#FlashMobWrites 1×21 Winners

The best thing I can say about this week is, DAMN. You guys brought the word-slinging goods and made us work to choose our top three. Nice job!



  1. @SweetSheil
  2. @AvLaidlaw
  3. @jujitsuelf
  4. @billmelaterplea
  5. @bunmi_oke
  6. Mark Morris
  7. @LurchMunster
  8. @Aightball
  9. @solimond
  10. @mishmhem




Soldier | Honorable Mention | @LurchMunster

Cara Says: I love how you brought the seasons to life here. Truly a beautiful piece.

Ruth Says: Love the premise here, the personified seasons, and that you took it a step further with the 1st person pov and the promise of tales to be told! 🙂


Underboss | Second Place | @jujitsuelf

Cara Says: I am in love with the cool voice of your narrator. Though not proud of what she’s ‘accomplished,’ she’s strong and resolved.

Ruth Says: Though the narrator’s voice and actions seem straightforward and decisive, I get a sense there’s more going beneath the surface and that final line clinches it for me. 🙂


Boss | First Place | @bunmi_oke

Cara Says: This story is a true joy. I adore the POV, as he maintains his innocence up to the very last line… which cracked me up. I can’t imagine how many relationships might end under similar circumstances, were we all so literal.

Ruth Says: This rambling narrative of innocence sucked me in. An utterly delightful narrator in spite of his propensity for accidental homicide. 🙂


The Winning Story: UNPREMEDITATED by @bunmi_oke

“Premedi–” what? Nope. Totally not. The prosecution counsel must be seriously mistaken.

He even alluded at me being probably non compos mentis. What’s with the name-calling? I ain’t mentally incompetent! How else can I convince this court (and you, dear reader) that it—whatever I’m defending myself against—was not done with even a tinge of malicious intent?

Our height above sea level was a little shy of a thousand feet. Being alone offered this epic, comforting quietude that was a poignant contrast to the surging, raging body of water miles beneath us. A solemn, intimate evening for her and I, the glowing semicircle in the far distance stole glances at us as it retired reluctantly into the horizon. Her zephyr-caressed hair fluttered tenderly as a duo of birds glided across the sky, chirping away with abandon—their echoes reminiscent of a lover strumming his banjo to the tune of an impassioned serenade. What a perfect reconciliation venue it was!

Relationships have hitches; an occasional bickering is not out of place, she had breathed. She only needed me, she had added, to encourage her more, give her a listening ear more than anything else. If I listened more, and do not judge her needlessly, we’d have fewer issues. I melted, promising to no longer allow her rile me so much I’d begin to take it out on her.

So please, can any true gentleman, street dude or scripture-slinging man, stay mad at his lady, or deny her wish—any at all—in such sublime, vulnerable atmosphere? Eh? Oh, plenty thanks; I believed you would see it my way too.

Only that the judge appears to have a hard time being convinced. And at tomorrow morning’s verdict, my sentence or acquittal would depend on it.

You still are puzzled about what exactly could qualify as “premeditated” in what I had done? Me too.

We had both agreed, while still on the rock that I would cease making pet peeves out of every little thing she did wrong; sometimes she doesn’t know better. A little understanding, a little more motivation I should offer.

“Truth is, Darling,” I remember her putting it quite movingly, “it might amaze you that all I really ache for oftentimes, even now, is that you learn to lovingly give me a little push…”

And with all the love I could muster from within, I had nudged her off the cliff.


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