O Me of Little Faith

Yesterday we had another fun five-sentence story contest. This one was a bit different from the last one. No scary stories this time, but romance. No weird “Jimmy” rules, either. Instead, I added requirements that entries use the name “Ruby” and incorporate a lyric from a Postal Service song.

There were 11 comments with last month’s scary story contest, but only 7 comments for this one (one was a double-post). So I can only assume that you’d rather write creepy stuff than gooey romance.

I hear you.

Nevertheless, there were some excellent, evocative entries, though I’m guessing the song-lyric requirement held you back a little. But the story submitted by the winner was very, very good. In fact, I knew it would win as soon as it posted. An easy choice.

Good job, Suz. You win! What else should we expect, though, from a 6-foot redhead?

Here’s the photo again along with Suz’s winning story:

“The high concentration of estrogen in this group is really starting to get to me,” Ruby texted to her fiancé once dexterity returned to her frigid fingers. Curled up in a leather armchair by the lodge’s fireplace, Ruby succumbed to the hormones that had been keeping her on edge for days and indulged in a good cry. When the sobs subsided, she took a few deep breaths and thought about how much she missed Derrick and how she wished her agent had never booked her in this stupid Pepto Bismol commercial a week before their wedding in Maui.

But then, as she wiped the tears from her cheeks and noticed the rivulets running down her torso, the absurdity of the whole situation struck home and she just had to laugh. “Here I am,” she mused to herself, “thousands of miles away from Derrick, crying my eyes out, and the only thing keeping me dry is this crazy pink unitard.”


Very nice. Love the dialogue in form of texting and “musing,” the creative explanation for the goofy photo, the long (yet still legal) sentences, and the perfectly subtle use of the song lyrics (highlighted in red).

Congrats, Suz! Shoot me an email with your shipping address and I’ll send you a book.

Next time, we’ll go back to the scary story format. Be afraid.

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