Category: Five Sentence Fiction


I have to say that I have been thoroughly enjoying the Five Sentence Fiction weekly writing forays and somewhat surprised at the ideas that come to my mind whenever Lillie McFerrin gives the prompts. This week is no exception. The prompt is “Armor” and at first images of crystal cocoons,  armadillo girls popped into my head. Then Smaug lumbered in. He scorched the first occupants, and sat down in his usual Smaug way.  Me, like all the best burglars, watched his glorious  under belly for that one patch where the scales didn’t meet and then the idea(s) for this week’s FFS effort came to me.  At first they were all jumbled up and then they separated. Ah…the writing process. Love it!

Five Sentence Fiction: Armor or  …A Hunting We Will Go?

1# Steven Rapier

Steven Rapier sat in his usual corner in the café across from his second apartment watching, with protracted scrutiny, a young, slim dancer-type, in a denim shrug and floral maxi dress, the one with the caramel face under a mass of black curls, currently engrossed in the latest Terry McMillan effort.

Her soft cheeks complimented her heart-shaped face and there was a growing hardness in his groin as he imagined the gurgling noises her perfect throat would make while his well practiced fingers dug into it -she doesn’t look like a screamer, not like the last one.

The young lady, sensing this scrutiny, looked up; made fleeting eye-contact and blushed as her eyes returned to her reading.

That’s it, Rapier thought, that’s the “in” he was seeking; that soft spot, like the flesh on her beautiful neck, the only skin uncovered by her modest but exquisitely feminine outfit.

Deploying his brightest smile, Steven Rapier got up from his usual table and walked with cool purpose towards his next “passion project.”

#2 Deidra Blest

In a quiet, softly lit coffee house, not too removed from her usual haunts, Deidra Blest sipped her honey- lemon tea,  not really reading the book in front of her.

She sat in the dim section of the coffee house, confident that no one in this big city believed in folktales, let alone the ones that came from the Islands, and she was supremely confident that the ever-busy city people wouldn’t notice her long enough to see what she really was.

Except the chap sitting across the room from her, currently oozing thirst under his tan fedora and through his slacks.

Deidra indulged her special powers: knock them down with pheromones,  and really turn-up their heads so that what they thought they were seeing was a young demure female.

“City men sweet, oui,” she thought and then smiled as she shot the strapping Fedora Man a glance, “I will feed well tonight.”

© Debra Providence 2012

This week’s Five Sentence Fiction challenge is “Tears“.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.

I wrote two this time after struggling to find point of entry and I decided to publish them both. One feels a little incomplete.

Tears #1…or The Dust Miner’s Daughter

Two figures stood on the look-out platform of the Company mining post near the Eagle Nebula.

The smaller, a girl, leaned into the glass and pressed her face against its coldness while the burly figure, an old dust miner, shifted his weight and cleared his throat several occasions, clearly unaccustomed to the company of teenage girls, especially the weepy sort.

Her tear stained face glowed in the blue tail-light of the comet that was slowly disappearing behind the giant columns and, though some part of her knew it wasn’t really possible, she thought that if she stared long enough at that one spot where he disappeared, she might catch a glimpse of his special red suit, or even his harness, weaving back and forth through the dust and gas.

“Er, you couldn’t really do nothin’ about that, none of us could,” the miner interrupted her concentration, “I mean, your old man, he’d get that glassy-eyed look whenever one o’ them comets was about, even before you was born he was like that.”

She nodded, grudgingly, because deep inside she knew she never stood a chance competing for her father’s love with a thing as old and as breathtakingly terrible as a comet –she just couldn’t compete at all.

Tears #2: Ms. Lenora Chase

Lenora Chase tossed her canary yellow shoulder bag on to the purple velveteen loveseat in her apartment and made a beeline for her 3rd Gen W.I.L.L. O 5 box and the bottle of Hennessey on her large dining room table.

Reaching inside the box for the nuero-interface halo, she ignored the instructions for adjusting the emo-drainage dial, turning it all the way up to 10.

It had been that type of day, what with the scene with Kevin her married boss, and the new younger, curvier, and very eager intern, the one the other girls called red lips and mega tits and the cool way Kevin dismissed the whole thing.

Ignoring the warnings on the manual against drinking and oversetting the halo, Lenora downed the contents of her glass, pressed the fully charged halo on to her temple and stretched out on her cherry pink couch.

Tomorrow, if she woke up, when they looked at her they would see her mascara intact and they would know that she is Lenora Chase and she cries for no one.

In my previous post I mentioned that I would be trying the Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction on a regular basis. This week’s prompt is “Scorching” with the following instructions:

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.

Scorching

Asha-Bean crouched in the swampy dasheen patch, mesmerized by the inferno that was once her grandmother’s house.

The green heart-shaped leaves stung her flesh while the heat from frenzied flames pressed against her face, and billows of black smoke stung her nose and throat.

She wiped her sweating brow, smearing kerosene and soot across her face, confident that at least one of her grandmother’s nosy neighbors would see all these things that she had done, and call for help.

Asha-Bean told them she didn’t want to stay with grand-mother; smelly, cranky, beating first for every little thing and asking questions after grandmother, now sleeping in her plush queen sized bed, with all the fancy cushions, at the center of the blaze.

She told them she didn’t want to come.

© Debra Providence April 2, 2012

P.S. Really loving the FSF