Fifties by the Fire — a fifty-word, prompt-based writing challenge. Feel free to share your response below, or read and comment to join in on the fun.
Prompt: Use the image as inspiration to write a fifty-word story (fiction, poetry, or CNF).
Here are the other guidelines:
Make sure your piece is exactly fifty words. Feel free to use Word Counter or the word processor you use.
Write a title with the genre in the first line. (Example: Tough Luck, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Good luck and have fun. Happy writing!
Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “Evening Glow” for our writing prompt.
John Lightle is a Texas writer, poet, and photographer who spends many hours sitting on his woodpile contemplating. When away from his frame shop, he schleps his artwork among area art shows. The job takes him across the countryside, occasionally overseas, photographing the quiet resolve found within the golden hours.
“This was her favorite place to visit,” he said, as his voice broke. “She said the purple mountains symbolized freedom, a place where our souls could soar.”
He opened the catch on the silver urn and held it over the ledge, releasing its contents.
Lord have mercy, she whispered. The early morning light painted the distant mountains several shades of purple blue. She was 80 years old, and tears spilled down her wrinkled cheeks. She stood in silence a long while, knowing she was witnessing a miracle.
He stopped measuring the distance in miles and started measuring in songs.
Melody carried him over each violet dune, spurred his legs to drum on, his breath to rebound, and his eyes to cling to the amber glow kissing the horizon.
I spent my career building. It's all math, numbers, angles and incessant planning and careful execution. In my retirement, I have been pondering that nature does all that it does with no math, no numbers, no plan, and no apparent planned execution. It's just there.
This poem found its way into my mind just as soon as I read the prompt.
Sitting around a fire brings forth a certain kind of magic that few other places offer. Camping in the mountains is one of them. Moments embedded in our subconscious are the gems.
I thought nothing of steep falls, wolves, dangers lurking in the mist. Only beauty, my two eyes beheld, only the thought of what lay beyond. When I found myself deep inside it - the danger, the possibility, the beauty and the darkness - I knew then it had always been within me.
Every time I see the Adirondacks, I see my Dad as he was when we hiked them, fit and forty, in jeans and a t-shirt, ballcap pulled down over far away eyes. On the trail, he pointed out animal tracks, picked berries, and laughed like he seldom did at home.
Illusion
Will I find you beyond the next mountain?
Is there a guarantee you'll be there?
Or perhaps the next peak?
When does the toil end?
The search is in vain as it's an illusion
Nothing separates us in reality
Let me find myself first and then will the search end
Saying Goodbye, Fiction
“This was her favorite place to visit,” he said, as his voice broke. “She said the purple mountains symbolized freedom, a place where our souls could soar.”
He opened the catch on the silver urn and held it over the ledge, releasing its contents.
“Her soul is flying free now.”
Silence, Blue - prose poem
Lord have mercy, she whispered. The early morning light painted the distant mountains several shades of purple blue. She was 80 years old, and tears spilled down her wrinkled cheeks. She stood in silence a long while, knowing she was witnessing a miracle.
Her first visit to The Grand Canyon.
Soundtrack, Fiction
He stopped measuring the distance in miles and started measuring in songs.
Melody carried him over each violet dune, spurred his legs to drum on, his breath to rebound, and his eyes to cling to the amber glow kissing the horizon.
There was only sky. And music.
To the end.
I spent my career building. It's all math, numbers, angles and incessant planning and careful execution. In my retirement, I have been pondering that nature does all that it does with no math, no numbers, no plan, and no apparent planned execution. It's just there.
This poem found its way into my mind just as soon as I read the prompt.
PERFECT IMPERFECTION-poem
Does it make sense?
Nature’s perfect order
Is so random.
Squares, rectangles
Triangles and circles
Exist mostly
In our minds.
Do straight lines
Lead us to something
Or away from nature,
Away from true home?
Nature is perfect
Imperfection,
Randomness an
Ideal.
Do not try
To understand.
You cannot know.
Freedom, fiction
Five ridges stand between me and freedom
One for each brother lost
Every climb is daunting
Every descent challenging
Each mountain embodies a guardian spirit
Supporting me, guiding me, inspiring me
Reminding me
Even though I may fall
Every time I look up
I will see the sky and freedom
New Year's Resolution --Journal
The best memories are yet to be told.
Sitting around a fire brings forth a certain kind of magic that few other places offer. Camping in the mountains is one of them. Moments embedded in our subconscious are the gems.
So... I'm getting a loan to build a wood cabin.
Purple Mountain's Majesty, poetry?
Purple Mountain's Majesty rose from the black velvet cloak of night and spread itself on the horizon before the dawn.
It can not be only for me, that I'm the only one to see the morning mist arise in wisps and disappear,
Turning mares of night into dreams of day.
Lovelight (Drama, I guess?)
They told her not to date him.
‘He’s weird,’ said Sarah.
‘Not your type,’ said Eve.
‘He’s like an alien,’ Ruth whispered.
‘Or an angel.’
‘Or a demon.’
But he was so cute.
Still, when the sun dropped and his skin started to glow, Lilith thought they had a point.
“Mountains” (drama)
From Isaiah’s porch, the Rocky Mountains turned purple in the twilight. He lit a cigarette.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, but it’s true.” Sally’s foot bumped her suitcase. “I don’t believe anymore. I never did.”
Snow next month. Snowshoeing might be relaxing.
“Say something.”
He shut his eyes and imagined the trails.
When I Think about Dying poem / CNF
I expect to be seeing the light
and feeling peace
while going thru the dark tunnel
being met by loved ones on the other side
in a world more beautiful than here
transcending space and time
but not ready to do that quite yet
too much still to do here
Spacious Skies, Fiction
Dora dust bunny gazed through the glass from her windowsill perch.
“Oh! Give me a home – where the buffalo roam…” Words forgotten, Dora’s twang trailed to a hum.
She longed for neat, fresh, and pristine spaces!
“For purple mountain majesties… hmmmm-hmmm-hmmmm-hm-hmmm-hm… America! America! God – Make a clean room for Me?”
Purple Purple Everywhere • Fiction
Captain Starfinder stepped into the cargo hold. Science officer Max Grower was unpacking a crate.
“It’s been a long cryo. You ready to get started.”
“Absolutely, Captain. I have the seeds.”
“What about this container?”
“I’m not planting those.”
“Why not.”
“They’re plums.”
“So?”
“Have you looked out the window?”
I thought nothing of steep falls, wolves, dangers lurking in the mist. Only beauty, my two eyes beheld, only the thought of what lay beyond. When I found myself deep inside it - the danger, the possibility, the beauty and the darkness - I knew then it had always been within me.
Two Magi in Seclusion Speak, of Transits Rapid and Slow (Fiction!)
The men sat wrapped in gloom and smoke.
"When we'll bury him, then?"
"The... 26th?" replied the other, "if"-
"But the year's have to rhyme," said the first. "For alignment"-
"If we waited this long"-
"Will she still be good for the money, by then?"
"Never late before"-
"Brilliant, mate!"
A bit late to the party, but here's mine...
The Mountains Are Calling (CNF)
Every time I see the Adirondacks, I see my Dad as he was when we hiked them, fit and forty, in jeans and a t-shirt, ballcap pulled down over far away eyes. On the trail, he pointed out animal tracks, picked berries, and laughed like he seldom did at home.