Ultra short stories wanted

I'm trying to start some projects with which to occupy myself, and I want to make a zine of 50-word stories written in the sci-fi genre (hopefully, if I maintain an interest, other genres will follow). The rules are that the story MUST be 50 words exactly, but it can have a title which is not included in the word count. I'd also quite like some pictures or illustrations, so any kind of submission would be gratefully received - write as many stories as you want (you could do a trilogy, even). Here are a couple of my early attempts:

The ship's spectrogram flickered and data filled the vast control screens. Kirk Balzac breathed deeply in relief as he strolled over to the door release mechanism. Outside lay the mythical forests of Mophistu. But in the instant that the doors began hissing open, Kirk’s lungs dissolved: he’d forgotten his helmet.

Damien’s heart thumped. The dull beat was the amphibocretonian guards heading their way. He shook the semi-conscious figure on the floor.
“Evelyn, quick!”
He followed her tearful, drowsy gaze: her leg was trapped under the dislodged fluxoradio command unit. He paused momentarily, gave her one last passionate kiss, and sprinted.

Please contribute: I'd be very grateful.

Bollocks

I posted an anti-comments comment on Post Secret, and didn't realise that my comment would link to my blog (google automatically signs me in, see).

If you've come to my blog from Post Secret, I honestly love cats and animals and don't wish to harm them with bleach . . . or anything else for that matter. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, visit www.postsecret.com) That said, I could definitely look after my goldfish a little better . . .

Itchy

Itchy feet and itchy brain. I'm slowly starting to get into more of a rhythm, though. The major problem presented by completing my course is actually stepping off the treadmill, and then, once off, not feeling terrible about not being on the treadmill. Even though I've been doing productive things over the last two weeks, I still feel immensely guilty about wasting my time and not achieving . . . and I think I'm just at the point of adapting. I hope it isn't like this in the Sumeer holidays to come, or I'll only have four proper weeks of guilt-free time to myself.

I don't think my complex is just about being in work-mode though. I remember hating going back to university after the Summer because people would inevitably ask, "So what did you do?" and if you didn't have an amazing story about travelling in South-East Asia or volunteering in Peru, you (well, me) felt completely uninteresting and uncool.

But then, it's the kind of question you ask people when you either don't know them (very well) or you don't really car, and which, annoyingly, you end up asking people yourself when you either don't know them enough to chat to or don't much care about their response. Aren't we all incredibly fake and rude? But it would be ruder not to fake, I suppose. But then, why don't we care? Hmmm . . .

It's alright everyone - I'm ok!

Yes, parts of Sheffield are seriously flooded ("seriously", as in more than 200 people waiting to get winched from the tops of buildings), and mainly in David Blunkett's constituency which comprises much of the low-lying industrial quarter in the north of Sheffield, alongside the River Don.

We're very safe, I think, up on the hilly side. In fact, I didn't even have an inkling that this was going on, as I've been holed up with my cold all day long.

Oh well. Met Check says it'll be sunny tomorrow!

Phew

I'm deleting various tracks that I never listen to off my iTunes for the express purpose of making room for The Sims. Ayway, I've found myself just listening to purely classical music. Sometimes it really feels purifying.

I had an ace day yesterday, shopping and killing bluebottles effectively and such, then I went out for a drink with some PGCE friends and things became rubbish on the way back (not because of of my friends, I hasten to add). Such is life.

How did it know I love Radiohead?

You are sorta emo. You listen to Radiohead and enjoy their eclectic sound, but haven't pushed past into the underground indie subculture. The closest to emo attire that you own is maybe a few band t-shirts and tight jeans.

AreYouEmo.com

To evoke your sympathy . . .

I've felt crap all day. I woke up with a bunged up head and a sore throat, and now I'm dosed up on paracetamol and feeling drowsy and snivelly. This isn't a good way to feel when your house is infested by bluebottles. I walked into the kitchen before and felt so defeated by the tens of bluebottles buzzing around the window that I got the hoover and sucked up the vast majority. Yes, ALIVE. The irritatating thing is that I have no idea how they're getting into the kitchen. They're such disgusting creatures. But I suppose their purpose is helping things to decompose is a valid one. What surprises me is just how long they're around for. How many eggs then maggots does one bluebottle spawn, and how many maggots does it take before a carcass is soft-material free? It's both disgusting and fascinating, like a toddler intent on scrutinising dog turds.

What do you get if you cross Christian Bale with Cliff Richard?

Ziggy from Big Brother! Am I the only one who's noticed this? (Yes, I know I decried BB, but I have a lot of time on my hands now - what's a lazy girl to do?) Seriously, he looks like Christian Bale with longer, bleached hair, then he begins to talk and his mouth makes Cliff Richard-type shapes. Maybe there's a bit of Macca there too. Tres unsexy.

I forgot

Look how much my Yorkshire puddings rose! It's ridiculous! It meant they didn't taste quite right. Nice though.

Update

I feel extremely groggy today, so I took one of Ian's hayfever things to see if it was that, but I still feel heavy in the head and have a sore throat, so I'll put it down to illness instead.

There's just been a massive downpour here - only ten minutes or so, but at times so heavy that the rain bouncing off the ledge outside comes up through the open window 3 and a half feet up. I love torrential rain, particularly when it's accompanied by thunder and lightning. There's just something satisfyingly cathartic about it. Plus it gives me the excuse to laze around rather than actually tax my brain cells and do something.

I have been doing some things though:
* I've lost count of how many bluebottles I've swatted.
* I've trussed up the tomatoes out back (that's what I was doing when the rain came a-tumbling)
* I've become mildly addicted to Facebook and then filled with anxiety at the idea of having to communicate with many of the girls from Fenham's "Catholic mafia" (as they have been termed by a family member)
* I've made a grate for the drain outside (I'm trying to block off rat access points)
* I foam-filled the rat runs behind the washing machine
* I potted plants up
* I made an ace CD sleeve for a mix-CD I made
* I spray-painted a tall lamp stand that me and Ian found which will become a coat/hat stand in the future.

Actually, that's probably about it. In fact, I've been horrednously slack and therefore bored. I was so bored the other night that I ended up cutting a fringe into my hair. It doesn't look too bad though:


My eyes look extremely scary in these pictures, but you can also make out my freckles which are much more visible this year. Bless.

I'm going to go and take some paracetamol I think, then I'll pretend I'm motivating myself to do something, when actually I'm just going to make a cup of tea, dunk biscuits and watch TV.

Unfortunately there are no pictures of how ace I looked as Alex from A Clockwork Orange at my end-of-PGCE party! Gutted. I'll post other pictures soon though.

Arrivederci.