Paperbag Collector

Gamesmaster G-9

2009-03-16T01:47:00.000-07:00

Oh, my dear Master Basu! Please do not come closer!
Oh, my dear Master Basu! Please do not come.
Oh, my dear Master Basu! Please! Do not!
Oh! My dear Master Basu. Please do.
Oh! My dear Master Basu -- please!
Oh, my dear Master Basu!
Oh, my dear master!
Oh, my dear.
Oh, my!
Ohh!

- Gamesmaster

This originally appeared in 55 Word Fiction. Gamesmaster lives in Chicago.

Unfulfilled

2009-03-09T01:18:00.000-07:00

Taylor's father never missed a game in ten years' time.
He sat on the fourth row, eight seats down.
One year he almost caught a foul ball.
It bounced near them to the right.
Taylor would've loved to get it.
He never had a chance.
Sitting alone he remembers.
One seat's empty.
Dad left.
Unfulfilled.

- Bill Turner

This originally appeared in Per Contra. Bill Turner is a fiction writer and stage playwright whose works have appeared extensively in the web.

Nano-Fiction

2009-02-16T02:26:00.000-08:00

Make sure that your 55 word fiction adheres to form.
55 words must form the ten sentences in order.
The first sentence is exactly ten words long.
Each following sentence is one word shorter.
The last will contain one word.
This could seem quite difficult.
In fact, it isn't.
It demands efficiency.
It's simple.
Right?

- Bill Turner

This originally appeared in Per Contra. Bill Turner is a fiction writer and stage playwright whose works have appeared extensively in the web.

Yellow Eyed Demon

2009-01-22T19:40:00.000-08:00

Sons look on in horror as Daddy’s yellow eyes gleam.
Big brother’s pressed against the wall, bloody shirt tearing.
Little Sammy holds a gun, but doesn’t shoot.
Demon thinks he’s won and smiles broadly.
One loud bang announces he’s wrong.
He falls to weak knees.
Daddy opens his eyes.
He orders, “Shoot.”
Gun lowers.
“No.”

- Hidden Relevance

This originally appeared in FanFiction.net.

Phantom's Angel

2009-01-14T19:41:00.000-08:00

From the catwalk high above, he watches his protégé perform.
He reaches, as if to touch her, but can't.
Lost to music, she sings, unaware of him.
Soon, though, he is sure, she'll realize.
He, only he, can love her.
All others merely pretend to.
He longs for her.
Below, she sings.
He waits.
Patience.

- Hidden Relevance

This originally appeared in FanFiction.net. Hidden Relevance lives in Texas and wants to teach high school English while writing the greatest paranormal romance novel of all time.

The Agony of Defeat

2008-12-11T22:58:00.000-08:00

Arms crossed with eagle eyes glued to the screen, Victor
prepares for a final round of Marvel vs. CapCom.
Kick, spin, punch, dodge! Jump, tumble, duck, evade!
He sees an opening and unleashes a
deadly combination but alas, his foe’s
preemptive strike spells his doom!
Again, Chun Li Taseihas
shows him the
meaning of
humiliation!

Lake Erie

2008-12-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

We stood on the beach, coarse sand and smooth stones.
Couples shifted position, keeping our distance from each other.
While we waited, we chose water worn stones.
These we slipped into our jacket pockets.
We warmed them with our hands.
Impatient, we waited for sunset.
Foolish, wishing time away!
So we were.
Green flash.
Stone.

- Miriam N. Kotzin

This piece originally appeared in Per Contra.

Surgical Day

2008-11-26T00:19:00.000-08:00

She smiles a Cheshire Cat Grin and gives me a Valium.
Radiation-needle markers disguise themselves as tortured croquet wickets.
I fret while talking to the White Rabbit.
I’m rolling down toward the Mad Hatter.
My laughter paints the tension red.
The anesthesiologist visits, breathing drugs.
“Off with your breasts.”
“It’s the Queen.”
“Tea time.”
“Alice?”

- Mary Ellen Letarte

This piece originally appeared in 55 Fiction.

The Arrival of Morning

2008-11-19T00:08:00.000-08:00

“I’m not gonna miss this meteor shower,” says Fiona as
she lies down on the blanket with her digital
camera, some Mr. Chips and her iPod. Eyes
closed, she thinks about the praises she’ll
get when she shows the pictures
to her class. Suddenly she
hears, “Wake up, Sweetie!”
It’s Mom. “Breakfast
is getting
cold.”

This piece originally appeared in Paperbag Writes.

The Episode Before Relaxation

2008-06-19T02:49:00.000-07:00

Shandry stored the black lid canister in his breast pocket.
No one else was looking as he did it.
Noise from the marketplace grew to surround him.
The nervous tension finally left the air.
Luckily he knew the place well.
His actions were not suspicious.
Everyone kept to themselves.
He returned home.
Sitting down.
Puff!

- PinchMe

This piece originally appeared in Paperbag Writes. I met PinchMe through Mylot.com and this person gamely shared his fifty five word short story.

White

2008-06-06T01:15:00.000-07:00

Someone has called my name and her voice is tempting.
I step out slowly amidst the house’s horrifying darkness.
I hold my shivering hands, memorizing my steps.
Breath is heard like a stupid hell.
In the distance, white is glimpsed.
I touch it, it’s wet.
The horror-struck shout’s heard.
Mom’s facial cream!
I’ve mistaken —
Ghost.

- Luida Cabatana

Wishful Thinking

2008-05-22T17:28:00.000-07:00

She walked out on me one fine day in September.
Her letter waited for me on the dining table.
“I’m leaving. I’m so sorry. Love lots, Grace.”
Even now I still dream of her.
Her kiss. Her smile. Her face.
I still wait for her.
Or a phone call:
Ring. Ring. “Hello?”
”I’m back.”
Damn.

- Mark Lorenzana

Posted with permission from Mark Lorenzana, fledgling copywriter by day, aspiring essayist/struggling fictionist by night.

Ice Cream

2008-04-29T01:54:00.000-07:00

Casting guilty glances sideways, I steal furtive and lustful looks.
Behind the counter, nestled in gossamer mist sits seduction.
Ice cream colors in luscious parade torture me.
I must have some or suffer torment.
Lips moisten as my knuckles pale.
In the end, I surrender.
A craving too overwhelming.
The avalanche begins.
Blissful indulgence.
Heaven.

- Bisoy

This Bisoy piece originally appeared in Creative Writing Exercises as, well, a creative writing exercise. Duh. Bisoy originated a regular creative writing exercise in his company, participated by copy writers in the office.

The Defense Of The Weak

2008-04-17T23:01:00.000-07:00

Pirates, munitions running out, sailed in retreat against stout hearts.
The battle raged, whilst no victor can be adjudged.
Heaved mightily, to the last drop of blood.
Weaklings, yet determined to defend their land.
The townsfolk, manned the fortress guns.
Fought against panic and fear.
The fortress slowly crumbles.
Hearts foul intent.
Pirate cannons!
Boom!

- Jovir Amatong

This Jovir Amatong piece originally appeared in Message In A Bottle as a creative writing exercise. Jovir Amatong lives in Compostela, Cebu.

Vengeance

2008-04-08T02:12:00.000-07:00

I finally found the vile creature that took my son.
Her coffin, I lay open under the pale moonlight.
Her serene countenance belies the pitiless temptress within.
Her youthful visage hides centuries of murder.
North winds breathe a cold gale.
But I tremble in rage.
This wooden dagger unleashed.
My grip tightens.
No hesitation.
Death.

This short story originally appeared in Paperbag Writes.