Hi there. Here’s your new Thursday story challenge:
Can you tell a story in 61 words using the following words in it somewhere:
- PALATIAL
- VOLLEYBALL
- GRAVY
- ORCHID
- JIGSAW
- SQUEAK
Last week’s challenge was to write a story in 49 words using the following five words in it somewhere:
- ROSE
- FRAZZLE
- MEDAL
- CHARGE
- PRUNE
Here are your clever stories:
I was frazzled. What do you buy for someone who wants to celebrate losing half of their body weight? What do they want? A medal? More prunes? I almost settled on a single rose, wondering if she might eat the petals. But have you seen what they charge for roses?
Hours of crying had left her once rose-like complexion wrinkled as a prune. Another sad tear dropped into her half-eaten bag of Frazzles. Suddenly she jolted. An electrical charge of anger surged through her veins as she sprang up. Somehow, she’d get her revenge on that lousy medallion-wearing toerag.
Kate in Cornwall:
Macclesfield WI forthcoming Events:
Tuesday 3pm
Does your bush need trimming? Do you have a rampant rose? Is your forsythia in a frazzle?
Let Steve Smith (Winner of the Arkwright Supreme Lopper Medal at the Buxton Show) teach you to prune with confidence.
No charge. Bring your own secateurs.
Rose was becoming a bit frazzled, trying to get the young woman in her charge to drink some prune juice to help with her ongoing constipation. She even promised to give her a medal if she drank the entire glass, but to no avail. The bloat blight continues then.
“Rose? Rose? Look, you can come out now.”
“I’m meant to be in charge, you know that. Then he came along. They should give me a medal just to work with him.”
“But he was meant to be good.”
“Good? He managed to burn a prune to a frazzle.”
Nicola Daly:
‘Pass the wine!’
‘Already?’
‘Kids’re back to school. I’m so frazzled I planted Billy’s karate medal instead of that stupid ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ rose bush Lord Ponsypants demanded. When he complained I told him to shove a prune where the sun don’t shine. Tomorrow I’m jobhunting.’
‘Oh.’
Claire Jones:
Rose felt rather tired and frazzled after winning a bronze medal in her first competitive tennis tournament.
She decided to take charge of the situation and treat her weary body to a celebratory soak in the bath. But, stayed in so long and started to resemble a wrinkled prune.
“How much did they charge you for those?”
“These Prune-flavour Frazzles?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing. Rose said that they were on offer.”
“Well, Rose should give you a medal for eating three packets of them.”
“She said I could have a life-time’s supply.”
“How many packets?”
“Three—”
“Oh.”
It was enough to frazzle the coolest of minds.
Rose had been presented with a variety of challenges over the years, but this took the biscuit.
It was so ridiculous, she decided to charge an entry fee to the ceremony… pinning a medal on a prune!
Dreams were sometimes bizarre.
Murray Clarke:
Rose admitted she was absolutely worn out. She’d stupidly forgotten to charge the battery on her electric car and had to walk to work – a distance of five miles. Feeling constipated and frazzled, both physically and emotionally, she deserved a medal. A bowl of prunes would do the trick!
With only a week to go before the annual opening of City Park’s Rose Garden, Harriet was in a frazzle. She was in charge and was hoping to win the gold medal for the city’s best. But she worried that she didn’t have enough time to prune the bushes.
“You think you can put me in charge of marketing? You might think I’m a prune before it’s all said and done.” After telling “Rose”, the manger this, her mind became frazzled and she then showed me through the door into the world of unemployment without a shiny medal.
Every (porcelain) Throne has a Rose
Rose Hinkle loves cheese. She didn’t realize that too much cheese causes blockage. She needed to take charge of her situation. She ate 50 prunes to loosen up. It felt like forever for her to make headway, she was quite frazzled. Give this woman a medal for effort.
So frazzled! after twenty years in southern France his skin had become more like a brown and wrinkled prune.
Retirement beckoning, he decided to charge a trip to somewhere cold to his expenses. His plane soon rose into the air. On his way to a medal winning Swedish resort.
A Knight’s Tale
From afar, stood frazzled Sir Cedric, brandishing a bright medal, holding a rose. He desired to court fair maiden Juliet. Inspired, he boldly charged ahead, only to trip on a prune, splatting into mud. Still gallant, he offered the rose, declaring, ‘Chivalry isn’t dead – just taking a nap!’
A Regular Treat
When the nursing home residents were feeling the frazzle of having to wear open back hospital gowns (that would win no medal for haute couture) the girl in charge of activities would make rose water and prune juice cocktails. Those gowns proved to be a bonus after cocktail hour.
I rose to hang my medal and found I had to prune the roses. The gardener charges way too much to just prune the garden. When I asked what he would charge he told me that his fees were high and due immediately. I was frazzled at the amount.
Sue was frazzled as the county fair date approached. She entered roses in the flower competition, even won a medal one year, so doted on her rose garden ever since. Suddenly she heard a rain storm come with hail! Charging outside, saw her babied rose looking like a prune.
Lastly, I threw my hair up into a frazzled bedazzled bun. Hmm, perfectly frazzled! Worthy of a medal. I couldn’t wait to finally go to the grand opening of the beautiful Rose Garden. Everyone was talking about it. I quickly drank my prune juice and charged out the door.
Down at the winery, their best selling, and most expensive bottle of rose was called, ‘Frazzle’. The best grapes were processed in the usual way, and then charged with extra pizzazz added to the recipe … dried plums (prunes), giving it that balance between sweet and tart, earthy, medal winning taste.
A rose once grew wild, untamed by any careful prune. A soldier pinned a medal to his chest, ready to charge into fire despite the frazzle in his mind. He whispered to the flower, promising return, though he knew the battlefield seldom granted such mercies to dreamers.
Grandpa Aspen cherished his medal for winning the rare rose contest. This year, the supercharge from the rainstorms on his garden left him in a frazzle. He patiently searched for a resilient rose. A black velvet rosebud was hidden, unharmed. He began pruning with promising hopes for another medal.
“Charge,” said the man with the starting pistol. It looked very real as they rose from their blocks, gunning for a medal.
One runner fell to the floor. I noticed his face all wrinkled, like a prune.
“That’s Ned Frazzle,” a spectator shouted, running toward him. “And he’s dead.”
Suffering Saint
Frazzled Medal of Honor veteran, charged with chore of pruning dear wife’s prized roses, murmured to himself while mopping sweat from his brow ‘midst continuing summer heat:
“I fought in battle for this country and the woman I cherish—why can’t she hire a gardener to suffer bloody thorns?!”
Rose knew winning the Frazzle Competition was doable. Her team were in charge of creating a unique sabotage tactic. The cue to the bathroom was laughable. Everyone in line had participated in eating one prune every hour, for eight hours. The winners of the gold medal—Team Crappy Tactic.
Rall:
feeling frazzled?
start the day with
three prunes
a french wash in rose water
wear a st christopher medal
all charged up now
for great day
A soldier with a face like a prune walked up to George and pinned a medal on George’s chest with great formality. Afterward, everyone went to enjoy refreshments. George’s wife, Rose, charged up to his table, looking frazzled.
“George, your shoes don’t match,” she whispered. George just laughed.
As I set out to prune my favourite rose, with a ‘best in show’medal in mind from the local county fair, the man in charge sent me into a frazzle when he informed me, with these ominous words.” We are not entering roses this year, due to blackspot.
“What’ll ya have, honey?”
“Ooh, Ricky, gimme one of them rose-colored Cherry Frazzle Cokes!”
“Wanna eat something. You name it, baby; the sky’s the limit! I got my Gold Medal Charge Card.”
“How’s about that plump prune Danish? It’s lookin’ mighty good!”
“But not as good as you, Lucy.”
The Last Stand
Jackson looked down at us, frazzled and faltering, hugging the trench wall. Pruned fingers held weapons tight. He’d make the charge alone.
“Retreat!” he called, firing step by step toward the muzzle flashes.
His wife now wears the rose he meant to give her, clutching the medal he earned.
***
Esther Chilton 
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