tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post3604668806993865225..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Holiday Flash Fiction Contest Round 4 (final round)Janet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-17907804136487026542018-01-03T10:25:56.285-05:002018-01-03T10:25:56.285-05:00With one phone call, the young lovebird's grea...With one phone call, the young lovebird's greatest fear switched from losing herself to losing her wife.<br />*<br />Pre-diagnosis, Ell hated the thought of growing old: arthritis, handicap stickers, watching the children leave home.<br />Now it sounded heaven-sent.Brigidhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13768090206152536761noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-23103933454289265152018-01-03T04:41:54.865-05:002018-01-03T04:41:54.865-05:00Iced pine and citrus-cinnamon. Pinpricks of white ...Iced pine and citrus-cinnamon. Pinpricks of white light. Annual smiles on unwashed faces bringing the fat warmth of hope.<br /><br />Instead, a nightstick rattles the bars. ‘Merry fucking Christmas, jailbirds.’<br /><br />*****<br /><br />I'd welcomed the lie - first love of my unnoticed life. Understood the price when steel kissed my wrists. <br />'Where'd you get the ring, kid?'<br /><br />*****<br /><br />'Driscoll, your ride's here.'<br />What more would it take? 'I choose jail over her house.'<br />Chocolate eyes punctured my bravado. 'It's our house, now.'<br /><br />*****<br /><br />When we visit, she sees a scrawny boy behind bars - the ghost of Christmas misrepresented. My son giggles.<br />Tears prickle.Emalbomhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01605614602640999727noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-24507648615004977952018-01-03T01:18:53.753-05:002018-01-03T01:18:53.753-05:00Her cleaning cloth gave the lens a dab. IR didn...Her cleaning cloth gave the lens a da<b>b. IR d</b>idn't like dust. Interrupted the image.<br /><br />Clarity was required, else the second device wouldn't trigger.<br /><br />She dreamt of an optical camera.<br /><br />First, pass by the IR camera. Second, pass unde<b>r in g</b>amma ray. Third, wait a week for the final image to develop in their flesh.<br /><br />She wanted a pic of the moment they realised the truth. Ah well...<br />a shot of them covered in Pro<b>col, ly</b>ing in bed would do.<br /><br />(rounds one, two, three starter - mine)<br />------------------<br />She lowered the camera, shot untaken, having chos<b>sen t</b>o forget. True death wasn't just the body, but of the memory.Her Grace, Heidi, the Duchess of Knealehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17818060864422019573noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-26815513345579460032018-01-03T00:54:10.219-05:002018-01-03T00:54:10.219-05:00[All starters - mine]
SCENE 1
Cafeteria. ALAN an...[All starters - mine]<br /><br />SCENE 1<br /><br /><i>Cafeteria. ALAN and RACHAEL sitting. JOHN enters.</i><br /><br />JOHN. Are you two lovebirds? <br /><br />RACHAEL. No!<br /><br /><i>(John exits. Beat.)</i><br /><br />RACHAEL. Number five. Ralph and Piggy. <br /><br />ALAN. What if we were?<br /><br />*****<br /><br />SCENE 2<br /><br /><i>Central Park. Dusk.</i><br /><br />ALAN. <i>(Stuttering.)</i> I have question. When I’m with you. You see, we’ve known each other– <br /><br />RACHAEL. Yes, I’ll marry you. <br /><br />*****<br /><br />SCENE 3<br /><br />RACHAEL. Bridesmaids. Collyrium or no? <br /><br />ALAN. Don’t care–<br /><br />RACHAEL. You don’t care about our wedding?! <i>(exits)</i><br /><br />ALAN. –as long as I marry you. <br /><br />*****<br /><br />SCENE 4<br /><br /><i>Hospital. Holding a newborn.</i><br /><br />RACHAEL. You’re the best present ever. <br /><br />ALAN. We love you, our little Ralph. <br /><br /><i>(Curtain.)</i>Curt Davidhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03496537479762316032noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-4257215430117519932018-01-03T00:16:05.027-05:002018-01-03T00:16:05.027-05:00Wideload Johnson stumbled. Ogled the idling pickup...Wideload Johnson stumbled. Ogled the idling pickup. Shimmied inside. <br /><br />Perfect fit. <br /><br />Next surprise—it was a convertible and defied physics.<br /><br />He leaned out his window. Birds-eye view of a rooftop.<br /><br />* * * * * <br /><br />The sleigh stopped. A glimmering, unfamiliar house. <br /><br />He knocked.<br /><br />A girl answered. “Uncle Teddy?”<br /><br />Wideload shook. “Ain’t nobody call me that name in twenty years.”<br /><br />* * * * * <br /><br />He wiped his forehead, colly clinging to his cuff.<br /><br />An older woman appeared. <br /><br />“Ted! How’d you—?”<br /><br />He pointed toward the pickup. It was gone. <br /><br />* * * * * <br /><br />“Come inside.”<br /><br />“But I’ve no present to give.”<br /><br />She wept. “You already have.”<br /><br />The girl rushed inside. “Guys! Uncle Teddy!”<br /><br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-79384045804903386852018-01-03T00:11:07.158-05:002018-01-03T00:11:07.158-05:00Today, Daddy finally sent for me. I promised to ke...Today, Daddy finally sent for me. I promised to keep it a secret, but I've taken it to the grave.BJ Muntainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12977414826388000094noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-60514080984460596032018-01-02T23:31:46.990-05:002018-01-02T23:31:46.990-05:00“Bird Legs, Bird Legs,” the children swayed around...“Bird Legs, Bird Legs,” the children swayed around her, hands clasped, their circle taut with taunts. She’d come to teach them. They planned to school her in cruelty. <br /><br />Mouth dry as ashes, caught in their tightening ring, Rosie prophesied: They’d all fall…stairs, wells, cliffs... The malice they taught, they’d learned at <i>l'Académie</i>.<br /><br />Their mutual need to survive wove a collying bond between them. The teacher and her students—natural enemies who shared a common predator: The headmaster.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Finals preceded Headmaster’s finale. The class stood sentry, their teacher played assassin. “Accident,” ruled the coroner.<br /><br />Revenge: Grade A.<br /><br />Sherin Nicolehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06534766663397123868noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-61125946118117778082018-01-02T23:29:55.876-05:002018-01-02T23:29:55.876-05:00[All entries mine.]
I want her to stay
But unl...[All entries mine.]<br /><br /><br /><br />I want her to stay <br />But unless she flies away,<br />This will end in shit.<br /><br />A little at first.<br />It will grow like resentments,<br />On the window sill.<br /> <br />Shoo, bird.<br /><br />***************************************************<br /><br />Rain fades rings of shit<br />Like white paint from empty homes.<br />The sparrow is gone.<br /><br />**************************************************<br /><br />A cold narrow slab<br />The sill is like a gravestone.<br />A memorial.<br /><br />Like an unused hearth<br />Filled with pretty plastic logs<br />No flame to colly.<br /><br />**************************************************<br /><br />Bird seed is scattered<br />A message sent on the sill.<br />I wait for the paint.<br /><br /><br /> *************** <br /><br /><br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02341557018058648107noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-12520679088349770212018-01-02T23:25:16.452-05:002018-01-02T23:25:16.452-05:00I watched the bird matriculate from one body to th...I watched the bird matriculate from one body to the next, pecking at flesh, quirking its head to compare each bite.<br /><br />Closer.<br /><br />Go away bird.<br /><br />My arm would not move.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Closer.<br /><br />Fly away bird.<br /><br />Don’t peck my eyes, my cheeks, my lips, cracked and burned from the hovering, desert sun.<br /><br />I cannot see my leg.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />RPG’s play overture. Roadside bombs crescendo. Entrails peppered with colly spider-web from my gut.<br /><br />Closer…<br /><br />Closer…<br /><br />Shoo. Fly away bird.<br /><br />Thirst not for my blood.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />I watch you, bird, a vulture sent from hell, lock your eyes on me.<br /><br />Closer…<br /><br />I’m waiting…<br /><br />Closer…<br /><br />Hello, bird.Scott Ghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00293362485142152780noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-6400386875291715192018-01-02T23:14:50.370-05:002018-01-02T23:14:50.370-05:00Dear Mrs. Claus,
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for IT ...Dear Mrs. Claus,<br /><br />I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for IT to happen. But your husband has birdies everywhere and some of them have mouths to match their big ears.<br /><br />—Holly<br />_______________________________________<br /><br /><br />Holly,<br /><br />So my husband would rather deck you than deck the halls—who cares? He won’t remember a thing after we ring in 2018.<br /><br />—C<br /><br />_______________________________________<br /><br />C,<br /><br />Did they shoot him up with Artecoll yesterday? You know this won’t work if he missed his appointment. <br /><br />—H<br /><br />_______________________________________<br /><br />I sent him on his way—he’s all smiles and we’re both ready for a bounce around your bush. <br /><br />—C<br />Megan Vhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00752842865397799428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-91689649268255016102018-01-02T22:57:20.510-05:002018-01-02T22:57:20.510-05:00“Barcardi has a bat, not a bird.”
I concede, as I...“Barcardi has a bat, not a bird.”<br /><br />I concede, as I’m so toasted my vision’s blurry. Doesn’t really matter, as long as there’s enough to get me to midnight.<br />*****<br />The ringing of a clock and the lusty cry of a newborn tell me it’s time to make my exit. <br /><br />I won’t be going alone.<br />*****<br />Attacking colly birds? Listeria-laden fruit kebabs? Drunken driver? The method doesn’t matter. Misery loves company, and there’s nothing so miserable as an old, used-up year.<br />*****<br />Except for a baby with malevolent eyes. Call me sentimental. I slink away, unremembered, and weep for the world.<br /><br />(All words are my own.)Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-12452002388563091102018-01-02T22:24:57.624-05:002018-01-02T22:24:57.624-05:00A word about birds, they fly away; I’m stuck here....A word about birds, they fly away; I’m stuck here.<br /><br />Waiting to die while hoping the phone will ring, shoveling suet and seeds into my craw.<br /><br />And then a raven covered in colly pecked at my window. Things were looking up.<br /><br />I took it as a sign and sent her another text.<br />shanepatrickwriteshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17942239077291100547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-40291760305157274422018-01-02T22:03:06.919-05:002018-01-02T22:03:06.919-05:00[All entries mine.]
Mei had one shift left. One w...[All entries mine.]<br /><br />Mei had one shift left. One way out. And no time.<br /><br />The open window beckoned.<br /><br />She hardened her nose, hollowed her bones, and soared away.<br /><br />Free, as a bird. Forever.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />She inhabited the sky, flitting and fluttering over deserts and oceans, forests and mountains, yearning and mourning, caged by cruel freedom. What had she done?<br /><br />*****<br /><br />“Not a true finch,” chirped the others. “Too colly. Too big.”<br /><br />“I am...”<br /><br />“A thrush.”<br /><br />Mei hadn’t noticed the change. Maybe her magic had returned.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />An unexpected present from the gods: one last shift. Human again? No. Mei turned into the wind and drifted away.CEDhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10411394450673673225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5176149911065244312018-01-02T21:54:05.556-05:002018-01-02T21:54:05.556-05:00(Starters mine)
The thousandth crane is lumpy, da...(Starters mine)<br /><br />The thousandth crane is lumpy, damp from her prison making the paper swell.<br /><br />“Forget those damned birds,” he says. “Take the ring. Be mine.”<br /><br />Head bowed, she wishes.<br /><br />——————<br /><br />The ring tightens as her vows are spoken. <br /><br />“Mine at last.”<br /><br />One cut. One finger. Blood dyes her shoes red as she dances away.<br /><br />——-<br /><br />The crone nods.<br /><br />“Colly the red shoes.<br />Finish the dancing.<br />Take strength and be free<br />from wayward romancing.”<br /><br />The thousandth crane unfolds.<br /><br />——<br /><br />Prison again. No cranes. No shoes. No wishes.<br /><br />“Mine.”<br /><br />“No.” <br /><br />She rips out his heart. Message sent, she walks free.Theresa B (of Nebulopathy)https://www.blogger.com/profile/12747200216210698142noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-27205751987380571052018-01-02T21:17:18.771-05:002018-01-02T21:17:18.771-05:00He bird-dogged her heart with a letter promising g...He bird-dogged her heart with a letter promising gifts, travel, mystery. He’d reversed his tradition— hadn’t made her ask for what she wanted. Then he signed his name—Santa.<br />**<br />She almost succumbed, but then he spoke of bringing her north. That tipped her off: he could read minds, but she didn’t like the cold.<br />**<br />Antenna up, she checked his trademark coat for authenticity. Red and fur-trimmed, but no colly. Hard to believe he’d worked a day in his life. <br />**<br />Finally, the confrontation:<br />“Are you real?”<br />“You decide.”<br />“But... I’m Jewish.”<br />“Heaven-sent! Your answer?” <br />“Mrs. Claus it is.”Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00057611467208638753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-26806341263708547892018-01-02T20:57:39.983-05:002018-01-02T20:57:39.983-05:00Mark thought he’d gotten away with it, but Polly c...Mark thought he’d gotten away with it, but Polly couldn’t keep a secret.<br /><br />“Unbelievable,” his wife said. “In her mouth?”<br /><br />Who knew birds had such good hearing? ***** He imagined his Sebring was a space fighter, gunning down blabbermouth parrots. “Everyone’s got their fantasy, okay?”<br /><br />His wife glared. “Most don’t involve their mothers.” *****<br /><br />Mark didn’t respond.<br /><br />“Seriously, what if she had woken up?”<br /><br />He shrugged. “Probably would have said, ‘Is this colly in me mouf?’ ”<br /><br />“You’re sick.”***** Then she added, "If you insist on presenting yourself as Kara Thrace's son, at least get your mom fancier cigars."Stephanie Lauhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17015986454890952718noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-74570426238691974482018-01-02T20:24:04.142-05:002018-01-02T20:24:04.142-05:00
Too drunk.
Me and my Karate Kim. So he’d driven...<br /><br />Too drunk. <br />Me and my Karate Kim. So he’d driven her home.<br /><br />Too stupid. <br />I’d introduced…my two best friends.<br /><br />Too eager. ‘Loverbird’ Jim. Mistletoe. Hormones. Her…perfect scent.<br /><br />Too—<br /><br /><br />The door crashed open. “You uncaring ass. Some wingman you are.” She dragged me out of bed, onto the floor. ““Our Christmas! He…” She punched.<br /><br /><br />Her heart wasn’t in it. I grabbed her hand.<br />“Colly hearted man.” Sobbing.<br />“What happened?” I didn’t want to know.<br />Kneeling. “I cracked his rib.”<br /><br />“What?”<br />She laughed. “You sent me home with Grabmyass.”<br />She frowned.<br />“It should’ve…”<br />closer…<br />”…been…”<br />closer…<br />“…just us.” <br />Red lips.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02694333358894726440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-14932297926104043882018-01-02T20:18:03.003-05:002018-01-02T20:18:03.003-05:00The girl squatted by it on the sidewalk.
Mrs. Mo...The girl squatted by it on the sidewalk. <br /><br />Mrs. Morrison, passing, noted, “Fifth this week. Stupid animals.”<br /><br />But the girl touched its broken neck. <br /><br />And knew who’d killed the bird.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Susannah twisted her wedding ring around her finger. Frank had said if Peter did this again… Through the window, her daughter’s red eyes met hers.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Dad’s Audubon obsession'd kept him from one too many chess matches. Peter placed the final dead bird on his pillow. His colly-covered heart sang.<br /><br />---<br /><br />The girl used drugs. Susannah used to smile. Frank used the letters Peter sent from jail to line his birdcage. <br />Jeannettehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00104848515612506410noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-21376269023629649472018-01-02T19:53:43.532-05:002018-01-02T19:53:43.532-05:00The hooded man satiated the rabble, executing the ...The hooded man satiated the rabble, executing the sentence. Tiny feet jerked. Ceased.<br /><br />Later, watching his son sleep, he wept.C. Dan Castrohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15648247329883078385noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-35076524916396277422018-01-02T19:47:48.242-05:002018-01-02T19:47:48.242-05:00Gazing out at the rusted Taurus in the drive, she ...Gazing out at the rusted Taurus in the drive, she imagined a vintage T-bird and herself as Thelma, while her husband raged about dinner being late. Again. <br /><br />No, maybe Louise.<br /><br />"Stop pretending you cain't hear me, woman."<br /><br />She absently traced the ache of bruises ringing her arm, reckoned pretending was what kept her alive. <br /><br />"Dinner."<br /><br />"What's this slop?"<br /><br />Experience kept her mute. <br /><br />His plate went flying. His colly-stained hands hard, unforgiving.<br /><br />Her plan required blood, anyway.<br /><br />"Clean it up."<br /><br /><i>Pretend.</i><br /><br />***<br /><br />She imagined him explaining the bloody trunk, his absent wife.<br />Passing sleepy towns, lumbering bus her T-bird… her smile fierce.<br /><br /><br /><br />[all words mine, except Janet's four miscreants]<br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-46911974906549590042018-01-02T19:20:51.458-05:002018-01-02T19:20:51.458-05:00A bird in the mouth is worth two in the store, say...A bird in the mouth is worth two in the store, says I, cramming a rotisserie wing into my maw as I flee from the cops over Frozen asphalt.<br /><br />Gotta break up my trail, so I bust in the front door of the next house without ringing the bell. No one Home Alone here.<br /><br />The Gremlins in the engine of the red convertible smooth out as I back out of the garage and drive right through the collywobbling cops.<br /><br />Old Nick ain’t no Santa Clause, no matter what sentimental shit they’re saying just ‘cause they can’t catch me.<br />Barbara Lundhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05031635871739502352noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-42534001287261138912018-01-02T19:17:27.605-05:002018-01-02T19:17:27.605-05:00“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Commuterman!”
Som...“It’s a <b>bird</b>, it’s a plane, it’s Commuterman!”<br />Some idiot came up with a genetic alteration that allowed humans to fly, it was now Robin’s job to promote this concept. <br /><br />*****<br /><br />However, bioenginee<b>ring</b> data reveled unforeseen complications; shorter life-spans, collisions with high-rise windows and wires and the egg-laying was a surprise. Thousands sued AreoHomid and lost.<br /><br />*****<br />Robin pre<b>sent</b>ed only the facts;<br />• Proto<b>col ly</b>mphphacyte studies indicated massive global contagion<br />• Eradication of all infected<br /><br />Then,<br />Robin flew away.Kate Higginshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09861373649696211491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-39555499187889646692018-01-02T19:11:59.059-05:002018-01-02T19:11:59.059-05:00[Round 1 - Laurie Batzel]
It had to be her.
This ...[Round 1 - Laurie Batzel]<br /><br />It had to be her.<br />This had my sister’s fingerprints all over it.<br />only Christina could flip you the bird and blow you a kiss all in the same gesture.<br /><br />***** <br />[Round 2 – Brian Schwarz]<br />It wasn’t underwear we found in my bedroom. It was her knife, because<br />Christina cooked his dinner.<br />Her catering skills were famous.<br />my poor husband <br /><br />*****<br />[Round 3 - mine]<br />They searched the garage. <br />Didn’t notice bottles of ethylene glycol. Lying’s not my m.o., but<br />it <i>was</i> Christmas. <br />her chocolate pie totally wowed <br />those cops.<br /><br />*****<br />This has to stop, <br />I told Christina.<br />Who’s next? The Mayor?<br />Her answer –Talk over dinner! <br />um<br />count me absent<br />Lennon Farishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03570629350169504234noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-54615873679041227202018-01-02T18:38:40.159-05:002018-01-02T18:38:40.159-05:00Bird’s in the oven,
Table is set.
Santa on rooftop...Bird’s in the oven,<br />Table is set.<br />Santa on rooftop,<br />Not ready yet.<br /><br />Hearth was still lit,<br />Now soaking wet.<br />Live wire sparking,<br />Santa’s kismet.<br /><br /># # #<br /><br />Boots hit the water,<br />Ringed in flames.<br />Leaping from fireplace,<br />Santa remains.<br /><br />Quick as a twinkle,<br />The flames wink out.<br />Bone-chilling magic,<br />Saint Nick’s redoubt.<br /><br /># # #<br /><br />I brandish a knife,<br />He pulls a gun.<br />Protocol lysis,<br />I turn and run.<br /><br />Bullets impacting<br />All around me.<br />A hail of gunfire—<br />Hyperbole!<br /><br /># # #<br /><br />Indiff’rent bullet<br />Enters my chest.<br />Santa’s red menace,<br />Unfinished quest.<br /><br />By elven helpers<br />Selfishly sent.<br />Dispose of rival,<br />Ensure ascent.RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-32501137985455189432018-01-02T17:48:01.593-05:002018-01-02T17:48:01.593-05:00Didn’t need no birddog to flush you out.
Didn’t...Didn’t need no birddog to flush you out. <br /><br />Didn’t need no 12-gauge to take you down.<br /><br />Told you not to bring Kate into your world of false hope.<br /><br />Told you I’d bring you into my world of true despair.<br /><br />Used words like medical protocol – lying to her. Lying to yourself.<br /><br />Left out the word experimental. Cut her time in half.<br /><br />Issued a death sentence.<br /><br />Won’t be no end to grieving my sister.<br /><br />Won’t be no end to grieving your wife.Matthew Wuertzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12268129429239157271noreply@blogger.com