Micro-fiction Story Contest

by Staff on November 13, 2012


This is our continuing bi-weekly micro-fiction contest where we ask you to submit your best story of 250 words or less based on an image that we provide. This week’s image in entitled GEORGE  MISSES THE BUS – AGAIN and comes to us courtesy of photographer Frank Lubick.  We’ve added our own story below and hope you’ll do the same in the COMMENTS. But please remember 250 words or less. We’ll announce the winner next week. The winner shall be eligible for entrance into the Eternal Hall of Fame. Good luck. Cheers!

George watched helplessly as the MTA bus, the 136 in this case, sped away down Hollywood blvd, heading east. George had sprinted for three blocks in a desperate attempt to catch it, closing the gap, at one point getting so close that he was sure the driver had heard his frenzied shrieks, imploring him to stop, but the driver, if indeed he had heard George, ignored his nearly orchestral wails, accelerating in fact, farting out a plume of energy efficient electro-steam from the bus’s efficient tailpipe, mocking him with its nearly oder-less odor, as the bus became a faint orange dot and then entirely disappeared.

And now George stood there, waiting, wondering, hoping that some new force might enter his life to either destroy him, an earthquake breaking open the road to reveal a flaming molten core that would incinerate him, perhaps, or that some new force might enter his life and transform him from the worthless victim he was into something strong and brave.

Two blocks away, a 19 year old girl named Becky Reardon, who was from Indianapolis, Indiana and who had been living in Los Angeles for exactly eighteen days, exited a bagel shop then climbed behind the wheel of her silver, 1997 Honda Civic.

{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }

K November 15, 2012 at 10:15 am

Pete was at the end of his sentence – 2 hours a day for two days in front of the night club where it all went down. A certain Hollywood starlet heathen whose antics had been his bread and butter for the past two years had predictably stumbled out of the club at an ungodly hour, squinting one eye closed and aiming herself with the other – ping ponging her body back and forth between stationary objects in the general direction of her car with keys at the ready. It was just another day at the office for Pete who had big plans for his pay day. A single click of a button could garner him upwards of 10k which is why he frequently stalked this cautionary tale – “digital gold” as he liked to refer to it. Things got a little hairy and he ended up nearly pinned in between the dinged up powder puff pink Mercedes and the tree to which he now stood next to. His cat-like reflexes enabled him to get out of the way, but his camera fell victim to the incident. As was custom for his kind, he sued for his damaged equipment and loss of potential earnings. To his shock the judge threw out his case, charged him with harassment and forced him to make the sign which he now held – “Only an idiot would stand in front of a drunk person’s moving car to take a picture”. That was rich he thought bitterly, only an idiot would buy a magazine to see a picture of a drunk has-been. He tossed the sign over his shoulder and walked down the street leaving the trail of his coworkers who had shown up to capture the event.

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