Posts Tagged With: trifecta

Party Crasher

Trifecta

 

 

 

 

 

 

His cocky attitude sauntered away and hid from the assault of her incredulity.

“So just because little Miss Crazy Pants McGee thinks you’re cute your dick throws your common sense out the window?”

Ah…shit.  If she already knows she’s right do I still have to answer her, he wondered.

She drilled a finger into his chest.  “This stupid ‘club’ was your idea, and the whole safety in secrecy thing doesn’t work if you DON’T.  KEEP IT.  SECRET!”  Her voice rose with every syllable until she was shouting at the top of her considerable lungs.

His ego tried to get its footing back and was squeaking out witty responses in the back of his head; thankfully common sense skulked back in through the window to muffle them.

She let loose something disconcertingly close to a growl and started to turn away.  She stopped, mid-pivot, and arched a brow at something over his shoulder. “You idiot.  I believe that you may be the first Van Helsing to ever actually invite the vampire that crashed the party.”

Ah….shit.  The night erupted into screams.

 

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a little story for this weeks Trifecta challenge that made me laugh to write 🙂

CLUB 1a : a heavy usually tapering staff especially of wood wielded as a weapon  b : a stick or bat used to hit a ball in any of various games  c : something resembling a club 2a : a playing card marked with a stylized figure of a black clover   b : plural but sing or plural in constr : the suit comprising cards marked with clubs 3a : an association of persons for some common object usually jointly supported and meeting periodically; also : a group identified by some common characteristic <nations in the nuclear club>  

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Categories: Fiction | Tags: , , , | 21 Comments

Momentum

Trifecta

 

 

 

 

 

For Trifextra, Week 71: tell an entire story in 3 sentences.

*****

She chose to fly away on her broken wing, even though they mocked her lopsided flight.

Their laughter rolled off her back like warm drops of soothing rain.

She figured that even if she was only flying in circles, at least she wasn’t standing still.

Categories: Fiction | Tags: , , , | 22 Comments

Alluringly Alliterative

 

“Paul’s purporting to be pedantic,” Polly purred. She stretched a slinky arm, serviceably sinewy in its sheath of shiny satin.

Lazily, Lucas leaned in to the lady’s luscious locks, lamenting his lame leg. Purporting Paul purposely picked a piece of pie that Polly would peck a prevaricated pinch of.

Timothy was titillated by the tumultuous tension twanging in the tent.

 

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some much needed nonsense for Trifecta this week 🙂 : 33-333 words including the word pedantic, using its 3rd definition:

1 : of, relating to, or being a pedant(see pedant)
2 : narrowly, stodgily, and often ostentatiously learned
Trifecta
Categories: Fiction | Tags: , , , | 14 Comments

Who knows…maybe I can.

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The sun makes a lazy attempt to shine

And gives up the ghost,

Returns to its bed of pillows, goes back to sleep.

I would lay my head back down, too, if I could

On a pillow that was always cool,

And delve into dreams that don’t make me whimper

and throw elbows,

Protecting myself in nocturnal sojourns that I don’t remember,

If I could. Who knows….maybe I can.

I would wake refreshed , stretch long limbs

Like an elastic cat, kiss the stubbled cheek of a healthy him

And roll to my feet, loose, like a boxer ready for the bell,

Ready to fight

For my daily dose of peace of mind

Amidst the pieces of my mind,

If I could. Who knows…maybe I can.

I would journey out of this half world,

Hobo pack hitched up on shoulders that would put Atlas to shame,

Stuffed full of intention and ambition, integrity and gratitude,

A patchwork of all that I would like to be

Travelling the path of my own making, forged through a jungle

Choking itself on the mundane, I would climb the trees to the sun’s front door

And ask it to come out and play,

If I could. Who knows…maybe I can.

I would put yesterday’s mistakes into a box and label it

“Lessons Learned”

And put them away in the back of the closet;

I would put today on a pedestal and stand like a bastion before it,

Feel the wind tickle hair tendril hellos on my neck, slap some color back into my face

And drink in the two-toned spring light,

If I could. Who knows…maybe I can.

TrifectaTrifecta Week 73: From 33-333 words using the third definition of the word color:

3: complexion tint:

Categories: Non-Fiction Nonsense, Poetry | Tags: , , , | 25 Comments

A Jester’s Juxtaposition

Trifecta Challenge:  http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2013/04/trifecta-week-seventy-two.htmlTrifecta

Weekly writing challenge 72:  use the third definition of the given word in your story.  Alchemy: an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting

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The Harlequin’s soft pointed shoes shuffled across cracked and chilly flagstones, picking his way slowly from his quarters to the prince’s minor receiving hall.  He gave his head a little shake to set his motley grouping of bells jingling and thought of the momentary warmth that he had been pulled from, his head pillowed between his mistresses’ plump breasts.  The dark and heavy door that he came to swung open with an irritated groan at his shove.

The prince smarmed from his repose upon the guest couch.  “I cannot sleep, fool.  Sing to me a song of love and magic, or I shall have your tongue removed as I have ordered it done before.”  He flapped an arrogant hand towards a wall decorated with ghastly shriveled things.  “Get on with it.”

Ah, a request it was to be.  Obligingly he sketched a mocking bow and dipped his head and began to sing, almost sweetly.

“O’er time the land we sow changes, the wind blows o’er to the nor’east

The lass, she makes her plans and arranges, to prepare for the sorcerer’s feast”

A small and wicked smile on his face, the jester capered and sang, his voice growing reedy and thin.  As his countenance began to fade to translucence, so too did the prince.  His grace held up that arrogant hand and saw his fool right through it.  “What alchemy is this!” the prince hissed, as his doublet morphed to patchwork and his gold to beaten bronze.

The Harlequin smiled from his place upon the couch and raised his own arrogant and pampered hand.  “Deep down inside, your former grace,  all men are fools.  Now sing me a song fool, of love and magic, for the hour grows late and I would rest.”

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Today’s story brought to you by a weird obsession with creating a Harlequin character over the past few weeks, and Tibet Trance by Red Buddha (yogic electronica, seriously fantastic shite)

~whoop~ 🙂

Categories: Fiction | Tags: , , , , | 14 Comments

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