The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Nonstandard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard prompt:
eat away
You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
I’m a foodie. I love to cook and eat and read about food and write about food. This week for the alternative prompt, write a story that centers around food. Food should be the main character. I’m not looking for a recipe. I want to taste and smell what’s on the plate. I want to see the shimmer of sauces. I want you to make my stomach growl. As per usual with the Non-standard prompt there is no word limit but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Write on!

For those who like to write first and read later, be forewarned my effort using the Non Standard prompt follows. I hope you enjoy the feast…

Please, Sir, May I Have Some More? (718 words)

Mark and Sue followed the maître d’ like a pair of drooling hounds taking up the scent of a fox on a serpentine course among the damask clothed tables.  The low light and flickering candles glittered warmly off the stemware and spotless silver on each table in the hushed atmosphere of the 5-star establishment. A tuxedoed waiter with a tray of meals, held high overhead, whisked past the couple in the opposite direction trailing an aromatic wake of caramelized onions and an earthy whiff of truffles. The snap and sizzle of a pan-seared steak danced on the ear and all of it quickly faded as the plates were delivered to a lucky table somewhere else in the restaurant.

The couple was seated—chairs were pulled out and held for both of them—and the maître d’ dropped napkins first in Sue’s lap and then Mark’s with a practiced flair. Menus were proffered in the same order (ladies first) and a wine list was discretely left at Mark’s elbow. After making sure all was in order, the man gave a slight, silent nod of the head and melted away like cotton candy on the tongue.

A nameless, shy bus boy in a simple white tunic and black slacks delivered a tumbled, steaming assortment of artisan breads torn into large rustic hunks along with a shallow but wide bowl of olive oil mixed to the point of saturation—an almost paste-like consistency—with fresh grated Romano cheese and a sprinkling of red peppers for a surprising bit of heat.

Wine was selected with recommendations from the sommelier based on menu selections which had been carefully deliberated over and he returned with a bottle of a Mélange Blanc, making great show of presenting the label, inspecting the cork and tasting the wine in small flat silver dish that hung around his neck on a chunky chain like a Mr. T medallion.  He poured a splash in Mark’s glass to taste. “I’m sure it’s fine,” Mark murmured but nonetheless lifted the glass, swirled the honey-colored liquid, sniffed and sipped it trying to act as if he knew what he was doing. It was surprisingly complex for a white. He nodded to the man who had waited patiently with the bottle held aloft, supported at the bottom in one hand, his thumb tucked inside the bottle’s punt.  Wine was tipped with a gurgle into sparkling large globe shaped glasses and the bottle was set with a rattle into a table-side ice bucket to keep it chilled.

Sue jabbered on excitedly while Mark listened, but he also distracted himself by scanning the crowd for any possible celebs until the waiter arrived with a tray promising to delight and intoxicate the palate. Sue had ordered wonderfully pungent sea scallops arranged on a bed of glistening risotto and a tumble of blanched, garden fresh vegetables hit with a dribble of lemon juice and olive oil.  Across from that was a tower of flash fried sweet potato curls dusted with sea salt. Mark’s plate was set before him bearing a pair of pork noisettes bathed in a creamy Calvados sauce with a few slices of caramelized apples tucked under one side and confettied with lemon zest.  A bundle of pencil thin asparagus lay on one side wearing a stripe of balsamic reduction as thick and black as molasses. Rounding out his plate was a confit of wild mushrooms—chanterelles, hedgehogs, morels, hen of the woods—dark and moist as the forest floor.

The waiter pulled a nearly two-foot long wooden mill from the tray to his left and was about to ask if either wanted fresh ground pepper when his eyes whinged up into contorted slits and he suddenly let lose an unexpectedly loud, sharp blast. Mark felt the spray of spittle hit his face and found himself looking with astonishment through glasses now dotted with a Seattle-like drizzle of aspirated mucus compliments of the waiter. His meal, similarly blanketed by the sneeze, was slowly and silently removed from the table as the waiter choked out a horrified apology and the promise of a replacement ASAP. Mark dropped his head and a silent tear rolled down his cheek as his stomach simultaneously registered its regret with a very vocal rumble.

Here’s my offering:

He thought the play was over and turned to walk towards home when he heard the crack; he never saw the line-drive foul rocketing towards him. His glasses shattered against his face as his head blossomed with childbirth caliber pain—he should have been wearing safety goggles—and his nose, right check bone and orbital floor crumpled under the impact driving him to the dirt of the first base line. He remained conscious but desperately wished he would pass out.

The reconstructive surgery was a celebrated success—he didn’t lose the eye—and one would never know just by looking at him that he had been through such an ordeal, but the injuries from that weekend baseball game did leave him with a slight nasal whistle at night. His wife no longer sleeps as well as she used to.

Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by each week to participate in my writing challenge offered every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I will be providing right here weekly.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Nonstandard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard prompt:
awkward silence
You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week for the alternative prompt, write a story from the first person point of view (i.e. I did this, I saw that) featuring a protagonist who is the opposite of your own gender. In other words if you are male, write from a female’s point of view and vice versa. As per usual with the Non-Standard prompt there is no word limit but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Write on!

Some of you Five Sentence Fiction fans may have seen this before.  I have to admit that I was running out of time and stooped to doing a little recycling. Anyway here is my effort applied to the prompt of Awkward Silence (194 words):

Darlene was fidgeting with her wine, Stuart was a pathetic conversationalist and they were enduring yet another long awkward silence as she watched him pop a piece of calamari into his mouth. There was no question that he was great looking: bushy hair, eyes the color of lapis, perfect teeth, rock hard pecs and abs—a poster child for any gym—and a cute ass to boot but, let’s face it, he wasn’t exactly eating with a full set of silverware. In fact, she was thinking, Stu probably doesn’t even know what silverware is, metaphorically speaking, and so she was beginning to have her doubts about asking him for a “contribution.”

Nick, a mutual friend, was now crossing the restaurant to their table; he finished roughly wiping his nose on the heel of hand before slapping Stuart on the back and sitting down with a wink asking, “Hey Stud, so did Darlene, here, ask you to father her unborn child yet?” Darlene simply dropped her head onto crossed arms and groaned as Stuart cluelessly fingered another morsel of squid into his mouth and then sucked a bit of red cocktail sauce from his thumb.

]]> http://andyswordsandpictures.wordpress.com/2013/05/07/two-for-tuesday-challenge-7-may-7-13/feed/ 16 ahblack57 bite size silence http://andyswordsandpictures.wordpress.com/2013/05/06/five-sentence-fiction-festival/ http://andyswordsandpictures.wordpress.com/2013/05/06/five-sentence-fiction-festival/#comments Mon, 06 May 2013 13:00:30 +0000 ahblack57 http://andyswordsandpictures.wordpress.com/?p=2906 ]]> Monday is when I tackle some Five Sentence Fiction. Feel free to take Lillie McFerrin’s challenge to write a five sentence story based on a single word prompt. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just used for direction. This week’s word is Festival.

Here’s my offering:

Jake blushed as he nodded hello to Mrs. Bathwaite just outside the local pharmacy, convinced his shirt was jumping the way his heart hammered against his rib cage. He had decided that he’d pick up a few extra items—things he could use anyway that Lexy would probably be glad he bought like nail clippers, deodorant and mouthwash—with the intent to help disguise the real reason for his little errand. He had trouble locating them at first—and he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask—but he finally zeroed in on the right rack opting for the three pack of Festivals, which brightly proclaimed things like: “ribbed for her enhanced enjoyment,” “a party in a foil packet,” and “always act responsibly and consensually.”

He took all of his items to the self-checkout aisle hoping to get out of there unobserved but the thick-waisted, gray-haired cashier with overly bright lipstick motioned to him with the wave of a flabby arm saying, “I’ll take you over here, sweetheart, them self-checkout scanners ain’t workin’ today.” Jake tried to muster all the nonchalance the 17-year-old was capable of and thought he was actually doing pretty well until she picked up the microphone and broadcast to the entire store, “Hey, Jasper, I need a price check on some ribbed condoms—the Festival three pack…you know, them ‘party in a packet’ ones?”

Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by each week to participate in my writing challenge offered every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I will be providing right here weekly.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Non-Standard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard prompt:
unintended consequences
You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt, instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week for the alternative prompt, write a story that is set 100 years or more in either the past or the future. As per usual with the Non-Standard prompt there is no word limit (allowing for longer, more in depth Flash Fiction if you like) but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Write on!

Here’s a warning for those who prefer not read someone else’s work before authoring their own contribution.

My personal effort follows.

This week I went for the Non-Standard prompt and took a gaze into the future.  It is much longer than what I usually write (taking advantage of the lack of a word limit which allows for a more in depth exploration) and science fiction is not generally my thing either but I wanted to push myself a bit this week. I hope you enjoy it.

The Rendering (1,271 words) by Andy Black

He nervously rechecked the quadrants, Hess Arcbreit was in the right place, but as the ancient saying goes, he hoped it wasn’t the wrong time. The old Com District looked long abandoned. Not much business was conducted here any more except for a bit of old fashioned begging. As if confirming his thought he noticed a pair of evicts, wearing little more than tatters, gathered in the shadows of a doorway hoping for a handout to finance their next tippling of high test. They already seemed pretty wrecked, so they weren’t paying him too much attention, but he should have been drawing plenty of scrutiny. Hess stood out like freshly slaughtered beef at a PrePak Canteen. He was a normal kid, the type of person rarely found in an area like this. He lived in a highly refined sector; family of four—him, his sister Bene, and his Ma and Da—they even owned a cat, which was a bit extravagant.

He had been told to look for a bit of color; no more instruction than that. Just look for an inconspicuous but decidedly out of place splash of pigment. There wouldn’t be a sign out front, invisiblists weren’t ones to advertise.

Something dislodged an empty condenser housing, sending it rattling to the curb. The sharp, hollow clatter drew Hess’ attention. There it was, amid an ocean of dust, grime and olive green: a scarred and battered bit of bright red sheet metal intended to look like a patch affixed over a broken corner window pane in a door across the way. A dim light glowed weakly in the hallway beyond as if it didn’t have the will to overcome the gloom for much longer. Hess pressed his way into the building.

Most of the doors stood open and nothing but velvety darkness, punctured by broken or overturned chairs, lurked in the first few rooms.  The doors that were closed were locked and he continued making his way past the trash and the kind of detritus that is cast off by the passing years.

The bulb in the hall flickered and buzzed lightly. Hess could see a door standing ajar on the left-hand side more than halfway down the corridor. An arrow-thin sliver of harsh light reached out between door and jam, looking like it was waiting for the right moment to sneak off. He stood outside the nearly closed door taking time to gather his courage when it was abruptly pulled open by someone on the other side.

Both let out a short startled yelp. Hess’ was louder and delivered at a higher pitch. Neither had expected the other, at least not at that particular moment. The man from inside stood wearing a thick, translucent, rubbery apron the color of tobacco-stained teeth and a once-white medical mask that stretched across the lower half of his face.  The top of his head was shaved and waxed to high sheen and his skin was a deep pink.

“Well, well, well.  Looks like I have an unscheduled appointment.” The man’s eyes crinkled into what Hess assumed was a smile hidden beneath the mask but there was no warmth or sincerity in it. “You’re here. Might as well come in. Go through the second door on the right—it’s marked Exam Room 4—and I’ll be with you in just a minute.” The man brushed past Hess and headed to one of the locked doors down the hall and pressed a thumb to the biometric pad mounted on the jam.

Hess found room 4. For a medical facility it wasn’t very sterile. The floor and walls were in need of a good scrub but he was encouraged by the presence of a stainless steel sink which looked to have been recently used.  At least the ‘doctor’ (there was no expectation that he was licensed or degreed) had washed his hands. Then again, maybe he had only rinsed his coffee mug out.

The boy sat nervously on the edge of a large lounge that was adjustable and dominated the small room. There was a heavy armrest on the left side sprouting several pairs of straps.  There was no need for another armrest on the right side.  Implants are always inserted into the left arm.  A stool on wheels and a rolling tray stand were the only other pieces of furniture.  There were no medical diagrams, weight charts or drug advertisements being broadcast into the room. In fact there weren’t even any monitors. The office felt temporary.

The door swung open and the man in the apron walked briskly in stopping short and just stared at Hess for a full minute. Neither of them spoke, they simply regarded each other. Hess noticed just how short the man was. Even seated, Hess was still slightly taller than the man standing in front of him.

“No offense, but you’re a tad young for a rendering,” said the short man referring to a desire to be “rendered invisible” to the government. “What’s your age, tadpole, twelve?”

“Fourteen. I’ll be fifteen in three months.” Hess, taking a little umbrage at the man’s remark, straightened his back and raised his chin to give himself even more of a height advantage.  “And I got plenty of scrip so don’t you worry about my being able to pay.”

“What you runnin’ from, little newt?” asked the elder. “What reason you got to hide from pryin’ eyes?”

“That’s none of your nevermind. I got me my reasons, and like I already said, I got enough scrip. I’m not afraid. Of the operation, of you or anyone else.” Hess’ tenacity earned another smile from the doc.

“Not afraid of anyone except the Ruling Establishment.”  The doctor let that sink in. “It’s irreversible—the rendering, that is. Once it’s done, it’s done. You don’t exist in the eyes of the R.E. No university. No vocation, at least not a proper, legal one. No family—again not a proper one. No benefits. No rights.” He paused again. “Listen newt. I don’t want your Da’s scrip just because you’re flunking second term or your girlfriend broke things off. This is serious stuff and there’s no going back.  You sure about this?”

Hess nodded. “OK, boy. Lay back and let’s get this show on the road.” The doc strapped the boy’s arm to the rest, pulled an odd assortment of sharp looking instruments from a drawer in the rolling stand and clattered them out onto the tray on top.  The short man stood and went into the adjoining room and came back with a small amount of brown elixir in a small plastic cup. “Bottoms up.  This’ll take you away for about an hour.  Your arm’ll be sore when you wake. But I do honest work and good work. It won’t cause you any glitches in the future. Pay me now ’cause when you wake, I’ll be gone and you’ll be ‘invisible.’ You fathom?”

Hess slowly nodded again as the doctor considered him once more. “You can still get up and walk out. I won’t think any less of you. Last chance. You wanna reconsider?” This time the boy shook his head, fished out a wad of notes and held them out to the man that he hoped was going to make everything all better.

“I was told it was 12 K’s,” said Hess. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” The man behind the medical mask took and pocketed the scrip and motioned towards the little cup, that Hess now had in his free hand, indicating that it was time to get this underway. The boy sharply sniffed air in through his nose, lifted the cup to his mouth and knocked his head back, drinking down the stuff like a cowboy in an old movie saloon. Immediately the room swam as a warmth blossomed in his chest and he felt glad that he had nothing to worry about at least for the time he was under. After that, who knew…

Here’s my offering:

The breeze tiptoed through the branches disrupting the shadows that now danced across Terri’s face. She had been dozing lightly and opened her eyes from her spot beneath this grand old tree with young, nearly translucent leaves that were backlit by brilliant sunlight. She recognized the twitter of a cardinal and the sorrowful who-EW-who-who-who of the mourning dove and the sad answering call of a distant mate. She tracked the progress of a squirrel which made its way out to the impossibly thin tip of a branch and in a gravity defying performance jumped successfully to a neighboring tree. But the tears overcame her again as she ineffectually struggled against the stakes and ropes–holding her flat to the ground—that chaffed at her bloody wrists and ankles, as she wondered how many more days before she was found; and her mind turned over to inspect the infinitely more terrifying word “if.”

Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by any time each week to participate in my writing challenge newly offered every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I will be providing right here weekly.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Nonstandard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard prompt:
artificial intelligence
You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
One of my favorite quotes is: “A metaphor is like a simile.” This week for the second prompt, I am pushing similes and metaphors. If you need a refresher on metaphors and similes you can check out my earlier post on the subject.  Write a story that is heavily ladened with similes and/or metaphors. The requirement is that you have a minimum of one simile/metaphor per every 50 words of your final word count. The challenge will be to make it feel natural and not forced. As per usual with the Non-standard prompt there is no word limit but there is a minimum of 200 words so you will have at least 4 similes/metaphors in your story. If your story stretches out to 300 words you should have a minimum of 6 similes/metaphors, a 350 word story will have 7 and so on.

Write on!

This week I’m using the Non-Standard Prompt (similes and metaphors) as inspiration:

As Dixie Jarelle sat at the restaurant table, she tried to coax the hunk of dinner from between her teeth with the edge of a red enameled nail. What ever it was, felt like it was the size of a Lincoln Continental. Her tongue, raw and numb from earlier efforts to free the piece of food, had already cramped up like the calf of a marathon runner marking mile 23. She adjusted her bra strap and her breasts quaked with about as much enticement as a plate of aspic; each one likely weighing as much as an overfed cat. Her make-up was liberally and thickly applied, as if she mistakenly got ready at her husband’s workbench finding only a trowel and paintbrush. In short, she looked like a French whore on the way to the circus.

“Sorry, Dearie. Gotta go pee. Feels like me back teeth are floatin’. A lovely meal, just the two of us. Don’t you spoil it by runnin’ off on me, now.” Her voice crackled like broken glass and Michael watched her sashaying retreat; a spirited game of dodge ball taking place beneath her skirt. Over the other patrons he could see her high piled hair—a color and style usually found at a cotton candy stand—disappear around the corner.

He pushed his plate aside, dropped his forehead to the damask tablecloth and heaved a sigh that might have registered 2.3 on the Richter Scale. “I have got to find a place for Grandma,” he muttered, “before Debbie serves up divorce papers for breakfast.”

I came up with 12 similes/metaphors within 260 words. That’s about one per every 22 words.  How’d you do?

Here’s my offering:

Neil thought he had all the angles covered. He had waited until almost quitting time before entering, flipping the “open” sign to “closed” and locking the door so no one else would walk in while he was demanding the the full day’s take with a little persuasion from the barrel of a pistol; the haul was much more than he had anticipated.

He gathered everyone up, even checked the bathrooms where he found one of the cooks sitting on the crapper, and marched them all into the walk-in freezer which had no handle on the inside. He had carefully collected all their cell phones and dumped them in a trashcan outside the door but then the manager had to go all Mr. High-and-Mighty, saying something about not getting away with any of this so Neil lunged at the fat man to teach him a thing or two, which was when the click of the big door behind him stopped him cold in his tracks.

And, damn, it was definitely cold in there, but at least there was plenty of food and as if reading Neil’s mind one of the cooks said, “…you want fries with that frozen burger?”

Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by any time each week to participate in my writing challenge presented every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I provide right here weekly.

The Standard Prompt will always consist of a two-word prompt to be used as inspiration. The Non-Standard Prompt will change from week to week. Sometimes it will be a visual prompt, sometimes a first sentence or phrase, sometimes a scenario, etc.  The limit for the Two for Tuesday Standard Prompts is 200 words and the Nonstandard Prompt has a minimum of 200 words. Use the little blue link thing below to submit your link or leave an entry in the comments section.

Don’t forget to check out the other entries.

Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard prompt:
razor thin
You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

• simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
• they can be included exactly as provided
• or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week for the alternative prompt, I am providing you with a scenario.  Write a story about a man and woman on a road trip. He uses the men’s room while she fills the car with gas. When he comes out, she and the car are gone. As per usual with the Non-standard prompt there is no word limit but there is a minimum of 200 words.

Here is my effort for the Standard Prompt using razor thin as inspiration:

Petru Bochinsky had lots going against him. He was a new transfer student who knew little English, was tall and razor thin, looking as if he was built out of coat hangers. Scapula poked sharply at the back of his shirt like shovel blades. His fingers were long and slender and his complexion was as pale and thin as skim milk. Some started calling him Dracula.  Then the idea began circulating that there was a direct correlation between the length of one’s feet and the measure of another certain bit of anatomy. Suddenly, Petru, who wore a size 14 shoe, was very popular with the girls.

Here are two offerings:

Richard had not only been driven over the edge, he could no longer see it in his proverbial rearview mirror. Earlier he had pocketed his supervisor’s ID from the asshole’s desk and now used it to gain entry to the building; any logs they might be able to reconstruct would show that it was Derrick Priestly who had been in and out during the wee hours between 3 and 4 AM.  He was tired of being the scapegoat—a harassed, invisible, unappreciated code monkey—but he was going to show them just how gifted an IT tech he really was.

Richard sat down at the keyboard and with Derrick’s pilfered ID was able to get into the company’s server, enter a few inspired lines of code, and when the question, “Are you sure you want to reformat?” flashed on the screen, he clicked “yes.” He then gathered up the stack of the back-up drives that he had removed from the racks and tossed them in the microwave, punched up ten minutes, hit start and walked out with a smile on his face feeling truly free for the first time in years.

If that one didn’t grab you there is also this:

As if capable of defying gravity she felt like she was hovering a hair’s breadth above the mattress balancing on that delicious knife edge between waking and sleeping.  There were noises and ticks that intruded but they barely registered, leaving her with the impression that the sounds had traveled over a vast time and distance. Kaleidoscopic color and pattern danced beneath her eyelids; a 1960s Jefferson Airplane light show.

Her foot brushed up against a neighboring leg, which was enough to tumble her from her precarious perch that overlooked oblivion, spilling her onto the firmer ground of groggy wakefulness. She pressed herself against the full length of his firm and sleep warmed body, kissed his shoulder and smiled in the dark, glad that she was not alone.

Got five sentences? Share them!

If you enjoy flash fiction challenges stop by each week to participate in my writing challenge offered every Tuesday. Take your pick from two, yes that’s right, two different prompts that I will be providing right here weekly.