Aug 132015

Welcome to Micro Bookends 1.43. I’m throwing in a wild card this week, so feel free to open your story with anything beginning with PLOT (PLOTS, PLOTTING, PLOTINUS…). Have fun:

A plot twist is an unexpected change in the direction of the plot of a movie, novel, television series or other narrative form. When a plot twist comes at the end of the movie, it is known as a surprise ending, and often completely changes the audience’s interpretation of earlier events. Revealing a twist to someone who has not seen the movie or read the book can ruin the experience for them. The movie 50 First Dates reveals the plot twist from The Sixth Sense.

According to Taste of Cinema, the top seven movie plot twists are (don’t worry; no spoilers here):

  1. Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back
  2. The Usual Suspects
  3. Planet of the Apes
  4. Les Diaboliques
  5. The Sixth Sense
  6. Psycho
  7. Citizen Kane

Sir Alfred Hitchcock, director of Psycho and master of the plot twist, was born on this day in Essex, England, in 1899. He made cameo appearances in 39 of his 52 movies, such as leaving the pet shop with his own dogs in the opening scene of the The Birds, and throwing away litter in The 39 Steps. Hitchcock was nominated for five Academy Awards for Best Director, but never won. In 1968 he was awarded the Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award, which is awarded by the Academy to ‘creative producers, whose bodies of work reflect a consistently high quality of motion picture production.’ His acceptance speech is the shortest in the history of the Academy Awards:

Thank you… very much indeed.

Join me in a celebration of all things Hitchcockian with this week’s photo prompt:

Photo Credit: coia.nac via CC.

Photo Credit: coia.nac via CC.

The Judge

Judging this week’s contest is Karl A. Russell, winner of MB1.42. Read his winning story and what he has to say about flash fiction here.


A story of between 90 and 110 words starting with PLOT* and ending with TWIST and incorporating the photo prompt.


Anyone, but especially you!


Why not! Because it’s fun. Because it’s a challenge. Because the winner will receive their own winner’s page, their story on the winning stories list, a ‘Who is the author?’ feature to be posted next week, entry into the ‘Micro Bookend of the Year’ competition, and a copy of this year’s winning stories compilation.


Now! Get your entry in BEFORE 5:00 am Friday (UK time:




Post your story in the comments section. Include the word count and your Twitter username (if you’re Twitterized). Don’t forget to read the full rules before submitting your story.

Anything else?

Please give your story a title. It will not be included in the word count.

Please try to leave comments on a couple of other stories. It’s all part of the fun, and everyone likes feedback!

Remember, only stories that use the bookends exactly as supplied (punctuation, including hyphens and apostrophes, is allowed) will be eligible to win.

  162 Responses to “Micro Bookends 1.43 – PLOT* [micro] TWIST”

  1. @MarsEnyalios
    110 Words

    Accidents Happen

    Plotting to kill you has never been an easy task.

    You’re a resourceful little monster who’s never in the wrong place at the right time.

    I tried to make it look like an accident at one point, to shove you down curling stairs.

    You accidentally survived.

    I tried throwing an avalanche or mudslide on you.

    Like the amphibian that first slithered on its belly from the murky waters of the ocean, you crawled back out.

    I began to wonder if you were invulnerable, like the myths of Greek and Roman gods.

    But as I met you the last time, I learned that all your neck needed was a little twist.

  2. Name: @dazmb
    Words: 110

    Title: Loving more not less

    Plot the constellations of your loved ones.

    The memories that sun can map to bone.

    The quiet touch of your wife.

    Your children’s faces as they made for it on the run, under threat of a tickle …

    The blessings that love gave you.

    Waiting by the stairs, as front door opens into the fierce grief of your wife and the disbelieving numbness of Tom and little Sarah.

    ‘…deep in your hearts he’ll will always be with us. Never forget that.’

    Surrounding them with all the love you can muster.

    Softly singing the psalms of letting go.

    As outside a rustle of leaves spirals upwards in an autumnal breeze’s twist…

  3. I Need A Woman …

    ‘Plotting again Spike,’ she said pulling his pint.

    ‘I need a woman … don’t look at me like that Dee, I mean for

    ‘Anything I can help with?’

    ‘Come up to my office.’

    ‘Just taking my break,’ Dee shouted out.

    They climbed the twisting staircase leading to the unopened restaurant and slid into a corner booth.

    Spike took out his mobile and pulled up an image of a man.

    ‘You need to follow him.’

    ‘Why, what’s he done?’

    ‘You don’t need to know that, you just need to follow him.’

    ‘On my own?’

    ‘No, put this in your ear so we can keep in contact … give it a twist.’

    • Word count 106
      Twitter @carolrosalind

    • I want to know what the man’s done! Mysterious story.

    • Nicely done. Evenly paced and nice dialogue…made me think I’d read much more than 106 words!

      • Thanks so much for your comments, this is the first time I’ve posted anything here. I’ve only been writing since last Sept and it’s a great feeling to know someone has actually read something I’ve written.

  4. Listen

    (108 words)
    Plot. Plot. Plot. The constant drip in his mind.
    Blare! Its absence a louder silence.
    Tic talk, tic talk the boss’s late night meeting chews up time.Tap.Tap.Tap. The little hammer of jargon knocking out empty, reflexes on his face.
    Book. Book. Book. Explodes in his head while he nods taciturn at the targets, pain points and bleeding edges dribble dribble dribbling with corporate, violent sound.
    He wants back to his desk at home, eating dinner from his keyboard through the lick of screen light.
    Snap. Snap. Snap. Bowf. His boss’s wind-up mouth. And so he’s heading for the staircase with its spiral twist twist twist.

  5. the announcement
    (w/c – 110)


    Plot holes in films are hilarious. At least that’s what my room-mate used to say.
    Watching a film with him was like trying to read a book while constantly being elbowed in the ribs. You’d almost be lost in the story when he would point something out and B-A-M! you were right back in the communal TV room feeling disorientated and heavy headed.
    We no longer watch films together. Not since his mother’s announcement.
    Even now he pretends not to recognise me when we pass each other in the halls.
    No one saw it coming. Him or me. But boy, it was one hell of a twist!

  6. Name: @dazmb
    Words: 107

    Title: Plotzing

    ‘Plotzing?’ That’s not a word.

    ‘Yes it is. Now let me see. Z on the double letter, P and G on triple words scores. Add in the extra 50… that’s 320 points. Give up now, sis?’

    ‘Take it off. It’s not a word’

    ‘Yes it is’

    ‘No. It’s. Not’

    ‘Yes it is. And quit being such a baby…’

    The scrabble board launches into the air, tiles fly everywhere

    ‘Mom!’ stomping down the stairs. ‘Tom’s cheating, he’s made up a word that doesn’t even mean anything.’

    ‘It’s what you’re doing right now, dumbass’


    ‘Right now’

    ‘I hate you…’

    ‘Right now, with your knickers all in a twist…”

  7. Investment

    110 words


    Plot after empty plot filled the landscape, each waiting open-mouthed for its occupant. Property development had indeed proved a lucrative field of investment. Punters seduced by promises of spectacular returns queued to signed my dotted line.

    And when business failed and they railed at me in their desperation, I merely pointed to the small print … nothing was guaranteed, except that I would reap a harvest of the damned.

    Now they take those steps that lead to me, steps carved from the trees of my seventh circle, steps that sing the stories of the souls crushed within. All are greeted with this perversion of welcome, a requiem with a twist.

  8. Trip Hazard

    ‘Plotting to kill me?’
    He asks in jest and I chuckle, as he expects me to. I pick up the slipping rug that almost sent him toppling down those treacherous stairs.
    ‘I put it there because…,’ but he dismissed my explanation with a ‘yes, dear’ and asks when lunch will be ready. I inspect the uneven floorboards, looking for the loose one. No matter where I push, they won’t stay level. Someone will trip over them.
    ‘Lunch, dear? I am quite hungry, you know.’
    Will I get away with it if he stumbles, falls and his neck takes a twist?

    100 words

    • I’d love to know more. I thought she might work for him since he ‘dismissed’ her excuse. Very good use of the bookends.

      • Thank you! I think she was his wife, but he treated her more like a servant…

        • Of course! They’re calling each other ‘dear’! Yeah, I might at least get him to trip up now and again even if I didnt go the whole hog! Great relationship.

    • I’ve noticed with older folk that meal times become an obsession, their world revolving around food. Sounds as though she got fed up with being ignored.

    • Ha! I might think twice now before giving my wife a ‘yes, dear’ brush off!

  9. The Medieval Monster

    Plot by day, execute by night
    Hear the children scream in fright



    A present to them I shall give
    False hope: a promise to live
    Let them escape: up and out
    Catch them as they cry and shout
    The time is close; it’s so very near
    To eat the little dear

    As I open my mouth ever so wide
    Footsteps I hear coming to where I hide
    Who should open the door but a knight
    The father has come with the end of night
    Pain comes with blows from his fist
    Death comes; I struggle and twist

    WC: 110

  10. Laments of a Killer (110 words)

    Plotinus said life is the flight of the alone to the alone and Derek felt alone, aside from the dead body at the bottom of the stairs, unmoving. Dead bodies didn’t move unless moved, but Derek instead sat atop the stairs.

    His hands dug into the dust and the grime and he wondered what had gone wrong. It would seem obvious to the layperson that entered and saw the blood that trailed the dead body’s movements down the stairs or noticed the angle of the dead body’s neck.

    But Derek meant the emptiness; no adrenaline this time coursing through his veins. For a seasoned killer, this was quite the twist.

  11. King Marcus
    110 words

    Plotting Cousin Edwin’s demise was easy. Executing it (and him) was not.

    Marcus’ “acquaintances” kidnapped the prince. Edwin returned with the kidnapper’s head.

    Edwin was ten years old.

    Marcus arranged hunting accidents, raids by bandits, and (when Edwin was a bit older) poison via beautiful women. He had someone trip Edwin in a stairwell. He had another someone push Edwin off a cliff.

    The boy was indestructible.

    At Edwin’s coronation, he choked on a piece of celery.

    King Marcus didn’t see his little brother in the stairwell. He tripped and landed badly, neck bones snapping until his head was backwards.

    Damn, Marcus thought, as his life-force faded.

    What a twist!

  12. @firdausp
    (109 words)
    Plotting a prank is serious business.
    From the garden, he could hear his parents shouting at each other. A little later he heard his father leave.
    A new nanny was arriving today. He was both excited and apprehensive. He sighted a little frog in the bushes. Smiling, he quietly crept up the winding staircase to his parents room.
    The new nanny seemed okay. He watched his mother give directions, and warn her about snakes and spiders she may find in her things.
    Snatching her purse, his mother rushed to get to her Lady’s Club. They heard a loud scream from outside.
    He smiled smugly.
    Mom wasn’t expecting this twist!

  13. In Memoriam

    Plot (single): $2,000

    Grave liner: $1,800 (seriously?)

    Opening/closing of grave: $1,475 (note—Saturday surcharge because they can, the vultures)

    Maintenance fee: $250

    Headstone (includes installation): $3,200 (note: sappy text still needed for engraver)

    Coffin (“solid cherry”?? as if. What a ripoff): $3,490

    Flowers for funeral service & gravesite: donated by friends and family (awesome!!!!!!!! <– write thank you notes)

    Funeral home fees (incl embalming & death certificate): $3,800 (Q: tip for (smarmy) director??)

    Post-funeral dinner: covered by in-laws (TELL SOPHIA TO NOT LET M-I-L COOK!! BLECH!!!!!!!!!!)

    Anticipated total: $16,015

    Anticipated life insurance payout: $2,000,000

    Whoops, hahaha! Almost forgot!

    Dead body: kiss (disgusting! HELLO BREATHMINT) + $5 martini with a twist

    109 words

    • PS. Photo inspiration: the downward stairs reminded me of the steps into a crypt. Also, of money going down the drain. And murder, obv.

    • Holy cow, that’s some twist! You always make me laugh with your smart, witty, funny word play!

    • I think I’m going to laugh myself to death and it’s going to cost someone! 😂😂

      • Please direct all claims to the contest host; if you read the fine print of my story’s subtitle, you’ll see I have undiplomatic immunity.

        • Stop! I’m bursting already! You have such a fantastic sense of humour. Just love it!! 😆

    • An people complain about the cost of LIVING!! We can always depend on you to come up with an original angle, Rebekah! And another subtle incorporation of the photo prompt…

      [ You seem to have done a lot of research… got someone in mind? 😉 ]

      • I love research! So often comes in useful at the most unexpected times. PS. Who’s thirsty?

    • Almost expected you to end it with a quiet cremation in the garden the way the costs were totting up! You made the use of bookends and prompt appear so easy.

  14. Stairway to Heaven
    (110 words)


    “No! Potting!”

    Memory of my mother gardening grows like a vine wrapping around till the wall hiding me from my past disappears. Carried bags of potting soil down the old rickety stairs to the garden.

    If she wasn’t gardening then she was at church. She thought Miracle-Gro was ordained by priests. Holy water was for daffodils.

    She turned pruning into art, till the vegetable garden had all the elements of “The Last Supper” splashed against dark electric soil canvass.

    Dandelions a problem; demon lawn pandemonium merchants. I can still hear her; “You have to give them a good twisting.”

    My father was buried under the stairs.

    They twist.

  15. Road Trip
    Word Count 110

    “Plotting coordinates on a map,” Meagan answered.
    “With push-pins?” Her son asked.
    “Yes – not everything needs to be done digitally.”
    “But then we have to take the map with us!” He grumbled.

    Later, they sat side by side in the old Toyota she hoped she wouldn’t have to pass down to her son. She hoped a lot of things, including breaking down this wall that grew between them.
    His nose stuck in his phone, her eyes on the road as they entered the mountains.
    “Something’s going on with my phone! I’ve lost service.”
    Meagan smiled, triumphant, but hid it quickly. “Time for that map! Now, isn’t this a twist?”

  16. Stairway to Heaven
    (110 words)

    Plot’s already dug at the knock, knock.
    The caramel voice rises up from the stairs.
    ‘Come see. Come see, Little One. There’s nothing to stop you. The white gate Mummy’s always so careful to close lies wide open: Silly Mummy fumbled running to answer the door.
    Don’t you want to see who has Mummy’s attention?
    Come look. Come look.
    Don’t be afraid. I’ll cradle you in my wooden bones, just tip toe in your little cotton socks to the polished edge. That’s it. A little closer. Closer still. That’s right. Can you hear Mummy talk? No? Lean over, a little more. Lean.That’s it…
    Oh, Dear…

    • David, could you place my closing quotation mark after the word
      (Hopefully my 3 end words do look like steps. I’m using my phone and can’t be sure.) Thanks so much.

    • I love this, as soon as I read ‘caramel voice’ I pictured the child catcher from chitty chitty bang bang. There was a grim inevitability about the rest of the story…which I nevertheless was compelled to read through scrunched up eyes.

      • Thanks so much, that’s what I was hoping for. I deliberately didn’t do a twist which is where the first sentence came from: ‘Plot already dug…’ Glad it worked.

    • Great sinister tone to this, the voice with its persuasive, friendly ‘evilness’, wonderfully done.

  17. @fs_iver
    WC: 107


    Plotted plans and careful goals, engraved on paper with measured lines. Gel-ink hearts crowned your “I”s to seal the pact with your fledgling soul.

    Comfort seeped from those well-thought words – “education,” “love,” “marriage” – down to the color of your borders – “white picket” – and the numbers of your happiness – “two children,” “one dog.”

    The cord firmly in your teeth, you fixed the kamal betwixt Polaris and the sea.

    But how can you chart what’s unknown?

    Your maps said nothing of sneaking up the staircase, of how babies and diseases spread, of lust’s masquerade as love.

    Helpless, you watched your reflection mount for the pirouette, then the ankle twist.

  18. @OpheliaLeong
    Word Count: 108

    The Bell Tower

    “Plot, and I mean a good one, is key to any mystery story,” said Mr. Hackbar. Rose floated around him and rolled her eyes, knowing he couldn’t see her.
    Someone raised a hand. “Can we go yet? It’s windy up here.”
    Rose looked around; everyone was shivering. The view from the old bell tower was inspiring, but it was cold.
    “In a moment, Mark. This bell tower was the setting for one of the most famous mystery novels ever written.”
    “I heard someone actually died going down the stairs years ago,” a blond girl whispered obnoxiously.
    Rose giggled. She, better than anyone alive, knew about the novel’s twist.

  19. @PattyannMc
    WC: 110

    Afraid of the Dark

    Plotting her steps – imperative . . .

    . . . Remembers the image of rotted rickety stairs.

    . . . Committed to memory.

    Jeremy attacked her, blinded her down there long ago.

    . . . No choice going down. She needs heat.

    . . . Matchsticks in hand, door creaking.

    . . . Goose bumps; memories!

    . . . ‘One, two, three . . .’ gripping the shaky rail.

    The ancient furnace stood in the far corner, waiting for lighting.

    . . . Cigarette smoke stung her nose.

    . . . Panic rose – imagination!

    In the dark, Jeremy waited for her.

    . . . Dropping the cigarette, he stepped on it.

    . . . Movement in the corner, in front of her!

    . . . She froze.

    “Remember me?” Sinister whispering. “I’ve come to finish . . .”

    . . . Terrified screaming . . .

    . . . His hands squeezed.

    The last sound she heard was her neck twist . . .


    Brian S Creek
    110 words

    “Plot 24,” says Chris.

    “Are you sure it’s not haunted?” asks Mike, examining the old house. “It looks like it should be haunted.”

    “That’s not why this place is special,” says Chris, a mischievous smile adorning his face.

    The pair head inside where Chris leads his friend to the rickety staircase. Slow and steady they make the climb.

    After a hundred and fifty, Mike gives up counting. “Are you kidding me?” he says between breaths, minutes feeling like hours.

    “Nearly there,” says Chris.

    Finally they reach the top and step out through a small wooden door.

    “Where are we?” says Mike.

    “It’s our world,” replies Chris. “But with a twist.”


    Brian S Creek
    105 words

    Plotting an assassination.

    A man has to be patient, smart, methodical.

    This warehouse is the best place to make the shot. East corner, fifth floor. Great view of the main road. The motorcade passes in fifteen minutes. Doesn’t give me much time.

    I grab the handrail and start up the stairs; old stairs, noisy stairs. The wood groans under my weight. I have to take it easy. Don’t want to give myself away. It’s tough, but I reach the fifth.

    There he is. Filthy assassin. Can’t let him make that shot today.

    I sneak up slow. He doesn’t have a clue.

    Knife goes in.


  22. @PattyannMc
    WC: 110

    The Scene

    “Plotzing and spritzing . . .”

    “Wait. What?” George boiled. “What the hell’s that?”

    “What’s what?” Ferngus lisped.

    “That, ‘plotzing and spritzing’ line. That’s not what the script says.”

    “It isn’t? Oh, well . . .”

    “Oh well, my ass. Look. This play has a Hitchcockian aura. We don’t need any fluffing of the narrative from you. It says what the Writer WANTS it to say, so either read it correctly or you’re out. Got it?”

    “Mm-hmm. Got it George. My apologies.”

    “Do it again. This time, no monkey business. Time is money. Go.”

    “Plotzing . . .”



    “Get out! Take the stairs.”

    “Well I never . . .” He sashayed.

    “Look Ferngus, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

    • This made me chuckle.

    • Fun story! Glad to see we were on the same wavelength with respect to our underwear (I used the same phrase to bookend my entry!)

      • You did? That’s so cool! I don’t read the other stories before I write mine, just to keep other voices from entering my writing process, so that’s so truly fun! 😀

    • Fun story, the camp tone made me chuckle especially as Ferngus sashays out in a huff.

      • I like it when men sashay! It’s so unnatural for them to do, it makes it laughable! Glad you liked it, Steph. 🙂

  23. @AvLaidlaw
    110 Words

    A Home is a Safe Place

    Plotting a safe passage through childhood wasn’t easy. I’d spend most of time in the cupboard under the stairs. It was the only safe place from my father. I listened for the thump thump of his boots on the stairs above me, for him calling my name. I tried wedging the door but he always found me.

    Other kids had violent dads who got drunk and beat them. Mine frightened me more. He was a big man, worked in the car factory, and his hand smothered mine as he led me into the garden.

    The chickens pecked the ground.

    “It’s easy,” he said, “just give its neck a little twist.”

  24. @stellakateT
    110 words

    Beware What You Wish For;

    “Plot number Four is down those stairs Madam”

    Glancing at the catalogue I’d only asked because it was his favourite number and there was no photograph amongst the 100 Unique Resting Places. I quite liked number 97, your ashes stuffed down a crack on Mount Kilimanjaro. I was being presumptuous as Kenny was laying in ITU clinging onto life. I’d always been a planner. When I first met him I was planning our wedding within the hour.

    “Did she visit Plot Four?”
    Sarah nodded. “She loved it so much she staying”

    Kenny laughed; he was being transferred out of ITU, a cast iron alibi. Best laid plans with a twist.

  25. The Night Man
    Word Count: 110

    “P-L-O-T” he pointed at the crayon-etched word with a grubby finger.
    “That’s what I’m gonna be.” He stated matter-of-factly.
    I added the missing “I”.
    “Plots are in stories, Pilots are in the air.”
    He looked puzzled.
    “But I’m in a story.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    I was not payed enough to babysit for this long.
    “Well, story ends here. Bedtime.”
    “But the night man is upstairs.” He said.
    He said it so simply that for a moment I think I believed him.
    “He’s coming downstairs.”
    “And what does that mean?”
    “He’ll get us. No more story.”
    It sounded real.
    “What was that?”
    “The end.”
    “What, why?”
    “…Necks twist.”

  26. Don’t Judge Me
    110 words

    ‘Plots remaining – last few!’ the building site mocks as we enter – Breeze blocks / writer’s block.
    Your body in the boot bounces as I take speed humps – there’s a muffled cry.

    I didn’t hit you hard enough.

    Ironically, that’s what you critics said.

    I pull up.

    They build these tower blocks like lego – each one virtually identical.

    You said that about my tales too.

    You’re dragged up tight turns of staircase leading to the latest floor.

    You said my stories had many flaws.

    Count these ones going down.

    There’s your new twist.

  27. @TheatreSean
    110 words

    The Plots Concluded

    Plots were concluded. The Secret Agent had addressed all of the circumstances given him by an odd anarchist named S. Nicholas.

    The Secret Agent was seated with Mister Nicholas; he said: “The machines except that one there have been placed and set. All things will be gone.”

    The Femme Fatale stepped from the shadows.

    She shot him.

    And, as the Secret Agent lay dying, he asked: “Who are you for me to have done this terrible deed?”

    “Saint Nicholas will do.”

    And, long into the night, were that Femme and Old Nick playing the 45 single dancing to The Twist.

  28. Oliver Twist Falls in Love

    (110 words)

    Plot right out of Dickens:

    Brick on wood, the day piling on itself then burning, crackling – like footsteps across the hot coals of a summer evening.

    In an old church a pulse raced upwards toward a bell that armed a mass or emergency; a heart beating an electric path to your door.

    Fagin offered me riches – Satan doesn’t want love.

    Artful Dodger tried to take you from me – might as well take time from a watch.

    Worlds apart /united; you from excess, and I poverty.

    Down stairs together; spiritual spiral of wooden angel wings. At landing, you handed me DVD of “Rear Window.” I handed you the novel, “Oliver Twist.”

  29. Obsession

    Plotting the revenge has drained every last ounce of vitality from her body. The tear-streaked plush pillows cradle her weary form. The piles of research papers litter her desk and her bed. It has to be the perfect revenge where not a drop of blood would be shed, but he should suffer till eternity. It has been months since the incident; the weight of every moment weighs her down.
    She tries to get up, but stumbles and faints.

    When she comes to, she finds Robbie sitting by her bed, stroking her hair, “Honey, you must relax. The novel is coming together nicely, even without that perfect plot twist.”

  30. The Backdoor Ninja
    A.J. Walker

    Plotting each and every footfall on the stairs it’s possible to enter – and leave – the house without making a sound. I must go all ninja so I can escape without being detected. Of course, so no one suspects it’s possible, at all other times I blunder down the rickety old mahogany like a herd of elephants – so I’m told.

    But tonight I am sneaking. Freedom from prying eyes awaits if I can leave without raising the alarm. Not a creak… hop, skip, slide, jump, hop and out. Not a sound. Success!

    An hour later I’m back. Something’s wrong about the lock; the key stutters when I try a forceful twist.

    (110 words)

  31. @GeoffHolme
    Word Count: 110


    Plotovsian Dances,” said Chris, irritably removing the headphones.

    Polovtsian,” Mike corrected. “Didn’t know you’re into opera.”

    “Huh! Too busy leading us into scrapes with scary monsters.”

    “You like it!”

    “Not all the time.”

    “That why you’re wrapped in your duvet, with a hottie and chocs? I’ve been calling you from that German bierkeller, Das Pardies. A Bigfoot has been… Woah! Put the Magnum…”


    “You are in a bad way, missing me from that distance!”

    “Didn’t miss you… hit him!”

    Mike turned to see the Yeti crash to the floor.

    “Nice work, Christina! We should go out and celebrate.”

    Out, Michaela? In the middle of PMT? You’re round the twist!”

    • Apologies to Brian S Creek!

      [ Missed your competition, Brian, by a few hours… Am I too late with this one? 😀 ]

    • Christina and Michaela – getting in touch with their feminine side! Fun version. 🙂

      • Thanks, Steph. It was just for fun. ( It would be awful if I actually won, when Brian has entered the kosher version… :-\ )

  32. — The Biggest Folly Of The Fool —

    PLOT. Double-word, 26 points. Big lead, last few tiles. Another rent-free day for yours truly.

    Mrs Morgenstern’s an unconventional landlady. Before I moved in upstairs, she spelt it out.

    “One game of Words With Friends every night. When I win,” she said, “you start paying.”

    That was six months ago and I’ve yet to pay a shekel. An English degree has its advantages. I buy milk, run the odd errand. I’m not a total schmuck.

    Ding! That was quick for her.

    Since when was PLOTZ a word? ZING down to the triple gives Mrs M. 146 points and victory!

    Ain’t that a twist?

    109 words

  33. Word Count: 110
    Title: Beta Reader

    “‘Plotless’?” I stopped mid-plod, slack-jawed. The furnace fumed, its fury furling over the whimper of wilted stairs. He continued his descent.

    “Yeah, that. It don’t make no sense.” The tobacco churning in his maw slightly slurred his toxically laced words. “Why’d he up and kill his brother like that?”

    “Murder needs justification?” I struggled to step forward.

    “Maybe not for us,” his cheek bulged. “But it’s so outta character. He got too much to lose.”

    “So wealth trumps passion?” I creaked towards him.

    “Face it: you’re a janitor. ’Tain’t so bad after a while.”

    Tobacco splattered the stairs as I fed the famished furnace. Embers ascended in a brittle twist.

  34. Prose And Praise For Breakfast

    Plot was her downfall but I always played along. Without glancing up from my coffee and sports section, I ventured in. “What’s it about?”

    “A lonely bank teller joins forces with a marshmallow-tusked robot walrus and a bilingual unicorn hologram. They fight crime on Jupiter!”

    “Very creative. Even more than the one about discovering Bigfoot on a liquid stairway to Prague.”

    “Hold on. Get this. They use tangerines and habanero peppers to extract confessions!”

    “Wow. I bet your writers group loves it.”

    “They do! ‘Breathtakingly brilliant’ was the consensus. They adore me! So supportive!”

    “Go figure.”

    “Wanna read it?”

    “Absolutely.” After I accidentally choke on this metaphorical cinnamon twist.

    109 words

  35. @firdausp
    Plotzing round the bend
    (110 words)

    Plotzing on the dance floor can be embarassing, especially if you’re ‘the man’.
    Aha! Now I’ve got your attention.
    So my GF dumped me, and I felt the creaky, spiral stairs to my heart, collapse. I was at the bar drowning my sorrows. Maybe I’d had one too many.
    She walked up to me, this very curvy lady, by curvy I mean, if you can’t steer you’ll run off the cliff type curves. Big ones!
    Anyway, I said WTH and scrambled after her to the dance floor.
    She had some nice moves and then we did some intricate manoeuvres.
    That’s when I got all excited and fainted in a twist!

  36. @Emi_Livingstone

    Family Obligations
    (109 words)

    Plot 117 was purchased and waiting. Aunt Vera had predicted her demise. Neighbors hadn’t seen Vera lately, and called her last relative.

    She twisted her wedding ring on her finger. If Paul hadn’t left, she could’ve asked him to come.

    Each empty room filled her with temporary relief…until she’d searched them all.

    Sandy opened the basement door. As a girl, she’d feared the creepy spiral stairs. She descended. Then she saw the pile of fabric and limbs. Her stomach lurched.

    “Hurry up. This is taking forever.”

    The voice came from Vera’s ghost, hovering above the body, hands on hips.

    “Well?” it said.

    Sandy gulped, giving her ring another twist.

  37. Conflict
    by Nancy Chenier @rowdy_phantom
    108 words

    Plot it out before you start.

    Nah, jump on in! Don’t check the temperature, just force yourself to swim.

    You’ll have to do major re-writes after pants-ing it—that is, if you can make sense of the lexical babbling.

    Kill the internal critic. Free your creativity!

    You need to have at least a loose idea of beginning, middle, and end.

    Inspiration comes when you’re engaged giving your imagination free rein. Just do it!

    Think of a staircase.

    Think of a star-smeared sky!

    Hey, not bad. You managed some rising and falling action. And that’s a pretty decent twist.

    Wait! What? You call that a twist??

    • I do a bit of both, wing it for half the story and plot the rest to tie it all up. But I definitely have that inner voice as I work. Nice story.

  38. Her Handyman

    “Plot’s dug, sweetie. Ready to use any time it strikes your fancy.”

    “Hmmm. That was quick, Lawrence. Takes most people an hour to dig a hole 6 by 3 by 7 feet long. You telling me you dug such a hole in 10 minutes?”

    “I measured it, darling; really put my back into it. “

    “I’m sure you did. But did you dig it right where the cellar stairs ends?”

    “Uh, huh.”

    “And did you cover the hole with a carpet that would fool a rug salesman?”

    “Uh, huh.”

    “Good. Now run downstairs, check the handle of the machete in the hole and give it a twist.”

    109 plot twists

  39. Twist of Fate.

    Plotting for more than a week now. They believe me to be dumber than I actually am. I notice the abrupt change of topic when I go near them – my best friend, and my wife.

    They are planning to finish me off, and elope. It was no surprise when he blindfolded me and brought me down from my room. I complied with their wishes and tripped on purpose to fall down the staircase and felt a searing pain.

    “Shame, he had to fall. We had been planning so much for his birthday. I don’t think he would enjoy his cake now that his ankle is in a twist.”

    108 words

    Posted on my blog @

  40. A twisted twist. Nice story.

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