Have we been at this long enough now that I can lose the lame intro paragraph? I think so.
The Rules
* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose in any style or genre.
* You must directly reference today’s prompt: asset
* Post your entry as a comment to this post.
That’s it. I’ll close the contest at 1:45. We all know how this works, we can all be grown-ups about it and 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, Matt Schulz, otherwise known as @matthewschulz, will nominate five finalists. I’ll put the nominees in the poll on the side of the page, and at 9:30 PM EST I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.
For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, or follow me on twitter.
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. 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.
* 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.
Here’s hoping the polling works properly this week. Ha!
“We’ll just need to do an assets check,” the woman in the power suit said. “Just routine, you understand.”
“I do,” David replied, “No worries.”
The woman nodded and disappeared behind the door on the other side of the desk. It didn’t seem to matter how much money you had, David mused, bank private offices were always small. Of course, in this case, it was likely that the transaction was simply too large for the person he was currently dealing with. This wasn’t something anyone had ever done before, so it likely was going to need more than just branch manager. A few moments later, the woman returned.
“Sir,” she said, “I’m afraid I can’t deal with this transaction on my own. I’m going to need to conference in the bank owner, Mr. Tripp.”
“I understand,” David said. “After all, it’s not often someone is trying to buy the whole Moon.”
-Chris Blanchard, @blanchardauthor on twitter
My first impression is that your photo of the coins is outstanding. i am going to read about Five Minute Fiction right away. Thank you for your website, I like what I see.
“There’s absolutely no bloody way we’re going to make it in time.”
“You’re such a pessimist. The train’s not even late yet.”
“It will be.”
“Deep breaths, Tommy. It’ll be here. Not like they’re going to give it away if we’re there five minutes late.”
“It’ll be more than five minutes, I’m telling you.”
“Sure, OK. Look, I’m going to go get a coffee. Want one?”
“No, no, I’m cool.”
“Yeah, you probably don’t need the caffeine anyway,” Sam muttered under his breath.
He loved Tommy to death and he was glad they were taking this big step together, but his partner was really getting on his nerves today. All day, he’d been practically jumping out of his skin. Sam was happy with the decision, starting this phase of life together, cementing this bond, the huge commitment both implied and promised. But, Tommy was seriously over-excited and nervous beyond all sense in Sam’s opinion.
“We’ve tied all our assets up in this, Sam. How can you be so calm about the possibility of this falling through.”
“We have not, could you possibly be any more melodramatic?”
“This is a HUGE investment!”
“Well, the pure-breed was your idea. I wanted to get a mutt from the pound.”
So there, lying prone on the ground, eyes blank and to the side staring at dust and flecks of sand in the road, I next to him, prone on the ground, eyes staring blankly into his blankly staring portholes, there lay the man.
I eye the contents of his wallet, strewn on the ground, fallen from his pockets, burst into the air as the car ripped past and tore away his essence from the world. There, on the dirty asphalt – the emptied savings account – so much it seems for such an old man. He must have been leaving for somewhere. It is such a long road and the evening makes it longer. I reach for it – note after note – wretched and crumpled in my hands. His mouth agape as his eyes remained still as I took the last remnants of his life, placed them in my pocket and stood up. The blood was caked into the sand and gravel, silently judging me as I walked south. I didn’t care.
@RobBear
The last car backed slowly out of the white gravel drive, crunching the whole way. Eva closed the curtain and looked around Grandma’s again. The whole place looked bare, the only things that remained were what the vultures had passed over, most of it furniture remnants of the 70’s.
Eva couldn’t believe how callous her family had been. Gran’s entire life boiled down to what they could get from her after her passing. The only thing that Gran left in her will was her house, which went to Eva.
The whole place was dusty and miles from civilization, but at least she wouldn’t have to stay in the dorms in college anymore. Eva trudged up the stairs, knowing that the secret room hadn’t been touched, the room behind a false wall in the attic, where Gran kept her greatest treasure, worth far more than any of her other assets.
Eva pushed the small panel at the bottom and crawled through. Light poured in from the window who’s location no one seemed to question. Inside were all of Gran’s books, her old manual typewriter, stacks of manuscripts, and a bookcase lined with wigs on Styrofoam heads. The “heads” of her characters, she always said the best way to get a character’s voice was to get inside their head.
Gran may be gone, but her books would continue to be written. Eva took a bright purple wig from the book case, pulled it over her short cropped hair, and sat at the typewriter.
@shiananfae
“Man,” Andrij said shaking his head and touching his green soccer jersey. “Just look at what it is she has going on.”
“Huh?” I said perking up from my coffee, trying to translate his Ukrainian-English hybrid language.
“Just look at her…at her body, man. I don’t remember what the word is you Americans say, about…their bodies.”
“Oh,” I say looking down the sidewalk at a blond woman walking away from us, away from the café, her body squeezed into the tiniest of tiny black dresses. “Yeah…she does have a nice body.”
“I mean, look at her asset, man,” he said sliding his index finger across his jaw, smacking his lips with his foreign tongue. “So nice.”
“Wait, her what?”
“Her asset, man,” he said repeating himself slowly to make sure I could understand.
“You mean her…ass?”
“No, man. Her…asset. Like, her total package. Is nice, yes? I mean, she has the hips and the breasts…her asset. Her…net worth, or something. She is put together very nice.”
“Oh, I said studying the blond woman again before she disappeared around a corner, the paper crinkling in my fists. “Yeah, I guess she does have a nice asset.”
@robhollywood
We met at Sassy’s Gentleman’s club, the Asset was named Melinda.
“Good evening, ma’am, my name is TJ,” I said.
“What the hell kind of name is TJ?”
“The kind of name I go by, don’t worry about it. We’re here to talk business.”
“I don’t know if I want to go through with this, TJ.” She put a nasty emphasis on TJ.
“Do I need to remind you about the pictures Buck has? We’re not in the business of blackmail, but we sure as hell aren’t above it when it comes to getting the job done.”
“What the hell do I have to worry about blackmail? Protecting my good name? Do I need to remind you where I work?”
“Fair enough, Melinda, but if Big Reg sees those pictures, you’ll be lucky to be working anywhere. You’ll have to be walking A1A for your pill money instead of fleecing these jackasses.”
She pondered this truth and chewed on her lip.
“You promise nobody’s gonna find out about this?”
“Scout’s honor, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of betraying your confidence.”
“You don’t look like a scout, Mr. TJ.”
“Wolf Pack #420, Bimidji, Minnesota, 85-90.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
“Since we got that settled, here’s the deal. Take this.” I passed her the mini-recorder Buck gave me for the job. “Just push that red button a minute before you go back to meet him, and it’ll auto-record everything that’s said. When you get done, meet me here and give it back. Easy as cake, a piece of pie.”
“And you’ll get rid of those pictures?” she asked.
“Maybe.” I said. “You might have to give me a free dance or two.”
She called me a prick, took the recorder, and vanished into the dressing room. I had to pray it would work.
“You’re wrong.”
“About?”
“You belong in the other column.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I know you, one of those columns is positive and the other one isn’t.”
“And?”
“You put yourself in the negative column. You always do.”
“You don’t even know what this says.” The paper disappearing who knows where.
“I’m listening.”
“It’s stupid, really. I’m just being silly.”
“Doesn’t matter, I know you’re an asset.”
“Bastard.”
“I love you, too. And I still think you’re in the wrong column.”
Well I ballsed that up. “assets” >.<
“Stick all the money in the bag. Now.”
“Huh?”
“Um…please?”
“What kind of thief says “Please?”
“Just do it, OK? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Is that gun even loaded?”
This wasn’t going like I expected. In fact, it was a disaster. I kicked myself for being polite, I had to be tougher. A badass. A dangerous criminal on the loose!
I pointed the gun into the air and squeezed the trigger. I cursed myself silently when I felt my shoulders flinch up and my eyes close, anticipating the shot. I’m such a wuss.
“Shit, man!” the clerk yelled as pieces of dusty ceiling tile fell around us. “Alright, alright. Just stay cool, alright.”
I nodded and leveled the gun on him again. I prayed he couldn’t hear my teeth chattering or see the barrel of the gun wobble to and fro with the quaking of my hands.
“Please, I’ve got kids. Don’t hurt me.”
Taped to the back of the cash register were a picture of a toddler and a baby, both with coffee colored hair and faces with eyes, cheeks and mouths totally committed to a giant smile.
“I’ve got kids too.”
“What?” the clerk said, in the middle of stuffing all the cash assets in his store, his livelihood, into a nondescript paper sack.
My hand holding the gun dropped. I had no right to take what was his just because I lost my job. Sure, my kids might be full, but then his would go hungry. I couldn’t do this anymore.
“Forget it,” I said, and walked out the door.
A police siren began its relentless wail at the station a few blocks away. I tucked the gun into my belt and ran as fast as I could.
@pfallerj
No one invited Jenna to the funeral.
She didn’t even know Sue had died until she saw the obituary in the paper.
How dare she? she thought. How dare she die like that?
Jenna grabbed her purse and her keys and stopped in front of the mirror by the front door. He’d pay her back, dead or not, it made no difference. She tied a scarf over her head and slipped on a pair of large, black sunglasses. Then she hurried out to her car, climbed inside, and stuck the key in the ignition. She buckled in and checked her rear-view mirror before pulling out of the driveway.
Hot tears streamed her face as she drove, but she wiped them away with the inside of her wrist and pressed her foot harder against the gas pedal. Sue shouldn’t have died that way, not without Jenna seeing her first. The whole thing seemed so silly now, that’d she’d been so stubborn all these years.
She stopped off at a small floral shop to pick up an arrangement for grave. She didn’t even know if Sue still liked peonies. Maybe she like sunflowers now, or hydrangea. No mind, Jenna thought. She grabbed the peonies and continued down the wind-raked road to the cemetery.
Once there, she dropped the flowers on the grave, and pulled a small coin from her pocket. She’d borrowed a quarter from Sue when they were kids, and never paid her back. Such a silly thing to fight over.
She set the coin beside the flowers on her sister’s grave, and made her way back to her car, feeling like a fool. What good were these assets without a sister to share them with?
(twitter name= @lil_monmon)
A PENNY SAVED…
“Can I have those?” chirped the voice at her elbow.
Lindsey looked down at Haynesworth, her youngest brother as the cashier gave her a handful of change.
“Yeah, sure,” she answered with a shrug. She picked out the 50p; she needed those for the tuck shop at school, and gave the rest to Haynsie. It was probably a total of 17p.
“What are you going to do with that?” she asked the kid.
“I’ll put it in my coin jar. I’m saving up,” said the five year old.
“What are you saving up for?” asked Lyndsey. She figured it was probably a doll or something stupid.
Haynesworth looked thoughtful for a moment. His cherubic lips pouted as his wide eyes looked up at his brown sugar curls. He shifted his weight on his Buzz Lightyear trainers and felt the weight of the coins in his hand.
“Well, I’ll have to see,” he said.
Lindsey laughed out loud. Her brother could be so adorable at times. They walked home from the chemists and Haynsie ran up to his room to deposit his ‘treasure.’ Lindsey thought she saw the boy a few minutes later with their mum’s cell but she didn’t care. It was Mum’s problem.
Haynesworth in the darkened bedroom dialed the number he had memorized.
“Hello….yes, Shawna? I’ve some additional funds I want you to deposit in my accounts. Yes, half in the Swiss and the others in the dummy accounts. Oh, and buy six hundred more shares of Allied Breweries. Thanks, love.”
Damn, forgot my twittername.
I am @taojoannes on the twitter.
Sorry, I think I missed it this week. The kids were being totally insane and I got a late start 🙁 Didn’t even get to write the ending I had in mind 🙁
Time’s UP!
Looks like we had a good crowd this week and some newbies! Yay!
Nominations should be up by 3:00 so make sure you come back and vote and thank you everyone for participating. You’re all superstars in my book.
Assets
Mr Aubrey Carmody was sat at his desk in the front office of Faller’s bank, his face locked in a frown.
Filligreen Luca, the teller, looked over at him; ‘Alright, are you, Mr Carmody?’
‘Dropping ssets’ Carmody said quietly.
‘I beg your Pardon?’
‘Assets – dropping,’ he repeated.
‘Did you hear him, Diane?’ Fillie’s eyes blazed, ‘did you hear what he said to me?’
The computer operator nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I hard him, Fillie, I heard him alright.’
Carmody looked at each of them; he was confused. How could he possibly explain what had happened to him. Assets disappearing out of the window with the fall in the value of his shares.
‘He said we’ve got drooping arses, Fillie. I heard him, so I did.’
‘No,’ Carmody shouted, ‘no, that wasn’t it.’
It was too late though. Fillie was already thinking up a nice little sex discrimination claim.
She giggled, murmured ‘assets,’ under her breath.
tolbert: I wish I could take credit for that picture. The photo itself is a link back to the talented photographer’s page.
I hope you join us in the challenge next week.
And, Noel, better late than never, I say. Glad you got here.
You people impress me over again every week. What a talented group of writers you are. Absolutely fantastic writing everyone. I’m glad I’m not guest judge!
Blah… I don’t like mine. It’s what I get for trying to write through a headache. Still, there are some good ones in here, I, too, am glad I’m not the guest judge.
-Chris
Poll’s up everyone! Good luck!
(Just thought I’d try it even though it’s late)
The TV screen flickered in rising waves of black and white static. A beer in hand, he raised it to his lips, the smell of ale hitting him just as he started drinking. He took a sip but lost interest.
“A broken TV, no money for rent, god, I’m fucking worthless,” he said to himself. “What did I do with myself?”
Looking for someone or something to blame but unable to, the man sulked in his chair, looking at the mess of an apartment he had. So many papers, so many plans and dreams foiled, and yet there in the living room was a whole wall shelved with comics and DVDs. Every genre, every classic, every comic hero that made it to film.
“Fucking comics, fucking film school, good for nothing, it’s all a waste of money!” He hated himself for wasting his assets on cartoons and fantasy. He took his favourite issue of Batman, #33, The Enemies Among Us and hulked a great big wad of spit at its fingerprint less, mind condition, cover. He stared at the spit sliding down it and soaking into the glossy paper. After his anger subsided, he tossed it to the floor with a sigh and went back to his chair, slouched into the seat. He turned on the TV and watched as the screen flickered, wishing he could just disintegrate.
Great entry Huili. Sorry you missed us! I hope you get in next week in time to be in the contest. Thanks for sharing anyway!