When I felt most deeply moved by the Holy Spirit my loved ones told me that was not where God wanted me. They were right: He doesn’t exist.
I want to be more mysterious.
(Why did i say that ?)
I knew from the beginning I would be wed to my Lord, though I fought my father’s decision bitterly, having privately accepted my lot to rule my family’s lower household. Father longed to raise our name from ashes into greatness, however, so he offered me up to my Lord — a widowed, aging weasel, who had no heir to his name, his stature or his wealth — never guessing such dealings might breed a bitter, vindictive heart in his precious daughter.
Seeing her husband exit the mens room while she still waited online, Madeline turned to the woman behind her and commented, “I know why women live 7 years longer than men.
“It’s comp time for ladies room lines.”
What was I thinking about when I decided to join this elite unit that defies the odds, goes on secret, dangerous missions behind enemy lines after jumping out of an airplane at 30,000 feet?
When I was a child, hide-and-seek was my favourite game: I relished the thrill of being chased, and evading capture.
I killed him to keep that thrill alive, now the police are “it.”
The moonlight reflects on the shimmering lake and the water looks orange. I like the view and will sit by the lake painting and cherishing the view.
Two things were playing on his mind. The first being that they’d misspelt his name on the wanted poster.
Sitting awkwardly and gripping the tools, there is a moment of reverence before the act and a whispered prayer for fertility.
In an uncomfortable moment, she can’t help but wonder if people will be able to tell that the baby’s father was a turkey baster.
Sometimes I think I’m awesome. Every other time I just know it.
After a long time of reading and thinking and balancing and consulting with local neighbourhood cats, I’ve finally decided the grand final winners!
First prize $150
You’re an open book.
And I’m an illiterate.
Why I love [Your Title Here]
It’s the “an” in the second sentence that clinched it for me. It could be removed, making the sentence “And I’m illiterate” but with the “an” in place the sentence takes on a subtler meaning. To me, “I’m illiterate” suggests a temporary condition, one curable by schooling. “I’m an illiterate” seems to be a more permanent state of being and makes reference to the group of illiterates to which the narrator belongs.
I like the play on words, reading and understanding and the connection to relationships. This story also made me think about how people utterly fail to understand other people – almost as though they were written in an indecipherable language.
And finally, the story made me think about how learning to read opens up the wealth of human knowledge which has been stored over time. Reading is the key to these riches. Yet there are few guides or formal classes on learning how to read people, emotions and motivations. Without them, we’re stumbling around having to learn it anew each time.
Second prize $100
and as I got closer
because it didn’t move,
even when I was a footfall away.
Then I realized; it had happened to die standing on all six legs.
Why I love yoshiyahu
I actually thought of the Praying Mantis when I read this story because they are sometimes not afraid of humans and will stand there watching as you approach. The “clearly brave or stoned” is funny – the suggestion that a cricket not moving has a human motivation rather than an insect one. The grasshopper is built up to be brave, large, standing still and possibly stone and then shown to be dead, standing on all six legs. I loved this conclusion for two reasons.
The first: it made me think of the marvellous poem by D.H. Lawrence titled “Self Pity”:
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
The grasshopper is dead, standing on its feet, its quiet death like billions upon billions of insects and animals, dead without pity, without note and without the emotion surrounding human death.
The second reason: it made me think of Robert Louis Stephenson’s comment regarding aging, dying and the slow sink of becoming an invalid: “I wish to die in my boots; no more Land of Counterpane for me. To be drowned, to be shot, to be thrown from a horse – ay, to be hanged, rather than pass again through that slow dissolution.”
This grasshopper died standing up, on it’s feet. It died in its boots.
This to me was of particular interest: animals and insects continue about their lives until they die whereas humans can slip into misery, quiet and a deliberate fading away.
Third prize $50
I ate my way through two painful tonnes of solid iron. She still wasn’t attracted to me.
Why I love The Beautiful Magnet Girl
It’s simple and it’s funny. I got a clear image of a man sitting down, eating two painful tonnes of solid iron, all in the quest for a girl. Ah, the stupid things men do to attract girls! That ridiculous risk-taking that, of course, pays off and so generates more risk-taking of a even more extreme nature. I like the idea of Magnet Girl as well. Who is she? A superhero? Or simply a girl who is attracted to iron?
Making the choices
I compiled a list of stories I loved (and were reasonbly high rated) and then read them over and over to finally pick three. This was quite hard and I think if I made a list in a few days then I might pick a different three. I never realised how hard it was to judge a competition when there was more than a few good entries. It’s one of those good problems to have. I’ve struggled with rewarding some writers and not rewarding others though and felt terrible about choosing because it implies some stories from the list aren’t as good as others.
Anyways, I’ll be putting up the list I consider the “best of” in a few days.
Thank you so much for entering everyone! Now the competition is over please feel free to put up two sentence stories in the future. I’ll be running a competition again and anyone who has ever entered will be eligible to win.
I came out to find her vacuuming the grass.
Slowpoke, I said; I had already finished mowing the carpet.
I was only sixteen when they made me remember my childhood; the sterile, white walled interview room haunted me ever after. I lived a long life, but I died too soon to ever forget it.
I take a good long stretch as I awaken to another predictable morning; sun shining through the window, birds singing in the backyard, my breakfast ready and waiting, a warm bed in which to return. Basking in the sunlight, I close my eyes and begin to meditate when I am jolted by the throbbing pain of you stepping on my tail!
“My, you two girls would fight over anything,” the exasperated, harried step-mom sighed, as she admonished them about the importance of sharing and being kind and that patience is a virtue, and that all good things come to those who wait, and just about every other homily that she could think of to make them realize how selfish and child-like they were acting, trying to steal each other’s food.
“Ok,” she relented, looking into their beautiful, soulful brown eyes, “more kibble and doggie treats coming up, but no more fighting, you hear me?”
My chest burned at our salty unraveling. The only thing that I’ve ever wanted to return was his confidence in me.
Driving I catch sight of the port of Piraeus, the small lighthouse, canopied tavernas, yacht and dinghy rocking like pendulums keeping time. Greece even in winter has the subterranean vibrancy of an ancient culture, I feel at peace.
Nobody really liked her; however, that didn’t stop her from sashaying (like a cat in heat) out onto the stage, wearing the tightest, shortest (Harper Valley PTA sleazy) hooker red dress we – or probably anyone else for that matter – had ever seen, to accept (without any reservations) the award for teacher of the year. Of course, the pubescent young men present erupted into thunderous applause, dog woofs, and whistling (a sound akin to what happens when someone scores a touchdown at the Superbowl), while the girls and adults – totally embarrassed by this flagrant sexual display – sat silent with looks of disdain and arms folded as she stepped up to the microphone and said,
“I want to thank you all for this honor, which I could not have possibly imagined that I would win; however, I cannot accept it, and would like at this time, to present it to my friend and colleague, Mary White, who is a better teacher, better person, better dresser (greeted by snorts and laughter) and is not having an affair with the principal,”
and, this being said, then handed the plaque to Mrs. White (who had been runner up), turned and walked out of the auditorium, which had fallen into complete and utter silence.
“It’s Valentines day,” his sister told him as he stroked the edge of the portrait he kept next to the small, heart-shaped, blood-stained note containing the words “rejected” and “nothing more to live for, thanks to you.” While he looked at the finger her ring used to occupy, all he could mutter was “Yeah, I know.”
Every Friday night for the last 20 years, the party girl made the rounds at the local bars, getting smashed, singing karaoke, and finally, at closing time, selecting the lucky guy to take her home where they had wild, random, stranger sex.
Now pushing 40, as she sits alone at the bar, used up and no longer attractive or desired, she asks the bartender, “Where did everyone go?”