He held a knife to her stomach. Suddenly she knew she wanted it – that 3 month old inside her she couldn’t decide what to do about. She clutched a broken beer bottle and held it to his throat, ready to strike. They stared into each others eyes, daring, testing, judging.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “strike.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

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

7 thoughts on “Strike”

  1. A man who lets someone strike him, strike his CHILDREN, to me isn’t a man. I don’t care that my father knew my mother’s mind was (and still is) sick & diseased, he allowed her to make a habit of slapping him at the dinner table; of beating his children with weaponized household objects (everything from the wooden spoon to extension cords to the ironing board to a goddamn piano bench & beyond). I’m not saying he was supposed to hit her too, but he could’ve said “I’m divorcing you if you don’t go to anger management,” or SOMETHING.

  2. Darius propped himself up on his elbows and tried to move his right leg. The heavy branch had fallen, knocked him down and trapped his leg under its weight. He tried to incorporate himself when he heard a rustling of leaves close to the lake directly in front of him. He saw a black snake slithering out of the water. He panicked. He couldn’t tell if it was a harmless water snake or a venomous water moccasin.

    Breathing slowly so as not to hyperventilate, he reached for his hunting knife and tried to stay as still as he could, hoping that the snake would not strike. If not, he would use the knife if the animal came closer knowing he had to be quick…

  3. “Oh, not again.” She hated it every time she overheard the adults talking about the factory union’s plans for yet another strike. Of course, she didn’t know how bad the working conditions were. She didn’t hear anyone in her family complain about how difficult the work itself was for the paltry pay they received. Until she was grown up no one ever told her how dangerous working with some of those huge iron machines was to the men and women. All she knew then was that if her mother was out on strike she was obligated to show up on the sidewalks of the huge brick factory marching with other laborers in the heat and humidity of a New York summer. She would hear her mother crying at night because she was so worried about where she would be able to get some sort of job to pay her bills during the strike period, while still fulfilling her obligation to join other union members marching in protest. Her mother would have to take anything. She worked as a housekeeper once. She worked at a lingerie factory. Union workers obviously weren’t being paid while on strike. The word “strike” made everyone in the community fearful. Everyone in the family was affected. Eventually, too many strikes led to the huge company moving their manufacturing operations down south where labor was dirt cheap. People had a right to be fearful. The people who all lost their jobs when the company moved. The new people hired when the company relocated. Little did they realize what would eventually happen to them too when the same company moved their operations overseas.

  4. “Strike.” I’m so torn. Shall I speak of a tactic used by a group with a “vested interest?” What about the slogan behind the elections of many politicians about a decade ago or so: “Three strikes and you’re out”? Of course that’s a metaphor derived from baseball’s system of strikes, balls, hits/runs to determine outcomes. And then there’s a suggestive and timeless slogan, “Strike while the fire’s hot,” There are probably many more living realities cached in the source-concept of “strike”. I choose to ignore all but this very last one because it speaks very visually which deeply appeals to me: a snake’s mode of predation is to “strike ” or to spring from an intensely poised position. “Strike” is a mark of the Anthropocene Era.

  5. Everyone told me that she had gone mad but how could I abandon her? She had been there all my life. I have decided to talk to her. Maybe it’s all that nonsense talk about her awarding people ‘strikes’ that is driving them away. With this thought I entered the side quarters. I just wasn’t ready to send her to old home yet. I heard her talking slowly. Who could be visiting her at this hour of night. Something made me slow down. Without making a noise I looked into her room. She held her pet canary in one hand and a knife in other. “When I tell you to be quite you listen to me. This was your last strike” she said and stabbed the bird with her knife. I stood there shocked when she turned to me and said, “Strike ONE.”

  6. “Your strike ”
    He would cheerfully wave the bat at me and cross the field. I have never seen anyone more cheerful. Or generous. Almost to a fault. I knew I was a born loser and this brilliant guy was just giving up his opportunity to let me bat, in his stead. Tears would sting my eyes .
    Then , in a desperate attempt to cheer me up , he would ruin the moment by saying , “Bat hard , fatso !” With a wink . That would anger and energise me . He knew that too.
    I was so predictable ,vulnerable . He knew all my thoughts even before I spoke out aloud.
    Family lore says he could speak sentences when I would just lisp. So while I made incomprehensible sounds at the dining table , he would calmly tell mom that I wanted more sugar in my milk. He could dress by himself while I struggled with buttons and shoelaces. He was lean and dark , I was pudgy and fat and pink .
    No one could ever tell we were born twins.

  7. What a day I thought. It started out without a cloud in the sky, perfect for our golf game. Then it happened out of no where the perfect blue sky turned a grayish black, the wind whipped furiously about and thunder rolled through the golf course. We left for home running to our car. My sister said as we ran that lightening would strike the old Oak tree hovering over our home. I don’t know how she knew it, but she always had this uncanny way of knowing things before they happened. As we pulled close to the driveway I blinked in amazement. It was a bulls eye of a strike taking the entire roof off the house.

An open space for your story

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s