Sometimes You're Better Off Minding Your Own Business

This week's 5 to 50/55 challenge was even harder than last week's, but I gave a try anyway. Here's what I came up with.

Like an oquessa, I felt at times like I was swimming upstream in my attempts to northernize my new neighbors. Just as lath and a sledge hammer don't mix, my suggestions for making friends plummeted to the ground. Ultimately, I decided their friendship was delible, and I returned to casting my line into fresher waters. (55 words, not counting title)

NOTE: An oquessa is a trout found in western Maine.

Hopes Dashed

I haven't written one of these in a while. Maybe this will start a new batch. The object? Use the prompt words—in bold—to write a piece using exactly 50 or exactly 55 words.

Hopes Dashed

The pochard's webbed feet propelled it in a broken circle, as if it were high on grog. It was how Martha felt after she learned her uncle's bequest was marred. The will didn't allow for death by laqueus, a noose to most. Martha shrugged and directed the cart with all her belongings back to reality. (55 words)

Leaking

This story first appeared at Thick Jam.

The faucet is leaking again. So am I, my penis an open hydrant. Do they make diapers for faucets? I'd ask my son, if I could remember his number.

My room shrank today. It's not the first time. In another month I won't fit in it. The nurses keep telling me not to worry. They'll move me to a bigger room. Are they speaking the truth? I'd ask my son, if I could remember his number.

We had a fire drill yesterday. I think it was yesterday. It could have been today. I don't think it was tomorrow. I trudged along the hall, the wheel on my walker squeaking like a mouse with its tail in a trap trying to get loose. Maybe the squeak wasn't from a mouse, or the walker. Maybe it was someone whimpering for freedom.

Ellen hooked her fingers around my arm on the way back to our rooms. She's my neighbor. Ellen scares me. This place scares me. The fact I can't remember my son's number scares me.