I was going to give us a year-end break, but… nah!
You are cold. This winter has you colder than ever,
surrounded by more snow and/or ice and/or blustery
winds than ever before.
In 100 words or fewer, tell me how cold you are.
Use at least one of these terms:
blue / prune / Mike Firesmith / whining / 293847
Your story may be serious or lighthearted or as silly as you like just so long as it is 100 words or fewer.
Post your stories to Genre Shorties.
This is a moderated group and only articles posted for the prompts are accepted.
(I do not know Michael Firesmith. As of this moment we are not yet Gather Friends, but our hostess, Tracy suggested I go for the Firesmith prompt. So here it is plus others.)
ICE AND MIKE
© 2010 By David Wainland
I was alone, the last author on a frozen earth. Looking for that one warm place left, I returned to my cottage, icicles dribbling from the roof, snow covering the door like an old ladies shawl.
Freezing I twisted the frozen combination lock, 293847, it gave, inside a dim candle and a hunched figure, blue, prune-tipped fingers scratching slushy ink on a solitary sheet of paper, Michael Firesmith.
“Who are you? I believed I was the last.”
“David W, I thought that also. I remember you from Gather.”
“We have a problem.”
“Two writers, one sheet of paper.”