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 (or poem, or work of CNF — any genre) that uses the word vortex, portal, or whirlpool. Use all three, if you’d like! For an extra challenge, add a speculative, sci-fi, or fantasy slant to your story. (But you by no means have to - just a thought.)
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 “Vortex on the Creek” 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 swirling clouds had just turned a sickly shade of green, when the girl witnessed them changing into a whirlpool right before her eyes. The desert was was dry, yes they need rain, but not this-not what was coming. Unfortunately for her, she dove for the nearest arroyo.
Unbridled lust floods her quivering body as she waits. When the door slowly opens, she runs to him, a whirlpool of desire. He takes her in his arms, breathes into her ear the two words she longs to hear.
The green glass door is a portal. Nobody knows from where it came, or where it goes. Only few can enter — a mutt, but not a dog, a sheep, but not a cow. Lucas is rejected, but Sally leaps on through. I've discovered the secret of the green glass door.
Staticky white noise. A frothy chop moved rapidly across the bay on an otherwise calm day, batting her around; a cat with string. Tiny whirlpools encircling her, sucking her paddle into their vortex. The kayak wobbled, uncertain, then righted itself. The sea smelled like wet rust. The fog rolling in.
A Whirl Through Time, Fiction
The whirlpool appeared before us. It was a monster. A calamity.
It pulled our ship into its current, then forced us into the downward spiral. We prayed. Cried.
Yet water didn’t fill our ship – our lungs.
We emerged on a coastline with tall, leafy trees.
A Brachiosaurus turned its head.
Desert Terror
The swirling clouds had just turned a sickly shade of green, when the girl witnessed them changing into a whirlpool right before her eyes. The desert was was dry, yes they need rain, but not this-not what was coming. Unfortunately for her, she dove for the nearest arroyo.
ANTICIPATION - fiction by Sharron at 🍁Leaves
Unbridled lust floods her quivering body as she waits. When the door slowly opens, she runs to him, a whirlpool of desire. He takes her in his arms, breathes into her ear the two words she longs to hear.
Häagen-Dazs? he whispers.
Oh baby, she sighs, yes yes YES!
Riddles by the Fire, Fiction
The green glass door is a portal. Nobody knows from where it came, or where it goes. Only few can enter — a mutt, but not a dog, a sheep, but not a cow. Lucas is rejected, but Sally leaps on through. I've discovered the secret of the green glass door.
The Restart, Fiction
The metal had remained cool for so long, the tunnels inside undisturbed. Dormant.
Patiently it waited, while the white coats ran their tests.
They should have left it that way.
When they pressed the button, the portal opened and their world became a mirror.
Now, they were faced with themselves.
Reversing Falls, Fiction
Staticky white noise. A frothy chop moved rapidly across the bay on an otherwise calm day, batting her around; a cat with string. Tiny whirlpools encircling her, sucking her paddle into their vortex. The kayak wobbled, uncertain, then righted itself. The sea smelled like wet rust. The fog rolling in.
This is strange. I posted a story but I don't see it.