Posts Tagged ‘trifecta writing challenge’

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A New Occupation

In Fiction on March 13, 2013 at 9:21 pm

Zanzibar sunset

A New Occupation

The algae bobbed in the water, deep crimson and ragged, as if the gore of the fighting—the blasted bits of men lost to the war—were riding in upon the tide. Damian spat and looked across the bay. Far afield, lit by the setting sun, men worked the rigging and walked the decks of the warships, readying them against the rising wind.

“Tabor’s no war vessel, boy, so if you’d rather ship out with that lot, get yourself cut in half by cannon fire, now’s the time to choose.”

Damian turned to find a man watching him, bespectacled, with a scraggy beard and bulging paunch. Read the rest of this entry »

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Silence

In Fiction on February 18, 2013 at 1:14 pm

shh

Silence

Why is silence so unsettling?

Why do breathless nights and the sterile sounds of morning

shrink us

like shadows in the sun at noon?

Do the soundless, empty echoes

echo to us the emptiness of time?

Do the vast, unimaginable depths,

sound deep and hollow in their chambers

whenever silence reigns?

… Read the rest of this entry »

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The Feeling of Falling Down

In Fiction on February 4, 2013 at 9:08 pm

Yellow wood, by yooperann on Flickr

The Feeling of Falling Down

“Sometimes I feel bad, man. I mean, this was a sleepy town before I showed up.”

Quinn popped a shell into the chamber and ran the action forward with a click.

“White churches, brick sidewalks—the foliage is beautiful, man. I mean, just look at it.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

Quinn gestured to the body under the tree—what had been a man—and shrugged.

“I already done it,” he said. “So it’s nothing to me. But you may be right.” Read the rest of this entry »

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Al In Wonderland

In Fiction on January 30, 2013 at 9:36 pm

Sunbathers in central park

Al In Wonderland

“What on earth are you reading for, Lou? The sun is shinin’, the birds are chirpin’ — the ladies are sunnin’ in their… scanties. Two-piece suits and everything, Lou. Lou?”

“Al, shut it! I’m readin’ here.” Lou flapped the pages at him.

“No need to get bent out of shape, Lou, I’m just worried you’re not enjoying yourself… what are you reading about, anyway, your period?”

Al laughed, but Lou didn’t look up from the book.

“Whatever,” Al muttered. “…sitting under that tree like some eighteenth century fop…” Read the rest of this entry »

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A Fitful Sleep

In Fiction on January 23, 2013 at 12:15 am

Purple sunrise in the Kaluts

A Fitful Sleep

The rising sun set the desert alight, like a torch touched to tall grass in a dry summer. Caro felt the hooves in the ground long before they sounded on the breeze.

“They’s comin’, Jess,” he said.

Jess had been having a fitful sleep, but at Caro’s call he stumbled from his bedroll and began to dress.

“Gon’ be a hot day,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. “Just as well they come.”

“How’s that, Jess?”

“Gon’ be a hot day and we ain’t got any water left.” Read the rest of this entry »

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For The Birds

In Fiction on January 18, 2013 at 12:09 pm

Empire State Pigeon (photo credit ZeroOne/ photo on Flickr)
(Photo credit: ZeroOne / Foter.com / CC BY-SA)

For The Birds

You can wheel through the sky and skewer the clouds, or you can spend your life low and leave your mark (if you know what I mean).

Just remember: It’ll eventually rain.

This is in response to this weeks Trifextra challenge in which you’re given a prompt and asked to write 33 words on it (the photo being the prompt this week). Read the rest of this entry »

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Idle Hands

In Fiction on January 14, 2013 at 10:26 pm

Playing cards on the pavement (Pinar del Rio, ...

Idle Hands

“Goddam kids are back, Harry.”

“I noticed…”

“Goddam kids are back and making trouble again, idle little turds. Where are the parents, eh? Don’t these kids have jobs no more?”

Harry sighed and glanced at his cards. The game just wasn’t the same without partners. He discarded a king.

Albert eyed him suspiciously.

“You leading me? I know you’ve got five more of those.”

Harry shrugged and Albert drew two.

Read the rest of this entry »

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Day 375

In Fiction on January 7, 2013 at 4:37 pm

Forest, view from above

Day 375

I dropped my journal into the river this morning.

It was swept down the falls as I washed myself, and when I searched the pools it was not among the rocks. I took it badly—I will not pretend otherwise. Yes, I wept.

The journal was my only record, the only thing approaching proof. I awoke in this forest. I have been here—alone—for 374 days. I have seen no one else; I speak only to myself. Read the rest of this entry »

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Shadows on the Wall

In Fiction on December 12, 2012 at 1:06 pm

Campfire-flames

Shadows on the Wall

The fire rages and the timbers fall. Ash and smoke and glowing filaments twist into the sky and disappear. A distant siren wails.

In the yard, my curved shadow stands long upon the ground. Never have I felt such heat, nor such freedom – nor such aching, terrible guilt. I fear I am a sick man.

They say every story has been written and, by that token, every life (for what is a life if not a story) has already been lived. Specific joys, specific tragedies – these change – but the basic arc of any one life, the skeleton beneath it all, is nothing more than a copy of some ancient form. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Chemist

In Fiction on December 4, 2012 at 10:50 pm

vials

The Chemist

The chemist was lank and pale and had a liquid smile.

“I want to thank you, gentlemen,” he said.

Henry sipped his drink. To both sides, half a dozen men nursed amber spirits and listened thoughtfully. They had come for their payment.

“Our product is unique among narcotics in that it is readily absorbed in the bone,” the chemist said. “This affords certain advantages, not least of which is ease of transport.” Read the rest of this entry »