Writespiration #105 52 Weeks in 52 Words Week 9

writespiration-20172017 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.


Remember to post links to your entries in the comments just in case ping backs don’t work.

This week, we’re playing a game. *muhahahaha* Write your 52 words describing just one emotion, BUT you’re not allowed to use the name of the emotion or tell me what it is. I want to guess.

Now to last week’s ‘choke’ entrants:


Power Play

Deep winter day.
Chilling darkness.
The wind has been ferocious
and then…
“Power out,” she mentions
to the Gods of bad timing.
“I’ll get ‘er,” I say,
head outdoors,
over the barrier,
uncover the generator,
switch it on,
adjust the choke,
Pull the cord.
Pull the cord.
Love that gasoline-spewing hum.



The sulphurous stench struck her as she opened the door. Stepping over the flyers, she pressed her face into her sleeve, trying not to choke. A thin finger of moonlight poked through the door and led her eyes to a figure sprawled on the floor. She froze. It seems she had company.



The villagers had not received food supplies for the last two weeks. Children were not let out of their homes. Demonetization left people with scarce means, to tap alternate sources.

The issue was larger. National security was at stake. Terrorist supplies had to be choked off, from all villages on the border.



Sacha’s a bit of a joker

Some might say, a provoker

She’s nasty and mean

Giving us prompts so extreme

Maybe, I might have to choke her!

 Now this is all tongue-in-cheek

As I love joining in every week

My determination

To complete #Writespiration

Must make me a bit of a geek!



Every day he walks his dog
In his mean uncaring way.
He pulls the the lead so tight
He hurts his dog, poor mite.

Today is very foggy
Here he comes with
His poor hard done by doggy.
A wire at the height of the man’s throat
OH! dear will he choke?



A bridge over troubled water.

Or over hardly any water.

A stench so foul from the rotting debris, strewn into the water, pungent enough to make the hardiest human choke.

But not me. This place was perfect.

It smelled glorious to me, the new troll on the block, or under the bridge!



Just a metaphor, you say, but it’s always a metaphor with you—building worlds with figures of speech—and metaphors are slippery things (“choke” you assure me meaning to cool the fuel, let things breathe, like cars, you say) only next you say, “let’s be friends,” and I know I choked. Again.



So what if it was old?
It suited her, a reminder of her youth.
No gadgets, no fancy keys, nothing automatic.
She was completely in control, and knew she looked every inch the successful
businesswoman she actually wasn’t.
What let her down was her handbag, hanging from the choke on the dashboard.


Kerry (entered an earlier Writespiration this week, so I thought I’d include her entry) This is the week I got my wrists slapped!


Melinda noted the time. Seven. Late again. She sipped her cranberry juice wishing for an infusion of vodka to brighten the taste. She envied the freedom of the pigeons frolicking outside, longed for careless afternoons of ill-spent youth. Yet stacks of paperwork waited, and her unforgiving boss enjoyed ruining reputations when displeased.



“You need to slow down on this hill.”
“How do I do that?”
“Foot off the gas.”
“Then what?”
“Foot on the clutch and gear down.”
“The what?”
“Where is it?”
“On the floor! Beside the brake!”
“We stopped.”



Sunspots dance, suspended on invisible strings. Waves of heat rise, enveloping me, suffocating. Heart pounding, I plead with myself, “please let me survive this”. Panic closes in. His arm raised, pistol at the ready. I crouch down, my body positioned to respond. “Don’t choke”, chides my inner voice. PING! And we’re off.



She looked at her sleeping husband. He doesn’t look peaceful like him at all. She brushed her belly gently and said softly am going to be a mother…can you listen to me…A forgotten face with hazelnut colored eyes flashed in her mind. This was the only dream they, rather, he adores most.



She chokes back the tears
As she chokes on her fears
And regrets
The love that she felt she forgets
The sun sets in her eyes
Over the lies
There were plenty
At times she believed many
But what she got was empty
What she couldn’t see
She can now see clearly



There was a rose once,

beside the door,

a rose of welcome, they said,

pink and fragrant.

When you left

I watched the bindweed creep

over all we had planted.

White and virginal and so tough

it crept and climbed and tangled

through the rose,

so pink and fragrant,

and choked it.


Coffee Cluster

It’s been a long time since Norma was this mad.  Her smile is tight but she is determined to keep it on until she makes it out the door. She only has herself to blame – she should have known Ashley was setting her up.  Norma is choked she is feeling this way.



If you pulled it out too far you flooded the carburettor. You had to judge just how far and that depended on the time of year. Winter needed more than summer. Our old car had a mind of its own. But we loved it. Mum called it Blossom, it never failed us.



Minds like motorways

Choked by persistent traffic

Always under stress


Senses bombarded

Thoughts jostle for position

Seeking precedence


Illusory goals

The destination unknown

Eroding being


Life is the fuel

Squandered on frantic motion

Too far and too fast


The rose does not think

Held lightly in silent earth

She shows us beauty



He’d seen it online, other boys making it look easy. Just take the rope, loop it, and swing out.

He stood at the edge of the drop, rope rough in his hand, camera on.

He could do this, he thought, looping the rope. He swung out.

He wouldn’t…

The rope slipped.




Rich choked on his tea.

“I’m sorry mate, I can’t believe it…the neighbour?” Arthur leaned over and patted his back

“What?” Rich spluttered

“Your wife…she just left…with Fred.”


“Just now. Weren’t you listening?”

Silence followed.

“What caused that reaction then?”

Rich showed him the paper, “Rovers beat City.”



Olive Mackeson had died choking on a cheese and sweet pickle sandwich, shortly after pulling out the choke on the dashboard of her car, as her foot slipped off the clutch, forcing the car into the path of an oncoming truck.

Registration number of the car – K, one, one, L, M, E


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      1. Sore. Finding aches in places I didn’t realise I had muscles!
        But I’m up and about. Got
        Behind the wheel again too and that was OK. Xxx

        1. That is probably the best thing you could have done – getting back in again. I fell off a horse badly as a kid and they made me get back on immediately so I wasn’t afraid. You’re a fighter Ritu. Sending you love xx

  1. Title: How d’ya think I feel?

    For fifteen years I’ve been saying, ‘I’ll get that… I’ll do that…’ My way to tell her I love her. Turns out she has someone else’s husband saying the same thing.

    I’d really like to knock on his door and say…

    ‘Hey, Mister? Can I have my wife back, please!’

  2. For this week’s emotion game.

    Heaps and toppling towers of chocolates… Every sort of homemade cake, shovelled into every kind of mouth. All this visible through the shop window, opposite. Seb tried not to look, burrowing deeper into his filthy sleeping-bag.
    He couldn’t avoid the fragrances though: coffee, and hot bread – brioche; sourdough; focaccia; bagels and fougasse.

  3. A hairline fissure crackled the length of her chest wall, the muffled thumping matching the drums, beat for beat. She watched his raised arms envelop the petite blonde, drawing her to him – his vintage move.
    A public humiliation?
    She turned away, smiled, let out a slow breath and began to plan.

  4. Two Friends

    “Give me your hand!”


    “Just give it to me.”

    “Okay. Here.”

    “Fine. And remember, eyes closed tight as a clam. What’s your finger touching?”

    “It’s sharp. Cold. What is it?”

    “I’m asking the question.”

    “A rock?”


    “Broken pottery?”

    “Not even close.”

    “Okay. Animal, vegetable or mineral?”

    “All three, I’d say.”


  5. Aching, pounding, twitting heart. Pulsing in my ears.
    Breath, breath, breath, breath. Feel the falling tears.
    Grab the counter, hold it tight, try to pull air in
    Crumple, tired, to the floor, before it starts again.
    Pick yourself up, aching, sighing, bruised inside your chest
    Clenching heart relaxes, now time to rest.

    1. ooooh wow, I feel like this could be a couple of things – it’s kind of how I feel when panicked or anxious. What a fantastic entry, I could almost hear my own breath in my ears as I read it.

          1. I’m sorry to hear that. I had to wear a heart monitor for 24 hours in second grade because they thought I might have a heart condition. Turned out it was just severe anxiety. Peas in a pod, we are!

          2. I’ve just been through it! Had ultrasounds and all sorts. They said my heart is fine – I just have crops of irregular beating which I am much more aware of than the average person – and it’s heightened by anxiety. Definitely peas in a pod 🙂

          3. Oh, heart palpitations? I get those too. Completely knocks the breath out of me. Incredibly scary every time it happens. I am always sure I will never be able to breath again.

          4. Yep, exactly, it’s horrendous, I have a slightly irregular heartbeat – most people do as it happens, but they are unaware of it- I happen to be aware of mine, and it kicks off when I get anxious – which in turn makes me, even more, anxious – vicious circle *eye roll* sigh. What are we like!

    1. They say today is my birthday.

      They bring in a cake with my name on it but there are no candles. They don’t sing. They watch me. They wait.

      I smile.

      Not because it’s my birthday—it isn’t. I smile because I know this is another test. And I’m going to pass.

  6. chocolate chocolate choc’late CHOCOLATE choc choc choc choc choc chocolate choc nom nom nom nom nom nom nom choc sweet cramps I need to throw there chocolate chocolate never enough chocolate chocolate water water water water nom nom nom nom NOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM chocloate I feel sick OH God GODDDDDDDDDD chocooooooooooooooooo tooooooo latttttttttttteeeeeeeee my heart I’m dead…….

  7. I was cooking this morning when this idea came to me and I used it in my emotion piece for this week’s 52 word challenge. It’s called Olio d’oliva. Here it is:

    She pours oil
    into a fancy bottle
    tiny golden drops
    rise to the surface
    like fish coming to feed
    and all at once she hears
    nonna’s laughter
    ancient church bells peal
    inviting the pebbled path
    and its people
    up to the duomo
    plump tomatoes
    and frogs caught
    in coffee tins:

    1. awww, this is beautiful. I saw the whole thing in my head, and I smelt it too – I have a few smells that send me straight back to somewhere. As always, an amazing entry. So talented <3

  8. Fabulous entries. Amazing how far 52 words can stretch? love Raven’s take. Football is foremost on their minds, even before sex. Sad.??
    No time this week. Had a short holiday with grandchildren. Will try to surprise you again next week;)

  9. The idea of condensing a piece of narrative to 50 – 52 words, whatever…It is more than a means to an end, it is a concept, whether or not intentiona,l (I suspect Sacha Black understands perfectly) is a marvellous idea. Personally, it has done wonders for my output. Try it and you will be amazed!

  10. Enjoyed doing this one, Sacha.

    At rest, eyes closed. A sensation tingles through the orb surrounding the thought. Light years away for a moment. Within the grasp of reality. Sliced and diced to extravagance. Making way to the next level. Accomplishments checked from the long list of needs, but mostly wants. The ultimate hurdle crested. Completion. Rest.


  11. A hum pulsates through my chest as tiny straps draw closer, tightening, squeezing, shortening my breath. The weight, unbearable, presses deeper into my lungs releasing a keening wail. My knees pull reflexively upward curling tightly into a place of safety. Gently rocking, the sensation eases. The tension drifts slowly outward. It’s done.

      1. Lol. That fit’s too. It was an anxiety attack but works perfectly for what I imagine a corset tightening would be like. Heel on back, strings pulling, air whooshing out. Love it. Thanks for that!!

  12. Great entries! I look forward to reading these every week! 🙂

    Gnawing hunger laced through her. The desire to eat was only outweighed by this new emotion she couldn’t place. Countless torturous hours had preceded this moment. The pain that had wracked her entire body for hours still lingered. With tears in her eyes, she held the tiny boy close to her heart.

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