Sorry I missed last weeks posting. Thrsday was not a good day here in my world. But this week I have recovered senses and offer you a new word:
pain
Let's see what you can do in 100 words.
Happy creating!
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How to play:
DRABBLE. A story of exactly 100 words, no more, no less. Up to 15 words extra are allowed for the title. Hyphenated-words-are-argued-about. The drabble craze started in British SF fandom in the late 1980s, and the term originates from a Monty Python skit: "Drabble. A word game for 2 to 4 players. The four players sit from left to right and the first person to write a novel wins." However to be playable, the 'novel' had to be cut short. Brian Aldiss became enthusiastic about mini-sagas of 50 words, and one writer even advocated 8 words, but eventually the Birmingham University SF Society decided on 100 words. Many respected SF writers joined in the The Drabble Project and the resulting collections were sold, all proceeds going to charity. Lately, drabbles have been drawing attention again, beginning in Doctor Who fanfic and then other bigger fandoms like Trek. Variants of 150, 200, or 350 words have appeared. However, the most common form is still the 100 word drabble.
I'll not put many restrictions on the content, just make sure it is not a hate filled rampage or illegal. I reserve the right to remove any content I deem unacceptable. NC-17, Fan fiction, Real Person fiction (RPF of celebrities) or just general fiction are allowable as long as it is not defamitory. Poetry is acceptable. If you choose to write adult content, please make sure to put NC-17 or a rating in the header for your post so that others will know BEFORE reading it. (Not everyone likes to read that, and if they are warned, well, they read it at their own risk.)
Please note that I am making no money off of this. I just enjoy the challenges and constraints and have found it a useful tool in my own writing, and I wanted to share the fun with others. I will not tolerate flaming or disrespect on this blog. You are reading the content here at your own risk, so to speak, so if you come across something that upsets or offends you, please do not rage about it here. This is not the place.
You may post your drabble directly as a comment, or place a perma-link to your own blog in the comment box. Either way is perfectly acceptable, since we are dealing with a limited word count for the posts.
I'll not put many restrictions on the content, just make sure it is not a hate filled rampage or illegal. I reserve the right to remove any content I deem unacceptable. NC-17, Fan fiction, Real Person fiction (RPF of celebrities) or just general fiction are allowable as long as it is not defamitory. Poetry is acceptable. If you choose to write adult content, please make sure to put NC-17 or a rating in the header for your post so that others will know BEFORE reading it. (Not everyone likes to read that, and if they are warned, well, they read it at their own risk.)
Please note that I am making no money off of this. I just enjoy the challenges and constraints and have found it a useful tool in my own writing, and I wanted to share the fun with others. I will not tolerate flaming or disrespect on this blog. You are reading the content here at your own risk, so to speak, so if you come across something that upsets or offends you, please do not rage about it here. This is not the place.
You may post your drabble directly as a comment, or place a perma-link to your own blog in the comment box. Either way is perfectly acceptable, since we are dealing with a limited word count for the posts.
8 comments:
In the everlasting darkness, pain was meaningless. Faint whispers drifted around him, echoes of a world beyond that darkness. He knew he would be able to understand them if he just concentrated, but felt it wasn't worth the effort. He was so tired. Deciding to become one with the placid dark, he stretched his being (My mind? What am I now?), became less and less until he simply wasn't anymore.
Waking up on his couch, feeling rested and content, was a surprise. He sat up and looked around. Shit. What happened here? And is that a cornfield outside my window?
Pain. The only thing you realize. The only thing that still makes sense.
Pain is what makes the chill run up and down your spine, what makes you sweat and shake with cold at the same time.
Pain is what you long to feel, when you pick up the knife and put it to your skin.
Pain is what you know you should feel, but don’t, even when you watch the flood of your own blood drawing zig-zags on your skin. Pain is what turns the sharp knife into your best friend and changes your life into a never-ending nightmare.
Just how can you describe the pain that you feel? Is it the loneliness, that feeling of being so alone, that nobody else has ever experienced it. Not a physical pain, but a mental one, one that no matter how hard you try you cannot expel from your brain. It never goes away, it lessens, but will never leave. It will shape the rest of you life, lead you on the right path and take you to pastures new. You never know at the time that the pain of loss will be the best thing that ever happened to you.
She felt it when she tried to move, that sharp pain that draws one’s breath back into the lungs. It was dark around her, and foggy in her mind. Another pain came and her memory snapped back. The car. She had hit a patch of wet leaves and lost control. Where had it ended up? Upside down somewhere. Was she off the road, on the road? Everything was disoriented and she felt like she was in limbo. Except limbo wasn’t supposed to hurt. So she wasn’t dead, but how long would that truth remain? Would anyone find her in time?
Raven,
First try! Thanks for the invite.
I also posted this on "Writer's Island" today for the prompt "Change"
Changed
Lying, limbs entwined
Pelvises hinged in trusting.
Lips brushing, tongues darting
Her face flushed; the pressure
Builds
She focuses on her woman-hood.
The exquisite pleasures rise,
Peak, crescendo—subside,
Rise again and again.
Each time the pleasure holds
All of her attention!
Breast and belly swell
Aureoles, nipples darken—
Linea nigra scores her swollen corpus.
The warm fuzzies of mother-hood
Gives way to the waddling near term discomfort.
Lying, limbs akimbo, panting
Through chapped, pursed lips.
Pressure builds with tightening uterus.
Pain’s intensity grows stronger,
Peaks, crescendos, subsides,
Rises anew.
Pain, each growing pain, holds
All of her attention!!
rel
Wow! Thank you to all for joining in. So many variations! Wonderful entries from everyone!
Three months had passed and the pain of the winter was fading off. Each year, it became easier to leave it on the step of the cabin. She made time to find joy now, to exhilarate in the achievements of the kids at the center, to fill up on the sunshine and rain of the warmer days. These were the easiest times to pass off the pain. Her own injuries from the accident acted up as storms approached, deep in her bones, and it served as a touchstone to her soul. Each ache reminder her she was alive. And living.
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