Friday, April 20, 2018

The Writing Without Rules Flash Fiction contest

I am currently splashing about in the lovely lakes of Minnesota (with companion in crime La Slitherina herself, Barbara Poelle!) at The Loft writing conference.

Since conferences tend to leave me babbling incoherently, and unable to form cogent thought, we'll need a writing contest for diversion!

And with  Writing Without Rules by the Amazing and Awesome Jeff Somers, (subject of yesterday's blog post)  is just one short month away from publication, this seems like a good time to remind you to Pre-Order! (I've read this book more times than either Jeff or I like to think about, and it's the best writing book I've ever seen. Am I objective? Probably not. Have I read a lot of writing books? oh dear godiva, yes.)

 The usual rules apply:

1. Write a story using 100 words or fewer.

2. Use these words in the story:
tenet
canon
rule
law
reg


3. You must use the whole word, but that whole word can be part of a larger word. The letters for the
prompt must appear in consecutive order. They cannot be backwards.
Thus: reg/regular is ok, but law, canon/cannon is not.

4. Post the entry in the comment column of THIS blog post.

5. One entry per person. If you need a mulligan (a do-over) erase your entry and post again. It helps to work out your entry first, then post.

6. International entries are allowed, but prizes may vary for international addresses.

7. Titles count as part of the word count (you don't need a title)

8. Under no circumstances should you tweet anything about your particular entry to me. Example: "Hope you like my entry about Felix Buttonweezer!" This is grounds for disqualification.

8a. There are no circumstances in which it is ok to ask for feedback from ME on your contest entry. NONE. (You can however discuss your entry with the commenters in the comment trail...just leave me out of it.)

9. It's ok to tweet about the contest generally.
Example: "I just entered the flash fiction contest on Janet's blog and I didn't even get a lousy t-shirt"

10. Please do not post anything but contest entries. (Not for example "I love Felix Buttonweezer's entry!")

11. You agree that your contest entry can remain posted on the blog for the life of the blog. In other words, you can't later ask me to delete the entry and any comments about the entry at a later date.

12. The stories must be self-contained. That is: do not include links or footnotes to explain any part of the story. Those extras will not be considered part of the story.


Contest opens: 8:43am, Eastern Daylight time, 4/21/18

Contest closes: 9am, Eastern Daylight time, 4/22/18



If you're wondering how what time it is in NYC right now, here's the clock




If you'd like to see the entries that have won previous contests, there's
an .xls spread sheet here http://www.colindsmith.com/TreasureChest/

(Thanks to Colin Smith for organizing and maintaining this!)

Questions? Tweet to me @Janet_Reid (but be prepared for a long wait, since I'm working at the conference this weekend!)

Ready? SET?

Not yet!

Enter! 
Oops, sorry, too late. Contest closed.


42 comments:

Steve Forti said...

“Write what you know.” That’s the advice my professor gave me. Cliché, I guess, but this guy knows of what he speaks. A real literature guru. Legend, even. At least, that’s what his syllabus said.

I tried to be unique. You know how many other students wrote Transformers erotica? None, that’s how many. But story after story, he wasn’t impressed. He’d say my work was foul, awful, rotten, etc. “Stop trying.” I thought that was just his way of motivating me. Turns out, I had missed the real delivery of his advice.

“Write? What, you? No.”

Alina Sergachov said...

It started with conviction.
I can! One draft more and I’ll blow you all away.
You sneer and snarl. And stare. That judgmental stare. Glare that stabs and causes doubt.
Tenet number one: “You must kill your darlings”. I follow the rules, so…
It ended with conviction.

Lennon Faris said...

“What’re we doing here?” Wylan wiped his forehead.
“A job.” Jesper grinned. “And plagiarism.”
“Fan fiction,” Kaz corrected.
Nina rolled her eyes. “Pul-eeeze. Like lawless thugs follow rules.”
“Tenets, Nina.”
“What is the job?” asked Matthias.
“Breaking into Reid’s mind. If we stick to canon, she won’t notice count. Come Monday, she’ll rep YA and fantasy.”
“Who’s paying?”
“Half the Reef. Including our Wraith, under another alias. She wants Somers’s book.”
Nina gave me a skeptical brow. “…Lennon?”
“Lennon wishes,” grumbled Jesper.
“Narcissistic,” agreed Wylan.
“Hey,” I said. “This is my imagination.”
“Fine,” sighed Nina. “No mourners.”
“No regulations,” I finished.

Charley said...

“Welcome. You’ve a complaint?”
“I do not accept your tenant rules.”
“You’re not a tenant. You’re an overnight guest.”
“All the same.”
“And they’re tenets. This is a monastery.”
“Rules. Bah, humbug.”
“No, beliefs. Do you even own a dictionary?”
“And you have so many. Like you shot them out of a cannon.”
“Who let this guy in? Look, it’s easy. Laws, regs, doctrines, call them whatever. They’re all in this canon.”
“See? What did I tell you.”
“That’s it. Forget the damn sainthood. I’m killing this moron.”
“Brother Halcyon, no.”
“Fire!”
“I knew you had a—”
Boom.

Kregger said...

Russia’s St. Basil’s Cathedral

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t pluck my eye out.”

“Did you break God’s tenet?”

“Yes, and it was HUGE.”

“Which rule of law?”

“It’s not like I’m guilty, they were leakers.”

“Their pipes were broken?”

“Oh no, they’re Reginas Maximus, unlike crooked Hillary.”

“I’m confused.”

“It was all legal. I paid in rubles. Mike Cohen exchanged my dollars.”

“What exactly did you do, my son?”

“It’s not illegal. I watch Hannity.”

“What!”

“Yanno, like Bea, Betty and, Rue, but all wet.”

“Dude, seriously!? You—”

“Time to fire the cannon?”

James Leisenring said...

The soup is nearly ready. At least, soup is the closest translation in the native language. I knock on the door.

“Hold on, Martin, I’m on the can.”

On the can. Disposing of bodily waste. Nettlesome, the way they regularly use language in such a way.

The human I wait for is called Harris Guster Williams, or Harry for short (their naming system is especially flawed). Unable to pronounce my proper name, Harry chose Martin due to its proximity to the name the humans give our species.

I allow this cartoonish transgression. By rule, one does not bother correcting soup.

Madeline Mora-Summonte said...


Gregory, old and gnarled, slumps on his porch. His lawn, overgrown with weeds and wild things, chokes the once neat path. At the gate, nettles cling, watch deserted streets. He calls out, can only hope for more survivors.

A man and woman appear, dirty, laden with packs.

"Please help! I fell."

They hesitate, the rules different now.

Gregory is desperate. "I have food, water. It's yours."

They nod, start toward him.

He watches the lawn shiver, the monsters within slither out to feed. He listens to the screams.

Gregory is spared. Again. He stands, stretches.

The rules are different now.

Megan V said...


You’d think I could scrounge up an entry using these prompts. I am a lawyer. I make my living off of rules and regulations. And as for canons…have you ever heard ‘it wasn’t me’ in a round? I have. Hundreds of times. Maybe even thousands. (And not in some Shaggy remix either). This should be my moment. I should be able come up with something. But while all of my fellow Reef members are upping the ante, netting the wins, and writing off into the sunset, I can’t even forti the words. Megan FTW? Pfft. Even chum has better odds.

Colin Smith said...

I think about you often etched into the women’s doors with the murder weapon.

“Has to be him,” I said. “Can only be. That’s his signature.”

Sergeant Goez and I canvassed the neighborhood, searching for witnesses. As a rule I don’t go out this early, but the dreadful, awful nature of these murders—I was desperate.

A pregnant woman in a robe greeted us at the last house. She knew nothing. Her husband came down the hall dressed for work. He pecked her cheek.

“Later,” he said.

As we turned to go, she whispered, “Remember, I think about you often.”

Michael Seese said...

Susa was livid, though limited.

“Your hoor, this ma stole all my ehs. I ca’t eve say it anymore.” She punctuated her pathos with a plaintiff plea of “Please!”

Cases in the Alphabellate Court can be tricky, often turning on some obscure rule or twisted tenetcality. Susa stumbled into the latter.

“He should face a firig squad. Or a canon.”

A collective gasp sucked the air from the courtroom, and her argument. My smirk turned to face the judge.

“You see, your honor. Reg ipsa loquitur. I didn't steal them all. I borrowed a few. That's not against the lawn.”

Demain et hier said...

"It's what I did," a happily married colleague had told her. "Let technology find your mate."
—Network access granted.
She'd already completed the form. Fortunately, changes weren't against the program's rules.
—Profile updated.
Time for the compatibility check. Would it work?
—Processing…
After the scan, one result stood out. A 98% match!
—Message sent.
Now to play it cool. Don't look too eager.
—Logging off.
The site promised: "You're going to meet your perfect someone."
She believed that. So she’d respond — and see him at last.
If she had a flaw, it was placing too much faith in technology.

Claire Bobrow said...

By the tenets, rules, covenants, laws, and regulations of this confounded profession, we, his peers, do find and declare the perpetrator GUILTY as charged.

Henceforth, nowhere shall it ever again be written:

“Chuckles buttoned up his suit, painted a smile on his face, adjusted his pompoms, and, with trembling size 18 feet, climbed into the canon.”

It is our judgment, intention, and pronouncement that the sentence shall fit the crime:

Author to be shot at dawn.
Out of a cannon.

Amy Johnson said...

Good morning wouldn’t work. Or hi. Hello was too formal. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey what?”

Clearly it didn’t register. “Today’s Saturday. The rule?”

“Oh, the latest law,” he said. “What’s the poin--?”

The point was to choose their words carefully and think about the other person. But she knew that wasn’t what he meant.

“You reschedule my dentis--, my appoi--?”

“Sorry.”

“Monday then?”

“Sure can. On Monday.”

He left. She’d canceled plans to be there.

Almost midnight, he stormed in. “Look, I’m not letting some counselor dictate the tenets--”

She blocked his way. “I give up.”

John Davis Frain said...

Writing Guidelines

Professor Jeff Ruhle mixed another metaphor for the bookstore. “Math Without Ruhles bombed like a cannon shot. Sold three copies. Discounted six more, so ten at total.”

Then, his discovery—writers drive the self-help bus. He could sell dozens. From Amazon to Wal-Mart.

“You’re not even trying to follow directions, are you?”

“Thought once you knew ‘em, you could break ‘em.” His true strength.

“Please put your pants on before the final member of our audience leaves. Although her fins kinda scare me.”

Word count whooshed by like a deadline.

(“Do parentheses count?” Jeff said.)

As do titles.

(“Damn.”)

RosannaM said...

“Trouble, Marge. That dang boy a yours done broke some tenet rule.”
“Say what?”
Chester waved the stiff paper in front of her face.
“Seems he broke some canon or something, and we gotta pay, cause we done cosigned for him.”
“Well, I never. Whoda had some cannon at an apartment?”
“Prolly an American Region guy put it on the lawn.”
“An we gotta pay?”
“Yep. It says here, bylaw, in the covens and restrictions.”
“Shoulda kept him sleepin’ on the rollaway in the hall. What are we gonna do?”
“Fix it with duct tape after dinner. Pass the slaw?”

tink5188 said...

Taking a life was part of her tenet: her calling.

She should be canonized. Sentimentality was an infection but there was no emotion to regulate in her. She was devoted.

Placing the needle into the IV, pushing the plunger, gifting air to the ruby oil of the broken-down body of the used up. She was the law, in scrubs. Room 211 broke her law. Just like so many others. She’d faked compassion well in her interviews. Each hospital had rules, but she followed her own.

She was there, then she wasn’t.

Surgical.

Catherine Graham said...

Doreen planned the menu. A regular summer meal for her colleagues in religious studies.

“I thought Bruce was coming,” I said.

“He is. Did I get cabbage for the cole slaw?”

Professor Bruce Meier. Her favorite person in the department. They’d spent hours arguing over every tenet and law in the canon. He’d invited us to his grandson’s bar mitzvah.

“You did. Why are we having pulled pork?”

She ignored me awhile. Then asked, “Did I get cabbage for the cole slaw?”

The doctors tried (and failed) to rule out early onset Alzheimer’s.

Craig F said...

Nothing, nada, bumpkiss. Those were the story lines that occurred to me. I beat my head against the keyboard, memorized the words tenet, canon, rule, law, and reg; then ran my brain on the spin cycle. Diddlysquat.

Maybe I stood too close to Type A influenza and developing pneumonia this week.

Maybe its that I only read legal fiction when I have insomnia. Write it? No. Police procedurals are fine. Discover, hunt and catch the antagonist. Court proceedings bore me to snores, almost always.

Maybe it is because I retain some of the slimiest lawyers.They are the stuff of nightmare.

Marie McKay said...

Caustic. Systematic. Anonymous. They made the rules; introduced them into classrooms, offices, hospitals. We duped ourselves into inaction with foolish words: rules are meant to be broken. Until they emerged from shadows and regular checks on an organisation's 'progress' became the norm. Rewards were offered; penalties given.
(i) Compensate networks that comply.
(ii) Invalidate those that do not.
When they had divided us, then they made their Laws.
(i)  They can.
(ii)  You cannot.
(iii) They will.
(iv) You will not.

Marty Weiss said...

Residents of the Kingdom of Salami were panicked.
Queen Regina the Childless was on her deathbed, and there was no legitimate heir to the throne.
According to canon law, the Queen could name her successor.
The Royal Court shuffled closer to the dying queen as the Chancellor repeated his question.
“We beseech you, Queen Regina. Name our next ruler.”
Queen Regina’s eyes opened wide, their royal fire still burning. Never one to forget an insult, she whispered, “Listeneth to me, my people. I name as my successor to the throne of Salami, Percy Periwinkle, the unfaithful paramour of my youth.”

KariV said...

Query #306

I’m not getting requests. Is my query to vague?

Tenets forced from their apartments – *Should be “tenants”*

Six chosen, one for each canon – *Argh! “Cannon”*

A commander speaks. “The game: Russian Ru-let,” – *Ru-let? You’re not even close*

The rest watch. Silent. Still. Awful. – *What does awful modify?*

There getting restless – *They’re*

Would you like to know who dies? *No rhetorical questions in a query*

My fiction novel is complete at 34,567 words. I have no interest in changing my title: GRAMMAR NAZ— *Wha? NOOOO! Form Rejection! Possible NORMAN!*

*Bangs head on desk*

Happy Hour -12 and counting

dana said...

“Rules were made to not be followed.” Axle smirks, but her bad cliché stinks.
“There’s actually a law against incorrect clichés, Axle.”
“Come on, Min!” she says. “We won’t get caught!”
“Famous ending words.” Insert sarcastic eye-roll. “I’m not stealing holy water!”
“It’s regular H2O. There’s no Catholic tenet against this.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s canonical law that puts us on the bullet train to Hell for it.”
“You’re a scaredy-pussy.”
“It’s one or the other, Axle.”
She dips her cup into the fount, and -
Sizzle!
Pop!
Poof!
Gone.
Told you, Axle. Play with water, you get…
Burned?




Steph Ellis said...

Warning. Approach with caution. Canons to the left, canons to the right. Collections of words are fired continuously across the digital ether. Enter this valley of death at your peril, hear the Tenet of Trolldom as it plays the last post for freedom of speech. Disciples of this creed are easily recognised by their diligent bigotry and self-righteous bile. They ignore the rule of law, inciting violence and hatred should you dare dissent. Their motto is seek and destroy. Regulators appear powerless or unwilling to disarm its followers. The mob is dangerous. Enter at your peril.

Carolynnwith2Ns said...

A break the rules LETTER SCRAMBLE GAME

Then:
They lived without rules by writing their own.
Basic tenet: Nobody is as good as them, As righteous, as alloweD to exist.
The canon: identify the unwOrthy, regulate, gather.
The law: (only one) eLiminate the unfit.
They built camps and chambers and dug holes and Filled them with dreams written in dust.
Their savior? Their undoing.

Now:
An ocean away the new ones live without rules, not even their OwN.
The worthy chant the name of their beloveD savior.
The leAder smirks anD stumbLes on weak knees.
Rest in peace dreamers.

Amy Hylden Anderson said...

Stu parked his food truck behind Casa de Seoul, cock-sure that he would be the darling of this year’s Fusion Food Festival. The judges hadn’t liked the pickled herring egg rolls from Viet Finn. They seemed bored with the Korean tacos. When they reached Stu he proclaimed, “I give you... Cole Slaw Brulee!” He extended them dishes of French custard topped with seared cabbage. They were aghast, refusing to accept the samples. The head judge erupted, “This is an outrage! There is no tenet in the canon of gastronomy that can accept this! Regretfully, you are ejected from the competition.”

Dan Castro said...


Bathtub? Overflowing with reams of ruled lined paper. Urine stains. Feline hopefully.

Sink? Pens. Hundreds.

Bathroom? Packed with dictionaries. Old floppy disks. Writer's detritus.

"I'm not a whore!!!"

"Hoarder, Ms. Packard."

Kitchen? Trash prevents cooking.

Smell? Awful. A 12 on a 1 to 10.

Stove? Inundated with cans. Hundreds. Cat food. Expired.

"Cats don't mind."

Living room? TV buried in newspapers. Pile of red envelopes.

"I hate Netflix! So I'm keepin' those." Like everything.

"Ms. Packard, I need your help."

"You're goin'...takin' my cats." I nodded. "You can. On one condition."

That's how I adopted my Siamese, Packie.

Karen McCoy said...

I can only measure myself through how she sees me.
Her voice has become my own, convincing me of where I fall short.
She insists her son could have done better.
I sign up for the severed head contest, she says I can’t cut it.
Regular visits to the therapist.
Husband overruled.
Ten etches later, I still can’t figure out which head to use for the contest.
I experiment with mine, emotional scars made flesh;
a trip to the hot springs, shared hotel room.
She shaves her chin hairs with a pink razor.
Mother-in-law’s detached mug wins first prize.

RKeelan said...

She ruled a kingdom of twenty chairs, and twenty desks, and twenty small carpets arrayed in a circle. Her regalia was a gentle word and a pointed look.

He was a volcano. Nearly six, always erupting. He cried when his dad picked him up.

#

She keeps the outlaw close:

“Sit next to me for circle time.”

“You can spend your gym time with me, then.”

“Bye, bye, recess!”

#

End of year, final drawing—beaten, etched into her memory. His favourite place.

Twenty colourful squares in a lopsided circle.

The queen on her throne.

Him sitting next to her.

AC said...


“This is extremely irregular—you cannot deduct holy water for use in your home,” the taxman said. “You have to follow the rules.”

“My dear sir, you are surely mistaken,” the priest said. “I believe you can tell by my collar, that I am the epitome of canonic.”

“The law is the law,” the taxman said. “No matter what collar you wear.”

“Certainly you know the belief of the church—we save everyone,” the priest said.

“No, but I know the tenet of the IRS,” the taxman said. “We screw everyone.”

Sherin Nicole said...

In 511, a saintly dame had turned gossip into truth the night before her canonization in marriage.

There’d been a shootout between a flawed banker and the diamond boy he couldn’t call his in 408. Bloodstains mixed with liquor, red rum on the carpet.

Ten etchings lined the wheat-gold wallpaper in 322—neat crop circles as regulated as rulers. Sandpaper couldn’t remove them. So they stayed, just like the Bellman, until today.

Room 214 knew he’d loved a woman who gave him everything but her name.

Down in the lobby, he left through revolving doors, to chase his story.

Just Jan said...

“We have a new tenet.”

“We’re getting a roomie?”

“Actually, it’s more like a canon.”

“One of those circus daredevils? How exciting!”

“Really, it’s just another law.”

“Which one? Jude? He has such a nice voice.”

“Well, it is British. Oxford, to be precise.”

“Don’t keep blathering. Tell me who it is!”

“It’s regarding Comma.”

“Not another silly rule.”

“A mere guideline.”

“I remember when he was nothing but a speck on the page…”

“Shall I demonstrate?”

“I can’t look.”


When good commas go bad.

summer said...

“We are pleased to welcome Mr. George Tenet to the new Canon Auditorium here in Ruletown, Kentucky.
The Law family has generously sponsored this evening’s lecture.
Regulations require cellphones be turned off at this time.
Without further adieu, we present this evening’s speaker.”

After reading that into the microphone, everything went
haywire: a small commuter airplane crashed outside into the road, an unexpected tornado suddenly touched down, and these incredible winds just tore off the roof. So, I highly doubt we’ll be inviting him back anytime soon.

Brig said...

Marrying a prince is all fairy-tale until they wheel out the canons.

'The law...'
'The tenet...'
Seventeen rules just concerning hosiery.

Reggie entered, his skin still glowing from the cameras.
She tended to stay inside, blinds drawn.
The easier way, agreed Reggie.
He dropped to the bed.
Something had happened. Again.

'Let's run away'.
'I'll still be a prince. We...' His voice broke.
Tears streamed her face.
'I'll slay dragons. Save you from this tower.'
He placed his forehead against hers.

"'Dragon-slayer' leads republicans to victory" screamed the headline.
A dragon-slayer now far, far, away. Her head against a forehead.

Shaunna said...

That evening, as Robert settled her into the pillows, Cecilia blurted out, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Of dying...Does it hurt?”

After thirty years of working hospice, Robert could have written the canon on death. A few summoned enough grace to go peacefully. The rest clawed their way out, terrified and alone.

Pain was always the tenet in common, always the primal fear.

He knew the rules: double the regiment of morphine and dignity be damned.

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “It doesn’t hurt at all. Dying’s as easy as falling asleep.”

Mallory Love said...

There was a flaw in my plot. So, instead of saving the cat, I decided to leave it dangling for awhile. Summer became winter as bird by bird flew south while ideas laid stagnant in my mind. Christmas rounded the corner. A writer can only scheme so much when stress hits. A New Year’s resolution formed, until Netflix distracted. My unwritten ETA for a completed manuscript got bumped to February. Then Valentine’s rolled around. I believe there’s an unspoken rule on writing with a broken heart. Don’t. Affects tone and such. I’ll regroup and finish soon. I’m sure of it.

One Of Us Has To Go said...

Ready?
Everybody set on the lawn?
8:43AM, Janet launches, the race is on.

"Shall I?"
No.

She was born a slug, like everybody, but soon turned into a snail, like everybody. Father's rules and regulations made her grow the biggest complex. Perfect to hide.
But too heavy for a contest? She'd be the slowest. Inferior.
What about the spectators? English-experts? All so talented. Would they point fingers? Even laugh?

Her upper tenet: Don't embarrass yourself!

"I can only watch."
"Come on now!" Janet shouts, waving the title.
"Riting Vizout Rules!"

Then, 00:52AM, she strips her complex, enters and runs.

Cecilia Ortiz Luna said...

My baby, my Louisiana imp
Said she misses her New Orleans shrimp
I love her dearly, I made a plan
I’ll cook one shrimp dish a day, yes I can

Shrimp jambalaya, shrimp brulee
Shrimp creole, shrimp flambé
Shrimp cacciatore, shrimp cole slaw
Cajun shrimp with lots of oregano
Blackened shrimp, Bourbon shrimp pop
Honey shrimp with pecan on top
The dish that I like to cook often
Etouffeed shrimp, again and again

Oh, no!

My baby left me
Said she’s had enough of shrimp
I’m such a fool, seems I misheard
My baby, she misses her New Orleans pimp

sarah giblin said...

Ten etruscan jars, black and ecru lekythos vessels, lay in the packing straw. Lawrence stifled a sob at their beauty, heart still racing from how he’d just almost lost one.
His fingers slid around a vase’s neck with the same assured urgency as they had his wife’s, but where with her, he’d squeezed and squeezed, he held the jar like a lover. He lifted it up to his trembling lips, whispered his police statement until it was canon like he were taking vows. Regrettably, his wife had disturbed intruders. He smiled as he caught the scent of ancient burial oil.

LynnRodz said...

The man was reggae. He'd stir it up with his redemption song.

Satisfy my soul, he sang, the sun is shining, but he was waiting in vain. What started below destroyed what was above — the end came too soon. The wailers wailed, the guitars wept. No woman no cry? They did, and there were many. Is this love? Yes. One love? No. There are no rules on love. One life? The tenet, the canon, the Universal laws don't discriminate, the final exodus rings for all.

"Money can't buy life," he told his son. If it did, he'd still be jammin'.

french sojourn said...


Under a dark cloud, he scribbled.

…the rule of thumb, allowed the beating of wives…

He dipped his quill in blood and continued.

…muted canons fired in vain, but they still barbequed that young girl…

He wiped a tear from his eye, dipped again and wrote.

…their tenet was the shell of a burned-out church…

A soft knock signaled his time was up, reg’s required his blood now.

…to the victors go the spoils or so the law states...

*he genuflected out of habit*

They led the naked man to meet his maker.

“Android 10703, you are to be decommissioned”

AJ Blythe said...

“No more monkey business.” Juliet bared her teeth.

“Don’t get your bananas in a mash.” Romeo’s face flamed orange.

“Thirty tenets? Spent on capuchino and rhesus pieces?”

“Don’t be a howler.”

“What’s guenon? Marmoset I should have found a baboon.”

“Surili not. If we were gibbon a do-over, I’d still choose you.” Romeo placed a rare rock in Juliet’s hand. “Tickets to the Chimpendales. Happy birthday.”

Juliet’s hairless cheeks turned red.

The law of the jungle might be survival of the fittest, but love conquers all.

(John Frain, there’s also no rule against using a canon storyline)

Emalbom said...

Mouth on the tufty scruff, she can only lift them one by rambunctious one, to lay them in a squirming pile. The smallest bolts. That one is me. Doesn’t care about kitten etiquette. Or maybe he’s the only one to comprehend the agony of a life without freedom.

It was without visible regret that she’d asked me to leave. Overruled, all I could do was retract my claws and bow out with the grace of the sickly sweet.

Through the kaleidoscope of glass, I watch my boldest kitten and I wait to start the lesson.