tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post7385255139535976443..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Rabbit! Rabbit! Flash fiction contestJanet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-69348864919886272192017-12-03T08:48:40.906-05:002017-12-03T08:48:40.906-05:00Luc killed it out there tonight. But then he would...Luc killed it out there tonight. But then he would: his butterscotch ancestry and debonair grin won the judges’ hearts before his angelic voice sounded a single note.<br /><br />“I hate Luc,” I say. <br /><br />“Me too, definitely,” says Abeba. <br /><br />“His ego’s fat enough already,” I say. “I hope he trips.”<br /><br />“Luc’s too graceful to trip.”<br /><br />“Maybe he’ll catch the flu,” I say.<br /><br />TV quackism etiquette says contestants can’t be sick, though. <br /><br />Luc will win the record deal. The money. The glory.<br /><br />Eventually Abeba whispers, “We’re still voting for him, right?”<br /><br />I don’t look at her as I dial.<br /><br />I hate myself.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-85125734028983145412017-12-03T08:10:33.965-05:002017-12-03T08:10:33.965-05:00“Kis’ me, Tom,” she purred. Her Soviet accent was...“Kis’ me, Tom,” she purred. Her Soviet accent was as fake as her jugs, but I took her home to Mother anyway.<br /><br />“Femme fatale wannabe,” Mother proclaimed. “Your relationship has as much chance as a snowball in Hades.”<br /><br />As it turned out, it was Mother’s pussy, Bon-Bon, who sealed our fate.<br /> <br />“Cat scratch fever,” the doctor declared, pulling the sheet up over my beloved.<br /><br />I stumbled home only to find Mother being dragged away, handcuffed and kicking, by two men in black. “Luck of the Irish,” she spat. “How was I to know your gal was on our side?”Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-2211044191548244732017-12-03T07:42:09.191-05:002017-12-03T07:42:09.191-05:00"Nyah, what's up, Doc?" the rabbit a..."Nyah, what's up, Doc?" the rabbit asked the duck. **chomp, chomp**<br /><br />"Thuffering thuccotash." Spittle spewed from its bill. "All I wanted was a chance." <br /> <br />"This is a hard business, ya know." The rabbit stood straight. "Who knows what fate holds for ya? Some folks get all the luck."<br /><br />The duck swallowed hard. "Only bupkis." A tear ran down its cheek.<br /><br />"Bupkis?"<br /><br />"Yeah, bupkis. #Me, too." The duck spit out a tooth, which bounced on that ribbon of highway.<br /><br />"This land was made for you and me," crooned the rabbit.<br /><br />Tears welled in the duck's eyes.Ly Kessehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05934641232058610364noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-8885479875937259462017-12-03T05:31:14.644-05:002017-12-03T05:31:14.644-05:00Bleedin’ luck. My heel, snapped in a crack in the ...Bleedin’ luck. My heel, snapped in a crack in the sidewalk. <br /> <br />I leaned against the building to break off the other heel—the zombie stride not being attractive, or efficient. I would miss the Chancellor’s reception now.<br /><br />I looked up. Our eyes met through the Kismet Cafe window. <br /><br />It was fate. In Prague, he had shoved me away from a runaway motorcycle. <br /><br />He motioned me in. <br /><br />“Rabbit.” He pointed to the Chinese Zodiac placemat.<br /> <br />“Rabbit?” I sat. “I never got your name.”<br /><br />“Bond. James Bond.”<br /> <br />“Double-oh seven,” I said, as I screwed on the silencer in my purse.<br />RKirkmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13807899156735130447noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-2919376926852938202017-12-03T05:10:19.903-05:002017-12-03T05:10:19.903-05:00“What are you doing!? I said give Lucky a bone, no...“What are you doing!? I said give Lucky a bone, not Kismet.”<br />“I’m sorry. I can’t tell them apart. Pugs are all so similar.”<br />“What? We’ve been together for two months and you can’t tell my pugs apart?”<br />“What are the chances that a man would have twin pugs?” <br />“Chances!? It was fate that brought me these two! Get out. Get out of my life.”<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-15877443090721598392017-12-03T05:06:54.090-05:002017-12-03T05:06:54.090-05:00“Bon chance, monsieur” Smiling as though luck brou...“Bon chance, monsieur” Smiling as though luck brought us together, the young lady wanted to hand me a croissant. Rotten fate intervened. I am morbidly allergic to wheat. And probably to this damsel with fair hair, an upright carriage, and a pert nose. The woman had intrigued me for weeks. I’d thought, when we met, the chemistry would be good between us. It was that special kismet you read about. She was a chef specializing in all things wheat. And when I stood too close to her, my eyes itched. I sneezed, and whispered “Adieu.”Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09894449299837963219noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-28511220893402930812017-12-03T03:20:03.090-05:002017-12-03T03:20:03.090-05:00The head chef treated us bussers the worst. We wou...The head chef treated us bussers the worst. We would joke about ways to kill him. My brother thought he’d make a decent barbecue--head and entrails removed, of course. I wondered if his acrid attitude would bleed into his flavor like bad meatloaf. <br /><br />Bro and I finally earned enough money. Bought new sets of skis, met with potential renters. <br /><br />Hit the road, opened our lives to the unexpected…<br /><br />…funny thing about chance.<br /><br />Fat eggs rotting on the counter.<br /><br />Head chef bludgeoned to the bone. <br /><br />Police on our tail. <br /><br />Luck dissipating with the meatloaf stink that isn’t ours.<br />Karen McCoyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02640324898284007337noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-53636750132582757972017-12-03T02:45:18.926-05:002017-12-03T02:45:18.926-05:00There are three kinds of luck in this world—good l...There are three kinds of luck in this world—good luck, lousy luck, and my luck.<br />Good luck is the kind of luck people wish for on New Years, the bonne chance of true love. <br />Lousy luck is the kind of luck people deal with during the new years, the wicked kismet that made Tevye a poor man and politicians so crooked they need to screw their socks on.<br />My luck is chasing the white rabbit, only to catch a smashing New Years performance—lights skid, SHRIEK, hands pump—where pain meets lips meets fate, making the new year bearable.<br /><br />Megan Vhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00752842865397799428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-10131839416056678292017-12-03T01:13:16.956-05:002017-12-03T01:13:16.956-05:00“Well, that Clyde Barrow never did have no luck. ...“Well, that Clyde Barrow never did have no luck. Poor folk from West Dallas. Stole a turkey, then got buggered in prison, regular like. Barrow smashed that man’s skull in.<br /><br />“He’s a killer after that. Now, Miss Parker, she always had that bon vivant spirit. You see the picture with the cigar and the pistol? Real cutie.<br /><br />“Them meetin’ up like that—pure kismet. Fate. But Clyde killed some good lawmen and Bonnie followed for love. They had no chance against those Rangers.”<br /><br />“Guess theys lucky to last long as they did.”<br /><br />“Dead at 25? 23? Maybe not so lucky.”<br />Richelle Elberghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11323766317305564428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-69631173629715386742017-12-03T00:57:15.113-05:002017-12-03T00:57:15.113-05:0030.03.83 19:45
B rants against party during dinner...30.03.83 19:45<br />B rants against party during dinner. K is quick to defend. Too quick? Feels forced.<br /><br />01.04.83 09:15<br /><b>K is met</b> by <b>F at e</b>dge of market. Mentions uncle in south. Reminiscing? Or planning?<br /><br />01.04.83 21:55<br /><b>B on</b> balcony, trumpeting praise for <b>Chance</b>llor Kohl and the FRG. Subdued, arrested.<br /><br />02.04.83 08:00<br />K not seen since B arrest. House quiet.<br /><br />02.04.83 14:00<br />Still no sign of K. Recommend questioning B, sending men to uncle's.<br /><br />03.04.83 10:35<br />Report from <b>Luck</b>au: K and F long gone. Toward inner border? Czechoslovakia?<br /><br />06.04.83 20:20<br />B back at house. Bruised, limping. Has not stopped smiling.Nate Wilsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09690171790664252309noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-75867295838775957522017-12-03T00:49:55.773-05:002017-12-03T00:49:55.773-05:00Mislaid by mischance, a crash landing in the short...Mislaid by mischance, a crash landing in the short sticks.<br /><br />The treeline of the taiga’s a poor place for ill-fate ill met.<br /><br />The holy trinity I’ve got—water, food, and shelter, aye—but the only fire’s in my belly from the bourbon on my lips, so it’s bad luck all the same.<br /><br />The white wrath of winter is leukism etched on the face of the world, the death of a thousand cruelties for me and writhing maggots in the spring.<br /><br />I keep hollering and hallooing and hoping someone’ll come.<br /><br />That’s what it takes to live another day.RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-23858401585361971522017-12-02T23:58:48.114-05:002017-12-02T23:58:48.114-05:00Gisèle's vile colleague had disappeared comple...Gisèle's vile colleague had disappeared completely. <i>Luck.</i><br />This opportunity to collect more rare thermal bacteria was hers and would cinch her American tenure. <br /><i>Kismet.</i><br /><br />Most Yellowstone boiling springs had the stink of sulfates or alkaline sting; this one was neutral and relatively safe, if you didn't fall in.<br /><br />Gisèle lifted one small square of microbial mat, it looked like a slice of lasagna. <i>Ca ne devrait pas être!</i><br />These springs had green cyanobacteria, <i>not</i> the reds of thermophiles. <i>Une erreur.</i><br /><br />And they did not bleed. <br /><br />She carefully tucked the sample back into its bed. <br />"Bon chance, mon ami, your loss"Kate Higginshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09861373649696211491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-53688850145286044652017-12-02T23:38:14.233-05:002017-12-02T23:38:14.233-05:00Lucky Lucchesi hiked his khakis methodically off h...Lucky Lucchesi hiked his khakis methodically off his shoes. Sauntered downstairs to the bar.<br /><br />Two shots of bourbon, and he was in a fight. <br /><br />“Not this guy,” his friend, Curly, warned. “Chance McCall has the fastest draw in the west.”<br /><br />The fateful words didn’t find Lucky’s ears.<br /><br />“Let’s settle this.” They moved outside, walked off ten paces.<br /><br />“Luck versus Chance,” Sheriff Brown remarked. “What are the odds?”<br /><br />“One. Two. Three,” the town accountant announced. They fired simultaneously. Died the same way.<br /><br /><br /><i>The tour guide smiled. “That’s why our charter guarantees this will always be … the dead center of Las Vegas.</i><br /><br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-49034324028990925082017-12-02T23:22:23.972-05:002017-12-02T23:22:23.972-05:00The stench of morning in the French Quarter could ...The stench of morning in the French Quarter could turn a steel stomach. All that <b>fate</b> of the night, that sparkling <b>kismet</b>, dried up at dawn and left the stink of reality. I knew better than to inhale.<br /><br />I sped soundless on the sidewalk; fists shoved into pockets. I rounded a corner, and nearly collided with two officers.<br /><br />“Morning,” I said, steady.<br /><br />Then their radios c<b>luck</b>ed the alert. They sprinted off.<br /><br />I continued; hands fisted. Justice had stained my fingers like I’d dipped them in Kool-Aid. Guilt bled cherry red.<br /><br />I glanced behind me.<br /><br />“<b>Bon</b>ne <b>chance</b>,” I whispered. And smiled.E. Berghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13925011532554831461noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-50595907565713757162017-12-02T21:19:02.808-05:002017-12-02T21:19:02.808-05:00HARK, THE WOODLAND CRITTERS CRINGE
“It's kism...<br /><br />HARK, THE WOODLAND CRITTERS CRINGE<br /><br />“It's kismet!” <br /><br /> “It’s fate!”<br /><br />Taking no chances, Liam bonded each sentence with an eye-catching exclamation. Writing a brilliant elegiac couplet Western just last month, he knew he was smart, but 683,966 words in thirty days? Any Agent would be lucky to have him, he added in bold red type.<br /><br />Not wanting to waste another minute, Liam pressed “send” before spellcheck was complete. He wasn’t going to follow those inhibiting Agency rules either; the quicker the query process, the faster his money was going to roll right in.<br /><br />He was sure of it.<br /><br /><br /><br />Janice Grinyerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14363741660626407979noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-54419101532882948162017-12-02T19:57:25.887-05:002017-12-02T19:57:25.887-05:00There are three ways to survive a bear attack.
Fi...There are three ways to survive a bear attack.<br /><br />First, you can run. But Edward wasn’t a runner. Too bold for that fate. He’d brought down giants in prison. Finding a bear, it was kismet.<br /><br />Second, you can play dead. But Edward wasn’t the pretending type. He didn’t mind the color under his girlfriend’s eye. “She’s clumsy,” he’d shrug. And she’d never leave him.<br /><br />Third, you can fight back. But with Edward’s luck, he’d survive. And since I couldn’t leave it to chance, I watched the finessed bear meet my daughter’s boyfriend through the scope of a rifle.<br /><br />Bon appetite.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10279775404794792090noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-79531835362241742152017-12-02T19:35:15.212-05:002017-12-02T19:35:15.212-05:00Sir Godrey ironically didn’t believe in divine bei...Sir Godrey ironically didn’t believe in divine beings. For years he had been a benefactor of luck in a competition of chance and skill that ended in life or death. In this arena he was a king. <br /><br />Today fate had not been as kind. This duel resulted in a kismet that nobody, not even the King, saw coming.<br /><br />Having been skewered by his opponents lance he fell like a cut ribbon to the ground. His body, an opening ceremony. His career, a closing ceremony. <br /><br />He offered a final smile, aware he was passing toward an afterlife granted only to legends.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02839574721592505686noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-89811066481085545132017-12-02T19:00:25.803-05:002017-12-02T19:00:25.803-05:00"Bonne chance," he said.
"Bon kisme..."Bonne chance," he said.<br />"Bon kismet," she replied.<br />"But I made you of luck."<br />"Bad luck, good luck," she said. "You rolled the dice of creation and took the chance."<br />"I hoped to avoid fate," he said. "Was it fate that we met?"<br />"And I leave you to your fate," she said.<br />He removed all things ill-defined, leaving only the definite, only intelligence. And attraction and attachment - to himself, of course. What emerged looked at him once and flowed out the door.<br />“But that can’t - where do you go?”<br />“To find you.”<br />“But here I am!”<br />“The rest of you.”Yossi Mandelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15967480962339140566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-58146507230930196192017-12-02T18:16:05.710-05:002017-12-02T18:16:05.710-05:00Raj’s shoe shop was life-changing, everyone said. ...Raj’s shoe shop was life-changing, everyone said. Buy shoes there – something will happen.<br />“Put yoor fate in my hands,” Raj said, sliding on a shoe. “Buy today, luck in great price.”<br />You paid in cash, and Raj took great delight in, “I count out your chance.” People went away with shoes and a feeling of … hope. In winter, Raj said he blessed all the warm kismets he sold, even the ones with pam-pams. But in summer, Raj declared, “I bon the flip-flops! You wear, you fall apart.”<br />Raj’s motto: Shoe business is about soles.<br />Sherrylhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04405534589743973581noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-82045327762873618262017-12-02T18:01:11.770-05:002017-12-02T18:01:11.770-05:00“It’s kismetic stuff, ain’t it?” Chancy offered gn...“It’s kismetic stuff, ain’t it?” Chancy offered gnomically between gulps of a dubious Bourbon brewed by ‘some mate I met in a pub’.<br />“I see it as a mixed blessing.”<br />“Well, to be fair,” Chancy countered breathlessly, idly wondering whether to chance another drink. “You’re always a bit hit-and-miss, Lucky.”<br />“Not my fault. It’s all to do with human perception and nominative determinism,” the pseudo-deitity dismissed gently with bonhomie.<br />“Could be worse,” Chancy concluded, downing another shot. “You could be all fateful.”<br />“Oh, he’s coming, then?”<br />“Yeah...said he had to: something to do with misfortune and a risk-taker kicking off.”Sian Brighalhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18254872835101876979noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-30920356328527517782017-12-02T17:41:33.608-05:002017-12-02T17:41:33.608-05:00Luck is metabolic.
So the oncologist told us. A g...Luck is metabolic.<br /><br />So the oncologist told us. A game of biological odds. Each ancestor’s DNA compounding, co-authors of a microscopic story.<br /><br />We’re building on bones. So she said.<br /><br />But -<br /><br />Mom started improving. Daily thiosulfate injections. We argued bitterly. She’s a better love than a patient. But patience won. Slowly, her color drained back.<br /><br />She began to gain flesh. Building on bones.<br /><br />One Sunday, she wobbled outside. Inhaled the fresh air. Wrinkled her eyes at the sun.<br /><br />Her fifth anniversary found her building again. A baby brother in six months. A miracle, the obstetrician called it.<br /><br />We called him Luck.<br />Timothy Lowehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07514224628760035696noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-174104642623715112017-12-02T16:07:26.633-05:002017-12-02T16:07:26.633-05:00It was fate. Kismet.
He plucked up courage.
‘Perch...It was fate. Kismet.<br />He plucked up courage.<br />‘Perchance, I may, take you out?’ Nerves made him Victorian.<br /><br />She smiled. Devastatingly.<br />‘No thank you’.<br /><br />Organs rushed out as pain set it. Anger, sadness, hate.<br /><br />Tomorrow she waved. Emotions swelled, but he squashed them into a ball of it. <br />He added to it when she laughed; wore that ebony sweater.<br />It tripled when she dated.<br />Then one day it shriveled. A Christmas cracker without the crack. That was it.<br /><br />She introduced her friend.<br />‘He accepted my no’.<br />Ache. Perhaps he needed it?<br />Her friend smiled. Devastatingly.<br />‘A glowing recommendation. Wanna date?’<br /><br /><br />Brighttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04404682134487083817noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-33159060460310548012017-12-02T15:27:09.769-05:002017-12-02T15:27:09.769-05:00Some fat evil prick paces around me. He doesn’t l...Some <b>fat e</b>vil prick paces around me. He doesn’t look at me, just fumbles with his badge and gun.<br /><br />“How much longer?” No response. <br /><br />“I have medication I need to take.” Nothing.<br /><br />“Can you please say something?” Nope.<br /><br />I give up on disrupting his mon<b>kism et</b>hic. Every minute that passes, my <b>chance</b>s of survival disintegrate. There’s nothing I can do strapped to this bom<b>b on</b> my chair.<br /><br />“HEY!” I yell. “What if I peed on this device?”<br /><br />“That'd be very un<b>luck</b>y for you,” he finally says. <br /><br />Nevertheless, I have his attention. “You too. So let me use the bathroom then.”Casara Clarkhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07115900181645032796noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-64400390040721458282017-12-02T14:43:04.194-05:002017-12-02T14:43:04.194-05:00The Fates settled around their bonfire of souls, a...The <b>Fate</b>s settled around their <b>bon</b>fire of souls, a relaxed gathering arranged for Cousin <b>Kismet</b>’s birthday. He was late.<br />“You sure you sent the invitation?” asked Clotho.<br />“Recorded delivery. He signed for it. Look.” Lachesis p<b>luck</b>ed a card from her pocket.<br />A twig snapped. “He’s here. Ready, girls?”<br />“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked …”<br />“No, dear,” said Clotho to Atropos, now suddenly awake. “It’s Kismet, not Macbeth.”<br />A tiny creature hopped towards them.<br />“Sister?”<br />Lachesis looked at the signature again, <i>Kermit</i>. Oh. Mis<b>chance</b> had sent him, but on the upside they were short of toe of frog.Steph Ellishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02353775819602714643noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-91424176086352409812017-12-02T14:38:01.059-05:002017-12-02T14:38:01.059-05:00“You’re so lucky,” Bonnie says, bouncing Chloe on ...“You’re so lucky,” Bonnie says, bouncing Chloe on her hip. “You have everything. Your freedom. Your <i>figure</i>. You traipsed around Paris, while I grew fat, eating everything in the house. We should’ve traveled when we had the chance.”<br /><br />Her words doth protest regret, but belie enviable joy.<br /><br />“It’s amazing to watch them turn into ‘little people.’ Nick <i>is</i> his daddy. And Riki’s meticulous ways. Mini me! I tell you...”<br /><br />While she babbled on, gushing baby bliss, my mind wandered upstairs, to the would-be nursery where the crib sat. Half assembled.<br /><br />“Yes, we have everything,” I say, holding it all in.<br />Michael Seesehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03694187657718931214noreply@blogger.com