STORY # 348 (48 words)

AMAREVOLE

He lifted the arm, set needle into groove.
The crackle and hiss of old vinyl acted as prelude to the music.
He closed his eyes.
The first note (her favorite part) sang out and he remembered holding her in his arms.
Every year, once a year, this ritual.


(title submitted by Barry Crider)

YOU ARE THE BITTER, I AM THE SWEET

These rolls are getting weird (again). It's happened a few times throughout the year. First, I keep coming up with really high numbers, several landing in the 80's in the last two weeks. Then, today comes up 48 and it's story # 348. Most of you are probably reading this and saying to yourself, "So what?" And you're right. It's not like I'm going to drive to Reno and bet a bunch of money on derivations of 4 and 8 (and maybe 3). Nor will I be plagued by dreams about the repeated numbers (well, now I will, but only because I've put so much time into writing about them, not because of the rolls themselves).

Anyway, for those interested: Amarevole is an Italian musical term that, according to two different sources, means "with bitterness, poignantly" or "pleasantly bitter." So, to me, that sounds like a cooler, more European version of bittersweet, no? It may also interest you to know that San Jose eighth-grader Ramya Auroprem misspelled the word earlier this year, thus dashing her own dreams of winning the Scripps National Spelling Bee. Bitter, yes, but I wonder if there was any pleasantness in the defeat. Probably not.

And, finally, for anyone interested, the Sacramento Bee ran a story on this project in today's paper (and on the website). That link is here: http://www.sacbee.com/topstories/story/2393154.html#none

STORY # 347 (82 words)

HOT PEPPERS

At thirteen, Kirsten imagined love was like getting pushed off a cliff.
You knew it might happen (you were standing near the edge after all); but when it did, you still lost your breath.
At nineteen, it felt more like eating a mouthful of hot peppers.
You chose whether to eat, and once you did, only the strongest kept chewing.
At thirty-seven, love was a boxing match.
Still, every so often, she stood in her garden, munching jalapenos just the same.


(title submitted by Nichola Owens)

ODDS AND ENDS

Despite the odds, today's roll really was 82. But, in all honesty, I didn't roll it; my son did. I just can't believe how many have come up in the 70's and 80's since this December challenge started. Here's to hoping I continue to get beefy numbers, so I can thoroughly develop your titles. It's tough to find an appropriate ending to something so short when someone else has supplied the name (read: direction) of the thing.

Thanks for visiting and reading. If you haven't submitted a title, please do! I'm running low and we're not even half way through December.

STORY # 346 (83 words)

A TRIP, A TRAP, AND SPAGHETTI

It was Friday and school had been out less than an hour.
Henry Dutch, local dealer extraordinaire, traded us three hits of windowpane for a Steely Dan record and Ted’s dad’s watch.
By midnight we were in the woods seeing tracers against the full moon.
It was Lanny who found the raccoon, its leg snared between two iron jaws.
We tried to set it free, not trusting our own dexterity to follow through.
Ted fed it pasta until animal control saved the day.


(title submitted by J.T. Quillan III)

STORY # 345 (88 words)

FUNK NOT ONLY MOVES, IT CAN REMOVE…DIG?

When Lynda first found the stuff it was a seemingly insignificant dollop of mold in the corner of the windowsill.
After weeks, she set out to clean it, only to find that it had inexplicably moved to the opposite corner.
“I need sleep,” Lynda muttered as she doused the funk with spray and wiped it away.
Next morning, it was back, three times the size and nestled in the living room’s crown molding.
She fought it for months, finally giving up and relocating after it consumed the cat.


(title submitted by Andy Aston)

STORY # 344 (22 words)

LAND, GRANT!

Above the treetops now.
Neighborhood kids yelling: “Grant!”
Floating higher.
“Grant!” mother cries.
By nightfall, he is a speck against the moon.


(title submitted as "Land Grant" by Bradly Nabors)