#5MinuteFiction Week 57

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: duck

(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, Kathryn Magendie, Author, and Publishing Editor, Rose & Thorn, @katmagendie 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 this week’s guest judge is offering a copy of one of her novels, Tender Graces or Sweetie, 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.

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28 Responses to #5MinuteFiction Week 57

  1. Aden says:

    The shoe box was covered in cut out paper flowers, some of the petals were a little bit bigger than the others. Clearly cutting wasn’t his strongest suit. They were glued on in no real pattern, just brightly colored construction paper slapped on the cardboard with a glue stick. Handfulls of happily thrown glitter stuck to the flowers, and the box, and a little on his hands. He had carefully written “Mama” on it with a green crayon. His penmanship was getting better. I stopped my cleaning to look down as he held the box up to me. His face was a beaming beacon of pride, and I tried to ignore the little spot of blood that was hidden in the corner of his mouth.

    “Oh, did you bring me something?”

    I took the box and tested the weight in my hands. To light to be a cat, but far too heavy for something like a rat or bird. Patting him on his head, I watched the yellow in his eyes fade a little, my little wolf boy was coming back to himself. Lifiting the lid off the box, I was treated to the sight of a very still, but not too managled duck. I tried to reign in my pride because I realized what he had done. Still holding the box, I put my other hand on my hip and clucked my tongue at him.

    “Maxwell, what I have told you about hunting in Mr. Potter’s pond? You march right over there and apologize right now.”

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  2. Aden says:

    Ack! I forgot my twitter handle. Haven’t done that in a long time. 🙁


  3. “Goose.”

    “No, Duck, definitely Duck.”


    “I remember.”

    “Well you remember wrong. Why would it be ‘Duck?'” What kind of lame name is that?”

    “Dunno. I didn’t choose it. I’m just telling you, it was Duck, I remember.”

    “You’re wrong.”

    “Prove it.”

    “OK, fine. I’ve got my trusty copy of Top Gun all loaded up here in the VCR.”

    “The what?”



    “It’s what you use to watch movies, moron.”

    “Ummmm, since when?”

    “Since forever.”



    “I’ve never heard of it.”

    “Whatever. Let me just turn on the TV and you’ll see how wrong you are.”

    “The what?”


    “Turn on the TB?”

    “No, the TV.”


    “What’s wrong with you, man?”

    “Where are we?”

    “Dude, we’re in my house.”

    “No, I mean, like what town-block or sector?”


    “This might explain a lot of things…”

    “Like what you’ve been smoking?”

    “No, no I gave that stuff up two jumps ago. Geez, this one came on fast, didn’t it?”

    “What the hell are you talking about.”

    “Never mind, Jase. Just woke up in a different reality than I expected to. Nothing to worry about.”
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  4. The Once and Future King…Or Not
    By: Lori T. Strongin

    “Oh, go suck barley, you pretentious, beer-swilling twat.”

    Taliesin scowled at his young—and very drunk—pupil. “Such language is not befitting the future king of the Britons.”

    The lad wobbled to his feet, then twirled around on one leg, the other dangling precariously close to their campfire. “Is that all you druid-types can do? Sit around, braid your beards, and order people around? Well, I’ve had it! If I’m t’be the king, then we start doing things—” hiccup “—doing thingsh my way.”

    Taliesin marked another notch on his staff under the column of, ‘things my idiot padawan comes up with.’

    “First off, I offishally abolish this whole ‘fostering’ program.” Belch. Crotch scratch. “If I wanted t’live in the woods with an old man, I’dve let the Saxons take me.”

    Taliesin sincerely regretted his Lady’s orders to save to boy. If this was their future king, they were all doomed.

    “Then, I’m gonna find my little brother and sister.”

    “Half-sister,” Taliesin corrected for the eight-millionth time.

    “Whatever. She’s still hot. I’d like to hit that, if ya know what I mean.”

    And there went any hope of genetic diversity among Britain’s future rulers.

    “I needs a horse. Ev’ry good king has a horsh.” The Once and Future (gods help them all) King started dancing around the fire, holding imaginary reins and making ‘giddyup’ noises. Taliesin was sincerely glad he’d hidden Excalibur earlier this morning as the drunkard waved a clenched fist over his head. “Down with the Celts. And Romans. And ducks. Yes, all ducks must die!”

    “You are Roman, young one. Celtic, too.” And perhaps part-duck on his father’s side, but that was something to meditate over at a later time.

    “Don’t you talk down t’me, old man.” The lad took a stumbling step forward, in what Taliesin assumed was meant to be a threatening manner. “I’m the king, and you’re just a…a…um…”

    Avalon’s chosen champion tilted his head to the side, perhaps in a parody of thought, then lost his footing and fell into the bonfire.

    Taliesin lurched to his feet, but it was too late.

    The screaming lad writhed within the flames, his alcohol-soaked clothes fueling the fire. Even the powers of Taliesin’s staff couldn’t abate the blaze and save the boy.
    Then, silence.

    Taliesin sank to his knees, the scent of burnt hair and skin surrounding him, making him ill. Their legendary king, the man fated to rule and bring peace to an entire nation, dead.

    How was he going to explain this?


    Ahnwn had a brother, didn’t he? Arthur, something-or-another?

    Taliesin just hoped he had a fondness for shiny swords in stones, too.

    Twitter: @LStrongin
    Web: http://www.loristrongin.com
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  5. B.C. Young says:

    I don’t remember the first drill. Only the sound it made. The blaring horn shot through my ears, and I thought my eardrums would explode. But they didn’t. They just bled a little. Better to have a little blood than be dead. That’s what they always told us.

    The last drill was significant. It sounded like they turned up the horn a notch or two, but I could be wrong. They even added in some floor vibrations and shattered windows for realism. I’ll admit, that last drill scared me more than any other.

    When the drill finished, all us students got out from under our desks. Some kids cried. The teacher never came out from her desk. As the room started to become anarchy, I went over to the teacher’s desk to see why.

    I’ll never forget that last drill because the teacher never made it to her desk. But mostly I’ll never forget because that’s the first time I saw a dead body.

    Twitter: @byoung210
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  6. “Duck, Duck, Duck,” he said as he walked around the circle of children. Not so gently, he placed his hand on each child’s head. More than one responded with an “ow”, rubbed their head, and turned to give him a look of disdain. He didn’t seem to care.

    He continued this way, until he was almost through the whole class. Everyone knew who he would pick. Andy, his best friend. Isn’t that how the game always worked? You picked your friends? It definitely wasn’t a surprise when his hand fell on Andy’s head, yelled out “Goose!” and took off in a sprint around the circle.

    Looking back, at this, I always wonder why I was never one of the chosen. One of the kids that had the best friend. Instead, I was always one of the “ducks”, but hardly ever a “goose.”


  7. The alarm pealed through the classroom, loud and constant. This wasn’t a drill.

    My ears hurt. My knee joint hurt as I folded myself under the table.

    “Jim! Get you head under the table!” Mrs. Crabtree shouted. I looked back and found him crawling back between the legs of table.

    I waited.

    A loud boom came from outside. The floor shook and the table and chairs rattled about us. The sound of tiny things falling on the roof top reminded me of a rainstorm.

    Then the lights turned off.

    The toe of Mrs. Crabtree’s patent leather pumps is the last thing I see.


  8. “Duck, duck, duck…” i watched the small girl with brown hair circling her friends. She’d already gone all the way around once and they were all shifting, knowing she would pick someone on this round.
    “Duck, duck, duck…” She finished a second round and I took pity on those still patiently sitting.
    “Louise! Pick someone!” I shouted from the park bench I sat on.
    She scowled at me as only a pre-schooler could. Then she stuck her tongue out. I raised an eyebrow. She knew better than that. She looked down at her feet but spun and returned to her circle, going faster.
    “Duck, duck, goose!” She yelled the last and used her speed to whirl around the group and back to the first spot. The boy she had chosen, Nick, complained.
    “That’s not fair, Louey!” He had trouble pronouncing esses.
    “Yes, it is,” Louise insisted. “Ask.”
    All the girls in the circle tittered, but the boys didn’t come to Nick’s rescue either.
    “Fine. Duck, duck, duck, duck, Goo!” He thumped Louise hard on the head and ran.
    “No returns!” she complained.
    “All right everyone, that’s enough. Let’s go inside and paint.” The class scrambled up, rushing the door.
    “Jane, Nick hurt me,” Louise complained, rubbing her head.
    “Next time don’t pick on him,” I answered without sympathy.
    “But…” a little colour came to her cheeks. I tried to remember being so innocent, showing affection by thumping a boy or kicking at his feet, or picking on him in a game.
    “Hey,” came a familiar male voice.
    “Hey,” I answered my coworker.
    He reached up and tugged my ponytail, hard. Frowning, I realized just how close those feelings still were.
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  9. Jillian says:

    In the movies there were strong arms and tender words to shelter from disaster, but the table legs are nothing like limbs. Paired together, two and two, they feel like a cage, like naked tent stakes waiting for a show. But there aren’t any shows anymore, no circuses, no movies, either.

    The whispered agitation of your bunk mates, your CO, ring and rattle against the linoleum and concrete and steel of the shelter where you live, where some of you may die. But maybe not today.


    Your CO’s shout is swallowed by what sounds like hell from above, bone and stone shattering sounds. You press your face against boots two sizes too small, dirty ankles and the stink of too many bodies too long underground, but you can’t get any lower.

    twitter: @jtotheill
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  10. redshirt6 says:

    “Duck?” he asked.

    “Yeah, that’s what she said. ‘Duck’,” he responded.

    Jim Landriss looked across the city’s skyline as it lit up. He sighed heavily as he stood up, shook on his environment suit and began sealing it up.

    “Well don’t just sit there, you moron. Get movin’,” he said.

    Burton Cal rolled off the couch and began suiting up himself.

    “So do you know what a ‘duck’ is?” he asked.

    “Nope,” Jimmy replied.

    “Then how we gonna’ find one then?”

    “Don’t you worry ‘bout that,” Jimmy said, focusing one eye in particular on Burton. “We’ll find one, whatever it is, and whatever it takes.”

    As the two men were preparing to leave the building and hit the streets of New Mars-Delhi, a little girl ran into the room.

    “And a piggy to!” she said, as she stopped to look up at the two men.

    Jim and Burton exchanged glances and then Jim said, “Alright then, little Missy. We’ll get you a piggy to.”

    As the two men entered the airlock and it began to cycle, Burton said, “So do you know…”

    “No,” Jim said, cutting him off. “I don’t.”


  11. Forgot my twitter handle: @melissasmith78
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  12. BronwynK says:

    “Duck!” My four year old god-son yelled. I looked around trying to find a mallard.

    “Where is the duck, Jason?” I asked him.

    “Not a quack quack. Duck!” He pointed over to the softball game across the park from us. One of the players hit a fly ball and it was headed toward outfield. But we were far enough away that it wouldn’t reach us.

    “Do you want to go watch the game?”

    Jason nodded enthusiastically. I held my hand out for him. His little fingers gripped my finger and we went toward the ball field. He was jumping up in down in his excitement

    We sat on the bleachers on the side of the blue team. Jason sat on the edge of his seat mesmerized by the game. Every time one of the players hit a fly ball, he would yell duck again. Which would bring delighted chuckles from the other spectators.

    After the game ended, we headed home. It was a day I would never forget, and every time I watch a game now, I silently yell duck when a fly ball is hit.
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  13. Miranda says:

    Screeching metal cut through the air, raising goosebumps on everyone in the yard. The workers looked around trying to find the source of the noise.

    “Duck!” the foreman shouted at the top of his lungs, his face red with the force of his exertion.

    Everyone dropped to the ground moments before a high pitched whistling could be heard over their heads as a girder flew through the air. The ten kilogram girder came to rest on the other side of the construction yard, buried deep in the loose dirt that was piled up. The men slowly rose from the ground, dusting off their pants as they looked at the scene.

    “Damn, that was too fucking close!” the foreman said angrily, relieved that no one was hurt. If he had waited a moment longer to warn his crew, several of them would’ve been decapitated by the flying girder.

    He walked swiftly through the yard, enraged that someone would be so careless. “Who is working that crane?” he demanded. “I want his ass down here this minute!”

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  14. She was not at all surprised to hear “Duck!” shouted out by a half dozen people as she swiped through the doors to the University’s secure physics lab.

    Dakota hesitated just an instant too long, and it smacked her in the face.

    She lay flat on her back, stunned, as the faces of her lab partners hovered over her. They were making a real effort to act concerned, which was very difficult for a bunch of socially awkward science geeks, and they were not succeeding very well. Laughs came out as thinly disguised snorts, but they were laughs, nevertheless.

    “I take it you finally got the thing to fly?” she asked.

    “Yeah, Duck, you were right. It was just a timing thing.”

    “Oh.” She replied, not willing to put forth the energy to say “I told you so” when she suspected that her nose was about to start bleeding.

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  15. Tony Noland says:

    “Why do we have to go through this every Christmas?”

    “You mean the annual game of Criticize Helen Until She Drinks Too Much and Pretends To Have a Headache? That’s a good question.”

    “No, you ass. I mean why do you always bring up the duck? It’s a tradition. We always have roast duck on Christmas Day because -”

    “- because Great Grandma Claudia Orfenstein always had duck on Christmas Day back in Bavaria. I know. And I’m sure she always cooked it to until it was dry and hard, just like your mom does. I swear, Helen, I don’t know why you insist on this. All it does is make you miserable.”

    “They’re my parents. My family.”

    “Well, your parent and your family have never done anything except browbeat you and treat you like shit. It drives me crazy to watch.”

    “I know. I’m sorry.”

    “Then don’t be sorry! Just stand up to them! Tell them… look, Helen, I’m sorry, I know this is complicated. We just can’t keep doing this. You can’t. You’re a wonderful, caring, capable, smart, funny person. A terrific lady. It kills me to watch you… watch you…”


    “Yeah, I guess. What if we just told them that we would give them three strikes and then walk out after the third insult?”

    “Ha. We’d only be here ten minutes.”

    “OK, so what? Then maybe we wouldn’t have to come back next year, or if we did, they’d behave better.”

    “We’re here. Just bite your tongue, OK? For me?”

    “Dammit, Helen, you say that every year! We can’t keep doing this!”

    “Please, Pat. For me?”

    (written by Tony Noland, @TonyNoland)
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  16. John Hancock says:

    It had to be today. Couldn’t have been yesterday when I had on my worm-digging jeans. Oh, no, it had to be today.
    All dolled up with my mom’s idea of what a “proper young lady” should wear to school.
    I sometimes wondered what the purpose of being proper was. Whatever, it certainly didn’t seem like all that much fun. I liked having fun, so I guess when I grew up I’d stop wearing dresses.

    That creep tommy just poked me in the butt! the BUTT! I started to holler but Miss Pemberton said “shhhhh! everyone stay as small and as quiet as possible. Hide. Duck under your desks. Try as hard as u can to pretend you are invisible.”

    Easy for her to say, she didn’t have Tommy staring up her dress and poking her with a ruler. Besides, my joints were getting sore from crouching.
    I looked up at the teacher and then I saw her suddenly drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Miss Pemberton was never ungraceful. I used to consider her a captured ballerina, forced to teach social studies to dull children. That kind of fall was not her usual dance move.

    Somebody started whimpering. I screwed myself around, trying to see who it was. Marcy was trying not to cry, and she looked so full of terror I had to find out what she was scared of.
    That’s when I saw the slow pool of red moving away from Miss Pemberton’s head. Her eyes were wide open like a doll. There was a dirty smudge in the middle of her forehead.

    No, not a smudge. A hole. Our teacher was dead.

    We all kept as quiet as possible.

    When the door slammed open and the booted feet came into the room, we all ducked. But of course, by then it didn’t matter. The soldiers had already seen the teacher in the window.

    Tommy stopped poking me. Marcy cried.

    I got to ride in the back of the prisoner transport. One of the soldiers even gave me a chocolate bar. But I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t anything. I just looked out the slats of the truck and watched the brown and black hillsides pull away from me. We drove past the pit that used to be my farm. It all slid away from me. I didn’t wonder one bit where we were going.

    Years later, scarred and toughened, I saw the teacher through the window. Then I broke in and got the new recruits.

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  17. Wendy Strain says:

    The sound of digging started in earnest once her brothers figured out where she had disappeared from the trail. There were only two possible options for her disappearance – up or down. Since they couldn’t follow her up, if that’s where she went, they naturally started to dig down.

    Melody knew the hole she’d fallen through to get to this underground hall was not very secure. Her foot had broken through the surface as she ran. Instinctively, she tried to duck into the side wall, hiding in the shadows as she’d done most of her life. The sudden movement shot another jolt of pain through her body from her broken ankle and she let out an involuntary yelp.

    “Hush!” the tiny man hissed at her. “Do you want them to come crashing down on us?”

    His voice was almost inaudible, but she could see the movement of his lips, white with anger and, perhaps, fear? It probably wasn’t all that often that he yanked creatures such as she into his private haven.

    The brothers were still digging, any minute they’d break through. Melody knew they’d show her no mercy, but with her ankle, there was nothing she could do about it anyway.

    “You should go,” she mouthed, motioning with her hand.

    He just stared at her, head cocked toward the ceiling to listen to the furious digging.

    Now that she thought about it, the brothers had been digging for far too long. They should have discovered the little man’s ceiling by now. There were four of them and they were made for this sort of work. It should have been simply a matter of seconds before they’d unearthed her and torn her to pieces.

    She looked at the tiny man for explanation. Whatever he’d done when he waved his hand at the ceiling to seal the hole she’d fallen through must have been some sort of magic. Was she now trapped within the world of fairy?

    She’d heard horror stories of creatures like her being forced into fairy to work as slaves and servants, but she was a creature of the air. She couldn’t possibly live long underground. Her face must have betrayed her horror.

    “Don’t believe everything you hear,” the tiny man whispered. And they listened until the digging finally stopped.

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  18. “What the hell was that?” Kyle flinched as something skimmed across his bareback. At first he thought that maybe Megan had run her hands down it but then he remembered that her hands were securley, and comfortably handcuffed to the bed.
    “I think it was a dragonfly,” She laughed. She hadn’t seen it only heard it. Her eyes were closed as Kyle was washing her body with gentle kisses. Until the interuption she had been fighting her restraints, begging them to release her so she could force him to do her bidding instead of being teased with his soft lips which never went exactly where she wanted them.
    “Now, where were we?” He asked seductively, bending back down to her soft stomach. “Oh for Christ’s sake!” He yelled as the insect buzzed him again. He got up off the bed leaving Megan perfectly and nakedly exposed.
    The eroticism of the moment was completely lost as Megan saw his bare ass run out the door to retrieve a fly swatter. He returned, his penis danced around as he chased the oversized mosquito around the room.
    She couldn’t stop laughing. “Kyle, just forget about that damn bug and come here and fuck me, or at least untie me.”
    He didn’t acknowledge her half hearted plea but instead left into the air and swung the bug racket at the pesky dragon fly. It made a zapping sound and crashed to the floor. There was a sizzle and a puff of smoke. “Shit.” Kyle said.
    “What is it you said your wife did again Kyle?” Megan asked.
    He turned to her with a nervous smile painted across his face. “Uhm, micro aerial reconossaince engineer.”
    “O…kay… I think now would be a good time to hand me that key.” She said.

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  19. Greta couldn’t believe just how drastic of a change was happening between her granddaughter and Carter. One moment, they weren’t even speaking, and now…

    She sat on a bench watching Leah and Carter laugh while feeding the ducks at a pond. They decided to go to the park for some fresh air, and felt Greta needed it, too, after all she’d gone through. She couldn’t help but say yes when they both came to her together. A united front.


    So strange that, even Carter’s mother had to come along. They were sitting together watching the young people enjoying the day.

    “Well, Greta. Can’t believe this. Have they even had a talk about their issues?”

    Greta sighed. “Not that I know of. Leah hasn’t told me much, just that Carter was really in her corner while I was sick last.”

    Her friend nodded her head. “My son. What an idiot. I told him he needed to work things out with her. They argued once. Once. And, still! Nothing has been resolved.”

    “Calm down, now. They’ll work it out.”

    “Yeah, here’s hoping.”

    Greta pat her friend on the knee. “No, really. They will. They have to. All the problems, all the issues, all the mistakes? They’re still festering. We’ll want to duck and take cover when everything explodes.”

    “You think so?”

    Greta laughed when Leah got close enough to one duck to pet it, but it snapped at her. Carter pulled her back, and they both froze. Quickly, Carter let her go and they shared a bit of laughter before sprinkling more bread crumbs across the grass. “You see that? This is merely a truce. Believe me: it will all hit the fan. And very soon.”

    “And what should we do then?”

    “What we’ve been doing: be there when they need someone to talk to. Guide them along their way. But, this will only get uglier before it gets better.”


    Greta shrugged again. “When it does, duck and take cover.”

  20. Nicole says:

    Salt pulled Varda Alder’s face taut, the tug at her skin nearly painful as she grimaced against the spray popping up from sea. The cotton duck of the main sail brushed across her cheek with each reel of the jib.

    “How far?” she asked out loud. No one answered, nor did she expect them to — she’d been alone on the small boat for a week, still clumsy with the lines, still making mistakes. Thank Pete for that manual she’d found beneath the seat, along with a blessedly short book; Ryan O’Hannahan, the author of “Sailing for Dummies” was a god among men, as far as she was concerned; he was the only reason she’d made it this far without getting herself killed in the middle of the ocean.

    His photo comforted her — his bright blue eyes smiling at her from the photo on the back cover — so she’d fastened the book to the mast, where he could inspect the rolling, grey-green waves while she struggled to stay afloat.

    The shudder of something chill-inducing scratched along the underside of the boat. Just a fish, Varda promised herself. Or a hook floating in seaweed. No land in sight, so it couldn’t be that. It couldn’t be those horrid things she’d left behind on the coast.

    The boat rocked, a tipping seesaw. Varda backed away from the edge, panic dancing in her stomach. A pale finger climbed over the edge, and then the top of a head emerged, then bright blue eyes of… Ryan O’Hannahan. He was worse for the wear, his skin shrivelled and ripped. No longer handsome.

    “Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaains,” he moaned, reaching for her.

    Twitter @nicolewolverton
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  21. Any day now the government would shut down this place and she would no longer have a job. Sarah didn’t care. She hated her job. If the strip club down the street would hire her in all her stretch-marked glory she would much rather work there, or anywhere for that matter.

    Sara’s cousin worked as a gutter at the meat packing plant, she was in charge of using the bone saw to open the cow while another factory worker cuts away the innards and pushes them down the belt.

    ‘Maybe they will hire me when this place closes’ she thought as she shoved the feeding tube down the duck’s esophagus and pressed the feed button. The choking sounds the animal made along with the scraping of the tube in it’s throat made her gag as usual.

    ‘Poor Duck’ Sarah thought as she removed the tube. This time she tasted ble in her throat as the duck choked up the food it’s body couldn’t keep down.

    ‘Fucking foie gras’ she thought as she forced the tube down the next fattened ducks throat and pressed the feed button.

    Sarah decided skip lunch, and maybe dinner too.
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  22. President Harper sat down at a nearly empty conference table. Most of his Cabinet had resigned. It was only one of many things to have gone completely wrong during his term. The only reason he had won the election in the first place was that his opponent had gotten caught up in a sex scandal only a few days before the election. That was the high point for President Harper. His administration was troubled from the beginning, an economic depression swept through the country, Congress was against him, and staggering military loses had left him with approval ratings in the high single digits. His party had not even renominated him. These were the last months of a presidency which would surely go down in history as the worst ever.

    “Mr. President?” a duck wearing a suit said. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

    “I think Marilyn is right,” said another duck in a suit.

    President Harper stared at all the faces in the room, they were all ducks. All ducks. He ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He stared into a mirror at a face he no longer recognized. He had aged nearly twenty years in the three and a half he had held the office. He splashed some more water on his face, and saw standing behind him, a white water fowl with a wing in a sling. It pointed at him and quacked ominously.

    It was the lame duck. It had found President Harper.

    Eric Hamilton recently posted..On HiatusMy Profile

  23. Edward stumbled through the deep, dark green grass. He was confused, and not just by the smell of earth and… was that wine? Where seconds before he was standing on a street in New York, looking up at the skyscraper where his job interview was waiting. He had straightened his tie, then walked through the doors to… here. But, where was here?

    “I know what you’re thinking,” a voice said from his left. “Where are you? What happened to the building? Well, that’s simple. The door was a dimensional gateway. You’re now on the world of Quarr.”

    Edward spun quickly, but regretted it as he again lost his balance. However, he couldn’t see the source of the voice. Just a small, brown duck with a fine emerald head and clean, orange beak.

    “Who said that?” he asked.

    “I did,” the duck said.

    Edward blinked.

    “You’re a duck.” He said.

    “Nothing get’s past you,” the duck said. “And yes, I talk, before we get to that bit of obviousness. So, are you ready for the job interview?”

    “Interview?” Edward said, regaining some of his composure. “Here? With you?”

    “Do you have a problem with interviewing with a duck?” the duck asked.

    “Uh, no,” Edward said, quickly realizing that he was blowing this interview. “Of course not, sir. I apologize, I’m just a little… disoriented.”

    “Apology accepted,” the duck said. “My name is Quaker. Yes, my parents were cruel. So, shall we get started?”

    “Yes, of course,” Edward said, straitening his tie.

    “I have to say, so far,” Quaker said, “you’re off to a good start. Most have fainted by this point.”

    Chris Blanchard recently posted..We Are Writers!My Profile

  24. Time’s up, ducks. 😉

    See you at 3:00 with the finalists!
    Leah Petersen recently posted..Building a Blog Tour – Guest Post by Jeff BenningtonMy Profile

  25. Ooops… as usual, and like so many others, I forgot my twitter handle @US_Nessie (I added the underscore to match my hubby @US_Nomad)

    And there’s a Choose-Your-Own SyFy on my blog titled “Duck” that I would absolutely LOVE any of you to pick up and wrote the continuations! http://amybethinverness.com/choose-your-own/
    AmyBeth Inverness recently posted..Living Vicariously for RWA11 (Blog Post One)My Profile

  26. Leks says:

    “You hate me?”

    Kavin Summers stood before his girlfriend in total shock. He knew she would be angry with him about missing the party, but this was something else. Not sure of how to proceed, he just stood mountain still and blinked.

    Shocked at the fact she had let the words fly from her mouth as well, Amy Chan’s gaze dropped to the floor. She couldn’t stand to see that look that Kavin always got when he wast hurt about something. This was the same look that reminded her of the those starving children in the late-night advertisements stating fifty cents a day could change their world. She figured she had to say something.

    “I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know why I said it.” She glanced around the now destroyed room. What had gotten into her?

    Clearing his throat, Kavin felt something resembling rage stirring deep within him.

    “That’s not something you say to someone you care about, Amy! Look what you’ve done to this place? For what? Because I missed a stupid party?” The stirring became full on rage. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed one of the few unbroken glasses and hurled it at the wall just above Amy’s head.

    Ducking in complete terror, Amy collapsed in the fetal position on the tiled floor and began to sob.

    Hating what he’d just done, Kavin ran over to her pulling her tight in his arms.


  27. Well, fuck a duck! I seemed to have forgotten to add the word “Duck” to my entry, damn story took off before I had a chance to tell it what to say. Enjoy the story but you can eliminate it from your consideration.
    D. Ryan Leask recently posted..Harper Collins/Penguin/Steadpress here I come! (someday, maybe)My Profile

  28. John Hancock says:

    all these entries are so interesting and so diverse! great job, peeps!

    John Hancock recently posted..Grokdad: http://twitpic.com/5hxexm hey @TimGuinee here is ur pic! if u like it, please tweet back & RT ur followers. loved "sweet land"My Profile

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