Time for your monthly writing prompt!
March: Slithy Toves
Invent and use a word or phrase – but don’t tell the reader what it means. Your story could have multiple interpretations!
300 words min, 500 words max. Send titled submissions to email@example.com, and let us know if we have your permission to share your work with the public!
Here’s my favorite story we received in February:
“Have we done this before?” she asked. He blinked.
“I… don’t think we’ve ever met,” he replied, biting down a tense laugh. Why was he so nervous? This was an absolutely typical Friday, complete with well-dressed stranger across the table. And yet…
She flashed white teeth past her red, bee-stung lips. Botox, maybe. No big deal. He certainly saw enough tucked asses in his trade. Hard to fit into the same spandex after thirty years of awards banquets.
“I’m a hedge fund manager,” she declared, studying him through her dark lashes. “I like to get that out of the way.”
“Oh,” he said, “so you’re evil!”
They shared an awkward laugh, but by the minuscule crinkling of the foundation around her mouth, he could see that she was offended.
“I’m in energy,” he babbled. “Solar, ah, reflection.”
She raised an eyebrow. He swallowed a mouthful of water. Her crinkles deepened into valleys.
“Let’s start over,” she suggested.
“Yes, let’s,” he agreed.
“I’m in capital investment, and -”
“Wait,” it was our before he could trap his mouth closed. “Didn’t you say you were in hedge funds?”
Her smile evaporated. “That’s what I said.”
“You said you were in capital investment.”
“It’s the same.”
“No, it’s not.”
Her voice rose. “I think I know my own business.”
When had he gotten to his feet? “And what exactly is your business?”
She was an Amazon in a cocktail dress, towering over him. “I told you” she snarled, “I’m in securities!” Her almond eyes widened. Suddenly, as though he’d been struck by lightning, he remembered everything.
Transforming into Mirror Man usually took him .25 seconds. Tonight, he was barely in time: the bolt of energy that streaked across the table reflected off his chest, ricocheting around the restaurant. It slammed into a respectable-looking older couple who stood up, dazed, and began wandering into tables and walls like confused babies.
Now haloed in psychic fire, she vaulted across the table. The odds were long: he was a passive talent with a tricky rotator cudd, and she was fresh off a solo take down of Captain Truth. He remembered her telling him about it last Friday. and the Friday before.
“You think you can handle me?” she screamed, charging. “I just took down — wait.”
He threw a wild punch that she easily blocked, elbowing him so hard in the jaw that he lost his concentration. Dazed, he struggled to return to full Mirror status. A bolt hit him like scalding water, half of it searing his skin as the rest returned to its sender…
Sunlight beat through his bedroom window like the echo of his headache. Had he gotten drunk last night? Ugh. From the disheveled bed, he dragged himself to the desk. Herobook first, then InstaCape, and finally JDate. A message awaited him. The sender had very ark eyelashes, and shapely red lips. Botox, maybe? No big deal. A cheerful light bloomed in his chest despite his headache. The message preview read, Hey, cutie! 😉
Submitted by Anna