Friday, September 25, 2009

wash-foot fff (#2)

want to try inclusions this week just to scare those joining us for the 1st time, so instead of a starter/closer trigger, which most people have worked from before, this week's fff's must include (all) the words:

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for triggers (starter sentences, closers, titles, inclusion clauses, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55am friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.
if your trigger is not chosen and you feel it is too wonderful not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to the trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your story (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.
you will display your story as a post on your own blog (or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.
write fresh!
walk good.


Blogger crazyfool said...

i in.

3:03 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

my entry:
Swamped by despair, she know there was a crumb of hope, a flicker of something in the corner of her heart, that-- no matter how she tried to look away, to wallow in her funk--she could not ignore. She knew she was where she was meant to be. Yet she could find no solid ground, drifting back and forth between love and anger.
What time would that bum drag his ass back home, she wondered, picking up an old novel, its pages dog-eared and half falling out. She thumbed through it distractedly before flinging it across the room as a flare of anger burst. She shouted, loud enough for the neighbours to hear: "Fuck this shit!"
As the old pages floated to the floor, their airy nonchalance adding insult to futility, she reproached herself, cursed, and went downstairs for a forbidden glass of rum. These solo Saturday nights always made her feel so dumb.

10:19 am  
Blogger crazyfool said...

i done.

10:30 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

fool post the link to the story, nah...walk good

10:35 am  
Blogger sweet trini said...

in+done @ (or the post above this one if you on my homepage). yay fff-ers! walk good.

10:50 am  
Blogger mystie said...

He lay in his own filth at the bottom of the stairwell, a sodden mass of disappointment who would not leave my life in peace. Always at my door begging for what he considered a mere crumb of the wealth I had earned in my own way. In my mind i wanted to dismiss him as some unknown bum that i could ignore, overlook, pretend never to see, but I knew my mother would turn over in her grave to see me thumb my nose at this, this homegrown rum distillery that was my dumb little brother.

11:59 am  
Blogger Lisa Allen-Agostini said...

He pushed in with his thumbs, kneading the tight muscles at the back of my neck and shoulders so hard I knew I’d have bruises the next day. At least bruises would remind me he’d touched me. A crumb, but I’d take it.
Cigarette. Night air smoky and cold. Concrete bench. Old lies and love piled up on the grass beneath our feet. His lies. My love. He walked over them to sit on the other bench facing me. His rum and coke was watery by then. Condensation left the glass dripping wet. Like me. Dripping wet. Jealous of the glass his lips was on, the sliver of ice melting on his tongue like he used to have me, melting on his tongue. But he always had more than one piece of ice.
He was a bum but I loved him, wanted him even in spite of all the shit that had gone before. That shit was why I hadn’t seen him in months but I’m such a dumb cunt, so crazy for him that all he had to do was call and here I was, sitting in a dream waiting for him to say he had changed his mind. That he’d be mine.
Course it didn’t happen. Course we just laughed and talked and made as if it was all good. Dumb.
I got up, eventually. Walked away. Hoped he’d call again. Thought about the bruises. Liked the pain.--Lisa Allen-Agostini

5:14 pm  
Blogger crazyfool said...

8:03 pm  
Blogger sweet trini said...

so i know is wednesday and i real late to be now reading+commenting, but shit was crazy (almost didn't fff myself). that said, i loved...
anon: a little jealous of "thumbed through"- liked the use of the word, and especially your last paragraph.
mystie: really liked the twist on the bum @ end, and since i always aim for ff conciseness (concision sound weird, right?) i love how tight this piece is.
lise: "Old lies and love piled up on the grass beneath our feet." damn. wish i wrote that sentence.
fool, i going by yours now.
walk good

4:37 pm  

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