The Club by Ashleigh Seton-Rogers

Prompt: The Club | Word count: 750 words | Genre:  Comedy

Astrid strolled slowly into the school.  It was dark out and the place was deserted.  She wasn’t sure what to expect.  And if it hadn’t been for the light up ahead, coming from one of the classrooms, she would have fled.

A Facebook message had started all this.  It had said something to the effect that she would ‘benefit greatly from this gathering’.  She had tried to look up the person “Glynis” who had sent the message, but their profile had been set to private and except for a pic of a cat as the profile pic, there hadn’t been much go on.  Nearing the door, she heard chatter and the scraping of chairs.

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War by Brittany Meyer

Prompt: The Club | Word Count: 750 | Genre: Fiction

My son, as you head off to war, know that I understand your mind’s troubled thoughts. When you were a mere light in your mother’s eyes, I went off to war, much as you are now. The players are different, of course, but the situation remains the same. There is fighting to be done, and you have been chosen or have chosen to engage in it.

I do not have much advice for you, but what I have learned, I have given to you. Learn these rules, for they may keep you alive.

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Not Yet Jade, Sorry by Daniel Casey

Prompt: The Club | Word count: 750 words exactly | Genre:

Drifting through the void, faced on all sides with a starry expanse. There was nothing left here. If there were, he’d know it. Sensors be damned, he’d been flying mop-up on this damned frontier for cycles now, and his sensors were only right half the time about where they Tessera were going to appear.

He glanced at his readouts once more. Nothing.

It felt wrong. He looked up, there was something wrong, there had to be something the sensors were missing.

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The Young Ladies’ Club for Sexual Advancement by Moira le Roux

Prompt: The club | Word count:  750 words | Genre: Memoir

When my sister Cathy, our neighbour Brigette, and I were about eleven years old we had a huge problem. We had the first inklings of sex, but no idea what it was. We could not ask our friends as the only thing worse than not knowing anything, was your peers finding out you didn’t know. We formed a club behind the garage.

Cathy built the clubhouse out of branches and leaves while I thought up the password. Brigette brought the jelly powder. We each had things to do to add to our general sexual knowledge. Brigette was to listen in on her older brothers, and memorise what they said, and bring it back to us. Cathy and I, while the babysitter studied in the lounge, would sit in the study and phone random numbers. If a man answered we would tell him we were authors writing a book on dirty jokes, and did he have one to add to our collection. Over the weeks we built up a good selection of jokes.

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Farmer Liberté’s potatoes by Tricia Ever

Prompt: The club | Word count: 750 | Genre: (Historical) Fiction

“This day, it is hot enough to melt your wife’s heart, Guillaume,” complained Auguste, wiping his forehead with a bandana from his pocket. His blond hair was darkened with sweat, his fair face flushed red by exertion and heat.

“Bah! My wife, she always runs warm, she. More than you could handle, Auguste!” protested his friend. “More than is good for her,” he muttered under his breath.

“Your wife is a fine looking woman, Guillaume. Many men in the village envy you. I include myself there.”

“You would all do better to tend to your own wives,” growled Guillaume, his dark whiskers practically bristling. “No good comes of poaching from another man, you will learn that, I promise you.”

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Husband Material by Kathy Gates

Prompt: The Club | Word count: 750 | Genre: Women’s Contemporary

Brianna’s revelation shocked them into silence. Damon’s confusion made Laura flinch but she let him sit with it. There was nothing she, or anyone, could do to help. Not yet, anyway.

The young woman batted her too-thick-to-be-natural eyelashes and smiled. ‘We’ve cleared the air. Now we can move forward.’

She’s probably pretty, under her camouflage. White-blonde hair, out-of season tan, acrylic finger nails and impossibly high heels, not Laura’s idea of femininity.

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Shining Wings McClaire by Cheryl Rush Cowperthwait

Prompt: The Club | Word Count: 750 | Genre: Fantasy

The day started out in the typical fashion. Making beds, cleaning up the breakfast dishes so I could get to the outside! Inhaling the fresh Spring air is medicine for the Soul!

And of course I’m greeted with another thing needing fixing! A busted water line near the pin oak. My hair whipped my face as I ran to the shut off valve and gripped it with all my might. Finally, it squeaked its way off. Just jolly well splendid! Crap like this always happens when I’m by myself!

Sloshing through the water which has bubbled up, I search to find where the problem is coming from.  As I bend over, I discover a nice caved in hole indicating where the line break happened, then thwack! A big old branch came crashing down, catching me on the back of my head, sending me sprawling to the ground.

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The Club by Zita Fogarty

Prompt: The Club | Word count: 750 | Genre: Adult Fiction

What is this – some kind of club?

Dad caught me, Dawson and Doherty behind the garage smoking a joint. He looked like he could kick someone he was so pissed off.

But I couldn’t stop giggling. All of a sudden that tough guy demeanor of his that usually made my armpits moist seemed ludicrous.

The other two bolted over the back fence. Dad stormed back to the sunroom where he had been watching the cricket.

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The Club by Zane Baisley

Prompt: |The Club | Word count: 750 | Genre: Drama Thurg could feel the anger burning inside like orange embers. ‘The more I think about it the more the anger grows. Anger is a dangerous thing, those coals can quickly turn to roaring…

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The Price of Belonging by Kimberley Cooper

Prompt: The club| Word count: 750 | Genre: Drama

“Fight, fight, fight”.

The chant was taken up one by one, as the pushing and shoving spilled over into the inevitable fight. The sound was ugly. And as Gabe pulled Danny to the ground and started hitting him, it was going to get uglier.

Joe wanted to put his hands over his ears, wanted to turn away so he didn’t have to watch. But he knew the other kids already thought he was weird. He didn’t want to give them any more ammunition. He could hear his mother’s voice in his mind. She said it often enough. “For goodness sake, stand up for yourself, Joey. You’re ten now.”

The whole class was on the sports field, crowded around the bundle on the ground, dust rising from the parched grass as the boys scuffled. The summer sun beat down on the back of Joe’s neck, and he wiped at the sweat trickling down behind his collar. The collar that marked him as different. The collar that Mom insisted he wear on his oh-so-proper shirts, even in the height of summer. Another think marking him as different to the other kids in the class, who came to school in jeans and t-shirts. Not formal slacks and a proper shirt. Although Mom did let him wear a shirt sleeved one in July and August when the sun was at its fiercest.

Unable to move away in case he got noticed, Joe turned instead and focused his gaze on the birds in the trees. He bet they didn’t beat their friends into the ground as the price for being allowed to join their club.

A loud whistle brought the fight to an end, and engrossed in the antics of a pair of magpies, Joe didn’t notice the group scatter behind him. But he did notice the hand on his collar, screwing it up around his neck and cutting into his Adam’s apple. He squirmed, and twisted out of the sizeable hand. And as he did so, the collar ripped, came away from the neck seam.

He put his hand up in horror. Mom would kill him for getting his shirt torn. He turned round, his hand now balled into a fist, ready to fly.

Until he saw who’d taken hold of him. Master Whitehouse. Head of Religious Education. Tall, broad, with a mustache that Joe thought the classroom hamster would love for a nest. Such a loud, passionate voice that to be in his class was to effectively be on the receiving end of a sermon, spittle included, just the same as when Joe was in church on a Sunday. With the master’s habit of prowling up and down the rows of desks in the classroom, and slapping down from his great height whatever he was holding, he was the scourge of youngsters from the first year to the last.

Joe dropped his hand, but was too angry to mask the feelings on his face. He stepped towards the master, not caring that he barely came up to the man’s waist. “You ripped my shirt.”

Master Whitehouse stood his ground and crossed his arms in front of his ample belly. “Watch your mouth, son,” he warned. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Joe frowned. Looked up. “I haven’t done anything.”

Mr Whitehouse stirred the leaf litter with his foot.

Joe glanced down to where the leaves were being moved, and noticed the droplets of blood glistening wetly in the late afternoon sun.

“Whose is this, then?”

Joe shrugged. He hadn’t seen blood drawn so he didn’t have to tell a lie.“ I don’t know. I was watching the birds.”

Mr Whitehouse peered up into the branches. “What birds? I can’t see anything.”

“That’s because you’ve scared them all away,” Joe muttered.

“What? Speak up, boy.”

What was the point. No reason to wind the master up, not with the way he was going to catch hell from his mother later for getting his shirt ripped. He took a deep breath. “Nothing, sir.”

Mr Whitehouse gave him a hard stare. “Nothing, eh? Well, in my experience, nothing is what gets boys into trouble.” He turned and headed back over the field towards the school. Looked back over his shoulder. “Come on, boy, don’t dawdle. There’s a spot in detention with your name on it.”

Joe sighed. He hadn’t wanted to be part of the fight club. And because he didn’t, he now got to be part of the detention club. Great.

 

 

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