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 BEGIN your entry with today’s prompt: It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.
(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, Dale Estey, @DaleEstey 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. Or follow us on twitter with the #5MinuteFiction hashtag.
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 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.
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.
Josh turned to his wife and asked, “Do I have to?”
She gave him a searing look. “We talked about this.”
With a sigh, Josh put on the cartoonish teddy bear costume and steeled himself for battle. When he burst through the door, the crowd of four-year-old girls rushed him with squeals. They patted his belly, tugged at his hands, and demanded that he crawl around on all fours. When he objected, Josh’s wife shook her head in warning.
Josh dropped to his knees and singled out one little girl. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she clambered onto his back.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered.
Josh smiled. Maybe being a teddy bear wasn’t so bad, after all.
@KendraHighley
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.
Narblok stared at it in horror.
“What is it?” The vocalizations were more accurately described as “snotted” than anything else. How phlegm excretions managed to create recognizable speech was a subject of endless fascination for the scientists.
“It’s a salad, Ambassador,” the woman, carefully chosen so as to be sufficiently obese to not insult the visitors.
“It’s horrid,” he/she spat. “Get it away from me.”
The waiters hastened away with the offending foodstuffs.
“I’m afraid,” Narblok coughed, “this just confirms our fears.”
With a transporter-beam shimmer and a flatulent noise the Ambassador disappeared. The total destruction of Earth began almost immediately.
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. Of course, that’s what Timbo said about every meal placed in front of him. At thirteen years old, his frame was thinner than his ten-year-old brother. And that was saying a lot since his brother’s body would be lowered into the ground any minute now. The funeral limousine had driven Timbo and his family back to his aunt’s house where friends and neighbors of his family chatted, his mother dabbed at her eyes every ten seconds, and his father sat immobily in an easy chair in the corner. As instructed, Timbo had taken his filled plate into the hallway, perched on the staircase, and was trying to “eat something to keep your strength up,” whatever that meant. But few foods ever looked good to him, and today this green and orange salad made him want to vomit.
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.
Not that he would ever say so. The last time he commented on a new dress his wife bought, he’d spent a week in the doghouse.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” he leaned over and pecked her on the lips, tasteing the waxy lipgloss she preferred.
She smelled like onions.
“Are you sure it’s not too gaudy?” She sucked in her stomach, and checked the pads that soaked up the milk droplets leaking from her breasts.
He blushed, and hoped desperately she wouldn’t notice how bad a liar he was. “No, not at all! I love the bright colors. It’s festive.
She started to cry. He panicked.
But then she threw herself into his arms.
“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that!” She sniffled against his shoulder, and he resigned himself to spending date night with a slightly soggy spot near his collar bone.
Twitter: @US_Nessie
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. He scuttled backward, the striping on his dick glowing and whorling.
“What the fuck is that?” John’s wife’s eyes had gone the size of the universe, his glowing penis reflected in her irises.
He looked down and then back up at Abby. “I don’t know! I tried to take a piss and there it was! It was normal this morning.”
“I knew it!” she screamed, never taking her eyes off his crotch. “I knew you were screwing around. This is what happens!” Her arms flailed, taking out the vase his mother had given them for Christmas the year before. “Get out! Take your veneral disease-riddled peen and go back to your whore!”
John’s fingers jerked toward his dick as though to cover it — he wasn’t sure whether out of embarrassment or as a protective gesture — but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. He whimpered when something purple dripped out of the tip, a splotch coloring the carpet at his feet.
“Wait,” he screeched, retreating when a lamp bounced off his hip. “It’s not another woman!” His voice came out as a whisper that time; he stared at the whirl of color mocking him from below. “I knew I should haven’t have taken that job at the nuclear plant.”
@nicolewolverton
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. He knew what he was doing, when he tied it — no, her — to the tree. He got his kicks out of this. Watching them suffer never bothered him. Until now. Here, out in the middle of the wildlife reserve, he knew he wouldn’t be caught. He knew she wouldn’t heard when she screamed. Everything would go perfectly… except that it didn’t.
When he lifted the blade to her throat, slicing along that soft, tender flesh, he had expected blood. A healthy splash of it, actually. Instead, she oozed. She oozed an orange, slimey goo. Almost like sap. Her eyes laughed. And when he moved to slice open the flesh of her stomach, he was greeted with writhing tendrils of green vegetation that lashed out at him, reaching to entwine his arms and draw him towards the maw nestled deep within.
@EMJenkinson
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. Seriously. Steak Diane wasn’t supposed to look like this. Paul glanced up at his wife, who was hovering with a hopeful look on her face. She had worked so hard at her culinary classes but it seemed that it was all for naught.
Plastering a smile on his face that he hoped was believable; he leaned over the plate and took a big whiff. The noxious odors coming from the plate almost made him add to the colorful mixture on the plate, but he held strong for his dear wife.
“This smells great, Katie. I can’t wait to try it,” he said, without a drop of insincerity.
“Really?” she said, her eyes brimming with happiness. “It doesn’t look quite like the picture from the recipe, but I followed it exactly,”
“I’m sure it’s fine, sweetheart,” he lied.
Katie sighed happily and sat down across from her husband. Paul cut into the pile on his plate, not sure where the steak actually was, and took a bite.
It looked better on the plate than it tasted.
@MLGammella
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. I could tell by the way his face contorted as though I’d set cow dung or poison in front of him.
“Mom!” The boy could stretch that one-syllable out until he ran out breath whining it. “You know I hate carrots.”
“Truly, Aaron, it isn’t as terrible as you might think. Just give it whirl.”
“I don’t want to give it a whirl. It’ll make me hurl.” He paused, his light brown eyes brightening. “Hey, mom! I rhymed.”
“You sure did. Now eat up and try not to hurl, okay? That’d make a huge mess.”
He gulped, audibly. I thought that was something only cartoon characters were capable of, but no; my son gulped loudly enough to startle the dog. He stared down the mishmash of carrots and peas, coated in a brown sugar reduction that I was certain my little man would enjoy . . . if he would just take a bite. His eyes darted warily between me and the plate, seemingly trying to decide how likely I’d be to slip something fatal in his dinner.
As the fork rose, my breath caught in my throat. I always felt this panic as he tried something new. Would tonight be the night that he would finally add something to his pitifully small list of approved foods or would it be another disaster?
He chewed, his look of horror turning to delight and I breathed a sigh of relief. But my relief was short lived as I heard his plate moving away from him.
“Aaron. Wha – I thought you liked it!”
“Tastes too good,” he said shaking his head. “Must be something funny in it . . . just can’t take the chance, mom.”
@JenD_Author
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. It caused Ed to jump, and move around Jeanie.
“What?” she said, trying to turn around to look at him.
“It’s my Clara,” he said, pointing.
Jeanie turned to see the woman, in her green dress and orange sun hat stomping down the mall walkway in their direction. She looked ready to chew rivets out of a steel girder.
“You’re hiding behind me from your ex-wife?” Jeanie said, her arms dropping to her side. “You’re such a bastion of manliness.”
“Edward!” the other woman screamed across the mall. “Don’t try to hide, I see you behind your skinny little bitch.”
“She did not just call me a bitch,” Jeanie said, gritting her teeth.
“She did,” Ed said. Suddenly, he stood up and pushed Jeanie out of the way. It was one thing for Clara to insult and try to bully him, but he would be damned if he was going to let her do that to Jeanie.
“That’s right,” Clara said, stomping up to them, “get out of the way, you tramp.”
“Shut up, Clara,” Ed said.
“What did you say?” Clara said, her volume rising. People were starting to look at them.
“I said shut up,” Ed said. “You no doubt came here to pester me once again about my alimony check. Fine. You want to yell and insult me, fine. But you leave Jeanie out of this.”
“Oh, look who finally grew a backbone,” Clara said. “And your damn right I’m here about the check. It’s late again.”
“Take it up with the court,” Ed said. “I paid them, the same as I do every month, at the same time every month. If you haven’t got it yet, it’s not my fault.”
Clara sputtered, her face turning red. “How dare you…”
“No,” Ed said. “How dare you. I’m tired of all this, Clara. You’re a bully, and I’m not going to be pushed around anymore. Get out of here, and take your issue to the court.”
Clara stomped away; her face beat red, sputtering away. Jeanie looked up at Ed, smiling. Then, she saw him deflate and tremble as he sat down into a bench.
“That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done,” he said.
“And I’m so proud of you for it,” Jeanie said, bending down to kiss him.
@blanchardauthor
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen…and it was coming out of her nose.
“Is there something wrong?” She asked him.
“No, no, nothing.” He answered, but at the same time he thought he saw it move.
“Because you’re acting wierd.” She flipped her hair and at the same time it splatted a little on her cheek, a whole horrible string of the stuff.
“It’s just that…” I started, but how do I explain on a first date that you have a booger the size of texas covering half of your face?
“You’re gay aren’t you.” She finished my sentence for me. “I told Sarah when she set us up that you were gay, but she swore you weren’t.”
“Wait, I’m not…ga…yes, gay. I’m totally gay. I’m so gay that my gay boyfriend is waiting for me down the street…so we can go do…gay things. Nice meeting you.” I stood up from the chair, but just as I walked away I could swear the booger winked.
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.
“Oh dear gourd, you’re not ripe!” the Pumpkin said. “You’re definitely not legal age and I’m not getting squashed in prison for this. I, ah…yeah. I’ll see you later.”
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. But he loved it because he loved her. He felt like chromatic colors swirled around him sending in extra visions of his future and where they could go. Okra colored vacations and swimming in brazen orange tide pools journeyed through his mind.
But what did it mean? What did it mean?
“I am not sure what I see in here, but I love the movement and the contrasting colors.” He said. “I can tell you are really talented. I guess I’m not much of an artist to understand these things, but I love it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“You don’t think it looks like mushed peas and pumpkin from a baby’s highchair? That is kind of what I think.”
“No” he said.
I think it looks like everything in the world combined and the best part about it is its your essence, your beauty, your art.
But then he only said “It is really good. I love it. I’ll buy your painting, Squished Peas and Pumpkin.”
@artviewstudio
It was green and orange and the most frightening thing I’d ever seen. It sat blinking at me, squelching in the soil that had turned my formerly tidy garden into a wreck of tangled been vines and broken tomato stems.
All this time I’d wondered what was getting at the lettuce — devouring each head down to nubs. The carrot tops had likewise been demolished, the yellow squash eaten past the fruit itself and up to the elbows of the spiny stems.
“What’s doing this?” I’d asked myself again and again, as I’d tested out remedies for slugs, squash borers, checked leaves for late blight, searched under potato leaves and delicate white pea blossoms for Japanese beetles. Nothing in my Seeds of Change catalogs or my Audubon guides had been any help, nor had the slug traps, the aphid sprays.
It just hadn’t made any sense. Eating the spicy greens *first* out of the mesclun mix should have been my first clue that I was not dealing with some ordinary rabbit or other mammal. They usually steer of the mustard greens, the arugala, and anything else that bites back.
And now here it was, this green and orange *thing,* with its shiny plaslticine skin, its eight fuzzy eyeballs grouped together on its — could you call that a forehead? — and it’s clawed feet flexing themselves luxuriously in my well-matured compost. All these months of mixing manure, the years of composting, the early morning weedings and waterings crammed in before I raced to work. All of it gone, down the slimy lipstick-mouthed creature sitting before me.
It was hard enough to be a vegan on my salary without something destroying all my hard work. What the hell was I going to eat, now that my winter squash and potatoes were in ruins?
“Sorry,” it burped and smiled.
I hit it with the spade I’d been holding in my right hand, using every ounce of strength I possessed. Fuck veganism. This would be dinner.
@aftergadget
It’s green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. If his mom thought he was actually going to consume this, she had another thing coming. But then again, their was the reward. The ultimate reward of chocolate cake. Could he do it? Could he muster the strength to swallow this hideous mass that more resembled the alien in his comic books? With a trembling hand he stabbed the thing his mom was trying to pass off as food. Firm as it was he watched in horror as the a stream of juice sprayed across his plate. This was child abuse, it had to be. No eight year old should have to be put through this. With a firm thrust it entered his mouth and he slowly began to chew. He felt all eyes on him as he was assaulted with all these new flavors. A pause. With a strange satisfaction he realized it wasn’t that bad.
“So, how is it?” His mom asks with an anxious smile.
There was no way he could admit defeat. “It’s alright,” he admitted with a grimace.
“Well, thank you for trying it.” She said and set the slice of cake before him. Victory was all his….until next time.
Oops. Twitter handle: @aftergadget
Time’s up, folks. Stop by at 3:00 for the list of finalists!
It’s green and orange and the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. He looked up at his avacoda and orange clock and realized he had missed #5MinuteFiction!
@redshirt6
to redshirt6: you make me laugh…thanks
Forgot my twitter account: @artviewstudio Fun and great reads to all~~(yes, I am sucking up)
Oops. Twitter: @julie_glover