- The entry must be between 150 - 300 words. (In order to see how many words your entry is, write it in Microsoft Word, or you can copy and paste it here.)
- A new MMC will be posted once the current round receives at least 6 entries.
- The winners will receive a badge for their blog.
- The winner will be chosen based on the judges's preferences, as well as the following questions: Does this entry capture my attention immediately? Does it make me want to continue reading? Is the writing clear? They will also take into consideration the writer's voice and style--not necessarily technical issues, such as grammar, punctuation, etc.
- This is only for fun and to stretch your writing muscles--not necessarily to be taken too seriously. =)
The judge panel chooses these winners based on a point system. Keep in mind that the judges are not aware of which entry belongs to which participant until after the judging is complete.
Notes. Songs. Words. Melodies. Lifes. Deaths. Joy. Pain. Love. Hate. Sorrow. Despair. Hope.
I play all these things. I play with them and about them and for them. All on the dusty old piano sitting in the charred ruins of my home. Somehow it survived. Barely, but survived. The white keys are dusty with soot. The stool is blackened with ash. Fire has eaten part of the back. Five keys don’t play anything. They are like me. I call them my companions.
*******
I come here every day. I like the feel of this place. It feels so…. Desolate. It reminds me of my heart. I come here and watch the mist, the whispers, the ghost. It sits on the stool, and plays. Just plays. The melodies it draws from that burnt piano are otherworldly. Too beautiful to stand.
Unless you know them. My heart knows those notes. It understands the pain in those chords. It feels the loss in the song. I know what it means to lose everything. Except life. And still feel like you’re walking a living death.
That’s the worst part about being betrayed, it never comes from your enemies. It comes from the ones you love.
Congratulations, Esther! Click here for your badge, and don't forget to claim your points here. =)
Sarah steeled herself and turned the doorknob, stepping into the house.
She stifled a cry. The colorful knick-knacks that her parents used to leave around to decorate, the bustling energy the house always seemed to have- they were gone, and the house was half-collapsing, an inch of dust covering everything.
Her gaze turned on the table in the corner, where her father used to teach her and her siblings, then on the piano.
That rickety old piano, the subject of many wisecracks and where Sarah had learned to pour her soul into music, with the encouragement of her mother.
The keys were mildewed, the seat creaky and unstable, but Sarah didn’t care. She sat down on it, letting the memories flood her head.
Playing a few experimental notes, she smiled sadly, and ignoring the fact that the keys were badly out of tune, she began to play.
She played an old sonata, as familiar to her as the back of her hand. It was her mother’s favorite song.
Her fingers faltered on the keys and she sighed. None of this was going to bring them back.
Standing up, she stepped away from the piano.
Congratulations, Rebecca M! Click here for your badge, and don't forget to claim your points here. =)
“Remember what I told you, Mary,” he had said to her one tender spring morning. He gave her his hand, his gentle gaze searching hers for confirmation; “I know you are a clever girl.” he was silent for so long she thought he was finished. Suddenly, his eyes sprung back open. He stared at her, his expression laced with urgency, “Here” With this final word, the old man closed his tired eyes and opened them no more.
She bent down towards him and rested her head on his chest. The smell of his old-spice tickled her nose and she could still feel the warmth of his embrace. After a moment of silence broken only by her gentle cries, she pushed herself away.
There he was, helping her to her feet. “Shh,” he soothed, turning her to face him, “It’s going to be okay.”
She took a quivering breath, “Oh, Steven. Are you sure?”
He reached over, gently brushing away her tears, “I’m sure,” he stepped back for a moment and peered over her shoulders to her grandfather’s resting form. “Are you positive he’s gone?”
She nodded, confused, “Of course.”
“Good,” he smiled, but it was a stranger’s smile, “This has worked out beautifully.”
“Steven,” she stepped back, “What’s happening?”
“Oh, Darling,” he reached over to the nightstand, retrieving John’s weathered journal. “You should have headed your grandfather’s words long ago.” In one swift movement, he smacked her across the head. She was flung across the room and landed against the mirror on the wall, shattering its clear glass.
“I’m glad we got married,” he sneered, “after today, the fortune is mine.”
A single tattered leaf floated down beside her. She now understood her grandfather when he said: "The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies."
Honorable Recognitions:
- Maddie
- Angela
- Emma
Thanks so much to everyone who participated!
- Submit your response in the comments below, or post it on your blog via InLink (below).
- Your response should range between 150 - 300 words.
- The deadline for the contest will be the Thursday after next.
- If you'd rather not submit your post in the comments or on your blog, you may email it to me instead.
Choose at least one:
Note: You can always combine the prompts into one entry.
- Write a passage using these items: cloak, dirt, frost (submitted by Emma)
- Write a passage based on this picture (submitted by Savannah)
- Write a passage either incorporating this phrase OR based on this phrase: "I never really loved her." (submitted by Anna)
If you're posting your entry on your blog, please add your link below:
Tag your friends!
Do you have an idea for MMC? I'd love to hear!
Send me an email at christiswrite (at) gmail (dot) com.
(Optional) If you post an entry on your blog, tag at least 3 writers who have never participated in Monday's Minute Challenge. Be sure to comment on their blog to let them know they've been tagged. (Thanks to Micaiah for this suggestion!)
Send me an email at christiswrite (at) gmail (dot) com.
Submit your prompt idea!:
The prompts that are used for Monday's Minute Challenge are submitted by the participants.
Here's how this works:
Here's how this works:
- You will be able to submit 3 prompts each week in the same format as above: three objects, one picture, and a piece of dialogue or phrase.
- On Mondays, I will choose 3 prompts that have been submitted by 3 different people.
- If your prompt is selected, you will receive 2 points!
- You may submit in the comments below.
"I want to know who I am." She whispered.
ReplyDeleteDr. Tyler glanced at the drawer to his left. He had though that he alone knew what it contained ... but perhaps he'd been wrong.
This girl certainly seemed to know.
He turned to her. "You know that there will be repercussions, do you not?"
"I do," she said, primly folding her hands together. "I do."
Tyler sighed and slid the drawer open. One bottle laid inside, cushioned in fabric. 'Identity Finders' was scrawled across the front. He had been too afraid to use the pills for himself, and no one else knew about it.
Except this girl, apparently.
"Please," she pleaded, "I'm willing to suffer the consequences. But I must know."
For a moment they were silent, both staring at each other. And then Dr. Tyler picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid, spilling pills onto his hand. He put them into a glass of water and handed it to her.
She swallowed them without a second thought. And then she began to scream. Screamed until Dr. Tyler wanted to cover his ears, just to escape the noise. But he just stood there, frozen by the shrieks.
Those shrieks still haunted his nightmares.
He didn't know what the pills had done to her. But everyone who saw little Vivianna after that could truly say that she saw not the same. The light was gone from her eyes.
And Dr. Tyler intended to bring it back.
Two weeks after the incident found Dr. Tyler standing in his office. The identity finder pills rested in his hand. His heart beat a frantic rhythm in his chest as he dumped the pills into a glass of water and downed them before he could think twice.
He was going to save Vivianna.
~ Savannah
scattered-scribblings.blogspot.com
Object prompt: blood, leather, diamond
ReplyDeleteSentence prompt: The sea cried that night.
Picture prompt:
http://65.media.tumblr.com/a9b6b77ef4400c285f4f699647396fe3/tumblr_inline_o3ix4qmWki1r0x68m_500.png
~ Savannah
scattered-scribblings.blogspot.com
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteI don't know if this is too late or not but here is my entry.
ReplyDelete"How could you?" The accusation spills from my mouth before I can stop it. He grimaces.
"How could I." The question sounds like a statement on his lips. He runs a thin hand through his dark hair already tipped with grey despite his thirty five years.
"I could because I wanted to and I didn't want her." I hear the tone of the spoiled child he once was in his voice.
"You just threw her away, used her and then got rid of her." He turns towards me in a half-hearted protest.
"I never used her. She was the crafty one. She used her guile to charm my parents, to take what she wanted. Money. My money." His voice begins to strengthen, receiving vigor from his anger, as he speaks of the woman he hates. The woman I know he once must have loved.
"She took it. Used it till it was gone. Then she left. Without my money, I meant nothing to her." A note of sentiment creeps in only to be crushed by his next sentence.
"And what do I care! I never really loved her. She was never part of my plan." He stops for breath.
"You were never part of my plan."
I gasp. Tears I had never allowed, rose in my eyes.
"Dad."
Object prompt:wooden box, Doll, Essay
ReplyDeleteWord prompt: It's hard to know you'll never remember me.
Picture prompt:
https://shahnilpa.files.wordpress.com/2013/03/attic.jpg
Can my story be 330 words?
ReplyDeleteHey Tessa! Here's my new entry!
ReplyDeletehttps://thedepthofmyfaith.wordpress.com/2017/01/29/mondays-minute-challenge-1/
Mark flinched as the investigator raised his clenched hand to strike his already dirty, bloodstained face. The agent halted, poised in midair.
ReplyDelete“I told you! I never loved Jay. I was merely using her for our advantage. For the COA's advantage!” he tried to persuade his former commander, but the lie tasted bitter on his lips.
The fist struck him again, forcing Mark to remember that lying was never a good idea, especially with the way lie-detectors, such as the one hooked up to him, had improved since 2070. He gave a cold stare back at the commander, ignoring the pain. Mark fidgeted in the chair he was tied to, trying to keep his cloak over his shoulder to conceal the recording device he had assembled since infiltrating the COA base. This was his second time here, only this time, he was their enemy.
“Come on, Victor. What did you discover while working for the SAFE organization?”
Mark ignored the name he had been assigned and brainwashed with by the COA. “You'll kill me whether I tell you or not. Torture me even; it won't make a difference.” Mark silently wrestled with the rope behind his back; it's rough edges biting at his skin. It didn't help that the room's chill temperature had frosted the metal chair, which had started to numb his fingers.
The vile man's lips curled into a sneer. “As you wish. Remember one thing though; I own you. You're nothing without me. Neither is Jay,” he added as an after thought.
Mark's pulse quickened. “Why; what did you do to her?” he demanded as the the two agents sliced the rope and hulled him out of the room. The empty silence of the door slamming shut in his face was all he received for an answer.
~Joanna Hawking~ (Previously known as Amira if that makes any difference;)
Object prompt: Watch, key, ring
ReplyDeletePhrase prompt: If only I had said something when I had the chance!
~Joanna Hawking~