Tag Archives: Five Sentence Fiction

Ben

20120714-083905.jpg

It was 1788, and Ben had just realized how long it had been since he had fully relaxed; breathed deeply and just blended in for a change. Ever the popular, intelligent, erudite inventor, statesman, (ladies man) and much more, he had grown weary of seeming like someone he was not; the public persona, while it had its definite perks, no longer satisfied him.

But it was quite difficult to shed all that had defined him for so long; in fact it seemed impossible. What he longed for was a bit of escapism, and so he decided, right then and there, that he would disappear, become a man of obscurity–a man whose adventures and full abandon would be nobody’s business but his own. Little did he know that reckless abandon was never meant to define him, as he would rest in perpetual infamy, a man of seemingly perfect composure, preserved nicely on the first United States postage stamp, and on nearly (there were botched experiments) every one hundred dollar bill in existence.

This week’s word from Lillie McFerrin’s site is “composure.”

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Booty

It shows the three of them, all lugging massive, still-gurgling, dirty, dead bodies behind them, trudging up the hill; straight up, in fact–a legendary photo that finds many folks shaking their heads in disbelief; shunning the impossible fable.

But history, as well as cold-hard-facts; crime data to be exact, tell us that between July, 3062 and March, 3075, Ruth, Delilah, and Annabelle Sparrow, seemingly innocent and sweet grandmothers, traveled the United States on a crime-binge of unbelievable proportions, ridding town after town of unmentionable tattoo-less men of prominence and greed. No one, neither police, nor widowed wives, not ex-girlfriends or grieving mothers tried to stop them, despite the heinous and open nature of their deeds.

If legend holds true, and I believe that it does, hoards of people in city after city after state after state, cheered them on, cooked them meals, and showered them with jewels for eliminating the riff-raff; the men responsible for perpetuating the lies of freedom that had not only cost everyone their dignity, but had also kept the United States from inclusion in the nearly world-wide peace treaty negotiated between now-powerful nations who had long ago embraced transparent and honest-dealings; foregoing super powers for humanism.

It would be two hundred years before a gigantic time-capsule found at the bottom of Lake Geneva, which used to be filled with luscious green water, would reveal more pictures of three toothy grinning grandma-rebels, plus the incredible booty these unlikely pirates had collected in those few years just prior to the occupation of the former United States.

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Just Weeds

If it hadn’t been for the wide open space; the five-thousand acre oasis requiring a two-hundred-twenty-five mile drive down a long, dusty, rocky, rutted road to get there, and a couple of laid-back neighbors who could not care less what I do with my land, I would have been busted a long time ago. But I have no time to ponder these blessings, this unexpected serendipity that has fertilized my dreams and nearly brought to fruition not only a near-lifetime of labor, but also the answer to the world’s most desperate prayer.

Today I will boast, yes boast, that all of my long-held beliefs have been true; that big-business, money-monging, greedy assholes are responsible for the unthinkable disease that permeates a planet that used to have–yes, I know this will sound unbelievable–green grass, fresh-grown vegetables, fruit trees taller than I, humans who stood over six feet tall, blue skies, a crashing, ebbing, flowing ocean (yes, I know this word is archaic), a cheese-ball moon (humor you can’t possibly understand), and children who could play in areas called “parks,” with structures built, not for work, but for play…pure, unadulterated, non-diseased, unbelievable freeplay.

Laugh if you will, but be among the shocked; those who will bow down, still open-mouthed, and beg for manna that could easily garner me god-like, heady praise, unlimited profit, and unthinkable power (Don’t be disgusted-I want none of it!), all for the simplest of cures; cures that could, if not for the political stand-still of two parties who choose being “right” over “doing” right, forfeiting peace in the process, eradicate cancer and a host of other diseases.

Today, an army of those who have trusted me, worked by my side, cast aside nay-saying family members and feigned death for this project, will march proud and strong; demonstrating and carrying the cure for cancer in their pocket, a cure that was right under our ignorant noses and only needed dirt, uncontaminated water (don’t ask!), sunlight (of which we barely had enough), and time until the perfect harvest.

Lillie McFerrin

This week’s word prompt was Harvest

Francesca

The worst part is when he cocks his head so that their eyes meet and he wonders, even before she answers him, if he has already asked. For a moment, an illusory burst of hope seizing her naive heart, she thinks that maybe it is reversible; maybe he is going to snap out of it.

Then she snaps out of it instead, just in time to hear him ask, for the eleventh time, “So, are you teaching the kids German?”

“Yes, Dad, as much as possible,” she says.

“Well good,” he nods approvingly, “good.”

And though she feels it acutely, like a dagger permanently lodged in her soul, he does not; he has no recollection of what he has lost.

“Francesca” is a response to Lillie McFerrin’s “Five-Sentence Fiction,” and this week’s word, “lost.” Visit her site by clicking on the icon above, where you can enter your own five-sentences and read the clever, moving, creative submissions of other writers.

 

Peter

My friend Jayne Martin turned me on to “Five Sentence Fiction,” which is the brain child of Lillie McFerrin

This week’s prompt: orange

Peter was a handsome neurotic who organized his socks and his freezer using the same alphabetical system. It wasn’t the long, dark hair I found in his bed that did it. I could almost forgive him for giving in to his ex-girlfriend now and again, especially since we weren’t actually “sleeping” together. But I had to draw the line when his obsessions got the better of him, and my patience. He wouldn’t leave the house until he had found a word to rhyme with “orange.”

20120601-070400.jpg