50 Words a Day

Alice Pow. 19. Queer woman. I am writing a 50 word story every day for one year. Sometimes I miss a day or two, but I promise not to fall completely off track. I am open to feedback. I’ve been published on 50wordstories.com and in Bradley University's Broadside Journal. Series tags: Billie Escher, Plant Tending

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ANNOUNCEMENT:

This blog will be on a short hiatus while I work on a novel. I might post some updates here in regards to the novel, but the daily stories are paused for now.

Thanks!

-Alice

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September 25, 2016

She sat in bed before getting up. The room was cold; she held her blanket wrapped around herself. Still, cold air seeped in around her legs. Under the blanket, she dressed. Her big hoodie on, she went into the bathroom, got her toothbrush, and pumping hand soap on it absentmindedly.

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Concessions for September 24, 2016

The catcher approached the pitcher's mound. The rest of the softball players slacked for the timeout. The pitcher leaned forward, smiled. "What's up, babe?" "I just wanted to say I love you," the catcher said, smirking. "You can't keep calling timeouts for that," she laughed, "also, I love you, too.

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September 23, 2016

When she found the textbook, she laughed at its proportions. Its face was that of a normal book that she might read, but the depth of its pages was comical. It seemed like the book should have been wider and taller but instead it was and odd and bulky shape.

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A 400 word short story concession for September 15, 2016-September 22, 2016

The film of cream and soap squished between Haley's rubbing hands. The cold water ran over her knuckles and between her palms and when she went to dry her hands, she still felt the griminess between her fingers. She turned the hot water handle back off. "You'd think a big company like this could replace a broken water heater in less than a month," she said to herself, turning to read the next ticket. Two scoops, Chocolate peanut butter, cone. Trying to scoop chocolate peanut butter ice cream is like trying to scoop concrete. As such, Haley considered chocolate peanut butter to be her nemesis. Usually, she would just let somebody else handle the ticket, but her coworkers were in the back and she didn't want to bother them and admit that she had been avoiding scooping chocolate peanut butter ice cream for a few months. Right from the start, she had trouble making a dent in the untouched gallon of ice cream. She had to resort to shaving little slivers into the cone, using the scoop to sculpt the pile of ice cream into a more visual appealing confection. Once she had about one scoop down on the cone, she tried to push herself to get the next scoop in one go. Positioning herself higher over the big tub of ice cream, she gave all her force and then felt something go wrong in her arm. She let go of the scoop and shook out her bicep. It was fine, but she would have preferred a moment of rest. Unfortunately for her, she had an order to get out. She shoveled slivers onto the cone and took it to the customer. He took the cone without much notice, unaware of the pain that went into it. When she got back to behind the counter, Haley washed her hands again. Still, the cold water just didn't get the job done. Her arm hurt and her hands felt clammy with dairy. That's when Tammy walked out from the back with an empty bus tub, swapping it out for the full tub of dirty dishes out front. Haley wished she'd been put on dishes. She preferred the mechanical nature of it, and the dishwasher had it's own back up of hot water, so she wouldn't be freezing and gross and she wouldn't have to scoop cement. Her shift was three more hours.

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by Alice Pow The ghost waltzed through the table, body passing through wood, leading a missing partner. "I've tried speaking to her, but she only dances," the elderly woman said, staring at the ghost. "Isn't she beautiful?" "Is it always the waltz?" Ellen held a digital camera, chrome red with yellow highlighting. The camera's display…

I got the opportunity to have a piece of microfiction published last week. I’m proud of it and I hope you like it!

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September 14, 2016

Her fort was tall, solid. Flecks of clay dusted her hair and jacket. She grabbed soft greyness off the ground and packed it into a little ball. She added to her pile. Across the field, her brother piled his own clay balls for the fight. She trusted her softball arm.

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Concessions for September 13, 2016

The officer knelt beside the daisy, rolling his eyes at the swaying bee. "Ma'am, have you been drinking tonight?" The bee buzzed quietly. "Ma'am, you've got to speak up," he stiffened authoritatively. "Buzz." The bee continued floating around the flower. "Ma'am, buzzed driving is drunk driving," he said as he handcuffed her.

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Concessions for September 12, 2016

Seren flipped a drop of fire between fingers like a marble. "I could be better than you eventually," she said. Fiora's eyes narrowed. Seren's fire sizzled out of palm and into smoke. Fiora had seized and crushed it. "Your lesson is over," she said. "Meditate on your hubris."

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September 11, 2016

Removing wet clothing was like playing Jenga. She was used to her open-at-the-top home machine, but here she had to crouch down and take one item at a time so the socks wouldn't sprawl over the dirty laundry room floor. She moved slow but impatiently, tossing pieces into the dryer.

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September 10, 2016

"Is that all you're getting?" the woman ahead of her in line had a full cart of groceries. She nodded, holding a single case of water bottles. "You can go ahead of me," the woman said. "Are you sure?" She felt a little awkward accepting, but the line was long.

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September 9, 2016

The arachnoid's body raised and fell, heaving. Its mouth was small and black against its red body with a sizzling sort of slime dripping out that marked burns into the ground where it landed. Shannon was squirming and terrified, but Galia didn't shake, she pointed her harpoon gun and fired.

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Concessions for September 8, 2016

Shannon stepped back; Galia stepped forward, aiming her harpoon gun at the approaching arachnoid. Robin was fiddling with her phone to get some sort of signal or wifi to call help. The arachnoid was up to Galia's knee and had a rectangular body; its thin legs ended in pad-like feet.

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Concessions for September 7, 2016

Crescents of hair speckled the salon robe and when she stood, it all slid onto the floor around the chair. Her hair was short, a sort of layered bob. It was still a little wet, so the woman who'd cut it had her sit under this turning scifi-looking hair dryer.

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Concessions for September 6, 2016

She pulled her bag onto her lap as she sat. The bus was cleaner than she was used to, and the back seats were raised up so she felt she was presiding over a procession of sorts. After unzipping her bag, she put her wallet away and resumed eating lunch.

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Concessions for September 5, 2016

The crowd funneling into the bus was clearly too voluminous, so she stepped back and waited. The marque said the next bus to her university would arrive in three minutes, and she figured she could wait that long. As she leaned against a building, she ate fries from a bag.

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September 4, 2016

The spider hung from the cat's mouth, lifeless and dripping, legs limp. It was pink with a round body and long thin legs. The cat, gray with a line of blue down its back, appeared nonplused at the dead arachnid in its mouth, but it dropped it at her feet.