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, poem, or work of CNF) that involves a make or model of a vehicle, as well as its color. For example, depending on how descriptive you’d like to be, you can write a story about a black Jeep, a black Wrangler, or a black Jeep Wrangler. Or, if you’re willing to sacrifice four words, you could even write about a 1992 tan Dodge Spirit. (Which happened to be my first car. . . she was a beauty!)
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: Divot, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Good luck and have fun. Happy writing!
Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “Red Fiat” 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.
The sign out front clattered against the chain link fence. Mountains of hubcaps, rusted-out cars, and scrap metal littered the property. Billy didn’t see the mess. He saw art, history—an empire forming and expanding. He sat on the hood of his dead blue Camaro and smiled.
The near-neighbor's red Zastava has still not been unveiled.
Kept wrapped under tan tarp, caked in dust, needled by overhung pines...
in all the years I've walked by it, putting miles on my feet, the resplendent rusted Zastava has never moved, instead cementing its legacy as the sidewalk's ornery God.
My brother's first car was a blue Chevy Malibu. It had rust spots like freckles on its hood and its engine purred like a contented cat. He loved the wind rushing through his hair as he drove—as if he could escape the world's troubles with every mile he covered.
It was hard to see much from here. The ravine was too damn steep for easy walking and the car had rolled a couple times on the way down. Looked real new, though. '76 Mustang, maybe? But we didn't have fancy cars 'round here. Who the hell's car was it?
He drove a blue ’72 Malibu SuperSport. His brother, a drug dealer. He threw a cat out the second-floor window of his apartment to see if it landed upright. It did.
He had a mullet.
And tattoos. Three DUIs by the time he was 23, and I married him anyway.
Jun 18, 2023·edited Jun 18, 2023Liked by Justin Deming
I wanted to get back to writing prompted microfiction, so I came up with an idea for this prompt. But I couldn't whittle it down to 50-words. It ended up at 133 words. I am posting a link to it anyway. I hope you don't mind. Next time, I will stick to the rules. 🤓
Billy's Hubcap Heaven, Fiction
The sign out front clattered against the chain link fence. Mountains of hubcaps, rusted-out cars, and scrap metal littered the property. Billy didn’t see the mess. He saw art, history—an empire forming and expanding. He sat on the hood of his dead blue Camaro and smiled.
Title: The Unmoved Mover (fiction)
The near-neighbor's red Zastava has still not been unveiled.
Kept wrapped under tan tarp, caked in dust, needled by overhung pines...
in all the years I've walked by it, putting miles on my feet, the resplendent rusted Zastava has never moved, instead cementing its legacy as the sidewalk's ornery God.
A Malibu Getaway, Fiction
My brother's first car was a blue Chevy Malibu. It had rust spots like freckles on its hood and its engine purred like a contented cat. He loved the wind rushing through his hair as he drove—as if he could escape the world's troubles with every mile he covered.
Hot Wheels, prose poem
The child drives his red Porsche down his mommy’s arm and across their bedtime knees.
Vroom! Vrooooooom!
My boy will have cars when he’s older, she thinks.
Now, the vintage yellow Mustang and the blue Ranchero stand in his driveway, and his mommy remembers his childhood pajama-driving with such longing.
--------------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: my word-counter reads "pajama-driving" as one word...
Title: ‘63 Triumph TR3, non-fiction
A candy apple red ’63 TR3,
Was sold to me by a man in need.
A perfect ride with my girl and dog,
We made the rounds on Old Cape Cod.
Fun and games ‘till things went bust,
I traded it for an old VW bus.
And I headed west.
The Wreck (mystery/historical fiction)
It was hard to see much from here. The ravine was too damn steep for easy walking and the car had rolled a couple times on the way down. Looked real new, though. '76 Mustang, maybe? But we didn't have fancy cars 'round here. Who the hell's car was it?
By Accident, Creative Non-Fiction
How’d that happen?
Unobstructed view. Ford Pinto yields. Driver looks both ways, but misses a Chevy Nova crawling through the intersection.
T-bone damages metal and plastic, not flesh nor bone.
Something mind blowing happens… Father keeps his cool. Novice driver learns parenting skill that isn’t a part of Driving 101.
Cecelia, "Creative" non-fiction
To the tune of Cecelia by Simon and Garfunkel
Cecelia
I'm down on my knees
Begging you please
To start up
Take me back home
You're breaking my heart
And my wallet
I'm begging you please
You're shaking my confidence daily
You 1978 Blue VW Rabbit piece of oh, oh,
(These words in some form may or may not have been sung many times)
San Franciso 1965. Sitting with best friend. Tiny battered turqoise car drives up. Black hair,40ish.
" Want a car,kid?"
IRS just sent rebate.
"Maybe"
"Try it out?"
"Sure."
We ride. Why not.
He gives pink paper.
"Tuesday 87 Haight Street. .You ask for Mel."
.Old lady frowns.
"Mel? What Mel?"
The Ex || Fiction (ish)
He drove a blue ’72 Malibu SuperSport. His brother, a drug dealer. He threw a cat out the second-floor window of his apartment to see if it landed upright. It did.
He had a mullet.
And tattoos. Three DUIs by the time he was 23, and I married him anyway.
Great photo.
I wanted to get back to writing prompted microfiction, so I came up with an idea for this prompt. But I couldn't whittle it down to 50-words. It ended up at 133 words. I am posting a link to it anyway. I hope you don't mind. Next time, I will stick to the rules. 🤓
Brains And Knuckles Get A Job (Fiction)
https://markstarlinwrites.substack.com/p/brains-and-knuckles-get-a-job
Red Light Dreamers, Fiction
Suitcase packed and playlist ready, Bradley jumped into the driver's seat of his new champagne-coloured Cadillac.
After years of empty promises, he was finally going on his road trip adventure.
New wheels. Open road. Infinite possibilities.
He was so lost in thought that he never saw the lights change red.
ride on. wheel keep in touch, yeah?
Ride on. Wheel keep in touch, yes?