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).
So here goes: It's a flash fiction, exactly 300 words, using all 5 senses, all 3 made-up words, showing instead of telling. Whew!
Cry of the Synbatec
Opal finger-combs her straggly gray hair, wriggling her toes in the sand. She stares at the rose and golden clouds, trying to imagine faces in them the way she did as a girl. No luck. She turns her head and watches Ralph wading in the dawn-flecked waves. A scene meant to recapture earlier days, along with last night’s bonfire and roasted hotdogs, along with sleeping under the star-powdered sky.
“Opal!” Ralph waves a flabby arm. Opal sighs and looks farther up the shore, where a young couple in tank suits and flippers stride toward the waves. The salt in the air has a sulfurous undertone, probably from seaweed strewn along the sand, although it seems behind her as well. Behind her, too, a shrill cry cuts through the rumbling surf and lapping waves.
Damn seagulls. Last night they kept pacing around their hot-dog roast, and Ralph would throw pieces of bun!
Frankly, Opal would like to go home and shower off all the sand. She swallows, thinking of buckwheat pancakes drenched with sweet, viscous honey, topped with foamy Cool Whip. Then she’d stretch out on the sofa and watch re-runs of Tacise. Morning after morning, criminals prove no match for Tacise. No thief is wily enough. No drug lord’s hideaway secure. The actor who plays Tacise is a Republican, too. Opal nods to herself. She has read his biography on Wikipedia.
“Opal!” Ralph calls, louder this time, hands cupped around his mouth. His face crinkles with worry. A breeze swallows his next word. It sounds like wastopaneer! Or maybe, what’s it near? But that makes no sense.
“Watch out! It’s nearer!” he almost screams.
The shrill cry behind her comes again. Opal turns in time to see the Synbatec’s wings billow wide before enfolding her.
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