“See if you can find any dirt on her. There has to be something juicy in her past.”

I said, “Yes, sir,” and left his office looking purposeful. I knew that my quest for dirt would fail. Not because there was none, but because I didn’t want him to know about it if there was any. He was an ass. She, on the other hand, was a great leader.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “dirt.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

3 thoughts on “Dirt”

  1. She stepped up to the microphone and gracefully accepted her trophy. She was a mounting rock star. She closed her eyes and mentally recorded the loud thunder of applause. She would need to look back at this moment soon enough. Paparrazi would start looking for dirt. Cinderella stories didn’t sell for much. The bright lights of stardom would shed light on the shadows of her past. Secrets that had been well hidden up till now would be brought to light.

  2. He had been warned not to soil the cool. gleaming , red granite floor of his grandma’s house.
    “No dirt on my floor, boy!!”
    The strict reminder was not forgotten.
    So even before ringing the bell, he dropped off his shoes and socks, seated on the rickety bench, on the coir mat with welcome written on it , in faded red.
    She was anathema of all things dirty. With a head full of shocking white hair, and alabaster skin, she looked every bit the pristine ,scrubbed-clean image she portrayed.

  3. A solitary, thin figure stood across the street from the church. His hair was scant and gray, and his face was sallow and weathered, as if he had experienced too many winters in the past. He seemed to be older than dirt.

    He put his hands in his coat pockets as he hunched his body against a gust of cold wind. He heard music coming from the church and figured an evening mass was taking place.

    He smiled—a yellow smile that had been the result of many years of chain-smoking. He took out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling the smoke with satisfaction. According to him, it didn’t matter whether he smoked or not anymore.

    He took a long drag and flicked the cigarette into the street. “I guess God was too busy for me when I needed him,” he said under his breath. A fit of coughing surged from his lungs. Before it got worse, he looked around, adjusted his coat and resumed walking down the deserted street.

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