2017 brings 52 challenges over 52 weeks.
Your challenge is to write your story using the weekly theme/prompt and write it in just 52 words…. EXACTLY, no more, no less.
Submit your entries in the comments or on a blog post and I post them the following week with the new prompt. You have until Sunday to enter.
This week’s prompt is to write about the badly timed trump!!
Now to last week’s entrants:
The timer started the race
Now, to pick up the pace
Just fifty-two words
That is really absurd
I won’t fall flat on my face!
I can still tell a story in verse
Despite the need to be terse
Who needs to be verbose?
With superfluous prose –
Christ, this prompt is perverse!
In the planet-planning lab, Mogor flicked his forked tail at the analysis-visiscreen. Eons crafting experiments had produced vast plains, teeming with elk, antelope, deer. Neanderthals hunted, mated, made shelters, formed tribes. Beyond the mountains Homo Sapiens learned land-lust, racial prejudice, and territorial intolerance.
Mogor’s matriculation project: Human War Study. The timer started.
I’d wondered how long my Christmas present glass kettle took to boil, and this theme gave me the chance to find out. It was two minutes exactly from when the timer started, giving me two minutes and four words to ponder how to start my story for you. Once upon a time…
We were leaving the park and our autistic son, Isaac started screaming to stay longer. A meltdown was coming, something had to be done.
Drawing on past experience I looked at him and said “Isaac you have 10 more minutes, the timer has started.”
Calmness ensued and we had a great day.
The timer started.
She looked ahead.
A clear path.
She looked back
No one near.
Then she began.
Ran like lightning.
The goal tangible.
This was it.
Gold was hers.
A car driving past woke her from her daydream.
Looking up, all she saw was the country road stretched out in front…
The timer started at Check-in. By security they held hands, kissing on boarding. Separated at take-off, torture, tears. At 30,000 feeding him pretzels; at a mile, sex in the toilet. First argument in an air-pocket. Engaged on descent, cooling at border-control indifferent by the bags, divorced when she sees his wife.
He heard the clicking of the footsteps as if they were a drum pounding the pavement. It was behind him, dressed in a black trench coat and a scarred face. It never spoke a word to him, but he knew.
The timer had started on the rest of his life.
The first evening, she was trembling with fear. He lay on the couch watching her, popping bright-coloured sweet things into his mouth, with his trim beard that didn’t hide his second chin, his dark, expressionless eyes. She had to entertain this spoilt, cruel pasha or he would kill her. The timer started.
They didn’t understand.
It was just a silly game, but he’d accused them of cheating, conspiring against him.
In a moment of madness, he’d produced it to test their skill when it was their turn.
No more pondering in thought taking an age to produce seven letter words.
The timer started.
The timer started and it was only then she realized two minutes was longer than she thought. She peered into the dimly-lit oven, waiting. When it finally went off, the cupcakes still weren’t done. Back in the oven they went, and she realized it had been the alarm for her birth control.
His eyes widened in terror as the timer started. The winder turned, pulling the rope that was attached to the trigger of the shotgun. And he was staring down its barrel. Time slowed, his breathing quickened and his terror grew. She turned away, walked through the door, flinched at the shotgun’s retort.
Charli – Who does her own amazing weekly prompt you should check out.
The Timer Started by Charli Mills
The grease-splattered timer on Gramma’s stove ticked faster before the DING! That’s when the belt came out to curb rebelliousness. In school, the wall-clock droned: tick-tick-tick. That sound grabbed my throat every test, paralyzed my hand, stupefied my brain. Job interviews with timers left me unemployable.
The needle’s plunge stops the ticking.
The timer started.
Ready, steady, go!
Novels, blog posts, tweets, flash fiction, fiction challenges, poetry,
Emails, messages, postcards, letters, short stories, notes,
Words and more words.
Because when I stop writing,
My timer will have stopped.
The timer started. I stared at the pile of unrecognizable ingredients in front of me. A dog eared recipe card lay to my right with faded instructions written in a scrolling hand. It might once have been legible, but now could easily pass as another language. Cursive. Can anyone read cursive anymore?
“Riders are you ready?”
The judge’s arm dropped and the timer started the clock.
Three riders on horseback. Thirty head of cattle. One pen. Sort three cows with the same number. Drive them into the in the pen in the least amount of time.
The clock stops.
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