The Daily Prompt: May 28th


1. Use the prompt in the way it’s intended (starting a sentence, the title of the piece, theme, etc)

2. You may write in any format you see fit (fiction, non-fiction, poem, song, script, etc.)

3. Post your piece of writing in the comments section of the website to be considered for the ‘Best Of’ section.

The Prompt:

Short Story Month is winding down, and I think we’d be remiss if we didn’t take the opportunity to write a short short.

Tell a story in 250 words or less.

10 thoughts on “The Daily Prompt: May 28th

  1. “Life Preserver”
    In bed, he has a body pillow to the right and I am his body pillow to the left. I move sometimes, an inch from the edge, where he finds me and consumes me completely. It’s like treading water. I sacrifice my back for his. I wake him when I have to stretch the stressed vertebrae. I roll to fetal on my left and he follows me with his warmth that like a furnace, catches my feet reaching for the cool of the topside bed sheets. He goes fetal to his right and I follow but only touch him slightly so that we both know we still exist. Yet there are times that I will consume him completely, when I am most needy, most vulnerable. It always gets too hot for me to stay. I move, he follows… the cycle begins again.
    In bed, I act as a life preserver; the one thing to keep him afloat in the world of dreams, the world where his loved ones still exists. I reach to breathe while he searches for their breath.
    A very short, short.

  2. “I hate the smell of Iron Mike water,” Jacob’s girlfriend said.

    “I don’t like it much either,” he said, “But I like the Iron in it.”

    “I like the sulfur smell,” I blurted, without thinking. Stupid.

    “Sulfur just smells like ass.”

    Damn it, I shouldn’t have blurted that out. Quick, think of an excuse…

    “yeah, but…” I stalled, “It’s so… volcanic…”

    My parents finished cleaning mud off the dogs, and called us to drive home. We drove down the gorge, the sun set, my family and friends and I alike were bathed with golden orange light. I began to think of sex.

    I’m thinking of Ashley, the girl I abandoned years ago. Ashley was all I ever really wanted, my sickest fantasy. Ashley was the fattest girl I’ve ever seen. She was beautiful. She was also stupid, lazy, had nothing going for her but her ability to gain weight. She smelled awful, like fungus and shit and sweat and I loved it and stuck my hand in her fat folds and my skin was infected with it for days, love. “Run away with me,” she said in tears. I left her. I had to, pressure. There is a boner in my pants. I want her back.

    My current girlfriend, we don’t have sex often. We don’t talk about it. She has a career. I’m going places with her.

    My parents say they’ve lost weight. Jacob’s girlfriend said “I noticed!” My mom said thanks for noticing.

    That’s great, they all say.

  3. I am a legal guardian for individuals who can no longer care for themselves and have no family to do it for them. I am their decision maker. Today I am going to court to be appointed a 50 year old client with no short term memory. When he walked into court with me today, he announced “I have a gun!”. When everyone in the court room ran in terror screaming about the man with the gun, my client ran with them, as scared as the rest, and frantically asked “where? Where?!”. I later saw a bumper sticker that read, “the now is all you have”. I thought of this, and then my client. It’s wrong. The now is nothing without memories.

  4. Good Feeling

    When the song comes on, I don’t hear it at first. My mind is frantically exploring the foreseeable future which seems much shorter and hazier than a couple of hours ago.
    Etta James’ voice catches my ear, seeming out of place on the hip hop station I’m listening to and just as I’m deciding I don’t like it, the base beat drops and my hand changes course from seek/scan to volume.
    I turn it up and up until I can’t tell if my heart is still beating or it’s the music that’s moving my blood. And I don’t care, I just want to feel something through the numbness that came earlier today on the heels of the word “cancer.”
    The turn to our house comes up and I blow past it at seventy. I’m not ready to go home; I’m not ready for any of this. My foot keeps pressing harder, eighty-five, ninety, faster and faster around every curve.
    I know I should slow down; I should be afraid. I could tumble right out of the next turn and die in a fiery wreck today or get struck by lightning tomorrow or be consumed by this disease in six months, a year . . . But right now, in this moment, I’ve got a good feeling–alive, full of music and apparently temporarily immune to physics . . . I’ll take it.

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