∞
This storyline provided by: Vinh
___________________________
You know the old saying “Anything that can go wrong, will”? They call it Murphy’s Law — Well I may as well be Murphy himself, but no, that would be too convenient. My name is Harry, last name Butts. Unfortunate I know, but trust me, I’ve gotten over it by now. I am arguably, the unluckiest man in the world. Oh - What’s that? You don’t believe me? Well you should.
It all started when I was in kindergarten on the walk home from school, I spotted something shiny sticking out of the ground and proceeded to dig it up. What it was I did not know at the time, but I brushed some of the soil off of it with my shirt tail and that was what activated it.
A piece of space age technology? Maybe. A magical genie lamp? Just as plausible. But whatever it was, it came out of that piece of metal and into me. I tripped 72 times the rest of the way home, and got grass stains all on my pants. I didn’t get my first kiss until the night of my highschool promenade, and I only got it because I accidentally caused Cynthia to slip on some punch I had spilled and she fell right on top of me (lips included), I got my first slap across the face not too long after.
What’s worse than all that is that I can’t shake this thing —Lady Luck’s twisted and deformed sister. She knocks on my door once too often, and quite frankly I’ve had enough. That’s why I’m going back. 20 years, it must be buried under a couple more layers of dirt by now, but I know it’s still there. Something in me can feel it.
I’m going back to that spot on the walk home from school, the school that’s torn down by now, I’m going to dig up that piece of mystery and put this thing back in it — if it’s the last thing I do.
∞
This idea submitted by Syd from sydvish.tumblr.com
______________________________________________
It started 3 months ago about the time that she started working there. The boys had the water cooler on the other side, and the girls, well they had their own private stalls. Like a confessional they’d pile in, sit, and share. It didn’t matter who you were talking to, thing is, it was probably better that way. No names were ever spoken on the off chance that you were talking to the person who you were talking about. Jenny sat, her skirt bunched up at her knees, long slender legs protruding outwards ending in shiny black heels. The girl next to her was the same in every way as far as she could tell, with the exception of red heels and hose.
“So did you hear the news?”
“Probably, but what?”
“A girl from accounting was caught on the camera with Fredrick.”
“FREDRICK! Oh my god. Does his wife know?”
“I’m not sure, I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“I suppose she’ll find out when she finds out.”
“Yeah, I suppose she will.”
“Did you even know there were cameras in those break rooms?”
“No. I’ve never seen them. Shit, it kind of makes you wonder what other places have them.”
“Yeah, they’re probably listening to this conversation now.”
“That would be a heartbreak, the things we’ve said in here.”
“Well anyway, I need to get back to work.”
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute too.”
Jenny stood and zipped her skirt.
The red heeled girl didn’t move, not ‘til the sound of the sink was through and the swing of the door was quiet.
The stall door opened, and a man, five o’clock shadowed, dress shirt and tie on top, skirt, hose, and heels on bottom stepped out.
∞
So the first day of 10 Minute Stories is now done and over with. I’ve done two stories so far so keep the submissions coming to 10minutestories@gmail.com
I think that as I do more the 10 Minute time frame will become easier to deal with and the stories will get a little better each time. Writing against the clock like this is exhilarating to say the least. I use this countdown timer which is pretty cool because I write each story in a text editor and when the time is up it minimizes everything except that browser window.
Thank you all for participating, you inspire me.
∞
This idea submitted by WhoKilled.tumblr.com
________________________________________
It looked new, exciting, that black steel, and he was more than eager to take it out of the box under his father’s bed. 3 weeks ago he found it there, and 3 weeks he waited. Now was the time. It’s not that the love was bad, it was fine, but maybe that was the reason. Just fine. Not great— just fine. He wondered if this was the way every boy felt when they found their fathers gun.
It was cold to the touch. On his fingertips, smooth and cold. In the movies the badguys aim and shoot, and the goodguys aim and shoot back, the difference being that the goodguys only aim at the badguys. A heavy thing it was too, almost too heavy to handle gracefully, he found as he took it from the box. “What am I going to shoot first?” his mind fluttered. “Am I a goodguy or a badguy?”
He closed the empty box, and slid it back under the bed. In his room he aimed at a teddy bear that his aunt had given him last Christmas. It wasn’t the kind of toy he normally liked to play with, it didn’t make any noise or shoot any lasers. And so it was retired to the corner of his room, a stuffed bear without any purpose, a bear which received no playtime from him. Just a part of the background. He steadied his aim, imagining the bear to be a prisoner blindfolded and he the firing squad. He closed one eye, jutted out his tongue. His heart beating faster and faster. “Say your prayers!” He shouted at the bear. He pulled the trigger, and the nose of the bear became wet. His aim was spot on.
He wondered if all boys felt like this when they found their birthday present 3 weeks too early.
∞
Whew! My first official 10 Minute Story with the inspirational word Cupcakes contributed by Rebecca D. She left no link.
_________________________________________
At this point in time Little William Dorchester as he was more commonly known as a plump little child was not so little anymore, and had proved to be a handsome and tall young man of the age 18. At this point in every young man’s life the same question rings and rings endlessly: “What am I going to do with my life?” For some the answer comes easily enough, having had their mind set on a profession since birth it would seem. But for Not-so-Little William Dorchester the question was a bit more problematic. For you see he always knew what he wanted to be when he grew up, but at the same time knew that his parents, nor the rest of the general populace would approve. William Dorchesters dream profession was a Cupcake Maker. Of course his father had put seeds into his head that he had hoped would sprout into this son wanting to be a doctor, or a lawer, William had no idea the amount of frustration it would cause him upon hearing his desired lifetime hobby. “A WHAT maker?!?!” his father bellowed, “Son, how are you expected to provide for your family in that manner?”
“Father, I can open up my own shop. Little William’s Cupcakes, I’ll call it. And I’ll sell them for 15 cents a piece. I’ll make more than enough money that way.”
Needless to say, William was kicked out of the house that night. However, he hitched a train like he once saw in a movie and took it all the way to San Fransisco, whereupon arriving he met a beautiful girl named Jessica who would become his bride. She alone approved of his desire to make delicious bite sized cakes and worked waitressing to help him gain enough money to open Little William’s Cupcakes inc.
And they lived happily ever after, bringing joy to children for some 50 years.
∞
I haven’t recieved any emails yet, so here’s a short one I wrote earlier. The timer wasn’t exactly on when I wrote this story, (I wrote it a day before I decided to make this blog) but it took me about 10 Minutes. In case you couldn’t tell the submitted idea in this case would have been fire.
__________________________________________________________
“When will you understand that it won’t be the same after you’re gone?” muttered Edgar, keeping his eyes on the fire burning instead of on hers. “It does not need to be the same” was the response that he heard. There were only 20 days left at that point. 480 hours, and half of that spent sleeping, and Edgar knew he would never see her again, or rather, she would never see him again, seeing as how she was the one leaving. 480 hours, and it started so many more ago.
Quickly he glanced at her face, “Keep your eyes on that fire!”, his mind screamed and he obeyed, resolving that he did not need to see her face, he could picture it well enough in his mind. Yellow hair, fair skin, and green eyes that tinted brown around the edges of the pupil. Across the world it is common for girls to have eyes of green and brown, but where they lived it is a rarity, the first time he stared into those deep saucers he gazed half at their beauty and half in disbelief. Edgar himself was of a darker gypsy skin with a tear drop shaped nose that he had often wished terminated in a sharp jutting out of the face, making his silhouette that of a cliff wall, his nose and chin being cleavage in the sheer rock. The figures in the books he read all had silhouettes like these.
They met by the grace of Chance. Not Fate. Not Destiny. Make no mistake, these two were never supposed to be together although their intertwined fingers and lips locked in what an outsider would perceive as passion would suggest otherwise. It was because they were never meant to be together that their love was so strong. They played outside the rules of gods and stories and fairy-tales. The universe had to make up a new story for them as they went, they could fit in the shadow of no one else’s.
“Edgar” she mouthed but no sound came forth, and at the same time her name dripped from his lips into the fire where it licked and sizzled and fed off of it.
∞
All stories published here will be copyright Jacob Nicolas Martinez, but I’ll copyright them using this Creative Commons license. If you want to write your own book or story using the idea you submitted me go ahead, be free. If you feel at all uncomfortable with me writing your genius idea, the solution is simple, don’t send it to me.
If you do not like the story I write with your idea, I’m sorry, but I’m no Hemingway here. I offer no promises as to the quality of the stories that appear on the site.