Should we have a countdown until the 1 Year mark of CFFC?
I THINK WE SHOULD.
(Si & Mars reserve the right to totally forget)
I can't believe it's been nearly a YEAR of CFFC! Thank you all for participating and keeping our lovely crazy contest going.
Let's get right to the prompt for WEEK 42!
Judge This Week: Si
Word Count: 300 max
How: Submit your stories as a comment to this post, along with your name, word count, and title (and Twitter handle or blog if you've got 'em!). One entry per person.
Deadline: Midnight tonight, PDT!
Results announced: Next Wednesday afternoon.
Remember: Your entry must begin with the prompt! The prompt can be mutilated, but not beyond recognition. (Pictures do not need to be incorporated into your stories, they're for inspiration (and sometimes our amusement)).
A lasting impression by Jeff RowlandsReplyDelete
I see you. Everywhere. You are everything to me. The reason I get up and thank the lord he sent you to me. Always on my mind. Even though you are long gone. From the moment I wake up, drag myself out of my bed, sometimes I feel reluctant to face the day alone but it is you that I do everything for.
I think of the way you took pride in your appearance and the thought of it is what compels me to clean myself, make myself presentable to the outside world. People think I am lonely but while you are still all around me then I am content. You are with me as I walk the streets, some may think I am a loner but all I need is you. Your words and emotions remain with me after all these years.
The same routine today as my routine every day since you have gone. I use gel to spike my hair into the perfect quiff, make sure my white jumpsuit is spotless and when I don the perfect pair of sunglasses, I look in the mirror at my reflection. A perfect tribute to you. Give a little snarl of contentment. I pull on my shoes and head out, ready to face the world.
My voice does not match yours but I can think of nowhere I would rather be, nothing I would rather do. That is why I have to make do with karaoke and nothing more. I am not blessed with your talent. I head towards the pub microphone, head held high, choose my song and begin to sing. Since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell.
I never really believed that he left the room...Delete
“I see you. You don’t think I can but believe me, I do. There is nowhere you can hide.”
And then, click.
Even though the message was clear. I replayed it just to be sure I’d heard it right. The voice was unfamiliar. It had a high-pitched whine to it, muffled perhaps, or, more likely, it belonged to one of those wretched creatures burdened with a tonal deficit, inflicted from birth with a soprano screech, a castrato, perhaps, a shriek destined to shatter the simple pleasures of life by driving anyone within earshot away with their violently unpleasant, fingernail-on-blackboard lilt.
It screamed ME! ME! ME! Feed me! Love! Obey me!
The threat was beyond me.
I had lived, up to that moment, the most spotless of lives. I opened doors for old ladies, for old men, for strangers who were half a block down the street in the oft chance that they wanted to enter the building, any building I happened to be entering, and, occasionally, even buildings I had no intention of entering.
But beyond that, I had never, to my knowledge, interfered with anyone.
I lived an ascetic life. It was not necessarily by choice. Rather, my childhood was constrained. Home-schooled, a rural upbringing, a community nearly childless, a situation driven by economics.
I was surrounded by ancients, most uninterested in my uncomplicated ways.
Life as an adult followed much the same isolated pattern. I became a practical nurse and gravitated to the care of the elderly, nursing homes for the most part, homes increasingly occupied by the demented, elders unable to recall their lives.
I felt in good company.
But never had I been threatened like this.
My heart was racing.
And then…the phone rang again.
The same piercing voice.
“Oops, sorry. Wrong number again.”
300 memories of a great Barbara Stanwyck movie
Frenzy (225 words)ReplyDelete
By Sara Codair
I see you thought the kitten as it skulked toward the cheesecake.
The cheesecake didn’t say anything back. The kitten took that as a sign that the cheesecake didn’t see him. Just to be safe, he crouched a little lower to the ground. He didn’t walk straight towards the cheesecake, but took a drunken path, zigzagging across the room, hiding behind every obstacle he came across before he reached the table.
He stared up at his prize - just a few feet further and a few more up. He wiggled his behind, ready to pounce, when he heard a faint buzzing. Looking around, he spotted a fly hovering near a porcelain vase.
Turning in a circle, he wiggled again, adjusting his angle, and leapt towards the fly. It zipped upwards seconds before his paws crushed it. He leapt again as soon as his paws hit the ground. He landed on the end table, knocking the vase over as he sprung towards the curtains. Up and up he climbed, until he was level with the fly, which was resting on the ceiling.
He threw himself off the curtains. His paw grazed a smooth carapace before they both tumbled down, landing smack in the middle of the cheesecake. The kitten ate the fly in one bite, then proceeded to lick the cheesecake until his little belly was full.
I see you, Mother Nature, for the greedy bitch you are. You pretend to be loving, nurturing, sustaining—generous with your bounty, but you’re not. For every gift you give you take. You take our youth, our vitality, and eventually even our bodies.
You sustain us but only on your terms—the bounty depends on your mood. Even when you are happy your bounty is inequitable—some are fat with it while others starve. Some bathe in your clean water while others crack and dry up from the lack of it.
You give us trees for shelter, to build our homes. They keep us warm and safe but only for a while. On a whim, they are swallowed by your waves or ravaged by your tempest. Even the ones spared by your tantrums ultimately disintegrate into your bowels leaving only the chimneys as mocking reminders of your almighty breadth.
We must bow to you…our lives depend on your grace. You are queen but your reign will not last forever. There is one on whom you depend. The Sun— he is your king, your lover. Blind, he allows you to manipulate his power and bask in his light but he won’t burn forever.
There is one stronger. One whose greed rivals even your own. Time is almighty. So enjoy your famines and your storms; collect the bones of our children, but do so knowing that soon you too will share in our helpless plight. Time will come for the Sun, Mother Nature, and Time will come for you!
Party to the CrimeReplyDelete
I see you. You thought no one would. You see me see you. Now, what? I shake my head and walk over to the table.
I have responsibilities. I am a chaperone.
You hang your head anticipating the worst.
“Don’t do that again,” I say and pick up a plastic cup, filling it from the bowl.
You flash a crooked smile. “Okay.” You say and hurry off.
It’s been a long time since I have had spiked punch.
I am not very good at this adulting thing.
By T. O. Davis
“I see you,” Emily said to the snowman bell she found in the flower bed. She had been cleaning her mom and dad’s trailer because Brenda, her sister, had said she couldn’t “deal with it” right now and study for comps. Brent, their brother, had vaguely promised to help with the paperwork and cleaning out the storage building, but it was already mid-afternoon and Emily’s phone remained silent. In a way it was comforting; she could throw herself into the chore of it, cleaning a spot at a time, stacking a box, pouring through papers, pictures, albums, and the occasional ceramic chili pepper. Emily had been getting tunnel vision – dust and rose-scented candles opened a gateway through nostalgia that made her feel 10 years old again – that tight feeling in her stomach of parents walking in and finding such a mess.
You’re the oldest Emily.
You should know better.
Now she was on her knees digging in the dirt for the sake of curb appeal. Emily stood up, dusted off her hands, and placed the snowman-shaped bell in her cargo pocket. The bell had belonged to her mother, but now it would belong to the many piles, which needed to be combed through.
Most of the things her parents owned were garbage. They were mostly art projects from Brent’s kids or animals constructed from various shells – all of them dust-covered or missing a googly eye.
Inside, away from the heat and humidity, Emily took out the bell. Why were you outside? She stared at her distorted reflection in the bell’s metallic, red finish. “What now, Mom?”
“I see you cat, but more important, I know that you see me. Don’t think I’m just some babe in the woods Cat Man; I’ve seen that nonchalant, I’m just basking in the sun look before. I’ve been watching you, you know.”
“Have you now? I didn’t know that a one eyed little flyboy could multi-task. You have shown me a different side my small apprentice.”
“I’m not your anything bird man. See, there it is again, that sideways steal a glance my way real quick thing. Oh, I know that look well; I’ve been around the sky a few times. I can fly so why don’t you just chase a mouse?”
“Mice are boring my baby bird. I prefer a challenge. I also know what you want blue jay.”
“Worm anyone? Ahh, look at these seeds my baby blue bird. Have you noticed how thick and brown they are?”
“Sky’s going grey Cat Man, will you bask in the rain?”
“No, I will seek cover from the leaves. Oh, my sweet jay, what a pretty eye you have. Turn around and let me see the other one.”
“Will you strike my head and dig your claws into my heart Cat Man?
Thunder booms, then crackles, a branch breaks, coyote yelps.
“I feel sick bird.” Coyotes howl; this justifies my queasiness. Going with exit strategy; a climber that touches the sky with evenly spaced gnarly branches and perfect slots for my paws.
”Ahh, you are in my tree Cat. You must give me what I want.“
”I think not my bird friend. It is I who will get what I want; I see Coyote from on high. Ah, fat worm?”
Jeanine Rodriguez, email@example.com
Word Count: 280