Write a blog post in 300 words or less, excluding the title. The post can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should show:
- that it’s morning,
- that a man or a woman (or both) is at the beach
- that the MC (main character) is bored
- that something stinks behind where he/she is sitting
- that something surprising happens.
Just for fun, see if you can involve all five senses AND include these random words: "synbatec," "wastopaneer," and "tacise." (NB. these words are completely made up and are not intended to have any meaning other than the one you give them).
I am # 76. Go here to check out the entries.
The sun spilled its golden beams over the bobbing corpses in the lake. The water lapped at Marty's feet as if daring her to touch it.
"This is perfect," Mark said .
It seemed a million years ago that everything had been perfect. Now she toted a loaded gun with a guy who happened to have a screwed up compass. And priorities. "How much time do you think we have?" she asked. She wanted to ask how much time they had before the undead came staggering through the wall of cars where they would find two morsels to devour.
"Wow, that long. What will we do in the meantime?" With no memory of having slept in the last twenty-four hours boring felt normal. Well, except for the stench of raw meat and sour lemons wrapping them from either direction. The taste of lemon peels mixed with iron edged its way to the back of her throat. “We are dead meat. Literally.”
“Not quite. We can go up to the wastopaneer.”
“You know...” he lifted his chin towards the jumbled mass of rotted wood that had once been a pier.
“You mean whatchamacallit. And it’s called a pier. And no. I don’t feel like falling on my tacise and getting wet.”
He raised a brow.
“You’re such a synbatec.” He smiled.
“I don’t even want to know what you mean by that.”
“We have two choices really. Stay or follow the current. Pick one.”
“I chose the red pill. Ignorance is bliss.”
The corpses closest to shore began to edge their way towards land. Her heart leapt for her throat as one moved. “Option three: we make our way back towards the familiars and debate our way to freedom,” she said, cocking her rifle.