I’ve been ignoring the #vss365 prompts, which lately I have to look up, but I busted out one today using the ones I’ve missed. I’m glad to have other prompts to make up for it.
The #ulotrichous maiden sat down to write a post-#jentacular poem but was overcome by #kakorrhaphiophobia. She pulled at her curly locks so vigorously that she became rather #erinaceous. Erinaceous! she thought. That was the next word. #vss365
“We’ll have to go #deeper into your #memories this time. There was some sort of block behind #the #nudiustertian morning. I think there’s some #burden you don’t want to #dwell on. The emotions you report #dwindle to nothing. So, let’s go back before you saw the bright light…”
bravewrite #366FF #flexvss #vss365 #whistpr #brieflywrite
They met on an #archaelogical dig, where he was digging for #multifarious bones in pursuit of a doctorate. She was an #obstreperous allosaur, still wandering the earth after all these millions of years. Their love would inspire epic poetry and reality television shows. #vss365
Genre – Action/Adventure, Setting – A Moat, Object – Bacon
This was a really difficult weekend for me, and I’m honestly pleased I just managed to finish something and submit it. I thought I’d post it here instead of pretending it doesn’t exist because it ended up being sort of fun and I might want to revise eventually. There are a zillion things I’d do in revision since I ended up submitting a thrown-together draft. One of them is to bring the big fight at the end back to the moat to make sure I’m complying with the setting requirement. Also, I’m not sure yadda-yadda-yaddaing through a battle is really the way to go, though Action/Adventure is definitely not my genre.
Storming The Gates
“You don’t think there are really alligators, do you?” asked Mark. Lena thought about pointing out that ice was forming at the edges, and alligators didn’t do well in New England November temperatures. There were conflicting rumors in the tent city about the gated McMansion subdivision and its supervillain-level security. The grapevine had been dead-on about the electrified fence they’d tunneled under. And now a moat, an honest-to-God moat.
She pulled off her dark clothes and sealed them into a watertight bag. Underneath she wore a wetsuit. She pulled a dive mask over her eyes and adjusted the oxygen tank on her back. “Come on, Mark, one way to find out.” She brandished a knife in one hand and a dive light in the other and led the way.
The sides of the moat were sharply sloped to prevent climbing out, but there were rumors that if a moat existed, it might have an access hatch. Lena and Mark methodically searched, finding it within a half hour. Lena handed Mark the dive light to hold while she worked at the edges with the knife. Had she felt it wiggle? She popped up one corner. Yes! It went dark and she whipped around, dropping the knife in surprise. The dive light was floating gently down, down, down. Motion caught her eye in the gloom. Mark was thrashing around. As she moved closer, Lena saw the dark shape of a shark, maybe five feet long, and it had Mark by the arm. She swam up and punched the shark in the gills. Nothing. Again, harder. This time the shark let go of Mark’s arm. Blood drifted upward from a wound, but she couldn’t tell how bad it was. At least the arm was still on. The shark turned toward them and she punched it right in the nose. Thank you, Shark Week, she thought, as it turned away in confusion.
Lena grabbed Mark by the uninjured arm and started swimming back toward the hatch. Mark clutched at her frantically and she realized his oxygen tank was disconnected. She held her regulator to his mouth to let him breathe as she worked on the panel. At least she’d popped the one corner out before losing her knife. She was running out of breath, and grabbed for the regulator. Mark, panicking, resisted, and she kicked him away, desperate for oxygen. She took deep breaths and handed the regulator back to a calm Mark. She gave a final tug and the panel released. They swam into the hatch, Lena’s lungs nearly bursting. It sloped up quickly, and she fell to her knees gasping when they reached a flat, dry landing.
“Let’s see that arm,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out her shirt, tearing it into strips. Mark pulled down his wetsuit and held out his arm, which was oozing blood, but at least not spurting. She wrapped it tightly in her makeshift bandages and they quickly changed back into street clothes. She checked the oxygen tanks. “These are worthless for getting back. We may as well leave all this here. This was just supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. Goddamn sharks, Mark.”
“How do we get back out?” He was pale but his eyes still had his patented spark of determination.
“We’ll figure something out later. We have supplies. We can take our time.”
Re-armed with knives from their bags, they crept up the ladder. Lena flung open the trapdoor at the top and rushed into the room, hoping to salvage some element of surprise. It worked. A man sat up in bed and she was on him before he could hit what looked like a panic button. A quick knife thrust and he was still. She looked over at Mark, who had silenced the man’s partner, and listened. Had they made it in undetected?
They crept quietly through the house, but found no one else in residence. “What do you think, 5,000 square feet?” whispered Mark. “For two people. While we’re all crammed in tents with no electricity. It’s obscene.”
Lena walked as if hypnotized toward the huge refrigerator and opened the door. It was crammed with food. “Eggs, and milk, and, oh my god, Mark, bacon!” She hoisted a large package into the air.
“And we’ve been living on protein bars and mystery cans cooked over an open flame. No wonder they put sharks in the damn moat to keep us out.”
“I’m cooking it,” she said. “You scramble some eggs. A coffee maker! If they catch us, we can die with a hot breakfast in our bellies.”
It was the best meal of their lives. When they couldn’t eat another bite, they searched the house more closely and armed themselves with a stunning array of guns. “Ready for the invasion, they were,” Lena muttered.
They disabled the house alarm and left through the back door, creeping in the shadows. Mark counted houses while Lena drew a map. The only way out across the moat was a drawbridge. “That’s a no-go,” Mark muttered.
She stopped suddenly at a small power station. “This is where they get their electricity,” she muttered. “We could shut it off, stay up in those trees, and shoot anyone who comes to check it out.”
“If we’re not getting out alive, we may as well take some of them with us.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
The first to investigate came in small groups that were easily picked off and dragged into the trees. Eventually they needed the automatic weapons when the community rushed in force, but they hadn’t been expecting an attack from this direction, and Lena and Mark had chosen a good vantage point. While their foes were armed, they weren’t practiced in their expensive weapons.
As they lowered the drawbridge and prepared to walk back over the moat, Mark took Lena’s hand. “I think I love you,” he said.
“You’re not my type.”
I got my judges’ feedback on my flash fiction story (Political Satire/A Forest/A Laptop). I’ll repost my story below.
WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY – {1651} I thought you did a great job of using animals versus humans in fairy tales to satirize and explore the movement of Black Lives Matter. I enjoyed the humor you brought to this piece as well. {1611} This was an engaging story and a totally creative concept. Great sense of pacing and wonderful details to ground readers in the narrative. {1960} Using animals always gives a lightness to a subject and having the bad guy put away in the end is the smart move.
WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK – {1651} I think it would be a stronger choice if you used only the humans from the fairy tales to represent the humans in your story, because it gets a bit confusing when the three little pigs are grouped in with the humans because they’re now humans called the three little pigs. Is Sheriff Nottingham an animal? I’d tell us when we first meet him. I’d also consider giving Sheriff one last plea in his defense at the end. {1611} I would have loved a tiny bit more interiority from the sheriff. What is at stake for him personally – before his interaction with Puss? {1960} This story’s language is ambiguous enough that it could be read as pro- or anti- BLM movement. Depending on your intended audience, you’ll want to go back and make revisions.
A Fairytale Ending
“Hey, Furless!” Goldilocks turned her head at the deep voice behind her. A huge, hulking brown bear was gaining on her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just out for a jog,” Goldilocks squeaked.
“Sure you are. You humans are always coming into the forest and making trouble.”
“No, I’m not. We’re not. Look, I’ll just go, okay?”
“I don’t think so, Blondie. You remember when that human Jack’s vendetta against a giant knocked down half the forest? My brother’s house was one of the ones his beanstalk fell on. There’s only one way to deal with your kind.”
***
Sheriff Nottingham washed another aspirin down with his cold coffee and unfolded the Sherwood Daily Caller. The headline screamed HUMAN ROBBER FOILED. When his buddy Papa Bear had called him in a panic, the sheriff had a flash of inspiration. Papa dragged what was left of the body into his house and claimed he’d found Goldilocks eating his porridge and feared for his life. With the Stand Your Ground law the sheriff had written last year, it was a piece of cake. Goldilocks had once been arrested for shoplifting, and the sheriff had made sure his friend at the Daily Caller knew it. An article citing statistics of human on human violence ran below the fold.
He watched the protestors in front of his office and rummaged in his desk for an antacid. HUMAN LIVES MATTER screamed their signs. Well, of course they did. All lives mattered. But if the humans were going to insist on coming where they weren’t wanted and stirring up trouble, what did they expect? He’d thought they’d gotten the message when Deputy Big Bad Wolf had run the humans nicknamed the Three Little Pigs out of town. Trying to build houses here! Imagine what three humans living in the forest would do to property values. He tapped his anthropomorphized wolf paws on the keyboard of his laptop, filling in the narrative section of the report.
“Deputy Big Bad Wolf observed the decedent, Red Riding Hood, acting suspiciously in the forest. He approached her and asked what was in her basket. He believed his life was in danger when she reached into her basket, presumably for a weapon.” That part was fine. But what did he do about Grandmother in the human village on the other side of the forest? The sheriff was pretty sure that his deputy had been hungry and, his appetite whetted by the little girl and the contents of her basket, had headed to Grandmother’s house for seconds. He massaged his temples.
Was that Robin Hood outside his window? Yes, that damned fox was marching with the humans, and he wasn’t the only animal. The sheriff spotted the Three Blind Mice, a few swans, and Humpty Dumpty as well. He was never sure if Humpty counted as an animal, but he was definitely not human. What in the forest was going on here? He jumped at a loud banging on his door. “Sheriff! We have some demands for you!”
“Demands? Is that you, Puss?” he asked as his door crashed open and a large cat in boots came in.
“I’m representing the Human Lives Matter protestors, and we demand your resignation immediately. This violence must stop.” The sheriff hadn’t even stopped sputtering when Puss continued, “We’ve overlooked a lot of injustices, Sheriff, but Red used to give us cookies on her jaunts through the woods. We liked her. We didn’t know Goldilocks, and I’m ashamed we didn’t stand up for her, but Big Bad has gone too far this time. And I know you’re in here trying to write up a report that keeps you from having to fire him, much less toss him in jail.”
“Puss, what are you doing carrying signs with these humans? If they would have just stayed out of our forest and done what they’re told, none of this would have happened. They’re the troublemakers here, not my deputy. Now, I’m putting Deputy Wolf on leave while I investigate the incident, and that should be enough for you.”
“Paid leave?”
“Well, that’s procedure. Innocent until proven guilty and all.”
“Unless you’re a human!”
“What do you care, Puss? Have I ever treated you wrong? Anyone in your family? Anyone you even know? The humans know what happens when they come tromping through our forest and they insist on doing it anyway!”
“And what was Grandmother doing in her own house in her own human village that was so bad, Sheriff?”
“Well, she probably encouraged Red to cut through the forest so she could get her basket of goodies faster. It’s a much shorter walk. Look, I could maybe put a note in Deputy Wolf’s file and give him a week of unpaid leave. I won’t deny that he’s sometimes a bit rougher than necessary with humans, so I’ll send him on a sensitivity course too. How’s that?”
“That’s just not good enough, Sheriff. We need real change this time, not your empty promises.”
Sheriff Nottingham blustered as Puss dragged him out from behind his desk, spilling his coffee and knocking his laptop to the floor. He was quickly surrounded by a mob, and he knew how Red and Goldilocks must have felt in their last moments. “Are you going to kill me?” he whimpered, looking desperately around for help. Was that Deputy Wolf slinking off into the trees? He thought he saw Papa Bear too, but no one rushed to his defense.
“I voted to kill you, but we’re a democracy, and most of us think we should be better than you,” Puss said, shoving him into his own jail cell. “And I don’t want blood on my good breeches during the election.”
“Election?”
“We need a new sheriff. My platform is Fair Laws, Equal Treatment for All. We’ll hold your trial after the election. I promise you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”
Sheriff Nottingham’s eyes went wide as the cell door slammed shut.
“Game, #set, and match,” she crowed. He threw down his racket. “What was the bet again? The planet Poglop?” “Ha! Nice try, Jinda. Poglop is a barren rock. We wagered for Surgnor, and you know it.” Damn it, he thought. He was going to miss those ice mines. #vss365
A #quantity of empty bottles littered the floor. Amelia picked her way through the mess and gave Sir Peter a shove. “Go ‘way,” he muttered. “I’m having an #existential crisis.” “Get dressed. Time to fight the dragon.” “A metaphorical dragon?” he asked hopefully. “Nope.” #vss365
I seem to have started another ongoing microfiction story over on Twitter. I have NO IDEA where this is going! This one uses #366FF, #flexvss, #bravewrite, and #whistpr prompts. Most entries I managed to use all four, but for a handful I only managed 2-3. I also used #vss365 at least once. Prompt words are hashtagged, but I removed the prompt hashtags for smoother reading. Original tweets contain prompt hashtags.
“Don’t #blame me for your #neglect! I gave you instructions when you bought the thing.” “But it’s #enormous! It doesn’t even fit in the house anymore!” “The only thing for it is a #journey to the old wizard. He knows a chicken-shrinking spell.”
Chance walked back home, muttering to himself. The giant chicken at his side clucked softly, #mimicking his #inflection. He squared his shoulders. It was not the time to sit #idle. He had an #obscure mage to seek out, and a chicken to shrink.
Chance heard a #ripping sound from the other room. The giant chicken was tearing his sheets into strips. He watched, #mystified, as it fashioned them into a nest and settled onto it with a soft cluck.
His mind on the long #commute ahead to the wizard’s lair, Chance struggled to adjust to the problem at hand, the #large chicken in its #amorphous nest. To #paddle past a #kelpie was one thing, to move a recalcitrant giant chicken was another.
He was losing #patience. He didn’t mind a good #monster fight, but coaxing a giant chicken to leave his #bedroom with #vague assurances of a better life was beyond him. As he stood flummoxed, the chicken clucked loudly and laid a giant egg.
Chance collected supplies from a #cabinet and studied the chicken, #bemused. “All right then, off we go!” The chicken stared. Chance had faced many a foe on the #battlefield, but this! He looked at the #net in his hand. Was it large enough?
The chicken seemed to #grasp his nonthreatening intentions. It gave him a #cryptic look but allowed him to #peek at the enormous egg. “What if we bring it along?” he asked. The chicken gave a #favorable cluck. “Guess I’ll find a wheelbarrow.”
“Where did the old wizard #disappear to?” Chance asked the innkeeper, who claimed #amnesia. The whole pub seemed to #clam up, but one old woman muttered, “Take the north road, but don’t #quote me on that.” “North it is,” he told the chicken.
The #wind blew. The wheelbarrow bumped along the road. The giant chicken watched to be sure Chance wasn’t #careless with her egg. He tried to #remember that the old wizard would make it right, but he wasn’t #ecstatic about this journey.
The evening #gloom had descended and Chance was #faint with hunger when he reached the house where the old wizard lived. A light came on and #sad music began to #play. The chicken clucked and hopped onto its egg in the wheelbarrow.
Chance knocked, and a wizened face peered out. “Go away.” Chance knocked again. “Was I #unclear? I’m retired. Gods above, that chicken is as tall as you are!” he continued in a higher #register. “You’d better come in, but the chicken waits outside.”
“Well, this is a #unique problem.”. “Is it? I heard you had a spell just for shrinking chickens.” “Did I? My memory’s gone a bit #nebulous. Part of the reason I decided to #leave. I’m not sure I have the #energy.” “I have gold.” “Ah!”
“I guess it’s true that a wizard never really retires. I’ve gone a bit #forgetful, I’ve got lumbago, arthritis, and #vertigo, but when someone comes so #far to seek my counsel, my past #glory calls. Let’s see this giant chicken of yours.”
“You’re not here as a #trap from the king, are you? To lure me back into service? I’m done with the magical #crafts.” “No, I’ve just made a mistake with my chicken and I hoped you’d help.” The chicken clucked and tried to #hide its head under its wing.
“I bought it from a royal #messenger selling magical #animals.” The wizard rummaged in the cabinet on the #wall. “And you weren’t supposed to let the chicken eat any millet for a #year?” Chance nodded. “I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“Will your chicken-shrinking spell work on the egg?” The wizard ran to #feel it. “Something’s #alive in there!” His eyes shone with greedy #attraction. “This could be my payment.” The chicken clucked, possibly calling Chance a #traitor.
“No, #the egg is hers, not mine to give.” The wizard scowled, but took the gold and cast a complicated spell. “Oh, dear. Instead of shrinking the chicken, I’ve made her human. Hmm. Does she have the #burden of chicken #memories, I wonder?”
The former chicken stood with surprising #poise and grace. Chance and the wizard were unprepared for her #flood of words. “Well? Get me something to wear. And something to eat. And then I can #ride that #chestnut horse home. Wherever home is.”
She waved a #dragonfly from her porridge and began to #speak again. “I don’t #own anything but this giant egg, but it should fetch enough at the #funfair.” Chance spluttered, “You can’t sell your offspring!” “Do you want to buy it then?”
“Do I want to buy your egg?” Chance #echoed. The wizard was #annoyed at being left out. “You’re #dancing around the point that you’d still be a chicken without my spell!” “This strange #conglomeration of magic is not all your doing,” she said.
“My lady, be my wife! Your beauty! Your #balletic grace! I would #bleed and die for you!” “I think the #adrenaline #flow has gotten to you,” she said. “We just met.” “But you were my chicken!” She shook her head.
“I don’t wish to be reminded that I was a chicken,” she told Chance, regarding herself in the #mirrors. “Now, I’ll need a #gown. This plain robe won’t do at all. #Lead me to a seamstress.” She turned to the wizard. “Unless you can magic one…?”
“I said gown, not #clown,” she told the wizard. “Think sweeping and elegant.” “My knowledge of fashion is out of date,” he said stiffly. “#Stop. I’ll draw what I want.” The #hound at her feet, she sketched, humming a strange scrap of #music.
“I #remember a perfect-shirt-making spell I won in a #raffle at a wizards’ fair. I might be able to #invent a perfect-gown-making spell based on that. Let’s see, this should have the #correct measurements. And–ah! Breathtaking.”
“In this dress, the court will find a #space for me!” she declared. “The other ladies will be pale with #jealousy,” the wizard said. “Thank you for the #rescue from life as a chicken.” Outside, snow fell like #confetti.
“To the palace, kind #knave! If the wheelbarrow won’t #carry the egg through snow, we can leave it with the wizard.” Chance’s refusal #frustrated the wizard. But everyone stopped and stared when the egg began to jump like an #acrobat.
Chance felt #afraid and excited as the giant egg began to hatch. He’d started to feel fatherly toward it. The wizard leaned forward, eyes glittering. The lady tapped her fingers on the table, impatient to leave.
They stared, their faces #masks of confusion. The wizard went #limp and #melted back into his chair. Chance couldn’t make out his #whispers. In the #remains of the eggshell stood a tiny chick. “It’s cute,” said the lady. “Can we go now?”
“It could be some #novel species,” said Chance. “It might have #unseen powers,” said the wizard, peering at it through his #spectacles. “Peep,” said the #star of this drama, a tiny, fuzzy little yellow chick.
“Well, it’s just an ordinary chicken,” said the wizard. “You can leave it here and be on your way.” “Oh, I know your #game!” Chance said, #anger rising. “You think it’s magical and you want me to give it up.” “Peep,” said the chick.
“I’ll need the use of your #privy and some #sweets for the journey to the palace. Do I have to #invoke our agreement? I can’t go alone.” Chance looked longingly at the fuzzy yellow chick. “No, my lady. I #acknowledge the obligation.”
The #lights of the palace shimmered ahead, and the #sound of music wafted toward them. “Here you are, my lady. I have a #query–” “If it’s about the chicken, all in good time. There’s a #riddle I must solve first. Are you coming in?”
“They’ve been known to #kill intruders in the palace, my lady.” “Oh, I’m among #friends here, and you’re my servant.” “Who are you?” She gave a #provocative smile. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”
Chance was overwhelmed by the #crowds, which his mind processed as #swirls of color. He felt the urge to #fly out the door, but he found himself rather trapped, #sandwiched between his lady and a fawning servant.
“What #event is this, my lady?” Chance whispered as the #tide of people carried them forward. Their postures #connoted great deference beyond the urgency of movement. “I’m the event,” she said, finally reaching the #trim figure on the throne.
“Well, this is something to #celebrate!” The queen’s #dark eyes belied her words. “Your return will #obviate the need to name my successor, Lady Thornapple. Your last ten years are entirely #unwritten in the chronicles. We must catch up.”
Chance tried to #flee with the other servants, but the lady stopped him. “Tell me how you managed to arrive the day before your power was to be #vested in me?” the queen asked with brittle #laughter. The #teardrop pendant at her neck flashed.
“How did you escape my #web of spells?” asked the queen. “I’ve always been the clever one. You thought an enchanted #spindle could banish me? A fairy tale #trick!” Lady Thornapple smiled. Chance tried not to make a #sound.
The queen took in the #view of her kingdom. A #carousel was being erected below, for the next day’s festival. “I don’t know how #you managed to return, but you won’t stop me from taking power.” She touched the #malachite at her throat.
Lady Thornapple’s #auburn hair shone in a #band of bright light. Chance felt suddenly wide #awake. The queen looked uncertain. “What magic did you bring?” “You thought I’d used all my tricks before you banished me. #Far from it.”
The #revelry of the festival preparations below was a sharp contrast to the hush above. Chance had to #strain to hear the queen say, “You’ll ruin the peaceful #ethos I’ve built in the kingdom.” “It’s built on lies!” Lady Thornapple cried.
“The crown is #nothing but a #costume you wear,” Lady Thornapple said. “I’ve returned from your banishment #incognito to take it back.” The queen touched her glowing pendant. “It won’t work against me. It might as well be a #cabbage.”
“What #mischief brings you back?” asked the queen. “I put magical precautions in place when you began to #drift into evil. You didn’t #discern my spells, too distracted by lust for #fame and power.” At her nod, the queen’s disguise crumbled.
Chance scooped up the queen, who after all her #gnashing of teeth was now a white chicken. “Will you be my knight, then?” asked Lady Thornapple. She handed him an #elixir and he felt a powerful #sensation wash over him. He found he was holding a sword. “Her #lies are at an end.”
“My Lady–” Chance began. “You can say ‘my queen’ now.” “Yes, My Queen, I was wondering…about the other chicken?” “Oh, Chance, we’ll send for your pet. It can keep my sister company. And the wizard will come be my palace magician.” He sighed happily. The End
“This #one is a #fake!” she cried. “Look at the brushstrokes on this #gray.” Everyone leaned forward. “The others were more #ambiguous, but this is a clear forgery. Who’s #hungry? Sushi?” She’d spent weeks gaining their trust. They’d buy it. And her lunch. She smiled.
vss365 #flexvss #whistpr #366FF #bravewrite
An invisible #fence separated him from the #formless #crowd, jolting him sharply. He missed the #solitude of his plane. And the glasses he’d lost in the crash. Were these other prisoners, or his captors? They moved toward him ominously, giving #zero clues as to their intentions.
whistpr #366FF #flexvss #bravewrite #vss365
Words words words 