashed and splattered
across the grass
wrinkled hands knotted in my lap
I close weary eyes
and remember the days before
liver spots and puffy joints
back then, creases ran away
when smiles faded
and lines smoothed out
when frowns disappeared
when my hands were strong
and yours were stronger
I remember the feel of your knuckles
sliding between mine
so comfortably uncomfortable
I remember when your back
was straight and you walked tall
when all the other girls
watched us, envy shining green
on their faces
you always walked too fast
long, strong strides
I had to skip and run
to keep up with you
you walked into old age
faster than I did, too
gathering wrinkles
and a stooped spine
dropping memories and names
like a trail of breadcrumbs
that you forgot to follow home
I’m gaining on you now
with my shaky wrists
and the days that slip through my fingers
today, though, is a good one
we are both here, and present
smiling in the splotchy sun
and remembering when
our fingers fit together
so comfortably uncomfortable
Twitter: BedeliaJane
ReplyDeleteWord count: 200
Something smelled like burning rubber. As soon as Hermione blinked, a barn and an endless stretch of flower-speckled meadow replaced the iced-over grounds of Hogwarts. The woman sitting in the grass looked like Luna with the volume turned up and a few laugh lines thrown in for good measure.
Hermione drew her wand.
“Oh, good,” the woman said. “It worked. Hello, Hermione!”
Questions fired from Hermione’s lips, each one met with a correct answer. This was no Polyjuiced impostor.
“Luna?” Hermione said, remaining only half-convinced. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Why did you bring me here? Am I dead in your time?”
“Oh, no. A few months ago I thought you were infested with Dabberblimps, but that was a false alarm. I brought you here because I wanted to show something to the you I knew in school. You’re much less narrow-minded nowadays.”
Opening the creaky barn door, Luna led Hermione towards a buffalo-sized beast that had fallen asleep with its nose in the hay. A curling horn sprouted from its forehead.
Luna placed Hermione’s hand on its flank and grinned as if to say, “Admit it.”
Hermione laughed. “Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are real.”
BRILLIANT!!!
DeletePinkcookie -- PM me at fanfiction.net/Pinkcookie
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 200
Don’t say it out loud. If you speak it aloud it just makes it more real, more painful, and dangerous. Just gather the beast into a hard knot, a big ball in your throat. Then squeeze it until it gets smaller and harder. The tighter you can squeeze it, the better because it gets really small and you can hide it better. Then, push and push, and push and swallow it down, down, down. Until it is hidden so well that just you know it even exits. The only problem is, if you don’t keep absolute control every minute, every second, night and day, even when you’re dreaming…the problem is, that tiny ball can explode and rush to the surface where it can kill you and the one you love the most. The ball is tiny, BB sized, but it is so, so heavy; carrying it with you every second, you are always exhausted. But don’t talk about it…don’t ever mention it…just squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, then swallow and push down, down, down. Remember, don’t ever rest, relax and forget for a second. Push it down! Without me asking aloud, you offer your hand to help. Ah… now I can breathe.
@sparrownotes24
ReplyDeleteWord Count: 200
I trusted you because you wore a gold band.
You had beautiful hands.
Tanned and strong, round nails with white crescent moons.
They held a bunch of Sweet Williams, blush-pink, snow-white.
Your wife’s favourites, you said.
Mahogany hair flopped into eyes of amber etched with traces of laughter.
With a matching love for history, we delved into the intricacies of local legends.
That’s how I found myself lost.
Lost in common interests.
Lost down a leafy lane.
Lost.
My instinct whispered its concerns, but my mind scoffed. It put up a good argument.
My heart was searching for its equal. “What a lucky woman his wife is,” it thought.
A twinge of jealousy.
It wanted me to steal a kiss.
You stole a lot more than that.
Teardrops mar my parent’s faces, aged a lifetime in a day.
Raindrops mar my face as the posters flutter in the wind.
Missing. That’s what they say.
I’m not missing.
I’m gone.
You stole me.
I wasn’t yours to take.
The lake hides your secrets.
Hides your mermaids.
Pinned by rock and rope to the murky depths, our hair swirls and flows around us.
You’ve rewritten the history books of this town.
Singlehandedly.
@twilightmomofto
ReplyDeleteWords: 180
My father's left hand, next to mine, lies quietly on the horse's side, his other hand holding the leadline clipped to her halter. Under my fingers, I can feel Bailey's chest expand with each breath she takes.
Daddy's wedding band glistens in the sunlight falling into the stall, much like Bailey's coat. It's been fifteen years since my mother died, and he has still not taken it off.
"Shh, old girl," he coos to my trusted horse. She's restless, the foal in the belly moving, throwing ripples across her coat. "I know - it's almost time."
As the sun sets, we step out of the stall and watch my mare pace in circles until she finally drops to her knees and lays on her side.
"It's time, Abby," Daddy whispers. "Come, let's help her."
Underneath her swishing tail, I can already see the tiny hooves of the foal poking out. Bailey's breathing has gotten faster. She's in full labor.
I am scared. Scared to lose her during the birth of her foal, like I lost my mother during my own.
twitter - authorsamcauley
ReplyDeleteword count - 199
“Why here, Anne, and not in the city?”
Johannah’s teeth ground together in frustration and she paced up the aisle of stalls and back again, her anger building, even as Anne continued to calmly run the bristles down the horse’s flank.
Anne didn’t answer. Johannah hadn’t expected her to.
“I’m so tired of it,” Johannah continued. Her voice breaking, body beginning to shake. “So very exhausted and worn down and just not willing to play anymore. I see this charade killing them both, taking our only sons away from us more and more each day they’re forced to lie. Yours is so fed up with it that he’d rather take a flight half-way across the world than be here during their time off. And mine? He’s so entrenched I wonder if he even thinks the days he spends with her are fake anymore. I love you and your boy, Anne. You know I do. Just as much as I love my own. And I know they love each other but the strain is driving them apart. This has to stop.”
Anne set the brush down and didn’t look at Johannah when she answered, “No. It can’t stop now.”
@sri_ffn
ReplyDeleteWord count: 199
I’m at the stables again, of course, I can’t stay away from them when I’m nervous. I shouldn't be nervous, I know I shouldn't be, I mean, we've known each other long enough and our parents love us together and it’s perfect, right. Right? My hands are unconsciously smoothing Rave’s mane; the fur is gleaming exceptionally today. My thoughts are interrupted by a glint of gold.
I see a woman brushing her hand against Rave. She looks my mother’s age but her smile, it was one those smiles that reached her eyes and lights up her entire face. They always said forever with one person deteriorates you. Why is she grinning?
She smirks, as if she read my question. And now, the glint of the gold band on her finger has reached her eyes, like she knows something I don’t. I raise an eyebrow, she smiles again, moves her hand closer to mine. I don’t know what she needs but I move my hand in her direction. She squeezes my hand as if she can feel my inner turmoil. I don’t know why but it calms me.
She gave me hope. Her smile, her eyes, I needed that hope.
~~~End~~~
Wordcount 200
ReplyDeleteSherbert20111 on FF
Old man Marsh has gone to town. Young Marsh will meet me in the barn with a pile of attitude brought on by me sayin’ I have 15cc of prize bull Magnus Pie IV spunk warming in the cooler and he can shove it up his ass as soon as use it, and we’ll still charge. No job for a girl indeed.
Maybe he’s right, my co-workers left a cock ring in my locker this morning. Bastards.
The barn is quiet. He still fair turns my head, mired in misery as he is, though it’s been a year past already. He gentles the heifer, but edges away from my hand. We were closer once, even as it killed him.
“I’m gonna raise her tail,” getting about my business of being here.
“I know how it works, Firefly.”
This land’s too hard to work alone. Pa would know I couldn’t help myself when temper gets under me. Nicknames breed nicknames and I love him still.
“I was there when Good Lord raised you up joined, Ted for Teddy, and I was there when He put her in the ground and the baby with her. It’s about time you took up livin’ again.”
@CrackedFic
ReplyDelete184 words
***
"OK, now push."
"Wait. Push? Like we're gonna tip it over?"
"Yeah. That's why we're here."
"No."
"Whatdya mean ’no’?"
"I mean no, young lady. I am not going to push this animal over. It might get hurt."
"You're no fun."
"I am too."
"Are not."
"Sigh."
"Did you just say ’sigh’? As in, like, you said the word sigh instead of sighing?"
"So?"
"That's just weird, mom."
"Weird is fun. Isn't it?"
"I guess it can be. But it can also just be weird."
"I shaved my head so we'd look the same. That's weird and fun, isn't it?"
"It's sweet, is what it is."
"So I'm weird, fun and sweet. Best mom ever, right?"
"Yeah. Best mom ever."
"So I'm not doing the cow-tipping. What's next on your list? We have all day."
"Skydiving."
"Good lord, girl. Are you crazy?"
"No crazier than you."
"All right. I'll do that one. Have you already made the arrangements?"
"Yeah. The appointment’s at two. I need to be back at the clinic by six for the next round of chemo."
"Sigh."
"Yeah, mom. Me too."
@Alesoflyy
ReplyDeleteword count: 199
Our exhales cloud the clear sky, vanishing just as quickly as they’re breathed.
The heat from your hand warms my entire body. The gold band on your ring finger burns my flesh.
It’s wrong--my thoughts that happened after. After I told you. After you cried your heart out and got drunk. After.
She was both of ours. My best friend, your wife. I loved her as much as you did, but sometimes you get jealous of what your best friend has. And she had you.
I knew you longer. I introduced you to her. I blew my chance.
But then I got that call and I cried and the whole world stood still. And I showed up at your doorstep and we cried together.
Does it make me a horrible person that a part of me is glad she’s gone? That I have a second chance with you?
We’ll love her always together, but I want to be on her side, too, and love you like she could.
The sky opens up when she’s six feet under.
I sit still beside you, your warm widowed hand in my waiting one.
I’ll wait for you… just don’t be mad.
Twitter: @hummingbirdFF
ReplyDeleteWord count: 163
~~~
I still remember the very first time I saw them. Five tiny digits on a screen of black and white. I eagerly counted them the very first time I held you. Your tiny hands could only wrap around one of my fingers.
I remember little fingers grabbing the edge of the table as you found balance on two feet. And a tiny wave as you got on the bus to school. Proud hands holding your very first work of art.
I remember a young girl’s hands, clenching a baseball bat in concentration. And a teenager’s fists clenching in moody frustration.
I remember a young woman’s hand tossing a graduation cap into the air. And long, graceful fingers lovingly caressing her favourite companion’s mane.
And then… hands grasping futilely at reigns.
Now I see pale, frail hands, on the same white, hospital sheets where I first held them. Yet the fingers do not reach out or grasp or wave. They lay frozen in time.
~~~
Beautiful
DeleteWord Count: 197
ReplyDelete@boomboom_jones
Today I’m a cowgirl, or a farmer.
You’re proud of what you’re showing me. There’s reverence in your voice when you say, “Do you feel that, Beth? Like a tremor or something?” I’m not Beth, but you don’t know that. You’ll have your daughter back tomorrow. An hour from now. My stay is always different.
I hope it lasts longer this time. You love your daughter and I want to soak that up, take it with me, but that’s an impossibility I’ve learned to accept. It makes me sad. I want to keep this feeling you give so freely. It comes out in your voice and the way you look at me.
You ask, “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting so strange.” And then you shake your head, laughing. I know how to speak, but saying what you are – Mom – feels odd on my tongue which earns another questionable laugh.
I glance back at our hands. Beth has the same, long fingers as you. If I had hands of my own I wonder if they’d look like another’s. I move closer to you. The scent of honeysuckle, I think. I want to take that with me, too.
@shneezles
ReplyDelete200 Words
He would sit on the worn bench outside the ranch, cold beer perched on his knee and smile painted on his face. His laughter lines were more prominent from the day he stole a sip of my strawberry milkshake and won my heart. Those lines of laughter and age held stories, tales of stolen kisses, loving gazes and gentle caresses. Of precious births, toothless smiles and kisses on scabbed knees. ‘My three favourite girls’ he would always say. Me, by his side for 30 years of sickness and health, our beautiful daughter and his fifteen-year-old chestnut thoroughbred Mabel.
‘Your father loved her so much, some nights we’d argue. Once I yelled at him, asking who he loved more when missed he our date nights because he was off riding’
What I wouldn't give for one last ride with Mabel, breathing him in with my arms gripping on to my whole reason for living. We both placed our hand on Mabel’s rich coat, his three favourite girls missing the man whose love was endless.
They say true love stories never have endings, so why did it feel like my tale had abruptly come to a halt, finished without ever being completed.
200 words
ReplyDeleteTwitter: Aleeab4u
. . . . . .
The smell of horses hangs heavy in the air, dust motes and bits of straw dancing in sunbeams. The moments of my childhood are vivid in these stables.
I close my eyes, remembering my mother's voice...
"Touch here. Do you feel that?"
I'd felt many things. The mare's warmth and heaving breath, the weight of expectation. But what I noticed most was the contrast between my mother's hand and mine. The way her veins lay high amidst whirls of fine lines, her wedding ring seemingly embedded in her finger, melting into flesh and bone.
"Lower," she said, our hands moving in tandem, skating the great curve of a swelled abdomen. "There, do you feel it?"
Muscles bunched beneath my touch, as though they gathered for some herculean effort, the foal beneath restless.
"Will she be okay?"
"Nature will take its course."
It's her calm no matter the storm I miss the most.
In the present my hands skate my own swelling abdomen, feeling the vibration of new life, the heavy weight of expectation.
I draw in the scents that remind me of serenity.
"Wish you were here, Mom," I whisper.
All around me, the horses nicker softly in agreement.
197 words
ReplyDelete@Capricorn75
As Derby Week gets ready to come to a head, I take time out between work and school, fixing dinner and doing laundry, to remember the joy that horseracing used to bring. While celebrities and tourists come in town to celebrate the Greatest Two Minutes in Sports- filling out Millionaire’s Row, the grandstand, and the infield- I rest secure in my knowledge that the heart of the track is on the backside.
Up at 5:00am, at the track by 5:30, the next seven hours spent in the company of my boss’ horses. Nothing is more magnificent. Hands on horse flesh, looking for hotspots. Tacking up. Mucking stalls. Untacking, walk walk walk- cool off. Grooming. Cleaning hooves. Feed/water.
Comparing times and progress. Toes stepped on, nails turned black. Slice of Magic. Belle of Cozzene. Brush With Pride. Wins, losses, but always loved the same by me.
The most physical job I ever had. The worst-paying job I ever had. The best job I ever had. Twenty years later the memories still make me smile. It’s better to have loved and lost (even if it is a job, and not a lover) than to have never loved at all.
@femme_mal
ReplyDelete200 words
_____
The smooth gloss of health is gone from his hide.
“Feel here?”
My hand mirrors hers.
We palpate a distention, warm beneath our hands.
“We have to put him down.”
The life-bearer talks of death as if it were an obligation.
My tears slip, unbidden and unwanted, like the mass before us.
I am a child again, resisting the first day of school. I do not want this lesson, this task.
“I know you want him forever, but it can’t be.”
I want to throw myself down on the straw, screaming.
“Our responsibility is to add quality, not suffering, to others’ lives.”
My feet scuff the chaff, raising dust. He snorts weakly. I regret my angry footwork.
“This will hurt. Not him. He’ll simply go to sleep. But you are going to hurt. I can’t make that go away.”
My chest already clenches with pain.
“This is the toughest thing I will ever have to teach you. A good mother must bring death. You must be brave enough to end the suffering, even when it hurts you deeply to do so.”
Her face mirrors mine.
Her tears slip, unbidden and unwanted, like the duty before her.
Word count: 130 ineligible words (I’m judging, okay?!)
ReplyDeleteTwitter handle: @AnnaLund2011
(Putting this up here after having finished choosing a winner)
~~~~~~~~~
Young. And older. Both similar, so much genetics.
My sweet, sweet girl, go. Take your place.
Run with the wolves, scream at the moon.
Feel all the feels, scratch all your itches
Live all your lives, dream all your dreams.
Run. Run wild. Run free.
Go until you arrive at the end of the Earth, and see.
See for your self, that the world is indeed round, and that when you have run far enough, fast enough, hard enough, then…
Then you will be right back here by me. But stronger. Bolder. Older. Wiser.
And just as beautiful as the day you were born.
You are my niece. I will love you until the end of the world and beyond.
Now, run. Run free.
Go be all you can be.