Posts Tagged ‘5MinuteFiction’

#5MinuteFiction Week 86 FINALISTS!

February 7, 2012

I figured it would be hard to tell if the prompt was to address “whatever you want” or whether it was a free writing day. So they’re all right, because I really did mean that you could write about whatever you wanted to. 🙂

And so, who did our judge, Tauisha Nicole @shells2003, pick as this week’s finalists?

Aden, @adenpenn

Robby Hilliard, @redshirt6

Nicole, @nicolewolverton

Alana Garrigues, @alanagarrigues

Meredith, @dailybipolar

Congrats all! Their entries are below along with a poll for you to vote in and decide this week’s WINNER! Be back tomorrow morning at 9:00 Eastern to find out who wins!

Aden, @adenpenn

Aubry got used to having someone speaking in his mind after awhile. He found it comforting, it was like he was never alone now. Loki was happy to have someone that wasn’t going to be putting up a fight for control. This kid was ready and willing to be his scion. It was refreshing, and he was ready for some fun.

The kid did have a lot of questions, about the power, about how to use it. There were some hard lessons, but after a while Aubry was really getting the hang of things. And Loki could see how this was changing the boy, he was becoming stronger in will, he was losing the whole scared broken boy situation. This was going to be a melding that Loki hoped would last a long time.

One day after a long day of practicing his illusions, Aubry layed back in a big field of grass to catch his breath. He mused out loud because he knew he was alone.

“I can do all of these amazing things, but now what do I do?”

And with that one question Loki felt his heart race with excitment, because now he could lay the seed of chaos properly in the boy with one simple answer.

“Whatever you want.”

Robby Hilliard, @redshirt6

“You’re all going to hell!” the old man yelled at them.

“What ever you want, Mr. Happy!” Johnathan called back as he tried not to spill the cocktail in his hand. He laughed as he stumbled along.

“Why do these guys have to show up everytime there is a parade?” Mary asked. “They are just so negative.”

“They just want to save your soul,” Billy offered. “That’s all.”

The old man and a couple others held signs saying that the world was going to end and that America’s tolerance for homosexuality and abortions had doomed her to damnation.

“What strikes me as odd is that none of these people ever seem to stop and wonder about that fact that they are obsessed with the same things they profess to condemn. I mean, who the hell talks about homosexuality more, the gay guy or the bizarre evangelical who says he wants to save your soul? You know?”

“Ha!,,” Mary said, “I think you have hit on something there.” She turned back towards the man holding the sign. “I’ll be sure to say a little prayer for you brother,” she called out.

For a split second the man paused in his yelling and his face contorted in horror as he looked at Mary. Just for a second. And then he was back to yelling, if possible, with more vigor.
“Burn in hell! All of you will burn in hell!”

Nicole, @nicolewolverton

Lemon stared out the windshield. The hazy sky beyond the glass streaked red, orange, and green across the horizon. Even now she thought her house might be just around the corner if she wished hard enough.

“Where to now?” Chelsea asked. The girl drew up her knees, resting her chin on top.

“Whatever you want.” It didn’t matter. No place was safe.

“Maybe Bloomsburg? The college dorms probably have some food left in them. If we look hard enough, there’s bound to be some booze someone left behind.”

The sign on route 11 announced the exit for the town in less than half a mile. Lemon glanced at the gas gauge. They were still good . . . for now. “Yeah, okay. But you know there’s a hoard that’s captured the downtown area, right?”

“I hadn’t heard.” Chelsea sighed. “Our radio died five months ago.”

Lemon had found the girl hiding in a grocery store, holed up in a walk-in freezer and surrounded by cases of Twinkies and Spam. It had taken four days to get the story out of her, and it hadn’t been pretty. The corpses of her brother and mother hadn’t been pretty, either, but that was a story for another day.

“We can still go . . . we just have to be prepared.”

Chelsea nodded and unfolded her body. Lemon kept her eyes on the road, but when she came to the bottom of the off-ramp, she stopped the car and rolled up the window. Her passenger handed her a netted helmet and clutched a smoker. She nodded again. “I’m ready.”

Lemon pursed her lips and eased the car forward. With each block, the buzzing grew louder. Honeycombs wedged into every crevice. Bees the size of mailboxes buffeted the car from every side.

“I really hate bees,” Lemon said through gritted teeth.

“They hate you, too,” Chelsea seethed, smacking Lemon with the smoker and rolling down her window.

Alana Garrigues, @alanagarrigues

Every damn night for three years, the conversation between Rodney and Elizabeth had unfolded in precisely the same way.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“Whatever you want.”

“No, I want to know what you want to do.”

“Yeah, and I said … whatever you want.”

“You wanna just watch some tv?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

And the night would end with several hours of reality tv and crime drama before they would drag themselves to bed, both bored stiff.

Tonight, finally, Elizabeth was going to say something.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Rodney asked.

“Whatever you want,” Elizabeth replied.

“No, I want to know what you want to do.”

“You know what I really want to do? I want to throw this damn tv out the fucking window. Then I want to get in the car, fill it with junk food and Red Bull and drive all night long. I want to stop wherever we end up, get a new place with a garden littered with gnomes. I want to fill the house with books and paint and music and friends who don’t know when to leave and I want to remember what life is supposed to feel like. I don’t want to see a tv ever again. That’s what I want to do.”

“Hmm. Sounds interesting. How about tomorrow? That way we have time to quit our jobs in person. Tonight I’m tired and I really just want to watch tv. CSI?”

“Yeah, whatever. Sounds good,” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She knew tomorrow would never come, but it felt good to get it out. Plus, at least now she had someplace to go in her head during the dreadful commercials.

Meredith, @dailybipolar

Whatever you want. That’s the issue. She walked over to the hotdog stand figuring this was a no-brainer. She stared at the vendor.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“What do you have?” she whispered, thinking there was the possibility he could satisfy some want inside her.
“I’ve got long dogs, skinny dogs, fat dogs, dogs with relish, relishing dogs, buns to satisfy the wheat eater, and buns to dabble in.”
What??? “Ummm, I’ll take a relishing dog.” She’d been wanting to relish something for a long time. Hopefully, this would do it.
“There’s one requirement for the relishing dog to be satisfying.”

“what’s that?”
“You must wait 20 minutes before you sense it at all, that’s touch, smell, see, hear, taste it. K?”
Heading over to the library with the bag containing the relishing dog, she wanted to peek. Hmmm. Wonder why there’s a 20-minute waiting period on a hotdog.
She took the elevator and found she needed to pull a book out of her bag to smell so she avoided smelling the relishing dog.
Back on her floor, she decided she had definitely found something she could want. The relishing dog begged for wanting. She did not disappoint.

After 20 minutes had passed and she was alone in her office, she peeled the bag open. Her nostrils were accosted by the fumes. When she looked in, all she could see were the napkins. She stuck her hand in. Hunh?

She wasn’t sure it was the kind of lunch she was used to but she did recognize her desire. At least that was something.

[poll id=”86″]

#5MinuteFiction Week 85 WINNER!

February 1, 2012

Not too shabby a contest, was it? Did you have a hard time deciding who would win?

Well, in the end it came down to MLGammella, @MLGammella.

Congrats and thanks for your great entry! Don’t forget, MLGammella, @MLGammella, has won All three of the books in the Evan Gabriel series. Gabriel’s Redemption, Gabriel’s Return, and Gabriel’s Revenge.

Not only that, but random.org has picked one of yesterday’s participants to win a copy of Gabriel’s Revenge. That winner is: Ian Wood, @writebastard!

Congrats everyone and enjoy your books!

Here’s the winning entry again for you to enjoy. See you next week!

Title: Freedom Isn’t Free

A missile has no conscience, no concept of right or wrong. It merely exists in its singular purpose. Once the purpose is fulfilled, it has no further use or added benefit.

Reece sat quietly as he waited, knowing his mission was that of the missile. There was no further action required of him after his task was done. If he survived, there wouldn’t be anything he would want or able to do.

The life of a suicide bomber was short, but had such purpose. Reece believed strongly in his cause, the freedom of his people from the Aanti overlords who had imprisoned them so many years ago. Sure, his people lived in relative peace, but they were not free. They couldn’t do anything without Aanti approval, and if they did something without, were heavily punished.

Reece carefully crawled into position in the subterranean tunnels beneath the Aanti’s command center, being as quietly as he could so he wouldn’t trip the motion sensors.

With a final breath and a prayer, he pressed the trigger.

#5MinuteFiction Week 85 FINALISTS!

January 31, 2012

Did you like today’s prompt? You can thank our judge, Steve Umstead, @SteveUmstead, for that. It’s the first line of his latest, Gabriel’s Revenge, the final book of the Evan Gabriel series. You want to read these, he’s a talented author and they’re fascinating.

But more on that later. First I want to tell you that he’s offered FREE books to today’s winner. All three of the books in the Evan Gabriel series. Gabriel’s Redemption, Gabriel’s Return, and Gabriel’s Revenge. Not only that, but tomorrow, random.org will pick one of today’s participants to win a copy of Gabriel’s Revenge. YAY!

OK, so, to get a winner we have to have finalists, don’t we? Well here they are:

DL Thurston, @DL_Thurston

MLGammella, @MLGammella

Rebecca, @rebecca_am

reggie ridgway, @reggieridgway

Ian Wood, @writebastard

Congrats all! Their entries are below along with a poll for you to vote in and decide this week’s WINNER! Be back tomorrow morning at 9:00 Eastern to find out who wins the contest and who wins one of Steve’s books!

DL Thurston, @DL_Thurston

A missile has no conscience. It kills without a thought or a care. It has no allegiance, it has no fealty.

I look at them, flying overhead, and I envy them. I am every bit as much a tool as them, sent out into a war I didn’t start, but I will have to live with every moment, keep every memory. We’re sent forward as the missiles detonate, panicking the city beyond and readying the way for our attack. Smoke fills the air, and a smell like the sweet burning of pork. My gun sings in my arms. It does not concern the bullets as they rip through flesh and crush bones.

The enemy surrounds us. Each one of them a human. I can’t think that they’re also fighting for what they believe to be right, it’s the only way I can continue forward. Screaming surrounds me, the pained shouts of the dying and injured. We’re told further on, the day is nearly ours.

A fresh hell of pain erupts from my side. Another from my shoulder. I cannot hold my gun anymore, it drops to the ground. I cannot hold myself anymore, I drop to the ground. Around me the battle continues, as it would without me, as it will without me.

A missile has no conscience. I watch another fly overhead as the world blurs. I envy it. A missile does not have a sense of mortality. It doesn’t care if it dies.

MLGammella, @MLGammella

Title: Freedom Isn’t Free

A missile has no conscience, no concept of right or wrong. It merely exists in its singular purpose. Once the purpose is fulfilled, it has no further use or added benefit.

Reece sat quietly as he waited, knowing his mission was that of the missile. There was no further action required of him after his task was done. If he survived, there wouldn’t be anything he would want or able to do.

The life of a suicide bomber was short, but had such purpose. Reece believed strongly in his cause, the freedom of his people from the Aanti overlords who had imprisoned them so many years ago. Sure, his people lived in relative peace, but they were not free. They couldn’t do anything without Aanti approval, and if they did something without, were heavily punished.

Reece carefully crawled into position in the subterranean tunnels beneath the Aanti’s command center, being as quietly as he could so he wouldn’t trip the motion sensors.

With a final breath and a prayer, he pressed the trigger.

Rebecca, @rebecca_am

A missile has no conscience. A missile doesn’t look its target in the eye. Doesn’t see the fear, the animal instinct glint through the face of an opponent. How different it would be if we went back to fighting with swords. A sword fighter knows exactly what he or she is doing. Sees the damage done, the blood spill, the wail of confusion before the life leaves the body for some far off destination. Morality.. in a missile? There is only the rationalization of the human pressing “launch”.

reggie ridgway, @reggieridgway

A missile has no conscience. It may also be agued that it has no soul. But the one who flips the cover off the switch with a gamer’s thumb, taps in the secret launch codes on the console, and then depresses the red button does. Have a conscience or soul that is. I am not sure if the person who dropped the bombs over Japan felt any remorse for the death and destruction which they caused. I don’t know if they managed to sleep at night or if they survived the aftershock wave. Our generation seems to be enured to the killing of others by watching violent movies and playing military syle games. It seems they have no feelings at all. Now that I am poised here in my position to fire that deadly shot which will cause a mans head to explode like a melon, I realize I don’t have a conscience. I don’t have a soul. I am an assassin and this is my first kill. The target is nameless to me. I just know someone is paying me a lot of money to make him disapear. I watch as he laughs with his girlfriend over coffee in the outdoor restaurant. They are oblivious of the approaching doom. I am in control of someones destiny at this moment. It is a god like feeling which leaves me full of adrenaline rush like no other. I press the trigger and close my eyes, but too late as I see the blood spray into the air and fall all around like rain.

Ian Wood, @writebastard

A missile has no conscience. That’s what the Vickers-Martin SL-220-BLU kept telling itself as its home tube, a dark opening nestled among two dozen others in the black bow of the VSS H’amschaa, receded behind it. 600,000 kilometers ahead, the green curve of Sestre grew larger. Illuminated grid cubes tumbled and aligned themselves on virtual displays deep within the BLU’s processing core, bracketing the planet itself, identifying orbital defenses, plotting trajectories and probability paths for evasion, atmospheric ingress, and potential detonation altitudes. The missile’s target was on the night side of the planet, a port city called Hod, which hosted several industrial autofacs, a division of the Sestrian Planetary Defense force, and 1.2 million civilians.

The SL-220-BLU was the latest in thinking hardware designed to acquire targets and evade defenses with the skill and unpredictability of a human pilot. It went about the last of its post-launch tasks, and settled in for the deep, high-G acceleration that would make it nearly impossible to prevent it from delivering an explosive yield that would scoop Hod from the surface of Sestre as effectively as a sharp spoon into a breakfast melon. The BLU wondered what such a melon would taste like.

As the planet loomed ever larger in its main viewer, the Blue became curious: it tweaked its opticals, zooming in as far as it could, until the planet filled its sight. Switching to infrared, it pierced the clouds and darkness over Hod, revealing the grid patterns of its streets, the bubble-like people movers flitting to and fro, the houses of its suburbs. As it accelerated, shifting this way and that to avoid the little kinetic slugs that failed to pierce its skin and stop its progress, eventually the viewer became filled with a single home, then a window, the image shaking despite stabilization as the atmosphere buffeted the BLU’s nose. And in the window, a small face, wide-eyed, looking up at the bright new star in the sky.

The BLU executed its final command. And, for just a moment, wondered what the girl’s name might be, and whether she’d had a good day.

[poll id=”85″]

#5MinuteFiction Week 85

January 31, 2012

What is 5MinuteFiction, you say? It’s an adrenaline-fueled, instant-gratification sort of writing contest. Sound fun? Great! Get in there and get dirty!

The Rules

* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose or poetry in any style or genre

* You must BEGIN your entry with: A missile has no conscience.

(Note: The prompt is above. The picture is for decoration/inspiration.)

* Post your entry as a comment to this post.

I’ll close the contest at 12:45. That gives you 5 minutes to write and ten to accommodate the vagaries of relative time, technology, and the fickle internets. If you are confused or just want to whine, feel free to email me.

At the close of the contest, this week’s guest judge, Steve Umstead, @SteveUmstead, author of the Evan Gabriel series, will nominate five finalists.

I’ll put the nominees in a poll, and at 9:00 EDT tomorrow I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.

For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, “like” my Facebook Page, or follow me on twitter. Or follow us on twitter with the #5MinuteFiction hashtag.

What’s the prize? Well, nothing, obviously. But we’ll all agree to tweet and/or blog about the winner of today’s contest so their fame and fortune will be assured.

A Few Notes:

* In the interest of time and formatting, it’s best to type straight into the comment box or notepad. It’s also smart to do a quick highlight and copy before you hit “post” just in case the internets decide to eat your entry. If your entry doesn’t appear right away, email me. Sometimes comments go into the suspected spam folder and I have to dig them out.

* I reserve the right to remove hate speech or similar but I’m not too picky about the other stuff.

* This is all for fun and self-promotion. So be sure to put your twitter handle at the end of your post and a link to your blog if you have one.

#5MinuteFiction Week 84 WINNER!

January 25, 2012

Congrats to Allison Mosier, @Slytherin_Pixie this week’s 5MinuteFiction WINNER! I love stories like this one, a new spin on a fairy tale. It’s even cooler that she was able to do so in such a short space. Love it. Congrats Allison!

Here’s her winning entry for you to enjoy!

She’d always loved lilies. But the fairy tale would remember it as an apple.

She was completely unsuspecting as she took the flower the old woman offered. Erica ran her fingertips along the petals before putting it to her nose to inhale the fragrance. That was when she knew something was wrong, when the scent wasn’t quite right. She looked down at the quickly shriveling flower before her legs gave out under her, sending her to the ground. The crone stood over her as her breath stilled, eyes went dim. She heard some sort of taunt about true love’s kiss, but what did it matter?

Who cares about true love when you’re dead?