Winter 50 Word Contest
Welcome to our Winter 50 Word Contest. We run one of these every once in a while. You know how they go. This is a 50 word story contest, and the story can be about anything. It just has to be 50 words. The winner of the story will win $1000 in free ads on our site. You can promote anything writing related, your book, your magazine, whatever you like. It can’t be a casino though, or something shady and unwriting related. So here are the rules:
Story about anything
Story must be 50 words or under
Post the story in the comments
Best story wins $1000 in ads and an email blast
Dead line is March 20th (first day of sprint)
Use your real email to post the story (it will NOT be given out)
Enter as many times as you like
The winner will be announced one week after the deadline on March 27th. If you win we will contact you by email. Make sure that when you leave your story you use your real email to leave the comment. Good luck.
We are waiting for responses from the winners of the contest. We would like to wait until they respond. Several times we have had winners NOT want to have their names given out. I don’t know why. I think sometimes people enter because they don’t think they will win and then they get freak out a little when they do. Either way, when we hear back we will let everyone know. So check your emails!
Has there been a winner selected,please?
When ,please, do you post winner( s)?
Winner comes tomorrow. March 5th….
Is that a drum roll I hear?
We are still working over the entries. We will try to have an answer very soon.
He stood there, motionless. Making him a victim of the cold rain. His eyes broke their dams too, letting the sadness form into drops of water. There were times when he used to hide tears from her. He slowly kept the umbrella on her tomb. Once she had said she easily caught cold whenever she got out in rain.
After the carnage, what? Harold hoped to instill fear. Fear of the status quo. Fear that acknowledged the failures of society. The fear that Harold felt in his bones. The fear that would cause his bones to splinter into needles, pricking consciences, forcing action. Life couldn’t go on like this.
The report hit the chef’s desk with a resounding thud. Graphs, illustrations, photos and an extensive typescript of the proceedings. The report covered every aspect of the nearly forgotten trial, infamous as it had once been. Alice looked at Arlo with a grimace, then signaled surrender with two fingers upheld.
We are extending the deadline until Friday 3/25/16
His blood glistened fresh and vivid in pools on the yellow tile. Gunpowder scented the air, pungent and burnt. In the aftermath of the gunshot silence prevailed. The still body signified nothing, just meat, inert. The murderer hesitant, but proud, lingering. Being dead was like a story without a plot.
She never used her real name; her protagonists assailed her after dark that she often used the backdoor, and the mouse faced pygmy lighted jasmine scented candles to help drive them away, especially when soft music seeped out of the front room where the woodpecker chanted her nom de plume.
Once twin depths of liquid black, they had held mischief still, icy, veined hands had grasped hers as they slowly faded to blue. Tears collected in a frozen stare, conceding, atop an endless red line, broken by the news, “we lost him, Mrs Anuh”, like she did not already know.