Opportunity is knocking. You should open the door. So unless winning chocolate is a terrible bore, I remind you only five blogs down there’s a contest to make you smile, not frown. So after you read my flash fiction here, follow this link to some chocolate cheer.
And now here it is, without further ado, Rachel Harrie’s first challenge. Good or not, it’s up to you:
The door swung open and children poured through like sand from the seashore. Sand came in too. Yet not one child could shut that door to save old Mom an extra chore.
Where, in this tale, was my man of the sea? Suppose the old sailor went fishing, did he? I could not blame him for fishing each day ‘til he hooked the first one. But they all got away. I hoped he brought supper, for our cupboard was bare, with nothing to feed ten kids gathered there.
Calico cat ran in through the door, and gingham dog’s bone started all-out war. Two hungry beasts ran ‘round the Dutch clock, tore each other to shreds. China plate broke in shock.
A mansion we did never attain. Instead we lived on Lacey Lane—my ten little piggies all in a row, though never like latchkey children, you know. Mine were like latchets of a shoe—which I laced tight to get us through. So I fed them a supper of water and bread, spanked them all soundly and put them to bed.
At last, smelling fish in our shoe-size hut, this old woman thanked God as the door swung shut.
That’s 200 words exactly in amount. Not one less or more if you care to count.