Extempore of the evestigio has passed me on one other of those virtual batons. I gather this is about writing anything fictional in fifty five words while indulging in the sentiments of instantaneous word gratification against the backdrop of diminishing attention span.
Whoever behind this idea should be rewarded by forced to read all the volumes of Remembrance of Things Past without any break!
Anyways here goes my flash effort written in the songtime of that lovely- The lonely shepherd by Georghe Zamfir from the Kill Bill OST:
Through the hustle she scrambled into the eastbound Piccadilly train. Finding herself a seat, she opened Brothers Karamazov and started midway through a long passage. The tall guy opposite was snatching a quarter-smile. It was then she noticed an old Brothers Karamazov tucked between his hands.
She smiled back.
That is how Lizzie met Charlie.
On the way back home, Gods accorded a spark of muse. So here is another version:
No, ! ‘Not sea shells seeshells by the seashore’, he repeated again,
‘It’s She sells seashells by the seashore’.
Okay, I’ll try again ‘See shells seecells by the sheeshore’.
No dear, ‘S-h-e s-e-l-l-s s-e-a-s-h-e-l-l-s by the s-e-a-s-h-o-r-e’.
Right, 'See shells sheesells by the seashore'.
Come-on now, ... 'Its See shells seasells by the sheesore'.
She laughed wildy!
And, in here, the baton lies buried .
Dig if you wish.