Micro Fiction Challenge: Bluster
Posted by David Duhr in 
The final Micro Fiction Challenge of 2013 landed with a thud (congrats, Amber!), partly due to the fact that WBN at the time was rootless and, in large part, Internetless. But earlier in the year we saw some entertaining and spirited contests, as well as one or two that devolved into weird comment-sections squabbles. Here’s to another fine year in the WBN MFC.
It’s March now, but this winter just doesn’t seem to even be considering coming to an end. (A special shout-out to our Milwaukee-to-Chicago readers, who are having an extra rough go of it.) (And Texans, wipe those smug, sun-soaked smiles off your faces.) (Or don’t. We wouldn’t, were we still there.)
Yesterday was particularly gray and cold here in NYC. And windy. One might even call it blustery, mightn’t one? “Bluster” is a verb meaning to roar or be tumultuous, or to be loud/noisy/swaggering. As a noun it denotes boisterous talk or action, as well as empty threats. Versatile word, hey? It covers weather and politics all at once.
Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a piece of flash fiction using the word bluster in any of its forms and/or definitions. Keep your story to 25 words or less, write it out in the comments section below, click “Notify” to keep abreast of your competition, and feel free to use a pseudonym if you’re shy. Be creative, be funny, be bold. We’ll announce the winner in this space soon, and we’ll give a shout-out to our favorites on Facebook and Twitter.
This month’s prize is a copy of one of our favorite will-winter-ever-end? books, Shane Jones’s Light Boxes, in which a group of villagers wage war against an eternal winter, personified (kind of?) in a presence named February. A war against February? That is a book we can all get behind this time of year. Because even though February is over, its &^(*&%*$ spirit is living on into March.
“Winter has lost its luster,” he said.
“But not its bluster,” I said.
“Winters, you’ve lost your luster,” he said.
“Not fair,” I said.
That was the end for her, all he did was bluster. By May, like the polar vortex, it was all a distant memory.
A pompous preacher peddling pious proverbs,
a raging, red-faced representative,
A sickeningly sulky student ;
these are things that bluster more than winter winds.
Though she was known to be a ball-buster, for him she did the ball-bluster. “Keep on blusting my balls,” he said. “I dig the breeze.”
Upon learning Faulkner’s proposed title, The Bluster and the Turbulence, Sherwood boxed Faulkner’s ears. “That made quite the sound,” said Faulkner. “And the fury.”
“Bluster,” Oliver thought, was what Mommy said right before Daddy hit her. Or was it “buster”? Or “bust her”? In any case, he struck her.
I answered the door in my duster.
His eyes shined an approving luster.
“Hiya hottie! Like the flimsy housecoat!”
His bluster made me fluster.
“Thanks,” was all I could muster.
The blustery winter evening slowed Phineus’ pace as he walked to the office party. This year would be different. He nervously patted his loaded revolver.
Mike had never caught Cassie in a lie before. She blustered; he was struck by the unexpected joy of knowing, before it was too late.
His moodiness was a blustery day that lasted weeks. She’d finally had enough and, gripping her mother’s tiny suitcase, staggered toward the waiting cab.
[…] first Micro Fiction Challenge of 2014 brought some interesting and rather violent submissions. Loaded revolvers? Spousal abuse? […]
[…] enough bluster, let’s get to the games. Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a piece […]