2017 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?
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,
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.”
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.’
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
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.
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.
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.