August was a stellar month for 50-word Stories. The photo prompts were very popular. I received so many entries at the beginning or the month, I had to stop replying to them.

I found it interesting that my favorite photo, Six, sparked so many excellent stories. I snapped the photo because I liked the color blue of the sky. It is blurry and there are so many things wrong with it photographically, but I like it. It shows movement without stating if it is coming or going. It seemed to spark the most variety of stories.

I realized I need to do some tweaking on my submit form. I created a form specifically for 50-word Stories. I will add an explanation of it on the 50-word Story page. Going forward, I will alternate picture and word prompts every other month.

I have arranged the stories per photo. I put my faves first, but please don’t take that as a judgement. It is only one opinion. I thank everyone who wrote a story! These are not easy.

The Stories

one

By Kirby Manofelso

“Hurry up or you’re a rotten egg!”
Running through the abandoned yard, Jimmy sprinted ahead of his friend, coming to rest behind a rusted piece of construction equipment. Giggling, he ducked down to hide. Peeking over the gap, he found himself looking into the twinkling eye of a stranger.
“Hello.”

By msmichaelkennedy | Creative Action Unlimited

The lace had ripped right off the hem of Nora’s dress climbing up here. Now she couldn’t figure out how to get down again, if her life depended on it. But that smiling man was going to help her. He took hold of her arms with his tight hands.

By Kit Storjohann

I expected my father to react to the broken crate with anger.  I was as hopeless a backyard forklift operator as I had been a husband and a law student.  Instead his look was one of pity, as though I was finally getting around to long overdue lessons.

For the record, I liked all of these stories equally.

Two

By The Water | By Sarah | tuckedintoacorner

Frank tugged the glove off and put it aside, already finding fresh bait for the hook. Beside him, Jake watched vigilantly, still waiting for magic to happen.

The hook was cast; the line bowed under the catch, nearly snapping.

He didn’t notice the missing glove until later.

I love stories about magic in everyday life and when the magic comes from a parent; it really gets me.

The Lost Ones | by Leslie Sittner

Dad brought home single gloves, mittens, ski poles, swim fins he found when we pursued recreation. He sorted them to their own basket or barrel. It was embarrassing. When we lost one ourselves, there was always one oddball available. The mismatching was more embarrassing.

What a great character trait this is, saving the odd gloves. I hope you use it again.

By Kit Storjohann

Before class he says he doesn’t want to see her anymore.  She thinks of the woolen glove carelessly left down by the dock on their walk last Sunday.  After that snowbound kiss, their interlaced fingers were all the warmth she needed; now she wonders if the glove is still there.

What a great snapshot of young love. It could be the start of an obsession, or a journey to getting over a broken heart. Good character development and good progression.

By Steve M

The wind rustled as the glove lay there, ignoring the breeze as it circled the pier. Forgotten and alone, the glove seemed to shrug against the wind, daring it.  Ever vengeful, the wind pushed back, harder for just a moment.
The glove sank, ready to join its other half.

Three

By Kit Storjohann

In their death throes of powdering brick under the pummeling of the wrecking ball, the walls of her childhood home disgorge a moldy plush doll which had been lost in a crawlspace for decades.  She grits her teeth, telling herself – yet again – that the past means nothing to her anymore.

I like the hint at something darker.

By Steve M

Andrew kicked his foot through the rubble. Gone. It was all gone.
“Daddy, Daddy!”
He turned to find Susan rushing toward him with a familiar object in her grasp. Dirty, with several burn marks was Susan’s Minnie Mouse.
“I knew I didn’t lose her. She was just hiding from me.”

This captures both the desolation and the hope in this photo.

Four

By Steve M

She stood there waiting; tapping her foot to the tune of impatience. She turned to Jon, who had a strained look on his face as he stared ahead. It was clear there was one thought on his mind. She just wished he would hurry up. Kiss me already, she thought.

I love the phrase, “tapping her foot to the tune of impatience.”

Summer Concerts | by Leslie Sittner

I religiously research and record on the calendar all the free regional summer concerts. It always sounds like good summer fun.
Exciting!
Free!
When the event is imminent, I fumble for excuses not to go.
Basically, I don’t want to go alone.
So I don’t.

By Kit Storjohann

The warning to my granddaughter – dancing to the boardwalk band with a boy who had the look of someone that, I had learned from experience, would break her heart – gurgled out of my age-ruined mouth as “fall”.

“What, Mom?” my daughter asked.  I stayed silent.  She would not understand.

Five

By Linda McKenney | majokmindfuleating

Coming up for air, she noticed the boat.   I thought I’d sunk that thing.  What if someone’s seen it?  Only her eyes and forehead above the water, she noticed someone partially hidden in the trees.  Footprints in the mud led right to the boat.  Life was about to change.

What I find interesting is how closely to the real circumstances of this boat you came in this story.

By Kit Storjohann

Finally seeing the little rowboat they mentioned at least once a letter betrayed the self-deluded truth about their “perfect retirement.”  Rotting boards in the rough shape of a hull, coated in moss and filth, sitting stolidly in the putrid muck instantly dispelled the illusion of the paradise they’d cultivated.

This is a completely different take on this one. And it hints at a very interesting story.

By Steve M

It was one of those days lifted right out of a picture. A picture might be worth a thousand words but only one could describe a day on the dock: perfect. Cracking his toes, he watched as the abandoned boat drifted idly across. Two lazy vessels enjoying the summer day.

This paints a beautiful picture.

On the River | By Sarah | tuckedintoacorner

I’m drifting, a lazy summer day. There’s no need to row – there’s enough of a current that I’m being pulled slowly downstream.

The boat is old, rickety, and a rumble of thunder sounds in the distance. Birds flock through the air, escaping.

Rain starts, chilling the air – time to go.

These are beautifully put together words and I love reading it out loud, but it is more a poem than a story.

Six

Peaceful and Clean: In which we end | By Liza Fernandex |  to Hear LIFE

I sit in the driveway holding the note I’ve purposefully left unread. After seven years, it’s the last remnant of him, the last of us being “us.”

I see the snow, falling peaceful and clean, and realize this is how I feel.

I unfold his note and read:

“Be happy.”

I just love this one.

Night Driving

by Leslie Sittner

Headlights blazing on the garage door are reassuring. I’ve returned safely from a night out.
Summer is better than winter; darkness descends later.
Trepidation for night driving worsens as I age. I still do it, but not comfortably.
What will happen in five years?

A story the asks hard life questions.

By Steve M

“Baby it’s cold outside,” the radio hummed as I parked. Sighing loudly, my breath escaped like steam. A momentary distraction to gather my thoughts. Beside me, Vanessa giggled. Say it, damn it, I thought desperately.

“Thanks for a great evening, Adam”
“Yea… uh Vanessa?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
Vanessa smiled.

The nervousness, the wonder, the dejection; it’s all in these 50 words.

By Ed

“Really? You’re not going to talk to me?
“Was it really necessary to embarrass me?” Doug asked, fuming.
“Oh please, I always kid you about your driving”
“It feels like you’re enjoying it a little too much”
“You know I’m not serious. You’re driving me home, aren’t you–WATCH IT!”

By Kit Storjohann

Dejectedly, I finally pulled the car – loaded with scraps of our old lives to serve as fodder for our new one – out of the driveway of her rain-pummeled, suburban cage after the ninth bleat of the horn failed to summon her to our planned escape from her bestial husband.

As it in a dream | By Sarah | tuckedintoacorner

the car glides over the road, slashing through puddles and churning water up.

windshield wipers sway back and forth, trying to clear the rain. it’s pointless, new drops fall as quickly as they’re cleared. the world is hazy, blurred to dreamlike quality, narrowed to this bubble.

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Which stories are your favorites and why? Let me know in the comments below.

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