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, CNF, or poem) that uses the word gather, or any other form of the word (gathers, gathering, etc.).
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: Off the Trail, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Good luck and have fun. Happy writing!
Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “44 Birds in an Old Green Chevy” 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.
They gathered. It was the way. When the sun dipped below the horizon on the fifteenth day, they gathered. As they assembled, the roar of thunder bounced off the walls of the ruined abbey. They summoned a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously. The dark surface stirred. The beast awoke, ravenous, expectant.
After weeks of cancer stolen appetite, my grandmother was able share Thanksgiving dinner with the family. It was her last meal. At every holiday gathering since, my dad set a glass of red wine for her on the table. This year, I will pour two glasses, and toast them both.
You touched me with this one, Tara. I have a friend I see only every few years. When we get together, we immediately revert to being 16-year-old high schoolers again - "our voices just the same".
Thank you, Sharon. Those rare gatherings are so joyful, aren’t they? Even if friends have sober news to exchange and challenges (who doesn’t?), the sheer sense of timelessness is a joy. For you too?
Now that is one hell of a story. Gritty and gruesome. Thanks a bunch for dropping in and sharing, Jimmy! (Also...if you ever expand on this one, please let me know.)
Just happened to have a minute and I missed joining you for these. There were a couple others I wanted to do but was simply too busy. Happy I finally banged one out.
Jimmy, is there a best way to email/contact you? There’s a question I’d like to ask (a favor, kind of) and feel funny asking here or on one of your stories at Roulette Weal. It’s related to self-publishing.
Also, this is the only moment I’ve regretted deleting my Twitter account. 😄
Now that is one hell of a story. Gritty and gruesome. Thanks a bunch for dropping in and sharing, Jimmy! (Also...if you ever expand on this one, please let me know.)
What an incredible piece, James. It captures our evolution and advancements in fifty words. And it makes me wonder: were we better off then or are we better off now?
We heard the call in our hearts. It pulled us from sleep, beds, houses. To the woods we ran, through the cold and dark to the clearing. Some laughed, some sang Hosannas. We were chosen!
Then the woods were full of eyes. Another call, but not for us.
The whole town congregated around a fresh grave overlooking the stream.
“Never was a man more loved than Sheriff Goodheart,” Pastor Hardy said. “He was a man of justice but also grace. A true servant to the fine people of New Hope. Let’s sing.”
The five of us frolic in the pecan orchard, picking pecans while grabbing ass and teasing each other. One dime a bucket is what we were promised, but it’s not about that. This is our time, us cousins. I feel for my little brother, not yet included. Next year.
Kindred Spirits, fiction
“Let me guess…not one for the turkey and stuffing?”
“No,” Talia responded. “Not really.”
“Me neither.” The librarian handed the books over one at a time.
The girl gathered them up. Headed for the door.
“Drop in for pie, at least!”
“I’ll pass.”
The man removed his bookmark and laughed.
The sides and desert are the best part!
Agreed. And cover it all in gravy! (Well, except the pie.) 😄
Delicious story,Justin!
Thank you, Sharron!
What Remains, Poetry
Take what you want from me.
I offer it to you, willingly.
My gifts. My conquests. My flaws. And my missteps.
Gather them up like a wad of refuse, for they are meaningless.
Burn them.
They are past.
Now gather me, and what remains.
And love me.
As I am.
Love this, Meg! 💜
Thank you, Justin! I got in early this week. 😉
You display heartwarming sensitivity and vulnerability. I feel like I've been invited into your heart.
Yes. Some wear their heart on their sleeve. I wear mine on a bright pink post-it note on my forehead. 😂
Delicious.
Excellent!
The Lake (flash fiction)
They gathered. It was the way. When the sun dipped below the horizon on the fifteenth day, they gathered. As they assembled, the roar of thunder bounced off the walls of the ruined abbey. They summoned a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously. The dark surface stirred. The beast awoke, ravenous, expectant.
An eerie one, Barrie. Loved it. I’m getting some dystopian vibes!
I always seem to find myself in the shadows, Justin!
I tend to end up there as well! 😄
Why didn’t my comment go here? Weird.
Ia Ia Cthulhu fhtagn :)
Ooo. There is more of this tale to be told. I am intrigued.
I was thinking that too. I’ll have a ponder.
Oooh, good one, sir!
Thank you 🙏
Holiday Tributes, memoir.
After weeks of cancer stolen appetite, my grandmother was able share Thanksgiving dinner with the family. It was her last meal. At every holiday gathering since, my dad set a glass of red wine for her on the table. This year, I will pour two glasses, and toast them both.
A somber and heart wrenching tribute. Beautifully written. 🙏💜
Poignant
Awww. That last line is heart-breaking. Does grief never end?
No, but with time, it eases a bit.
Off Atlantic, poem
You pick me up
on 4th Street
and after hugs
drive us to a restaurant off Atlantic
where we gather
glorious memories
from thirty years’ sleep.
We dust them
with cloth napkins and
season them
with fresh curry.
We giggle the dusk down,
girls again,
our voices
just the same.
Such a lovely poem, Tara!
Thank you, Justin! I couldn’t miss this week’s enticing theme. :-)
Love it Tara! And thank you for posting - it made me participate too.
That is gorgeous.
Thank you!
You touched me with this one, Tara. I have a friend I see only every few years. When we get together, we immediately revert to being 16-year-old high schoolers again - "our voices just the same".
Thank you, Sharon. Those rare gatherings are so joyful, aren’t they? Even if friends have sober news to exchange and challenges (who doesn’t?), the sheer sense of timelessness is a joy. For you too?
You bet. No matter what is going on, when we meet up after so long a time, we just have to laugh at how time stops.
HERITAGE, PROSE POEM
I gather my ancestors around me, a tribe that spans 1,200 years. Viking blood rages in my veins.
I don’t forget my generations of kings and nobles, warriors and crusaders, my humble farmers, fishers, and immigrants. I honor them all.
Only through their great courage and tenacity, do I live.
An incredible ode to your ancestors, Sharron!
After (Micro)
This is where we gathered, after the ride back from the cemetery whose name I always forget
and sat on small couches, a chair, floor to talk about the woman who left this world, wordless,
too soon. Nothing like the way she entered. And grieved on in story and silence.
A heartbreaker, Tiffany. So well written. That final line will stick with me for quite some time.
Thank you Justin. Your prompt made me think of my great grandma, Maggie.
This captures the feeling so well. I love the tiny little touches that tell of a bigger story beyond this one.
Thank you!
Gathering Memories, fiction
I hated going to my Aunt’s for Thanksgiving, but there was no choice. He made me go.
“Someday you’ll thank me,” my dad said, “For all the memories.”
I sat between my cousins on the couch, all of us miserable and bored.
Beside us was a pillow that said ‘Gather.’
“But it’s tradition!”
Haha! This is perfect, Clancy. Thanks so much for taking part and for sharing this!
I love this. I LIVED this. The irony slays!!! The image of the pillow made me cringe. So corny. 🥂High five, Clancy.
Boundaries, Fiction
“Come?”
“No!” Do-not-disappoint overrides his silent proclamation. “What can I bring?”
“We’ll be forty-four a-flutter, fueling for our trip. Can you manage four oranges and four tangerines?”
“Yes” fell… where “no” wanted to stand.
“Four and four.” (Gathers courage.) “Then I head south… solo. It’s time to stretch my wings.”
What a fun take on the prompt. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you for hosting us Justin — a generous gift!
"Can you manage four oranges and four tangerines?” “Yes” fell… where “no” wanted to stand." I love this, 3MM
Thank you Sharron! It was fun to write. 😁
Family Gathering-poetry
Why do we do this?
We gather here in what, in any other time,
Would seem too imposing,
Too interruptive of our orchestrated
Lives.
Now, though, we take this time, make this effort
To regain that which distance has displaced.
We gather to love.
It’s messy, stressful, disruptive,
And necessary.
Despite the story I shared for this prompt, I’m in agreement with you!
Agreed!
Love the last line of this!
An Unseen Soul, Poem
Without a home, she wandered the streets,
This day, as souls gathered 'round,
She kept looking, shuffling her feet,
Until a feast of love she found.
Laughter, melodious joy.
Tables adorned with abundance, grace
Relaxed, she shared her tale, no longer coy,
Each morsel savored, a smile on her face.
Beautiful, Caro!
Happy Friday, Justin! Thanks for another 50s adventure :)
The alternate spaces between (Poem)
There's a crowd gathered,
quare, here me in
plain as me am
out round put square-leaved tea
retreatin' undertow boil befor
ascending a sand-circled trunk; burieyed lineage
simultaneous signals like hydra-toed pulsate
intone, intoxicate with Aeolian praising
high and tart and featuresold, futureless
'Three is a magistereal number,' says she.
Right back at you, Chris! Hope all is well. Thanks a bunch for dropping in and sharing!
Daredevil - Fiction
The tourniquet was strips of shirt, gathered around the end of his now missing arm with a length of white rope becoming progressively crimson.
His vision dimmed, he guessed he would not survive. He tried, in a growing web of shock, to remind himself he lived on his own terms.
Now that is one hell of a story. Gritty and gruesome. Thanks a bunch for dropping in and sharing, Jimmy! (Also...if you ever expand on this one, please let me know.)
Just happened to have a minute and I missed joining you for these. There were a couple others I wanted to do but was simply too busy. Happy I finally banged one out.
I totally get it, and no worries whatsoever. Always happy to have you around whenever it’s possible!
Good God...please disregard. I have your email...on my mailing list. I’ll reach out there. 😅 I should just go to bed.
Jimmy, is there a best way to email/contact you? There’s a question I’d like to ask (a favor, kind of) and feel funny asking here or on one of your stories at Roulette Weal. It’s related to self-publishing.
Also, this is the only moment I’ve regretted deleting my Twitter account. 😄
detroitsandwichfest@gmail.com
Thank you, sir!
Send noods
Live and die to the fullest, Daredevil.
When I am gone, Poem
gathering my words
making an offering of
flowers, poems, color
i wonder if they'll come
i can't wait, i must go
but if they don't
i would still have been here
leaving...
not a mark just some words
not a sign just a symbol
not a trace just an impression
-reena kapoor
Breathtaking, Reena!
Now that is one hell of a story. Gritty and gruesome. Thanks a bunch for dropping in and sharing, Jimmy! (Also...if you ever expand on this one, please let me know.)
You Are Gathered Here Now, CNF
"You've gone out on foot to the far places, the ends of the earth, the four corners of the world from which the winds blow.
You are gathered here now in machines that make time and space your servant.
'Good job! Take the rest of the week off - Happy Thanksgiving!'"
What an incredible piece, James. It captures our evolution and advancements in fifty words. And it makes me wonder: were we better off then or are we better off now?
Well, thank you, Justin! Re "were we better off..." - I know, right? That's a tough one, for sure.
Offerings (Horror)
GATHER
We heard the call in our hearts. It pulled us from sleep, beds, houses. To the woods we ran, through the cold and dark to the clearing. Some laughed, some sang Hosannas. We were chosen!
Then the woods were full of eyes. Another call, but not for us.
FEED
Whoa! I had no idea what to expect, but it sure wasn’t that. Love your micro horror stories, Jon. You have a gift for telling ‘em.
Ooo! Loved this, love horror!👁️
The River (Fiction)
The whole town congregated around a fresh grave overlooking the stream.
“Never was a man more loved than Sheriff Goodheart,” Pastor Hardy said. “He was a man of justice but also grace. A true servant to the fine people of New Hope. Let’s sing.”
“Shall we gather at the river…”
I really enjoyed this, Mark. Makes me want to learn more about this man and the town in which he lived!
I pictured it as a small town in the old west. And a life well-lived caring for others. Every life is a story.
Lookout (Fiction)
We’d been surveilling their gathering place for about a week. Their comings and goings were consistent, which made this afternoon a surprise.
“Get IP on the phone.”
“Wh-”
“No fucking questions. Phone now.”
We lost a lot of folks that day. I’m mostly over it, but my hands still shake.
Intense. I see a short story or novel unraveling. Thank you so much for sharing!
Hunters and gatherers --Journal
The bitter cold awaits me and my injury is not yet healed. Still, I must go out there teasing my destiny so I can provide sustenance for all.
I'm a Neanderthal and the Sapiens who were my friends yesterday, they're seeking to kill me today. Hard core life, this.
Love that this is written as a journal entry!
The Insect Cemetery, Fiction, Horror
The door creaked open;
like a wooden wolf howling at a forgotten moon.
The hut at the bottom of the garden
sat abandoned; filled with dust.
The bodies of wood lice, spiders and ants gathered together.
Insect cemetery.
In his absence, something had grown.
He should have tidied more often.
Excellent stuff, Chris! What an atmospheric piece. I was instantly transported!
Thanks Justin!
“flowers, poems, color”: I love how these three little words burst with living energy. “i wonder if they’ll come”: Ah! What a light touch.
Grandmother’s
The five of us frolic in the pecan orchard, picking pecans while grabbing ass and teasing each other. One dime a bucket is what we were promised, but it’s not about that. This is our time, us cousins. I feel for my little brother, not yet included. Next year.
Such a sweet nostalgic piece, Kim. I really enjoyed it. Thank you for sharing!
You’re welcome, it was fun to write!