I’m starting a new feature here called the A Wednesday Word. Here’s the deal: I post a word and its definition and you write a short-short story (under 500 words) and link to it in the comments section based on its meaning. You can even write something about what the word sounds like or–if you didn’t know the definition–what you thought it meant on first glance. And if I like your story the best, I’ll send you a handmade knitted bookmark and post your story on my blog. Pretty cool, huh?
This week’s Wednesday word is:
Dictionary.com Definition: Deserving or causing public disgrace or shame
Write about anything you want, just so long as it has to do with ignominiousness. The more creative the better and the better your chances of winning the bookmark and getting posted on the blog.
How to Participate
Just in case it wasn’t clear, here’s what you need to do:
- Write a story under 500 words about the word of the day.
- Post it on your blog and link to it in the comments section here. If you don’t have a blog, post it directly in the comments.
- Submit by 6/29. The story I like the most will win a knitted bookmark that I’ll make just for you.
Sound good? Good! Now, get to writing!
Earlier today, I posted on my Twitter account that I was holding a mini-contest for my own amusement. Whoever could guess how many articles I could write in a two hour period would be able to pick a character name and topic for a Twitter-based story that I would write on demand! Exciting, right? @liquidtopazeyes won and offered “Iniabi” and dystopian romance as her suggestions. I’ve posted the results of my meager efforts below and in the correct order for those leery of the out-of-order nature of Twitter.
Iniabi had looked at me with black eyes reflecting the light like puddles in the potholes. She didn’t smile.
The air raids had sounded. She didn’t flinch. Just white noise to her. The sky exploded, bits of roofing tiles landing on our tongues.
We should have moved. The siren wails and you run. The unspoken rule. But she did not run, so I did not run. She looked at me.
The heat from the explosion pressed into my skin like my mother’s hairdryer. That same kind of dry heat only on open eyes cooking.
I reached for her. Seconds blinked by and her hand was in mine. Those black orbs of hers burned with flecks of red—the color of the sky.
Iniabi mouthed a kiss, a slow pucker of lips, and I did the same waiting for the last bomb to fall. A few city blocks left to destroy.
The end came in a blast of air. Hot and cold. Sharp and soft. I ran a finger over Iniabi’s lips as we disintegrated. Then ash. Ruin.
Not bad, not great, but fun! I think I’ll make a habit of this. Perhaps some day next week I’ll have an all-day game to see how many articles I can write in one day. Work and fun combined. You can’t beat that.