Thanks to everyone who entered for giving me such a lovely respite from PaintPocolypse (and no, it's not over yet!)
Special recognition for the people who identified the prompts as paint colors.
donnaeverhart.com 7:15am
dylan 4:48pm
Naomi 8:55am
Terri Lynn Coop
Special recognition for getting everything right but the name of the store!
fiercelyyours 7:02am
Special recognition for getting everything right including the name of the couch!
Kitty 7:57am
Special recognition for entries that weren't quite stories but had compelling writing and imagery
Anna Roberts Moore 7:10am
Special recognition for entries that weren't quite stories but really caught my eye
Foxcreek 9:08am
Kristine Poptanich 9:35am
The Magic Violinist 9:48am
Amy Schaefer 1:19pm
First prize in the "Ceci n'est pas une pipe"
category
LynnRodz 7:40am
A phrase we need to see more often:
Hell hath no fury like a goat in love
kari Lynn Dell 10:47am
swarms of venomous butterflies
dylan 4:48pm
What a great line:
Patted me on the back and congratulated me with peach
schnapps; the sweet aftertaste of my own murder.
CalorieBombshell 1:19am
Not a story but a GREAT closing!
steve Forti 2:13pm
Not a story but deliciously creepy (and topical!)
Patty Blount 6:26pm
Not a story but holy fuckamoli
Kelli Carley 7:18pm
Not quite a story but absolutely delightful
Kirsten 8:35am
JaredNGarrett 9:36pm
Julie Weathers 1:26am
Phoenixwaller 4:14am
Here are the semi- finalists:
(1) Kari Lynn Dell 10:47am
“Dammit, Peach, this is the last straw.”
I made a grab for the goat, but she hopped to the top of the haystack light as
a butterfly on the wing. I inhaled the sharp tang of sagebrush, the sweetness
of greasewood in bloom, surveying the wreckage: tack and feed scattered and
stomped.
“I told you not to cozy up with the neighbor goat. I warned you how it would
end.”
Peach bleated, plaintive, pitiful.
I sighed, resigned. Hell hath no fury like a goat in love. Wallet in hand, I hustled
down the road, to a white sign lettered in red paint.
Meat goats for sale. Butchering tomorrow.
**sadly this is DQ'd for word count but I loved it
(2) Sisi 7:18am
Jeri dipped her brush into the paint can. When her husband
lived here, he only allowed Boring Beige. Now that he was gone she needed more
color. Winter Sage didn’t work. Neither did Southern Peach. She had high hopes
for Strawberry Wine.
As she reached for the spot she’d missed, she imagined herself a butterfly
stretching its wings, breaking free. She couldn’t wait to start her new life.
But first she had to finish painting this damn wall. She examined her latest
effort and smiled. Strawberry Wine worked.
No. Wait. She could still see the bloodstains.
She opened another can.
(3) Deborah Holt Williams 7:59am
The painter settled his bulk on the stool.
"This lady's the last straw," he begins. "I ask her what color
she wants her bathroom, and she says, 'delicate.'"
"Delicate?"says the bartender.
"'Like a butterfly wing' she says. So, Joe, you got any sage advice?"
"Here's what you need, Scully. A soft, sweet peach daiquiri, maybe five or
six of 'em, with a straw."
"That'll lead me to 'delicate'?"
"No, that'll lead you to the urinal."
"Yeah, but Joe, I need to come up with a color."
"It's art, Scully. You'll know it when you pee it."
(4) Just Jan 10:56am
He sucks on a wing. "There's something different in the
marinade."
"Sage," I murmur.
He points to the salsa. "What kind?"
"Peach."
He crams an overloaded chip into his mouth. Some of the juice dribbles from his
lip and assimilates into his beard. "What did you do today?"
Besides nurse a black eye and a couple of cracked ribs? "I learned how to
butterfly shrimp. Taste them."
He shovels in one, then another. "Coconut-battered?"
I nod and twirl my diet soda straw.
He wheezes. His face turns an exquisite shade of eggplant.
"With ground peanuts," I whisper.
(5) french sojourn 12:35pm
“Elmer, you can’t un-ring a bell.” Lloyd said.
“Say I was to go back… like twenty years, and yank out them strawberries by the
sage bushes over ta Fred’s backyard. And… perhaps I planted a peach tree
they-ah.”
“Well there’d be a fuckin peach tree they-ah, it’s called the butterfly effect
Elmer.”
“Then I could change history...wouldn’t have to worry bout the possibility of a
time line paradox?”
“Elmer…Einstein’s Closed time like curve wouldn’t allow it.With all due respect
to your Appalachian American heritage…there ain’t no way you can wing it back
to your prom night… and un-kiss your sister.”
(6) writeupthere.com 1:35am
The living room was done in awful shades of ivory, sage and
peach - like stepping into an episode of Miami Vice, she thought.
It did have an almost-view of the water. That was something.
But.
“I love it,” Evan said.
“Evan...”
Evan spit out his straw. “We’ll paint. Come see the balcony.”
Evan pulled her outside, and she leaned against the sun-warmed railing. She
could smell the beach. A half-dead butterfly, its wing smashed against the
wood, fluttered once. Poor thing. As she reached for it, Evan brushed it away.
It fell. And fell.
“No,” she said.
To everything.
(7) Constantine Singer 5:16pm
Painting a Room
A Story Told in Five Haiku
Gracefully painting
Each brush stroke butterfly light
F*&K! The Color’s Wrong
Aimed for a light sage
With quiet hintings of peach
Looks like rotten quince
A second attempt
More furious with my strokes
Brush tips stiff as straw
New color choice, too
No sense painting subtle hues
For a rented room
Walls are now complete
Brilliant white like a stork’s wing
Like a hospital
Here are the two finalists:
(8) Shaunna 10:34am
“Short straw goes in,” Alice said.
Fiona shrugged and strapped on her wings. In moments she was gliding over the
canopy, her bio helmet feeding her a constant stream of readings. Two humans. A
snake. A peach tree?
“I’m in position.” The message crackled back through Alice’s earpiece.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“It’s just -- well -- what about the butterfly effect?”
“Just a theory,” Fiona said.
“But this is Eden.”
“Exactly. Good place to start over,” she said, and vaporized the tree in front
of her.
The next instant, they had never existed at all.
(9) Kate Outhwaite 5:04am
11:07. She's late. I order sparkling water with a hint of
peach.
11:32. She's really late. The cafe is filling up with the smell of pork and
sage
pie. I’d like to take one home for Dad and Harry but wish I could have
something for myself, just for once.
11:42. She's beyond late. I stir shards of ice with the
straw, recalling her
soft touch, silky as
butterfly wings.
11:56. She's not coming. I head home.
12:18. She was here. Harry is gone and Dad slumps lifeless in his wheelchair.
She's left a note: "Happy Birthday. Be free. Mum."
Both finalists are superb examples of elegant writing and story telling. I think it was harder to choose the winner than it has been to choose the paint color for the accent wall....well, maybe not since I still don't have that color right, and we do have a winner:
The winner is
Shaunna 10:34am.
Shaunna if you'll email me with your mailing address I'll send you the prize. No it is not an empty paint can or a used brush (although I have several of those should you desire them!) No, send me a list of the kinds of books you like to read and we'll figure out something fun for you.
Thanks to all who entered! This really was the highlight of my weekend. You bedazzled me with your colorful writing (see what I did there!!)
(Remember there's usually a preview of the upcoming contest on my
Facebook page a couple days before it gets posted here)
