Category Archives: Challenges and Writing Prompts

Twittering Tales #120 – 22 January 2019

About the challenge: Each Tuesday I will provide a photo prompt. Your mission, if you choose to accept the challenge, is to tell a story in 280 characters or less. When you write your tale, be sure to let me know in the comments with a link to your tale. If you would prefer to post your tale in the comments (some people have very specific blog themes but still want to participate), I am happy to post a link to your site when I post your tale in the Round Up.

A final note: if you need help tracking the number of characters in your story, there is a nifty online tool that will count for you at charactercountonline.com.

I will do a roundup each Tuesday, along with providing a new prompt. And if for some reason I missed your entry in the Roundup, as I have occasionally done, please let me know. I want to be sure to include your tale.

Finally, have fun!

And REMEMBER…you have 280 characters (spaces and punctuation included), to tell your tale…and a week to do it. I can’t wait to see what you create this week.


Twittering Tale #119 – The Roundup

Photo by Pexels @ Pixabay.com

Starting us off:
Rain or shine Granny cooked her kettles of soup. The hungry came. She fed them all. 
It was against the law to feed the poor where Granny lived. It wasn’t long before the city shut her down. 
“Don’t you worry,” she shouted as they led her away. “I’ll be back. People gots to eat.”

~kat
278 Characters

By Deepa at Sync with Deep:
the fire soon died
but the one inside
never did… 
the winter
brought back everything
except the warmth of him…

By Neel at Neel Writes Blog:
HUNGRY BODIES, HUNGRIER SOULS 
As the log burnt, embers  crackled and  lit the night sky.
Amba cupped her warm fingers against her cheeks.
Then drank the brew she’d made.
Centurion Granny was  the sobriquet the street urchins had honoured her with.
She didn’t mind.
It was  a promotion from ‘street kid’.

By The Dark Netizen:
Campfire
They sat at the campfire.
The flames were warm and mood was jolly. They sang merry tunes and shared scary stories. They were enjoying nature’s grace.
They paid no heed to the eerie fog settling around them, nor notice the creatures coming from the forest.
Taking all of them away…

(Find the sequel here – Flash Fiction: Boots )
Character Count: 280

By Martin at Martin Cororan:
Embers
Three square meals a day, lowered into the pit, the pots checked for tampering afterwards. Even the flimsiest of handles could be fashioned into a shiv.
Despite hellish conditions, with no light or fellowship, the pots always returned empty, and the will to survive and hate endured.

By Fandango at This, That, and the Other:
Grubs Up
The cowpokes called their range cook “Cookie.” He may not have been a gourmet chef, but when it came to preparing meals out on the range, Cookie was the man. Beef stews were his specialty and he always had plenty of kettles of hot grub going for the ranch hands at day’s end.
(275 characters)

By Reena at ReInventions:
Existence
“Why do you insist on immigration? This is the place we were born in, and belong to.”
“The pot has got to be where the fire is, if anyone is hungry. It is the law of survival.”

(175 characters)

By Kristian at Tales from the Mind of Kristian:
The End of Hostilities
The camp was deserted, only their enemies’ food still bubbled over the fire.
After they had filled their bags with booty, they couldn’t resist filling their bellies with the delicious bounty left for them.
It was all part of the 
plan.
They were defeated and no blood was spilled.

[279 Characters]

By Teresa at The Haunted Wordsmith:
What He Shared
An avid outdoorsman since he was a child, Bill impressed everyone with his survival skills. He tried to make a business out of it, but no one stayed long after discovering his obsession with the Donner Party.
208 characters

By Jo at A Creative PTSD Gal:
Seer’s Sup
She sat quietly beside her cauldrons as they cooked the evening’s meal. No one visits a seer like herself unless it’s crucial. In the flames that danced under her supper, she saw pain, laughter, and heartbreak. She looked up at the new desperate stranger. ‘Sit. Sup then answers.’
280 Characters

By Jan at Strange Goings on in the Shed:
Utopia
People were generous towards them in the old days, despite their own hardship.
Their faces didn’t fit now, viewed as flotsam, despised. A statistic, huddled round campfires.
They were heretics of society, dissenters against oppression. Dreamers consigned to the fringes of dusk.
(278 characters)

By Anurag at Jagahdilmein:
Hunger Pangs
I checked the three kettles once again to see if everything was cooked to perfection.
The Three Musketeers had arrived really late last night, and had crashed immediately. They seemed to be famished, the poor souls.
Unfortunately for them, so was I…but not anymore.

265 characters.

By Willow at WillowDot21:
Someone had to stay up all day and night to keep the fires hot. It was so important that the alixier was maintained at 275 F. Douglas was tired of breathing life into dying embers. This job was far beneath his potential. He was a mighty dragon, sadly enslaved to a vain witch!
(278 Characters)
PS. Now we all know what happened to Puff the Magic Dragon AKA Douglas.

By Sadje at Keep it Alive:
The camp fire
The food was ready and Jay waited for the sound of horse returning. But the sound that came to his ears was of gunshots being fired. He took cover behind the trees and saw rogue cowboys ride by with captured horses and knew that nobody will be back to eat the dinner.

By Dave at Dave M Madden:
Ghosted
Nothing remained.
A smoldering pit told the tale of a village’s demise in cursive smoke trails rising toward the heavens.
The first wave of arrows muted the frontline’s alarms. Then, everyone was blind to the tsunami of slaughter.
In a heartbeat, an entire community flatlined.
Character count: 274

By Di at Pensitivity101:
They came and gathered,
Thieves in the night light.
Bellies full,
Eyes grew heavy, lids closed.
As breathing evened,
Bodies shifted.
The embers glowed,
Tentacles creeping
Towards those who slept.
Unchecked,
Fire devoured them all.

220 characters

By JP at The Wide-Eyed Wanderer:
Cauldrons Three
Three black pots hung over the fire.
“One for biscuits, one for stew and one for witchly brew,” the old crone cackled.
She ate her meager supper, sipped her tea and gazed at the stars. Memories of an age gone by when she and her sisters glimpsed the future through the magic eye.

Character count 278

By John at Broadsides:
Double Double boil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
Throw in Poems and posts and tweets
And blogs from those you’ll never meet
In the cauldron boil and bake
With audio files, a charm to make
That cause bloggers in their dens
To drink it deep and deploy their pens.

By IndieShe:
The vicious storm’s whirlwind had destroyed all. Hunger was rampant. The tenacious women scoured through the scattered debris retrieving their battered pans.,collecting he dried bark and fallen fruit, and digging out the tuber. Huge fires dotted the land that fed hungry souls.
(279 characters)

By Hayley at The Story Files:
The Witches’ Pots
Three ancient hags sat around a fire, stirring their black pots which they added things too and whispered over.
‘Tail of rat dropped in this potion for a diplomat.’
‘Eyes of gnome dissolved in this lotion for Jerome.’
‘Tongue of duckling tender in this poison for the king.’

By Peter at Peter’s Pondering:
At the native American theme park, the false fire glow, created by the LED’s, wasn’t very realistic and, on closer inspection, the pots were made of some sort of plastic. The smell of cooking was pretty authentic though. No doubt intended to lure us to the overpriced food outlets!
(280 characters)

By Ponnz at The Swan Song:
Embers
Like her soul in love
dying embers of wood
hid stories, ashes of fall
Awaiting dawn, she froze
Fiddled by evening breeze
sustained smolders of past
lit her lifeless eyes, tears race
Spreading warmth to twilight.

Character count- 203

By Ron at Read 4 Fun:
Where Do You Hang Your Pot?
Staring at the visible border, we scavenged breakfast supplies We carried everything we had with us. Close and always at hand. The longer we were here, the fewer the people, the higher the desperation. We were burning salvaged abandoned stuff. Don’t know what we will burn next.

Our photo last week inspired Violet at Thru Violet’s Lentz to pen a short story. You can read it here…“Oakies”


Another great round of Twitter Tales. Thanks Everyone for joining us last week. For this week, I found this lovely photo by Juan Pablo at Pexels.com. I really like the girl’s expression in this photo. According to Pexels, she is sitting in a coffee shop. But don’t let that limit you. What do you suppose she’s thinking about, or looking at. Is that wistful look on her face the stuff of romance or is it something more sinister? I can see a bit of both. At any rate, you have the opportunity to weave a tiny story, tweet-style, in 280 characters or less. Have fun. I’ll see you at the Round Up.


Twittering Tales #120 – 22 January 2019

Photo by Juan Pablo at Pexels.com

It was Lilah’s spot; the window overlooking 3rd and Main.

“You can set your clock by her,” said one barista. “Yep…8:15 am.”

She’d order a coffee, black, and watch the city come to life. And wait to catch a glimpse of him.

One day she’d get the courage to say hello. One day.

~kat
276 Characters



Manic Monday ~ Evanescent

I close my eyes
for a moment
my dreams are dust
endless
we are dust
nothing lasts forever
but another minute
is everything
everything

~kat

A Blackout (Found) Poem for Manic Monday’s Three-Way Prompt Challenge. Prompt Word: evanescent; Song: Dust in the Wind by Kansas; Photo: pictured above.

The lyrics with bolded found text below:

Dust in the Wind by Kansas

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment’s gone
All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind
Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Oh, ho, ho
Now, don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won’t another minute buy
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
Everything is dust in the wind
Everything is dust in the wind
The wind

Songwriters: Kerry Livgren / Kerry A Livgren
Dust in the Wind lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC


January Biolet #21

where there is hate let us be love
forgiveness for forgiveness’ sake
our hearts and souls are what’s at stake
let’s join together, rise above
forgiveness for forgiveness’ sake
where there is hate let us be love

~kat


January Biolet #20

A Generation Lost to Hate*

emboldened hatred rears its head
smirking white boys in MAGA hats
wisdom, compassion, grace stares back
walls can’t shield us from what we’ve bred
smirking white boys in MAGA hats
emboldened hatred rears its head

~kat

Once upon a time presidents and men in power exemplified the best and brightest of our nation. They inspired us. Gave our kids heroes to look up to, to aspire to.

This happened this weekend. A group of boys from a Catholic high school descended on peaceful protestors at an Indigenous People’s March, taunting one of the group’s elders. Read the BBC story here. This is what we are becoming America. The Catholic Church for its part has denounced this action. Words. This is what electing a monster does to our children. Please be kind to one another.


Sunday’s Week in Reverse – 20 January 2019

I find myself growing numb to the endless onslaught of atrocities perpetrated by our government. How many more children can we separate from parents, how many loyal federal workers, force to work with no pay, how many closed door meetings with dictators will we tolerate, how many policy disasters decreed by tweet, how many alliances with the vile underbelly of society, murderers, racists, mysogynists, liars, criminals, until we say enough? There is of course, as conservatives will remind us, blame on both sides. It’s true, we could all do much better, working together while laying aside our differences for the common good. But I take issue with false comparison that all sides are equally at fault for our problems. There is a common denominator at the root of every issue. A single person, I’ll-equipped to hold the honorable office of President, who nevertheless claimed that title, with our help, and it is becoming increasingly evident, with the help of foreign enemies. I am numb.

How can people still support the infantile tantrums of this hateful man? I have come to realize that most people don’t pay attention to the news like I do. They only pay attention when they are personally affected by bad policy. Longer, slower lines at the airport, our food supply growing unsafe, unemployment rising due to decreased cashflow, services interrupted, garbage and human waste accumulating in public places, teachers on strike, healthcare costs surging, stagnant wages while corporate executives and shareholders reap record profits. These things are getting worse by the day.

Trump supporters would like to blame the democrats for these ills. “But Obama…” “her emails…” “Benghazi” “fake news” are still go-to catch phrases that justify supporting the con artist they call their president. I hold these diehards accountable for the mess we are in. I wish I could look the other way, look past their reckless decision, and support of a man that puts all of us in peril. But I want them to own it. To admit they screwed up. To wake up and come to their senses. I do acknowledge that I play a role in the chasm between us. I can’t forgive their willful ignorance. I can’t un-know the fact that by their vote, these people sold all of us out to a monster. I warned them this would happen. Why wouldn’t they listen? How could they vote against their own best interest?

Of course they don’t want to talk politics. But their day is coming. The piper is coming to collect. The misery is trickling down. And so, I’m grateful for the numbness. Who would I be if I delighted in their suffering. Being numb helps me let go of my need for redress. When I’m being honest with myself I realize I want those who voted for this to pay. And in that sense I am no different. We all have a dark side. It is becoming harder to keep the darkness at bay. But I’m weary of the fight. I’m tired of being angry. Being numb is a blessed reprieve from the madness.


Sunday’s Week in Reverse – 20 January 2019

there is more to her short story

can you see her?

a gentle hand can turn the page

i tell you

don’t you worry

we can’t unsee, we can’t un-know

you certainly can’t blame the muse

I’ve been called worse, if you must know

cold and darkness overcoming

clouds can’t dim her face this night

flickering in the darkness

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.