Fifties by the Fire — a fifty-word, prompt-based writing challenge. Feel free to share your response below (and as a Note, if you’d like), or read and comment to join in on the fun.
Prompt: Use the word sphere in a fifty-word story (fiction, CNF, or poetry). Happy writing!
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: The Black Box, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Good luck and have fun. Happy writing!
Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “Spheres” 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.
I’m here briefly, aiming to make waves. Like a pebble in a pond, my actions can ripple out causing a tsunami, resulting in chaos or peace. My hope? That the waves, within my sphere and beyond, will bring only floods of kindness, washing over the earth with joy and laughter.
I considered fake drowning to get her to notice me. Because I couldn’t stop noticing her. The way she wrapped her lips and tongue around that cherry red sphere of hardened sugar on a stick made my teeth hurt. I never knew her name. She was just Candy to me.
Our colony starship approached the planet within the hour. The purple sphere didn’t resemble the greens and ochres many of us knew from our previous home, but that was okay. It was alive. Unpolluted.
The sphere had a rhythmic, glowing, hypnotic pulse. The boy and his dog just stared. The dog shook. The boy reached down to touch it and his dog said “not yet.” The bird on the branch above said “not yet.” The boy was unable to speak, from that moment on.
It hovered above us for 110 days, silent, unmoving, a muted presence listening in on our collective mind. To save ourselves, we shut down all media, stopped our frantic, incessant chatter. The Sphere disappeared quietly as it had come, erasing away our vast internet.
The sphere ball supported his aching back after his first day at the gym. The sphere shaped clock informed him that his workout had only been twenty minutes. And amidst the sphere shaped circular iron weights, all he could pay attention to was the juicy sphere burger round the corner!
The world’s finest glassblower filled his ledger with commissions for princes and dukes of every kingdom. This sphere was perfect. Nestled in a velvet-lined stand, it cast shimmering kaleidoscopes on the marbled terrace. The craftsman beamed. His Lordship stepped closer. Dazzled, he stumbled, an arm outstretched. One hairline crack. Shattered.
Hi Justin, Here's my entry which is a true story from when I was walking the dog yesterday morning!
"The Ball
The blue plastic ball bounces down the dark empty road.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
A perfect sphere of innocent blandness.
Why do I fear this child’s play thing?
Then I have it.
It is moving against the wind. Making its inexorable path towards me.
Ignoring my shame, I turn and run."
I wrote a couple of 50 word short stories on your last prompt of Arrival/Departure but I missed the boat on that one. I'll publish them separately and give you a shout out so you can let me know what you think! Thanks very much for Fifties by the Fire. It's a really great idea and let's me read a lot of excellent fiction that I might otherwise have missed. All of the writers below are just awesome!
He thought about the terrible time they had. He wished he never took her. Now, holding the sphere in his hand, he saw his own reflection in the glass. He felt himself tighten, shifting its white landscape. He set it down. now in a flurry. The thing inside became unclear.
The most important things around are circular. Unless you're a flat-earther. Life itself is a circle. Live, die, and come around for another go. And it's beautiful, IMO.
Thank you for your acknowledgment Justin. I make it my business to offer my knowledge and talents and positivity to all those within my circles. But I have recently gotten the futility of war on a whole different level. Am unable to move the needle away from any who are in charge of funding such wars. Have a state presidential primary coming up and my ballot shows limited choices, a group of names unknown to me and many dropouts. Health care beyond my financial reach. And the list goes on.
It's Black History Month. As a long time student of African American literature, I offer three hybrid haikus from my Black Lives Matter section in my new book, Journeys of Voices and Choices, from Human Error Press. For me BLACK LIVES MATTERS reaches outwards and inwards and includes the incessant bravery and astonishing achievements of a group of people.
from The Black Lives MATTERS HAIKUS.
HARRIET TUBMAN
Bright eyes grip North Star
Hands grip revolver
She leads folks to first freedoms
Louis Armstrong
Orphan lifts horn.
The moon somersaults
And the saints come marching in.
Lil Armstrong. (Louis Armstrong's wife and piano player)
Here is a poem from my current work of poetry, Journeys of Voices and Choices, poems from late fall of 1964 to a few months ago.This poem "Bom" is part of a group called Middle East Mural.
Hey everybody! My first book of poetry has been published by Human Error Press(which suits me since Ive made so many of them in my 78 years on this earth. You will have an unusual time with Journeys of Voices and Choices with a kaleidiscopic variety of styles, both traditional and completely innovative, and as oneoldfriend said, "It's actually FUN to read!: For those on the West Coast in SF Ill be reading February 17 Saturday from 3-5pm at. the Bernal Heights branch of the reknowned San Francisco library. For those on the East Coast, Ill be reading April 7th Sunday ( the day of Ghengis Khan's barmitvah) at Unnameable Books in Turner's Falls, Massachusetts. And stay tune, for there may be more readings.
Skyward, fiction
The invisible sphere settles around the old man, cradling him in warmth.
He’s unconscious, his breaths a thick death rattle. Somehow, he witnesses his entire life; it’s played before him like a splotchy motion-picture reel.
He’s ready: his chest stills.
The sphere lifts skyward, guiding his soul through limitless space.
A Pebble’s Impact -CNF
I’m here briefly, aiming to make waves. Like a pebble in a pond, my actions can ripple out causing a tsunami, resulting in chaos or peace. My hope? That the waves, within my sphere and beyond, will bring only floods of kindness, washing over the earth with joy and laughter.
Candy – Fiction
I considered fake drowning to get her to notice me. Because I couldn’t stop noticing her. The way she wrapped her lips and tongue around that cherry red sphere of hardened sugar on a stick made my teeth hurt. I never knew her name. She was just Candy to me.
“Second Chance” (sci-fi)
Our colony starship approached the planet within the hour. The purple sphere didn’t resemble the greens and ochres many of us knew from our previous home, but that was okay. It was alive. Unpolluted.
Unlike the dead rock we abandoned.
Maybe this time we can build a world that lasts
Sphere - Fiction
The sphere had a rhythmic, glowing, hypnotic pulse. The boy and his dog just stared. The dog shook. The boy reached down to touch it and his dog said “not yet.” The bird on the branch above said “not yet.” The boy was unable to speak, from that moment on.
The Sphere, fiction
It hovered above us for 110 days, silent, unmoving, a muted presence listening in on our collective mind. To save ourselves, we shut down all media, stopped our frantic, incessant chatter. The Sphere disappeared quietly as it had come, erasing away our vast internet.
We worship a new God now.
Who's Afraid of the Ole New Moon? (poem)
At no point did he fear of something far
far like say the lesser spheres are;
Fixed stars or wanderers,
Eris, Algol, Chiron conjunct the node
a bodyless demon's head
at no point, except, until too late
when the new moon devoured, fell
in the wood dragon's foul scarlet craw.
Sphere of life
The sphere ball supported his aching back after his first day at the gym. The sphere shaped clock informed him that his workout had only been twenty minutes. And amidst the sphere shaped circular iron weights, all he could pay attention to was the juicy sphere burger round the corner!
Great prompt. Slightly different take.
The Commission (flash fiction)
The world’s finest glassblower filled his ledger with commissions for princes and dukes of every kingdom. This sphere was perfect. Nestled in a velvet-lined stand, it cast shimmering kaleidoscopes on the marbled terrace. The craftsman beamed. His Lordship stepped closer. Dazzled, he stumbled, an arm outstretched. One hairline crack. Shattered.
It shrieked, resemblng a greasy unshaven orange with three months grubby brown scabs.
"Is THAT what's shrieking at our door?"
"I'm not sure," my wife shivered.
It shrieked again. We covered our ears.
I locked the door. The shriek encircled me.
"Itzzsphere. We have nothing to fear but fear itself."
Another Try - Fiction
He held the sphere between his thumb and index finger. It was perfectly round. Looking closely, he could have sworn it got slightly larger.
“What do you call this?”
“A Universe.”
“What should I do with it?”
“Throw it on the pile over there. Let’s see what this one does.”
Hi Justin, Here's my entry which is a true story from when I was walking the dog yesterday morning!
"The Ball
The blue plastic ball bounces down the dark empty road.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
A perfect sphere of innocent blandness.
Why do I fear this child’s play thing?
Then I have it.
It is moving against the wind. Making its inexorable path towards me.
Ignoring my shame, I turn and run."
I wrote a couple of 50 word short stories on your last prompt of Arrival/Departure but I missed the boat on that one. I'll publish them separately and give you a shout out so you can let me know what you think! Thanks very much for Fifties by the Fire. It's a really great idea and let's me read a lot of excellent fiction that I might otherwise have missed. All of the writers below are just awesome!
White Memories-fiction
He thought about the terrible time they had. He wished he never took her. Now, holding the sphere in his hand, he saw his own reflection in the glass. He felt himself tighten, shifting its white landscape. He set it down. now in a flurry. The thing inside became unclear.
Spheres.
The most important things around are circular. Unless you're a flat-earther. Life itself is a circle. Live, die, and come around for another go. And it's beautiful, IMO.
Peek-a-boo, fiction
You cannot hide from us.
Ripples emanate outward from the sphere in all directions.
Not dissimilar to a buoy on a lake - except that's flat. Two dimensional.
Your reverberations echo through space and time.
That is how we found you.
Inconsequential ripples that normally go unnoticed.
Reflections refracting off moonbeams.
It's a Spherical Spherical World, CNF
As Bubba would say it to Forrest,
"You have sphere, and you have hemisphere, and
you have atmosphere, and you have biosphere, and
you have lithosphere, and you have ionosphere, and
you have magnetosphere, and you have photosphere, and
you have stratosphere, and you have troposphere, and
then you have...
Thank you for your acknowledgment Justin. I make it my business to offer my knowledge and talents and positivity to all those within my circles. But I have recently gotten the futility of war on a whole different level. Am unable to move the needle away from any who are in charge of funding such wars. Have a state presidential primary coming up and my ballot shows limited choices, a group of names unknown to me and many dropouts. Health care beyond my financial reach. And the list goes on.
It's Black History Month. As a long time student of African American literature, I offer three hybrid haikus from my Black Lives Matter section in my new book, Journeys of Voices and Choices, from Human Error Press. For me BLACK LIVES MATTERS reaches outwards and inwards and includes the incessant bravery and astonishing achievements of a group of people.
from The Black Lives MATTERS HAIKUS.
HARRIET TUBMAN
Bright eyes grip North Star
Hands grip revolver
She leads folks to first freedoms
Louis Armstrong
Orphan lifts horn.
The moon somersaults
And the saints come marching in.
Lil Armstrong. (Louis Armstrong's wife and piano player)
Razzle-dazzle Lil
Plays first set left hand
Writes second set with right hand.
Coleman Hawkins
He played his heart inside out.
Blood flew everywhere. Earth soared....
Even when he wept
Christ he swung. Even
The stars kept time, tapping.
Holiday
Billie knew what a little
Moonlight can do ooo ooo
Her starlight-in-reverse
Trail terrrifies
The night sails backwards, plunges
Seas of roaring gardenias
Ellington
When the Duke's mom died
He filled up her church
Thousands of yellow flowers
MalcolmX
Bonfire eyes blazed
Devoured whole libraries
Read us the riot act
Do I or Don't I? poetry
Who has a sphere of influence over me?
Friends or foes, family, my cat?
For the bigger picture, no one really
Maybe the Almighty in the long run
Wish I were more sure about that
Do I have a sphere of influence?
Don't think so though have tried many times
Here is a poem from my current work of poetry, Journeys of Voices and Choices, poems from late fall of 1964 to a few months ago.This poem "Bom" is part of a group called Middle East Mural.
Bomb
I went out for pizza,
And ate all my blood.
I went to buy shoes,
And saw my foot fly through the air.
Hold me, mother.
For the last time , hold me.
Ernie Brill. 2003
Hey everybody! My first book of poetry has been published by Human Error Press(which suits me since Ive made so many of them in my 78 years on this earth. You will have an unusual time with Journeys of Voices and Choices with a kaleidiscopic variety of styles, both traditional and completely innovative, and as oneoldfriend said, "It's actually FUN to read!: For those on the West Coast in SF Ill be reading February 17 Saturday from 3-5pm at. the Bernal Heights branch of the reknowned San Francisco library. For those on the East Coast, Ill be reading April 7th Sunday ( the day of Ghengis Khan's barmitvah) at Unnameable Books in Turner's Falls, Massachusetts. And stay tune, for there may be more readings.
My entry was less than 50. But that's allowed, right?
YA novel, I meant to say. Oops!