Hands strain, bone on blank wood. Limbering the lines demands a gymnast agile to what waits. To satisfy any critic is a balance; words, an avoirdupois. Writing is a willingness to be bruised.
Gymnast Dorina Böczögő performs a one-arm press hold on the balance beam mount. From Wikimedia Commons, by user Alby.1412. Please consider purchasing some of his amazing sports photography, which includes winter sports.
Flash fiction written for the last one-word Trifecta Challenge, week 114.
I’m not sure what you’re working on currently, but I’m treading in the realms of realism again these days.
This week’s Trifextra 33-word flash-fiction challenge freights you to the end of the line with this one: “That wasn’t what I meant.”
Being the linguistics-backgrounded word-nerd that I am, I had scads of fabness deciding where to put the accent in the terminal sentence: that, wasn’t, I, or meant. And working backward to form the oyster around the hoped-for pearl. (Hey, can a story be a back formation)?
In any case, I hope I give you an unusual prism to ponder.
Of Heroes Hirsute
Many wonderful companions (like this one, adopted several years ago) await your love at a shelter or rescue group. If you are in the U.S., Canada, or Mexico, please visit Petfinder to learn more about adoption in your area. Photograph ©Leigh Ward-Smith
A sandpaper sensation woke me. Then I tried to whistle for Pep, but my left side wouldn’t move.
Gravel pop-rocked all around. Was I being herded?
My last confused command had been sit-climb-jump.
“That wasn’t what I meant.”