50 Shades

Hello Hello and welcome to microfiction Monday, this weeks prompt was “Write a Fable”, which I absolutely fell in love with. Follow Fanny as she experiences her justice system from the side of the defendent, I will say it is not as saucy as the title implies, and the following trigger warnings apply: Murder, Attempted sexual assault, extreme justice, dark AF. Hope you enjoy.

The rating system had always seemed fair before Fanny found herself at its mercy.

Where a jury was made up of twelve people, the new system presented the facts to 10,000, simply as they were, with no emotion, embellishments, or heartfelt pleas for mercy to sway the raters before they chose innocent or guilty. There were only two punishments, exile to a penal colony, or death, though some would argue given the conditions at the colony, it was a question of which was worse.

Upon implementation, crime rates plummeted, and for the first time in her life Fanny felt safe walking home alone at night in the city. She did so each night, and she was honestly shocked when the man held her at knife point, and told her to take off her clothes.

She fought, she got the knife, she stabbed him, and despite the fact it was in no way her intent, that knife struck an artery, and he died.

Intent however, was classified as an embellishment, as was a description of her fear, the way it felt to have him standing over her, the fact he had 100 pounds on her, and even the fact that with her broken heel she didn’t think she could outrun him.

She looked at the facts of the case as they were presented, and hoped for death, because there was no accounting for circumstances, and should she be sent to the colony, she might as well have surrendered to her fate. 

Suddenly, the idea of a few guilty people getting off on the mercy of other, seemed like less of a tragedy than it once had, and Fanny sobbed as she recognized the price of the thin veneer of safety that had been created.  She never realized that she would be the one to ultimately pay.

*Moral of the story: Not everything is black and white, reality is full of shades of grey.*



Hello hello, and welcome to this week’s six-sentence story, where the word of the week is ZEST.  I knew it had other meanings, but I immediately thought back to the confusion I felt the first time I read a recipe requiring lemon zest and wanted to work some of that confusion in here.  Follow along with Peg, Vi, and Maj as they try to work their way through a recipe to reap the rewards.

Peg knew that she wasn’t hitting the bottom as she stirred, but by her estimation the ladle was about six than a lack of proper mixing, besides Aunt Ella always said it was the intent that mattered more than the act anyhow.

“What next,” she demanded, a little impatient now, there were three of them, one reading the book, one prepping ingredients, and one stirring, herself, and while she had agreed to stay at the same post the entire time, she had not anticipated how slow the others would be.

“Ah, yes, 1 tablespoon zest of lemon, 1 tablespoon zest of lime, 1 teaspoon zest of orange, and 1 teaspoon zest of toddler,” Vi read with the confidence of someone who was reading aloud, and not listening to what they were saying at all.

“I thought zest was only for citrus,” Peg said, at the same time Maj asked, “is that the whole skin, or just like the top layer with the vegetable peeler?”

Vi frowned at the both of them, then looked back at the book before exclaiming, “OH, sorry, 1 tablespoon zest of lemon, 1 tablespoon zest of lime, 1 teaspoon zest of orange, 1 teaspoon zest of GRAPEFRUIT, 9 tablespoons BLOOD of a toddler, that makes so much more sense, my eyes skipped a line.”

Peg rolled her eyes, she was starting to think that this whole thing had been a waste of time, that they weren’t going to be successful at all, but she kept stirring, because even the chance of it working, of immortality was worth the sore arms she was sure to have in the morning.

Not Quite Silver Screen

Hello hello and welcome to this week’s response to the six-sentence story prompt WRAP.  I decided to go with the classic Hollywood version of the word, and tell the story of our narrator that just headlined a production disaster. 

I never thought I could be so relieved as I was when they yelled out, “That’s a wrap,” after two months of production hell.

It was a low budget film, which we all know, and why it was supposed to be done over three weekends, not the eight that it took, or the many days and evenings it took during my weeks.

Everything we shot, we reshot at a secondary location after flooding washed out the bridge we filmed our outdoor scenes at, then the building we rented for indoor scenes was condemned, and of course after we all lost so much weight from the food poisoning fiasco of weekend five that it became a continuity error.

Someone literally caught on fire, not like special effects fire, because our special effects were not that good, and while he ended up being okay, I was cold, tired and miserable, just wanting to go home.

What I did make, went towards paying overnights at a no-tell motel nearer to set after 12-hour days, and between that and the lost wages from missing my day job this had put me in the red rather than the black, not even including the next contract I would lose when they saw the weight change.

Sitting there on opening night though, it had been all worth it, because if the audience reaction was anything to go by, I had just starred in my first hit.

The Heavy Weight of Knowledge

Hello hello and welcome to this week’s six-sentence story, based on the word date.  I took this one and used it in a rather strange manner, but since it’s PG and fairly harmless, I am going to leave it at that.  Follow out narrator as she discovers the true nature of the item she has been sent to retrieve, and how knowledge can change everything.

She looked down at the package in horror, what in gods name was this abomination that she had been sent to collect?

She looked up, desperate, pleading with him to tell her that this was a mistake, that she had been given this in error, and that her quarry was elsewhere, but he was steadfast that this is what she had come for.

She paid the price demanded, heading home disgusted and disillusioned, wishing that she could unlearn what she had learned, and go back to her blissful ignorance.

Her last hope lay with her mother, that she had erred, and this had not been what she was sent to retrieve, but the smile on her mother’s face as she held out the offering destroyed that notion.

She went to her room to contemplate what she had seen, what it would mean for her, for her life going forward, and the betrayal she had suffered on that day.

The next day she stood staring down at the date squares, trying to decide if she would be able to stomach one, knowing now that they were made from a block of disgusting looking dried fruit, and for the first time she passed on her favorite dessert.