Richard was divorced (a finalist):
Richard plunged one arm into the putrid mound of dirty clothes. He fished around for a while before extracting a crumpled pinstripe blazer. He sniffed the armpits, gagging a little, then dove in for the pants. He'd have to clean this shit up before his weekend with the kids.
He was an old man:
Bob groaned out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. He lifted his choppers from a glass of blue liquid, giving them a quick rinse, before shoving them in his mouth. He smoothed wisps of snowy hair and smiled at his reflection, "You still got it, you old dog."
She put on a new dress:
Sam passed by the posh window display—again—to marvel at the mannequin in iridescent silk. He wistfully touched the glass and imagined shedding his suit and tie. Slipping the gown over his head, allowing the fabric to slide down the full length of his body. To transform into a beautiful woman.
They hardly ever visited their parents anymore:
Though it was only an hour drive to their childhood home, they seldom visited. It was risky. The twins bypassed the house, driving deep into the woods to leave dead lilies on the boulder they'd used to mark their parent's shallow grave.
It was an old dilapidated building:
The doors were locked. Bob kicked the wall in frustration. The structure began to creak and rumble as centuries old stone and mortar crumbled leaving a dusty pile of rubble where the old pub once stood. Bob was pissed. He really wanted a beer.
It was a cold day:
Bob met with sleet and icy wind as he stepped into his backyard. He hunkered forward, cinching the strings on his hood as tight as they would go, enclosing his face entirely, until only one eye was exposed. Better. A cyclops warmed by his breath, he began to split logs.
Sophie's health was deteriorating:
Sophie lurched toward the bathroom mirror. She stuck out her tongue and said, "aahhh." Her mouth and tonsils were a mass of black oozing sores. She felt a tickle somewhere behind her eyeballs and sneezed. Her nose flew off, splatting on the marble countertop. This was certainly a new symptom.
She didn't know what to say:
All eyes were upon her. She had no earthly idea how to tactfully answer the question, so she used the old diversion tactic standby, "Knock, knock..."
The mango was ripe and tasted sweet:
Bob held the oddly shaped fruit to his nose and sniffed then plunged his teeth deeply into its waxy skin. His overextended front teeth, his SpongeBob teeth, scraped the rough surface of an elongated pit before he bit down to extract a mouthful of dripping stringy manna from heaven.
It was dark in the basement:
Bob shuffled down dusty steps, one arm fully extended as he swept the other in a continuous circle around head and glistening brow.
He heard the twang of multitudes of furry-legged creatures springing down ancient webs. His extended hand touched something sticky. He froze, waiting to be devoured.
There were a lot of people on the subway platform:
Bob was late. He perched on the edge of the platform willing the train to come. The crowd surged at the clickety-clack of the arriving train, neatly pitching Bob over the edge onto that precarious third rail.
Lisa H. Owens
Globe Soup's "Show, Don't Tell" Contest [50-Word Max]
Richard was divorced chosen as a finalist.
Copyright © 2023, Lisa H. Owens and Lisahowens.com
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site's author/owner is strictly prohibited.
Website Built by I Am Mad Art and Autumn Year Round.
Proudly powered by Weebly