• 07:00:43 am on August 14, 2012 | 14
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    Tuesday Tales 53!

    Challenge #53

     By entering, every contestant agrees to shamelessly promote and praise the winner on twitter.

    For all discussions about this challenge use hash tag #TuesdayTales

    Please give a shout out to this week’s Tuesdaytales judge:

    Secret Word:




    Go ahead and check out the archive of all the tuesdaytales or escort you to your tuesdaytales needs HERE



  • Robin Abess 11:09 am on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    Ode to the Dark Lady

    “Why are you writing such prolific prose about an old dead tree?”

    Her voice is shrill and whiny as she peers over my shoulder at my work. The lake at sunrise is beautiful and inspiring…at least until she breaks the silence.

    “Why are we even here?”

    “I told you…”

    “Oh yes…because you have to.” Her tone is sarcastic. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

    She turns slightly at the creaking of the branches as they reach for her. The surprised look on her face is priceless as the Dark Lady’s wooden limbs enfold her, and she is absorbed. I smile, nodding.

    100 words {without title}

  • LE Jamez (@LEJamez) 3:12 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    Resting Ground

    He tried to remember how many years ago he had last used this site, but couldn’t. It was just as he remembered; a large, black, almost dead tree pointing to the depths of the pond, showing everyone where to look; yet not what to look for. He had been prolific in his youth, coming to the site weekly to dispose of the bodies. But time passed; he got older; his victims got harder to find and he was forced into retirement. It was nice that he was able to return and sit on the bank; remember his glory days.

    99 words (without title)

  • RR Kovar 4:29 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply


    The first crossed the ocean in boats that should not have made the journey. We gave no welcome but had no fear. We were many and this land vast. They were warriors, so we found accord, returned to our lives and ways.

    The newcomers breed like wàbòz, ever prolific, reckless. They cut down forests, trample sacred places, foul the rivers, never considering the burden they place on the mother. They rebuff pleas for wisdom.

    We paint ourselves with shades of night and prepare to sacrifice young life to stem the tide. We know death comes, but we must try.

    100 words (with title)

  • Jeffrey Hollar 4:49 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    The Sunset Of Dreams

    “It is”, his mentor once opined, “the greatest desire of the artist to not only create a masterpiece but to be blessed with inspiration to create a thousand more.” Though Lavrenti was now long gone, the beatnik wisdom he’d regaled Spenser with remained.

    Sitting atop the outthrust arm of the ancient oak, Spenser lamented the symbolic deaths of his creativity and of any hope of remaining prolific enough to not be quickly forgotten.

    Gazing into the sunset he felt no stirrings to paint its splendor, only sadness for how apt a metaphor it was for his future or lack thereof.

    100 words @klingorengi

  • Lisa McCourt Hollar 5:04 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    Leaving the Dead
    By Lisa McCourt Hollar

    The tree, like the world around her, was no longer prolific; dying, just as those she knew and once loved were dead. Diane had once thought the tree beautiful. When she was a child, her parents brought her to the lake and she climbed out on the long branch that stretched across the water. Diving in, she became a mermaid, daughter of Poseidon.

    Now, inching along the branch, she wished those dreams were true. Behind her, the Walker that used to be her husband lunged, teeth gnashing. Dropping off the end, Diane fell into the abyss, leaving the dead behind.

    Word Count: 100

  • JonathonVolkmer 5:35 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    ““Peaceful, isn’t it?”

    “Certainly looks that way.”

    “It’s sad that such prolific accusations obscure my father’s environmental achievements.”

    “Are they true?”

    “You’re joking.”

    “Don’t dodge the question.”

    “Yes, the operation was real. In fact, let’s cement the bogeyman image – I’m him. I stole my son’s body.”

    “You don’t take this seriously?”

    “Do you really think we have the technology to transfer human consciousness? How’d he keep that secret?”

    “Your father had a reputation for secrets.

    “This is immortality. But I guess he killed the witnesses, too. Quite the comic book villain.”

    The surface ripples.

    “Touche. Good fishing?”

    “You like piranha?”

    100 Words

  • pretendingstuff 5:49 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    You promised not to do that.
    That, what youre doing now?
    What am I doing?
    Youre touching the sun, how many times do I have to tell you? You’ll singe your fingernails, and that will leave a dreadfull smell. Oh, you do know I’m preparing tea this evening?
    Oh yeah, who for?
    A friend of your fathers, he’s quite ‘prolific’ apparently, I don’t know, but your father seems to think him a good fellow.
    Does he like jam sandwiches?
    How should I know?! Oh good heavens, what if he does? I havnt got any jam.
    Ow, damn. My fingers!

    word count 100

  • Charles W Jones (@ChuckWesJ) 7:12 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    At the edge of the water, crowds gathered to watch the event. They had never seen the creatures that writhed in a ritualistic dance below the surface of the water. Their limbs were like tree bark, ever reaching for the skies. The onlookers were astonished at how prolific they were at their endeavors; each producing thousands of offspring that joined into the swirl of movement. As the sunset, the spectators could see them clearly in the darkening water continuing their task. Still no one knew what they were. One by one they broke the serene surface to devour the onlookers.


  • Cindyluewho 10:16 pm on August 14, 2012 | # | Reply

    100 word Tale:
    At the water’s edge.

    A setting sun played silver light across the cool liquid pools of her eyes where dreams of lucidity danced across their vast depths in a most prolific manner. She was broken now only to find sanity in fleeting moments between fits of hysteria. Reality began to sink in when she felt the warm and sticky flow of blood that had caked in her matted hair. As she stared out at the dead tree on the water, a sickeningly beautiful smile slowly spread across her smooth porcelain face. And it was then that she herd herself voice a single word… Yes.

    100 words

  • Bob Mahone 3:46 am on August 15, 2012 | # | Reply

    Oh, the toil that age places on the imagination. The prolific flights of fantasy in my youth would have launched explorations of the sea, or of new worlds, from this spot. My heart bemoans the transition whereby it has become an arduous mental exercise to step away from the serenity of this scene. And yet, I am blessed to enjoy the latter as much as the younger would have taken joy in the former. Maybe the rest, so unnecessary to youth, and so unimaginable during our years of labor, is only appreciated by the mind old enough to admit fatigue.

    • Bob Mahone 3:49 am on August 15, 2012 | # | Reply

      100 words

      No idea wher the 3:46 am came from;
      somewhere out in the Atlantic I guess.

  • Angelica Dawson 4:11 am on August 15, 2012 | # | Reply

    Such wonderful entries everyone! Thank you all for your prolific pieces. 😀

  • TuesdayTales 53 WINNER – Aug 14th 2012 « GLITTERWORD 1:36 pm on August 15, 2012 | # | Reply

    […] You can check out all the rest of the entries of Tuesdaytales week 53 […]

  • Tuesday Tales #53 | Office Mango 6:05 pm on August 15, 2012 | # | Reply

    […] Tales #53 Posted on August 15, 2012 by Laura Jamez Have a bit of exciting news-I entered the TuesdayTales (check out the entries they’re really good) competition again this week and I am chuffed to […]

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