I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
‘She wants you, man,’ Alan exclaimed. As if on cue, our waitress returned with a tray holding three shots of an unknown amber liquid. Alan gestured to the empty bench; the attractive Latina sat. ‘Jameson,’ she responded to our curious glances. We bid each other good health and downed the drinks. ‘Do you have a story?’ Alan slurred. He gave me a sideways glance and winked. She nodded and told us of her recent trip to Miami. She had ventured unknowingly with a friend to a swinger’s party in Key West. When she left, Alan yelled, ‘Can you believe that? She wants you!’ I watched her glance back at Alan’s ring.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Two Boxes
I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
He had seen them up close many years before. At the age of six he had thought them as big, tall boxes. The had made little impression.
He remembered them next from afar as he had trekked with his mother and father to school. They had given him comfort – he understood in retrospect – though he hadn’t known why.
He had seen them on the television in the common room. Gaping holes puffed smoke into the clear morning, mingling quietly with the clouds. In the blink of an eye, they fell.
He touched a few unknown names and looked into the pools. Big wet boxes, he thought. It is an appropriate tribute.
He had seen them up close many years before. At the age of six he had thought them as big, tall boxes. The had made little impression.
He remembered them next from afar as he had trekked with his mother and father to school. They had given him comfort – he understood in retrospect – though he hadn’t known why.
He had seen them on the television in the common room. Gaping holes puffed smoke into the clear morning, mingling quietly with the clouds. In the blink of an eye, they fell.
He touched a few unknown names and looked into the pools. Big wet boxes, he thought. It is an appropriate tribute.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Behind the Door
I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
They tugged on the door. Peter, the oldest, had his fat sausage fingers around the bottom of the handle. Paul felt his sweaty hands losing his grip on top of the handle. And John, the youngest, used his slender digits to maneuver the crowbar. They tried different angles, but nothing budged the wrought iron.
‘Hopeless,’ remarked Peter as he flopped upon the sidewalk.
‘A waste of time,’ mumbled Paul; he leaned against the wall.
John said nothing.
The duo moved to leave. ‘Are you coming?’
John shook his head. ‘I came to see.’
‘What if there’s nothing there?’
‘Then I will know there’s nothing there.’ He smiled at his two brothers.
They tugged on the door. Peter, the oldest, had his fat sausage fingers around the bottom of the handle. Paul felt his sweaty hands losing his grip on top of the handle. And John, the youngest, used his slender digits to maneuver the crowbar. They tried different angles, but nothing budged the wrought iron.
‘Hopeless,’ remarked Peter as he flopped upon the sidewalk.
‘A waste of time,’ mumbled Paul; he leaned against the wall.
John said nothing.
The duo moved to leave. ‘Are you coming?’
John shook his head. ‘I came to see.’
‘What if there’s nothing there?’
‘Then I will know there’s nothing there.’ He smiled at his two brothers.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
A Cold Day
I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
I crept toward the familiar row of houses, my worn running shoes crunching down upon the frosty grass. Walking close by were two friends; their laughter cut through the icy day reminding me of the jagged emptiness slicing through my own stomach. I knocked on the brown door and waited. After some movement, the door swung wide. My former friend glowered at me with red hazy eyes. I reached into my parka and pulled Of Mice and Men from my pocket. I extended the book with my right hand. He slapped it onto the cold concrete and slammed the door. I turned and traversed the frozen field. I didn’t look back.
I crept toward the familiar row of houses, my worn running shoes crunching down upon the frosty grass. Walking close by were two friends; their laughter cut through the icy day reminding me of the jagged emptiness slicing through my own stomach. I knocked on the brown door and waited. After some movement, the door swung wide. My former friend glowered at me with red hazy eyes. I reached into my parka and pulled Of Mice and Men from my pocket. I extended the book with my right hand. He slapped it onto the cold concrete and slammed the door. I turned and traversed the frozen field. I didn’t look back.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Lugars and Doorbells
Three Word Wednesday: Dull, Race, Yawn
Fiction in 58: This story contains 58 words; it's invaluable for learning to convey a story concisely.
Two doors slammed; silence fell. She yawned and slipped into uneasy sleep. A Nazi pointed a lugar at her Jewish boyfriend. 'Your race is inferior,' he declared. Footsteps in the hallway woke her. The doorbell rang twelve times. She opened the door. A large man dressed as a woman stared at her with dull eyes. 'Sssorry,' he slurred.
Fiction in 58: This story contains 58 words; it's invaluable for learning to convey a story concisely.
Two doors slammed; silence fell. She yawned and slipped into uneasy sleep. A Nazi pointed a lugar at her Jewish boyfriend. 'Your race is inferior,' he declared. Footsteps in the hallway woke her. The doorbell rang twelve times. She opened the door. A large man dressed as a woman stared at her with dull eyes. 'Sssorry,' he slurred.
The Corporate Ladder
He leapt from the stoop to avoid the puddle that had accumulated from the record rainfall. He could barely see before him in the pre-dawn glow. His right hand held a broken umbrella that just barely covered his bald head. His left hand held a shabby pleather briefcase, a tenth anniversary gift from his ex-wife. He landed awkwardly on his right foot and stumbled a across the narrow sidewalk. The bag dropped, but he held a death grip on the broken umbrella. He fell sideways and braced himself for the fall; he hadn’t seen the biker pedaling the wrong way down the one-way street.
Neither had the young blond haired man pedaling the bike seen the man stumble into the road because said young man was conferring with his boss about their respective fantasy football receiving corps. The biker laughed aloud when his boss explained that his starting receivers were Chad Ochocinco, Donald Driver, and Braylon Edwards. ‘You’d have had a great team five years ago,’ the young man quipped.
The young man glanced down for a moment and saw the man land brace for impact with his right hand. He possessed excellent reflexes having been an athlete all of his young life, but with the phone in his hand he could neither brake nor swerve effectively. He jerked the handlebar with his right hand and gripped the phone in his left. The front tire hit the fallen man and skidded sideways into the road. The young man’s fall was broken by the older man’s plump midsection; he rolled onto the wet sidewalk, soiling his white checkered polo shirt and his grey slacks.
‘Shit!’ He yelled. The young man scrambled to his feet. He still squeezed the Blackberry with his left hand. His boss’s voice called from the phone. ‘Hello? Hello?’ The young man lifted the phone to his ear, ‘Hello?’ He was out of breath.
‘Paul?
‘Yeah?’ The young man’s voice shook.
‘What the hell just happened?’
‘I don’t know. I was on my bike, and then there was this guy…’ His head immediately swiveled to the man lying on the curb. The bike extended into the road. There was neither foot nor vehicle traffic.
‘Paul?’
‘Shit,’ he huffed. ‘I hit some guy with my bike.’ He walked closer to the curb to pull his bike in from the road and to get a better look at the guy. He stood the bike up and surveyed it quickly. No significant damage. He kicked the kickstand into place and let it stand in the road. Then he turned to the man. He reached to touch the guy’s shoulder with his right hand but paused. In the dim light, he noticed blood in the street and a large gash in the back of the man’s head. He stood straight up and stepped back into the bike, which fell over into the car behind him.
‘Paul!’
He raised the phone to his ear. ‘I hit him, and he’s bleeding. He’s knocked out on the ground.’
‘Paul, calm down.’
‘What am I gonna do? I can’t just leave him there,’ he whined.
‘Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do, Paul.’ His boss spoke clearly and slowly. ‘You need to go back home and change. Then you need to get back here as soon as possible.’
‘What?’
‘Paul,’ he continued. ‘Today is our big chance. We’re presenting to Ron Stuart. And you know I can’t do it alone. I don’t know all the details that you do. ‘
‘But this guy is just lying here. I can’t just leave him,’ he repeated.
‘Paul, listen. If you call, you’ll have to stay. I can’t reschedule this meeting. This is the only time on his calendar. We’ve rescheduled it for almost a half year. So listen, go home, get changed, and get your ass back here pronto.’
‘Chuck, I know how important it is, but this guy’s out cold. You can cover. You’ll get the credit.’
Chuck had exaggerated just a bit. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what Paul did day to day. He relied on him almost exclusively. And though he wanted to take the call alone, he knew he’d sound like a fool. He considered his options.
‘Okay, Paul. I have an idea. Tell me where you are. I’ll call 9-1-1. Then you can get on your bike, go home, change, and get to the office asap. Sound like a plan to you?’
‘Umm.’ Paul considered it for a moment and then agreed.
‘Good. Now hang up the phone, get on your bike, and get going.’
Paul hung up the phone. The sky had lightened considerably. He heard traffic on adjacent streets. Paul picked up the bike. He glanced back at the still passed out man bleeding on the pavement. The pang of guilt made him feel nauseous. He considered staying. But he had also promised his boss that he would leave. And his boss had been cool up to that point, letting him take a paid half day once in a while and covering for him when he had made some junior mistakes. He got onto the bike and pedaled back home.
Back at the office, Chuck hung up on his side and laid the receiver down. He picked it up again to make the emergency call, but Maggie knocked on the office door and explained that Ron Stuart’s secretary had just called to reschedule the meeting. He slammed down the receiver. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘You want me to reschedule?’
‘Yeah,’ he sighed. Maggie walked out of the room. He turned back to his monitor and saw an email from his manager requesting an explanation for a complaint from the Paris office. He set to work on a reply.
Neither had the young blond haired man pedaling the bike seen the man stumble into the road because said young man was conferring with his boss about their respective fantasy football receiving corps. The biker laughed aloud when his boss explained that his starting receivers were Chad Ochocinco, Donald Driver, and Braylon Edwards. ‘You’d have had a great team five years ago,’ the young man quipped.
The young man glanced down for a moment and saw the man land brace for impact with his right hand. He possessed excellent reflexes having been an athlete all of his young life, but with the phone in his hand he could neither brake nor swerve effectively. He jerked the handlebar with his right hand and gripped the phone in his left. The front tire hit the fallen man and skidded sideways into the road. The young man’s fall was broken by the older man’s plump midsection; he rolled onto the wet sidewalk, soiling his white checkered polo shirt and his grey slacks.
‘Shit!’ He yelled. The young man scrambled to his feet. He still squeezed the Blackberry with his left hand. His boss’s voice called from the phone. ‘Hello? Hello?’ The young man lifted the phone to his ear, ‘Hello?’ He was out of breath.
‘Paul?
‘Yeah?’ The young man’s voice shook.
‘What the hell just happened?’
‘I don’t know. I was on my bike, and then there was this guy…’ His head immediately swiveled to the man lying on the curb. The bike extended into the road. There was neither foot nor vehicle traffic.
‘Paul?’
‘Shit,’ he huffed. ‘I hit some guy with my bike.’ He walked closer to the curb to pull his bike in from the road and to get a better look at the guy. He stood the bike up and surveyed it quickly. No significant damage. He kicked the kickstand into place and let it stand in the road. Then he turned to the man. He reached to touch the guy’s shoulder with his right hand but paused. In the dim light, he noticed blood in the street and a large gash in the back of the man’s head. He stood straight up and stepped back into the bike, which fell over into the car behind him.
‘Paul!’
He raised the phone to his ear. ‘I hit him, and he’s bleeding. He’s knocked out on the ground.’
‘Paul, calm down.’
‘What am I gonna do? I can’t just leave him there,’ he whined.
‘Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do, Paul.’ His boss spoke clearly and slowly. ‘You need to go back home and change. Then you need to get back here as soon as possible.’
‘What?’
‘Paul,’ he continued. ‘Today is our big chance. We’re presenting to Ron Stuart. And you know I can’t do it alone. I don’t know all the details that you do. ‘
‘But this guy is just lying here. I can’t just leave him,’ he repeated.
‘Paul, listen. If you call, you’ll have to stay. I can’t reschedule this meeting. This is the only time on his calendar. We’ve rescheduled it for almost a half year. So listen, go home, get changed, and get your ass back here pronto.’
‘Chuck, I know how important it is, but this guy’s out cold. You can cover. You’ll get the credit.’
Chuck had exaggerated just a bit. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what Paul did day to day. He relied on him almost exclusively. And though he wanted to take the call alone, he knew he’d sound like a fool. He considered his options.
‘Okay, Paul. I have an idea. Tell me where you are. I’ll call 9-1-1. Then you can get on your bike, go home, change, and get to the office asap. Sound like a plan to you?’
‘Umm.’ Paul considered it for a moment and then agreed.
‘Good. Now hang up the phone, get on your bike, and get going.’
Paul hung up the phone. The sky had lightened considerably. He heard traffic on adjacent streets. Paul picked up the bike. He glanced back at the still passed out man bleeding on the pavement. The pang of guilt made him feel nauseous. He considered staying. But he had also promised his boss that he would leave. And his boss had been cool up to that point, letting him take a paid half day once in a while and covering for him when he had made some junior mistakes. He got onto the bike and pedaled back home.
Back at the office, Chuck hung up on his side and laid the receiver down. He picked it up again to make the emergency call, but Maggie knocked on the office door and explained that Ron Stuart’s secretary had just called to reschedule the meeting. He slammed down the receiver. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘You want me to reschedule?’
‘Yeah,’ he sighed. Maggie walked out of the room. He turned back to his monitor and saw an email from his manager requesting an explanation for a complaint from the Paris office. He set to work on a reply.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
3WW: Tension, Intellect, Corrupt
young men clothe themselves,
belt as a show not tension.
envious middle man,
faith replaced by intellect.
corrupt bureaucrat,
his bronzed fruit a paperweight.
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