My last story for 52|250, written for the fourth quarterly challenge:
Take a well known tale (fairy tale, mythical yarn, an urban legend, a proverb, a childhood story, etc) and give us a unique take on it. Modernize it, alter the characters, play with the setting, whatever: do what you want to create a flash story inspired (however loosely) by a commonly known tale in 250 or less.
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The first house I built was in the early 1990s. Pre-internet software engineering firm. Boom! went our stocks. My father tsked his tongue, muttered things like house of cards and Icarus. But I was pigheaded, grew the company fast and furiously. Invested in shiny black NeXTcubes, played DOOM til 5am with Marty and Jeff. I secured bank loans and spoke at California conferences with Steve Jobs, got a sprawling cherry desk with a view of Boston’s harbor. Then a cold wind blew in, huffed and puffed and kaboom! went our stocks.
The next house I built was in 1999, a bonafide urban walk-up lovenest. Stan and I moved in together within three months of meeting. My mother tsked her tongue, called it a house of fire. But I was pigheaded and didn’t listen – and he was hot. Neighbors carrying groceries smiled at me in the stairwell. We drank wine and played chess at night, made love ’til dawn. Then a cold northerly blew in. Her name was Ilse. She huffed and puffed ’til he moved out. I licked my burnt ass and didn’t call my mother for a month.
Then I built my third house. Both parents tsked their tongues, but I knew they secretly like this one. It’s smaller than the others – more modest than the first, more secure than the second. And it can stand up to the wind. So when the cold northerly huffed and puffed this time, I hoisted my sails and went with it.