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: Write a fifty-word story (fiction, poetry, or CNF) based upon a gateway.
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: Neighbors, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Good luck and have fun. Happy writing!
Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “A Gateway” 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.
He guarded the gateway to the square, polished granite building. Everyone who visited had gray skin and drooping mouths and a man with a yellow mustache visited every other Sunday, holding a bottle of jack. He spoke once and his breath was sour. “Boys should know when to retreat.”
She sat alone on a park bench, tears trickling down her face. A stranger stopped, sat down and gently handed her a tissue.
A tiny droplet of goodness rushed into her neuropathways, bursting through the gateway of her mind and flooding her thoughts with serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine. Be kind.
The headlines infuriated him. ‘Tinpot Dictator’. He’d show them. Victory Gate. A shimmering edifice inlaid with the gold teeth of enemies crushed under the tracks of creaking tanks. The dais, at his command, was placed 202 feet from the 202 foot high monument to his hubris. The archway swayed ominously.
The old biology professor gave his eager freshmen students a wry smile. “The gateway to knowledge is curiosity,” he drawled. “We call ourselves Homo sapiens: man who knows. What we forget is, the gateway to conservation is love. We protect what we love. I will teach you to love nature.”
The voice at the other end of the gateway of communication sounded rejuvenating but not recognizable to her initial annoyance. As she was about to hang up, she heard some music in the background. "You sound great even when annoyed".
Impatience and music created long distance harmony. They exchanged numbers.
You’d think you’d know one when you saw it. She asks, “are you going my way?” You had to get home. Years later, “we think you’d be a great fit.” You declined, worried you weren’t up to the challenge. So many gateways missed by not looking. Are you ready now?
We do not choose the first, we delay as best we can the third. The second gateway is life day to day. Beyond the gate are green grasses and your dreams and also wrecking balls and screams. Knowing the gate can swing both ways, perhaps you've found your home today.
Lost Era, sci-fi
A crystal gateway and glass obelisks rose higher than the treetops. Various aircraft—some shaped like horseshoes—dotted the blue canvas above.
Captain Leona guided me from the time machine. The others followed us out.
“Thought we were traveling to the past?” Bellamy asked.
Our captain smiled. “And we’ve arrived.”
Farewell to Duke- Fiction
Paul's muscle ripped his suitcoat. He wasn't purposely flexing.
Sobbing.
The sound of the tear might have been funny another time.
This time it seemed like a metaphor.
Duke the Huskie ripped through the gate one last time.
Full funeral, six pallbearers, unable to name a human they loved more.
Garden Memories, fiction
He stood before his garden gate as big, soft snowflakes fell.
Why was he there?
The answer lingered beyond his grasp.
He tried to remember, retrace his steps.
Was this his escape or his prison?
Confusion mingled with wonder.
As the labyrinth of his mind twisted, reality slipped further away.
Day shift-Fiction
He guarded the gateway to the square, polished granite building. Everyone who visited had gray skin and drooping mouths and a man with a yellow mustache visited every other Sunday, holding a bottle of jack. He spoke once and his breath was sour. “Boys should know when to retreat.”
Gateway to Good - Fiction
She sat alone on a park bench, tears trickling down her face. A stranger stopped, sat down and gently handed her a tissue.
A tiny droplet of goodness rushed into her neuropathways, bursting through the gateway of her mind and flooding her thoughts with serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine. Be kind.
Crushed (fiction)
The headlines infuriated him. ‘Tinpot Dictator’. He’d show them. Victory Gate. A shimmering edifice inlaid with the gold teeth of enemies crushed under the tracks of creaking tanks. The dais, at his command, was placed 202 feet from the 202 foot high monument to his hubris. The archway swayed ominously.
For E.O.W., Creative Nonfiction
The old biology professor gave his eager freshmen students a wry smile. “The gateway to knowledge is curiosity,” he drawled. “We call ourselves Homo sapiens: man who knows. What we forget is, the gateway to conservation is love. We protect what we love. I will teach you to love nature.”
The Fossil, Science Fiction
Dr. Blake had never seen a fossil like this one.
The bones lay in a spiral, twisting like a calcified whirlpool around remnants of THE meteorite.
Except, it wasn't a fossil at all. It was a gateway.
The dinosaurs weren't extinct, they were just hidden.
Earth shifted; the past awakened.
The Gateway • Fiction
The teen entered the library. His first time in one. He checked his phone screen again.
“This can’t be right,” he said to the woman behind the desk.
“Are you playing The Gateway?” the woman asked.
“Yes. This is supposed to be The Gateway.”
“It is. The gateway to imagination.”
The misdialed exchange ( fiction )
The voice at the other end of the gateway of communication sounded rejuvenating but not recognizable to her initial annoyance. As she was about to hang up, she heard some music in the background. "You sound great even when annoyed".
Impatience and music created long distance harmony. They exchanged numbers.
Passing Chances, fiction
You’d think you’d know one when you saw it. She asks, “are you going my way?” You had to get home. Years later, “we think you’d be a great fit.” You declined, worried you weren’t up to the challenge. So many gateways missed by not looking. Are you ready now?
The Second Gateway, CNF.
We do not choose the first, we delay as best we can the third. The second gateway is life day to day. Beyond the gate are green grasses and your dreams and also wrecking balls and screams. Knowing the gate can swing both ways, perhaps you've found your home today.
Choose wisely-Creative nonfiction
You stand before two gateways: one is the wide gate marked “Easy” and the second is a narrow gate marked “Caution, not frequently traveled.”
Choose wisely.
“because straight is the gate and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” (Matthew 7:14 KJV)
The Afternoon of The Not-Too-Flimsy Whimsy
"Dream a little dream on me"- Mama Cass
I went for takeaway, found no store.
A Gateway of Peach Ice Cream rose a mile or more.
At the top a tree sang,"Come up here
For a fun time now;
If you're too emo to enjoy yourself
We will show you how."
And we all started cllimbing. WOW!
Ernie Brill
They were my gateway. Teens from the housing project.
I loved them, took them places… to my mother’s retirement home.
Many die young in the Projects.
Darious, Phil… both killed at fifteen.
I find an old photo. I ask Destiny “Who IS this?!🤗”
“That was Josh”, she texts.
Was.