Watermelon

We stuck to the cheap vinyl seats of my father's car while the wind,
dry and sharp as a flame, moved the cottonwoods. Streaks of watermelon
juice silvered soft on her bronze breasts.

To this day, watermelon on skin evokes the scent of sex.

It was the summer of 1965.

by Dean.

Everything and Nothing

Her vapid stare meant nothing.

“I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Scott said excitedly as he reached across the table and took her hand.

Her vapid stare meant everything.

“I wonder what John is doing right now,” she thought to herself.

by the diva.

Confession

Howard: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I’m a
blogger and I never blogged about Star Wars.

Rabbi Liebowitz: Oy. Such a dark side you have.

Howard: I miss Han Solo. He was such a scoundrel.

Rabbi Liebowitz: Say five Shema Yisraels and may the
force be with you.


by Howard, from Transcendental Floss.

Murder Mystery

"What do you mean you want to kill a Buddhist? Are you crazy?"

"Well, he's not really a Buddhist. He actually thinks that Buddhism's central tenet is 'Every man for himself'."

"That doesn't mean he should die."

"He should die because he's an asshole. The rest just makes it easier."

by Kate, at Telling Deeds.

The Rock

Wandering along the beach, she stops to examine a rock. A pebble, really, rose-veined white quartz, polished smooth by the waves. It nestles comfortably in her palm and she strokes it absently with her thumb. Standing, she drops it in her pocket, where it joins a dozen just like it.

by the sxKitten

The Rant

"Fifty words. FIFTY words! What the hell am I supposed to do in just fifty words?" she snarled, glaring at the white screen of her monitor in irritation. "Who can say anything worth reading in just fifty words? Besides, I never wanted to be a writer in the first place."

by the sxKitten

Fifty Words, by Dean

"There's this new website," he said, looking down at the glittering
bubbles on the black surface of his coffee.
"About?" Her hands flutter like small birds in the sunlight that warms
the top of the table.
"Fifty word fiction."
"Fifty word fiction? How is it?"
"Impossible, really," he sighs, languid.

Dean, of Anacronyms

Summer

When we moved to Texas, we didn't own a refrigerator. My father bought two giant ice chests, and we used them to chill our food. He bought cantaloupes a lot that summer. I still remember the smell of summer cantaloupe, sitting at the kitchen counter next to the blue cooler.

by Me