A place filled with mostly unfinished stories. Begun primarily as a direct result of my association with the OC Writer's Guild
Monologue for this week’s prompt at Tuesday Scribes.
Rainin’ again, ‘s always rainin’
Nowhere particular to go
A caff on the corner there,
Might be nice
Don’t have the scratch though
Nor for “Britney” nor fer fags, neither
Even the dog ends are damp, not fit for nuthin’
‘Oughta find Old Bill
Confess to somethin’
Least I could get dry
Might even get a bite
The Challenge – Internal Monologue
Dialogue for this week’s prompt at Tuesday Scribes.
“Look, it’s easy. You just pucker up and blow. Ta-da! Bubbles appear.”
“Umm?”
“And, if you want you can pop ‘em with your finger, like this see.”
“Umm, yeah ‘cept.”
“‘Cept what, man? It’s fun. Don’tcha wanna play?”
“Yeah ‘cept, I just peed.”
“Here? Aww man really? I guess that can happen. It’s no sweat, brother. Just roll back into the fountain; pretend you fell in. You’ll get all wet and no one will notice you peed.”
“Still share your wand with me? Still let me play?”
“’Course I will.”
The Challenge – Write a Dialogue Only Story
A 150-Word Story for this week’s prompt at Tuesday Scribes.
Gone; the brace that she had worn as a child. Gone; the articulated, iron bars, the heavy brown shoe, and the leather straps that she’d kept fixed to her leg for all those years. Gone; the need for her to endure the cruel barbs and taunts hurled by classmates as she struggled up and down the passageways at school.
Gone also was she. Gone, from the small Midwestern town that had made her tough and had hardened her resolve.
To the casual observer she looked normal now, but there were still tells. There were still things to discern. Things such as the faint ticking of the clockwork, a sound she used to lull herself to sleep at night and the whir of the stretched round leather belts that controlled her thoughts.
She hadn’t been able to travel by plane or visit an inner city high school for a long time.
tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice 