Read responses to the November 2009 creative writing prompt, an exercise in revealing past and present in 500-600 words. Help critique the work that's been submitted, or try the writing prompt for yourself. And thanks to everyone who shared their work here.
"Grilled Chicken" by Nina Y. Telegina
The kiosk sign says “GRILLED CHIKCEN”; three rotisserie chickens turn slowly in the window. They’re a small size for chickens; I wonder if they’re malnourished, or if American chickens are just bigger, the way watermelons and buses and people in America are just bigger, bigger than they really need to be."Boomerang" by T. Smith
My life is a boomerang, whatever I cast out inevitably returns. Never was this more evident than today. Work was long, frustrating and painful."Corpses Don't Bother Me" by Ann Blackie
Boss made me sit in the back with the body. My co-workers laughed; glad they weren’t newbies any more. I didn’t mind. Corpses don’t bother me."Costumes" by Zana Blue
Last Saturday night on Suze Orman’s CNBC television show “Can I Afford It" segment, a nice-sounding woman called in and ask if she could afford a $100 baby costume. $100!!! For a baby costume that as Suze pointed out the child won’t remember."Chosen" by Jenny S.
The house I sit in front of is full of life. I hear the muffled sounds of running footsteps and children laughing. Something, some exciting event is about to take place. But not for me. I’m Cinderella’s carriage and it’s after midnight."Dog Gone" by Joe Amaral
“Look at that old mutt,” the man pointed, catching the boy’s attention. “See how she limps?”
“Yes, she looks sad,” the boy replies, squinting through the sunlit window to the shambling dog outside.
"Last Call" by Doogie Hoser
I sat there clinking the ice in my glass looking at the hot little gal clanging the claxton not more than four foot from me sounding out the bar's last call. I eyed the almost empty gin and tonic in my hand swirling it as I held it up to the light, considering its color and fluid movement."Harsh Words" by Ron C.
I had a meeting this morning with my boss, Andy Torkelson, the same guy who sat in the front row at my wedding eight years ago. Me and Tork rarely see eye-to-eye, and he’s never been the compromising type. At the meeting, he’s red-faced, nostrils flaring; he points his finger a lot. He speaks in a coarse, rapid-fire cadence. His message isn’t complicated."Positive" by L. R. Elderkin
The little girl looks up at me, sweetly, her eyes wide and curious. “Mommy, why does snow fall down?”
I imagine myself at her age, always interested, always questioning. I remember well the time my own mother yelled at me for asking too many questions in front of company. She had been so embarrassed, and I had been so angry. How could she do that to me? Mommies weren’t supposed to yell.
