The new girl alone, head bent tears streaming down. Everyone chattering, ignoring her. Listening to the teacher talk of Trojan history she doodled in her book. Helen of Troy danced to life on the page illuminating her words in ink. Everyone now, clambered to see, instantly saw her a friend.
It ended. Walking away was easy. Their time together - exhausting. They met and fell in love. Their love began and ended with the same flurry of words and emotion. The fifty-day romance ended. She whispered as she walked, "No one understands me. I am an artist, not a toy."
Her fingers ached, her wrist had cramped up and for what? A mess of graphite smudges that looked nothing like the swaying homunculus before her. Why couldn’t he keep still? “You will do me justice, won’t you?” he stammered. “Of course, dear”, she replied before snapping the pencil in two.
The day was drawing near. “So close! So close!” her mind whispered whenever her thoughts turned that way. “Who will I become?” she asked herself almost every day. Her wedding gown pooled satin at her feet. She stared into her reflection, nodded, then turned to the seamstress: “Return this, please.”
In her sunlit studio, she pondered the day's prompt: "DRAWING." Should she sketch the quiet pull of dawn, or illustrate the relentless drawing of tides? Fifty words weren't enough to capture both. Smiling, she chose her pen over her pastels, drawing out words to describe the sea's ceaseless motion.
1. He had virtually no chips left. His stack had dwindled to two, blueish, one-hundred-dollar clay chips. He was drawing dead. He was holding on to hope but hope is worthless in a high-stakes poker game. He was drawing small invisible circles on the green felted table and still drawing dead.
2. Drawing pistols detectives slid in the side door. Dust covered the dingy desk. The clincher clue, perhaps? A drawing in the thick, profusive dust represented a Christmas tree. On their suspect list: Dwight Christmas. White hair. Potbellied. Red hat, coat. No longer were they drawing blanks in suspects. Arrest made.
Tenderly, he touched the curve of her lovely face. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “Where has the time gone,” he sighed. Then he put down his pencil. This was the first time he had drawn her as she might have looked had she grown old with him.
He presses sweeping lines onto tactile paper stolen from his wife’s studio. The model’s delicate curves stir him, his gaze lingering, charcoal poised. Every inch of her nakedness is imprinted in his consciousness. His teacher catches him day dreaming. “Concentrate, Mr Fallon”. “Not so easy when you’re posing, Mrs Fallon”.
# Drawing
The new girl alone, head bent tears streaming down. Everyone chattering, ignoring her. Listening to the teacher talk of Trojan history she doodled in her book. Helen of Troy danced to life on the page illuminating her words in ink. Everyone now, clambered to see, instantly saw her a friend.
Thanks for writing with us Sue! 😁
It ended. Walking away was easy. Their time together - exhausting. They met and fell in love. Their love began and ended with the same flurry of words and emotion. The fifty-day romance ended. She whispered as she walked, "No one understands me. I am an artist, not a toy."
Thanks for writing with us Joel!
Again he picks up his pencil. He hurriedly sketches out a concept from his dream, crafting a concept from the fading memory.
He’s struggling to complete her, to finally see her face. He longs for his memory to be complete, but yet again her face is hidden.
He sighs, praying for another dream.
Thank you for joining in Joe! Great story
Her fingers ached, her wrist had cramped up and for what? A mess of graphite smudges that looked nothing like the swaying homunculus before her. Why couldn’t he keep still? “You will do me justice, won’t you?” he stammered. “Of course, dear”, she replied before snapping the pencil in two.
Thank you for joining in Doug!
My pleasure. Thanks for the invite
The day was drawing near. “So close! So close!” her mind whispered whenever her thoughts turned that way. “Who will I become?” she asked herself almost every day. Her wedding gown pooled satin at her feet. She stared into her reflection, nodded, then turned to the seamstress: “Return this, please.”
Thank you for joining in on my favorite prompt haha!
Thank you for hosting.
In her sunlit studio, she pondered the day's prompt: "DRAWING." Should she sketch the quiet pull of dawn, or illustrate the relentless drawing of tides? Fifty words weren't enough to capture both. Smiling, she chose her pen over her pastels, drawing out words to describe the sea's ceaseless motion.
Here are two for ‘drawing’…
1. He had virtually no chips left. His stack had dwindled to two, blueish, one-hundred-dollar clay chips. He was drawing dead. He was holding on to hope but hope is worthless in a high-stakes poker game. He was drawing small invisible circles on the green felted table and still drawing dead.
2. Drawing pistols detectives slid in the side door. Dust covered the dingy desk. The clincher clue, perhaps? A drawing in the thick, profusive dust represented a Christmas tree. On their suspect list: Dwight Christmas. White hair. Potbellied. Red hat, coat. No longer were they drawing blanks in suspects. Arrest made.
Tenderly, he touched the curve of her lovely face. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “Where has the time gone,” he sighed. Then he put down his pencil. This was the first time he had drawn her as she might have looked had she grown old with him.
This is absolutely amazing Steph 🥹
Thanks, Miguel!!
Thanks, Jeremy!
Miguel this is absolutely amazing. Like Chopin said, simplicity is the last achievement
Thank you so much!
A pre-Valentine tale:
The Model (fiction - 50 words)
He presses sweeping lines onto tactile paper stolen from his wife’s studio. The model’s delicate curves stir him, his gaze lingering, charcoal poised. Every inch of her nakedness is imprinted in his consciousness. His teacher catches him day dreaming. “Concentrate, Mr Fallon”. “Not so easy when you’re posing, Mrs Fallon”.
Mrs Fallon, you should stop making Mr Fallon suffer! Don’t you see how hard he is working to concentrate on you?
I know, right!
Gorgeous cheekiness..!!
Thank you. Hints of romance for Valentine’s
Aww... that's actually really sweet!
I know, right ... not like me at all! haha
Yeah that one was really strong. Amazing amount of subtext in such a limited word count.
Love this. Very strong submission. I’d venture your best yet. So many questions. You really feel the old man’s inquiry.
Thank you. I think that this is definitely the best one yet! And I'm really proud of it
So you should be!