Banana’s

This was written for the six sentence story word prompt of the week VIDEO by girlontheedge. I wanted to focus it on ADHD for ADHD awareness month, and ended up with this, which is a self portrait in parts, but I think i pieces of it are relatable even if you aren’t on the spectrum.


She pressed the back button on the video for the third time, and yet again was distracted from seeing the critical moment unwind. By the time she finally managed to watch the ten seconds that inspired a wave of gasps and applause, its impact was overshadowed the irritation of taking ten minutes to watch a two-minute clip.

She sat hyper-focused on the computer, in part to ignore the disaster that surrounded her.  The garbage overflowing, the sink somehow full again, and the fridge that sat either empty or full of food gone bad, depending if she had emptied it, or just thought about emptying it.

She went back to her doom scrolling, and threw a song on her phone, set to repeat, and listened for the following hour as she browsed.  She finally got up for a snack, when hunger overwhelmed her indecision on what to eat, and found ingredients sitting on the counter, and remembered with a start, that she had sat down to look up the recipe for banana bread.

Wolf! Wolf!

Okay, so this week’s six requires a gore warning. The word was fountain, provided by girlontheedge, and from starting my writing this week on twitters #trickortweet, I started in the horror mind frame. The language is a little inconsistent, but I felt trying to fix the end would ruin it, so I let it go.


It was like a fountain of blood jetting out from his arm, and it seemed impossible that so much could be contained within such a small man, or that it could go so far.

In the time it took to realize what had happened, that it was happening for real, it had gotten everywhere, making the office look like the backdrop of a low budget horror film. 

All at once we leaped into action, and help was called, pressure applied, but it was too late. When the paramedics arrived they didn’t bother with CPR, a single sweeping glance telling them this one wouldn’t be coming back.

A consummate trickster, that his life was lost in a joke gone wrong was not a surprise to anyone who knew him.  If tombstones bore parables, his would read thus; the consequence of crying wolf.

Tantrum in Aisle Three

This was written for the girlontheedge prompt Handle, to which I wrote a six sentence story about someone flying off the handle and wrote Karen with a twist, going a little more into the psyche of the character, and allude to something more being at play.


It was as if I was outside myself, watching this snarling screaming wretch of a person humiliate herself as she berated the poor innocent shop girl.

I knew I had completely flown off the handle, and yet I was unable to stop as if there was something else in that body making it move as I simply observed.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I was beginning to suspect that I was in fact possessed, after all there was no better explanation for this, this complete loss of control.

The small voice in the back of my mind  that whispered an alternative was squashed under the intensity of my belief,  and the words of my diagnosis were dismissed as  mere drivel.

I fell back into myself and gathered what was left of my dignity as I loudly declared that I would never step foot in this establishment again, and I accepted the cheers of nearby patrons as support for my actions.

I sat in the car, gasping for breath, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach wondered what I would tell my husband about why I had been gone for two hours and yet come home without a single package to show for it…

Impulse

This one was written as a response to the six-sentence challenge by girlontheedge. This weeks word was METHOD, and I used it in a thriller style six, with a bit of a twist at the end. I like this weeks, it was a little less introspective than usual, but also a bit lighter as well….


The door swung open and I knew at once that something must be terribly wrong, because Suzie never leaves the door unlocked.  The evidence continued to overwhelm me, with scattered papers, upturned boxes, and every drawer open screaming WRONG, as I ran from room to room crying Suzie’s name.

I froze a moment when it sunk in, that they could still be in the house, and  if it weren’t for the blood smeared on the wall I would have stopped and called the police right then.   I ran up the stairs following the blood on the railing and I pulled my phone to call 911 when I turned into the office and saw her.

There was Suzie, sitting on the floor of her office in a pile of papers, a bandage on her hand, music blaring from her headphones, and she startled a bit when she saw me. “Oh my god Tamara, I swear I have searched every damn place in this house for my receipt,  even cut my hand trying to pry open a lock box,  and let me tell you I was lying when I said there was a method to my madness!”