I did a 3 part Stacked Story of 6, 50 and 100 words. My First Car I,II and III. Hope you enjoy. It was a blast writing it. Thanks for the prompt Erica!
Monkey Queen, stacked story in 6, 50, then 100 words. TW violence.
Reaching under the seat, a syringe.
Attached to the plunger, a note: at ten o’clock the show ends. The actors retire to their dressing rooms. The afterparty begins. Alchol and drugs are imbibed. The door to stage left is unlocked. Your target is the monkey queen. Her habit is well-known. She dies tonight of an overdose.
She’s still costumed as a burlesque monkey, laughing as she wags her ersatz tail, tickling and playfully slapping a bare-chested man in raccoon makeup. They pour champagne into each other’s mouths. Clouds of tobacco, incense, smoke from cigarillos and pipes. A woman in a tiger mask throws a pink boa over your neck and lassos herself closer. You duck away and follow the target down the red-lit hallway. Moans and giggles from the closed doors. The target slips into a closet. You follow.
Total darkness.
The last thing you feel is the stiletto gliding through your windpipe and carotid artery.
Mara stared at the empty chair across the kitchen table, her coffee cooling as the minutes ticked by. The stillness of the house was overwhelming.
It had been three months of waking up alone. Three months of adjusting to cooking for one, of trying to fill the void left by a love spanning decades.
She picked up a framed photo from its spot on the table. Clark's eyes had sparkled with joy on their wedding day, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Mara traced his face with her finger, yearning for the warmth of his touch, the sound of his laughter.
A knock at the door interrupted her memories. She rose to open it, finding Sophia, her neighbor, with a dish. "I thought you might like some company," she said softly. "And I baked a coffee cake."
As they sat across from each other, Sophia gently broached the subject. "You know the community center has groups for—"
Mara shook her head. "I can’t. I don't want to be in this club. I'm not ready to listen to other people talk about... It's still really..."
"Raw?" Sophia finished. Mara nodded, swallowing tears. "Grief isn't a burden you have to carry alone, you know. The load is lighter when you let others help."
After Sophia left, Mara wandered the house, ending where she always ended, outside of Clark's study. She hadn't crossed the threshold in months, preserving it like a shrine to their shared life. With trembling fingers, she pushed the door open. The air was stale and the room stuffy, but the scent of his cologne lingered, bringing a flood of emotion. His reading glasses lay on the desk, a bookmark still tucked into his favorite novel.
As she ran her fingers along the spines of his books, an envelope fluttered to the floor. Her name was written on it in Clark's handwriting. While her heart thumped an erratic rhythm, she opened it.
Dearest,
I'm sorry for the pain my absence will cause. Loving you has been the greatest joy. My wish is for you to not imprison yourself in sadness.The world still holds beauty and love. You have so much of it left to give.
Remember dancing in the rain on our first date? Laughing at Zoolander until our sides ached?
Live, Mara. For both of us. Dance in the rain again. Laugh until it hurts. Love with your whole heart.
Until we meet again,
Clark
Tears coated Mara's cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest. For the first time since Clark's death, she felt a spark of something other than despair.
Suddenly, she rushed from the room, then out of the house to the small cottage next door.
"Mara! You haven't left the house since…are you alright?"
Mara realized she was still clutching Clark's letter. She stared at it, building her resolve. "What… time does that meeting start?"
Sophia sighed with a smile, opening the door wider and beckoned Mara inside. "We'll go together."
Your show has more twists and turns than can be conjured in a writers room. And you can only hope to meet your showrunner, someday, if you’re lucky. And when you are cancelled, it doesn’t mean some PC pearl clutching or online ban, it means your screen goes blank, forever. (50 words)
I did a 3 part Stacked Story of 6, 50 and 100 words. My First Car I,II and III. Hope you enjoy. It was a blast writing it. Thanks for the prompt Erica!
https://open.substack.com/pub/timconnolly
Just posted a STACKed story: [Strong sexual content] "What Everyone Came For" https://open.substack.com/pub/emastonig/p/what-everyone-came-for?r=3v2v5o&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true BTW: When trying to include a link to MicroZine, Substack is sometimes showing The Microzine as an option, but not you.
I went down that road and turned around
Monkey Queen, stacked story in 6, 50, then 100 words. TW violence.
Reaching under the seat, a syringe.
Attached to the plunger, a note: at ten o’clock the show ends. The actors retire to their dressing rooms. The afterparty begins. Alchol and drugs are imbibed. The door to stage left is unlocked. Your target is the monkey queen. Her habit is well-known. She dies tonight of an overdose.
She’s still costumed as a burlesque monkey, laughing as she wags her ersatz tail, tickling and playfully slapping a bare-chested man in raccoon makeup. They pour champagne into each other’s mouths. Clouds of tobacco, incense, smoke from cigarillos and pipes. A woman in a tiger mask throws a pink boa over your neck and lassos herself closer. You duck away and follow the target down the red-lit hallway. Moans and giggles from the closed doors. The target slips into a closet. You follow.
Total darkness.
The last thing you feel is the stiletto gliding through your windpipe and carotid artery.
Nature Show, 50-words
The dawning light slowly turns the massive land-form into flames of copper and gold.
“Lord Almighty,” she whispers. Tears run down her wrinkled cheeks as she stands in silent awe of the spectacle opening before her.
At the age of 80, she sees the Grand Canyon for the first time.
50 words. Might stack it.
https://open.substack.com/pub/timconnolly/p/first-car-ii?r=64a8k&utm_medium=ios
https://open.substack.com/pub/timconnolly/p/first-car?r=64a8k&utm_medium=ios
My 6
The Weight of Silence (TW: Loss, grief)
Mara stared at the empty chair across the kitchen table, her coffee cooling as the minutes ticked by. The stillness of the house was overwhelming.
It had been three months of waking up alone. Three months of adjusting to cooking for one, of trying to fill the void left by a love spanning decades.
She picked up a framed photo from its spot on the table. Clark's eyes had sparkled with joy on their wedding day, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Mara traced his face with her finger, yearning for the warmth of his touch, the sound of his laughter.
A knock at the door interrupted her memories. She rose to open it, finding Sophia, her neighbor, with a dish. "I thought you might like some company," she said softly. "And I baked a coffee cake."
As they sat across from each other, Sophia gently broached the subject. "You know the community center has groups for—"
Mara shook her head. "I can’t. I don't want to be in this club. I'm not ready to listen to other people talk about... It's still really..."
"Raw?" Sophia finished. Mara nodded, swallowing tears. "Grief isn't a burden you have to carry alone, you know. The load is lighter when you let others help."
After Sophia left, Mara wandered the house, ending where she always ended, outside of Clark's study. She hadn't crossed the threshold in months, preserving it like a shrine to their shared life. With trembling fingers, she pushed the door open. The air was stale and the room stuffy, but the scent of his cologne lingered, bringing a flood of emotion. His reading glasses lay on the desk, a bookmark still tucked into his favorite novel.
As she ran her fingers along the spines of his books, an envelope fluttered to the floor. Her name was written on it in Clark's handwriting. While her heart thumped an erratic rhythm, she opened it.
Dearest,
I'm sorry for the pain my absence will cause. Loving you has been the greatest joy. My wish is for you to not imprison yourself in sadness.The world still holds beauty and love. You have so much of it left to give.
Remember dancing in the rain on our first date? Laughing at Zoolander until our sides ached?
Live, Mara. For both of us. Dance in the rain again. Laugh until it hurts. Love with your whole heart.
Until we meet again,
Clark
Tears coated Mara's cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest. For the first time since Clark's death, she felt a spark of something other than despair.
Suddenly, she rushed from the room, then out of the house to the small cottage next door.
"Mara! You haven't left the house since…are you alright?"
Mara realized she was still clutching Clark's letter. She stared at it, building her resolve. "What… time does that meeting start?"
Sophia sighed with a smile, opening the door wider and beckoned Mara inside. "We'll go together."
Your show has more twists and turns than can be conjured in a writers room. And you can only hope to meet your showrunner, someday, if you’re lucky. And when you are cancelled, it doesn’t mean some PC pearl clutching or online ban, it means your screen goes blank, forever. (50 words)