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!
SPECIAL EDITION!
Ohhhh… what could it be? Well, it’s a collaborative effort with R.B. Wood over at Arcana Chronicles and The Word Count podcast. Want to know more? Well, you’ll have to wait, ’cause I’m not spoiling the surprise before 1:30. But details will be up later today. In the meantime, this could be a great opportunity for more than just a little writing sprint. So BE HERE!
The Rules
* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose in any style or genre
* You must directly reference today’s prompt: The Unexpected.
A normal day for a normal character is interrupted by something fantastic, unusual or unexplained. How do they react? What happens?
(Note: The prompt is the word. The picture is for decoration/inspiration.)
* 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, Eric Hamilton, @briefconceits, 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.
Do you remember when you were a kid how exciting the prospect of getting on an airplane was?
Yeah. Me neither.
As I sat in my window seat –ignoring the lecture on the safety instructions as I always did– I watched the worker bees hurrying about their airport duties.
The puddle jumper was backing away from the gate. Damn small prop planes…they were always loud and bumpy.
We were out on the tarmac, getting ready to taxi, when I saw one of the worker dudes in their safety gear waving frantically at the plane. That was unexpected.
I looked at the stewardess…sorry– “Flight attendant”– to see if she’d noticed the man. She was already strapped in to her jump seat flipping through a magazine, looking as bored as I was a moment ago.
I pressed the attention button.
Show looked up and at me with a slight scowl.
“We’re about to take off sir, is there something that can’t wait until we’re air born?”
“I dunno, miss,” I said, mimicking her annoyed tone. “There seems to be a man outside waving frantically at us. Maybe we should pull over and see what’s wrong?”
“Sir, I’m sure the pilots would stop the aircraft if there was something wrong. Just sit back and relax. It will take less than an hour to reach Philadelphia.”
She went back to her magazine. I looked out of the window, but we were moving now. The man who’d tried to wave us down was long behind us.
“Folks,” said a voice over the loud speaker. “We’re number one for take off. Please sit back and relax and we’ll have you back on the ground in no time.”
The engines roared, and with a little jerk, we sprinted down the runway. Maybe my dulled mind had made up the whole incident. It wasn’t like there was a gremlin on the wing or anything.
I’d just convinced myself that I’d imagined the panicked-looking man, when the wheels left the runway.
I didn’t even have a chance to scream when the plane flipped over and slammed into the icy waters of Boston harbor…
@rbwood
“Hello. Nice to see you again.”
Her eyes opened wide at the sound of his voice, although they remained firmly planted on the paperwork in front of her.
Those silky tones were the ones that haunted her dreams at night, since the time he’d first come into her little real estate office. They were the sounds of every woman’s fantasy come to life, and here he was, standing in front of her.
Slowly, praying that her hair looked alright and her make up hadn’t melted off in the heat, she raised her head, plastering a smile on her face.
“Well hello Mr. Thompson. What brings you by? A property perhaps? Something caught your eye?”
He sat in one fluid movement. “Why you did my dear.” His long fingers tapped out a tune on his knee. His hazel eyes stared right through her, until she thought she’d spontaneously combust.
Tucking a stray strand of unruly hair behind her ear, she licked her lips. “Me?” The word came out in a squeak, as her thoughts raced.
Could he want to whisk her away on his jet? Could he want to make her his slave girl? Could he really want something from her? This gorgeous millionaire, this man of the world, wanted something from her.
“What can I do for you?” Her voice shook.
He leaned closer, as she caught a whif of his expensive aftershave.
“I’m your father.”
@angellz
I was watching the lights descending slowly from the sky, UFO-like, when the dog bit me.
He’d always been such a good dog, so calm and patient, quiet and obedient. I hadn’t even seen him there. He just bit me.
It hurt too. A lot.
I looked down at my calf. My jeans were ripped through and blood was seeping into them, a slowly spreading red against the blue.
“What’s wrong with you you stupid dog!” I yelled. I never yelled at Buddy but my leg was throbbing and I couldn’t stop the tears running down my cheeks.
Buddy growled, but he wasn’t looking at me.
I followed his gaze to where the lights were growing bigger in the night above me. Not alarmingly fast, but they were definitely getting closer. There was a glint of starlight on something just above them that looked shiny, metallic.
“They’re just lights,” I said, the last word catching on a sob. My leg really hurt.
Buddy growled lower.
I gritted my teeth against the stupid urge to growl back at him.
“Fine! You stay out here and growl at whatever that thing is. I’m going inside. You bit me!”
It was hard not to feel hurt that he was more concerned about the strange-shaped things beginning to descend slowly from the metal object that had now thumped down on the grass.
After all, I’d taken care of him and loved him all those years. He could have had some loyalty at least. Man’s best friend indeed.
Surrender
“Wait, you’re what?”
I looked up from my writing desk to meet my sister’s gaze. “I’m going,” I said, voice steady and firm. She shook her head and I waited for the characteristic pacing.
“Have you thought this through? What if she’s not there? Does she even want you there?” I could hear her worry and set my quill aside to interrupt her short jerky steps. I met my sister’s eyes, irises the same brilliant purple as my own.
“I have, Cya, and I have to go.”
“This is not like you,” she grumbled, crossing her arms in a gesture that reminded me so strongly of my human lover than I laughed.
“No it’s not,” I agreed. It was far from elven to hare off in the middle of the night to romance anyone, let alone another woman, and a human one at that.
“Why?” she asked, and I heard the deeper question.
“Because if I don’t this is all my life will ever be,” I whispered. “Each dusk and dawn passing alone, too afraid to let go, watching life from afar.”
When she met my gaze this time a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as she set her jaw and nodded.
“Then I will help. You’ll never pass the sentries without me.”
I laughed and she jumped at the joyous sound before smiling at me, her scholarly sister who’d ever played it safe, content to record history instead of life live.
Until now.
“Let’s go.”
@AislingWeaver
They say the wolves howled at the moon without pause, the night he was born. Certainly his mothers screams could be heard echoing around the mountain until the sun slowly rose over those dark hills, it was a hard birth for her, her first and last. As morning broke he was dragged screaming and bawling into the world, claiming his first life while he was at it.
His father buried her the next morning, with a tear in his eye. They were supposed to be a family, a unit, them against the world. He had dreamed of holding his newborn son in his arms with his woman by his side. But the mother was dead, killed giving birth to the son, the unexpected is always the hardest. The father was confused, should he love the babe or hate it, how could a husband not feel resentment towards he who had killed his wife?
Born into a world that took his mother as he entered it, left with a father who neither cared for nor loved him. Did he ever have a chance? Was there ever the remotest possibility he would be normal.
Who knows when it first happened, how it had happened even, was it a bite from some demonic beast or a curse from a witch or warlock? What had triggered his lust for blood, his need to feed off the fear of his own kind. To absorb the spirit of his victim as he gorged on the flesh of man.
The mountain folk know him well, they lock their doors and bar their windows on nights when the moon is a round silver disc in the black sky. They can hear the wolves howling still, only now he is with them… hunting.
It stared back at him from it’s comfortable nest on the table and blew a large bubble out of it’s right nostril. “What, exactly, is that doing here?”
Michael stretched languidly, totally unaffected by his lover’s angry outburst. “I said we’d look after her for a few days while my sister and her husband are away. She isn’t going to bite.”
“I just never thought I’d have to deal with an infant,” Sean mumbled. “It’s one of the biggest advantages to being gay, no kneecap gnawers running around putting a crimp in your lifestyle.”
“You won’t even know she’s here,” his lover assured him with a broad smile. “Babies sleep a lot.”
Five hours later an exhausted, vomit encrusted, thoroughly chastened Michael was beginning to rethink his earlier words. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“You look like shit,” Sean pointed out. “And you smell worse. Go take a shower, I’ll watch her for a bit.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just go, we’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, are not smelling any fresher.”
The silence that met his ears when the shower shut off filled Michael with dread. The last thing he wanted to do was tell his sister her darling baby had been injured or, god forbid, killed, by his impetuous lover. He skidded out of the bathroom and came to a screeching halt.
Sean was sitting in a chair, sound asleep, the baby clutched protectively to his chest, her hand fisted in his hair.
“Well, this is unexpected.” Unexpected perhaps, but not unwelcome, and Michael scurried off to find his camera. Surely blackmail material like this would come in handy at some point in the future.
@SesshaBatto
Life has a way of twisting in unexpected directions. One moment you’re following ‘the plan’ then the next it’s shot all to hell. At least that’s what has happened to me.
I had it all — a wonderful partner, my dream job, great friends, great family, happiness, etc. But I lost it all when I opened that door.
It looked like any old door; wooden, red paint flaking showing black underneath, metal of the handle and lock tarnished and worn. But it also looked like it might lead to the restaurant I was looking for, a little hole in the wall place that came highly recommended. No sign except ‘Open.’ So I did.
Only it wasn’t a restaurant on the other side. Wasn’t even the inside of the building. I opened that door, stepped through and found myself…. somewhere else. Some where with green skies and blue grasses and a strange shimmering light in the distance.
I reached behind me for the door, my hand flailing. When I couldn’t feel it, I spun around. Panic. Horror. Fear. There was no door.
I ran this way and that, but no door, no sign of anything recognizable as home. Only that shimmer in the distance. A deep breath, a stiffening of the spine. I headed towards it, hoping beyond hope that I would find some answers there.
@_Robin_Michelle
Klara tilted her head and studied the man standing in front of her. Other than being a big piece of meat blocking her way, he was woefully normal.
“You expect me to believe you are a demon.” She let that word roll around in her mind. “So where are your scales and wings? Oh and horns! Every self respecting demon has a pair of horns.”
From the doorway the man growled. His vibrant blue eyes narrowed to slits. Klara laughed, knowing she could annoy him so much he’d give up the charade and move. She was already late for her meeting with the new client. There was no time for weird men with even weirder pickup lines.
“I am what I say I am, little bit.” His voice was deep. A low bass that stroked thoughts not suited for standing outside an office building.
Klara shook her head at him and the thoughts bubbling up in her mind. “Prove it or move it, buster.”
The man gave a bow and grinned. His teeth were impossibly white. “As the lady wishes.”
Glowing eyes and gigantic bat wings were the last coherent thought Klara held before her body hit the sidewalk.
@RCMurphy
Ethel absolutely loved children. It’s why she lived in the woods in her lovely home. Her house was simply irresistible to children and took her years to get right.
Because she loved to bake, she took that love and went with it. Before, she used to live in a nice log cabin and share her delicious sweets with children who came by. And while they adored her, Ethel wanted to do so much more.
So, she baked the sturdiest of short bread, chocolate chip cookies and ginger bread and built a sturdy home. And decorating? Icing and sprinkles made hers the sweetest home around. Anyone who walked through the forest couldn’t miss her place. It attracted children for miles.
And, how sweet, loving Ethel loved children.
One day, she was sitting in her gingerbread rocking chair, knitting a sweater when she heard a painful cry coming from across the road. She frowned, placing a wrinkled hand to her throat and gasped. Ethel wasn’t sure what was happening, but she couldn’t help but go see what the problem could be. After grabbing a plate of cookies, she rushed across the street. Ethel hoped that maybe she could cheer up whomever was crying.
Reaching across the road, she continued to hear the pitiful cries coming from a group of trees. She walked over slowly, feeling more pain for whomever was upset. And when she finally saw who was there, it was too late for Ethel.
Because, finally I got rid of her.
And once she was gone, I moved into her sweet delicacy of a house. Children would come, but never leave. They loved to snack on the desserts Ethel had left over…
They just didn’t realize they were being tricked by me. For, the only thing children are good for is dinner. Their bones made for great decorations around my new home. And I hadn’t ate so good in all my life.
That is…until Hansel and Gretel came along…
I’m judging, but I had to give this a go, still–
“Defenses are set, my lord,” Captain Milford said with grim serenity. “The men are prepared as best they can be.”
“Good,” Baron Herrick said as stared off into the distance. The blue sky dotted with wisps of feathery clouds betrayed the ambiance of day to be. The Baron thought of his wife, twenty years whence they courted and picnicked on these very hills. It was a time of love back then. No longer.
“My lord?” Captain Milford still stood at the ready.
“We’ve done all we could, Captain,” Baron Herrick said, “Now all we can do is wait.”
Captain Milford was about to take his leave when a messenger came galloping up, shouting, “Attack from the east!”
The Baron and the Captain shared a glance of horror. They had not prepared for an attack from the east. It was rocky and nearly untraversable. Somehow the enemy had found a way.
@briefconceits
She’d watched it hundreds of times. In fact, it was the first thing of theirs she ever remembered seeing, way back when she was 8 or 9, staying overnight at Debra’s house, watching TV later than she’d ever been allowed to at home. Strange, sometimes unintelligible to her at that age, but always and forever, somehow, funny.
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”
She and Debra played out the sketch on the playground, to their friends’ bemusement.
“Tie her to the comfy chair,” she’d shout, and Debra would comply. Soon their friends joined in the game and they’d rush around the playground, shouting about their “chief weapons” and poking boys with imaginary Soft Cushions.
And then, soon enough, they became more concerned with teasing the boys, and acting aloof, and, much later, competing for the boys.
And she moved to another town, found a new group of friends and a gruesome new group of boys and then college and then a move to the big city, alone.
And then, one night, alone as always, she saw the sketch on TV. And she thought about Debra. For the first time in years, she thought about Debra. And she smiled.
She found Debra on Facebook. They posted on each other’s walls. They rediscovered the many things they had in common. They realized that they only lived a few miles apart.
And they reconnected. And the bond was even stronger than before.
And now they’re not alone. And the Soft Cushions only signal the beginning.
@thatneilguy
Oh! Time’s up. Sorry. I got lost salivating over some yarn that is just two clicks away from being mine…
Yeah, this is a writing website, Leah. Stay on topic.
Have fun with that? Well, check back at 3:00 for the finalists and to see what all this has to do with The Word Count podcast.