I love writing challenges and contests. And I’m as impatient as all heck. I just hate waiting for it to be over to get to see all the other entries and finally hear who won. So, I figure, why wait? Here’s a computer, here are writers, let’s do this! The contest will start at 1:30 EST. The Rules
- You get five minutes to write a piece of prose in any style or genre.
- You must directly reference today’s prompt: Fly (insect)
- Post your entry as a comment to this post.
That’s it. I’ll close the contest at 1:45. That’s five minutes to write, and a window of ten minutes to make sure your entry posts without errors. Or five minutes to dither, five minutes to write, and five minutes to make sure your entry posts without errors. Or ten minutes to fuss about not having the time to do this today or who the heck cares about that and then five minutes to write and hit the “post” button and pray it works the first time.
But we have to have a winner, because it’s no fun if you don’t get to hear that yours was the best ever. So, voting!
At the close of the contest, this week’s guest judge, Pete Morin 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 follow my blog, 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.
Annnndddd…. GO!
Welcome to this week's competition! I won't get to play this week; kids and school things and all that.
sessha_battousai will be calling time at 1:45 and then our guest judge, Pete Morin will be sending me his nominations. I should have the poll up around 3:00. I'll post and tweet when I do.
Thanks again everyone! Have fun!
"This is it?"
An invisible fishhook lifted my wife's upper lip, her disdain as clear as the powder blue Wisconsin sky.
Camp Wandawega, the bastion of the endless summer months of my youth had seen better days.
Flies buzzed with a lazy fervor around ripened garbage cans that spilled their contents onto the gravel drive leading to a mottled, hand-painted sign above a ramshackle shed that served as the base of operations for the entire camp.
A bitter wave of nostalgia washed over me as the reality of the present day camp fought with the sunny lemonade and campfire flavored memories of my childhood.
Had it always been this way? Had my pre-teen self been willing to forgive the camp's lackluster appearance.
"Dad! This place is awesome!" my son squealed as he shot out of the car, ripping his tagless Spiderman t-shirt off. He tiny legs helped him fly down the hill towards the object of this moment's most passionate desire – a tire swing that flung him joyfully across Lake Wandawega and into summertime bliss.
My wife and I smiled, the conflict in my memory resolved.
and twitter handle @pfallerj
Last Jump
Darrell waved his had to shoo the fly away. The day was dark enough, he didn’t need the distraction of a common household insect to add to it.
“What’s the matter, Darrell?” came a feminine voice behind him. “You’ve done this before, hundreds of times. Now, you seem nervous.”
Darrell turned to look at LaShondra, his wife. She was beautiful, even after forty two years of marriage. The smile she brought with her into the room seemed to bring the light of day. He tried to return her smile, but he just couldn’t do it.
“Last time I did this…” he hesitated. “He was with me.”
LaShondra’s smile faltered. Then, she came up to him and wrapped her arms around him, filling him completely with her presence. The sent of her perfume, her shampoo, her womanhood, made his old bones feel revived.
“I’m here this time,” she whispered. “I know I’m no substitute for Ty, but I’m here. You won’t be alone. Never alone.”
He hugged her back, and kissed her cheek.
“I know,” he said. “I know. He was my best friend, since we were in second grade. It’s hard to accept that he’s gone.”
“He would want this,” LaShondra said.
“It’s time, sir,” the young man at the other end of the plane said.
Darrell nodded, then turned back to LaShondra. “You ready?”
She nodded, and the two of them turned to the now open door on the side of the plain, and jumped.
The End
-Christopher M. Blanchard, twitter handle @blanchardauthor
We had been searching for the source of the buzzing for nearly an hour, hot and sweaty and stripped down to the bare essentials: me, a pair of red plaid boxers, and her, a blue and white striped two-piece.
“It’s got to be some sort of mosquito,” she said on her hands and knees in the kitchen looking through the crack between the fridge and the counter.
“No way. I’m guessing a wasp, or a hornet. Why are you looking behind the fridge, anyway?” I said standing in the center of the living room, looking around slowly like I may be able to catch up with whatever it was haunting our afternoon.
“I think I heard it over here, like maybe it got stuck behind the fridge. Hornets don’t buzz, by the way.”
“Uh, sure they do.”
“No, they don’t.”
“What do they do then?” I said looking out toward the big windows on the far wall, the white hot July sun beaming in its purpose in life was to illuminate our small apartment.
“They hum. Everyone knows that,” Jenny said standing and brushing off her legs. “Or, at least I thought everyone knew that.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t,” I said still tilting my head mechanically from side to side. “I was always under the impression that—”
“Do not move,” she said suddenly, her arms outstretched, pacing toward me like she was walking on ice. “It’s right on your forehead.”
I tensed as she approached and she smiled at me, looking right at my forehead. “I’m going to have to smack it. I’m sorry.”
“I understand. Just do it fast."
“Right,” she said and I closed my eyes and could feel her extend her arm back and come down hard, her palm and fingers landing on the bridge of my nose with enough force to propel me back and onto the floor.
“God,” I said opening my eyes and touching my nose, pulling my fingers away and revealing blood on the tips. “That freaking hurt.”
“Sorry, babe!” she said helping me up.
“Did you at least get it?” I said looking around, dazed.
“No,” she said massaging my shoulder. “But at least we know what it is now.”
“What’s that?”
“The meatiest house fly I’ve ever seen.”
“Told you it wasn’t a mosquito,” I said, covering my nose and looking back out into the room.
Twitter: @robhollywood
The heat of the sun has no effect on me. I continue to take flight after becoming ill with ever landing made, but the sun’s rays only bring more of us to battle.
We swoop in from every direction, attacking the large creature with such large dough eyes. Just look at those eyes, filled with all of the emptiness and carefree judgment to others. It’s easy to understand why she ignores us, by simply looking into those eyes.
Occasionally she will swat at us if we all attack together, but still nothing moves her. Our vision allows us to prevent any retaliation anyways.
Some of my brothers have given up the fight and begun hovering around the excrement’s of the beast.
It’s the last chance we have. We break into full flight and all attack her big dough eyes.
The sun’s heat is no longer with me and I felt victory. The last thing I heard from my brothers were screams of terror. I slide into darkness with the image of two great wings flapping over my face, before being consumed.
Goodbye cow.
Twitter @thejournalizer
Flies
He looked peaceful. Contemplative, really. If it weren't for the fly crawling over his eye-lid, Janet suspected that no one would have thought anything was amiss. Not that there was anyone else here. She closed the door and went to wash up.
Splinker
There was surprisingly little blood on her hands and other than a few scratches on her forearms, she looked no worse for wear. Still, just to be safe she took a quick shower, paying special attention to her arms and fingernails.
The whole thing had excited her immensely and she took a few minutes to pleasure herself in the shower.
When she was done, she toweled off, put on a robe, and popped her head inside the room.
He had company. Or rather, more company. Several flies were buzzing around his face, landing on open eyes, lips, and nostrils. Taking off again. Janet glanced at the windows, but they were both closed. Frowning, she closed the door and went downstairs.
She had intended to make herself a sandwhich, but she couldn't seem to find her appetite. Instead, she made her phone call, telling the police that she had been in the shower when she heard noises. Now her husband was dead, the front door was broken open and she was terrified someone else was still in the house. She sounded very convincing. She hung up the phone and waited.
Everything was dead quiet, as it should be. God only knows why, but she felt compelled to pop her head in the room one last time and check on the body. As she opened the door, she was greeted, then consumed, by a roar of buzzing.
When the police came, they found a broken door, and a dead silent house. No body. No victim.
Not even a fly.
Thanks everyone. I hate that I missed it. I think I'll do one later just for fun. Voting will start in about an hour. Send your friends! Great job!
There's an incessant buzz that fades, returns, fades again. And the brush, from time to time, of tiny wings.
I hate being blind. More just now, with the fly just here, then gone, and back again, and again, and again. It was hard enough to catch the bastards when I could see. Last month. When I could see.
God damn it I hate being blind.
They say your other senses get keener to compensate and I suppose that's true. It just makes the damn fly's hum in my ear that much more of an insult. A taunting of this tiny thing that has me bested, that laughs at me with that incessant buzzing.
It doesn't help that it's a fly, who could always see better than I can but now I don't see at all and the memory of what they looked like, with their enormous eyes, mocks me now as much as the buzz, buzz, buzz in my ear and the breath of it on my cheek because I can't catch it. And it there, and there, and there.
I hate being blind.
I hate flies.
I hate the whole goddamn world.
And I hate….
WHAM!
Got it! Ha, ha! I got the bastard. I got it!
Who's flying now, sucker!
Ha, that was fun.
I have to wonder, though, what it says about me that I'm perfectly capable of not thinking about the prompt at all until I open the comment window. I can't think it's good, to be so completely devoid of thoughts….
😉
It looks like several people who wanted to come didn't make it this week.
Well, there's always next week.
Poll will be up soon.
Wow I had a lot of typos there. :\
You and everyone else. I just saw the ones in mine. Ugh.
The nature of the beast, though.