May We Have a writing contest results

 I can't believe I got this done by Monday morning! And you guyz were No Help At All: the entries were amazing.

 Herewith the results:

Now here's a line that is a perfect start to an entry (except this one was  buried in the second paragraph!)

Craig 9:15am

At the bottom of the basket I found a gun instead of dessert.

Great first line/s

abnormalalie (Jamie A. Elias)  7:35pm

My best friend shot me today. I guess maybe I can’t blame him.

Great phrase

Craig 9:15am

the private hell of a moth eaten mind

french sojourn 9:44am

The soil, like his heart, had gone fallow.

Ginger Mollymarilyn 8:20pm

Cutting more slices from the wheel of her just desserts,

Special recognition for the ode to queries

Mark Thurber 10:29am

If Girl Scouts sold this kind of shortbread cookie, I'd buy some

Christine Grimes 11:56am

Not quite a story but just lovely writing

Janice L. Grinyer 5:12pm

Not quite a story, but who could resist a dragon named Fred

Rene Saenger 7:51pm

Not quite a story but a terrific piece

Brian Schwarz  8:58pm

Not quite a story but none of us will be forgetting it anytime soon

Mike Reid 1:20pm

Long list

Cynthia Mc 2:04 pm

Dena Pawling 10:31am

Short list

Marie McKay 9:32am

Wheels skid to a stop on the driveway. He staggers in, sits at the table.
I can smell the danger on his clothes, on his breath.
'Service better be quick,' he says.

Mom's too pretty for the worry she wears. She tries not to react. She keeps her expression even.

He hasn't shouted, but he will.
His face hasn't twisted, but it will.
'Maybe-it'll-be-different-this-time' never applies to Dad.

My distracted fingers drop a plate.
His trigger: Sneer! Shout! Strike!
The trigger: bang bang bang

Mom pauses only briefly:
'Go outside. Like you've been playing.'

This is crisp elegant writing and story telling. It's visceral.
And that last line: perfection.

Mallory Love 12:51pm

“Elaine,” Pops wheezed out his last word. My heart broke. My mother’s name was Mary.

The ceremony was a brief affair. The organist played “It Is Well with My Soul.” My own was uneasy though. Elaine. It niggled at my mind, leaving a dark residue over the memories of my father. The man wasn’t perfect, but I’d always thought him loyal.

Clearing out his estate was quick. Everything fit in one box. Maybe it’d shed some light. Clothes, pill bottles, and his wedding ring spilled out. Beneath the useless crap was a birth certificate. My twin's: Elaine

So much unsaid here. And yet, it's a complete story too. This is elegant writing and story telling.

katie 2:20pm

I never liked May. The way the blossoms fall from the cherry trees so quickly, like skin flaking off a corpse, the rush to plant flowers even though, like everything else, I'll eventually kill them from neglect. I host my usual brunch anyway - mimosas on the patio, fruit, brie and cautious glances. Where's the guest of honor? Oh, she's resting, not well. I'll bring her your flowers later. They nod, as relieved as I am, the wheels turning as they plot their play for the inheritance. You reap what you sow, though, and my annuals will grow well this year.

The line that just sneaks in there with no fanfare: like everything else, I'll eventually kill them from neglect turns out to be the twist in the story.  Very subtle.

Donnaeve 2:47pm

A quick summer storm ruined the crop and a year’s earnings.

***

I knelt in the brier patch. Pie. That’s the solution.

Roy finds me. “Maylene, Daddy’ll want money. Not pie.”

“It might work.”

***

As expected Roy’s Mama only played with her slice while her husband stuffed himself.

Roy talked hard times. His Daddy farted, belched in reply.

“More pie?” I offered.

He made a wheezing sound.

Roy said, “Daddy?”

“Can’t. Breathe.”

Roy’s Mama perked up. “That my recipe?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Mr. Rayford’s face went dark as them devil berries I’d picked.

“Sweet Jesus, it’s actually working," she whispered.

Three scenes, and a lovely coup de grace for the finale. Sort of like the writing equivalent of a Olympic gymnast's tumbling passes in a floor ex routine.

Madeline Mor Summonte 3:32pm

Marcy grips the wheel, her car alone on the dark road. An old truck pulls over. A man - greasy hair, t-shirt over a potbelly - moves toward her. Good Samaritan? Serial killer? You never know. Marcy covers the car seat with the blue blanket.

"…home from a play date. It just stopped."

"…quick look under the hood."

"Thank you."

Maybe next time she'll drive a minivan, Marcy muses, reaching into the diaper bag, past the pink bottles labeled "Brienne." She slips outside, knife in hand. The blanket slides off the empty car seat.

You never know.

I like the pairing of the "you never know" lines here.

flashfriday 5:27pm

What are you doing up there?

April showers bring May flowers, said Bob.

Yes, dearest, but this is the basement, not the garden. Did you take your meds today?

While the cat’s away, the mice play, said Bob.

Forgive me; I came back as soon as I could. Won’t you come get dressed?

Boxers or briefs, said Bob.

Just so, dearheart. Climb down now. Why are you crying?

The squeaky wheel gets the grease, said Bob.

No, love! I’m here. We’ll get through this, like always. Please climb down; you’re scaring me.

A quick drop and a sudden stop, said--

You don't need any comment from me to recognize this as outstanding.
Just to add points for style: note the prompt words are in order, and all in Bob's lines.  Since I look for story first, I often don't see the filigree with the prompt words, but I noticed this when I went back to bold the prompts.

Christina Seine 5:28pm

It’s someone else’s child, the little skeleton found in the woods behind the playground.

It is.

Detectives will knock on someone else’s door.

Maybe … the news got it wrong. Happens all the time - they’re so quick to report every little thing. Before they’re sure.

She could still come home. His sweetheart, his princess, his baby girl. She’s lost, she’s run away. It’s not her. She could still come home.

She could. Considering how he even made a deal with God - take anything. Take ME.

She could.

For one brief moment, he actually believes it.

The phone rings.

Again, you don't need my comments here to recognize this packs a wallop. That first line is brilliant.
Did I miss the prompt word "whee"? (thank you eagle eye readers Solidus and Kitty for helping me find THAT one!)

Amy Schaefer 7:37pm

It isn’t easy to sew up a wound with a bellyful of poison. These assholes; I’ve patched them up a hundred times, but a big wheel gets shot and suddenly ol’ Maggie rates “incentive.”

“Grab a soda,” I say, hands working.

The muscle downs a Coke. “Anything to eat?”

“The butler’ll bring brie and caviar.”

The dope actually looks around.

My lips are tingling now. I stitch slowly.

Waiting.

Steroid-man falls like quicksand.

I jab the bigwig with my special needle. Thud.

“Maybe next time, trust people.” I quaff the antidote and bug out.

Better find myself a new playground.

I'm always up for a good revenge story. My favorite line: "the dope actually looks around."

Celia Reaves 7:40pm

Jacob settled in a hallway to wait after the meeting. One of the new arrivals wandered up. "Why are you in a wheelchair?"

Jacob smiled. "Too much TV." The newbie twitched and backed away.

"That'll shake him up," Jacob thought. "I do love the drama, yes indeed." He rubbed his temple where the chip lay under the skin. It itched so much lately.

A door opened, and the young man with the briefcase came out. "Too quick," Jacob thought. "Must be bad news."

He was right. His appeal for release from the psychiatric facility had been denied yet again.

The line that just grabbed me: He rubbed his temple where the chip lay under his skin.

ScottG 9:46pm

She looks into my eyes, as if asking for permission, as she splays my legs out in front of me and makes me comfortable. Just like she’s been doing for ten years now, since that fateful May night when a drunk driver got behind the wheel and left me in this living tomb, where I can’t talk, can’t move any of my limbs and can’t control my own bladder.

If I could respond, I would say go ahead. Take the night off. You deserve it. Celebrate with a quick O’Doul’s at your favorite bar.

Ten years of sobriety, Mom. Congratulations.

Ok, so it took me twice to realize what this story was about.

Do you see it?

Here's the clue: Just like she’s been doing for ten years now, since that fateful May night when a drunk driver got behind the wheel and left me in this living tomb.

*pause while the Jeopardy theme plays*

His mom was the drunk driver.

Kae Ridwyn 2:26am

Daddy, quick - watch me slide! Whee!
Sally, four. All giggles, sloppy ice-cream kisses.

Daddy, please may I have Jaimee over to play?
My daughter, nine. Nudges and whispered secrets.

Daddy, I love you. Father’s Day, thirteen. No more under-the-table cubbyhouses…

My own car? Thank you, Daddy! Squeals; hugs of gratitude.

An aisle; a walk; a bride on my arm. Tears, threatening, choked back. My heart too big for my chest.

These memories should be treasured forever.

But they’re ones I’ll never have.

The tiny limp body in my arms? My Sally?
Stillborn.

I curse the day brie was created.

This one got got the biggest "oof" from me. Oddly, the only reason I know what that last line means (and thus the twist) is cause I've watched The West Wing a zillion time.  (Ellie Bartlett's wedding reception can't have shellfish, soft cheeses or brie.)

This was a very difficult choice. You guyz are up to your usual brilliance and I can hear you all chortling with glee as I gnash my fangs with indecision.

In the end though, I went for subtlety.

The winner is ScottG 9:46pm

ScottG if you'll email me with your mailing address and what you like to read, I'll get you your prize.

Thanks to all who took the time to write and enter. It's always a pleasure to see your work.

Congrats to all!