Shelfstealers.com kjører en skrivekonkurranse hver måned. I august er dette oppgaven:
Lag en historie på under 250 enstavelsesord. Les mitt bidrag her:Shelfstealers.com runs a writing competition every month. The task for August – Write a story with less than 250 monosyllabic words. Scroll down for my contribution:
Game
Cool stare. Faint smirk. That was the face he wore.
«Boy,» she said, «What is your score?»
Smile came and went.
«Babe,» he said, «you an’ me, we are not meant to be,
but this night (if you dare) I can give you a rare…
treat: My tongue is of silk, your skin the shade of milk.
Free love is brief and sweet.
What do you say?»
Eyes. Her. Soft. Hard. What is her next card?
«So,» she said, «let us say: you prove a damn great lay,
that would be a…full house? (Hey, boy! Eyes off my blouse)
Part of me would not mind, but then I know your kind
so as a gift to you,
here is my hand:»
Breath. Held. Pain. Bliss. She blew an air kiss.
«You.»
«Are.»
«Like a leaf that falls,»
«Free from the tree to make your own fate,
choose your own path and what thirst to sate,
yet blind to the fact that you are in free fall,
the ground, as you see it, is not there at all.
You are a child.
In fear of the dark.
Hear me out, boy, when push comes to shove
you will have to face that fear: your fear of love.
And please, boy, for your sake, do not stall and wait.
When you hit the ground, it is far, far too late.»
She left. He sat. His face wore a blush.
It had a deep tone, a nice and Straight Flush.
Game
Cool stare. Faint smirk. That was the face he wore.
«Boy,» she said, «What is your score?»
Smile came and went.
«Babe,» he said, «you an’ me, we are not meant to be,
but this night (if you dare) I can give you a rare…
treat: My tongue is of silk, your skin the shade of milk.
Free love is brief and sweet.
What do you say?»
Eyes. Her. Soft. Hard. What is her next card?
«So,» she said, «let us say: you prove a damn great lay,
that would be a…full house? (Hey, boy! Eyes off my blouse)
Part of me would not mind, but then I know your kind
so as a gift to you,
here is my hand:»
Breath. Held. Pain. Bliss. She blew an air kiss.
«You.»
«Are.»
«Like a leaf that falls,»
«Free from the tree to make your own fate,
choose your own path and what thirst to sate,
yet blind to the fact that you are in free fall,
the ground, as you see it, is not there at all.
You are a child.
In fear of the dark.
Hear me out, boy, when push comes to shove
you will have to face that fear: your fear of love.
And please, boy, for your sake, do not stall and wait.
When you hit the ground, it is far, far too late.»
She left. He sat. His face wore a blush.
It had a deep tone, a nice and Straight Flush.
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