Under the wire? In a cheat?
The fragments arced across the floor, and there was a thinner scattering everywhere, glistening glittery sharp bits that crunched beneath his bootsoles. She sat on the ledge by the window, knee bent, one ankle propped across her opposite knee, the sole of her foot upturned. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip as carefully, with finger and thumb, she pulled splinters and shards from her thin slipper sole. At her quick gasp, he looked closer, and saw the long, curving bit she picked at come loose, the pointed end of it scarlet with her blood.
Soooooo....who'd like to suggest this week's topic? Because I am frazzled and stressed out and my brain, she no work so good no more.
I do, too! So, then....
Challenge #12 (the broken-glass challenge) is now closed.
This week's challenge, as you may have noticed above, is the well-worn intro to countless jokes: "A man walks into a bar...." Drabble it. Doesn't have to be a joke; doesn't have to be funny. Just give us a man and a bar, and tell us about it.
Next week, Deb. (Unless you mean real revenge. In that case, I've got a list for you....)
Well. Not much singing to me on this one yet, but here's a shot, all about sameness.
A man walks into a bar.
It's familiar, every inch of it. He's never actually been in this one before, but somehow, it doesn't matter; twenty years on the road, three marriages gone bad, two kids whose college he's paid for but who both refuse to talk to him, and it doesn't matter. Jake's Night Out in Emeryville is Tiny's in Detroit, or Closing Time in Miami.
The booths, the stools, the worn floor, even the clientele; surely he's seen that bartender before, in another bar, in another city?
He heads for a seat, in search of pretzels, beer, oblivion.
