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Micro-Fiction Roundup

May 1, 2009 in Micro-Fiction Roundup, Wordsmoker Short Fiction

I’ve decided to make this a recurring feature, as well as a competition.  With each new post, I’ll pick a theme based from the previous posts winner, and off you go, 101 words or less, based on the theme, etc., etc., etc., and the new winner will be featured in an upcoming post on wordsmoker!  Isn’t that exciting? 

Our last winner, an obvious runaway, was Baroness, with her short, Angela and I:

Angelina and I were discussing her lover, whose face she was straddling. She exhaled wearily, almost a sigh, passing the joint to me, perched on his prick.

“Oh, he’s okay.. I get bored easily”. She farted softly. I couldn’t tell if Brad’s muffled moan indicated delight or dismay. As Angie and I rode Brad like a seesaw, the Malibu waves crashed outside. They sounded expensive.

Maddox burst in. “Mom, where’s my lighter?” I froze. Brad tensed beneath me, like a horse.

“Here you go, sweetie.” She tossed him the Zippo.
Maddox sneered at me, “You call those tits?”, and exited, laughing.

Bravo.

So, this week’s theme: Parenting. Your task is to write a short, create a world and characters, within the confines of 101 words or less.  If you choose to title your piece, the words used will not be counted in your 101.  If you go over the allotted word count, you will be disqualified and banished to the corner to think about what you’ve done.  And no turning around.  Don’t test me, because I’ll do it.

I imagine, as with the last Micro-Fiction Roundup, the winner will be obvious, but I shall leave to it our last winner to make the final decision.  Up for it Baroness?  Second place gets an honorary smokie, which is kind of like an honorary doctorate, which just means you pay me lots of money, and you get a practically worthless piece of paper to hang on the wall.  S. M. R. T.

Image via weblogs.baltimoresun.com.

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  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    “Where’s The Peanut Butter?”

    “Dad, where’s the peanut butter?”
    “I don’t know, son!” he called from his office.
    “Didn’t you have it last?”
    “I don’t know!” He sounds busy and frustrated that I keep bothering him. After walking to his office door I open it, and see an extremely surprised face, pants around ankles, holding an open can of peanut butter and standing in front of a very hungry dog.
    “Huh,” I say, looking at the dog. “I didn’t know dogs liked peanut butter.” I turn and leave the room.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/baroness/ Baroness

    Humbly grateful! Some superb writers here. Thanks so much, made my day.~

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/baroness/ Baroness

    ..and dear Lord a right bitch like myself ought to read the full post. Damned 3pm happy hour in my drawing-room. It’s an honor to be asked to choose. But I will keenly keep in mind what people say. So, yes.

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    Baroness, that was fantastic. I printed it out on some card stock, folded it up and put a picture of a kitten on the front and sent it to my mom for her birthday. She’s gonna love it.

    And, SAMURAIPANDAPOETRY, do we put our stories in this post? or is this just the winners post? I want to contribute!

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    Yes! Post post post away! I will include each winner with each new post, but it is also a call for the wordsmoker troops to shoot down the theme-eppelins with their mighty word-chine guns.

    Also, Baroness, glad you’re up for the task. Now we just need some entries.

    Bombs away. Here’s another:

    Game Night

    Game night at the Wellselley’s always ended in tragedy. Tonight was no different. What started with a perfectly decent game of Uno turned into a quest for blood and vengeance.
    When little Danny cried, “Uno!” having layed down his last card, the much bigger Frankie leaped across the table, declaring, “I’ll fucking kill you!”
    Where was Papa and Mama Wellselley, you might ask? Why, upstairs in their bedroom, getting in a good shag while the boys are distracted. The did not hear the screams, for their passion climaxed in unison with the boys.

    Eh, not my best work, but let’s get this ball rolling.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    Also, all entrants will get reimbursed with Wordsmoker Bribe points. For each entry you submit, you will gain a ranking in bribe status, which means when it comes down to bribe time, your bribe will have more merit than someone without as many points.

    Bribe points are non-negotiable. Actual cash value is 1/999999997830004th of a cent.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/lipsticklibrarian/ LipstickLibrarian

    “Jennifer Elaine. Front and center.”
    Hearing your full name is never a good sign, especially coming from him.
    “Yeah, Dad?”
    He’s at his desk in a spotless white t-shirt and faded Levi’s, jet black hair and moustache combed to a shoepolish shine. His eyes are hard and flat, and fear skitters under my skin as I wonder what I could possibly have done wrong in the hour since breakfast.
    “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
    “About what?”
    His expression darkens.
    “Come here.”
    I edge closer, near tears. Bewildered. Tensing for the blow.
    His dazzling smile appears.
    “I love you!”

    Bastard.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/lipsticklibrarian/ LipstickLibrarian

    Oops. Not fiction.

    Am I disqualified?

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    LL, of course not. Your tale was heartwarming, and you used my favorite curse. Bravo. Not-fiction, as well as non-fiction, are welcome in the contest.

    I’ll award you an extra Bribe point for that.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/fictionsinmotion/ Vaquero

    Maddi says, “What are you talking about?”
    Dan says, “We’re talking about a shoe called ‘Wings.’”
    Maddi says, “I want wings. I want to fly.”
    “Get you some Red Bull, then you’ll fly.”
    “What’s Red Bool?”
    “A drink,” I say.
    Dan says, “You cannot have it.”
    “Why can’t I drink Red Bool?”
    “This is your family humor,” I say, “The confusion over wings, mispronouncing bull.”
    Maddi says, “Bull! I heard ‘bool.’”
    Dan says, “The ‘wing’ thing, yes, but she did mishear.”
    “She didn’t.”
    “Really, Mom, really.”
    “Nope.”
    “This is your family thing: You tell the truth, but they don’t believe you.”

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    Okay, these are all under 101 words. With one at exactly 101. I know I can’t compete with the likes of the talent here, but I would love your feedback. Here’s the first one:

    I screwed the ground with my penis. Recently fertilized, there was a peculiar burn, but I have come to find that my penis does not deal well with a high nitrogen content fertilizer. So I went looking for less fertile grounds. Seriously, no pun intended. Our neighbors had clover and crabgrass and dog fennel, so I knew the chances of burn were minimized. I dug a hole and put my penis in my neighbor’s yard. Cecelia, the neighbor, saw me and invited me in for tea. I drank her tea and put my penis in her instead. It still burned.

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    Exactly 101 words:

    I dripped on the toilet seat. It wasn’t even that great of an ejaculation. One of those ones that happen after sex, where you think you still have it in you, and you rub and thrust and arch your back and maybe even look into the mirror to see if that can give you some kind of kick. But no. Just a few splotches. Something to clean up with only one butt wipe. “Surely you are not a man of action. Virile and complete.” I realize looking into the mirror is probably not the best solution to my problem right now.

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    Carmany Grastanza used to take nameplates from lockers in the 1930’s. She stole Emily Scywick’s, Mable Sachs, and twice pried Betty Renfroe’s nameplate from her locker right outside Mr. Sands room, in hallway number 5. Forty years later, Carmany arranged her impressive collection of nameplates on a wall in a gallery in the Lower East Side in what used to be a barber shop. Emily Scywick stopped by one day. Carmany is dead.

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    The thrum of hurly-burly steampipes lessened Brian’s desire to remove the sticky-sweet sweat pants from Carla’s body. Mice scurried between mid-century plaster walls. The sheets, 3 days past needing a wash. Brian stared at Carla’s naked torso. Nipples pointed thirty degrees east and west. Her stomach had a powdery residue he couldn’t explain. Grasping the drawstrings, he realized one end of the string was gone. Submersed. Immersed. At a loss, Brian passed out between her smallish breasts. Awoken by the smell of bacon and the shrill of a child he was glad was not his own.

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    Calico Freelix pretended that the shot did not go off. He pretended that the hole in Donna’s head was nothing more than smudge of makeup. A misplaced lipstick application sent awry by a speeding Celica and 2 grams of cocaine. Calico Freelix pretended that Mom loved him and Dad never left. Screaming around the corner of Hamrick and Sunnydale Ave, Calico Freelix pretended to brake for an oncoming pedestrian. This began the worst night of Calico Freelix’s short life.

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    And one from my wife:

    Bathroom sink gleams stainless. Freshly washed towels: hand, body, tub. Tile has been scoured to reveal each perfect square’s individual polish. Commode shining; toilet’s water suffused in clean blue. I sheepishly glide into the pristine bathroom resplendent with the smell of bleach. I glance shyly into the spotless mirror before I twist the hot spigot. Reach for the hidden pumice; scrub as the water temperature reaches 100º. I watch my hands turn bright red under the waves and feel my diaphragm sink. Don’t remember how long I wash my hands. Lights off, towels are red with proof that i am clean.

  • David Paprocki AKA Don Is

    Last one, I swear!

    Grace Jones (no relation), had it up to HERE with platitudes and sycophantic whirligigs. Chuck was an oaf and possible rapist. Grace Jones warned Chuck – more than once over chicken wings; more than thrice under the canopy of live oak, near the creek. THAT creek. Grace Jones will not mention Chuck in her will. She will mention Carmelia, her two-year-old daughter, more than 16 times. Grace Jones will be shot, through the mouth and out the back of her head with a .357 magnum. Chuck will not have shot her. Carmelia will become a Supreme Court Justice in 2056.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    DP AKA DI: Excellent. The lot. Progressively better with each new entry. Six bribe points for you and an extra for your wife (she did a great job as well).

    The best one’s here, the one’s that are most clearly centered on the theme (although I believe all could be traced to parenting), are your Brian and Carla’s Naked Body, and Grace Jones (no relation).

    Bravo, you did a great job.

    VaQ: Love it. So true to family life. You get a bribe point.

    Baroness: Give it another day or two, then pick a winner when you feel so inclined. Maybe by Tuesday or Wednesday, so we can get some more entries.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/baroness/ Baroness

    I hear you Sammy. Let’s say Wednesday? Veddy good. Would love creative souls to have some time to contribute, I truly hope they do, it’s all good fun. ~ Please duckies, do give it a whirl. I won’t hurt you like that one crazy night, I swear. Again!

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/ts-delegate/ T.S. Delegate

    My first comment ever! Well, with this micro-fiction roundup I couldn’t stay away.
    Here’s my entry:

    Dean. I would regularly slip into his office, and perch on the little chair next to his desk. Alert to my presence, he would nod, and I would ask my question. Sometimes it was straightforward (proper citation, etc) and he’d answer quickly, gesturing me out with a flip of the hand, already turning back to his work, focused. Other times the question was harder, and my eyes would lock with his momentarily, before they drifted, as if they were following the question itself. This is what I yearned for, childishly: that in place of me, my question would capture his attention.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/josiegroper/ josiegroper

    Dinner Time

    “Mom! I don’t like this! I want chicken nuggets!”

    “Too bad dear, this is what I’ve cooked tonight, and I am not a short-order cook.” I look over at the big pout on her face and see her stabbing the pork chop with increasing hatred after each jab.

    “I’m not hungry” she declares. “Fine” I retort, “But if you don’t eat your dinner you are through for the night, and that means no snack!”

    “Fine!” she declares angrily as she gets up from the table and clears her plate.

    I finish cleaning and settle onto the couch. I look over and see my daughter eating a pile of cookies… but before I can ask my husband announces “I didn’t want her to be hungry!” she now knows how easily he can be manipulated.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    T.S.: Welcome! Glad you’re here and posting. Excellent piece.

    josie: parenting, indeed. Well done. I remember the days when a pile of cookies was an acceptable dinner.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/fictionsinmotion/ Vaquero

    T.S. is in the club!

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/lipsticklibrarian/ LipstickLibrarian

    Josie: “Porkchop” was my childhood nickname.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/josiegroper/ josiegroper

    Welcome TS

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    Tuesday In The Panda Cage

    Mother panda watched as baby panda played. It was a warm day, a clear day. Perhaps a Tuesday. “Don’t venture too close to the enclosure walls,” mama panda called, but baby panda always managed to find his way over there, away from the shelter of bamboo and tall grass.
    Ma panda hears a scream. A ‘watcher’ has fallen into the enclosure. Ma panda smiles, and calls after baby panda, “Make sure you leave room for supper!” Mama panda smiled and sighed. She was content.
    And while baby panda snaked, ma panda closed her eyes and drifted off, a Tuesday afternoon nap.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/ts-delegate/ T.S. Delegate

    @Samuraipandapoetry: HI!
    @Vaquero: Missed you, old friend.
    @Josiegroper: Hello hello!

    Ok, another one:

    She woke up in the middle of the night with a strange feeling in her stomach. It was both familiar and unfamiliar. By late the next morning it was confirmed; suddenly the missed period, the lack of concentration made dizzying sense. She knew before she knew, she realized, but something had prevented the knowing from slipping through her subconscious and entering the realm of fact. Was six months dating long enough for this? It seemed improbable, and yet suddenly she loved him more, and she loved what was inside her because it was his. But another feeling twisted inside her- uncertainty.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/samuraipandapoetry/ samuraipandapoetry

    Uncertainty – great name for a child. I look forward to seeing how this child fairs in elementary.

    Keep it up, T.S. Good stuff.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/baroness/ Baroness

    Marcie
    Saturday, 2089. Charles was thrilled to show off his new micro-giraffe at the party. Marcie skittered across his kitchen floor, hooves clacking, sniffing guests’ knees. Tiny marvel, huge hit.

    Sunday, he found Marcie nursing four baby micro-giraffes, each no bigger than a thumb. He’d had no idea.

    Monday, Marcie was dead, leaving four hungry orphans. The geneto-veterinarian shipped formula with instructions: nurse each one every four hours for the next four months.

    Facing extinction of his social life, Charles pondered, then put the animals in a sack and drowned them in the Bay, wondering if it could be a tax write-off.

    (Obvs. disqualified, but wanted to give it a whirl. Samurai, would you please email me?Thx~)

    thebaronessATmeDOTcom

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/ts-delegate/ T.S. Delegate

    @Baroness

    Well, I think it’s a winner, even though you’re disqualified. What I wouldn’t give for a micro-giraffe.