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TUMBLR BUILDS A HOUSE...

Foundation

Walls

Furniture

Rooms

Doors

Windows

Floor

Chimney

Garage

Roof

Yard

Driveway

Voting ended onFeb 25, 2024

please spread this so that it can actually be funny instead of just 1 person voting

wetheurban

I promise you even better is on the way. Be intentional about self-care now, so you can sustain your well-being when success arrives.

shockpine

Pleasant Dreams (2/19/24)

Alice and I walked down the boardwalk. With my arm around her waist, I could feel how the sun warmed up her long black hair. I became aware of the sun’s warmth on my skin as well– pleasant, but borderline uncomfortable. I would certainly wake up with a sun burn.

I stole a handful of cotton candy from the bag I’d won for her.

Had I forgotten to wear sunscreen? I always burn if I do not. I held up my hand, thinking of the burning soon to come and filling with fear. It turned red before my eyes. Blisters began to swell up and burst white puss, as if my flesh were boiling. I cannot scream. Little licks of flame begin to form at the edges of my finger tips, starting with my pinky the way a camp fire starts with the kindling. And then it spreads as quickly as if I’d been lit by gasoline. My whole body, engulfed in heat and sweat and panic.

Ding! I woke up back in the hotel lobby. Where I always wake up.

“I’m sorry you’re stay was unpleasant,” said the clerk. “I shall get you a new room.” I offered him my old room key and he walked me to the elevator. “Room 307 for the new one.”

“The boardwalk wasn’t too bad. I liked Alice, even if it was only a first date.”

Ding! We arrived on floor three, walked down the hall, and he opens the door to my new room for me. I fall asleep.

My husband laid in bed reading a book. The dinner we’d made earlier in the night had been a disaster, and after three hours of burning food and missing ingredients to make a just okay casserole, we were both too tired to clean dishes or even talk to each other, so the kitchen remained trashed with dirty dishes while he lay in bed reading and I cuddle with the cat on the floor.

I look at my husband reading Vonnegut’s Slapstick, or Lonely No More. His furrowed brow, the soft sounds of his breathing, the little hums he makes when he’s surprised or confused. We’re both too tired to talk tonight, to be around another person like that, but I still love to be around him like this.

His phone starts to ring. I remember we left it unmuted for some important purpose. I get up to answer it, gesturing for him to stay cozy. I bring the phone to bed and lay down next to him before I answer.

“Hello, we have your test results ready from your most recent appointment.” I tense. There’s no reason to believe he is sick, but this feeling is unpleasant. This unknown. The knowledge that perhaps all this will end so much sooner than I could tolerate. I feel nauseous.

“Hello, are you still there?”

I can’t speak.

Ding! I woke up back in the hotel lobby. Where I always wake up.

“I’m sorry you’re stay was unpleasant,” said the clerk. “I shall get you a new room.”

“No, no that’s alright. I’ll go back to 307. I need to see how things end.”

“Nonsense, we have a 100% customer satisfaction rate. We’ve already sent the cleaning staff to 307 to clear out the mess.”

#550 words

The sound of the barking seals (8/16)

A fog hangs over them. Eri leans over the balcony, over the ocean.

“I don’t understand why you want to leave.” He says.

She sets the silverware around the table.

“Leave it, allow me,” says her husband, gently taking the spoons out of her hand. He brushes a loose hair out of her face and smiles. It’s one of a million ways he shows her he cares.

She sits and he sets the table.

She’s putting on her coat in the middle of the night and slipping out to sea.

The ocean is cold and dark. She takes a deep breath and pumps the briny water in and out of her lungs. It’s hard work; it’s heavier than air. She can’t even see where she’s going. She kicks her tail and swims deeper and deeper and feels the layers of the ocean turn new kinds of cold. It tugs at her hair and pulls out her braid.

Her husband opens the curtains early in the morning to let in the sun. He helps her find her hair tie and rests his head on her lap as she braids her hair.

“Selkie aren’t real. Do you think they are?”

Yes

“Maybe they choose to be human. It’s not like mermaids in that way. They can choose.”

Not really. They're still selkies, aren’t they?

“Maybe. I guess, if they are real, that’s the only reason why they’d still exist, if it wasn’t a choice.”

Eri knows what he means. If her husband could choose, he’d never want to be anything but human.

On the balcony, he repeats himself, “I don’t understand.”

He means it as a question. As a demand. It’s how he means to say “I love you, be something I can understand.”

Deep in the ocean one night she sees them. Swimming in the distance. She hears them. Barking, laughing, singing. They are not human. Eri cannot name her jealousy, so she turns her back and swims to the castle.

Maybe I don’t have a choice.

She refuses to go out tonight. She locks her coat in a chest under her bed.

“What’s that, my love?”

It’s nothing. It’s a choice I’m making.

Eri’s husband is out of town this week. She leans out over the balcony and rests her eyes on the dark ocean. She can’t see them from here. She can’t even hear them barking, laughing, singing.

She remembers her husband: “They only exist because they don’t have a choice.”

Eri named her jealousy. If she didn’t have a choice, she would be like them. Maybe the castle would flood one day and she’d be swept out to sea.

The ladies are over for tea. No one gets to choose, they laugh. Life is miserable, but this is what we do. Chin up. Pass the sugar.

Eri unlocks her coat and swims out to sea. She chooses that this will be the last time.

She swims far enough and deep enough so she can hear the others like her. They are barking, and laughing, and singing. They call each other by name.

They choose each other, Eri realizes. They choose themselves.

What name would they call me, in their own language? In my own language, in our own language. If I could choose my name.

“It’s my choice.” Eri tells the human. “I get to choose this.”

“No, Eri, no. If you were choosing, you wouldn’t choose this. You would be alone. You would be in danger. You would be far away from the life you’ve built and the world you know. How could you choose this? You’ve been tricked. Let me help you.”

“No. I choose no. Even if it was a choice I’d still choose this.”

#600 words #500-1000 Words #short story

Echo and Narcissus (8/13)

He walked through a world Where no one could hear him

She walked through a world Where no one could hear her

How are you today?

Yes, the weather is fine

I hate these olives

You haven’t tried the right wine

And they longed to find someone Whom they could call home They could to bring into the house And know the same hearth

Don’t you love these flowers?

Aren’t your eyes watering?

The purple makes my heart soar

The pollen makes my skin crawl I need to go home

I want to go home

And just once they longed For the sound of their own voice

Hello, I love you. I love you. Are we seeing the same sunset? Seeing the same sunset

Hello, I love you I love you, Hello I have something for you You have something for me

And in his loneliness He only had his own soul

And she never found another That could make her feel whole

And he never found a lover Beyond the waterhole

#okay back at it trying to write every day :)

Early to Bed (6/21/22)

Once upon a time a person had a difficult day so they went to bed early instead of writing, in order to be gentle.

False Seashell (6/20/22)

Ytralia glided across the ocean floor. One suction cupped “leg” in front of the other.

She felt the patterns in the water current shift. Another octopus nearby? Through the water she could just make out something moving towards her. Not an octopus. She wasn’t sure what.

With no rocks to press herself up against, no place to hide, she pulled out her classic hat trick: bringing her arms into her chest and sticking her legs out in front of her she mimicked a large crab.

And sure enough who came to visit her but an angelfish. His name was Grmd. Grmd swam right up to Ytralia. Interested and unafraid.

“What kind of crab are you?” Asked Grmd.

Ytralia gave all the right answers, holding herself as still as possible. She tried carefully to ignore her emotions, so they would not come through in the color of her flesh, (an annoyed red or an embarrassed purple, perhaps). She was now contorted into the monotone hue of the crab, who did not change colors with her mood.

Something else was coming. She could feel it in the water. But she was so focused on Grmd now. If she turned to look, she would lose her disguise. It would fall apart.

And so she didn’t see the squid descend upon her. It gobbled up both the octopus and the crab in one bite.

#300 words #flash fiction #fiction #short story

this is just a bad hamlet retelling (6/19/22)

(a/n: this is my least favorite thing i’ve written for this project so far lol. that’s fine)

Dear Diary (March 1st, 1997)

Picture this: you’re walking home from school. It’s a beautiful day in San Francisco so you take the long way home. Your mom hates when you do this but not enough to care, really. He thinks it’s because you’re not over your dad dying. Which is true. He died a month ago??

But for some reason instead of snapping at you she sits you down and gently tells you as nicely as she possibly can the most infuriating thing you’ve ever heard. Would rather she be mad at me.

(later)

I’m going to kill my uncle. This is so slimy of him. What the fuck.

(March 2nd)

I had a weird dream last night. I was in this castle. And dad was there. He couldn’t talk but his mouth was moving. He looked angry. But I felt like he didn’t really want to talk to me. He just wanted someone to hear him. He told me his brother killed him. He told him he is bad for our family.

(later)

Mom doesn’t get it. Why does she marry these awful white guys? I don’t want him in the house. I don’t want him around.

(March 5th)

I don’t trust him. Mom doesn’t believe me. I think the ghost was right. I don’t know if I believe in ghosts but I feel like I have to trust my guts.

(March 10th)

Mom yelled at me today. My grades are slipping. My boyfriend broke up with me. (His mom hated me anyway.)

I almost did it today. I almost told her: it’s me or him. I want him out of the house. But as I was walking up to her room, the door was open. I could hear them talking. She was… crying. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard my mom cry. And he was comforting her. She was telling him how hard it was to raise me. And he was telling her she was a good mom doing the best she can, and that I was a good kid.

Seriously screw this guy. He fucking sucks and this doesn’t change my mind. But I feel like an asshole if I say something now. I’ll wait until later.

(March 14th)

I got kicked out of private school. Mom divorced him. She also kicked me out.

(March 15th)

I had another weird dream last night. I was in the castle. I forgot to drink water before bed so i was absolutely parched. You know how in dreams, sometimes you just Know things to be true, without needing any sort of reasoning? I knew if i didn’t drink something I would die. Someone offered me a goblet and I knew it was filled with poison but I was so thirsty. I drank, and drank, and drank.

#500 words #flash fiction

There once were two fishermen (6/18/22)

There once were two fishermen Sailing the Sea of Japan Learning to earn their own dough

Away from moms and far from homes They learned to do things on their owns

So when their boss said ‘swab the deck’ They took their mops And worked till they sweat

And when the cook said ‘eat your grime’ They licked their plates Until they shined

And when the song said ‘hug your lover’ They simply kissed One another

#100 words #poetry #flash fiction

The bus stop at fifth and main (6/17/22)

To *you* it would seem to be the apocalypse. To Jerry it was Tuesday and he was riding the bus as he supported public transportation and wanted to do his part to combat climate change.

He swiped his pre-paid card and took his seat and pulled out his book. He didn’t read it because it made him motionsick. He looked out the window as he rode the bus to work.

His city’s sky was orange today. Yesterday it had been a sickly yellow.

Jerry memorized the stops on the way to work. First he passed all the way through uptown, then the parklands, then the bus would drive halfway through downtown before he was due to get off at work at main and 5th.

The bus was air conditioned. What a privilege, he thought, to live in a city with good public transportation. Must be miserable living in the suburbs or somewhere rural. It was boiling hot outside. 105 in the shade. The air smelled like boat engines and rotten eggs. But the bus air was filtered and air conditioned.

Jerry always treasured these moments on the bus. He hated when someone sat next to him, especially if it was someone he knew from work. They might try to start a conversation during the only time Jerry had to himself.

If he was home, he ought to be working to better himself, make his life better. If he was at work he should be working. If he was on the bus there was nothing better to do than stare out the window. Maybe read a book, if such leisure called to him.

Sometimes he watched the gargoyles. He thought he could recognize some of them by now. The fat one with half a tail that hung around the park was his favorite for being the easiest to recognize. He named it Fork, after reading about cats with silly names on the internet.

He usually didn’t see Fork making his own kills. Always pushing away the other gargoyles instead for food they’d already killed, because it’s easier to be a bully than a hunter. Jerry respected that in an animal, but as a good union man he felt perhaps he shouldn’t.

He was getting close now to his bus stop. He knew the bus was getting close when it drove past the sign that said “please don’t feed the gargoyles.” It was bent at a 70 degree angle, probably by a gargoyle.

He felt the dread grow in the pit of his stomach as he thought about getting off of the bus. Stepping into the heat and then worse, into the office. He decided to let the bus go one stop past his usual stop. And then he could take a long walk to work, delay the inevitable. He was early enough.

The bus rolled past main and 5th, and Jerry reached up to pull the cord for main and 7th. When *kathunk*. The bus hit something. The driver kept going, so it was a gargoyle, not a person, Jerry figured. As it drove past he saw it crumpled on the road. He craned his neck to see it lift itself back up and shake itself off. He locked eyes with it.

You don’t feed gargoyles but you certainly don’t mess with them. It began to chase the bus.

Jerry was grateful he took the bus today instead of riding his bike or driving a car. This city has good public transport. Still. Best ride the bus a little longer. He won’t be getting off at main and 7th. He will just wait until the gargoyle stops chasing the bus, and then he will get off and walk to work. It’ll be healthy for him anyway, to walk that far. He hasn’t had time to go to the gym lately. Privately, he hopes the gargoyle keeps chasing the bus for a long time.

#700 words #500-1000 words #flash fiction

fisfull of hand/tinder date with the fae (6/16/22)

I’d having bad luck with dating, before then. I’d tried all the apps. Swore I’d delete them all and never download them again. Got bored. Downloaded new ones. I even tried the Christian ones. I’m uh. Not Christian.

When I saw an app advertised for fairies I thought it meant for like. Queer people. A sort of tongue and cheek little joke.

I was in a new cafe. Or an old cafe I’d never been in before. When I connected to the wifi and got an ad for this dating app. I downloaded it.

The first date went well. I guess he wanted to take it slow which was nice. Long talks about life. He had a funny way of asking questions. I’d think he was nervous, but it seemed so deliberate.

“That sounds delicious. Could you tell me where I could read the recipe, or share with me a photo?”

And later, “Would it be okay if I held your hand, for a bit?”

Later we were watching some movie, I got the name wrong. Used the word “handful” instead of “fistfull”. He scrunched his nose and told me the two were very different.

He was sweet. But I didn’t see it going anywhere. We weren’t exclusive, I thought. I redownloaded another app.

I was out to brunch with him when my phone buzzed. I got a match. He tensed. Uh oh, I thought. I’m a terrible date. And worse, I thought, he’s going to leave me. Maybe I was more attached to him than I realized.

But then he relaxed. We finished brunch and split dessert. He offered to pay the bill and left a generous tip. I supposed we were still alright, afterall.

As we stood to leave, he smiled, more charming than usual. “Can I take your hand?”

#300 words #flash fiction

Whale Fall (6/15/22)

“Don’t you dare say happy birthday. I hate being old.” Terry grumbled

“Watch it! If you’re old at 27 I hate to think what’s coming down the pipe for me.” (Terry’s younger sibling, Anya.)

Terry shifted his pack to his other shoulder. He carried most of the heavier things without thinking much of it. The drill, the bottles of preserve,

Anya carried the empty bags and the umbrella so they would have shade for the way back, plus the dwarf bread and water crystals.

The pair walked through a great desert in the heat of the day, along the edge of a great shadow

“I mean it, it’s not funny. I have to watch my sugar now. I have to buy special insoles for my shoes on these trips.”

Suddenly, a chorus of honking geese and chirping birds and a fluttering of wings. The shadow started expanding.

Terry inhaled sharply. “Run now.” The pair sprinted into the sun, staying just ahead of the falling shadow.

The dragon crashed into the Earth, kicking up a cloud of sand. Terry and Anya, though they’ve made safely out of it’s range, cover their eyes and move and wait for the sand to settle. They know it’s safe when they hear the vulture worms begin crawling out of the Earth.

In the sky, the dragon served as a perch for migrating birds. In the Earth, it will nourish the desert for years to come. When the vulture worms are done with it, the mushrooms will turn this spot into a garden.

Terry hands Anya the drill. One scale and a bag full of meat will buy them their living for the next few months.

#300 words #flash fiction

You may think a pirate’s favorite letter is ‘r’ but...

I’ve always hated narratives about loving something ugly. What’s wrong with loving beauty?

I’ve always hated stories where we choose the plain over the pretty. If you love someone, they should be beautiful to you.

I took a stroll along the beach. The ship had anchored only hours ago. The rest of the crew was already deep into the jungle, following the map. We were separated. I needed to pee. They went on without me. I returned to the shore.

As I drifted through the tidepools, something shiny caught my eye. If you love something, they should catch your eye. I don’t believe in love at first sight but a reflection is just as real as the mirror.

I reached my hand into the tidepool. I had to squint. White light bounced off the water and blinded me. Underneath the cool of the water I felt it— the slimy cold metal coins. Layered with algae.

I leave my hand in the water. Squint and try to count how much is there. Is this all of it? Is this the treasure, or simply a few forgotten coins? They overflowed from the chests and fell into the water. So trivial to the rest they didn’t stoop to pick them up again.

They say the treasure is cursed. Love someone for the wrong reasons, it’s doomed to end in disaster.

I take a coin. I wipe the slime off on my shirt. Silver, smoothed by the waves. (Oh, I am not your first love. )

I take more, tuck them into my boots, my sleeves, my hat. I’m cursed for sure now, hah.

I stand. I wait. I wait for her.

The ocean draws back. Farther, farther. (If you love something let it go, and if it comes back…)

The tide rises up to a tall wall— a tsunami.

The sun shines through the water, bounces off of it. White light blinds me.

I have to squint to look at her.

#300 words #flash fiction

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