Hemingway Diaries: Noun - Foot

Note: Hemingway Diaries is a new, condensed series I will be doing from time to time in which I write six worded (or less) stories in batches of 4 or more with only one writing prompt. Examples can be seen Here or Here. More about Hemingway can be found Here. I hope you enjoy. -K.
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Vagabond feet kindly rubbed. Found home.
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Two feet before. One foot after.
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My child: A Size 6 once.
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Calloused, Rotting. Welcome to the Congo.
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Red footprints at door. Not paint.
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One flesh, one plastic. Still dancing (for Adrianne)
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Elaborate: "It’s not you, But it is."

Dear Sean,

I cannot stall this any longer, I have run off with your clone.
I’m sorry it had to come to this, he’s just attentive, he’s always there for me with an open ear. While you’re out at work, he also makes a better video game partner.

Sometimes he lets me win.

Just like you.

I couldn't take the laziness that has become you,

you’re always working, or playing video games with him.

It’s like you keep stealing him away from me,

and those terrible puns

“I’m beside myself!”

ugh.

Sometimes I wonder if you really did spend 12 billion JUST so you can say that 50 times a day.

He’s incredibly attractive, with that mess of strawberry blonde hair and those bright blue eyes.

and that beard puts yours to shame.

He keeps himself motivated to exercise, he’s even pushed me to run several times.

Not like you ever compliment on my metamorphosis like physique.

And the sex. Well, lets say my expectations have far succumbed to my satisfaction.

However, fear not.

I have left you with a few strands of my hair.

I know I never wanted to clone myself, as I am personally a naturalist at my core.

But I couldn't leave you in the cold cruel world by yourself. That's just unnatural.

Hemingway Diaries: In 6 words, a Snapshot of a Relationship Between Two People.

Note: Hemingway Diaries is a new, condensed series I will be doing from time to time in which I write six worded (or less) stories in batches of 4 or more with only one writing prompt. Examples can be seen Here or Here. More about Hemingway can be found Here. I hope you enjoy. -K.
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She liked women, he was forgiving.
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Not her son, loved him anyway.
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He smiled at her. She didn't.
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"Sign here." She said. He couldn't.
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Caressed Gingerly, twenty on the dresser.
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"I love you." "Go Fuck yourself."
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He cried. She checked her phone.
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[Flash Fic] The Rooms of Ruin Where the Spiders Spun and the Control Panels Were Going Dark, One By One. (less than 100 words)

Nobody saw it coming. Not even the spiders who were now crawling about the control panels. The humming, murmuring, and buzzing finally started to relieve themselves like a television dying out, reaching it's zenith in the center of the screen, then dissolving. The only thing alive now apart from the insects and the moss, was the tiny intercom. Just before the final rusted cell battery gave way, the low mum of a message had repeated over and over into the stillness: "Mission Control, this is the International Space System. Please. Someone please pick up."

(94 words, about 15mins b.e / 27mins a.e.)

Retell the Most Recent Joke You've Heard as a Short Piece of Fiction (for my kid, who loves telling this joke)

Sarah had heard a knock on her door. This was her first night living in the city one thousand miles away from her hometown, and she was getting a little jumpy. The door kept knocking, it was 2pm so she thought it must be her new roommate She peeped thought the eyehole.
No one was there.
"Hello? Who's there?" Sarah called.
Nobody answered.
"Who's there?"
Again, silence.
Sarah opened the door a crack, then a crack more.
in the middle of the hallway, she found a banana.
She peek out, turned her head left, then right. There was nobody in the hall. "This mush be some type of hazing trick." She thought to herself. Sarah grabbed the banana off the hallway floor and went inside, locking the door behind her.

2 hours later, as she was unpacking her kitchen and getting ready to order dinner, she heard another knock on her door. "COMING!" She yelled as she strode toward the door, her cat following in her wake.
The knocks sounded closer together.
"WHO'S THERE? ASHLEY? IS THAT YOU?' Sarah called while getting into tiptoe position in an attempt to peep through the eyehole once more.
There was nobody there.
Sarah opened the door, and - sitting on her welcome mat- was another banana.
"OKAY GUYS, I GET IT. VERY FUNNY!!!" she yelled while entering the dead silent hallway. She opened her ears and listened hard for any signs of life. All she got was silence in return.
She turned to her cat: "It's really quiet for a Saturday afternoon." while picking up the banana. Sarah walked inside, locking the door behind her.

Write About an Arrival that Caught You or Your Character Completely Unaware.

God had showed up at the front door today.

There was the sound of glass breaking, and the apartment door being jimmied open. God was tall and thin, he must have been no older than myself, but his bony frame, pot-marked complexion and bloodshot eyes told me he had lived a million lives. God skittered like a rat in a maze, I could hear him tearing through the living room looking for the same thing that I was looking for: To Abscond.

I know what you're thinking, "Oh geeze, another one of those stupid 'miracle' stories that saves the main character from certain death." But I promise you, it's not that kind of story.

I think we both were caught off guard of each other when he spotted me atop the kitchen table with the rope around my neck. Yes, I was going to hang myself in the kitchen. I am a failure at life, I had lost the 8th grade soccer match that day, and my parents had finally finalized the divorce and my mother had moved us three-thousand miles away from Sweden, leaving me alone most of my day while she went out and worked 2 jobs to keep the lights on. That classic American Hustle. Like anybody would care if another youth were to die in today's society, it happens here so often that they stopped showing it on the news. Because why bring anyone down during this American Turkey Day? I am a failure of the American Dream, and a failure to my country.

He kept staring at me, taking in my sobbing, tear stained face. I was trying to explain myself in broken Swedish to a strung out Hispanic teenager. I was getting no where. Thus the story of my life, you try and try to be heard but nobody ever listens. He came towards me, watching me cower. But at that moment, I knew we had an understanding....

Write a Story that Ends With the Line "And This is the Room Where it Happened,"

She was never going to give it back. It was gone forever. Sarah deserved it however, ever since she picked that fight with her last week about who was going to go as Ariel and who was going to go as Sleeping Beauty. They both wanted to be Sleeping Beauty but there was only one costume in the entire in the tri-town area (or it was so assumed, since their mother didn't really bother with urgent matters such as Halloween costumes).

As far as she was concerned, she should have gone as Sleeping Beauty, since she was younger than Sarah by a whole 14 minutes, AND she still had her white-blonde hair. Unlike Sarah, whose hair looked as if she ran a shit-smeared comb through it. She remembered the fight that broke out in Marshalls, how her mother grounded her for scratching Sarah's face. But, of course, Sarah didn't get grounded, even though she TOTALLY yanked MY hair. She was always the favorite, of course, always striving for mommy's love. But nothing can be perfect forever, oh no. Even if we did make up in time for us to go to the Halloween dance, it was only a clever ruse in order to get un-grounded.

 This was payback time.

I attempted to flush the stuff, but unfortunately, when you're trying to rid the place of biological evidence, the best way to go about it (or so I've read) is to burn it.
Little did my true-crime novellas failed to mention, is how horrible the smell is.
Needless to say, I set off the smoke alarm. Waking my mother from her Valium-induced slumber, her blood curdling scream woke up the entire neighborhood....

Describe Nearly Drowning

I want to slit slits into my neck
So I have a reason to believe I will be alive after this.
Ironic to think,
That two little hydrogen atoms,
lighter than air
can make the difference between the oxygen we breathe and
the stuff we're made out of.

Ironic to think,
Of what's slowly killing me now,
is essential to life on this planet.

To inhale the ocean
is like getting to become one with nature
before she destroys you.

You're Filling a Time Capsule to Bury in the Backyard That Will be Dug up in 500 Years. Write the Letter You'd Put Inside to Describe Life As You Know It Today.

Greetings,

Firstly, I hope everyone is well, and healthy. Even the androids.
If I'm reading this due to some incredible advances in medical technology which lets me and Sean live forever, then what the Hell were you thinking? Did Sean talk you into getting that robot arm? Dear God, I hope not. I mean, it's cool if you have one, but one day it will crunch the grandchildren into a million pieces. Those things have a mind of its own, you know.

Jesus, now I sound like my mother. Anyway, I bet you really wanted to read this to figure out what life was like 500 years ago, well. Go read a book. No, not an e-reader or a smart phone or one of those Google/Apple/Android/Motorola Eye things you young kids pop into your eyeballs when you want to catch up on the internets. I mean, go to a library (because they will still exist) and ask the robot to take you down into the depths of the cellar, you will find these books there.

Run your hands across something tangible, feel how thin the pages were, touch things that are not a computer screen or a keyboard. Be tactile, get in touch with the world around you. Feel it. Everything is alive outside your digital bubble. That's the first step in going back 500 years, even with the onslaught of tiny machines, we still took the time to unplug ourselves from them, they are not part of our physical or mental extensions.

The next thing you should do after unplugging yourself - if we as a species didn't murder nature to unhospitable conditions- is go outside. Not that artificial green astroturf shit they have in your eco-dome, but climb beyond the walls of that and take a hike (wear sunscreen, at the very least it's gotta be hot as hell out there.) Learn about real trees and fresh air and exercise! Your body my scream and suffer for now but your mind and soul will thank you after a while. Fill yourself with what you are, biologically speaking. Learn to love being outside and wow yourself with things you could only dream of seeing on a computer.

Lastly, you should communicate. Not facebook, not twitter, not skype or whatever teleportt]ation device you may have. But actually meeting up somewhere face to face. Over tea if necessary. Have a conversation, really look into the expressions on peoples faces, fall in love with them. Have your eyes consume every atom in their face. Do not hide behind the wall of a keyboard and a camera, really enjoy the aura of someone. Long for them, pine for their face, get lost in them. Love them with your actions, not your zeroes and ones. Life would be much less complicated if we all sat down and saw each other face to face.

And, above all, live simply.

Write a Love Scene From the Point of View of Your Hands

Everything is full of warmth here.
New places to discover, temperatures and textures.
mostly smooth, but sometimes whiskery.
beards feel scratch, scratch, scratch!
while glasses have sharp edges around the frames.
Let me undress your eyes for a while.
oils from the forehead bubble into beads of sweat.
skin forever soft.
safe.
All is full of warmth here.

Hard calluses bump over the pads of me
reminders of broken hearts I tried to mend with hard work.
Always working? Never works.
Stick with what you know, hand over hand.
good, now interlace the fingers, let them waltz together for a while
where it's quiet, let them rest. Stay a while.
Have your palms come face to face
and kiss a little, make them get clammy.
All is full of warmth here.

Write an interesting take on what the Tooth Fairy does with all those baby teeth.

She had been working hard all evening and was ready to get some well deserved sleep. The teeth in her pouch had doubled her body weight, making it harder to fly back to her house on the south side of town, yet, miraculously, she made it before she ran out of power.
She flicked on the lights. Nothing happened.
"awesome." she sighed while continuing to stumble her way down into the basement and came across the fuse box. Knowing her wand wouldn't do any good, she tried to flick the switches this way and that, to no avail. They were completely out of Magic.

"double awesome." She replied to the candle she had found as she was lighting it. She had trenched over to the machine then began to deposit the molars and incisors into the funnel. She hopped onto the stationary bike, and began to petal.
The funnel started to rumble and wurr. children's discarded bones started to snap and pop under the stress of the gears and were ground into a fine powder and deposited into the jar at the bottom of the stationary bike; making it turn into fairy dust. The Tooth Fairy hated this part of her job, but this was the hustle of her days. Not everyone could be Tinkerbell.

She gathered up the fairy dust from the jar and recharged her wand. She then used the last bit to power up the house, turn the heat on, and have the kitchen magically start making dinner without the aide of clumsy fairy hands.
The Tooth Fairy climbed the basement stairs, magically spun around to find herself after the 360 degree assent in soft, warm sweatpants. She then proceeded to the couch where she was magically served dinner, then fell soundly asleep in her easy chair.