And we call it 5MinuteFiction because you write a nice little piece of fiction in five minutes. Crazy people that we are. Are you new? Get in there and start scrapping!
The Rules
* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose in any style or genre
* You must directly reference today’s prompt: experience
* Post your entry as a comment to this post.
I’ll close the contest at 1:45. 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, Nick Druga, @NickSilly, will nominate five finalists. I’ll put the nominees in the poll on the side of the page, and at 9:00 EST tomorrow 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. 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.
Thanks for having me as a guest judge this week, Leah!
Twenty meters.
The water was already getting darker. Lisa Berkley hated the confined feeling that the blackness brought with it. The experience was frightening She forced herself to relax. She couldn’t use up the air in her tank before she got to the bottom.
Forty meters.
The wreck of the Calliope should be right beneath her. The old pirate she’d paid to find her husbands boat told her it would be here. She hated the cold and the claustrophobia. But she had to know. She grabbed her tether life-line to the surface tighter.
Sixty meters.
At this rate, she’d only have about ten minutes at the bottom to find the wreck, confirm that it’s her husband’s boat and have enough air left for her staged assent. The dive master she hired to take her here—the only one in Puerto Escondido– had explained in graphic detail what would happen if she got the bends. Made her sign a waiver when she insisted on going down alone.
Seventy-four meters.
A shape loomed beneath her. Her dive light bounced off the gleaming metal cleats of a freshly sunken boat. About twenty –feet long, the deep-v hulled craft lay on its side. Swimming to the back, she made out a word painted on the stern. A word she’d painstakingly painted only three weeks ago.
Calliope.
Her fears confirmed, she slowly made her way along the ship to see if she could find the cause of the sinking. The hull seamed intact. But there were small holes riddled above the water line…bullet holes.
“Jose, it’s Lisa,” she said into her full mask microphone. “Do you copy?”
“Si, senora. Are you all right?” a static-filled voice came back immediately. “I was getting worried.”
“I’m fine. I found the boat. It looks like it’s been shot up pretty bad.”
Static.
“Jose? Did you copy?”
“I’m truly sorry senora. You weren’t supposed to find the boat. Your husband found the treasure, but wasn’t willing to share.”
There was a tug on the line, and Lisa’s tether and communication line went slack.
Lisa remained unusually calm. She realized now what and who her husband had been involved with. She vowed to make it to the surface and make those responsible pay.
That thought alone accompanied her as she made her way slowly to the surface…
@rbwood
My Lesson
Snowflakes drifted, landing, soft cold kisses, on my skin. With my eyes closed I felt each impact, blind to the beauty of this perfect winter’s day.
“Let go, darling.” The voice in my ear held an undercurrent of laughter that echoed the peals of joy dancing through the air. “It’s time.”
I looked back, watched the car pulling down the driveway. “I never thought it would happen,” I whispered, a shiver racing down my spine.
“I know,” she whispered, fingers twining with mine.
“Mom! Come play!”
With a deep breath I let go of the history boxed up and driving away without a backwards glance. I turned and smiled at my daughter who waited, a sled under her arm.
“I’m coming, sweetie,” I replied. Finally accepting the lesson of experience and living the day that waited.
@AislingWeaver
“It’s wild,” Tina said. I could almost hear a wide grin, see her eyes shining.
“Yeah?” I replied, skeptical.
“You have to try it.”
In spite of my best friend’s entuhsiasm, I was sure this was one experience I wouldn’t mind missing.
“Oh come on!” she said, her voice oddly clear over the… connection I suppose. Or something. I mean, I couldn’t see her but I could hear her. So there was no phone or whatever carrying her voice to me. I heard it, clear as day. And I was sure I hadn’t gone crazy. Yet.
“Look, Tina, I don’t know.”
“Don’t chicken out on me now. You promised.”
“I did not! I said I’d think about it. This was your idea. I never wanted to do this.”
“Well you should. Stop being a baby and try it. It’s insane, Jules. Ride of your life!”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Ride of my life, huh? Litterally.”
“Just do it,” she whispered, excitement pinging in her tone. “Come on. Just do it.”
I looked down at the canyon floor so far below it was hard to make out.
“Tina…”
“Do it! Stop thinking. Jump!”
“I must be insane,” I whispered to myself. But I already felt myself tensing for the jump. The bunching of muscles, the bend of my knees. I closed my eyes but then opened them again. If I was going to do this, I was doing it all the way.”
“Ride of my life?” I asked.
“Definitely.”
And so it would be. No chute. Nothing but me, the wind, and a date the canyon floor. The last great experience.
I jumped.
It’s an odd thing to return somewhere you had no intention to return, had made peace with the fact you would never gaze upon its splendor again. It’s like stepping into a dream. The trees are taller, but familiar. The sunlight breaks in a different pattern through the leaves than it does in your memories. It’s an eerie feeling being somewhere so familiar yet so alien.
Your fingers trace the old worn-out stone lettering of the pillar in the middle of the glen. His name crosses your lips as it moves underneath your fingertips. He’s gone now. Never to return, just as you vowed never to return to this spot.
But now here you are. Experience has taught you nothing is impossible. You say his name again, hoping for the impossible.
@briefconceits
http://briefconceits.com
Experience
Like the heat or frost grabbing her flesh and fusing it to metal Amy found herself immobilised by the honest gaze of two blue eyes.
The cool appraising sweep of them up and down her body left her in no doubt she had been assessed and found wanting, yet the coolness fueled the flush of blood in her cheeks.
Expereince told her that this wouldn’t end well, that it would be over before it began and that she would be left crying and filled with self doubt.
Yet the wiseness of head was no match for the hope of heart and the lust of blood.
She raised her eyes to his and smiled.
Months later Amy hunched over her keyboard; cheeks slippery with tears, desk sticky with spilt wine and the key pads of her laptop naked of their letters from the repeated percussion of her fingertips.
She knew as she typed out the secrets she feared to share that sometimes you have to ignore past to experience the new, no matter how much you fear the outcome and the risk of past mistakes made again.
@summerlandc
A human being never knows true bliss, true release until they have experienced pain. We’re not talking a little paper cut, friends. No, a person must be taken to the brink of death. They must hover at the edge, look down into the pits of Hell itself, and give the Grim Reaper the finger.
Only then will they truly begin to live.
That is what I do. The Lord put me on this globe to give his creations that experience they so desperately need. Without it life reduces to nothing but a series of mundane tasks repeated until the body gives out and leaves the soul striving for more.
I do the world a service through the pain I bring. I save my patients from a bleak existence by the blood I spill. Under my blades the human race will come alive for the first time since God placed Adam in the Garden.
I am the Lord’s left hand. Disguised as a human, born of the angels. No one dares to stop me from my task. All except Kevin Hollis and he is next on my list of victims. Once he experiences what I offer, he will forget this investigation and allow me to do my task as He has commanded.
@RCMurphy
Her toddler was safe at the day care center. Her husband was distracted at work. The police had long cleared the broken-down house, and any high schoolers that would try to crawl through the window on a dare were trapped at school. It was the perfect time.
Mrs. Gerke pushed her cat carrier through the window, hissing at the yowling Persian inside to be quiet. Hiking up her floral skirt, she clambered in after it, carefully avoiding the glass shards. Not even a scratch. She was made for this.
Tambourine had quieted by the time she got in, though two yellow eyes glared out of the recesses of the carrier when she peeked inside. “This is our chance, Tambs!” she crowed, opening the door and hauling the reluctant feline out. “Our first crime scene! We solve this one, and we’ll be on our way to being experienced amateur crime fighters!”
She placed Tambourine on the floor. The cat looked disgusted by the dirt on the floor (and, Mrs. Gerke hoped, by the stink of spilt blood). She watched her beloved pet, bouncing in her excitement. Tambourine was a smart cat. She’d scent out the clue everyone else had missed, and they would be famous! After all, that is how it always worked in the novels.
Tambourine sneezed from the dust. After a moment’s consideration, he threw himself to the floor and looked at her impassively.
She looked at the cat. The cat looked at her. His tail swished.
“Oh, come on!” She gave him a few more seconds to get into crime-fighting mode. No luck. Defeated, she reached down and scooped him up. His long fur dragged across the floor, revealing a strange marking that had been covered up by the filth. Warily, she poked at it with the toe of her bright pink shoe. The board moved. She hurriedly bent down and pried it loose. Underneath it, in the dim light, was an old box.
“A secret compartment!” she squealed, hugging Tambourine tightly to her chest. “Tambs, you did it!” They were going to be rich.
I remember the day Mary Flanagan called me a dirty little shite. I think I was eleven she was fifteen and she caught me trying to look up her skirt. Well she shouldn’t have been sitting on the wall in a provocative way, what else was I going to do. So began my chequered history with women. I think Mary Flanagan had the right of it that day.
My experience with the fairer sex probably hit a high point that day, sad to say it’s been all down hill since. Much like my life really. Sometimes you just have to sit back and say, what the fuck, where did it all go wrong.
I’ve been called a lot of things since Mary Flangan called my a dirty little shite, a right bollocks, a scumbag gets thrown at me a lot. I have to admit they are all right. I’ve done some terrible things in my life, I’m not proud of them, but it’s what I had to do to survive. It’s a hard life and you have to make your own way in the world, where I come from no one will give you a leg up, they’ll only try and tear you down.
To survive you have to be bigger, meaner, nastier. And I am, I’ll rob your granny and beat seven shades of shite outta your ma if it’ll make me a bob or two. So there you go, Mary Flanagan was right indeed. Where is she now though? Turning tricks to pay for her next fix. And yeah, most of what she earns blowing cunts in cars and taking it up the arse for a tenner goes to me.
I am what I am. Despise me if you like cos I don’t give a fuck.
When Paul walked up, he saw the girl crying on the stair case. She looked utterly lost and alone. Kinda how he felt. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to her. Who knows?
He sat beside her and watched as the tears slid down her cheeks and listen to the hiccupy sobs she made. Finally he said, “Hey.”
Starttled, she looked up quickly. Sitting before her was Paul, the guy she’d seen walking around school sometimes. Not someone she’d hang with typically. Not that it mattered. To be caught crying in a stairwell was embarrassing no matter who saw.
“So…what’s with the water works?”
She sighed. Might as well make this more humiliating. “Tim. He said he wouldn’t ever go out with me because I’m not experienced enough.”
Paul looked confused. “Experienced? What do you need experience in?”
She sighed, swiping away tears. “Kissing, apparently.”
“That’s all?” he frowned.
She nodded. “He says that nobody would ever kiss me, and that I should just give up. To think a quarterback would ever consider someone like me would be-”
She couldn’t speak anymore. Partly from shock.
Mostly from Paul suddenly covering her lips with his own.
She shivered from the feel of him, his lips massaging her own. Her eyes fluttered closed as she finally just decided to go with it. His hands held her face carefully as he continued to kiss her for a few more seconds and suddenly, it was over.
“There.” Paul stood and started walking away. “See? Even quarterbacks lie.”
I struggle but the rope is cutting into my wrists. Wow, he’s a really good with knots. He must have been a boy scout.
“Honestly, Mr. Stokes. Did you really think you could outsmart me? You are just an ignorant child,” says The D-bag in the business suit.
“I’m seventeen. I’m not a child,” I reply.
He smirks at my response. “Something only a child would say.” He paces around the chair while his goons keep their guns on me. “You have nothing left. I’ve won. I’m smarter. I’m more connected. I have more experience.”
“You’re daughter seems to like my experience,” I say with a smile. “I’m sure that’s why she kept asking for…”
“Enough!” He slaps me across the face. “You have no family. You have nothing! Where is she? Where is Claire?”
Blood always tasted good to me. Even as a kid. I would just suck the blood from any cut I had. I’m not some creepy emo kid trying to be a psuedo-vampire. I just like the metallic taste. I also put penny’s in my mouth too, so it shows what I did in my spare time. “I don’t know where she is,” I say.
He doesn’t like my answer. Not because of anything he said. It’s probably the cold tip of his .45 now pressed against my temple that sends up a red flag.
“You’re lying! She was last seen with you!” He pulls back the hammer. He’s forcing it against my skull. “I want to know now!”
“Okay, okay okay. Ease up, Pops. What’s it worth to you?”
“She’s worth everything to me. I’ll pay whatever you want,” He says with tears rolling over his gritted teeth.
“Oh, I don’t need money. Is she worth a Linda?”
“What?”
“Is she worth a Linda? You know, your wife of 25 years.”
He stumbles back. His gun falls and bounces off the concrete. “No. You can’t.”
“Oh yes, I already did. You get your daughter or your wife. One will die and one will live. It’s simple. You’re right, I have nothing left, but you do.”
He’s on his knees. Tears trailing down his face.
“Oh, don’t be upset,” I say. “I just have more experience at this than you.”
That was fun! Odd, but fun. Hope you liked it.
Get back over here by 3:00 for the finalists. See you then. 🙂
So….why is the date saying November first of 2011? Or is this the Spanish way, and it’s actually saying the eleventh of Janurary of 2011?
Looks like we’ve got the European system of dating on this template. So 11 January, 2011.
Excellent efforts, once again. Will be as difficult as ever to choose! Thanks very much to all who posted and to Leah again for allowing me to guest judge!