Monday, August 24, 2015

FINISH THAT THOUGHT #3-8




WOOHOO!!! We're back for another round! Roll up your sleeves, pull out your keyboard, and have at it! (Yes, really. I'm too tired to ramble on about stuff. Go see what mayhem you can get your story into.) Have fun!



If you haven't read the full version of the rules, go here. Otherwise, here's the short version:

Rules:
1. Start with the given first sentence.
2. Up to 500 words
3. Keep it clean (PG-13)
4. Optional Special Challenge
5. Stories submitted must be your own work, using characters and worlds that you have created. Sorry, no fanfiction.
6. Include: Twitter/email, word count, Special Challenge accepted
7. The challenge is open for 24 hours on Tuesday EST



Oh, and feel free to change pronounspunctuationtense, and anything in brackets to fit the story/pov/tone. I'm not going to be TOO picky... Our judge however...


Our Judge today is Quenby Olson. Read her winning tale from last week here! Follow her on Twitter @QEisenacher. Check out her website at https://quenbyolson.wordpress.com/ 
Quenby Olson lives in Central Pennsylvania where she spends most of her time writing, glaring at baskets of unfolded laundry, and chasing the cat off the kitchen counters. She lives with her husband and three daughters, who do nothing to dampen her love of classical ballet, geeky crochet, and staying up late to watch old episodes of Doctor Who. 



Your first sentence for FINISH THAT THOUGHT #3-8 is:


The judge today decided to see what you could make of Jane Austen's famous first line:


It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a [single man] in possession of a [good fortune], must be in want of [a wife].




 Your SPECIAL CHALLENGE from the judge is:



Include a famous (or your favorite) quote from a movie.





 
AAAAAAAND WE'RE OFF!!!






21 comments:

  1. Of Mice With Men
    @hollygeely
    305 words
    Special challenge accepted!

    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a desperate man in possession of a buttload of money, must be in want of a plane ticket to Las Vegas. It is not that Frederick wanted to gamble so much as he needed to spend his inheritance on something guaranteed to anger his relatives. You see, Frederick was badly in need of revenge; for recently he had learned the family secret.

    When a third cousin had declared “Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!” Frederick had assumed he was either mad or mad (angry or crazy) and quoting some comedy troup. Massive Boa? Monty Python? Yes, that was it, but Frederick had never had time for laughter. He was too busy being snobby and rich.

    Alas, after some digging, Frederick had learned that the third cousin spoke true. Frederick’s mother had, in fact, been a hamster; though how she had given birth to a human (or at least a human-looking) baby, he would never know. He had never known his father and didn’t know how the man had smelt, but he assumed it was of elderberries.

    He had gone further and discovered that his grandfather was a porcupine and a few of his uncles were at least part capybara. Frederick’s family was almost entirely rodent.

    He no longer wished to be rich with his hamster-mother’s fortune; no, the secret had been kept, and now he had to live with the consequences. For Frederick had met and fallen in love with a rodent, a radiant squirrel, and knew it was his instincts at play; yet how could he act on such a love? Why, oh, why had his family brought him into being?

    So because he felt guilty to love whom he did, he would squirrel away his family’s money and drink himself to oblivion.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Surreal offering, Holly! Not often you see 'capybara' in a flash fiction... [ I'm confused, though: 'squirrel away' means 'store up for future use', so why head to Las Vegas to do that? ]

      Delete
  2. No Sweeter Words
    @laurenegreene
    442 words
    Special Challenge Accepted

    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

    “Really? I’m supposed to read this crap. Why does he need a wife?”

    “Heirs.”

    “That’s your answer, Danny? Heirs.”

    Danny Parko’d always been an idiot. At least, I thought so. Why I had to read this Jane Austen crap was beyond me. There were plenty of other books I’d like to read like The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Now that’s literature.

    “It’s like the famous line from When Harry Met Sally, ‘What I’m saying is—and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form—is that men and women can’t be friends because the—‘”

    “That’s enough Danny. We all know what comes next,” our English teacher said. “Lunch time. Menu says chicken fingers.”

    I closed up Pride and Preudice, thought about tossing it in the trash, but instead glared at the back of Danny Parko’s head as he walked out of the room. I hated life right now, and Danny’s When Harry Met Sally quote hit too close to home. In the cafeteria, slop of unidentifiable mess adorning my plate, I walked by her table. Her blue eyes sparkled in the warm glow of the fluorescent lights. She tossed her hair just so. A sigh escaped my lips. She rolled her eyes and I heard her too-loud whisper to her friends, “There’s my dorky next-door-neighbor.”

    Truth: Adeline and I had always been friends. We played Barbies and cops and robbers in her backyard when we were kids. We’d known each other since we were in diapers. Then as high school progressed she became one of the in-crowd, and I became one of the not-so-in-crowd. She started ignoring me at school. But on the weekends, she still came by and we’d talk and play the Nintendo. Both our moms still talked about our wedding to-be.

    I don’t know when the shoe-lace came untied, but the tray clattered away from my grip as my body hit the grungy tiles of the cafeteria floor. The splatter from the slop—chicken surprise, maybe?—splashed into my face. I’d never live this one down I thought as the cafeteria roared with laughter.

    I walked toward the bathroom eyeing my traitorous shoes and shaking my head at my extreme dorkiness. Redemption might come tomorrow, but today I’d about given up.

    So, imagine my surprise when I felt her hand on my shoulder. The sweet smell of her perfume gave her away before I’d even turned to see her beautiful face.

    “Charlie, are you okay?”

    No sweeter words were ever uttered.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Austen Is Always Right
    @AuthorSheri
    497 words
    Special Challenge accepted.

    'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.'

    “Yeah right,” I muttered as I threw the book against a wall. Stupid Jane Austen, she obviously had no clue how the mind of a single man in 21st century felt. It probably didn’t help that I didn’t want a wife, I wanted a husband. Shaking my head I turned on the TV. Mindless entertainment, that’s what I needed to get over this latest crash and burn of a date.

    “Who does that anyway?” I was still muttering. Who asks to meet at dive bar, but then shows up dressed like an English prof with a copy of Pride and Prejudice as a meeting gift? Is that some new thing I didn’t know about? Men, ugh. Maybe I was better off getting a bunch of hedgehogs. I could be a crazy hedgehog guy, my generation’s version crazy cat lady.

    My text alert went off.

    Sis- How’d it go?

    Man. I really didn’t want to do this tonight. But my sister always wanted the gory details, she was a masochist that way.

    Bry- None Shall Pass

    Sis- Python qoutes? Really Bry? That bad.

    Bry- It’s only a flesh wound.

    Sis- K, K, enough. Sorry.

    Bry- For real tho, he gave me a Jane Austen book.

    Sis- Ugh, doesn’t he knew you’re more into Bukwoski?

    Bry- How could he know? He’s not from this century. Tweed, tweed I tell you.

    Sis- HA HA you poor thing.

    Bry- anyway. I’m done. Going to get some hedgehogs. Be a crazy hedgehog guy.

    Sis- you hate animals.

    Bry- I hate dating worse.

    Sis- srlsy. let me hook you up with my neighbor. he’s cute. single. a animator for disney. you could have a whole date in movie quotes.

    Bry- ugh…...how cute :)

    Sis- super cute, i’d try to make him swing for my team if I were an unwed lady

    Bry- fine, fine

    Sis- good you’re meeting him at that bar in the museum

    Bry- what?

    Sis- HA!!! I ambushed you. He saw a pic when he came to talk to James. Said you were cute, I talked you up though, so be nice.

    Bry- Whatever. butthead. love you.

    Ugh, my sister is going to be the death of me. Tomorrow at the bar. Well at least if I hate him I’ll have gotten a good glass of scotch. The museum had the best vintages in town.
    ***

    I didn’t even go home, just went to the bar after work. Made my way to the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. I was trying to cool down from a heated day at the office when out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked to be a tiny cartoon hedgehog. It couldn’t be.

    “Hi, I’m Brandon. Your sister told me all about you.”

    I looked up into warm brown eyes. My first thought? Austen was right.

    ReplyDelete
  4. The Impossible List

    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
    Cathy frowned at the screen. ‘Not anymore Jane.’ She googled ‘marriage movie quotes’to update the website. ‘A wedding is like a funeral but with musicians-Mobsters.’
    Cathy cried. Everyone was so cynical. Her clients wantedan impossible list. Agood-looking,self-employed poet, tall, intelligent, funny, with wavy hair that cooks and takes long walks on the beach. That guy didn’t need a dating agency. He didn’t exist.
    She sniffed. Sixty clients left. She’d hold a singles evening for them, and any that didn’t hook up she’d give their money back. Then she’d close the agency. She didn’t believe in love anymore and soon it wouldn’t be her problem.

    ****


    The pink bunting was a bit much, but shewanted the women to feel special. The men wouldn’t notice. The bartender unloaded her car.
    ‘You don’t have to do that’ Cathy said He smiled, wavy hair bouncing as he picked up the boxes. Inside was dim, but cosy, better than she expected from a bar. The men would be happy, and if the bunting worked, the women wouldn’t notice.
    The bartender hung decorations.
    “You really don’t have to do that.”
    “If you do, I’ll be ducking under it all night.”
    She looked up at him. “I’m tall for my height.”
    “I’ll take your word for it pixie.”
    “You’re a giant.” She cleared the bar to set up. “Love is a Dog from Hell? Is this your book?”
    “Guilty.”
    “Is romance dead?”
    “I like a long walk on the beach as much as the next man. Bukowski’s an inspiring poet.”
    “You’re not funny.” He was cute though. She got out her laptop to research the clients. She would help as many as she could.
    When Cathy looked up the place was a dance hall. The bartender had done a great job. It was almost time.“Oh wow! You’re amazing…” She reddened. What was his name?
    “It’s Dylan. You’re Cathy right?”
    She nodded and felt worse.
    “You’re wearing a name badge.” He laughed.
    She looked down and laughed herself.
    “How many are we expecting? I’ll make finger food.”
    Cathy checked her phone. There were forty-six replies. She smiled, and then frowned. Forty-two were women.
    “Oh gosh, I’ll have to cancel.”
    “Gosh? That’s a bit strong.
    She showed him the numbers.
    “I take it back. I should introduce them to my regulars. They’re desperate for a date.”
    “Married, broke, alcoholics.”
    “Now who’s cynical?” I send sleazy marrieds packing, don’t need the drama, broke ones can’t afford bar prices and no alcoholics allowed. My guys are great, you want me to call them or not?”
    “Won’t the owner mind?”
    “It’s my bar.”
    Cathy smiled“Maybe they will fall in love.”
    “Someone already has,” said Dylan.
    You believe in love?” She crossed her fingers; he fulfilled the impossible list.
    “I believe in love at first sight.” He kissed her.

    @andrashocker
    500 words
    Special Challenge Accepted

    ReplyDelete
  5. The First-Ten-Millennium
    @agardana09
    500 words on the nose

    --

    “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” the instructor read.
    Mineral’s hand shot into the air.
    “Yes, Mineral?” The instructor prompted.
    “What is possession?”
    “And what is a wife?” Wave interrupted.
    “Not out of turn,” the instructor warned. “Let’s go in depth with this sentence as a general study of the first-ten-millennium of human culture.”
    The instructor wrote the sentence on the board. She bolded the words UNIVERSALLY, SINGLE, POSSESSION, FORTURE, WANT, and WIFE.
    Then, the instructor circled in Red the words UNIVERSALLY and SINGLE.
    Then, the instructor circled in Green the words POSSESSION and WANT.
    Then, the instructor circled in Blue the words FORTUNE and WIFE.
    Then, the instructor looked towards the circular window and out to the Earth rotating below. The classroom’s sphere turned slowly in its own orbit.
    “Gravel?” The instructor asked the pupil sitting next to the window. The boy absently stared at the Earth as well, but sat up at his instructor’s call.
    “Yes, instructor?”
    “What are the words of Earth?”
    “We are One.” He said without pause.
    “What were we for the first-ten-millennium?”
    “Separate,” Gravel answered. “There were boundaries.”
    “Exactly, now there are no boundaries between countries or families. We are One.”
    The pupils nodded.
    “In the first-ten-millennium there were concepts of couples and SINGLES. This man in the book was a SINGLE but he was experiencing something that, at the time, was one to all.”
    The pupils nodded.
    “Bird,” the instructor called a girl in the back –one chatting with her neighbor. “What is the currency of Earth?”
    “Give what you can, take what you need.”
    “Correct. This is different from the economies of the first-ten-millennium. Well, outside of the barter system, one could argue,” but the instructor knew that discussion would be too advanced for these pupils. “Since the Grand Unificacion, there is no longer POSSESSION – which was a true a legal ownership over currency or things, even people. Nor is there the struggle and stratification that comes with possession: WANT.”
    Some pupils nodded, others yawned.
    “Now Stigmata,” the instructor summoned one of the yawners. “Please explain to me how FORTUNE and WIFE relate to themselves and the other two categories.”
    The pupil thought for a moment before shaking her head. “I do not know, instructor.”
    The instructor sighed. “Did anyone do the reading?”
    A few hands rose but the instructor continued by ignoring them. “FORTUNE is a large amount of currency – it was thought UNIVERSALLY that a large amount of currency would appeal to a partner. In this novel, that partner was a WIFE. However, it wasn’t uncommon for the wife to claim a FORTUNE and attracted what were called ‘husbands’, during this time period as well. Also, in some cultures in the first-ten-millennium, wives were considered POSSESSIONS.”
    “To be traded like currency?” Gravel asked.
    “Sometimes, yes.”
    “Whoa.”
    The boy looked out the window and towards the Earth.
    “Okay class, let’s read the next line.”

    ReplyDelete
  6. Back Off, Damned Sirens
    495 words, special challenge accepted
    (quote from the 1993 movie, Sirens)
    Dave, @ParkInkSpot
    -------
    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

    The man’s opinions are inconsequential, of course. What use are male opinions in social matters?

    Target your avaricious intentions on his holdings, his estates, and the production of your grandchildren. The mothers pander and their daughters spin webs. Machiavellian intentions hidden behind gowns of silk and taffeta, diabolical snares constructed of garden promenades and high tea. Once attached, their lamprey teeth make them difficult to shake loose.

    Exhausted by the epic struggle to maintain my freedom I resolved to flee at once. I abandoned my secure and lucrative career, only barely begun. I would find a more physical profession, and settle in a place where a man could earn his bread without the sustained shrieking of circling harpies.

    Greece. The home of Zeus and Hercules, and surely the perfect spot for the ultimate consummation of confirmed bachelorhood, wasn’t it? I would get a little fishing boat and live in quiet solitude in a tiny shack. What harm if a few of the local bronzed specimens of godly manhood should stroll past on the beach? We could surely jest and contest while quaffing our wine and discussing platonic ideals. Belching, scratching, and defaming the female of the species, as real men should.

    I settled on the isle Lefkada, a typical Greek island that was only unusual because of its land bridge connecting the island to the mainland. Setting sail on my tiny new boat, I learned quickly how little I knew of sailing and fishing. Fortunately, the island had several tanned and muscular youths available for hire, and I was smitten. I quite enjoyed my lessons, and soon learned both crafts. My Greek grew less insulting to the listener, as well. Adopted immigrant turned semi-native, the locals did not long fault me for my unfortunate English birth.

    I was content at last.

    My occasional fishing employee and local tanned god Dimitrios introduced me to his cousin, Leucosia, a dazzling Levantine beauty in uncomfortably brief swimwear. This was surely an innocent introduction, I was certain Dimitrios knew of my proclivities. How unhappy it would make me to have my peace ruined by a ‘hook-up’—at least, if the hook-up was with her.

    We drank much wine and the three of us chatted. She seemed almost human, this one, smiling and interacting without immediately shifting to predatory mode. They needed a lift to the far side of the island, and Dimitrios’ boat was down for sail repair, could I take them?

    Of course, I accepted—making it clear to Dimitrios that I intended collecting on the favor eventually.

    Leucosia leaned against the mast in the moonlight and asked, “You have heard that sirens have always frequented Lefkada?”

    “You mean classical, mythical sirens? How do you know if they’re there?”

    From behind me Dimitrios answered, “By the screams,” and his serrated teeth ripped at my throat.

    ReplyDelete
  7. "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a small competence, must be in want of her wits to squander it by accepting a husband," said Isabelle to her sister Madeline, as they peeped over the banister for a glimpse of the gentlemen before whom Mama intended to parade them tonight.

    Madeline giggled at the misquote, still scanning the hall.

    "Izzie! He's here!"

    Isabelle could see only the tops of heads, but undoubtedly Jess could pick Bertram Harrington from several near identical Brutus crops.

    Isabelle suppressed a sigh. Maddie might pull a sour face in a well-intentioned nod to their childhood compact, but the dream of two sisters living contentedly by the seaside went out the window the first time Bertram walked in the door.

    “It’s time,” Isabelle said, and sighed again, audibly this time, when Maddie hurried down the stairs ahead of her, eager to see her suitor. Not that Isabelle had given up on the cottage. Once Maddie was gone, she would settle Mama in town with their older sister, and buy her seaside home.

    Dreaming of long walks on the sand with her little dog Toto, she was startled to find herself banging into a solid chest, and then looking up, and even further up. Daniel Pearson. The reason she and Maddie first decided on spinsterhood when they were eleven and he a lordly tease of fourteen. The reason she briefly—very briefly—considered matrimony three summers ago.

    “Where did you come from?” she blurted. She hadn’t seen him since he disappeared, immediately after... No. She would not blush. If anyone should blush it was Daniel. The blackguard.

    “I am staying with Harrington,” Daniel answered. “Isabelle, I must speak with you.”

    “Tell Mama I am showing Mr Pearson the conservatory,” she told Maddie.

    “Major Pearson,” Daniel said. He followed her down the short hall to the back of the house. “That’s part of what I have to tell you, Isabelle. I was press ganged the night after we... I am now a major with the marines, and I’ve come back as soon as I can.”

    Well. That was good to know. Being abandoned had hurt, and it soothed to know his departure was not of his own volition.

    “Could you not have sent word?” she asked. “I did,” Daniel said, “but Harrington tells me you have never; that is Miss Madeline has told him you never...”

    “Mama.” Isabelle saw it all. Mama had never approved of the banker’s son for her daughter.

    “Is it too late for us?” Daniel asked anxiously?

    “I don’t know, Daniel. It has been three years. I have plans.”

    Mama appeared at the doorway. “Isabelle. Mr Pearson. What is going on here?”

    Isabelle took her mother firmly by the arm. “Mama, you and I have to talk.” She nodded to Daniel, who stood to take his leave.

    “Very well,” he said. “But Isabelle, I’ll be back. And I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too.”

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Very atmospheric, period piece.

      [ "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas any more". If you're including a quote, you should have said "Special Challenge Accepted" to make it clear; and it behoves one to include the word count with one's submission. ;-) ]

      Delete
    2. Thank you for those hints, Geoff. The Toto remark was a clue. The quotes were at the end. I'll be back (from Terminator) and 'I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too' from the Wizard of Oz.

      Delete
  8. To woo the lady,
    @michaelsimko1
    500 Words
    Special Challenge accepted and made cringe worthy



    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a literary traveler in possession of the script, must be in want of affection from the main heroine. And I'm no different. I've joined the story, and only a sweet taste of Elizabeth will do. And this moron in front of me won't be stopping me.

    "Move aside you red-coated freak. We can't stand out in the open like this for long before they come."

    "Who?" The soldier, George was his name. He sure acts bossy.

    "The zombies that you all fight. You do know those are zombies, right?"

    The soldier moves his hand to an antique pistol.

    The image of Elizabeth's sweet topknot fills my mind. "You know what? I'm sick to death of these mermaid fluffy soldiers in this mermaid fluffy town."

    What? Gosh de darn, this must be a PG-rated version of the story. The ratings board might hate cursing, but they never have a problem with violence. My Desert Eagle sprays George's brains across the field.

    I head on towards the Bennet estate. The worry that this stupid rating will make it so I can't do the horizontal flap-jack with Elizabeth. Sugar! Grrr, this is torture. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll bag one of her sisters off-screen to make her jealous.

    Which one was the slutty one again?

    I check the cliff notes.

    Gourd dinner lit. It's the kid that will pizza off. That's censored too? This is maddening.

    On the way to Meryton I'm accosted by some fancy lad—wait, that horrible term passes—stupid rating.

    "Who are you?" he demands.

    "I was going to ask the same there Shakespeare in love."

    He moves his hand toward his sword. "I'm Charles Bingley. But you will address me as Mister Bingley."

    "Wrong Ringo," I say before putting a round into his chest.

    I start to pass when I remember the words of wisdom, "Rule #2: The Double Tap." I make sure this zombie won't be getting up anytime soon.

    By now my ears are ringing. I forgot to wear protection. Ah well, I never could understand British accents. And it's not like I'm here to listen to Elizabeth talk.

    I make my way to her family's home and open the door. A woman comes forth to protest, along with a nervous husband.

    "What are you intentions sir," the man challenges.

    "Relax pops, I'm here to woo your daughter."

    "Which one?"

    "The hottie. Elizabeth, though I'm going to call her Beth. Where do you think we should live?"

    "Live?" the mom asks. She must be slow.

    "When we wed. I know she's available. And with all these dag-nooten zombies around, she'll need a good man to care for her."

    The father looks me up and down. Look dude, I'm here for your girl, not you. "Are you a man of stature?"

    "Six-six, two-hundred and fifty pounds."

    They discuss and decide I may marry her, without asking her.

    The fictional past farfegnugen rocks.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Melina Gillies
    @Melina Gillies
    Words: 499
    Special Challenge Accepted! (Princess Bride)


    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a married man in possession of a middle-aged wife, must be in want of a mistress. At least that's what Bethany Milton's Mother carefully taught her. Surely Benjamin Dixon was no different. Bethany had never met a married man she couldn't crack.
    She applied a thin layer of raspberry lip balm, a favourite since her youth, over her shock red lipstick and adjusted her skirt in the mirror. A Day like this calls for a few extra inches of leg, she thought, washing her hands and returning to her desk. Like clockwork—or intuition—her Boss, Benjamin, buzzed the intercom and before she could respond, his deep voice rang through the wall.
    "Bethany!"
    "Yes, sir I'm here" Bethany sidled through the door, taking an extra moment to tug the door shut behind her, providing Benjamin with ample time to view her most attractive angle. Of all the schmucks she had worked for—and gained the favor of—Benjamin Dixon was the slowest to welcome her particular charms.
    "Ms. Milton, I don't recall providing permission to leave your post. We have a brief due in one hour, and I don't like to be late."
    "Of course, sir. I was just—freshening up," Bethany breathed as she pulled the steno chair closer to Benjamin's desk, tossing her hair just so, to let its coconut scent permeate the surrounding air.
    Benjamin waggled his eyebrows in a most disapproving fashion. "Ahem –well let's get started shall we?"
    Bethany transcribed as Benjamin droned on. She felt the weight of the large ruby—a gift from her last employer—dangle around her neck and wondered if she'd ever crack this silver-fox's code. Her eyes drifted to the picture of his wife Sheila, perched in a gilded frame atop his desk. The photo could have been taken before Bethany was even born, given the tight perm, square rimmed glasses which completely erased any sign of her eye brows, and mammoth rise of the acid wash 'mom-jeans' which dominated the lower half of the photo.
    The more she stared at it, the more she hoped the picture was dated. If the woman still looked like that she was losing her touch.
    "Bethany?" Benjamin grumbled.
    "Sorry sir?" Bethany plastered her most succulent smile on her face and leaned closer.
    "Sheila asked if you could drop off some of her dry cleaning this afternoon since you're already taking mine."
    "Oh, of course sir—and how is Sheila?"
    Benjamin grumbled a response and pointed to the pants hanging on the back of the door. "She says remember to check the pockets."
    "As you wish," Bethany exhaled and took the tapered, pleated pants off the hook and dutifully checked the pockets, where she found a delicately folded note. It smelled of lavender.
    "Dear Bethany. He saw me bring new life into this world—and I still rock his. I will always win. P.S. He hates coconut—and whores."
    Bethany sighed and left the room.

    ReplyDelete
  10. And GAH! I did post this at 11:59 pm but it said I didn't have access to post so I had to reload and do it again! I hope it still counts :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Don't worry. I'll count it. I know computers can be wonky buggers.

      Delete
  11. @GeoffHolme
    #FlashDogs
    Word Count: 311
    Special Challenge Accepted, wholeheartedly

    SAY IT AGAIN, SAM

    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man in possession of a shovel, who keeps on digging when he's in a hole, must be in want of a change of strategy.

    After the stand-up argument the night before, Sam brought their new-born child (still unnamed) in her carry-cot into the kitchen, and found his wife drinking coffee and reading the NYT. He decided to try romantic compliments, even though they weren't his forte.

    "Yo, Adrian! Um...You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how. Uh... I feel like I have crossed oceans of time to find you, to infinity… and beyond. Er...You make me want to be a better man..."

    "You talkin' to me?"

    "Love means never having to say you're..."

    "Sorry
    , I'm not listening." Stone-faced, Adrian turned a page.

    "Jeez! What did your first husband die of?"

    "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti."

    Sam took a deep breath and tried again. "Do you mind if I speak frankly, my dear?"

    "I don't give a damn
    what you do!" said Adrian, peering over her glasses at Sam. How do you like them apples?" She turned back to the paper.

    Sam's first thought was to respond 'Houston, we have a problem', but he realised that sarcasm would only exacerbate the problem. Instead, he sighed and said, "What we've got here is a failure to communicate, rosebud."

    "I want to be alone," was the flat reply.

    "OK, but I'll be back."

    Placing, the carry-cot between the door and the dishwasher, he knelt down and whispered gently, "My precious... Hasta la vista, Baby."

    Adrian glared at him, retrieved the carry cot and placed it on the breakfast bar. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!"

    With a sardonic grin, Sam turned to leave, thinking 'I love the smell of napalm in the morning’.

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    1. Slightly late entry due to a problem with my bold attribute tags and trying to find which one it was!

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    2. No problem. You're still in the race!

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    3. For this relief much thanks. :-)

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  12. @GeoffHolme
    #FlashDogs
    Word Count: 311
    Special Challenge Accepted, wholeheartedly

    SAY IT AGAIN, SAM

    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man in possession of a shovel, who keeps on digging when he's in a hole, must be in want of a change of strategy.

    After the stand-up argument the night before, Sam brought their new-born child (still unnamed) in her carry-cot into the kitchen, and found his wife drinking coffee and reading the NYT. He decided to try romantic compliments, even though they weren't his forte.

    "Yo, Adrian! Um...You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how. Uh... I feel like I have crossed oceans of time to find you, to infinity… and beyond. Er...You make me want to be a better man..."

    "You talkin' to me?"

    "Love means never having to say you're..."

    "Sorry
    , I'm not listening." Stone-faced, Adrian turned a page.

    "Jeez! What did your first husband die of?"

    "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti."

    Sam took a deep breath and tried again. "Do you mind if I speak frankly, my dear?"

    "I don't give a damn
    what you do!" said Adrian, peering over her glasses at Sam. How do you like them apples?" She turned back to the paper.

    Sam's first thought was to respond 'Houston, we have a problem', but he realised that sarcasm would only exacerbate the problem. Instead, he sighed and said, "What we've got here is a failure to communicate, rosebud."

    "I want to be alone," was the flat reply.

    "OK, but I'll be back."

    Placing, the carry-cot between the door and the dishwasher, he knelt down and whispered gently, "My precious... Hasta la vista, Baby."

    Adrian glared at him, retrieved the carry cot and placed it on the breakfast bar. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!"

    With a sardonic grin, Sam turned to leave, thinking 'I love the smell of napalm in the morning’.

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  13. Here's a another version of my entry with the bold text (which isn't very prominent in the original post) replaces by italics.

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  14. How do you include italics? Everytime I post mine wkth italics, they disappear.

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