Cider (an acrostic poem)

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Cold pressed apple fluids left outside in a large jug

In the dead of winter the water freezes on top

Driving the flavor into a more concentrated solution below

Each time the blah ice is then removed and the process repeats over and over for months

Rewarded finally with a fermented drink that tasted of sunny autumn days and patience

Shot (an acrostic poem)

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She felt so cold and lethargic.  Today was just one of those days.

He handed her a whiskey, and she threw it back

Oh it burned on the way down, but it then warmed her middle nicely

That soon spread throughout her body and things weren’t as bad anymore.

Radio (an acrostic poem)

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Rock ‘n roll blaring out the speakers

As her convertible rattled down the old dirt road

Determined to enjoy one of the last warm fall days they sang along

If her and her girlfriend were off key, they didn’t care

Only thing that mattered was what song was next

Retro (an acrostic poem)

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Remember when this was the coolest thing since sliced bread?

Everyone either had one or wanted one.

Those were the days!

Realize that it’s now available again?

Only now when you get it you will discover how much it sucks now

Trial (an acrostic poem)

Tribulations were the least of Lydia’s worries

Racing against the end of days was a real thing

If she was successful, everyone would survive

And if she failed, well, that really wasn’t an option

Lifting her eyes to seek whatever divine help she could she entered the fray

 

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Tread (an acrostic poem)

The sensation of someone’s foot stomping down on her was all too real

Reducing her to a bundle of pulsating overstimulated nerves

Even getting out of bed on those days was met with dread

And yet she kept working on surviving day after day

Damned if she wasn’t willing to bite back

 

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Problems (a 100 word story)

It was one of those days.  Really it was one of those days, on steroids.  Still, Peter tried to keep a smile on his face.  It wouldn’t help to complain.  Everyone would just blow up if he did.

His friends would probably tell him he had “first world problems”.  He hated that phrase.  His problems were big enough to make him feel swamped, so in his mind they were still problems.

Peter had cut himself at work, there was blood all over his clothes, and now he had to dispose of not one, but two bodies.  Life just wasn’t fair!

 

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