Category: Writing

The one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, gathered together one night with the bigger fish to fry and the the fish that needed a bicycle, and they called in the fish that wasn’t off the hook yet, along with the one that didn’t take the bait. (The one that swallowed it, hook line and sinker, however, was decidedly unavailable for consultation). On the way, this growing entourage met up with the fish that had been out of water, who was being suspiciously consoled by the fish that well, drank like a fish, while looking looking for a “hook up,” with the more fish that are in the sea.

Together, this fishy group they inquired of the human race as to why they were the subject of such bad cliches, after all they said, “It’s all a bit…fishy.”

*Writing a story in 500 words is a common writing exercise I have never yet attempted. But, I thought it would be fun today. *

The Gypsy and the Shark

Blame it on the rip tide maybe, or maybe the alcohol, but the tiny boat drifted further out to sea than any of the three passengers ever wanted to go.

Joyriders out for a Saturday afternoon fun in the sun, the laughs lasted long enough until one finally noticed it.

“I see no land,” the young brunette suddenly remarked.

Upon her observation, the boy that was lounging with her, sat up set to disagree. For he knew everything, on account of being the only male in the group, and it was his boat after all. But, even he found himself at loss, as there was clearly no land in sight. The tiny boat, with its trio of passengers was dwarfed against the deep blue sea.

It was the gypsy’s idea to paddle back to shore. She wasn’t really a gypsy, but she fancied herself as such, having a gypsy soul. They grabbed the oars and began paddling back to land, but with the wind, they were getting nowhere. But as the boy paddled, his oar hit something and fell in the sea.

And that’s when they noticed it. The tell-tale black fin circling the boat. Shark. Fear struck the hearts of the three travelers. The brunette dissolved into hysteria. The boy froze. The shark’s back fin rose and fell in the water and splashed them all in the face. Then they remembered.

“The fish! The fish!” the brunette yelled.

They had salmon on board for the trip, and the boy had fancied a sea side barbecue. They threw the fish as far out in the water as they could in hopes of distracting the beast from themselves. It only made it worse. The shark pushed on the boat, and rocked it in search of the food. The trio got a full look its face as it attempted to board the boat. Jaws. It gnawed at the supplies, a machine in search of pleasure.

The boy grabbed a broom and attempted to strike the animal from afar, but his fear kept his too far at bay. No one else had any other ideas. And they watched, frozen. Trapped.

Finally in a massive display of aggressiveness, the shark leapt into the air, splashing salt water it its wake. Its entire massive body left the ocean for a few seconds, a glorious beautiful creature dancing in the sun, all muscle and flubber and power.

The gypsy had had enough. Propelled by what, she didn’t know. But she decided she shark had done enough. In the scant few seconds that the shark made its descent, she grabbed a gilded knife off the deck, and approached the animal with a steel face. She rested one foot on the side of the boat, and made unflinching eye contact with the beast.

Then without flinching, she lunged forward and jabbed the knife deep into the flesh of the animal. The shark squealed, and his blood spewed, but she didn’t move. And then she watched his wounded body fall —like a boulder into the ocean. The wind hit her full in the face, as she stood over her victory. A warrior was born.

A bird flew in my window one night
And took me by surprise
I assumed it must have lost its way
In its epic dance across the clear blue sky
With carefree leaps and dizzying climbs

My open portifice there
Must have seemed as adventure as any
And it stopped in to say hello

I found myself a bit at loss
To see such a queer little guest
For how does one entertain,
Such a tiny, lively thing?
Not with fine china and pressed linens, I presumed

So I found a bit of this and a bit of that
To warm the belly of such a patron
Who sang such lovely songs
Of near and far conquests
Over pink-hued lakes and the tops of golden spires

I listened till the hour was late
And my eyelids grew quite heavy
Then I drifted into shallow sleep
For I should not want to be deemed inhospitable
To this flighty little boarder of mine

When I woke my lodger was gone
To chase another dream, I suppose
A clean caller, my guest did not leave
As much as a feather’s wisp

I shall always remember that bird
And the night it came to stay
But I doubt very much
That it will ever remember me
As it continues its epic dance across the clear blue sky
With carefree leaps and dizzying climbs.

The shiny new package
Patiently waited to be opened
By the the girl
With the bright, twinkling eyes
And fancy bows and ribbons
Carefully arranged in her hair

with rapid, vacant blasts the runner moves, the landscape zooming by, b-roll footage in panoramic peripheral, with no end goal, no finish line, just raw, pure movement…movement…movement…movement…movement…just…keep moving…just…keep…moving…muscles…pounding…pavement…movement…movement…just keep moving…brain switches off…don’t think…don’t think…don’t think… just move…just move…just move…and the muscles are independent now, soulless, dead, movement…until it is not.

The runner collapses in a heap, and against all will, strength, desire…begins to feel.