Writespiration #100 52 Weeks in 52 Words Week 4

writespiration-20172017 is the year of 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. Please remember you only have until Sunday to enter, if you’re late, I might not catch you until the following week.

And this post is the 100th writespiration. Wait a fudging momento people, ONE HUNDRED WRITESPIRATIONS? No, chuffing way?! You guys deserve a gold star.

I wanted to mark the occasion, do something special, but my mind went blank, if you have any ideas shout and we will do it on a different week. So instead, let me thank you for your unwavering support and amazing entries over the years. I’m not sure any of you realise how much of an honour it is that you participate and take the time out to play my wordish games. It really does mean the world to me.

So on that note, this week, your theme is:


Now to last week’s players:


Certain things, once lost, can never be ‘found’ again.

She learned that the hard way.

Famous once for her transcendent beauty, she had it all.

Then that damn thing called ‘Age’ happened.

No amount of surgery helped.

If anything, each treatment seemed to bury her looks further.

Who said beauty is ageless?


Lee Juana Wilson

Lost things
Lunch money every day in kindergarten. Favorite softball glove. Library books. Buff, my dog. Balance frequently. Fifteen hundred dollars in cash. Screenplay. Some inhibitions. Couple of jobs. Few sets of keys. Too many ideas to count. Motivation. Mind. Patience. Confidence. Direction. Control. Everything. Nothing. Time. More Time. Judgment. Pride. Guilt. Excuses. Fear.



With a splash, they were gone, sinking into the murky depths below, lost forever to this world.

It was his lucky day!
Just passing by minding his own business, and there they were.
Sitting in the mud, waiting.
Who would’ve thought it.
Fish eye lens eat your heart out.
He could see!



Posters went up all over town. Twitter and Facebook squawked out dread and desperation. Hundreds of pets: “Lost!”
Cruella Deville stalked the holding-pens, sorting for colour and rich fur… Dogs howled.
Officer Davey, following the tracker planted on his pet, uncovered the factory.
Hundreds of pets: “Found!”
Cruella hated her new bracelets.



All that slips behind

separated by a night,

time, words, loves,

the quality of the clouds,

is gone,

forever unattainable,

and pours over the edge of the world

in a flood of memory, fiery red,

cool blue and mysterious green,

gold as sunbeams on summer grass,

silver as fish scales in moonlight.


Sarah (Apologies to Sarah, after a disappearing, magical reappearing website drama, I then proceeded to not put her entry in last weeks post. #FML) So this is in response to week 1.

Blonde Bombshell ?

“I don’t know!” He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists. “I swear…”

“Tick, tock,” she examined her nails. “The timer started,” she glanced at the bomb, “six seconds ago.”

“You have the wrong man!”

“Aw. Now why’d you do that?” She grabbed his chin. “I. Don’t. Like. Liars.”


“Too late.”


Gay Step Dad

Jeff sat in the waiting room wondering what next? His face haggard and tired as he waited for news. He reflected on youth, of happy times when everything looked different…Then the nurse delivered the message he’d feared.

” If you’ve lost your loyalty card, you’ll have to pay for your Botox today”.



She’d fallen from the log and onto the mossy mound; spilling spores into clouds all around her. Suddenly, as though fragments of the undergrowth came to life, leaf-masked creatures surrounded her fallen form. They began to examine her curiously; stick think appendages poking and prodding. This was who she’d been looking for.



Where is it?
I had it right here.
It was attached to my outfit,
How could it disappear?

I searched high and low,
It vanished from sight.
Outside I go,
The sun shining bright.

I shielded my eyes,
On top of my head,
I looked to the skies,
Where my glasses laid spread.



I need to lose excess weight

My figure, I absolutely hate

My tummy is flabby

This makes me quite crabby

And my diet makes me irate!

I’m keeping everything crossed

That I won’t be counting the cost

If going carb free

Keeps working for me

I’ll notice the pounds that I’ve lost!



Roosevelt stumbled through the yawning, black doorway. A dark lump rasped and wheezed. Curtis.

Slowed by pain, Roosevelt found his friend’s hand and left the bloody Springer with the dying man. Working back to his feet, he reached to adjust the money-bag, only to remember when it tore loose in the fight.



Lost and Found:
‘Katie, is that your name darling?’
‘Yes’ she whispered, tears dripping onto the cracked, kitchen table.
‘Are you scared, Katie? It’s scary when you’re lost, but I am good at finding lost things’ he sneered, his hot breath on her ear.
‘You belong to me now, precious, because it’s finders, keepers.’


Allie Potts

I stared in the mirror. Gray hairs shone brightly in the light, not amenable to being hidden away. Lines etched into my skin, highlighting the puzzled expression on my face. Where had the time gone? My eyes slid to pictures on the wall of milestones and precious memories. Ah. I remembered. There


Ann E Robson

The drawer gaped open. String, mismatched shoe laces, and pens long dry and useless. Among the menagerie, a key poked out from the wall’s edge. His heart pounded like the rhythm of a horse at full gallop. The key to the diary pages of Gran’s story, the lost things of her memory.



We huddled together, two lost things alone in a cold, hard world. She had my back, I had hers; friends forever.

But now she’s screaming at me, blaming me, accusing me. No longer my anchor, safe haven, sister. I have hurt her which in it’s turn hurts me.

We hug and weep.


LadyLee Manila

I lost my money in Las Vegas
I asked my friends and they were cheerless
Poor me, probably sell my organs
As my debt increases and deepens
A signal that I’ll be spending my life in bleakness
I lost my teeth when I ate that steak
wasn’t able to taste that cake



I heard your whisper,
On the back of a breeze,
I will always hear you
Across the seven seas.

I whispered a reply
And sent it floating on a leaf:

I may be far, darling,
But don’t you worry,
I will always find you
And you will never lose me.


The Grateful Dead

I felt the weight of the many eyes

Trying to find me

As I sat  lost under my veil.

You held my hand and I felt ready

To silence the butterflies

That fluttered at the thought of

Losing my name.

Of all the things I lost

There was one I gained – you.


Christian discovered a prompt from a while back, the fairy tale prompt so I thought I’d include his entry too.

Let’s get one thing straight right from the start. A fairy does NOT die every time someone says they don’t believe in us. Shame on you for telling your little ones such a thing – on the other hand, it does afford us folk a certain anonymity which is much appreciated.
My name is Bog and I have a fairy tail. Yes, you heard correctly. I have a tail! And before you say that I cannot be a fairy with a name like Bog, I’ll have you know that there has been a Bog in our family since records began. I’ll bet that if you look hard enough, you too will have a Bog in yours.
As for the tail… well, that was a bit of a shock I have to admit. I discovered I had one on my birthday; small, mind you, but none the less it had the makings of something quite fine. I would sit for hours wondering if it would mature into a long, thin whip-like attachment, a stubby little Boxer style or a fine brush to be compared with a vixen. Secretly, I hoped it would be the latter. I dreaded the thought that mine might become like a sow’s – that would be a bore!
I am now fully grown and the tail has developed in keeping with my growth.
First and foremost, I am a lady fairy and as such do not have to disclose my age or other intimate facts about myself. So if you are curious about a fairy tail, may I suggest you grow your own. Mine is most private; a secret that I only share with Mr Bog.

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  1. Where Once They Gathered

    You don’t see them any more, gathering in rows of chairs by the sliced meats and cheeses, talking, laughing in fits and starts, supermarket misty-eyed, drooling just a little bit, that small pool of saliva can ooze out from worn lips, hundreds of memories and dreams resting on the shelves of time.


        1. I know! They won’t because I have to manually approve them and I don’t approve anything until the weekend when I have chance to read your entry…. so it will never appear until then.

          1. Oh, I see. I was not sure why they didn’t appear and thought it was me doing something wrong (that is what usually happens)!!! I will rein myself in next week! 🙂

          2. haha, WELL. I just got yours, so you’re all good – generally I update the entries over the weekend, so if I haven’t visited by then you know something’s wrong – a couple ended up in the spam folder last week annoyingly. But I think that’s just wordpress gremlins.

  2. … and 100. I had to find them in the old house. It was our secret place. Weird noises kept others away. I knew they’d use the cellar; I’d told them I was scared of the cellar so of course they would. As I locked that door, I knew I’d never count to 100 again.

    1. GRRRR. YOu’re the third person I missed from last week – one was in the spam folder, two just disappeared. So cross, and I am so sorry I missed it, will post with this week xx

  3. Hi Sacha, Here’s my take, I’m afraid I wrote 3 pieces of flash fiction! 100 inspired me far too much. I prefer the last one: 100 Flowers (Inspired by Brian Patton’s Blade of Grass:

    100 Flowers

    You ask for a star
    I offer you 100 flowers.
    You say it’s not good enough.
    I say these flowers will do.
    You say it is too easy to offer 100 flowers.
    So I write you a tragedy about
    How 100 flowers
    Are so easy to give and so hard to accept.

    Here’s the link: https://lucciagray.com/2017/01/28/writespiration-99-52-weeks-in-52-words-week4-flashfiction/

  4. The perfect prompt to celebrate your milestone, Sacha.

    Full and overflowing, again! How can so much nothingness appear from no where day in and day out? It happens because of the greed for knowledge. The need to learn from the perspectives and opinions from others. The inbox reaches numbers unmanageable (almost). The promise to keep it under 100 is working.


  5. Congratulations on your 100th Writrspiration! I wrote a parable this week.


    They chanted “Savior,” when he affirmed they were first. Wearing red caps, they cheered a Return to Greatness, denying the hungry, deporting the stranger. After 100 days, the Rapture surprised them, Heaven taking only rogues for the resistors had given water to the thirsty. Only then did they understand greatness deceives.

    1. Wow, and wasn’t it a beautiful parable. Absolutely nailed the last line. Thank you for stopping in Charli. I really want to try and do more Carrot Ranch entries this year, not least because I want to use it to cheat on my WIPs! but anyway, with how chaotic everything is, I can only try!

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