#1MinuteFiction: Black (Eye) Friday

“All this over a toy,” his mom says.

It wasn’t just a toy, it was a collector’s item. Fifty percent off, the cheapest he’s ever seen it, and it was almost his until that beast of a woman drove her elbow through his eye socket.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had his ass handed to him by a girl, but this would be the first time he’s gotten arrested for it.

—Nortina


Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a story in one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided. Today’s photo prompt alludes to Black Friday and all the chaos that ensues just 24 hours after we were all thankful for the things we already had…

Monday’s One-Minute Fiction: Week of November 27

Rise and shine! Time to get out your stop watches, exercise your typing fingers, and pick your brains for some quick creativity.

Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a complete micro-fiction piece in, you guessed it, one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided! Of course, you can come back to edit for grammar & spelling, but the story itself must be written in a minute.

Your prompt may be a photo, or a word, or a sentence—whatever inspires me, and hopefully inspires you too.

This month, I’m partnering with Marquessa at Simply Marquessa to bring you #1MinFiction and her challenge, #LyricalFictionFriday. So be sure to stop by her blog this Friday for more fun prompts (and to build an awesome playlist too! 😉 )

Happy Cyber Monday! Yes, now that Thanksgiving is over, the Christmas shopping can begin. Of course, I’m more of a last minute shopper myself, and if you ask my mom, those Black Friday/Cyber Monday prices are far from good deals, but there’s always someone running to the store for the sake of commercialism…

Now it’s time for the rules. I don’t have many, because we all know rules are no fun, but here are the basic logistics for each challenge:

  • Write your story in one minute. (Use a stop watch to keep yourself honest. 😉 )
  • Post it to your blog and tag it #1MinFiction.
  • Link it back to this prompt post.

And that’s it! Let’s get to writing, shall we? And…

Ready . . .

Set . . .

Write!

VisDare: The Perfect Home

The real estate agent knocked on the polished mahogany banister of the staircase behind him. “So, other than a couple houses getting egged on Halloween—”

“So what’s the catch?” Monica asked. “Floor to ceiling windows, a chandelier in the foyer, a marble sink in all two and a half bathrooms, great neighborhood, a couple rowdy kids, but otherwise, great school—”

“It’s too good to be true,” Kenan added, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “This house’s been on the market for over a year. What aren’t you telling us?”

“Well . . .” He turned around and started down the stairs to the basement. “The previous owner might have been a collector of some peculiar objects . . . We recommend you don’t disturb anything.”

The couple followed hesitantly. “Please don’t let it be a dead body,” Monica sighed.

The real estate agent paused at the basement door. “Close. Very close.”

word count: 146

—Nortina


browingWritten for VisDare, a weekly challenge to craft a story based on the provided photo in 150 words or less.

Holiday Shoppers Anonymous

She twisted the sleeve of her Frosty the Snowman sweater and stood before the semi circle of people. “Hi, my name is Sharon, and I’m a holiday shopaholic.”

“Hi Sharon,” the group recited back, their voices echoing of the walls of the empty high school gymnasium.

“Last Chris– I mean holiday,” she stuttered.

“No, no,” counselor Higgins interrupted. “Say its name. You must remember the holiday you are celebrating. Recognizing Christmas and what it represents…” he waved his hand for the others to repeat after him. “Love.”

“Love.”

“Peace.”

“Peace.”

“The birth of Christ.”

“The birth of Christ.”

“Salvation.”

“Salvation.”

Dr. Higgins raised one hand in the air, curled his fingers into a fist to silence everyone as if he were conducting a choir. “This will lead you to recovery.”

Sharon looked down at her sleeve. The thread had loosened above her thumb, creating a hole, which she poked her nail through, widening it further. “You see, the thing is… I’m not even Christian. Growing up, my family celebrated Hanukkah—”

“Ah, we have another Jew!” Dr. Higgins clapped his hands, motioning toward a man three chairs to the left of him wearing a red, grey, and white striped sweater. His hair fell over his face as he bowed his head and waved to Sharon.

Sharon returned a quick smile and continued. “I spent $200 on a mountain bike for my son. It was on sale at Wal-Mart… If you could’ve seen how his face lit up when he saw the commercial…” She turned away, rubbed the rough wool of her sweater against the bags, purple like bruises, under her eyes.

“Yes, yes. Go on,” Dr. Higgins said.

“He can’t even ride a bike. He’s still on training wheels. I’ve been trying to teach him for the past three weeks. I’m here because he’s finally given up. $200! Wasted!” She fell into her chair and it slid back, leaving a black streak on the floor and making a scraping noise like tennis shoes skidding across the basketball court.

Dr. Higgins stood at the center of the circle and clapped. The group followed in applause. “That’s good! Let it out! I want to feel your disappointment, your frustration, your anger even,” he said, turning to look at each person. “This is what happens when you allow commercialism and political correctness to turn your Christmas, or in Sharon’s case, your Hanukkah, or in Tanisha’s case, your Kwanzaa, into a generic holiday for everyone to spend, spend, spend money they don’t have on things they don’t need, running through stores like chickens with their heads cut off! We must take back our religion, our ethnicity! These holidays make us who we are, but they mean nothing if we don’t know them.”

“Amen!” shouted an older black, as if in church. She stood, her purse slung over her shoulder, and clapped more vigorously. The others followed, all clapping, shouting, whistling, closing in around Dr. Higgins.

Dr. Higgins again raised his hand to silence everyone. “Your assignment for next week is to bring in an item you think represents your holiday. Sharon…” he took her hand and held it against his chest. “You can bring in your family’s menorah if you still have it.” He then turned and spread his arms toward everyone. “I want to see you all next Tuesday, ready to learn the true meaning of your holiday! You’re dismissed!”

—Nortina

Day 8 of 31 Days of Holiday Hooligans