 She detected ripe body odor as she drew near. A wet-dog smell. A whimper. She slowed her pace, pulling jeans and a t-shirt from her backpack, cautiously navigating overturned trash-cans. His bloodshot eyes pleaded forgiveness. Vulnerable and curled into his nakedness. Streaked with mud… and something else. He reached out for his clothes. Lisa H. Owens ~ Created for a 53-word May 2023 Short Story Prompt: Archaeologists say that humans developed agriculture and pottery many millennia before the invention of the wheel. Now, when many people by a stroke of their thumb can have groceries delivered in an hour, it’s hard to comprehend eight thousand years of producing heavy things to be carried or dragged; moved only by burden. Write a 53-word story about sweat.
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"Who needs pants? They're overrated." Bah-bum, bah-bum, bah-bum, his answer overhead—the lulling sound of vehicles navigating the morning mixmaster. Bob fell asleep, counting cars. He dreamt of days before The Second Great Depression, days he owned dozens of identical sharp-creased khakis—a fresh pair each morning—coffee in hand, sweating this commute. Lisa H. Owens ~ Created for a 53-word April 2023 Short Story Prompt: Take a deep breath. Relax. No foolishness for you here this month. Business as usual. One proverbial leg at a time. Same requirements: fifty-three words. One-size-fits-all. No slacking off. But in the spirit of the month, be careful if you do try any April tricks; you wouldn’t want your trousers to catch fire. Write a 53-word story about pants. I liked mah grits with milk ‘n sugah, which earnt me a whuppin’ more‘en once. “Youse Southern bone-n-bred, boy. Ack lac it,” Pepaw said, scrapin’ mah plate to the dawgs purt near ever’ mornin’. “Dang Yankee,” he muttered. Didn’t make no differnts though, I doused ’em good. Them grits, Yankee-style, taste like fraydum. Lisa H. Owens ~ Created for a 53-word February 2023 prompt: We can credit Roman calendar development around the Lunar Year for this shortened period called February. This month, for many, is a difficult one marked by hard weather and taxing conditions. Our resident cowboy poet posited, “When they were determining the months, they took days away from this one out of sheer dread.” Write a 53-word story about grit. Even the crickets quieted when Gramps spun a yarn. He captivated his audience (Granny and crickets) with tales of morning walks becoming battles—confronting ninjas at every turn. His walking-stick-turned-katana, holding would-be saboteurs at bay while Godzilla The Chiweenie unleashed the atomic breath. Being Hero was hungry work, least 'til Granny shouted, "Breakfast!" Lisa H. Owens ~ Created for a 53-word December 2022 Short Story Prompt: “December” comes from the Romantic combination of the Italian dici, meaning “to say,” and the English ember, referring to a live piece of a dying fire. This etymology, of course, aligns perfectly with the month that ends our year. Even more, of course, is that this is all totally made up and untrue. Write a 53-word story about nonsense.  Bob was an accountant, though he counted things besides numbers. Sheep on sleepless nights. Calories when he grew fat. Summers—fireflies. Autumn—red, orange and yellow leaves, raked into color-coded piles. Winters—days until spring. Spring (his busy season)—days until tax-filing deadlines. His shrink called him OCD, but Bob just liked counting. Lisa H. Owens ~ Created for a 53-Word Press August 2022 Short Story Prompt: A lot gets negotiated in August. We might get bids on inside projects. Laminate or granite? We might negotiate extra time at our favorite diner or bar. We might negotiate belt loops. We might get a negotiating headache and take non-prescription pharmaceuticals for relief. All just possibilities—perhaps you have a better proposal? Write a 53-word story about a counter.  To be forever inadvertently clumped into one group is challenging. But that group? Sheesh. Those not quite non-functioning, but then again, not fully functioning either. Welcome to the club, Bob. How do you feel about your placement? Let me introduce you to your cohorts. Those of us who checked the box marked “Other.” ~ Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an July, 2022 - Press 53-Word Theme Prompt Our Prompt for July: The most famous “Julius” two thousand years ago was Caesar. The most famous one now might be Orange. An Orange Julius is made from egg whites, ice, orange concentrate, milk, vanilla, and sugar. Julius Caesar’s ingredients are a bit more complicated. But, by name or by heat, we appreciate them both in July. Write a 53-word story about a connection.  Her first time at the Dallas Gay-Pride Parade, it was blazing hot and she proudly wore her sweat drenched I Support my Lesbian Daughter tank top—it bedazzled by sparkly rainbow banners. She was high-fived by many and given spontaneous emotional hugs by some, becoming a stand-in-mama for those painfully rejected by their families. ~ Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an June, 2022 - Press 53-Word Theme Prompt Your prompt for June: A vexillologist knows all about banderoles, burgees, fanions, pennons, standards and windsocks. They know badges and cantons and fields and finials and hoists. They can spot a bend, fess, pall, or saltire. But, do they know the tail of a dog? Can they pick a wild iris? And are they always sensing forebodings? Write a 53-word story about a flag.  When they returned, the city was in shambles. The young couple, alongside shell-shocked neighbors, sifted through piles of twisted shrapnel and dust—the remains of their neighborhood—searching for traces of memories. Miraculously, the tri-folded takeout menu from their very first date rested unscathed in a charred chunk of the kitchen junk drawer. ~ Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an April, 2022 - Press 53-Word Theme Prompt Your prompt for April: Hubble telescope glimpsed a star they named Earandel, meaning “morning star,” whose light took 12.9 billion years to reach Earth. If the universe were 100, the Earandel we see is from when the universe was seven. However you go about trying to consider these enormities, it’s hard not to be romantic about starlight. Write a 53-word story about a date.  Insults flew as she frantically prepared canapes for an impromptu cocktail hour. The corporate bigwigs were dropping by. Everything rested on this promotion. "Don't blow it," he hissed—twisting her arm—as the doorbell rang announcing guests' arrivals. She dabbed away tears and arranged her face to Happy-Wife before magnanimously opening the door. ~ Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a March, 2022 - Press 53-Word Theme Prompt Your prompt for March: An anagrammatist might say that spring is the charm of March. They might say that our third month of March holds a special place in their heart (specifically atriums) being named after the first month of the Roman calendar, “Martius.” A Pisces grows spices. An Aries watches the daffodils arise from the dirt. Write a 53-word story about rearranging.  The Writer's Descent into Madness [50-Words] I forgot how to write. Did I forget how to write? Writing's avoiding me. Where are you, Words? She'd worn the pink tutu all week. Pacing the hallway like a caged lion, she muttered "I've forgotten how to write," as she batted away the flying monkeys while dodging miniature elephants. Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-word Flash Fiction Friday January 28, 2022  Bob and Rob were joined at the hip, literally. Conjoined twins who diffused awkward silences, developing a healthy sense of humor early on. They were quick to point out the absurdity of two plaid shirts tucking into one wide pair of chinos, their capes only visible when four fists deftly defended the underdogs. Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a January, 2022 - Press 53-Word Theme Prompt Aladdin had three wishes. Goldilocks had three beds, chairs, porridge bowls—but some of the best things in life come in pairs. From twins to turtle doves (as the carolers sing), two’s company. Who’s Batman without Robin? Harry Nilsson says “Two can be as bad as one…” but hopefully 2022 is twice as nice. Write a 53-word story about a dynamic duo.  “I’ll take Omicron for $1000, Alex.” “And it’s a Daily Double, Bob!” “I’ll wager everything, Alex. The whole enchilada.” “That’ll give you $14,500 if you’re correct. If not…” * “Who coined the name Omicron for the coronavirus variant?” “Who is WHO, Alex?” “Yes, Bob, who coined the name?" “Who is WHO?” Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an Inner Writers' Circle 50-Word Flash Fiction Friday. December 17, 2021  [photo by Arnie Chou, licensed through Pexels] “Row, row, row your boat. Gently down...” our off-key ditty cut short by the whine of a low-flying drone. It dive-bombed our grouping of kayaks, a back-to-nature tour provided by Oars-R-Us—Where Your Paddling Pleasure is our Guarantee! A trap door released half-off photo coupons. Most missed the mark, floating downstream. Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a December 2021 - Press 53-Word Theme Prompt It’s hard to argue our attention spans haven’t suffered because of the internet. Heraclitus thought the defining characteristic of the world was constant change, so he’d probably get a kick out of our societal evolution. Remember, he said we couldn’t step in the same river twice. Maybe that metaphor is a little flexible. Write a 53-word story about a stream.  He languidly swam into schools of panicked tropical fish, pelting him as they rushed past. Could it be? His excitement mounted. A dark maw centered in a spiny grouping of rocks. Two mighty kicks and he was inside, feeling his way along spongy pulsating walls. They constricted, swallowing him whole. Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an Inner Circle Writers 50-Word Flash Fiction Friday December 3, 2021  I dreamed of my father and black widow spiders. In the dream, his bathroom was filled with funnel-webs hidden behind mirrors and pictures. Black orbs topped with red hourglasses ready to pounce. I squished one between two fingers, then the dream shifted and we were eating tuna sandwiches in a diner. Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an Inner Circle Writers' Flash Fiction Friday November 19, 2021  It felt weird without support; but jogging never felt better—without the girls swinging to and fro, weighing her down. Gravity wasn't a friend of the postmenopausal female. It really was the only good thing to come out of her battle with breast cancer. She'd cancel reconstruction surgery tomorrow and train for that marathon. Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a November 2021 - Press 53-Word Theme Prompt Pillows have come a long way. You can find pillows of down, feather, memory foam, Poly-Fil, buckwheat hull, microbead, wool, and much else. Some hotels have pillow menus for discerning sleepers. Not bad for a device that got its start, in part, by keeping bugs out of our hair, mouths, noses, and ears. Write a 53-word story about support. "...then there was that three-year period we lived in THE MOTEL. Daddy had to carry a baseball bat to fight off rats when he checked-in potential murderers at night, Mama." "You only remember the bad things and you remember them wrong. Remember, you got free Zero Bars from the lobby's snack-bin." Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an Inner Circle Writers 50-Word Flash Fiction Friday October 5, 2021  Boomer’s time was waning. He’d been a faithful companion; I prayed for a peaceful end. Blustery wind lifted him from my arms, twirling upward until he was a speck in the sky. I see him in clouds—bulgy eyes, pencil legs on a hot dog body—running. A wiry dog-cloud chasing squirrel-clouds. Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-word Flash Fiction Friday October 29, 2021  You have three seconds to get your buzzing, eusocial, exoskeletons outta here. Hear me, Vespula? Fly home, grab your larvae, and get the hell outta Dodge. My finger's on the trigger. You're gonna get foamed. Wait...stop…Guys? Just joking! By the way—love the jackets. Yellow's the new black! OUCH, CRAP... Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-Word Flash Fiction Friday October 22, 2021  My computer randomly shutdown. Clicks of my mouse were met with beep-beep-beep. I stared at a dark screen, noticing one perfect handprint—fingerprints reaching outward. I placed my fingertips over fingertips feeling a ripple and shift as a hand yanked me into the matrix. Look closely and take my hand. Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-word Flash Fiction Friday October 15, 2021  Yoo-Hoo! Heeeelllloooo! I’m back, bro. Glad to see me? Well, that just hurts my feelings. No cards? No visits? You really should be ashamed. I’m a standup kinda guy. I served your time. Stayed clean. Bided my time. Lifted weights. I’m here. Ready to pound fifteen years outta ya. Why are you running? By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by an October, 2021 Press 53-Word Theme Prompt : October brings to mind long drives, harvest time, full moons, changing colors, falling leaves, Halloween, and beer. Did you know that at the end of Oktoberfest in Munich, everyone holds hands and sings John Denver’s “County Roads”? It could be true. Maybe that was a one-off? One thing is certain: October is here. Write a 53-word story about arriving.  I have a pain in my left side. My mattress is lumpy, I think. I toss and turn, trying to find a spot on the mattress without a lump. The lump is everywhere. Come to find out, it’s not the mattress at all. Just a pain in my left side. Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-Word Flash Fiction Friday October 8, 2021  Entranced, I watched a slug-like blob inch toward the patio...and me. Corpusculum (definition: a puny body) came to mind. I lit a cigarette, inhaled, then formed a circle with my lips, huffing the word “cor-pus-cle'' in three perfect smoke rings. They hovered in the morning stillness, widening. Eventually dissipating. By Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-word Flash Fiction Friday October 2, 2021 [50-Word excerpt from the short story "Corpuscle Games."] The Health Department called. Was Frances Huffines (Huff-ē-ness) my mother? (HUFFINESS [noun]: A passing state of anger and resentment.) I laughed. It'd been years since I'd heard it pronounced that way. I corrected the pronunciation: Huhf-fynz They were pushing the booster vaccine. My reaction? Huffiness. Are we doing that already? By Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-word Flash Fiction Friday September 17, 2021 Oh, how I miss you. As a child, I hated you, crying at the mere suggestion of you. As an adult, I scoffed when I heard your name. Older now, I lie in bed—eyes closed—praying you'll overtake me. Without you I'm a listless endless yawn. I need you, dear Sleep. By Lisa H. Owens Created for an Inner Circle Writers' Group 50-word Flash Fiction Friday September 17, 2021 |