five

I've always been impressed with this piece of flash fiction by Hemmingway because it uses so few words:

"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

No, I am not setting a word count of 8 words . It would be impossible to get the 10 words from the word list into the story. And it would take a lot of time, I think, to reduce a story effectively down to that few words.

I also really like William Carlos' Williams poem, The Red Wheelbarrow, for the same economy of words:

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

There's something intriguing about really reducing the word count so that what is not written is still an integral part of the story. I challenge you to consider what can you leave out and still suggest is present in your stories. (Punctuation is really helpful to this.)

I am setting a maximum word count of 275 words, but encourage you to fall below 250 by as much as you want while still using all the words on the list. You may use any form of a word on the list, e.g. as a noun, as a verb, present tense, past tense, adjective form, etc. You may also turn a word into the negative form of the word, e.g. "exact" could be used as "inexact." Poems that tell a story as well as prose are welcome. Series are also very welcome.

Hopefully, I haven't scared you off.

I've tried to leave plenty of room for longer stories for those who find extreme restriction/reduction stilts their creativity too much. If you like, post the same story twice, once as a longer more free flowing version and one in which you go back and reduce it down further.

I hope you find the word list inspiring and you have fun with your writing. I look forward to reading your stories. I'll pass the torch in a week on June 23. Can't wait to see what you all come up with.

Word list:

girl
exact
liquid
outstretch
drive
lost
beetle
cloister
digest
spry

five

Oops I made a typo. To clarify, the maximum word count is 275, not 250.

Qsilv

(....slowwww grin beginning......)

Nylecoj

Very nice five! Hhhmmmmm!!!

ladyhwin

I like your thinking, five!! Very, very nice!! : D I think I will have some pieces in this time!

five

I could not resist trying myself

Title: Epic
(75 words)

Arms outstretched and no longer spry, we digest futility.

Think, we think.

An inexact cloister of platitudes -- not over ‘til over, can do, we think, no bug in water, once more into the breach, the girls and boys we were, to the victor -- drives us.

Flail. Our captains, our captains. Diminished return. We would ever have us be, but the distance, outstretched, grows.

The liquid takes us.

We lost. Crawling water beetles disappeared from sight.

giraffe

What a good, challenging start. It's open, but has enough rules for those who need them.

giraffe

163 with title. I might add more later.



LIKE A VIRGIN

The girl was exactly what I was looking for. The liquid eyes and outstretched arms drove me wild. It's too bad when I have to tie them down to get that effect. Their tears are of love and their arms reach out for me.

Ever since I left the Cloister of St. Benedictus, having been celebate for 40 years, my urges are too strong for the Lord to digest. I, who could have easily been a spry young lover, am now lost in my desires as a senior citizen. I know where the girls are though. And I know when they walk outside the convent.

"Shut up!" I screamed at the new one. "Your irreverence to the Lord is only surpassed by your demonic attitude toward ME !."

"But, Mother Superior, you used to give me so much guidance."

"And I no longer hold that position. I'm about to show you what 'Superior' means. I could squish you like a beetle."

five

Giraffe: Well written; effective; creepy character. (Poor girls.)
________

One more from me...

Title: Lost. (10 words).

“Driving spryly, girl? Inexactly?”

“Outstretching.”

“Lost!”

“Cloistered, digesting beetle liquid.”

giraffe

I'll try that. 10 words.

Lost, spry girl? Driving, exacting liquids, outstretching? Cloister beetles! Digest!

five

Very nice, Giraffe. Kind of fun, isn't it?

giraffe

Yeah. I think the addition of beetles makes them both sound like junkie delusions.

morshy

176 words without title. The word "Cloister" can mean relating to a monastery, or bizarrely perhaps, as of a collonade or piazza. The past tense "cloistered" has a synonym meaning "Withdraw". The past tense of withdraw is of course "withdrew", hence the asterisk against it in the story. Hope that's ok.

Ocean View

There was a girl. There’s always a girl. She got into the car and said “Just drive”. It was hot, and the road in front of us turned to liquid in the shimmer haze. The road to the ocean was long, and it took a while to digest exactly what she’d said. She was scarred, and she was running. That much I knew. And when she looked at me, I thought I would get lost in her eyes. She spied a beetle on the dash, tromping back and forth as we ate up the miles and the day stretched out before us. When we stopped for gas, she scooped the little fella up and let him out onto the gravel. She gave him a tiny wave, and a sad little smile, and then she withdrew* again. After a day’s driving, we reached the ocean. The salt air washed over us. She closed her eyes, breathed it in and sighed. Happily, I thought. But then she turned to me, and in a half whisper, said: “Just drive”.

giraffe

5, Epic is a cool statement on platitudes and resulting loss.

morshy. I knew a girl like that once. We got pulled over because she was sitting "side-saddle" on my Honda. Long story. I may write it.

five

Morshy: Very nice rhythm and mood to your story. You may have pushed the envelope on using a different "form" of one of the words to its limit by using a synonym; it's fine and works in a way that "cloister" would not have in your story.

Hope we have more entries!
_____________

One more from me (though of course, I can't win ... repeats hope for more entries)...

COMFORT NEEDED (250 words)

Liquid seemed to shift beneath the prone girl. She curled up and drove a fist into her flesh. If she would finish digesting, or her muscles would give out, she would be spry again. Exactly. But her muscles continued to resist. She cramped: the little supper inside her erupted like battling beetles. Rebellious bugs! Force them into a cloister. Spit them out ... if only she had a handkerchief; it would impolite otherwise. She straightened her fingers and stared at the pale, outstretched digits. Paint the nails: ease her stomach. She cramped again, losing track of girlish thoughts.

Cloistered in the dark, now outstretched, she sank into the bed like a stone in liquid gel, her normally spry body sore and rigid. Why, she thought, her palms pressing her distended belly. She pictured the beetles lost in her digestive track, exacting their unwarranted vengeance. The ache drove her to scream and twist.

“Mommy!” With the battle nearly lost, her scream hovered, undigested in the dark air. The girl did not know the exact amount of time that passed: her silent second counts were a jumble. To ease her mind, she tried to picture a protected openness -- the enclosed green of a cloister. But the space around her remained dark and cramped. She screamed for relief: “Mommy!” Finally, her mother came, and tenderly stroked her forehead, damp with liquid sweat. The beetles stood down. Exhausted, with no drive to be spry in the last outstretch of the day, the girl nodded off.

five

Changed it a little and made it 275 words:

Title: Comfort Needed (275 words)

Liquid seemed to shift beneath the prone girl. She curled up and drove a fist into her flesh. If she would finish digesting, or her muscles would give out, she would be spry again. Exactly. But her muscles continued to resist. She cramped: the little supper inside her erupted like battling beetles. Rebellious bugs! Force them into a cloister. Spit them out ... if only she had a handkerchief; it would be impolite otherwise. She straightened her fingers and stared at the pale, outstretched digits. Paint the nails: ease her stomach. She cramped again, losing track of girlish thoughts.

Cloistered in the dark, now outstretched, she sank into the bed like a heavy stone in liquid gel, her normally spry body sore and rigid. Why, the girl thought, her palms pressing her distended belly. She pictured the beetles lost in her digestive track, exacting their unwarranted vengeance. The ache drove her to scream and twist.

“Mommy!” With the battle nearly lost, her scream hovered, undigested in the dark air. The girl did not know the exact amount of time that passed: her silent second counts were a jumble. To ease her mind, she tried to picture a protected openness -- the enclosed green of a cloister. But the space around her remained dark and cramped. “Mommy!” Finally, her mother came and tenderly stroked her forehead, then soaked in liquid sweat. The beetles stood down briefly. Exhausted, with no drive to be spry in the last outstretch of the day, the girl nodded off.

Exactly still, the girl’s outstretched figure lost to the beetles, material holdings liquidated, regrets digested, and spirit suddenly spry, she drove to the cloister.

five

Oops. "was driven to the cloister" not "drove to the cloister" in the last sentence

giraffe

A little over - 293 words w/o title.

FLIPPANT. (But Historically Accurate)

The Beatles were so cool, man. Not like the Volkswagen Beetle you drive or the insect, They were about the beat. Hence the name Beatles. A group of spry youth from Liverpool, they were greeted with outstretched arms. I always thought their wisdom and ambition came from the fact that Liverpool was one of the slave ports used when transferring negroes from Africa to America. Maybe they had a grip on their history and wanted to blow a gasket.

John Lennon who wrote "A Girl" was assassinated outside his home in front of his wife in New York City. This must have pleased the Vatican because they had condemned him for heresy. He made a comment that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus, so his punishment was eternal damnation in Hell.

A cloister of Cardinals agreed. To Hell with John and the rest of them when they die. Let them stand for eternity in liquid excrement under the exacting fire of Satan. They loved that image. It must have made them giggle.

Then, a month ago history was made in the Vatican. The Pope decided to reverse 2 condemnations. First, he forgave the Beatles for heresy. And the same day. he also forgave Copernicus for saying that the Sun doesn't revolve around the Earth.. What a monumental moment in history. I'm sure there was incense burning and lots of chanting.

Whew! At least John and Copernicus were released from the clutches of Lucifer. Those popes have a lot of sway with the devil. Now comes the big snag. The drummer, Ringo Starr, refuses to accept the Vatican's forgiveness. He's worked in childrens' programming on BBC for years and doesn't want forgiveness from child molestors. Nobody has ever refused papal forgiveness! In some lost digest there may have been someone, but now they are scuttling around clueless.

giraffe

5, If COMFORT NEEDED is about the late stages of Bulimia, you nailed it. If not, I don't know what it is. I thought miscarriage at first - but it's unclear. Whatever, it's definitely gut-wrenching. "losing track of girlish thoughts" is the clincher.

bhughes

After the third heavy sigh, Mrs. Jones peeked over the "Readers Digest". Her daughter the beautiful spry little girl she had hoped would become a ballerina one day, stood there barefoot , in torn jeans and holding a small jar filled with some sort of green liquid. The concern on her face turned into tears when asked what was in the jar. "It's beetle juice"screamed. "Oh mommy I lost Ringo, and that mean boy across the street said..." "Sweetheart, you should know better than to listen to him." Was he on his string? You know that pets should be leashed when taken out for walks, even beetles. Now lets retrace your steps." I was playing over there on the side walk the one covered with the pretty flowers.'Maggie said. "Uh, Maggie you better run back to the cloister, I see Mittens in that exact spot and her paws are out stretched like she's playing with something!" "OH NO!" Maggie cried as she ran ." No Kitty, bad cat! Mommy mommy its Ringo and he okay!!! As they walked back toward the patio her mother smiled in relief and said "your going to drive me crazy.