…but I can write it. So can all of you, apparently.
Dear, excessively creative readers writers, since we commenced our sweet Friday festival of nanofiction fun, it feels like someone put a chip and new exhaust system in that vehicle called time. Those around me will attest that I can often be found muttering, “Where do the hours go?” several times a day; thanks to this delightful ritual, I’m even more incredulous. It’s Friday? AGAIN? Didn’t I just write this post? Yowza. It’s like Groundblog’s day.
In any case, indulge me in my disbelief, that it is already time to write an uber-short story and leave it or a link to it in the comments section below.
If you’re just tuning in, you might want to read this and then this, so you learn what I’m going on about, as well as how you can join in the chant. That second link established yet another tradition I’m sticking to— I like the idea of selecting the three short-shorts that made me swoon. Without further blathering, here they be:
When Jai Singh said, “I guess I may as well kick this off….” he wasn’t playing, y’all. The following gem left me daydreaming with a wistful smile on my face, as I concomitantly recalled my fond days in History 196A AND a certain battle scene from LOTR. Suh-wooooooon.
60,000 Rajputs waited in the crisp dawn, armour glinting in the sunlight, horses battle-ready. The track down the mountainside twisted ahead, the green flags of the approaching legion already visible.
With a thundering evocation to the Almighty, they raised their curved swords skywards in unison. The black smoke from the pyres billowed above the fortress.
Jay’s 55 was adroit; it captivated all of us, as we attempted to solve the ingenious riddle he posed:
Ice broke under the ankle. In a hospital room they conspired friendship. Set to work, she fumbled at the remote clumsily. In the boardroom she spat venom as they cornered her then unbelievably granted reprieve. From the loft she saw the little woman walking towards the cab. She knew that it should have been her.
I’m so grateful that he didn’t make it easy on us, that he gave us the joy which inevitably came from figuring it out. :)
MD narrowly beat out ANOTHER one of Jai Singh’s stories, with this evocative piece:
TO A SON:
It started with that old jazzy song, do you know it?
It started like this: he left his wife to come sit at my table and said, “do you like this song?” I answered yes. And as I recall, he reached over and sipped from my martini.
And that is how I met your father.
What wasn’t beaten widely, by Jai Singh:
The dark-haired, tuxedoed gentleman sat quietly at the roulette table. He gazed around the 7-Star hotel; of course, he already knew exactly who would lead him to The Sheikh.
Nafisa brought him his drink, dark eyes glittering, her diamonds priceless. Compliments of the Ambassador. Hes been asking for your name.
A faint smile. Bond…..James Bond.
I know, I said three, but Jai’s riddle was too good to omit, so consider it an honorable mention, since I only wanted to include one puzzle. ;) Poor Jai— my Apprentice fetish smothered my inner current events nerd. :D
And today? What will you fit inside 55?
