tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post467063418066681725..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Weekend writing contest!Janet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5172729353989441572011-01-29T23:18:00.331-05:002011-01-29T23:18:00.331-05:00Walking down the street, they're there, like e...Walking down the street, they're there, like every night. Rapping.<br /><br />“Yo Tingo, ain't no Gringo, but I gotta have my say, better put that heater 'way”<br />“Man's burnin' bright, like a firefly in the night. Who da Hell is she? Just another piece of sushi.”<br />“Just walk away, you know I got dibs, go play wit you boys, those wannabes called the squibs.”<br /><br />I can't hear any more as I walk away. God I hate that shit.Nowan Specialhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03545575195180419425noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-28174190014659330522011-01-29T23:12:55.369-05:002011-01-29T23:12:55.369-05:00Tingo Peru. A dumpy little town in the armpit of ...Tingo Peru. A dumpy little town in the armpit of South America and he hated it.<br /><br />The crosshairs of his scope were fixed on the door down the street, the door his target would come out of.<br /><br />As the shot rang out he confirmed a perfect head shot before pulling the rifle back in and bumping his arm on the heater.<br /><br />“Sushi”<br /><br />He gathered his gear and left his mark, a firefly figurine. Calmly slipping down the stairs he remote activated the squibs creating the diversion, allowing him to slip away, unseen, into the shadows, again.OnePinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18055150452731602625noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-78384038698865402432011-01-29T23:07:00.635-05:002011-01-29T23:07:00.635-05:00After that unfortunate tiger attack last month, zo...After that unfortunate tiger attack last month, zoo officials have finally re-opened the park with a whole new exhibit! First we have the liger, a lion-tiger crossbreed that is fun-loving, friendly, and <i>completely harmless</i>. Can you guess his favorite food? That’s right, sushi! And next we have the zonkey, a cross between a zebra and a donkey. He’s as bright as a firefly, and as hot as a heater on high. But the doctors say that’s normal, so let’s move on. Finally, we have the tingo, a tiger-dingo hybrid. Don’t be squibs, folks. I promise, this tingo won’t steal your baby!Germaine Dulachttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06563296200011861283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-16619408636246473912011-01-29T23:06:37.540-05:002011-01-29T23:06:37.540-05:00“Melina! Get that heater up here! Damn sushi is ...“Melina! Get that heater up here! Damn sushi is warmer than the friggin room.”<br /><br />“Ven que idiota a ti mismo!”<br /><br />“How many times I gotta tell you to speak English!”<br /><br />“A mail order bride from Tingo, what the hell was I thinking.”<br /><br />“And what the hell is this big firefly on my wall?” he shouts<br /><br />Another rumble of angry Spanish comes from closer by as the heater squibs across the floor.<br /><br />Pulling his laptop closer, he Googles “latina.com refund policy” and reads.Scrambled3ggshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13928860141762305461noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-61942404218670250352011-01-29T22:55:20.618-05:002011-01-29T22:55:20.618-05:00The three fairies swooped down in a daring line at...The three fairies swooped down in a daring line attack, a firefly trapped in each bonnet for illumination. Tingo glanced back once to indicate she was ready, her goggled eyes showing no expression. Then in she dove, using the purloined spark-heater to set off the squibs. The barb flew straight and true, burying itself with a clang in the hideous metal leg. Then the three flew round and round, wrapping all three legs with their silver cord. The Martian war machine tripped and fell into the water, like a child’s top in its last spin. <br /><br />“Eat sushi!” cried Tingo.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-89925232133565177172011-01-29T22:24:25.015-05:002011-01-29T22:24:25.015-05:00“But why?” Ronnie held back a sob.
“He’s a firefl...“But why?” Ronnie held back a sob.<br /><br />“He’s a firefly and you’re a squib.” She slung the duffle bag over her narrow shoulder.<br /><br />“A what?” The sushi Ronnie had just eaten was threatening to come back up. <br /><br />“A dud.” She stepped towards the door, like she’d already forgotten him. <br /><br />“He barely speaks English. He smells.” Ronnie kicked the malfunctioning hotel heater. <br /><br />“He’s teaching me Quechua.” She waved her Lonely Planet phrasebook at him. “We’re a tingo.” The tips of her lovely forefingers met, in midair ballet.<br /><br />Ronnie clutched at his stomach.<br /><br />“You should have tried the local food,” she said.Carolinehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16687979843959717461noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-65475302038456938252011-01-29T21:26:36.879-05:002011-01-29T21:26:36.879-05:00I propped the kitchen door open with an old brick ...I propped the kitchen door open with an old brick we kept there for that purpose. It was a sweltering Georgia night and firefly lights danced through the parking lot. I lit up too, inhaling deeply.<br /><br />“Dammit, Tingo . . . Teebo . . . whatever the hell your name is! Get that sushi away from the heater. It’s gotta stay cold,” I bellowed.<br /><br />My sous chef hurried to follow directions, knocking over a tray of . . . dammit, what were they called? Squibs, squads . . . squabs, that was it. It was official. I was Alzheimer’s bitch.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16435583525995915313noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-70972250806171053792011-01-29T21:25:30.969-05:002011-01-29T21:25:30.969-05:00Lauren licked her again. The others were right; gi...Lauren licked her again. The others were right; girls did taste like sushi. <br /><br />High in the Tingo district of Peru, hunkered over the remains of the red haired flight attendant, the pretty one, Lauren wondered how she and the three other squibs had survived. The plane was gone: a fuselage ribcage, contorted by heat, silhouetted against orange flames. <br /><br />The warm glow of the fire reminded her of the farm. She saw herself as a child, cozied on the porch next to her dog, Heater, watching fireflies draw arcs against a chalkboard sky.<br /><br />“I’m still hungry,” she said to the others.Munkhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04921320770712443773noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-8511162003699801932011-01-29T21:06:37.927-05:002011-01-29T21:06:37.927-05:00Life imitates art
At the last minute, the directo...Life imitates art<br /><br />At the last minute, the director changed the scene from the interior of an Italian restaurant to an exterior at a sushi place called “Tingo.” <br /><br />He wanted a firefly to dance across the frame as he filmed and was surprised that fireflies aren’t available in December. Warmed by a heater at his feet, the director was also oblivious to his star’s discomfort as he waited in the cold. <br /><br />The squibs went off perfectly, polka-dotting the star with fake blood. It took a minute for anyone to notice that the director’s coat was also bloodied. <br /><br />On-set accidents happen all the time.Katherine Tomlinsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09696623795926663895noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-84050172754500589942011-01-29T21:05:22.238-05:002011-01-29T21:05:22.238-05:00Heaters. I hate ‘em. They warm the menses on the...Heaters. I hate ‘em. They warm the menses on the walls then duct the stench through the whole fuckin’ hospital.<br /><br />“It smells like pyscho sushi in here,” Ringo laughs.<br /><br />“Tingo, don't be such a squib,” I say, tired of the old joke. I never call him by his name. It hurts too much. Ringo worked with John and Paul. I work with bat-shit-crazy smearers.<br /><br />Night shift is over, I drive to the pond. Fireflies offer the night's, no the world's, only light. Waylon and a bottle of Jack soften my misery; but not much.Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07615699675190301358noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-57508787680525576082011-01-29T20:29:22.275-05:002011-01-29T20:29:22.275-05:00Flicking the oven light on and off like a firefly ...Flicking the oven light on and off like a firefly wouldn’t make the cookies bake faster. But what could Marie do? This dinner had to impress her in-laws, a pair of flatulent squibs. <br />“Can I borrow a space heater?”<br />Marie jumped. Why couldn’t her neighbor Darcy ever knock?<br />“It’s in the closet,” Marie sighed. <br />“Thanks,” Darcy said. “Nice spread.”<br />Marie nodded and turned back to the cookies, now a perfect golden brown. After watching them cool, she scooped them onto a tray and darted to the dining room.<br />Her face fell. Sticky-fingered, tingo-ing Darcy had taken everything, even the sushi.Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09716575629370653240noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-18939877421113556562011-01-29T19:51:37.386-05:002011-01-29T19:51:37.386-05:00The house was cold.
They'd left on the Fourth...The house was cold.<br /><br />They'd left on the Fourth. He saw used squibs in the trash, on rotting sushi and crumpled tissues.<br /><br />He wondered how the heater worked.<br /><br />A dead firefly slept forever in a jar. The air holes weren't enough after the days and weeks. They were like a phone call on Thursdays, except when he forgot.<br /><br />Her letter was in cursive, so Sam couldn't read it, except for his name. He'd highlighted it in green crayon. “Sam says you're kidnapped in Tingo. I told him you're not but we both like the idea.”<br /><br />He sat, cold, alone.Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18054746264647777498noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-1899713537743898862011-01-29T19:39:42.158-05:002011-01-29T19:39:42.158-05:00He found Caleb asleep on the couch, his personal f...He found Caleb asleep on the couch, his personal four-legged heater curled into his side. <br /><br />John smiled as he carried his son to his room, faithful Tingo following on silent paws. <br /><br />Out of his son's bedroom window the burning house on the hill almost looked like a firefly on drugs was celebrating a wild party with its friends. John smiled and closed the blinds. He was going to be <i>Father of the Year</i> again. The unfortunate sushi food poisoning incident would finally be forgotten.<br /><br />It was amazing what damage two small squibs, aided by an unfortunate gas leak, could do.NotJanahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07330407812411729832noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-46536179046336669812011-01-29T19:18:10.934-05:002011-01-29T19:18:10.934-05:00“I torture fireflies,” snarled Frankie. “I eat go...“I torture fireflies,” snarled Frankie. “I eat goldfish like sushi. I’ve exploded squibs in my bare hands! Bet you don’t even know what ‘squib’ means.” I cowered against a heater in the corner of the lunchroom.<br /><br />“Bet you don’t know what ‘tingo’ means,” growled a menacing voice. A barrel-chested sixth-grader strode up, wearing a necklace with a stone pendant – a Moai!<br /><br />“Y-y-you’re from Easter Island too?” I sputtered.<br /><br />He nodded. “C’mon. I’ll show you the ropes.” He snickered at Frankie. “We’ll tingo this haole later.” Frankie swallowed hard. <br /><br />And for the first time since my arrival to America, I smiled.Jeff Chenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09513769920700232986noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-43460981977417245162011-01-29T18:59:04.018-05:002011-01-29T18:59:04.018-05:00We’d been living on sushi and beer all week but ne...We’d been living on sushi and beer all week but needed more. The apartment was fucking freezing when I got back. I plugged the heater in.<br /><br />“Yo! What are you, stupid?” Chase said and unplugged it.<br /><br />“Tingo frio.”<br /><br />“It’s tengo,” he said, rolling his eyes.<br /><br />“Whatever! I’m cold.”<br /><br />Chase put the wires he was twisting together down. He tapped the box near the heater with his boot.<br /><br />“These aren’t squibs, my little firefly. They’re the real deal.”<br /><br />“Really?” <br /><br />“I told you I wasn’t fucking around.”<br /><br />I reached for him. “You do know how to warm a girl up.”cyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03123381390770781157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-62684830124561156182011-01-29T18:18:18.584-05:002011-01-29T18:18:18.584-05:00“Bingo!” He waves wildly waiting for acknowledgeme...“Bingo!” He waves wildly waiting for acknowledgement of his spastic dance. <br /><br />“You’re such a freak, Squibs.” I say as a burp reminds me of the sushi dinner I could have been enjoying. Instead, I am in the town of Tingo, in the basement of a church, where heaters clank in unison with the balls in the bingo wheel. <br /> <br />“Going outside.”<br /><br />He nods like he cares which I know he doesn’t. <br /><br />The tip of my cigarette glimmers like a dizzy firefly. Blue haired ladies walk by and instead of redemption all I can think. <br /><br />Is how much I hate cotton candy.Tamar Ossowskihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17341564264030887116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-79968465037799683822011-01-29T17:36:40.321-05:002011-01-29T17:36:40.321-05:00Hoshi filled Yamada’s bento box with sushi and moc...Hoshi filled Yamada’s bento box with sushi and mochi. Yamada was the boy she was going to marry in 8 years…or at least by the time she was 20. Only Yama didn’t know that yet. She smiled.<br /><br />The bento box had yellow Tingo Anura pocket frogs on it. They both loved the pocket frog game. She sighed. After Yamada finished as squibs boy at his father’s Firefly Fireworks factory, they would meet and picnic together under the weeping willow by the lake. And watch the moon. And never get cold, Yamada’s body would be her heater. She closed the lid.Kate Higginshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09861373649696211491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-62503110361882447182011-01-29T17:10:11.893-05:002011-01-29T17:10:11.893-05:00Nora was eating store-bought sushi when her new ne...Nora was eating store-bought sushi when her new neighbor invited herself in. “I hate store-bought sushi,” said Amanda. She was a firefly, flitting from room to room in dark silence, lighting up at random. “A portable heater! My apartment is freezing.” You can borrow it, said Nora. “Are these firecrackers?” Squibs. Exploding blood packs. My boyfriend is a stuntman. “Can I borrow some?” No. “Do you have any good CDs? DVDs?” It was only a matter of time before Amanda went totally tingo on Nora. A week later she was dating Nora’s stuntman and eating all her store-bought sushi.spwriterhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00765425638535528883noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-28096805766596431372011-01-29T17:05:58.283-05:002011-01-29T17:05:58.283-05:00“Take of the heater!” I yell. My lungs are burstin...“Take of the heater!” I yell. My lungs are bursting and I struggle to catch my breath. “Faster Squibs!”<br /><br />A hand rubs my skin and the heat is gone, only to be replaced with a dull chill. It races through my veins and freezes my brain. Vomit hits the back of my throat and I taste sushi. A firefly drops before me and the lights go out. <br /><br />“Tingo, where are you boy?” Squibs calls. Tingo doesn’t answer. There are no movements. The blast caught him, I know it.FantasticFictionhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07585904161476879106noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55400488752827436322011-01-29T16:33:46.039-05:002011-01-29T16:33:46.039-05:00“I make sushi out of you!” old Mr. Yamoto yelled, ...“I make sushi out of you!” old Mr. Yamoto yelled, shaking his fist. His wrinkled face was contorted in rage. He looked like one of his rutabagas.<br /><br />I threw another heater into his territory. The squibs were going off like fireworks. It was hilarious to watch him duck and dodge.<br /><br />“Look at that fire fly!” I yelled and lobbed another cherry bomb.<br /><br />“Where did tat tingo?” He scurried, searching his garden for the dud that didn’t go off.<br /><br />Me and my buddies were laughing our… uh oh! “Incoming!”<br /><br />Blammo!<br /><br />He took out my little bro!Tara Tylerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07587802105993889515noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-1263536780636606062011-01-29T16:26:11.284-05:002011-01-29T16:26:11.284-05:00On their eighteenth birthday, members of the Westi...On their eighteenth birthday, members of the Westing family received a box covered in fireflies. Squib found his sitting on his bedroom heater.<br /><br />Rumor said the box held your destiny, but Westings never talk about their boxes, like destiny was something to be ashamed of. For all Squib knew, the box could hold rotting sushi.<br /><br />Squib pushed aside a firefly and found a torn card with the word tingo’—maybe they meant lingo?—scrawled on it. <br /><br />He flopped backwards. He could still run away. He could—he sat up and drew the box towards him.Owlhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15129478506301722194noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-81897189283735699742011-01-29T16:08:24.123-05:002011-01-29T16:08:24.123-05:00Harrison moved to Antarctica for more than penguin...Harrison moved to Antarctica for more than penguins and exotic sushi. He called his gleaming ice fortress Tingo and borrowed God’s every treasure to construct a world of emerald fronds and turquoise waters, overflowing with whiskered tamarins and the rarest breed of eggplant firefly. It was his masterpiece, his only escape.<br /> <br />Until they found him.<br /><br />He watched the workers shepherd squibs from heater to generator to purifier as he clutched the detonator to his heart and raised the pistol. The ear-splitting scream of the explosion drowned the bullet’s ring as dreamer and dream died together in the ruin of paradise.Marie Reardenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13653459061863869033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-36004226995051504582011-01-29T15:47:36.538-05:002011-01-29T15:47:36.538-05:00He suspends a maraschino over my seltzer, the syru...He suspends a maraschino over my seltzer, the syrupy thing glimmering like a firefly in the flickering light. <i>“Lo tingo rosso?”</i> he asks, dropping the cherry into my glass. Then he tweezes unagi with the same fingers.<br /><br />He speaks clumsily, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I’m not even Italian; I haven’t told him. I also haven’t told him he’s eating dangerously old sushi.<br /><br />My smile evolves into a shudder.<br /><br />Misunderstanding, he holds out his arms, cajoling in English, “Let me—my body’s a heater.” <br /><br />Just as I’m warming to him, he ruins it by pinching my squibs.Sarahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08466619111071213152noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-47402984152983705072011-01-29T15:03:33.322-05:002011-01-29T15:03:33.322-05:00We sat in silence. The smudged windows cast fun-h...We sat in silence. The smudged windows cast fun-house shapes of street traffic.<br /> <br />He didn’t share his Friday night squibs with just anyone.<br /> <br />His tongue prickled across his ragged lips and he took a long haul of his cigarette. The heater blazed light into the car, reminding me of a firefly trapped in an old mason jar. <br /><br />The skin on his chin puckered. It was as crusty as an old sun-dried, seaweed-slapped curd of sushi. <br /><br />I waited patiently and tried not to stare.<br /><br />“Tingo.” His voice was gritty as he finally exhaled.<br /><br />Jesus. He was on about John Tartaglia again.uberscribblerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09934400901824815305noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-30941395403551413102011-01-29T14:27:33.525-05:002011-01-29T14:27:33.525-05:00The sushi wasn’t working. I was gonna kill my brot...The sushi wasn’t working. I was gonna kill my brother. The bank closed in 20 minutes. 20 minutes ‘til foreclosure. Desperate to recreate the magic I witnessed yesterday, I stuffed another chunk of raw fish into the glass jar. The firefly within remained uninterested. <br /> “You said it liked spicy tuna.” <br /> Squibs shuffled into the kitchen. “Maybe today he likes shrimp.” Squibs shivered. “We still got heat?” He kicked the radiator and the heater clanged to life. <br /> “This better work,” I warned. Squibs winked as the rare gold coin clinked to the base of the jar. “Dude. Don’t doubt the Tingo.”Kimberly J Smithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11032701988900067828noreply@blogger.com