2017 is the year of 52… 52 challenges over 52 weeks in 52 words.
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 (if you submit after Sunday, I can’t guarantee to get your entry in with the following week – I will, however, post it in the week after that).
Apologies to the number of you who posted pingbacks, that didn’t appear last week… Clearly, the WordPress gremlins are in full force. Soz for missing your entries. It still seems to be happening so it might be worth dropping a comment to say you have posted – just in case.
Somewhere in your 52 words you need to include ALL the following words:
Time, Stack, Juice, Pigeon
Now to last week’s entries.
Hugh (Lost things prompt)
It wasn’t only her false teeth she’d lost. She was speechless and had now lost all her words. Why had she said those things?
Bleeding to death, it wasn’t long before she lost her world. Losing your tongue was painful, but a great meal for the executioner’s cat who licked its lips.
Helen (Lost things prompt)
D’you like lost things?’
‘Lost things.’ He smiled, gesturing at the old books, dusty hats, faded postcards. Ornaments filled cabinets, gold lace spilled out of a wardrobe door. ‘All these things belonged to someone once. Now they’re lost.’
I stared at him.
‘Sometimes the people who come here are lost, too.’
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.
I wait to hear the door close, the sound of footsteps outside, moving away purposefully. Always the same, no matter what the situation. Not one to hesitate or change your mind. Ringing loud at first, they fade. I count slowly. When I reach a hundred I will stop. Then I will cry.
Six Generations, started from a single lie.
The cake was brought in as everybody sang.
She smiled sweetly, then suddenly started to laugh.
Everyone applauded, singing even louder.
To the person on her left she whispered,
‘I’m only 99. We had to lie about my age to marry and no-one ever found out!’
“How long have I been asleep?” he asked, his voice croaking and previously unused.
“Exactly one century” answered a voice with practiced calm.
He took a moment to process the news.
“Then, my friends… my family… they’re all…”
He was met with a solemn nod.
Tears broke his eyes.
Finding inspiration is tough
My brain feels buried in fluff
I can’t think what to say
When I blog every day
I came across dear Sacha Black
Now there’s no turning back
Her prompts get me writing
They are so exciting
100 posts, no time to slack!
Sheesh! Who’d a thunk it?
Still, it was worth it. It was a great night!
The music was pumping, the people were dancing, the drinks were flowing.
Jeez, were they flowing… One hundred bottles of flowing!
No wonder my head hurts.
Just wake me when it’s all tidy!
Perks of hitting 100!
Who says I have to do it a 100 times to gain expertise? I am talented, inspired and young. Let me prove that I was born with it. Oh, you are not the right person, let me find someone who appreciates.
I counted my attempts again. 100. There are no short cuts.
… 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.
Luccia came up with three beautiful entries, so I included them all!
‘100 isn’t a lot, is it?
Seconds: 1.4 minutes
Minutes: 1.4 hours
Days: 3.4 months
Weeks: 1.9 years
Years: A century
1/10 of a millennium
1/5 of the Christian era
45/billionth of the age of the earth.
Not much, really.’
‘I’d like to live to 100.’
‘I’m quite sure I already have.’
When I think of big numbers, I think of grains of sand, flowers, stars, the ancient Egyptians, dead sea scrolls, star trek, the universe, eternity, life after death, the meaning of life before death, and things I don’t understand and perhaps never will, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real, does it?
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.