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 uses the words root, flower, and stem. You’re allowed to use any variation of the words. If you’re up for the challenge, use all three—but if you want to focus on one or two of the prompt words, that’s fine, too.
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: A Dandelion Wish, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Good luck and have fun. Happy writing!
Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “Waiting on the Train” 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.
Raul was new. He didn’t speak English; Rebecca knew little Spanish.
Rebecca reviewed roots and stems, common nouns and verbs. Tenses. Raul worked hard and followed his tutor’s instructions. The two high schoolers often laughed together.
One day, Raul brought her flowers. Rebecca kissed him. Maybe words weren’t always needed.
When I was a child, my grandmother said that her backyard rhurbarb patch—from root to stalk to stem—was sacred. She said, "It's always been there. My grandmother spoke of it. Her grandmother spoke of it. So when it flowers, I remember that it has always flowered for us."
My fingers were flying over the buttons of my TI-84 Plus. My eyes flitted from the pencil scrawled across my page to the calculator cursor. My heart dropped. There, between the x squared and the cosine, was supposed to be a square root. My integral was ruined. Thirty minutes wasted.
Teddy leaned over and held the dahlia’s stem like a microphone with both hands as if to serenade the audience. He swung flower up high to pronounce "I did it myyyy waaayy." I wasn't sure if I should be impressed or concerned or both when I heard mom yelling, “TEDDY!!”.
Subterranean by nature? Nurture? The roots of George’s behavior stem from childhood – flowering forty odd years later. George rarely requests – scolded as a boy for, “May I have (_____), please?” And, timely as a Bulova clock because, “Can’t you see we’re running late?” Awakening, he chooses which blooms he keeps.
Language Barriers, Fiction
Raul was new. He didn’t speak English; Rebecca knew little Spanish.
Rebecca reviewed roots and stems, common nouns and verbs. Tenses. Raul worked hard and followed his tutor’s instructions. The two high schoolers often laughed together.
One day, Raul brought her flowers. Rebecca kissed him. Maybe words weren’t always needed.
DIRECT LINE, prose poem
The roots of my ancestors lie 1,000 years deep within the frozen soil of Norway.
The Heimskringla, a saga of kings, tells of the sturdy stems of Vikings - fearless, prideful and rapacious.
Would they be disappointed to learn that their DNA now flowers in me — the least of all warriors?
Generations: Fiction
When I was a child, my grandmother said that her backyard rhurbarb patch—from root to stalk to stem—was sacred. She said, "It's always been there. My grandmother spoke of it. Her grandmother spoke of it. So when it flowers, I remember that it has always flowered for us."
The Marriage Stem
Flower was beautiful, reaching at the sun. Root was sturdy, pulling at nourishment.
A storm came: wind blew, rain fell. Flower was afraid, but Root held tight. The storm passed, and Flower was safe.
Stem connected them: Flower beauty and joy; Root strength and stability. Each essential to the whole.
Growth Spurt, Fiction
Livvy sat beside the wilted plant.
“It's not growing.”
“Maybe the stem is too weak," her mother said.
Livvy nodded and left, returning with a stick.
She tied the stem to the plant and watered it deeply, down to the roots.
Days passed.
First came buds, then a flower bloomed.
Calc 2 - Straight up memoir 😂
My fingers were flying over the buttons of my TI-84 Plus. My eyes flitted from the pencil scrawled across my page to the calculator cursor. My heart dropped. There, between the x squared and the cosine, was supposed to be a square root. My integral was ruined. Thirty minutes wasted.
Mom's Garden, Fiction
Teddy leaned over and held the dahlia’s stem like a microphone with both hands as if to serenade the audience. He swung flower up high to pronounce "I did it myyyy waaayy." I wasn't sure if I should be impressed or concerned or both when I heard mom yelling, “TEDDY!!”.
Subterranean by nature? Nurture? The roots of George’s behavior stem from childhood – flowering forty odd years later. George rarely requests – scolded as a boy for, “May I have (_____), please?” And, timely as a Bulova clock because, “Can’t you see we’re running late?” Awakening, he chooses which blooms he keeps.
The Crazy Girl With The Paper Flower Tongue, Fiction
His memory from the first night they met was an amber haze for the most part.
Although he did remember her appetite for eating flowers from an upturned vase.
He had no inkling that she, The Crazy Girl With The Paper Flower Tongue, would be the one to fix him.
(Fiction, 50w)
AARON RODGERS INTERVIEW, THE PAT MCAFEE SHOW, SEPT. 12, 2023 [PARTIAL TRANSCRIPT]
-Yanks pissed about that Mets hat? Some seek-
-Nay. People read backasswards... Connor?
-What’s your wildest N.Y. moment?
-That river plane-landing. Saw it televised, but must’ve been real.
-Like AJ’s underground tunnels…
-Hawk’s despicable.
-Yo, what craziness Jets fans bringin’?
-Actually, AJ suggested I ‘rewolf’ Central Park.
-Hawk, you menace!