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15 Minute Ficlets

creativity in a hurry

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Word #52
MMGA
katiefoolery wrote in 15_minute_fic
Sorry it's a bit late! Here's your (belated) word for the week.

Don't look at the word until you are ready to write. When your fifteen minutes are up and you have completed your ficlet, you may either post it as a response here, or post a link to the ficlet in your own journal. If posting on your own journal, please hide the prompt word in some way (ie. under an LJ-cut) in order to avoid spoiling it for others.

Today's word is: engrave

You can copy and paste this code when posting your ficlet if desired.


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First attempt by Hannai

(Anonymous)
Title:none Fandom/original:original Characters: Rating:M Word count:117 He sat. A hunched figure in a dingy concrete corner between two dingy buildings. The sharp point of the compass pricked his skin and he drew it down. Drew it across, covering the same pattern again and again. Marked by blood, the symbol is sliced deeper and deeper into the flesh of his thin, white forearm with each pass of the compass. A buzzer sounded somewhere close. The youth stands, slips the compass into his backpack and rolls down his sleeve to cover the marks he put there and walks away. Later, his mother notices a stain on that sleeve. She spends half an hour scrubbing it clean never realizing some things cannot be removed or forgotten.

First attempt by Hannai

(Anonymous)
Title:none
Fandom/original:original
Characters:
Rating:M
Word count:117

He sat. A hunched figure in a dingy concrete corner between two dingy buildings.

The sharp point of the compass pricked his skin and he drew it down. Drew it across, covering the same pattern again and again.
Marked by blood, the symbol is sliced deeper and deeper into the flesh of his thin, white forearm with each pass of the compass.

A buzzer sounded somewhere close. The youth stands, slips the compass into his backpack and rolls down his sleeve to cover the marks he put there and walks away.

Later, his mother notices a stain on that sleeve. She spends half an hour scrubbing it clean never realizing some things cannot be removed or forgotten.

Title: February Rain
Fandom/original: Original
Characters: Philip Manescetti
Rating: PG-13 -- profanity and implied violence
Word count: 692
Summary: Philip Manescetti – piece-of-shit hunter extrodinaire. A man extremely displeased with his occupation since he hasn’t had vacation in the last three hundred years.

First attempt at 15 minute fiction by Roz

(Anonymous)
Word #52: Engrave


This is it. The next time they start climbing again, the tour guide will stop and everyone will look his way. The moment will arrive. I’ve never been so terrified.

It was all meant to be perfect. Right on sunset, on her birthday, with a spectacular view, a ring I chose myself. It’s not meant to be freezing cold, drizzling with rain, and we weren’t meant to have argued in the car on the way here. She wanted to call it off and come another day, but how could I explain why it was so important to be here? Maybe I should have called it off after all. I can see her shoulders shivering. She’s cold, wet and miserable, and undoubtedly blaming it on my stubborness to come here.

My hands are so sweaty I can hardly hold onto the railing. My heart is beating so hard inside my chest that I’m exhausted. My ears are ringing from the blood rushing through them. I’m sure the guide just told us something interesting about the view, but I can’t hear him, and even if I could, I can hardly even see. Why oh why did I think that proposing on the Sydney Harbour Bridge would be a good idea? What if she says no? I look down at the cars along the road beneath us. I’d rather jump than suffer the humiliation.

But now we’re climbing the stairs again. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, a chant on every stair. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t – bang, right into her back.

‘Sorry!’ I mutter. And then the tour guide announces something, all faces eagerly turn to me, watching, waiting.

Shaking too hard to get down on one knee. Drop to both knees. And she’s looking down at me, that beautiful face, so beautiful, I don’t deserve her, I can’t even ask her.

‘Liz, will you marry me?’ So much for the carefully prepared speech. She looks stunned, and she can’t speak. She covers her mouth with her hands.

The ring!

‘I’ve got a ring for you,’ I say. It’s tied with string to a zipper so I can’t accidentally drop it. I can’t open the pocket, I fumble, and then I get it free and show it to her. It doesn’t look good enough, just a gold band and a tiny clear rock on it, not impressive enough. How do I explain how much it means to me?

‘Look, I got your name engraved inside it,’ I manage to say. And she stares at the tiny thing, and looks inside. She frowns. Something’s wrong.

‘You spelled my name wrong,’ she says flatly, and everyone looks horrified, shocked, and at this moment, just to make it even worse, the drizzle turns into a deluge.

I stare at her, devastated. Her wet hair is hanging flat over her forehead and cheeks.

I can’t stand up. I can’t move. But then, incredibly, she collapses down in front of me and embraces me tightly.

‘What’s your answer?’ someone in the crowd yells.

And she pulls back, laughing, unbelievably laughing and crying at the same time, and before she even says it, finally, I understand that this is all that matters – not the weather or the words or the ring – just us. And I laugh too.

‘Yes,’ she says.

Title: Dissuasion
Fandom/original: Bleach
Characters:Ichigo/Renji/Rukia
Rating:PG
Word count: 316

Kimby's first try

(Anonymous)
Fandom/original:original
Word count: 300

Zara took a deep breath before she pushed the door open. The sunlight streamed through the door into the dimly lit room decorated with countless posters displaying various designs. A girl with long, matted hair and countless piercings was leaning back in her chair, her boot shod feet resting carelessly on the desk. Her eyes ran up and down Zara’s body, summarily assessing and dismissing her as she noted her details in the appointment book before jerking her head towards another door.
Tentatively, Zara made her way through the second door, blinking in the sudden brightness after the dimness of the waiting room. She was shown to a chair, and positioned as comfortably as possible. A rough but kind looking man appeared, and checked that all the information she had given was correct. He peered into her face, as though he was trying to judge her sanity. She glared back boldly, trying to use arrogance as a weapon against her fear. He nodded grimly, satisfied, and began his work.
Both of them sweated and clenched their teeth as the minutes wore on, clicking over into hours. Zara counted each second that ticked around the clock, from one to sixty, one to sixty, and one to sixty again, trying to distract herself from the pain in her soul as much as the fire on her skin. The rough man bent over her wrist, delicate and precise in his work, so engrossed that he seemed to be the only person in the room.
At length the work was done. Zara stepped back through the doors, and out to the street, where the bright sunlight had turned to dusk. She glanced down at her wrist. Alyna, the engraving spelt out in fine script. Now her memory would always be a part of her.

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