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 directly reference today’s prompt: acute
(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, Lauren “Scribe” Harris, @marksmaster 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.
What’s the prize? Usually nothing but the warm, fuzzy feeling that you’re better than everyone else–for the week. 😉 But this week, Lauren “Scribe” Harris has offered, as a prize, a slot in a future episode of the Pendragon Variety podcast to the winner!
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.
The discovery of the crime scene at the gym was already on the six o’clock news. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to see while eating my turkey pot pie, but there was a sense of curiosity that kept me from changing the station. I laughed at the severe graphics they flashed on the bottom of the screen, because you can’t have news without extreme fear mongering.
I felt the food leave a lump in my throat as they flashed the sketch artist’s composite of the killer. It was right from my vision, and the guy did a really good job. I ignored how the news story fabricated a witness that apparently saw the man leaving the scene. The world wasn’t ready to deal with the idea that the killer was seen by something with the power of psycometry. It just wasn’t something you can handle while eating your veal patty on your tv tray. It still left me with acute sense of isolation, I couldn’t really be the hero in the eyes of the public. Sometimes that hurts, but then I remember what happened to my friend Tony.
I didn’t want to be like Tony, I didn’t want to be paraded on the tv as some kind of messiah. I didn’t want to be expolited for my gifts. No amount of money or fame made any of that right.
@adenpenn
The clean cuts seeped blood, forming red lines that met in an acute angle on her thigh. She held the alcohol-dowsed Exacto blade in her left hand and watched as the wound oozed out the deep pain she couldn’t release otherwise.
Ten minutes later, she was dabbing with antibiotic cream and placing bandages over the cuts – once again overlapping the latex strips into another acute angle. She berated herself for stupidly doing this once again.
Her family wouldn’t see the cuts as high as they were on her leg. But she would know how she had failed again. How stupid she was. Why couldn’t she simply say what she was feeling? Why this?
She stared at her first aid results and realized it was time. Time for…
Twitter: @Julie_Glover
“Acute?”
“Acute.”
“A cute what?”
“No, no,” Mike corrected, “acute. Like an angle, you know, less than ninety degrees. Not obtuse.”
“I’m not trying to be obtuse,” Len said, sounding hurt. The bastard had dragged him out of bed, and now was calling him names?
“Alright, let me start from the beginning. There are three types of angles. Acute, right, and obtuse. An acute angle is one where the angle is less than ninety degrees, and that’s what I realized was the secret behind the whole thing. We can approximate so much by looking at a finite line as an angle of zero degrees. So while we can’t actually divide by zero itself, we can use these parameters to determine actual answers, rather than undefined concepts. Understand?”
“I. No, no I don’t.”
Mike paced the small room, grabbing chalk and a string, laying them out on the floor. “Well look at this. I take the string, and I double it back on itself. It’s an acute angle. As I bring the ends together, the angle approaches zero until finally,” he touched the ends, “bam, zero. So what I can do is use that to then plug into a formula, say three divided by zero, and get a meaningful result.”
Mike scrawled out math on the concrete floor of his garage, with Len looking on, bewildered. “So you’re not supposed to be able to divide by zero?”
“By god, man, first I have to explain angles, and then division by zero. No. No you can’t. Except I just figured out how! Look, I’m just about to get to an answer. All I have to do is carry the denominator and…”
There was an acrid smell in the garage. Len looked around, by Mike was gone. On the floor, his math was unfinished, with the final result only half written, reduced to a scribble.
“Loony bastard,” Len thought, “and a good riddance. Now I can get back to bed.”
@DL_Thurston
He stared out the window trying desperately to ignore the sobs behind him. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. It was for the best really, a quick clean break. She would thank him one day.
The sun was sinking, the dimness gathering outside. His eyesight wasn’t acute enough to see all the details but they were there in his mind’s eye. He had seen this scene from this window hundreds of times. It usually brought him comfort but he couldn’t focus on it. It felt as if his eyes were straining to see through the back of his head. Trying to see her.
From the muffled noises he assumed she was prostrate, the carpet soaking up her tears. She moaned and he winced. There wasn’t an easy way to do this really. His arms ached to comfort her. He could kiss away the tears, promise to stay, but that wouldn’t solve the problem only prolong it to years of unhappiness. No this was the best way, if he touched, if he comforted it would be both of their ruin. So he stood seemingly uncaring with his back to her, gazing out into the summer dim.
Jeanine shrugged, a thin haze of the spray paint haloing her curls. “I like the walls. They’re a way to play, and discover.”
Sean shook his head. “You’re just afraid of commitment.”
Jeanine laughed. “You’re going to say I’m…. Well, of course. I get caught tagging a wall, and it’s community service at worst. Or someone comes along and inks over it, and then it’s war or collaboration. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
“With you, anyway.”
Jeanine scrunched her face up in as much of a glare as she could manage while grinning, then sprayed him in the chest with a skewed figure eight. “En garde!”
“The fuck!?” He stumbled back. “Not cool, Jean. This is….”
“Commitment?”
His muscles tensed, and she could almost hear the struggle in his mind. She liked Sean because he was the least subtle person she knew. He liked her because, well, she wanted him to. Jeanine was sure enough of herself to know he wasn’t getting a bad deal in that.
“Fuck. What do you mean, Jeanine?”
“Let me paint you. Ink you. Let me try something out on you, and then, well, maybe I’ll do it too.”
“Maybe?”
Jeanine smiled wide. He’d cave, soon.
—
@kaolinfire
An acute sensitivity to fluctuations in weak energy fields. That was the diagnosis. Kelly Tarmback didn’t even know what that meant! Why would anyone be sensitive to weak energy fields? Heck, what are ‘weak energy fields’? Isn’t that some kind of physics thing? And she was pretty sure she wasn’t really very keen on physics.
The dishes in the sink bore the brunt of her frustrations as she slopped more of the soapy water on the pot she was scrubbing. The cooks had allowed the chili to burn on the bottom and it was left to Kelly to take care of it. It wasn’t the job so much itself that she hated. She wasn’t afraid of hard work, not in the least! It was the fact that she was limited by her condition to very menial jobs. It was depressing. And the doctor’s diagnosis didn’t help things. He said there simply was nothing he could do about it other than lots of medication. And then where would she be? If she was out of it all the time on some powerful medication then she would be even more unfit to function in a real job!
“Are you finished with that one yet?” the blue gnome asked, indicating with a slight tilt of his head the pot she was furiously attacking.
“Almost,” she replied without a thought.
The blue gnome seemed to sigh and look about as he idly swung his feet over the edge of the sink.
After all, Kelly thought, she couldn’t face customers if she was always having conversations with people who weren’t there. If you could call a blue gnome a ‘people’.
@redshirt6
My first attempt at five minute fiction from today:
http://starsandmuses.wordpress.com/?p=651
When it rains, it pours.
Gran caught bronchitis. And not just any kind of bronchitis. Acute bronchitis. Which basically means she’s contageous and coughing up her loungs. On top of flu like symptoms.
Of course, this has nothing to do with her recent heart attack, but Leah couldn’t help but wonder if her Gran had taken it a little easier, if she would be alright now.
Feeling utterly helpless and at the end of her rope, Leah was in the kitchen preparing a light lunch for her Gran. Of course, this also meant Carter and his mother’s visit has been extended. That means she has to watch Carter do things around the house. She tries to avoid seeing him in the yard. Shirtless.
Yeah. Even Leah has a weakness.
But, she has to put her own feelings behind her and care for her Gran. Get her food. Get her meds. Get her rested. Get her better. The faster Gran feels better, the sooner their guest can leave.
More specifically, Carter.
But, she couldn’t help but remember what her Gran told her. Was Leah really becoming so bitter that she couldn’t be civil with him while he was here? Carter hasn’t really been that hard to live with. Kind of reminded her of how things used to be…
Not that it would ever be that way again.
Oh, but if everything could just get back to normal. If only her Gran hadn’t gotten sick, or a heart attack. If only she hadn’t left Carter. If only he’d wanted children. If only…
“Hey, I just helped Gran to the bathroom, and she…” Carter’s voice trailed off the moment he came around the corner. “You alright?”
He watched Leah at the stove stiring soup, tears streaming down her face. She really needed to be comforted. Even if it was by her least desirable person. She turned her swollen eyes his way and sighed. “No. I’m not.”
Carter forgot all about their feuding long enough to turn off the stove and pull Leah close. He stroked her hair and let her cry out her frustration. Couldn’t help but hope their cold war was drawing to a close.
Sarah had an acute sense of honesty. She never lied. Not even little white lies to make a person feel better.
Now, she wondered why it was so hard to tell the truth. Never in her life had she faced a choice like this, where the lie may well be the best thing.
“Mommy,” Eva said, looking up at Sarah as they walked out of the doctor’s office. “Why am I getting medicine?”
“Because you’re sick, honey.”
Eva’s little hand fit into Sarah’s perfectly as they glided across the parking lot. She was small for her age. She was five years old but looked like she was only three. The doctor said it was because of the…
“Mommy?” Eva asked, interrupting Sarah’s thoughts.
“What is it, Eva?”
“What kind of sick do I have?”
Sarah looked down into her daughter’s eyes. “You have cancer, honey.”
“Oh…. But the medicine will make me better.”
Eva said it in such a matter-of-fact way Sarah was taken aback.
Acute honesty be damned, Sarah thought.
“Yeah, Eva. The medicine will make you all better.”
She knew she was lying to herself.
@Kathleen_Doyle
“It’s an acute angle,” the teacher said.
Ben buried his head in his hands and moaned. A what? A cute angle? None of this was cute. He’d been in geometry for five months and there hadn’t been one thing that was any closer to cute than not-butt-ugly. This was the worst year ever.
“You OK?” the voice behind him said.
Ben shivered. Surely she wasn’t talking to him. The voice, dulcet and furry had been sitting behind him for five months and, as far as she was concerned, he was just an obstacle between her and a clear view of the whiteboard.
“Ben?”
His head jerked up. She knew his name??
He turned around so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. “Yeah?” Damn voice had to squeak now? It had been months! Damn, damn, damn, damn.
“You OK?” she repeated.
“Uhhhhh.” Real smooth, loser. “I’m–that is–I–.” Ben sighed. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s kinda different,” she said, with a sympathetic smile. “Not like algebra at all. You aced that last year, didn’t you?”
Do what?? She knew he existed last year?
“Ummm, yeah.”
“Look, for some reason, all this makes sense to me. I’m not a real brainiac or anything, but I’m getting good grades. If you want, I could probably help you out. Maybe some tutoring sessions one evening a week?”
Ben’s mouth fell open.”
“Uhhh, yeah. Sure.”
She flashed him that million watt smile, that slice of heaven was for him this time. “Great. Call me? Here’s my number.” She laid a scrap of paper on his desk and stood, tossing the backpack gracefully over one shoulder. “See you later.”
Ben slammed his head onto his desk. Ouch. Yeah, awake. Wow. Just wow.
Forgot my Twitter: @Kathleen_Doyle
Mefathiel drug himself back upright to face the three men in front of him. His right leg wouldn’t accept any weight, but the nearby brick wall gave him some balance. He wiped blood from his face with a bandaged left hand. He grinned at the other men, left eye swollen half shut.
“That all you got?” said Mefathiel.
The three men lunged at him again to finish the job, only to pull up short as he produced a grenade from under his ragged trench. He lazily pulled the pin free. The men ran. He slumped to the ground with a sigh. Stupid promises. Not fighting back always went so well.
Jared slammed against the concrete bulwark, hulking low, trying desperately not to be seen. He wasn’t worried about being heard. Nobody could hear anything over the attack sirens. But dressed as he was, in bright red prison garb, guaranteed that if anyone looked his way, he’d be spotted.
The melted cotton swabs and candle wax in his ears helped. The ear-splitting drone was only mildly excruciating. The wax was always there, due to his genetically acute hearing abilities. It was simply good luck for him he had it, because without it, his ears would be bleeding by now.
In the half darkness, he shifted, getting up on the balls of his feet. Prepared to run, he waited one more half beat, for the siren to cycle again to its highest decibel level.
Jared vaulted out from behind the wall and ran to the landing field. The cloaked ship was hovering and twisting just a few inches off the ground. If it had landed, the contact would have set off proximity alarms.
He leapt into where he judged the open hatch would be. He felt strong hands dragging him inside.
Without the cloak, he looked at his rescuer. A wispy blond with eyes 3 times larger than normal winked at him.
“Glad we got you out. Butcher day is tomorrow, and all the abnormals would have been executed.”
Jared said nothing. He just held on to her arms and tried not to get lost in the noises of the ship.
@Grokdad
His heard thudded painfully in his chest. Oh god, she was here. He knew he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he could still leave. He’d have to do something soon, he was standing awkwardly in the entrance way.
She turned, scanning the room. Her eyes focused on him and widened slightly. Shit. Too late.
Unsure, awkward, he nodded briefly to her, before turning to the sign in table. Never should have come. He’d thought twenty five years was enough to get over it, get over her, but it wasn’t.
She was walking over to him, he could see it out of the corner of his eye. What would she say to him? What could he say to her?
His palms were sweaty. He tried to make a fist but his arm wasn’t responding properly, almost numb. His suit felt too tight. He was at once too hot and too cold. Sweating and shivering. A panic attack. Dizzy, painful, acute. That had to be it.
He was looking at her shoes now, red, right on front of him. He looked up slowly.
She was pretty, not ugly, not beautiful, just pretty. He’d always thought she was pretty, no matter how he’d teased and mocked her. And she was kind. There was none of the condemnation, the censure in her eyes like he’d expected. In fact, she looked… concerned.
“Are you okay?” she asked, but she sounded far away. And then everything went black.
@a_skye
BIRTH
He was acutely aware of his thoughts. He was even aware that he was aware. He couldn’t remember when it had happened, it felt like he had always been able to think but he had very few thoughts that he could remember. He was certain that he had been around for a long time but in the same instance had no concept of time. The oldest memory he had was of the observation of his first memory, which was a memory of recolection. The last memory he had was of recalling that he was having thoughts. He needed to move on from this conundrum and think beyond thoughts.
He envisioned what created his thoughts. He saw it as a lump of —what was a lump?— sludge —what is sludge?— that pulsed and grew. He allowed this sludge to enlarge and explore. There was a tingle in a new part of his brain. It sent a spasm and he shook. He felt warm liquid —what is arm? what is liquid?— around him and he shook again.
Now he had more things in his sludge. He remembered something else. Thinking too much made him tired.
“Did you feel that honey?”
He put his hand on his wifes expanding tummy and felt, but nothing happened. “No, sorry”
“Just wait, I bet it will happen again.” He fell asleep waiting.
@DRyanLeask
Author of “Counting Down the Storm” available at all e-book retailers!
“Look at it. It’s adorable.” Cathy said to Jim.
“What is it?” Jim asked. He didn’t like the idea of touching, let alone playing, with the creature they found in the forest.
“I don’t know. But I want to keep it as a pet. Look how it fits right into my hand. It’s so cute and small.” Cathy loved animals, and this thing was perfect. She planned on taking it home with her.
The brown furred creature, with white stripes, curled up into Cathy’s hand. It had other plans for Jim and Cathy. It traveled hundreds of light years for the people of its planet. The planet was ravaged, sick, and decaying. A great famine had overtaken it. But he had to make one sacrifice to make sure this new planet could sustain them. One thing that could risk his life.
The two aliens who held him had quite astonished looks on their faces when the opening to his mouth enlarged to a size bigger than them. With two giant chomps, he swallowed them. His mouth returned to its normal size, and he waited. It’d only take ten minutes for him to know the answer.
After that time, nothing happened. He let out a very faint and subdued burp—a minor side effect to eating the aliens. Yes, this planet would be just fine. It may be smaller, but it had a great harvest.
Twitter: @byoung210
Acute awareness,
My eyes distant lamps on the road.
Trees hug me close,
Whispering
She was right there,
The car was just passing through.
Suddenly it was the dark ditch,
Colored lights in the horizon
And for a moment,
I was in a dream.
For a moment,
I saw nothing.
—
My twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/acircusofwords
Divine Loomis stared at me, her eyes as sharp as the angles of her face. That chin could slice a finger clear off, not that I intended to touch that pale, frozen-looking skin.
“Get out of my way.” Her voice sent shivers of ice down my spine.
She tucked the sides of her stick-straight hair behind elfin ears. Even the hair was severe, the ends cut bluntly and the bangs tapering into the strangest acute angle that pointed right toward the knife edge of her nose.
I almost moved, but I was all that stood between Divine and the tiny door in the wall behind me. If I let her go, she’d get away. And if she got away, she might destroy the universe. She pretended to be a normal person, but with the shards of iron in her eyes like that, she could only be . . . other. Something else. Something evil.
“No.”
“Get out of my way!” she repeated, more forceful this time. I shivered and squared my shoulders. My feet planted themselves into the worn carpet on the floor, daring her to try it. I would guard the door with my life.
Her thin, brittle lips twisted into a sneer, and her fists clenched at her sides. She hypnotized me with her rage.
The edge of a door slamming into my back knocked me out of my daze. I staggered sideways, keeping my eyes trained on Divine.
“What are you doing, Pete?” Mrs. Benscoter stood beside me, her hands on her hips and her brows drawn together.
Divine snarled. “I’m trying to get into the bathroom before I piss my pants.”
The chalk outline of her long-time friend created an acute level of sorrow. It had filled her torso and continued urgently down through her legs while rising in her neck. She had to get out of there immediately. The officer walked out with her and asked her questions about her relationship with “the victim.” The victim of what, she thought. This had been coming for some time, though she worked hard to prolong Lori’s time on this planet. When Lori had cried in her arms the night before, Samantha thought some release was occurring, something healthy.
They’d been friends for 30 some odd years and continued living in the same city throughout. When it came to Lori, Samantha dropped everything to help her, guide her, boost her spirits. She didn’t try to understand Lori’s discussions of death; she wanted to be support. Until the other night, Samantha thought things were going really well; it seemed to be the longest stint without one of those discussions. Samantha guessed that and her recent purchase of kitchen knives should have given her clues.
It was an acute pain that blossomed in her left leg as the arrow hit. She paused a moment to look down at it, marveling at the burning sensation that traveled up her leg, the sharp crimson blood spurting out the wound, the hole in her leg where the wooden shaft traveled. Then, she dropped to the ground and cried out.
“Mayasha!” a man’s voice called and came up to her. He looked over as he layed her down, and from Mayasha’s point of view, he was upside down, but she recognized Harad, her brother and the man soon to be King. There appeared to be two of him, bluring in and out of each other. She closed her eyes and squeezed tears out.
“Mayasha,” He said, his voice low and quiet. “We will get you below. The healers are there, they will take care of you.”
“Harad,” she said, her eyes still closed. She could smell the blood, copery and sharp. “Harad, the walls still need to be defended.”
“No,” he said. “You are too important to risk like this, I tried to tell Father…”
“Harad,” she said, opening her eyes and seeing her brother full on this time. His beard was matted with dirt, an angry red line of blood ran down his cheek, no doubt to leave a scar there, and his hands were coated in blood. She smiled at him. “You are to be the King, not I. I can end this battle, you know I can, just as Father did. It is why I am here. Let me do my work.”
He hesitated, then nodded. He reached over and snapped off the arrow shaft, causing her to wince in more pain, then he pulled a length of cloth off his belt and tied it around her leg. The binding was tight, but it kept the leg stiff, which helped with the searing and burning.
“Help me stand,” she said, and he pulled her to her feet.
At the wall, she aimed a hand at the soldiers below, the words of power spoken silently on her lips. A bright flash covered the fighting, and when it faded, all the king’s soldiers looked around in surprise at seeing their enemies had turned into toads.
-@blanchardauthor
She ran through the night, knowing it was dangerous to go so fast, but also knowing the danger of moving slowly. Even at her top speed, it was unlikely she would outrun them. They were bigger, faster and stronger than she was in everything she did. Always had been.
So what was the answer? She continued to run as she thought, dodging low tree branches, skipping over exposed roots, twirling around bushes that seemed to just spring into her path.
Good for her there was a full moon out tonight but bad, too. Without it, they wouldn’t be so dangerous. Without it, they might not see her hiding up in the branches of a tree.
That’s when it happened. Acute pain went zinging up her left leg as her foot remained lodged in a hole she hadn’t noticed. Dread filled her mind as she quickly assessed the situation, pushing the pain to a back corner of her brain. Right now, she needed to survive, she could deal with feelings later. One broken ankle in the center of the path meant she would not get far. She could hear them back there, coming on fast, no time to climb a tree – not that that would help.
She looked around for a weapon, a branch, anything. She would not go down without a fight. Then, the hole that still pinned her ankle opened wider, and wider. Golden light spilled out from below and more pain went rushing through her system as something grabbed her foot and pulled, hard.
She landed with an unceremonious thump on the dirt floor of an underground corridor, a tiny man looking at her with disgust as he closed the opening.
“Don’t you know no better than to stay away from the creatures of the night?” he asked.
“I can’t,” she answered. “I am one.”
ok, forgot my twitter, too: @Grokdad
Alec had an acute awareness that he was still staring at him, even in the dark. He turned on the lights and trembled. He was right.
He sat cross-legged on the attic floor staring into the empty eyes of his enemy. Those slack, soulless eyes pervaded his dreams, dreams that began in a golden field of wheat, gazing up at a brilliant blue sky with marshmallow clouds but quickly the dreams twisted into a dark cemetery with pale wiggling hands clawing out of the earth around him. He shuddered, then closed his eyes, drew in a deep cleansing breath and forced his eyelids open once again.
Alec watched him there, unmoving and uncaring, while the anger and humiliation washed over him. He breathed slowly, trying to release the anxiety and fear from his body. This thing had taken over his life, and he wouldn’t stop until it was destroyed. Dead and gone, his dreams would return to the peaceful solace they once were. Alec grabbed his hammer and smashed the body to bits. After it was over, he knelt on the floor and sobbed.
After a few minutes, his body relaxed and he noticed the soreness in his hands. Blood trickled down the side of his thumb from the edge of his fingernail. He sucked the blood of his finger and ran down the stairs to the bathroom where he searched for a bandaid. The only one he could find was his sister’s Hello Kitty bandages, so he just wrapped his finger in toilet paper instead.
Alec heard his Mom’s voice calling him downstairs and he flew swiftly down the stairs and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table.
“What were you banging on in the attic?” his Mom asked.
“Just playing with some toys,” he said.
“Nuh-uh, I saw you. You wrecked that old Jack-in-the-box Grandma gave you for Christmas. I saw him do it, Mom. He broke it.” His sister grinned at him and stuck out her tongue. Alec tried not to let her see his embarrassment.
Alec felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, and she gave him a squeeze.
That night, Alec’s dreams were gold and blue once more.
@saraheolson
That’s time, everyone. I took more than 5 this week to add the italics. I hope that’s not cheating. Then again, I’ve got an in with the host. 😉
Have fun? See you around 3 with the finalists!
I finally got to participate, and I was blown away by how quickly the 5 minutes were up! Some of the entries are amazing, and now I understand how this prompt can hone your writing skills. Get to the point, get there quick, bring in the prompt, etc. I’ll be back again soon. (Hopefully, having sharpened my wit and better ready for the next round!)