White bedsheets flapping in the heavy breeze. Orange shrapnel from withered branches impotently scrape the stiffening linens.

I never saw an owl in my backyard, nor a black cat elbowed and shrieking on my fence.

But I can smell the wet detritus of autumn by the cellar windows and drip, drip, dripping from the gutter.

The doorbell. A banging on the screen door. Shaving cream in the middle of the street. These things, too.

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Qner over 12 years ago

"But I can smell the wet detritus of autumn by the cellar windows and drip, drip, dripping from the gutter."

There's a quiet moment of sense evoked here that reminds me of how I would have instinctively perceived the holiday as a child. Yet it's told from an adult's POV. Suddenly I want to celebrate Halloween!

mroshaugh (joined almost 13 years ago)
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Veteran of the 90s zine revolution.
Spreading myself thin over blogs, Twitter, FB, etc.
Favorite authors include David Markson, Lydia Davis, Robertson Davies, Donald Barthelme and Richard Brautigan.

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Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0

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fiction poetry

Prompt

Blank Prompt

Freeform prompt. Every Friday, writers face a blank page without any prompt. They write whatever they want in six minutes or less.
Prompt suggested by Galen

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