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trisherina 12-04-2006 02:28 AM

100 words isn't much.

First person to go can pick their own topic. Then assign one to the next person, if you want.

madasacutsnake 12-04-2006 03:37 AM

Sybil took the frozen leg of lamb and weighed it thoughtfully in her hands. Her husband's head had hardly made a dent in it but the heavy joint however, had made a fairly spectacular sort of dent. Into the baking tray it went and out went Sybil ostensibly to buy potatoes and fresh green beans. Later, when the police arrived, Sybil was able to provide a good hot dinner - "it will only go to waste gentlemen". And as the police pondered the absence of an obvious murder weapon one was heard to remark, "it's probably right under our very noses".

Next topic:

Family Christmas

nycwriters 12-04-2006 01:46 PM

It was noon and Meredith was drunk already. Fifteen members of her immediate family were about to land chez Hume house, and her husband had fvcked off to God knows where. The half empty bottle of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter was testament to the fact that she dreaded the holiday season. She'd toyed with the idea of just hiding out in her house, lights off, when the relatives came a knockin', but she knew they'd make so much noise and fuss that she'd be mortified and eventually let them in, afraid of what the neighbours would think.

Next topic: A new car

(this was very hard, still not satisfied with it because I don't think it fits the definition you linked. great exercise Trish)

trisherina 12-04-2006 02:37 PM

(harder than it looks!)

He stepped out the front door and had time to note that the air smelled like snow before the mirror finish blue paint caught his eye. Stopping dead in his tracks, the weight in his jacket pocket registered and he reached for the keys that he knew must be there. "335i" was etched on the fob, and a small white tag attached read only, "Stay."

For a moment he let himself imagine the feel of the seat and the shift knob and the horsepower building. Then he opened the door again and laid the keys on the foyer tile, gently.

Next topic: underground

zero 12-05-2006 05:51 AM

everything would vanish in the snow, crow bones and fists of coal and plastic dolls left out in front gardens, red mouthed and naked. they shovelled and swept the paths but they melted away in the night. cars stood buried and dumbstruck on strachan brae. we might as well be lost they said; but i felt the neighbours dreaming in the darkness and i watched them wrapped in black overcoats and gloves: careful, narrow-handed souls, become the creatures of a sudden daylight, amazed at how mysterious they were on those winter sunday mornings in the pit town of north bantaskine.

next topic: markings

trisherina 12-07-2006 01:41 AM

Once she knew how to read them, she couldn't stop seeing them in people. The lines that meant anger and the ones that meant lies, and the ones that just meant something was going sick inside. She saw the lurid vision behind the cant of an eye or the wish hidden in a muscle's twitch. It got harder over time to pretend she wasn't seeing them, and she got tired, and sloppy. When they started saying, "I know you," she'd resist for a while, but soon her own gaze would start drifting, and she'd know she was beaten, and go.

Next topic: remedy

nycwriters 12-08-2006 12:43 AM

Mother always said the cure was worth the remedy, but I'm not so sure. Two thousand miles from home, they all said it'd be worth it. It sure felt painful but I suppose that meant it was working. This exorcism of spirit, this chance at a new life, a new home, a new job -- without him. I kept thinking it doesn't have to be this way, that there were other possibilities. But just because your heart is broken, does it mean you have to leave the rest of it behind? I'm not sure I wanted to rip the bandaid off.

next topic: haste

nycwriters 12-08-2006 12:45 AM

blah double post.

zero 12-10-2006 07:35 AM

midwinter spring, metal teeth of his cardigan zip catching the cold afternoon sun, jimmy is striding to paradise along the edinburgh-london line. who does he think he is in his father's suit? richard feynman? jack kerouac? manuel benitez? kinski? tokyo joe? he is making mouth music. sometime last month a shout came to live in his mouth. now limping like a skateboarder because his legs won't stretch from sleeper to sleeper, enid is on his one track mind. she sleeps with the angels where she lives. he pictures her clearly, his sliver of imagination arriving soon enough at platform seventeen.

next topic: burning

trisherina 12-17-2006 12:35 PM


The thing is not there and yet the brain says it is, and says it with alacrity, eschewing all subtlety for the spangly jangle of the carnival barker. Phantom is no way to describe a sensation that wrenches you out of sleep in the cold dark to lurch around in search of anything, white or orange or blue, that will put an end to the gasping tears and the clutching at perfectly unsullied flesh distant from the huckster’s podium, screaming through his megaphone to the world at large: “Red alert! Red alert! Step right up and see the freak show!”

Next: dance, or choose your own.

Marcus Bales 12-17-2006 10:56 PM

Arrayed in only dancing, like Astaire
Across the stage, except for soft-soled bucks
And soft-brimmed hat, he elegantly plucks
With looks one certain member watching there
Whose mouth's an open gate that savoir faire
Escaped unnoticed in those shifting shucks
Which sinewed muscles slid beneath the flux
Of sweat-sheened skin with sprezzatura flair.

What business is it of ours what happened next --
The captured eye, the question-cock of head,
The nod, the glanced-at doorway, all the text
Intention torsions through an eye or flexed
Oblique extensor -- meaning clearly read
By each to each in all that's left unsaid.

Next: Christmas

nycwriters 12-20-2006 02:19 PM


Phillip had promised to be a good boy but sleep was elusive. He tossed and turned, every so often a blue eye would pop open in hopes of hearing something. This year he was determined to catch Santa Claus. So when the moon was full in the sky and the rest of the house's day-noises faded into a silent slumber, Phillip crept out of bed and down the stairs. He awoke to a clatter and saw a fat man in a red suit milling around his living room.

"I see you!" he shrieked, delighted.

"Coal for you," roared Santa.

next: invention

Brynn 12-20-2006 04:03 PM

The "intervention" against her was not going well because they never do when someone's lying. If truth is all one has, and that masher doesn't care, then why should she care either? She decided then to not just tell the truth, but to tell it with gusto and embroidery. Not only did he grope her when they weren't watching - why not make it a full-blown rape? Her status as a minor might insure some jail time for him, which would be almost as fun as slowly pouring gasoline on him and torching him. She fingered the matches in her pocket.


trisherina 12-24-2006 02:19 AM

You can see the swagger in his short thick legs even though he tries to look meek and mild for the job, and you see the pride in the set of his neck and the lure in the way that he pushes his black-rimmed glasses up his nose with his middle finger stuck out flipping the bird while he makes eye contact, with you! And with knees gone to water you forgive it all, and though there is no flicker of emotion in those flat blue eyes with their empty pupils, you see that he knows it all too well.

next: later

nycwriters 01-13-2007 01:47 AM


She was never very good at saying goodbye. But she was trapped this time. The guy she'd anonymously picked up at the bar the night before was now not so anonymous. She'd caught him going through her wallet when he thought she was asleep. A stalker? God she hoped not.

He came into the room.

"Oh, you're awake," he smiled and he bent down to kiss her.

"Yes," she said, rapidly putting on her clothes. "But I have to go."

She hoped this would work, that he'd sense her indifference, and never call her.

"Later," and then she walked out.

next theme: confusion

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