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Hello! I'm an art/film student and I currently reside in California. This is pretty much a notebook or corkboard to bounce ideas off of. Feel free to comment on any entry. Specific emails can be directed to archaelin@yahoo.com.A THOUGHT
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Sunday, October 15, 2006
FLASH!
So recently I've discovered the unique challenge and brain-twisting fun that is FLASH FICTION. Not the visual poetry you make with the program Flash, but short pieces of fictional prose. For example, a "Drabble" is an exactly 100-word piece. There are other terms for different lengths of pieces, I suggest you look it up on Wikipedia or something of the like.
One think that did catch my eye was 55 Fiction: a short story in 55 words, no more, no less. OOOh! A challenge!
So here are a few albeit crappy 55Fic pieces, but 55Fic nonetheless... revel in their crappiness!
And I just realized the big theme of DEATH. o_O;;
Oops, didn't mean to sound depressed or anything. I'm actually oddly bouncy tonight. ^^;;
= + = + = + = + = + = + = + = + =
Donnie was a reckless kid. He always went barreling and screaming down the gutters at the side of the street, clay wheels scraping against the sidewalk. Sparks went flying all down the hill and a long, red skid mark of paint left over the crest. His son died the same way, sliding under a truck.
= + = + = + = + = + = + = + = + =
"Hold me," she said. He complied, hands easing around to grip. His eyes drifted elsewhere. "Tight, now. Don't ever let me go..." He slipped away and left her. And she fell. He returned to find her still and dead with hammer in hand, chair upturned and son's small handprint swinging precariously from a half-in nail.
One think that did catch my eye was 55 Fiction: a short story in 55 words, no more, no less. OOOh! A challenge!
So here are a few albeit crappy 55Fic pieces, but 55Fic nonetheless... revel in their crappiness!
And I just realized the big theme of DEATH. o_O;;
Oops, didn't mean to sound depressed or anything. I'm actually oddly bouncy tonight. ^^;;
= + = + = + = + = + = + = + = + =
Donnie was a reckless kid. He always went barreling and screaming down the gutters at the side of the street, clay wheels scraping against the sidewalk. Sparks went flying all down the hill and a long, red skid mark of paint left over the crest. His son died the same way, sliding under a truck.
= + = + = + = + = + = + = + = + =
"Hold me," she said. He complied, hands easing around to grip. His eyes drifted elsewhere. "Tight, now. Don't ever let me go..." He slipped away and left her. And she fell. He returned to find her still and dead with hammer in hand, chair upturned and son's small handprint swinging precariously from a half-in nail.
1 Comments:
Thou did not knowest of Drabbles...
Thou art a knavish fiend indeed.
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