#SSC 2: April 3-9/ 2016

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It became abundantly clear in last week’s challenge that we’re dealing with some pretty serious talent. The bar was raised high. The winner will be announced next week, but I’d like to give a shout out to ALL of our participants. Thank you for making the first Sunday Scribble Challenge an instant success!

*A quick note to participants new to the Sunday Scribble Challenge: Even if our scribblers don’t win, flash fiction challenges fuel creativity. In these Sunday Scribble Challenges, participants exercise their writing muscles by working in the confines of a limited word count. 11hrcoIf you’ve never posted your work before, this could be a great opportunity to get your proverbial feet wet. If you’re an established author and/or blogger, this is a terrific way to interact with a few of your peers, and possibly pick up some new readers!

That said, if you are an established author or blogger and you WIN, you or your work can be *gasp* featured in an upcoming post on Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins. This can be done in whatever way you like. A reblog, a guest blog, a new interview about a favorite project, or even a small sample of your latest book along with a purchasing link. You decide!

So, with that all that stuff aside, what’s NEW prompt???

Well . . .

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The Rules: You have six days to ruminate if you need them. Post one submission to the prompt in the comment section below. The deadline? Saturday, April 9th @noon Atlantic Daylight Time.

  • Encourage other Scribblers. Try to comment (reply) to at least three other submissions during the week.
  • After the deadline, VOTE for your favorite submission by emailing: Sundayscribblechallenge@gmail.com. Place the lucky author’s name in the HEADER of your email.

*Remember:

Voting polls OPEN immediately after the prompt deadline on April 9th, and CLOSE one week later, on April 16th. That means the winner of THIS challenge won’t be announced until Sunday, April 17, when our FOURTH challenge prompt is posted.

Sneaky?? Maybe. It’s definitely a good way to rope you back in the next challenge!!

Trolls will be escorted back to their bridge with a flaming stick of dynamite.

41 thoughts on “#SSC 2: April 3-9/ 2016”

  1. I wasn’t born this way…I was MADE this way. Words hurt and I wouldn’t let them hurt me anymore. I know they say let sleeping dogs lie, but Grawk was hungry for blood, and I didn’t have the strength to stop him from attaining his meal.

    “Oops,” I muttered, as my fingers pulled the final pin keeping him tethered to the earth. “He’ll be back when he’s had his fill.”

    I closed my eyes, arms splayed to the sides, as the feeling of wind pushing past my face in wing-beats, signaled the end to my torment and the beginning of something beautiful.

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  3. She hated me. It was evident in her eyes, in the hard line of her mouth, her crossed arms, and beautifully narrowed brow.
    I stepped forward, reaching out to touch her face. “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s not enough,” she said, flinching back. “You were using me. You have the money. Now, walk away.”
    What had I done? Being with her had made me feel whole for the first time in my life. Now, the briefcase in my hand felt unexpectedly heavy. Cumbersome. “It was about the money. But that was before.”
    She hesitated, eyes softening, and finally opened her mouth to speak.

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  4. Willem is a killer without conscience. He feels no guilt for the atrocities he commits against the innocent. He barely understands it himself. His preferred tools are an AK-47 and a machete. Today alone he killed three women and seven children between the ages of two and eight years old.

    Tomorrow he will die acting as a human mine detector.

    Willem is a 11 year old child soldier in Sudan.

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  5. Blood and brains splatter across my face as the double barreled shotgun recoils against my shoulder. The smell of death invade my nostrils and I wipe off the grime. It’s been nine today. This one surprised me. I was forced to use the gun. I still feel the surge of adrenaline pumping through my body. My hands are shaking ever so slightly. That was too close.

    The other eight was just kids. Easy pickings. I simply cracked their skulls with the axe I found outside. I barely noticed their gaping mouths, the sunken dark eyes and the weird gargling noise they all seem to make. I’ve lost my sense of humanity. Something primal replaced sorrow and regret and conscience.

    It’s the only way to survive this shit. I walk across the deserted cafeteria and lift my youngest from the top shelf, where she was hiding. We need to find food and be quick about it.

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  7. “I am a good girl, my uncle touched me he hurt me over and over, my parents didn’t believe me and I am confused”. I sobbed.
    The policeman said “Save it for the poor fuckers who give a shit.”
    Uncle Ernie lay at my feet, his hands twitched, and a pool darkened the footpath around him, I tried to hold on to the vomit as I was thrust in to the van.

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