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Write a story that involves a reflection in a mirror.
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Heather Lynn Finds Her Groove
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Heather Lynn Stone was a Caucasian female, as well as an albino. The white eyebrows accented the icy blue eyes and her many, various tattoos accented her beliefs. With a face full of metal piercings, there was something freaky about the teenager. Her hair, usually worn in braids, was also white.
She often looked into the mirror and cried.
“Why was I born such a freak?”
She hailed from Compact, which had been named the most racist place on the planet and the international criticism was duly hailed on the town. The mayor and town council in order to shake that particular label, decided to take one white student and put them in a totally black school and take one black student and put them in a totally white school.
There had been a very emotional assembly at both schools and everyone clapped and cheered when Heather Lynn’s had been selected. The rebellious girl had responded by flipping the entire school assembly school assembly — students and teachers — the double international salute.
Mr. Harris, the principal calmed everyone down; it took a few minutes.
“Heather Lynn we know that you will represent the school with pride.”
He smiled at the girl who returned his cheerfulness with total hostility.
“Why would I be proud to be part of this stupid school full of morons and losers?”
Nobody had an answer to that. The girl glared rudely at everyone and then stormed off.
The hatred had begun since the first day she had walked into the place. Being a teenager and being physically different wasn’t a great way to make friends. She had covered her body with numerous tattoos and had put enough metal in her face to raise the shares of surgical steel.
In her first week, she had been walking down the stairs and someone had fallen ahead of her. Instead of seeing if the person was okay, Heather Lynn simply walked over them and continued on her way. The injured student had ridiculed and bullied the girl.
The rumours started to circle that she had pushed the person after they had made a comment on her frightening appearance. Others claimed that she had stepped on the person. Some even said that she had kicked them in the kidneys before proceeding.
At the all-black school, Rodney Johnson had been chosen and there were cries of anguish and disbelief. He was the president of the student body, a prized athlete and someone who had halted fights and brought peace and calm to the student body.
Heather Lynn walked into the all-black school and everyone was a little in shock.
“Man that chick is white on white,” said one boy. Luckily the comment hadn’t been heard.
When Heather Lynn walked down the hallway looking straight ahead, the whispers behind her back were strong and vicious. One day, she stopped and glared with total hostility at a group of black girls encircled to give them strength.
“You got something to say to me? Are you sacred to say it to my face?”
“We don’t want any trouble,” said Felicia Brown, one of the toughest girls in school. Everyone was taken aback. Usually, she didn’t back down from anyone.
“You’re all pathetic.” Screamed the albino girl and walked away slipping inside the bathroom. There was only one girl inside and at the sight of the ‘white witch,’ as Heather Lynn was quickly called, a name that had carried over from the old school, booked out of the bathroom quickly.
Heather Lynn stared at the mirror and tried not to cry.
“You’re a freak in the all-white school and you’re a freak in the all-black school. I wonder if they have a freak school?”
Suddenly, she saw a black face standing over her shoulder. Heather Lynn turned around and was ready to face the girl.
“I don’t think you’re a freak,” said Kayla Moore. She was a pretty girl with frizzy hair and glasses and an inviting smile.
“Oh, really, then what do you see?”
“I see a young girl that has a strong spirit, the type of spirit that can handle any situation in life including being different and unique.”
“I don’t want anything to do with anyone in this place.”
“I really don’t blame you. It must be really hard to be transplanted from your comfort zone into a place where everyone zones in on you because you are different.”
“Is this conversation done?”
Kayla shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know, is it?”
Heather Lynn marched past Kayla.
It was the next day and the assembly was staged in order to welcome Heather Lynn. She had wanted to stay home, had pleaded and begged, but her mother wouldn’t let her.
The announcement came over the P.A. system and the student body moved toward the gymnasium. Heather Lynn walked alone and nobody dared to look at her for very long.
She sat in the stands alone and everyone stayed clear of her.
The principal Mrs. Clay, stood at the podium and overlooked the situation.
“This is not going to be easy,” she said to one of the teachers.
Once everyone was settled in, she smiled.
“Hello, everyone, I hope that you are all well today. As you know, we have a new student for the next month. I would like to ask Heather Lynn to please come on down.”
The albino girl just sat there defiantly arms crossed with an icy stare that could have turned lava into ice instantly.
Mrs. Clay feigned a smile.
“Heather Lynn, please come down,” she said with a shaky voice.
It took a long minute before the girl moved. She walked down the seating and made it to the floor, with all of the attitude and sass the teenage girl could muster, Heather Lynn arrived in front of Mrs. Clay.
“I’m here.”
“I can see that.”
There was a lot of silence punctuated with a couple of coughs and a burp.
Suddenly, Kayla popped out of her seat and rushed over to Mrs. Clay. She waved at Heather Lynn and smiled, which was not very well received or returned.
She whispered in the principal’s ear and the middle-aged woman nodded her head.
“Bring it in guys,” shouted Kayla.
Two rather large boys slowly and carefully wheeled in a giant mirror on wheels. It was placed almost in front of Heather Lynn.
“Hi everyone, as you know I am the president of the welcoming committee in school and it is my job to make everyone new feel welcomed.”
Mrs. Clay smiled and nodded her head.
“Heather Lynn, I just want to say that on behalf of the entire student body it is really nice to have you be part of our community. We want you to have a great month at our school.”
Heather Lynn didn’t change her demeanour.
“As part of being part of our community, you have to be initiated and it is nothing bad. I just want you to look in the mirror and tell me what you see.”
Kayla smiled and everyone looked at her like she was a little crazy. The white girl looked like a cat that had been throw into the pool against her will.
“Please, Heather Lynn this is just harmless,” gently spoke Mrs. Clay.
Heather Lynn walked in front of the mirror and stared for a long minute before she started to cry.
“I see a freak. I see someone that doesn’t belong here or anywhere else. At my old school, that hell hole, they called me the ‘White Witch.’ I hated those people.”
She stepped away.
Kayla was still smiling. She grabbed the microphone.
“Would someone like to say what they see when they see Heather Lynn in the mirror?”
Felicia Brown slowly moved down trying not to step on anyone. She waved at everyone and nobody knew what to expect. She smiled at Mrs. Clay who tried to smile back at the girl that had spent a fair share of her time in the principal’s office.
“You have to stand in front of the mirror,” said Felicia.
Heather Lynn glared at the nice looking black girl and slowly moved in front of the mirror.
“What I see is not an ugly girl but a breath of fresh air. Look around you, we’re all black and to tell you the truth it is kind of boring. Sorry, guys, no offence. I always thought I was tough, but tough is your spirit. You are different and I just love that.”
There were a few people clapping throughout the auditorium.
“It is like looking at a parking lot and all the cars being red or blue or green. It is boring. But, if you have a hundred cars that are blue and one that is red, then that is cool. It is different. There isn’t anything wrong with different. I like different.”
Heather Lynn looked at her and shrugged her shoulders.
“I guess I am different.”
“You are different only because you are an individual. You are the only one that isn’t afraid to self express their feelings or their beliefs. That takes guts. You are fierce and true warrior princess.” Kayla smiled at Heather Lynn.
“I never looked at it like that.” She looked in the mirror again.
“Anyone else want to say something?”
“I do,” said Mrs. Clay.
She walked behind Heather Lynn and placed her hands on her shoulders.
“My father abandoned us when I was just a little girl. When I was eleven, my mother died. There was no family member wanting to take me and my three siblings in. But, mom was friends with this white couple and they took us in. They had a boy and a girl. It was the true meaning of a blended family; six kids as different from each other as possible blended together to make a family. I always wanted a black child and a white child. As some of you know, I married a white man and we have one of each.”
Slowly everyone started to clap and then it got louder and louder. Mrs. Clay had not taken her hands off of Heather Lynn’s shoulders. Everyone stood up and they clapped for five minutes.
Eventually, everyone stopped clapping and sat down. There were smiles all around.
“I want to welcome you to our school. You are not a freak, you are not a blemish, you are one of us. You can look in that mirror all day and think all the negative thoughts, but I see a spirited girl, a bright girl who has a nice smile if she ever smiled.”
Heather Lynn wiped the tears from eyes and shook her head. She took the microphone.
“I am not a freak.”
Everyone started to clap again and stood up. They cheered: ‘Heather Lynn is not a freak!’ ‘Heather Lynn is not a freak!’
“I am not a freak!” She shouted over the clapping and whistling and cheering. She put her arms up in the air and screamed it.
The louder the cheering began the wider her smile grew.
The next morning, Heather Lynn walked into school like she owned it. She greeted everyone.
“Good morning, how are you?” She hugged everyone and they all hugged her back. There were high fives and hands holding hands and the widest smiles ever.
There were no whispers behind her back anymore. There were just laughter and friendship.
She became involved in school activities and made friends with Felicia and Kayla. At the end of the month, it was time for her to leave. There was an assembly organized to send her off. Everyone looked a little sad.
“Well, it has been a very different month in this school. Do you realize that none of you have visited me once? Is everyone feeling okay?” Mrs. Clay asked and everyone laughed.
“Heather Lynn it has been a joy to have you in our school. Actually, I have to correct myself, the one person that has visited me is Heather Lynn. I will sorely miss our chit chats.”
Heather Lynn walked up to the microphone and hugged Mrs. Clay.
“Hello, everyone,” she smiled and waved at everyone. They all waved back. “I have some very interesting news. I am not going anywhere. I don’t care what the deal was because if they try and send me back, I will go to court and fight it. I have already talked to the school board and told them that this skinny white girl would sue their sorry asses all the way to the supreme court if they tried to remove me from my home.”
The entire school body exploded and they ran out of the stands taking turns to hug her, spin the girl around and jump around.
Someone put some really cool dance music on and the entire student body danced including Mrs. Clay and the teachers. The spontaneous celebration was a celebration of the variety of human spirit.
Heather Lynn Stone graduated from the school and went to the prom with Rodney Johnson. They were voted prom king and queen.
The teenage girl had found a permanent home and the experience left a positive permanent mark on her and everyone’s soul.
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6,078
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Write a story about an adventure in a small town.
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A lake in the middle of a forest
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I remember Anna, she told me about the lake in the middle of a forest which was in the middle of our busy town. The Forest Lush green and scary It was Pete, Anna’s brother, a little boy of ten, with a fancy hat and chirpy smile, who walked out of his home, when their parents started to yell for the fourth time that day. Anna told me that she stayed back at the school library for a history class project. Pete walked ten minutes then paused and looked around in an attempt to remember the way. He wanted to trace the steps, retrace them and draw them on his palm with the stain of rotten fruit. Anna said he did exactly that. She would always sense his movements, that’s how she found the forest. Anna sat on the floor with a book on bird watching in one hand and half-smoked cigarette on the other. She said the forest was haunted. ‘Why do you smoke’ my brother asked. He was not concerned about Pete or Anna or the forest and the Ghosts that inhibits. He always wanted to smoke but mother won’t allow and I won’t let him smoke in secret, there are always ways to catch his lies, for him smoking is cool but for Anna, I don’t know. ‘Oh, I like to piss mom and dad, they scared Pete and they don’t give a shit about us’ Anna smiled, a wicked smile, the kind I see on the face of vamps of the daily soaps. ‘That’s not true’ my brother started ‘Ah, well, the forest’ It’s always about the forest and it should always be about it. Pete walked for an hour, Anna could sense the time. He jogged and hopped as he neared towards the forest. He threw his hat down and sucked on the rotten fruit because he started to get thirsty. The fruit stung but his thirst was soothed. The forest Anna said was home to nine different species of reptiles. There were other animals and birds too but Pete only saw a snake, so only reptiles mattered. There was a big banyan tree in the centre, Pete lay there and slept like a baby, not a metaphor, literally like a baby. When he woke up there three heads staring at him from the ground. ‘Were they crawling’ my brother sat up straight, eyes wide and eagerness in his voice. ‘No, no, it was Pete’s imagination’ Pete lay there, he wanted to cry but tears didn’t come. He knew Anna would come for him but the darkness and greenness of the still forest scared him. He felt alone in the world with no one but the trees. Anna stretched her hand and let out a puff, my brother was so close to her that I felt he was breathing in the smoke she puffs out. ‘I was reading about Stalin and the Russian Revolution when I heard him’ Her eyes were watery possibly due to lack of sleep. She said she ran out from the library without even closing the book, the librarian’s voice echoed through the corridors. She didn’t stop, she kept on running as if following an odd sensation that would lead her to Pete. It was their telepathic connection that guided her. She took the same route, the same turns. She jumped and hopped the way he did. It was like watching the same clip on repeat. She ran and ran and ran and ran and then she saw him. He was lying there under the banyan tree, curled up and small as a newborn baby. He was a baby, soft and fragile. She picked him up and held him close to her chest and walked steadier and faster. She didn’t see the lake then but heard the voice, at first it felt like an acoustic illusion, a wicked trick played by her mind. But the further the walked, louder and clearer and almost smothering was the voice. It was the voice of the undead, drowned in the holy river. The Town Filthy Crowd and Noisy Everyone here was sick, they always felt sick. The doctors from the city once told their patients that our town was the haven for the parasites with their dirty pathways and stinky side roads. It was a small town but the magnitude of filth and noise matched that of the Industrial Period’s London like an image from Dickens’ work. Bow-wow-wowie was my brother’s stray dog. He picked her up from an old tea vendor’s shop. Bow-wow-wowie was white coloured dog with large pointed ears that droop at the tip. The day my brother fell sick like most others in our town, Bow-wow-wowie ran towards the forest. I thought of following her but Anna chided, she then said that my brother would be able to sense and because Bow-wow-wowie is a dog, she would not lose track and can return on her own. I thought of Pete, poor kid, he is now a baby, ten-month-old baby. Anna’s parents don’t care, strangely, they don’t even remember that they had a ten-year-old son. They still fight, still, yell and Anna still smokes but when with Pete she wouldn’t let even a tint of tobacco enter his baby lungs. I watched my brother toss and turn in bed and making whimpering noises. Our mother doesn’t bother about him and she stopped making us dinner. I go out and pluck some fruits, mangoes or sweet limes, most of them would be rotten. I would squeeze them with hand and make a floopy juice, so light and uncertain. With some rock salt and pepper, I serve them to my brother. It’s Bow-wow-wowie. He came back not as a dog but a pup, small fragile, bony pup. My brother cried. He wailed and wailed and wailed, ear-splitting and vulgar that Anna stared at him with disgust. ‘I lost my little brother, you just lost a stray dog, stop being a whiny bitch’ she said and walked out. Something is definitely wrong with the forest, I am sure of that by now. I can’t walk in, no one will come looking for me and most importantly I don’t have any telepathic connection with a brother or a pet. Anna sighed and sat next to me. My brother was unstoppable so I made him chamomile tea and lulled him to sleep, taking care of him is worse than taking care of a little baby. Anna and I took a walk around the town. We stopped in front of a tea shop. An old man was sitting on a bench outside and was dunking his biscuit into the tea. He lost his brother last month, Anna said. She knows a lot of people, her mother has a dry cleaner shop and after school, Anna used to sit there with Pete watching and observing people. Kids from school loitered around the corners of the street munching chips or chocolates. Sweet wrappers and leftover food were scattered around them. Anna nudged and said, ‘why no one ever leaves this place?’ No one has ever left this town, people come and then they never leave. Once a man decided to move to the city but his car broke down and the road got drowned in an unexplained flood. Some call it a bit of bad luck and move on, others never bothered. ‘What should we do?’ I asked Anna, ‘there sure must be a way’ ‘Maybe’ Anna and I continued to walk aimlessly throughout the town. There were people we knew and some strangers, most of them were battling one or more issues. Some had a bad day at a job while others had a broken limb. Kids screamed and babies wailed, pets started to go missing and parents seem to forget their own kids. It was the lake. The Lake Dead and Alive Anna said men threw the dead in the lake and the dead never died. I have heard stories of the ultimate salvation and the blessing by the River Goddess. It was all nothing but a mere story for me. ‘It’s not a story, it is true’ Anna said, her face flinched at the thought. We walked and walked for hours and we still haven’t reached the forest. There was an old saying that, ‘only when God wishes, you see the God’. Probably the forest doesn’t want us. There were trees on the outskirts of what Anna said was the forest. Long large oak trees acting as a shield. There was a sound of water from somewhere close, closer than I have been near water. ‘It should be the lake’ Anna said. ‘Why can’t we enter’ I asked. We never thought of what to do when we enter the forest. Anna took another cigarette, a habit she refuses to let go. I thought of my brother, curled up in his bed, crying or sleeping, fear-stricken and sad. Then I thought of Anna’s brother. Anna smiled, a sad sorrowful smile at me, her eyes were thick with grief so deep that I cannot possibly understand. ‘We are in the middle of the forest’ Anna said, half relieved and half worried. ‘What to do?’ ‘We don’t know, wait, maybe’ It was the most ridiculous plan ever. To wait has never done anyone anything. I looked around. It was not a forest but some big trees sheltering us, comforting and making us almost fall asleep. There stood the banyan tree, the one where everyone slept and changed. I nudged Anna, she nodded and we walked towards the tree. The lake that Anna mentioned ran right behind the tree. It was silvery and magical. The possibility of wandered spirits on the lake sounded bizarre. Anna must have dreamt but then Pete no longer was a ten-year-old boy. I looked at Anna, her face soft and tired. She looked so old, that I felt she aged a decade being in the forest. I wondered how I looked, as old as Anna or older. The lake shined brighter, I could see my reflection, a confused face staring back at me in utter bewilderment. She picked some fruits and nuts from the ground, gently rubbing the soil off, she took a bite. They always advise us to wash the fruits before eating and Anna of all the people I know would never ever break that rule. ‘It’s the lake’ she whispered, ‘but I am hungry’ She forwarded towards me a half-eaten berry. ‘No, let me look around’. I walked away, leaving a perplexed Anna with the Banyan tree and the lake. The forest-like they said was indeed haunted for I could hear voices of people, strange and familiar, dead and forgotten. Some cries of help while other howls of vengeance. They are sad and angry and they hate us. They hate the town, they hate the people, they hate anyone and everyone who are not them. I lay down crying, the sadness was engulfing me. I don’t know how long I slept. When I woke up, Anna was beside me, smiling, a calm, tender smile. ‘Come’ she said, ‘Let’s go’. As we stepped outside the forest and was far away from there, I asked her, ‘how old was Pete?’ ‘Why? He is babe’ ‘Just asking’ ‘Ten months’ she said. *** I will always remember Anna and the story about the lake in the middle of a forest which was in the middle of our busy town The End.
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10,964
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Write a story from the different perspectives of two people meeting for a blind date.
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Anatomy and Blind Dating
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©
While sitting at the upscale bar in a fine restaurant, I wondered how big a mistake this was. What’s the worst that can happen - an early night and web surfing back home? A beautiful black woman came in and looked around. I forgot to ask about race. I tried to catch her eye and flaunted my emerald green “It’s ME” scarf. She looked past me and I looked through her classy outfit. Just as I imagined my tongue lapping hers, she lit up and greeted her actual date. Merde!
Minutes later, a tall, slim, barely tanned woman hung up her coat but retained her emerald green scarf that sharply contrasted with her deep blue dress. When she saw me, she gave me a half smile, hung her scarf, and meandered toward me. She didn’t seem happy to be here either. We were in for a great night! Whoopee! As she approached, I saw a familiar shoulder gait with sexy swiveling hips above a very long slit from high calf to just inches below her groin. Her sexy, toned leg fascinated as it peeked in and out from her dress.
“Hi. I hope you’re Al!” She said brightly. I stood and nodded as I waved my scarf ends at her. She pointed back to hers and smiled a surprisingly warm smile. “They told me you were ‘OK’ looking and I’m glad they lied.” She winked.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, you know. They told me you were ugly and needed a mercy date then they bribed me to meet you.” She smacked my arm and faux blustered. “You KNOW that’s not true, but they lied about you too. Regardless, you know you’re hot and I agree. Let’s sit at the bar until our table’s ready.” I held the armless, leather quilted stool for her to mount and watched her legs as she did.
“Well thanks. Are you staring up my dress? See anything you like?”
“Yes, I am and yes I do. I love how toned and svelte your legs look . . . ” and cheekily added “. . . and I can’t wait to get better acquainted with them. They also said you were a tomboy and hated pc speech. Is that right or should I slow my roll?” Here was her chance to end the date before we got too deep into it and save me $100+ bucks for a wasted night.
“What else did they warn you about, I wonder? Your directness is refreshing, but you’re not fooling me.” She smiled her wry smile. “I’m pressing you too for an excuse for an early night. So far, you’re out of luck and stuck with me. Anytime you feel the need, feel free to tell me you want to end it early. I’m enjoying you so far, even letting you look up my dress isn’t bothering me!”
“Hmm . . . you are an interesting bird. OK. I’ll stick it out a few minutes longer. Have you ever had such an honest first date, blind or not? As a tomboy, you probably had a few adventures and got a few scars. Anything interesting you can share?”
“Hmm, a funny bone. That’s nice.” She smiled and winked seductively at me. She pushed her slit skirt off her leg exposing a very attractive thigh. “See this scar above my knee? Umm, LOWER, you perv!” She winked again.
“That ragged scar is just below where my leg broke when I tried surfing a stairway. A loose nail ripped open the skin and left me with that nice souvenir.” Pushing my advantage, I stroked gently across the scar, pretending to evaluate it while blatantly fondling her thigh.
“Interesting. I have a big scar on my right leg also. Here, just below my knee.” I pulled up my pants as I offered her my leg. “Comb the hair aside until you can see the two by half inch scar. I didn’t get stitches and you can feel how smooth and bald the scar is. I’ll FILL you in later. . . . IF, you’re very lucky.” She ‘harrumped’ my comment and looked, stone faced, as she fondled my scar at my obvious invitation that countered her subtle one.
“Well, don’t plan on getting too lucky tonight. I’m not especially shy, or afraid of, uhh, being filled in, but other things excite me more.” I wondered what that meant. We traded scar stories, I: a small, deep burn; cuts around a vein; a toe broken in a motorcycle accident; a knife stab in my hand; my broken arm and one I left for last. She: broken ribs, fingers, hand and arm cuts. “There’s one more large one, but I can’t show you . . . not here anyway — exhibitionist or not.” She pointed at her groin. I didn’t miss the subtext or self description.
“Ohh, I too have a large one; one that you’ve been staring at, yet not seeing since it IS hidden. I’ll show you mine if you promise to show me yours.” I dared her to prove herself. Surprisingly, she merely arched an eyebrow at that. Maybe I could press her unshyness?
“I know what you saw. But the scar I mean is at the top of my inner leg. We ALL have legs, what’s the big deal if everyone sees mine even here?”
“I’ll second that. But, you’re describing the top of your femoral artery. Rupturing that is near certain death. Let’s take a look; open up.” Before she could say no, I added, “I expect you are healed, but I want to see it. Unless you are too shy?” Challenge accepted; she lifted her chin defiantly and opened her legs. “Lift your butt a second so I can see it.”
Tina looked around then pushed up and off the stool and I slid her dress up nearly a foot until her scar was exposed in the dim yet focused lights. I put my hands on both knees and gently opened them wider. She accepted my dare. When I pushed her lovely, toned leg over the side of the stool, I saw a hint of an old, coarse scar.
When my fingers dug into the leg juncture, I rotated the flesh of her muscular thigh for a thorough view. “All I see now is beauty and perfection and this well healed mark that seems to be nearly an inch away from your femoral artery. You were very lucky. How did this happen? I’m also glad your delicate parts weren’t torn.”
“Jeez! Me too!” She breathed deeply, but didn’t object. “How did we get HERE so soon? I don’t put out easily and don’t allow third base access so quickly.” She reached out and boldly clamped onto my leg. As she squeezed it and I scraped up and down her muscles, she added “Isn’t it odd how easily we ‘connected’ over scars? I’m so oddly comfortable with you and never do THIS on a first date - certainly not in public.”
“Yes. I feel like I’ve known you for ages.” We were suddenly aware of the hostess standing just two feet away, biting her lip and staring wide eyed at Tina squeezing and scraping my leg as I stroked hers. As she continued to silently watch our unabated mutual, public contact, she flushed. We watched her face redden for some time; neither of us wanted to back off our mutual, unspoken dare.
“Ahh, hhexcuse, ahh me. Your table is ready whenever you are.” She dropped her hand to her side and stepped back. She continued to watch us until we finally stopped rubbing each other and allowed her to guide us to a secluded, tall-backed booth. “Your server will be withhh you shhortly.” She gasped and left.
Tina raised and held her skirt as she slid past the dense, starched, white tablecloth and I slid next to her. The server, holding the table away from the bench, got an eyeful and a wink from naughty Tina. His eyes never left her leg as he reset the table and positioned the menus. After enunciating “My name is Mark and -I- will happily be your server tonight.” He left with a broad smile.
“Where were we?” Pushing her dress and legs open, I slowly ran my hand up her shapely thigh until it found her scar again. She latched onto my still firm leg and gently stroked it.
“You’ve seen mine; now I want to see yours. I mean your scar of course!” She grinned in her awkward, wry smile.
“Then you’re looking in the wrong place.” It was fun watching her disappointed pout. “You can remove your hand from my leg and look closely at my eyebrow. . . . No, the other one. Comb it down. The small scar you see is about 1/20th of the whole scar hidden behind my whole brow. It was split wide open, hung down and blocked my eye. I’ll share that long story with you another time.”
She closed her eyes, sighed, and leaned back. Johnny, umm Mark on the spot had a better view than I did. I called him over to move the table a foot away from us. “Mark is getting a better look at your -leg- than I am, so I guess we don’t need to tip him tonight! Honestly, your gorgeous legs and teasing took my eyes prisoners. I want a better look.”
“Mmm, you say the nicest things.” I saw our hostess peeping at us around Mark, her eyes locked on our contacts. She finally blushed again.
A busboy approached with a basket of warm bread sticks. His eyes flittered between her chest and legs. He backed away slowly with his mouth drooping.
“Ohhh, I-I feel dizzy; in a good way, in a way I don’t remember. . . . I-I’m not hungry — for food — any longer. Can we just head out to my place?”
We shared our first kiss in her driveway and ignored any neighbors who might see her rubbing my leg in the streetlamp-lit tarmac. I broke away from our passionate kiss, though maybe it was our lot that night to perform for others?
After a brief respite to open the front door, we twirled down her hall in a dizzying, passionate embrace and kiss. Lingually toying with my tonsils, she still managed to retain control. We tumbled ruttishly onto her dark leather sofa. Instead of crudely diving in, I explored her. When I nudged her hot spot, she twitched as if electrically shocked.
I couldn’t stop smiling in satisfaction, hers and mine. I took that pause to gently examine the tattoo I noticed earlier. It looked familiar, but was still mostly occluded. We lay there a few minutes gathering our breaths and kissed as we could. “That’s a hell of a first and blind date!” she whispered.
“My best ever blind date. For now, I need water! Who was it who said ‘this is a thirsty business?’ A gracious and eloquent British king I think.” Smiling, I watched her muscular rear sway toward the still open front door and followed her. On the way to the fridge, I noticed a family photo. Shocked, I asked, “Is that Philomena Croce in front? How . . . how do you have her photo? Are YOU related to her?”
Tina was closing the door when I asked about the photo. “How do YOU know who she is? Are you . . . ?” We looked up and down each other in awe. After minutes of tracing family histories, we determined that we were both related, distantly, to old Philo.
On a hunch, I knelt before her and took a closer look at her tat. She confirmed it was not a tat, but a deep blue birthmark. I stood and said, “Check this out. I have the same ‘sea horse’ birthmark in the same place! Is this going to be a problem?”
She kissed my mark. I guess being fourth cousins didn’t matter. “I’m on the pill and don’t plan to have kids, so we’re OK.”
We drank a bottle of water each and toasted our matchmakers before resuming a less feverish, yet still intense and loving evening — past sunrise.
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284
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Write a story where someone sees the shadow of someone standing behind them.
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At Dawn There Are Poppies
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This story contains sensitive themes including: mental health, grief, death, and blood.
At Dawn There Are Poppies
On the last night of August, when the hazy summer heat blurred toward an autumn chill, Emily found a single poppy growing in the woods behind the house.
A spot of sunset in the dark of the forest floor, the red-orange blossom shone like blood among the ragged brown pine needles. Emily dropped the plastic container she had been carrying so quickly that the tender, late-summer blackberries burst like fresh bruises on the ground.
“Mom?” she asked. Her teeth chattered in a sudden chill. She studied each shadow through the grief that gnawed at the edges of her vision. Emily’s voice cracked. “Mom?”
A crow squawked. Emily grit her teeth and squeezed the blackberries in her fist until they smooshed and thick syrup seeped out between her knuckles. “Mom!”
Mom was gone. That day two years ago—the door open, the house empty. And Emily just plopped onto her bed and opened a book. Now, the shame from that day burbled up in her gut. She hadn’t gone to the neighbors. She hadn’t called the police. But by the time Dad came home from the mill, she had been sobbing. Where is Mom?
Emily glanced around, pausing to peer at the shadows between the trees. She picked the poppy and hurried home.
At night, Emily’s heart ached. For two years, she had often dreamed of her mother. Emily imagined the soft caresses on her cheek and warm kisses in her hair as she fell asleep. She wished for Mom to find her way in the dark, to find herself, to find a map or whatever it was she needed to come home to Emily.
Sometimes, when she lay in bed staring at the meandering cracks in her ceiling, or when she closed her eyes on the bus to school, it was just that Mom had needed a break. In her mind, Emily saw Mom slip on her heather-purple sneakers and green sweatshirt. She smiled as she slipped out the door. A day off, a walk alone, just until the kids came home. Mom had strolled through the neighborhood in the morning drizzle...and...something had taken them from her.
When Emily slept, a gloomy silhouette skulked outside her window. It bled on the blackberry thorns and dragged its broken body through the woods to the back door, crying to be let in. On the phone from his dorm room, Dylan reassured Emily he used to have nightmares too.
Emily dug an old photo of herself with Mom out of a stale cardboard box and set it in the backyard—by the broken bird bath by the edge of the woods—with a pair of turquoise earrings. Emily placed the poppy there, too, when she found it that night in August. And all through September, when she woke too early from the nightmares, when her froot loops tasted like cardboard and the kitchen glared too empty and fluorescent bright, Emily settled onto the soft earth by the broken birdbath and picked weeds.
On a chilled October evening, Emily wrapped herself in one of Mom’s sweaters and wandered into the woods behind the house. The blackberry bushes were bare now, their vines retracted and shriveled back into themselves.
And here, clawing up between the brown needles, another poppy.
Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She dug with bare hands around the layers of old pine needles, crackled leaves and dirt.
Just one poppy, a brilliant blood-orange. In October. In the same spot tucked in the woods behind the house.
Emily picked it, folded it into a torn piece of paper, and stashed it in her pocket.
Between classes the next day, she whispered this strange secret to Anna.
“They were your mom’s favorites, right?” Anna asked, much too casually for the severity of the situation, as they hurried down the hall to Geometry.
“Yes,” Emily breathed, stopping herself from grabbing her friend’s arm and shaking her to make her understand. “And it’s October, Anna!”
Anna lifted an eyebrow skeptically.
“Why would they grow now? Dad said they were marigolds. It’s not a coincidence. It’s the same spot!” Emily squeezed the paper with the flower tucked inside. The tears burned the corners of her eyes. “Tell me I’m not crazy, Anna.”
“Maybe,” Anna started. She hesitated, slowing as they approached the classroom.
“Maybe what?”
She brushed her hand across Emily’s. “Maybe your mom is gone.”
The words crashed into Emily’s lungs like stolen breath. “But...we...” she tried. Her heart stuck and made the words thick on her tongue. “Even if that were true,” she said, “What is with the poppies? What are you saying, Anna?”
She was saying Mom was gone. Dead. That God or Mother Nature or even Mom herself, from wherever she was, had sent the these stupid orange flowers in this stupid orange month to bring Emily some half-assed comfort. “Bullshit,” Emily said.
But the next day, and the next, the poppy reappeared. Overnight. It grew, the whole flower in full bloom.
Emily snuck out in the dark to try to spy the next one growing up through the dirt with apparent unearthly speed, to witness it bloom. Whenever she checked, night after night, she found only litterfall, moist earth, and her own footprints. But in the morning, the lone flower was always there. Waiting for her like a tiny lame sentry.
She was crazy with grief, that was all, Emily told herself. Or Dad was playing some sick prank in a terrible attempt to keep her hope alive so they could both pretend Mom was coming home someday.
But she was dead.
Two years. Still, how could Emily admit she was dead? How could she know without knowing for sure? The world had moved on. The community, Dylan, even Dad. But Emily needed to know. The uncertainty would haunt her forever.
In the quiet of the night, alone in her house, Emily whispered in the dark. She sobbed, ripped the wilted poppies into pieces. Dylan away at college. Dad at work. And Mom gone.
But she kept fragmented petals, stuffed them into a recycled yogurt cup, hid them behind a stack of books under her bed.
Most nights, she lay awake in bed, alone, thinking about Mom. Emily ran her skinny hands through her hair, scraping out tangles, letting little rat nests pull free around her fingers. She dreamed, sometimes, of much gentler hands, of her mother’s sweet voice, her breath like blackberry jam and a flower-soft kiss on her forehead.
One night, she dreamed of poppies—overflowing into her palms, exploding spring blooms that denied October’s chill, that call back into the ground. The flesh of the petals veined blood-red and pooled all around her, filling up the floor, creeping up her legs extended on the bed, embracing her. The sun-yellow center smiled at her, but the black stamen wriggled like spiders. Emily reached as if to crush them. They crawled higher and higher.
In the morning, her sheets were soaked in sweat. She extracted the hidden jar—still stuffed full of petals.
The single poppy, a shining beacon of red-orange in the woods, no longer surprised Emily. She snatched it from the ground, roots and all, cradled it in her arms as she carried it to the broken birdbath. There, she poured the contents of the jar across her mother’s photo and the turquoise earrings. She threw the latest full flower down, too.
“I don’t know what to do,” Emily whispered. “Mom, please. I don’t know what to do.” Don’t be gone, Emily wished into the growing light. But if you are gone...if you really are. Show me. I need to know. Please. Mom.
**
Emily read every story of Halloween, Samhain, Día de los Muertos, the Devil’s Bridge festival in Borgo a Mozzano, Daimonji, Walpurgis Nacht, and any other ritual or holiday on any month of the year that brought the living closer to the dead.
“I need to know if she really is gone,” Emily admitted in the dark of her room, whispering on the phone. “I can’t shake it. It’s eating me up, Anna. I just... can’t. I can’t go on like this without knowing.” She swallowed the memories, the wondering and wishing. The nightmares that burrowed deep into her skull, wiggling like worms throughout the night and invading her dreams. And those stupid poppies. “I need to know.”
“Okay,” Anna said carefully, gently. “What are you gonna do?”
**
On Halloween, Emily hugged Dad hastily as he put on his coat. “Bye,” she said, not too eagerly. Not too nervously.
He frowned and tugged up the zipper. “You okay? Not too spooky for my poppy, huh?”
Emily winced. The image of those orange petals scattered over the ground flashed in her mind. She forced a smile. “Dad, I’m almost sixteen. Johnny and Emilio have to be home by eight anyway.”
“And what about after that, Em?” he asked, hesitating even as he opened the door. “I know it must get lonely without...with Dylan away at school and me at work and—”
“I’ll watch some creepy movies with Anna. Her mom said I could stay there or she’d drive me home, either way.”
“Alright,” Dad conceded, awkwardly patting her arm.
“See you tomorrow, Dad.” Emily waved him off. She waited, watched him climb into the truck, flash his lights in farewell, and drive off into the twilight.
From under her bed, Emily gathered the supplies. This is stupid, she thought as she examined them. But the poppy returned every single day, like an incessant, harrowing little phoenix. I need to know.
She scraped up every piece of petal from the altar by the broken bird bath and carried it, along with the photo, earrings, and other supplies, to where the poppy always grew. For weeks she had arisen at dawn to pick the flower, and now she descended upon the hollow amid the towering pines and curled, barren blackberry bushes.
The evergreen canopy blocked out the light already dimmed by the clouds and creeping night. Emily brushed away the twigs and few golden leaves that had fallen since she visited this morning. The earth was bare, damp and dark. She dug her fingers into the soil, breathing deep.
Four white candles. Careful runes in the dirt, ones that called for the thinning of the veil between worlds, between life and death, between here and gone. Emily and Anna had spent hours huddled together in the back aisles of the library poring over heavy, dusty books of history, mythology, about tarot and witches and magic.
Emily crushed the petals with a mortar and pestle, studying the orange, darkening in its juices. With a kitchen knife, Emily slit a long line into the flesh of her palm until the blood welled. She let it drip onto the flowers. She didn’t cry. She just needed to know.
She wrapped her hand with a shredded kitchen towel. Lit the candles with a neon-pink lighter from the corner store. In the dark, the flames flickered weakly.
With her uninjured hand, she scraped away the soil to make space in the earth. In this womb, she tucked her mother’s earrings, the poppy from that Halloween morning, and the orange-red mixture of ground petals and her blood.
Emily swept the earth back over the sacrifice. Far in the distance, children’s laughter echoed. She thought of Anna and her little brothers knocking on doors for tootsie-rolls. She thought of Dylan—probably at some campus party— and of Dad already at work. She thought of Mom.
Emily read, from a scrap of notebook paper, some ancient words meant to call across the void. I just need to know, she repeated silently.
The words done, Emily bowed her head, closed her eyes. She listened. The woods creaked. The wind hushed them. She heard no animal’s calls. No voice.
Emily dared a peek at the candles.
They sputtered with a force unseen. She glanced around her, wanting, yearning, begging and praying for something, anything. Her breath caught, a strangled cry on her lips. The candles’ flames burned brighter, higher.
And went out.
Emily exhaled sharply, but she did not move. She waited, alone, trying not to sob there in the dark. She waited for something, for some sign. I just need to know. No matter what. No matter what.
With shaking fingers, she picked up the lighter. Her thumb traced the rough track. A tiny light.
Nothing.
A car’s horn blared in the distance.
Still, Emily waited. For hours upon hours until she was falling asleep on the cold ground, until the rain drizzled through the green and soaked her and, defeated, she went home.
**
Maybe that’s it.
Emily stirred. The sun was already glaring through the gaps in her curtain. Hope dared to tickle in her chest and make her limbs light. I just need to know. Maybe I do now. There was nothing. A smile crinkled the corners of her mouth. No sign from beyond despite the “ritual” she had managed. Had it been enough? She had devoted hours and...
Maybe Mom is out there. She breathed, looking out her bedroom window at the trees. Maybe, somewhere, she is out there.
Or maybe you’re just a dumb teenager playing in her backyard on Halloween.
Into the kitchen, Emily crept with the weight of a new and more unbearable grief. Maybe I’ll never know.
“How you feeling there, Em?” Dad clinked a spoon against his cereal bowl.
Emily groaned at him. He chuckled.
“Come on, you got a chocolate hangover? Stay up too late with Anna?” he gestured toward the table.
“I just...” Emily started, then jerked upright. “I just need to check something real quick.”
She darted out the back door.
“Em!” Dad called, following her as she ran outside. “Emily! Where are you going?”
“Just—just wanna get some blackberries for my cereal!” she yelled.
He followed her onto the back porch as she hurried toward the woods. “Emily!” he shouted, and his voice rose and carried even as she ran away from him.
White puddles of wax and crooked, dead candles. The rain had washed the runes away, it seemed. And...no poppy.
Dad was still shouting, but Emily knelt in the dirt and dug around with her bare hands. Where was it? Had she really ruined this strange gift? Just a stupid coincidence, Emily thought. You’re just a stupid teenager who got obsessed over a stupid flower. She scraped her nails into the ground, softened by the rain and her previous disturbance. A stupid, desperate dream because you can’t move on. It probably wasn’t even a poppy, just a marigold after all.
“Emily!” Dad was closer now.
But where are the earrings? She pushed away the dirt. The mud caked under her nails, squished between her fingers. I just need to know.
She touched something. Cold and hard. Not the earrings. She shoved away the dirt.
“Emily! Where are you!” Heavy boots in the mud. A shadow grew taller behind her.
Emily was cold. Tired. Her father’s shadow hung over her. She pulled her hand away from the white thing, so cold, damp and forgotten in the mud. The shadow cast over the protruding from the ground, just the very tips of fingers that had once caressed her, that had once plucked the sweetest blackberries, that had once held her hand, that had once been her mother.
“Em?” Dad asked, that shadow behind her.
“I just needed to know,” she said.
Dad put a hand, too firmly, on her shoulder. His voice was without warmth. “What did you find, poppy?”
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956
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Write a short story about someone who refuses to write New Year's resolutions.
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Entertaining Yesterday Now
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“What’s the point?” “The point is: resolve to make a change in your life,” said Beatrice with soy-firm resiliency as she sliced her toast with a butter knife. “For the better?” “If you’re so inclined, I supposed that’d help.” Beatrice shrugged, her jade moon-faced necklace glittering in the morning light from the kitchen window. “Just do it.” What was she promoting: his need to craft a New Year’s resolution or a Nike ad for new cross-trainers? Jericho shook his head and began toying with the copper-colored button on his denim Levi’s jacket, stone-washed, torn and frayed in the collar and sleeves, looked to have been attacked by an angry seamstress at a Men’s Wearhouse before he bought it. “Maybe you should eat something. That’ll help you get started. We are on vacation, love. A little protein’ll help wake up your brain. You need to think ahead. And don’t look back.” Beatrice finished off her last bite of scrambled egg atop a slice of gluten-free toast with boysenberry jam; she nibbled on a mint leaf to cleanse her palette and stepped to the sink with her back to her husband. A tiny voice whispered in Jericho’s ear: “Your time’s comin’. Whether or not you make any resolution will be very telling. For you, my love. Don’t worry, though, it’ll all end very soon. Everyone does it. It’s just a matter of time. Don’t believe the hype. Dying’s great.” “Penelope?” whispered Jericho, with one eye on Beatrice, now getting a second cup of Jasmine tea. “Who’s dying?” “Everyone dies sometime. So...you gonna make that resolution? Up to you.” He wondered what Penelope was getting at, but decided not to press the point. She always had a playful banter about her. “You’re in on this resolution charade, too?” Penelope took a seat at the kitchen table, dressed in a plaid miniskirt and green blouse. She crossed her long slender legs, smooth as moonbeams. Her hair was the color of cooling molten lava. Just like he remembered her. Eyes the color of a midnight sky, flecked in God-like gold. “Tell you what,” said Beatrice from the kitchen counter, “I’ll let you use one of my nice pens and you can write your resolution in my tablet.” She disappeared down the hall and up the winding staircase, possibly in search of her famed leather-bound tome with a silk bookmark glued to the spine, something she used for journaling and whatnot. She took it everywhere she went.He stared at Penelope, a good long moment. Sometimes just watching her soothed him. “Why am I the only one who can see you?” “Listen, love, we had it all. And we can have it again,” Penelope said. “You really don’t need to make that New Year’s resolution. We didn’t do that kind of poppycock when we were together.” He smiled as Penelope’s physical form shifted; she became transparent. He could see right through her. She was, for all intents and purposes, a spectating specter from the Land Beyond, as he liked to call it. At least that was what she proclaimed. And he believed her. “Yeah, but that was, according to you, a marriage in a past-life. Now I’m trying to live out this one, with Beatrice. I do love her, you know.” “’Course you do, love. But we’ve had many past lives together. You’ve just forgotten. The most recent past-life we were married. For forty-nine years. A lovely dance indeed.” “Boo,” he said, crafting a crooked crescent with his lips. Anytime he spoke with her, it eased his racing thoughts. Being a school teacher at a local high school was lathered in both stress and moments of joy. But the stress, at times, went on and on. And the joy came in mirror-reflected sunlight in the eye. There and gone in a blink. She raised her hands, as if signaling touchdown, grinning with childish enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit. I’m here to remind you: today’s the big day, a day of true change. Not to get too dramatic or anything but your loved one, myself included, are preparing for your departure.” Later that afternoon, Jericho sat in an antique Victorian chair of plush red velvet and began penning his thoughts. Beatrice rested a hand on the railing of the second floor hallway overlooking the living room decorated in oil paintings, a fire crackling within an old stone mantel. The seashore of Avila Beach in San Luis Obispo could be seen, and heard, through the bay window. “Nice to see your penning your resolution. Excited to hear what you write. I know you’ll feel better. When you’re done, let’s take a walk on the beach.” He nodded to her and smiled as Penelope brushed past his wife, taking graceful strides down the staircase, her molten hair flowing down her back. He wrote: Today’s a new day, for all of us. I’m here to write my plans. And this is not a New Year’s resolution. Nothing of the sort. Today I spoke to my wife, from a past-life. She informed me that I’d be leaving soon. I presume she was referring to this: it was (is) my time to move on. You know: die. How will I go? No idea. When? Doesn’t really matter. But I do know this: I love my life; I love my wife; I love my time here on Earth. But it’s time to move on....for those of you reading this, those close to me, those who think I’m penning a suicide note. You’re wrong. Dead wrong. I’m writing to tell you that life’s eternal and I’ve been offered a glimpse into my past. One of my past-lives anyway. I was married to a beautiful woman, oh, about two centuries ago. And I’m married today. Happily. And when I visualize my past-life I am actually seeing into my future. In the bigger scheme of things—yes, the physical realm is one plotted scheme after another—there is no past, there is no future. There is one omnipotent NOW. If you spell now backwards, you get: WON. Yes. You have won. I have won. WE all are ONE.
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5,374
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Start your story with the arrival of a strange visitor in a small town.
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Garnet
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Adelaide Runner’s cow died the morning the stranger first came to town.
It had been ailing for weeks and had been unable to give over any milk. Adelaide had known for some time that the cow would have to be put out of its misery, yet she could not help putting off her part in such an event. She hoped every morning that the thing had taken things into its control and simply died in its sleep.
As Adelaide stood over the cold and rigid corpse of her last heifer, swatting away the worst of the summer dust and flies, she considered how best to remove the cow from its stall. Could she entreat some neighbours to help her drag it away?
“Addy!”
The voice of her younger sister Daisy broke Adelaide’s concentration, and she brought a hand to her eyes, shielding them from the blinding sun, in order to take in the shape of her sister as she ran out of the light and into the cool shade of the barn. Daisy was out of breath and stooped for a moment with her hands on her knees, struggling to catch her breath amidst a fit of dry coughing.
“What’s got you flying like a dervish, girl?” Adelaide scowled at her sister, who managed to straighten up, wiping her sweaty forehead with dirty hands.
“You’ll never guess. Not ever.”
Adelaide gently kicked at one of the cow’s prostrate legs, testing the stiffness that had long since settled in the limbs. “I don’t intend to waste my time today by doing so. I’ve you’ve something to say, best to do so now.”
“There’s a man walked into town this morning.”
Adelaide’s eyes tore themselves from her dead animal and found Daisy’s, where they searched the brown eyes for any sign of mischief or mockery.
“Truly?” Adelaide was skeptical. No one came to Garnet anymore, especially not walking under their own steam.
“True as blue,” Daisy assured her, eyes wide and stupidly honest. “Just came ambling in all haggard-like. Heard tell that he was holding his ribs like one might-a been busted.”
“Heard it from who?”
“Mabel. She was opening up the store and saw him come in. She told me so when I stopped by to pick up some coal.”
“Men don’t just walk into Garnet,” Adelaide said aloud this time.
Daisy just smiled her simple and stupid grin, all crooked teeth, her face bearing a clear expression of excitement. Adelaide, who at twenty-five was too old for such girlish behaviour, sighed in exasperation at her sibling’s antics.
“If you’ve the wind to run about telling tales, how bout you run over next door to Keeper’s and ask if we might borrow the small tractor to get Bess here from her stall?”
“But Addy,” Daisy whined, “I want to go to town! I want to see him!”
“And we will,” Adelaide replied tartly. “But let’s get this blasted creature out of the barn in the hopes that these blasted flies will follow. She accentuated her words with another slap at the insects who were beginning to swarm the cow. One lit on her bare arm, and the flesh there began to sting painfully. Adelaide slapped at it quickly, brushing off the stain of blood that remained on the side of her cotton shirt.
Daisy pouted, looking down at the cow between them angrily.
“Girl, get you gone!” Adelaide’s temper was up. It was too hot to argue, and though she would never admit it, she wanted to see the stranger too.
Daisy stuck out her tongue and kicked the poor beast in its sunken side. A tumour there burst, sending forth a dark and pulpy liquid that sloshed tangibly unto the soiled straw beneath. She turned quickly before Adelaide could yell again and took off back into the dust and sun.
“A man has come to Garnet,” Adelaide whispered into the still barn, disturbed only by the constant low and heavy buzzing of the flies.
***
By the time Adelaide and Daisy had made their way to town, the stranger had been moved to the old schoolhouse. Though far from a large building, the school was the only place in Garnet that could afford enough seating and space for the crowd of curious onlookers gathered at the news of a visitor. Adelaide pushed her way through with Daisy at her heels. The townsfolk might have muttered as Adelaide Runner elbowed her way through them, but not one dared raise their voice higher than an outraged whisper or hiss. Adelaide was a survivor, and more importantly, she was clean. Susan Gunner bared what teeth remained in her mouth as Addy passed her, and a red flush crept into her pocked and mealy cheeks.
The sheriff stood at the front of the room, gun proudly on display in a hip holster that suggested wear and familiarity of use. The stranger sat in a chair before the crowd, eyes fixed anxiously on the sheriff’s hand that hovered over the gun’s grip. Adelaide took in his hair, black and thick, and the dark stubble on his cheeks. He was thin, and the worn boots on his feet suggested long wanderings, and he had the lost and haunted look of someone who had been too long away from people and too long in the out. His hands were bound behind the chair he had been dumped into.
“What do they call you?” The sheriff’s voice was low and steady, ignoring the pulsing energy of the gathering crowd.
“Ben,” the man said quietly, gaze darting from the gun to the crowd and then back again. “Ben Jones.”
“What kind of a name is Jones?” The question was whispered in the crowd, its speaker unknown, though the others took up the thought in small murmurs.
“Quiet,” growled the sheriff. “How come you make your way to Garnet?”
The man, Ben, licked his dry and cracked lips, and Adelaide felt the person next to her shudder. She shouldered her neighbour squarely and glared down at them.
“Be still,” she grunted. The shuddered obeyed.
“I’ve been walking for weeks, maybe months. I don’t know how long I’ve been out there. I was with others, but they ain’t with me no more. The sand took ‘em.”
Nods and murmurs of understanding. The sands were quick, and they were deadly. Their faint glow reached the hills of Garnet when the skies were clear, the luminescent green enough to light your path even in the deepest reaches of the night.
The sheriff stood, thinking. The thick, beefy arms crossed themselves before an ample chest, and the voice growled. “How come you ain’t got worse than a hurt rib? Are you clean everywhere?”
“There’s no mark on me,” Ben said quickly, glancing into the crowd, eyes searching. “I ain’t got the sickness, but I can see that some of you good folk are suffering. I’ve got some learning. Let me tend the sick ‘uns.”
“He can tend to me,” came a loud and boisterous voice from the back of the room. A few brave or possibly hysterical members of the crowd giggled and guffawed before a sharp look from the sheriff shut them up.
“You close your mouth Lou Digger,” the sheriff called. “Fore I knock out what’s left of your teeth.”
More laughter at this. Quieter. Crueller.
The sheriff crouched down before the man and removed the pair of sunglasses that hid one blue eye and one empty socket that oozed thick green pus. The man looked away quickly and seemed to be fighting the urge to retch.
“We don’t need men like you coming in here telling us what needs doin’,” the sheriff said gently, eye fixed on the man’s sallow face. “You’ve come here, and as you can see, there ain’t any of your kind here.”
A different kind of murmur and energy passed through the crowd, and Adelaide felt the hunger that followed it. It had been a long time since a man had walked into Garnet.
“Did you think we’d welcome you and let you wander about amongst the good people here? Your kind is a menace. Your kind is danger, and death, and bleeding.” The sheriff’s low voice was steady and quiet as she leaned in closer to the bound man. “Keeper?”
Emily Keeper stepped forward from the crowd, her daughter Gail close to her side. Emily stood strong and tall, and although Gail’s bald head was covered in the marks of her sickness, she did not falter at her mother’s side.
“Bring this man that he might be kept with the others. He seems clean though, mind you, so be careful not to put him with the marked stock.” The sheriff spoke without taking her gaze from the trembling man.
Emily nodded and came forward, reaching the man in a few strides and bending to unbind him from the chair. He did not fight her as he rose though he winced at the pain in his side. Emily Keeper’s family had been charged with the town’s stock for years, and she moved Ben forward with practiced ease.
The crowd parted for them as Emily and her charge approached, Gail trailing close behind. The excitement and whispers in the crowd did not dissipate as the man was lead from the room and seemed only to grow stronger as he was finally brought back outside.
“Shut it,” warned the sheriff in a drawl. She placed her dark sunglasses back on her face and seemed to scan the crowd. “Adelaide Runner? You here?”
Adelaide stepped forward, though a brave and unknown member of the crowd scratched her viciously on the arm as she did. The offender hid themselves well, and the guilty fingers drew back quickly into the safety of the mob.
“You still clean, girl?” The sheriff’s tone was easy, all business.
“I am,” Adelaide replied. “Had a dead cow this morning, but it don’t seem to have affected me none.”
The sheriff nodded, pleased.
“Well, seems to be about your turn then. Make your way down to Keeper’s tomorrow. She can help you through the ordeal.”
Daisy was at Adelaide’s side then, gripping her hand. A huge grin adorned the younger girl’s face, and her eyes shone brightly from behind deep and dark circles.
“A baby in the house!” Daisy’s voice was a happy squeal. “Finally, our turn to have a baby in the house!”
“You can be happy. Ain’t you that’ll have to carry and bear it.” Adelaide felt a little annoyed but understood. She was clean, and so was the stranger. These occurrences were becoming rarer and rarer.
It was her turn.
She turned then, still holding Daisy’s hand, and faced the sea of women before her, cramped into the small and stifling schoolhouse. Some were clean, like Adelaide. Others bore the rotting and putrid marks of the sickness. With any luck, Adelaide would bear a girl, a clean girl, who could be brought up in Garnet and who could work with the next generation to keep the town running.
As Adelaide and her sister made their way to Keeper’s farm, the older girl thought once more of her dead cow and reminded herself to ask again about borrowing the small tractor.
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14,745
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Set your story in a Gothic manor house.
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Hidden Under the Floorboards
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“The art of investigation is a fickle one. Many think of themselves as one of those marvellously witty detectives you see on tv. But few ever put their energy into the mysteries that matter. The legends of ghosts lurking in the dark and monsters out of sight. The cases that get you labelled as the craziest nut in town. Those are the ones worth taking. I may not be a detective by day, but every fibre of my being knows that it's what I’m meant to do. The moment when the last pieces of the puzzle click together, that rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. That is what I live for.” My voice broke at that. The thousands of flashing cameras shone in my face expectantly, each worming its way through the crowd of reporters crushing me within their ranks.
A young woman thrust her microphone through the flailing arms. Her breath came in hurried jabs as she rushed to speak in a clipped professional tone.
“Miss Prior, can you tell us how you solved this truly confounding mystery?”
I nodded, gathering my breath.
“I guess you could say it began a few weeks ago,” the woman pushed through the crowds with renewed vigour until the microphone was directly in front of me.
“A friend of mine had recently been visiting from London. He and his partner had been looking forward to the trip since I first proposed it. My friend Howerd's partner Mathew had an intense fascination with gothic literature. The perfect hobby to have in an area like this, Fardale Manor is perhaps the most prominent feature of the entire countryside. Anyway, before arriving at my place the two had decided to take a tour of the manor. It was only to be an hour long so they should have been at my house at around three in the afternoon. So I waited, and they never came...”
The audience had fallen silent now. Each reporter relaxed their grip on their cameras and made way for others to listen to my tale.
“Their phones gave me no answer to their whereabouts,” as only the monotone drone of my mobile dialling them answered. Concern and panic began to blossom inside my chest. Howard and Mathew were nothing if not punctual. Even when I contacted the Manor tour guide I was no closer to locating them. I pushed the problem aside thinking that perhaps one of them had fallen ill, or something else of the sort had occurred. Yet the week flew by with no word from either of them.
I had now talked with a few other locals who had sworn they saw the two in town. The couple were hard to miss with all their joyous energy. Then I realized that the last anyone had seen of my friends was just before they toured Fardale Manor. That was confounding at the very least. The tour guide had made it very clear that he had not seen even the slightest glimpse of the two men who had undoubtedly been in his presence. I made a decision then, I picked up my phone and booked a tour for the next day.
The tour was unusual to say the least. The history of the house was familiar to me as I had studied it during school, but the tour guide told the tale with clear disdain. In my group, there were around five others. We had each been given a slip of paper stuck to our chest with our names scribbled in black Sharpie. I glanced around at everyone’s as the stout toad of a man serving as the tour guide led us through the manor. At regular intervals, he would stop and raise a pale hand to point out a feature of the house, then he paused in front of a child’s bedroom.”
A small gasp escaped from several of the reporters in the crowd, every person within ten kilometres of Fardale manor knew what I was talking about. The legend of the Fardale children was one that the children of the town thrived on. There was something so enticing about the legend and its sick nature.
The manor had been owned by none other than Dr James Fardale. An eccentric lunatic who was obsessed with the ideas of the creatures of the night. His most passionately loved myth being that of the vampire. The man was a fanatic when it came to the creatures. He sought to replicate their pale skin with unnerving accuracy and was spotted on multiple occasions donning a long black cape over his frilled white dress shirt. He was so fascinated by the idea of such creatures that he drove himself into striving to become one.
Fardale was immediately shunted out of his profession as a doctor for such outlandish thoughts. But that didn’t stop him. In a month he purchased the imposing gothic manor and set up multiple children’s bedrooms for his plans. Every month from there on, several street urchins from near by cities would be warmly welcomed into his home. The man was hardly ever present and the children lunged at the thought of a house to themselves. Soon, however, they would find themselves locked in with no escape. One by one the once grimy midgets roaming the streets would disappear until Fardale was suddenly welcoming a new batch of unsuspecting children into his home.
Back in town people thought nothing of the matter. While in the city there was an increasing concern. It was true no one could care less for the young thieves roaming their streets. But a threat to them was a potential threat to their children, and so the town glumly agreed to investigate the manor.
And what they found shocked them. Piles upon piles of human corpses littered the attic of the manor. Each face leached of all colour with a long jagged gash along their throats. Fardale had been murdering children and draining them of blood to satisfy his urge for months without any notice. Soon after the town folks revelation, Fardale returned to his home with yet another batch of children The townsfolk desperately scrambled to apprehend him in rage, but they were too slow. The children’s blood stained the dark walls and Fardale fled to the outskirts of town. Some say he’s still there, having succeeded in unlocking the secrets to vampires and their longevity.
With the manor empty the townsfolk converted it into a memorial for the Fardale children, and in more recent years a tour service had opened to the public. But nothing could ever quite quench the fear of Fardale still burying his teeth into the soft flesh of one's neck.
I shook my head in disgust, everyone knew the story there was no reason to tell it again. I grasped at my mind for where I had left off and continued again.
“I had, like every other member of this community, already known of the tale of Fardale manor. So instead I turned my attention to scrutinising every inch of the house while we stood there. Within minutes I noticed the floorboard beneath a large flamboyantly dressed man's foot, it's dark wood was just as scuffed as the rest from years of treading feet. But the groves along each edge were abnormally deep and almost certainly wider than the others. Politely I asked the man to remove his foot paying no attention to the fact that everyone's eyes were now on me.
I knelt and pressed the wood lightly with a finger, it slid around in the confined space as I tried to shift it with my finger. The man who had moved his foot for me then pried into the corner of the panel and yanked it free of its position. A heavy industrial leaver lay in the cavity rusted to the concrete beneath. With a heave, the other group members and I swung it up despite the tour guides objections. We soon wished we had listened to his pleas.
A door sprung open next to the child's room, revealing a manky prison-like cell. It seemed as though the tales of old had come back to haunt us. Bodies, swathed in modern-day clothes, all ripped to bloody ribbons and laying limply on the floor. The group gasped and stepped back, I walked in. Then a choke caught in my throat. Hanging above the door like marionettes were Howard and Mathew. Their hands still entwined in death despite the obvious fear scarring their faces. My friends, some of my only friends. Murdered like they were nothing.
Everyone ran from the house then, even the tour guide followed us while hindered in his unflattering clothes from the era of the house's construction. I called the police and now we’re here.”
Murmurs began to spread throughout the crowd once more as I finished my tale. The woman who first thrust the microphone at me withdrew back into the crowd to allow others their time. I sighed, weighed down by the stark reality of it all. Recounting Howerd and Mathew’s death had only made it more real.
Ignoring the hail of questions combing their way towards me I lazily scanned my eyes over the crowd. Just in the background barely visible was the tour guide standing with the other group members. My eyes widened. He opened his mouth in a villainous snarl revealing two, needle-sharp, teeth.
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1,649
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End your story with a character looking out on a new horizon.
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Hippo Campus
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This story contains substance abuse, explicit language, and mention of brain surgery.
You saw it floating in a jar before the doctors did the procedure. One of the best brains money could buy. A bioartificial brain. They took stem cells from your bone marrow which to be brutally honest hurt like a bitch.
Then the doctors put the stem cells into a plastic sac to allow them to grow into the brain that would be inserted. What grew is a brain that is grey with a long brainstem; it looked strong.
` A specialized neuroscience team then had to go through the memories stored in your original brain. They picked out any memories connected to substance abuse, taking away your memories of what it feels like to be drunk, high, or tripping along with emotional and physical trauma throughout your lifetime.
In a way, it was almost like rapid therapy and cost more than it would have been if you just put in the time and energy to get your shit straightened out. But you fucked up hard and you wanted to mitigate the amount of responsibility you had just been given.
You don’t know anything about brains. All you know is that this new brain is going to be connected to your spine. You will then have your original consciousness transferred.
The dude who is doing the surgery, you met him once. He seemed almost more nervous about the procedure than you; as if it was his skull that was going to get cracked.
Maybe he just understood the cost a lot better.
This wasn’t your first choice. Your first choice was to continue to live your life, do whatever you want, and enjoy yourself. Granted, it’s been hard ever since your mother died and your father decided that getting regular sex was way more important than his daughter’s sanity. Or at least that’s how you saw it.
Maybe he actually does love your stepmother, but it doesn’t seem like he loves you enough to stop her from being an emotionally abusive bitch. You never completely understood how in just one day, at the age of 12, you lost both of your parents. A piece of your father went into the incinerator with your mother. The person that you knew growing up as a kid faded. Then you became the problem, the chip that never fell off his shoulder. Your stepmother hoped that once you left the house, maybe your father would repair himself.
***
The paper gown did nothing for the coldness of the gurney which made my ass feel numb, even with underwear. They have me in a room with no windows which does wonders for my anxiety. I’m already hooked up to an IV, just waiting for them to start the process. A bruise is forming from the nurse being incompetent and missing my veins multiple times.
I close my eyes to try to center myself after counting ceiling marks does nothing. I’m getting a new brain. I’m getting a new brain and consciousness.
Fuck.
They are going to crack open the back of my skull and take it completely off. That 3ish pound mass. This old one is “contaminated”. It’s interacted with too many hormone imbalances and chemicals. Too much acid, shrooms, coke, and other substances. Once the new brain is in place they will reattach my skull, sew me up, and transfer my consciousness into my new brain or some shit like that.
Of course, I’m scared. I don’t even know what consciousness looks like. Does it have a form? Is it a specific color? A few months ago was the first time I heard about the possibility of it being transferred. The doctors said this has worked before; in the beginning stages but they still have good results.
I think I want to have a stable life; maybe that will be nice. Not needing to forget. Maybe meet another stable human being who has never dealt with any hardship and we fall in love like a fairy tale, then get married and have all the kids and shit. I’ll admit, now before I get knocked out and possibly no longer myself, that there is a deep hole in my chest that goes as deep as the Earth’s core with no possibility of getting filled despite my trying.
All these years resenting my parents and this is what it has brought me; a cracked skull, new brain, and consciousness that is no longer completely my own. Quite a hefty price.
I should have just taken more responsibility for myself and who I wanted to be in this world. Hopefully doing this won’t cause me to have to start from zero all over again. I hold this, lungs crushing down, throat closing, eyes holding back tears, and then three nurses come rushing in. One wearing glasses with golden hazel eyes peers down at me.
“Please stand up slowly. We are going to wheel you to the surgery room.”
Those words surely don’t help. And the chair isn’t comfortable it’s colder than the gurney. I feel like my ass is showing but I doubt they care; they’re about to see the inside of my fucking skull. They quickly move me into the surgical room. The lighting is darker and the music of beeping machines surrounds me. I stand up slowly to sit back down in the surgical chair.
“Ok, breathe into this mask and count back from 10.”
Ten. ok, what do I want to think about last? Eight. I hope to still like crab rangoon, bbq chicken pizza, avocados smashed on top of a cheese quesadilla Six. Hopefully, I can still masturbate and have sex as I used to Four. Despite the ending that snapped like a string, causing me to lose myself, I’ve grown, I think...
To be honest, I didn’t want to be cured. My depressive thought process was every bit a part of me as my right hand or the dimple on my left cheek. In the past ten years, the craving to escape has been as commonplace as my cravings for sour patch kids, sex, or a cup of morning coffee. That burning that appears in the back of my throat, similar to when I try not to cry. There’s a knot in my gut and those thoughts that burn roads in my brain go haywire.
I always thought it made it easier to be a person alone in a studio apartment without a future trying to escape my past and present. Not enough sunlight from the windows. A marketing job that pays to survive.
It was only a crime after I smashed the car into the Smith’s bright green mailbox. The mixture of tequila, anxiety and a sweet, little calico cat slowly crossing the road led to me swerving right then left then right into the mailbox. I just really didn’t want to kill that innocent cat.
But no one cared that I was drunk at Aunt Claire’s funeral and it was only a quarter afternoon. Or that summer I just sat in the backyard, in the sweet Philadelphia heat, and drank white wine while binge-watching The Handmaid’s Tale.
There is the whole breaking someone else’s property that comes into play and I paid for their new mailbox; it’s now bright red. The police also had to escort me to jail because I passed out in the driver's seat of my car after breaking the mailbox.
That was some embarrassing shit. To have someone wake up at six in the morning to start their routine and find their drunk neighbor passed out in her car after crashing it into their mailbox. I mean, I was sleeping like a baby, drool all over my steering wheel.
Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Smith felt some empathy for me at first but once it was understood that I was quite frankly fine, they were livid. That phone call to dad was unpleasant, I could hear my step-mom yapping in the background.
“That drunken daughter of yours! How many more times are we going to have to save her ass?”
Shrill as fuck. One of the most embarrassing nights of my life but I definitely could not foresee myself getting to where I am now.
There was first the court visit where the judge went through my file and history of drinking from various accounts; my family was never outspoken in their disapproval of my drinking before but they certainly are a bunch of silent grudge holders or I was really too far gone to even notice how displeased they were.
The order by the judge was to either do time and be on house arrest or go to a medical treatment facility. I choose the latter; the thought of something else on my record didn’t sit well with me. It felt final and I still had hope that I could change.
The first doctor that I met was stern, monotone, and tired Dr. Farmer. He went through a series of questions that ranged from upsetting childhood memories to how do I feel when I’m drunk. I tried to answer honestly because I was curious; curious to see how ill and disturbed I was.
It ended up being that I’m a perfect candidate for a particular study. I was intrigued. After spending so many hours reading stories on reflections of the human mind and various hypothetical experiments on brains, I agreed to be a part of the study. If I could go back, just quit cold turkey, and do the whole 12 steps, even if it was complete bullshit, I would.
***
My mind is tangled in thoughts. I feel my limbs but they are not connected. I’m afraid to move. What if I can’t open my eyes? Where am I? A hospital. There was surgery. I got surgery. I got surgery on my brain. I got a new brain! Wait, am I still myself?
I pause for a minute and take a couple of deep breaths. Let’s try to open my eyes. The overhead light is fuzzy and blinding. I want to stop but the need to open my eyes is urgent. Finally, I succeed in opening my eyelids. It takes a moment to stabilize my vision but I can finally see the room.
The window shows a sky outside that was close to reaching night with the egg yolk sun breaking down, into the other side. I can’t move my body but mainly because there is a cloak of pain that has fallen over me. I can feel my body start to pulse as sweat begins to appear around my forehead, neck, and back. Anxiety.
The beating of the machines matches my heartbeat going faster. My mind can’t make sense right now. I keep looking over at the chair across the room for a while then later stating “chair”. Something is not right with my brain. I would call for a nurse but I can’t move my arm.
My chest feels like there’s a small demon sitting on it. I want to pass out but I also want to get help, figure out what the hell happened, and if I’m ok. Deciding to close my eyes and possibly get some sleep because at least then the radiating pain would stop, I start to breathe deeply, in and out. I drift off into unconsciousness.
***
The air is wet and warm in the room with the smell of freezer burnt ice cream. A fan is facing directly where I’m sitting but it does nothing to alleviate the humidity. Marlow and I are spread out on the couch glued to our iPhones. The last two months of our time together has been like this, sometimes with music but rarely talking.
With greasy jet-black hair down to her shoulders and dull, hazel eyes, Marlow has few words. We met during the therapy group circle where we discussed ways of relearning how to work our minds and know our bodies. They are mandatory after having brain transplant surgery.
I never paid attention during those circles; my mind forever drifting. The doctors said my ability to concentrate would build up as I got stronger from the surgery but it’s been almost a year and a half yet doing basic mental work is still hard. So Marlow and I go on Facebook with our phones for hours, mindlessly scrolling. This is better than alcohol, right?
I haven’t had a solid human connection since the surgery, mainly because forming words and thoughts are not skills I’ve remastered. For a bit, my old friends did try to reach out to me to see how I was doing or if they could visit. It was hard to do that though because of all the therapy on top of forgetting many of the memories I had with these people.
I even forgot about Amy; I forgot about someone I considered another piece of my soul. Yet alcohol rarely prevented me from speaking and connecting with others, in fact, I’m a chatterbox when I was drunk. Drunk, drinking, drinks.
It’s so hot and my throat is constricting with a slight itching sensation in the back from the lack of moisture. The only thing Marlow has in her fridge is milk that might have gone bad. There is tap water but I crave something more. Scrolling for a few more moments, I begin to get up to leave.
“You goin’?” Marlow’s voice is a light string barely flying over the fan and into my ear. I cough to clear my throat before speaking and to get my tongue ready to say something.
“Yeah, I need to get something to eat and drink.”
I walk closer to the door with my phone still in my hand. Marlow grunts, meaning it’s all good and she’ll hit me up tomorrow or the next day; hanging out is never urgent.
Once I am in my car, I see a bottle of Coca-Cola and take a swig, realizing way too late how hot it is, causing the bubbles to burn down my throat. While the air conditioning starts up and I slowly recover, I connect my Spotify to my radio, put on sunglasses, and begin to drive home.
The first year after my surgery I lived with my father and stepmother in their hellish suburban house. I was able to talk them into allowing me to get a place of my own after proving that I was not brain dead nor itching for a drink. While his toxic antics definitely watered down since I became a cyborg, his wife has continued to ride the bitch train. This is funny because I’m barely verbal enough to fight back.
I can ride a bike and run for a good ten minutes but make me give a thirty-minute lecture and I’ll start spazzing out. That’s the most annoying thing about this whole situation. My body has healed but my mind is still fucked. Was this the doctor’s plan all along? Leave me so fucked up I wish I was brain dead?
The driveway to my cottage is guarded by trees. Strong Oaks, Weeping Willows, and vibrant Japanese Maples. When you don’t have the urge to spend all your money on boozes and drugs it’s easy to save. And when your parents feel a small urge of shame for fucking up your mind, they buy you a cottage in the middle of the woods.
I open my door and Greta is there to greet me. This silvery Maine Coon gives me all the affection I can receive. You can’t mumble yourself through a Tinder date. And then try telling someone that you can’t drink because your brain has been repossessed. Guys want unique, not batshit crazy.
They must have fucked up some other shit because I don’t even get the need to find a hookup or even masturbate, which is truly the more fucked up reality. Probably reprogramed all my pleasure centers or some shit.
So for now all I have is ice-cold lemonade, microwave dinners, shit reality tv, and Greta. After I’m finished eating, she sits on my lap and purrs; reminds me I’m still a loveable being
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15,149
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Write about a character who wakes up in their past life, or as a future reincarnation of themself.
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New Year's Eve Dinner was a Superb Affair
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December 31, 1999— a new millennium would begin in a few hours.
I finished my glass of wine and went through to the sitting room, cozied into my favorite chair near the fireplace, smiled at the mayhem surrounding me— and died.
All of my living children, two daughters, and a son, along with thirteen grandkids and five great-grandchildren, accompanied by various spouses and significant others, were crowded into the dining room at two long tables. The latest addition, a great-great-granddaughter, sat in a highchair next to me at the head of the table.
My son stood, tapped a spoon three times to his glass, a hush went over the two tables. The baby looked at me with her bright blue eyes and screeched at the top of her lungs—the room filled with laughter.
“Maybe you would like to give the toast, little miss,” Jesse smiled and touched a finger to his great-granddaughter's nose.
“Come here, Kit-Kat.” I reached over and pulled her out of the highchair and started to bounce her on my knee. She put her tiny hand to my face to feed me a smashed-up piece of cupcake—the chocolate icing oozing between her fingers.
I licked some off her finger and made an mmm sound and smacked my lips. She giggled and tried to feed me more.
Maria Katherine O’Brien was named after her great-great-grandmother, my wife. God rest her soul. She had the same blue eyes and already a thick crop of wavy black hair that fell unruly about her face. The resemblance brought tears to my eyes. I nudged my nose close to her hair and made a raspberry into her ear.
Jesse tapped the glass again then raised it above his head. “A toast to Dad.”
“No, Son, wait.” I stood up and repositioned Kate into one arm and raised my glass. “Happy first birthday to this little one, the fifth generation in the room, and happy birthday to your mom. I miss her so much as I am sure you all do. She would have been ninety-five today.”
“Happy birthday Mom, happy birthday Kate, happy birthday Gran.” Everyone stood and drank from their glass.
“To Dad,” Jesse said again. “A century on this earth. One hundred years tomorrow.” He raised his glass high. “You’ll probably outlive us all.”
“To Dad, to Grandad, to Pop” Thirty-some voices all shouted in unison. Kit-Kat gave me a big chocolatey raspberry on my cheek.
The first to notice was my youngest granddaughter, Nora.
“Pop,” she said, “You okay” as she shook my shoulder. I slumped over to the side of the chair.
Nora was a nurse and quickly felt for a pulse. She dropped to her knees and pressed her head against my chest.
“No, no, no.” She began to sob and held me tight.
I hovered above the room before settling on the stairs with a few of the youngest children. We watched as the hysterics took over, the wrenching of hands and gnashing of teeth. Tear dampened faces staring in disbelief, glasses of wine and whiskey turned bottoms up. The older children consoling each other, the younger ones not knowing how they should feel.
Nora’s daughter Cailin came up the stairs and sat on the step below me. She hugged her little cousin, young Tommy.
“It will be alright. Pop-Pop has gone onto a better place. He’s gone to see Granny Kate again.”
“But he is still sitting there in the chair.” Tommy pointed, his arm protruding through the banister rails.
Cailin leaned her head on his and whispered, “I’ll miss you, Pop.”
“I’ll miss you too, m’chroi.”
She turned her head and looked up the stairs.
“Tell me the story again, Pop, about when you came from Ireland.” Cailin could listen to the tale every day if she had the chance.
She summoned the cousins to come and listen. She arranged them on the floor around my chair, placing the smaller ones closer.
“Shall I fetch you a glass of Guinness, Pop?” She knew I would need a drink if it were the long version I was to tell. She’d surely frown and pout her lower lip if I requested a Jamison on the rocks, knowing the tale to come was the abbreviated version.
Her eyes showed bright when I said, “A pint of the black stuff, lass.”
“Dinner’s almost ready, Da, don’t get too carried away.” My oldest daughter Deirdre called from the kitchen.
It always started the same, “I was but a wee lad, the same age as you, sweet Cailin.” The younger ones all turned and looked at her as if she was somehow part of the story.
“Me Da had gone off two years now. To Dublin in search of a paying position leaving Ma and me and four younger sisters to fend for ourselves. I found work on a fishing boat over on Galway Bay. A Galway Hooker with red and black sails.”
“The Bad Mor,” said Cailin.
“Now then that be the type of boat she was. Bad Mor means Big Boat. But her name was An Rosin Dubh- The little black rose. We just called her Rosie.”
“Tell them why the sails were red and black now, Pop.” Cailin interrupted.
“Who’s telling this story, little miss?”
“He had to rub them with butter,” she said.
‘Ew’ was the consensus from the younger generation.
I smiled and took a drink of beer. “Go on then.” I winked at her.
“He had to lay the sails out on the ground and crawl all over them with a bucket of butter and tar rubbing it into the cloth. And every year the sails got darker and darker.
“And sometimes he would slide over the sails on his belly.”
Another round of “ewes”. This time from the grown-ups. Giggles from the children.
I picked up the tale. “When I was a bit older we would sail far out to sea and let out long lines with hooks tied to them. Days and nights we sailed until we filled the ships hold with all sorts of fish.”
“Time went on and Ma got to thinking I should go to America. The ship was packed with lost souls leaving for the promise of a better life. The captain said we might have to change our destination if the British still had a blockade along the coast. They had started another war with the colonies in 1812.”
“Pop, that’s not how you came, it was a steamer out of Queenstown.” Cailin quickly corrected me.
Something was happening. I stopped and took another drink. The memory of horns blasting as the White Star line steamship pulled away from the quay at Queenstown blurred with the two masted Star of the Sea rounding the windward side of the Aran Islands a century before.
My mother told me of my birth in the Claddagh, the small fishing village situated where the fresh waters flowing swiftly from the River Corrib spilled into the tidal flats at the head of Galway Bay. It was new years day 1900.
“The weather blew us off course and instead of Boston we ended up in Philadelphia.” My voice whispered the words.
Another memory drifted out of my mind. A fog covered coastline. I rode in a long boat with a dragon’s head at the bow. On the shoreline, a band of people wearing animal hides and feathers in their hair appeared from the mist then vanished. I remembered the dragon boats. Five, maybe more raided our village along the coast. I woke up staring at the endless stars. We traveled for months across the sea always sailing toward the setting sun.
“I was fourteen, we rode overland along the Post road to Baltimore. The British attacked the second day I was there.”
“Pop.” I heard my son say. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. I think I said “How do I know that?” aloud.
“We lived in a wood and earthen hut over the winter. Many of us died but I returned across the sea the next spring.”
“Who died Pop?” Cailin asked.
“Dinner’s on the table.” My daughter’s voice broke my spell.
The clock struck midnight as two men in green blazers with a funeral logo on the lapel placed me on a gurney.
They brought Kate over to me. “Give Poppy a kiss so he can go bye bye.”
She turned and reached her arms towards the staircase.
“Poppy,” she called out.
“Poppy’s right here on the bed,” her mother said. “Give him a kiss night night.”
She squirmed and wiggled in her arms. “Poppy,” she said reaching for the stairs.
I floated down to her, and she blew a raspberry into the air.
Centuries of memories filled the room. I saw the children from other times running through the parlor. Family gathered around the table, their faces so familiar yet distant. A fog blurred my vision as I lost a grasp on the room.
January 1, 2000 Galway
The young man skidded to a stop at the emergency room doors. He helped his wife into the lobby.
“I’ve gotta push,” she screamed.
Five minutes later the bells chimed all across the hospital intercoms.
I opened my eyes and gazed up into of a pair of bright blue eyes emanating unconditional love. She leaned down an kissed my forehead and spoke her first words to me.
“My sweet boy, born this new year’s day, may ye live to see the next century.”
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3,591
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Write a story about waiting — but don't reveal what's being waited for until the very end.
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Sommelier
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I pull the wine through my lips and think about what it would be like to be someone’s first taste. It’s a dry one, sharp on the tongue, bitter in the throat. Something made in Argentina, I think. Dry. Sharp. Bitter. It would be an assault to the senses for a first-timer. But for someone who’s older, who’s lived enough, that taste is a welcome massage to a jaded existence.
I enjoy another sip, close my eyes, inhale the bouquet of it. Pretend that I know anything about wine. I don’t. It might as well be blood. It looks just like it. Like Luke’s blood.
Last year, my brother was murdered. I knew it would happen a long time before it did because I’m what the dictionary calls a ‘clairvoyant’. But as it is with everything else, I take my brain with a grain of salt. Things can always change. They often do.
Nothing changed for my brother, Luke. He was stabbed to death, just as I’d seen years before. I never told him, never told anybody, what I knew. Never tried to prevent it. Hell, we were in a stupid sibling squabble over my mom’s birthday party plans when I got the news that Luke was dead.
I run my finger over the rim of the glass. There is no sound. The deep red of the wine latches into my fingerprint from where my lips rested only seconds ago. No sound. Deep red. Just like Luke.
It’s sort of similar to one of those things where someone falls and you think they will catch themselves, so you don’t reach out to help. Except, they don’t catch themselves and there you stand, empty arms outstretched, having the ability all along to prevent the mess, but you didn’t.
I didn’t catch Luke.
He used to beg me to do something about my visions.
“You can’t live like this, Libby,” he’d always say. “It’s killing you. Always helping other people out, never worrying what it’s doing to you. Why can’t you just let fate just take its course? It’s eating you alive, sis.”
“I can’t just toss away my gift,” I’d argued. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Luke.”
“‘Gift’,” Luke had scoffed. “You’re not tossing any ‘gift’, Libby. You’re freeing yourself of a curse.”
My brother wasn’t wrong. But he also didn’t realize that I wasn’t always so generous with my gift. I foresaw a lot of things that I didn’t touch. Grain of salt. Things change. I’d never seen a death in the future, so I chalked Luke’s up to a nightmare in the form of a day daze. Mind wandering to macabre things. Everyone does it.
Now I know that as a freak who can see hazily into the future, I’m not even remotely qualified to be lumped in with ‘everyone’ after all.
I drain the rest of the wine from the glass, the brunt beam from the towering streetlight above me decanting the alleyway. I settle into my own shadow, tossing the glass into a wide sewer grate. I’ll never see that glass again. No one will. It’ll probably lose itself in whatever current it ends up in.
The glass is a metaphor for me.
I’m going to grant Luke’s wish. I’ll go far away from everything, from everyone. Visions can’t hurt as much when you’re alone, with no one left to love. And I’ll figure out how to unchain myself from my curse. I will. I’ll float along into an endless evening, embracing riptides of all sizes, spates of all directions, to send me where I need to go. I’ll disappear just like that wine glass.
I peer over the top of the peeling green paint, careful not to clutch onto the edge of the dumpster. Nothing has changed. Nothing has moved. I glance at my watch. It’s a quarter past four a.m. I’ve been curled behind this dumpster for five hours now. I drag a long inhale of the cold night air into my lungs through a clenched jaw, and I slowly sit back behind the dumpster, hidden from sight again. I close my eyes, count backwards, steady my body, steady my mind.
You got your wish, Luke. I’m going to get rid of the curse. But I can’t just yet. There’s something I have to do before I fade into the world. I open my eyes and look down at my watch again. It won’t be much longer now that I’ll have to wait.
Half an hour later, there is a new illumination into the inky sky. I stand up from my post and move in small beats against the crumbling brick sidings lining the dank alleyway. I stop just under the new haze of light coming from a second-story window. I stand completely still outside the exit door the window’s apartment leads down to. I wait, on the fringes of what will happen next, a chef knife in my grip. Everyone has to come outside eventually. Everyone does.
It’s nearing sunup when the door finally unlocks from the inside and opens slowly.
I couldn’t catch Luke before his fall, but I would catch his murderer. I’m going to slit his throat. I’m not squeamish. The things I’ve seen in my foreshadowings are the worst kind of things you could imagine.
It happens quicker than I expect. Easier than I expect. My brother’s assassin is a crumpled heap on the doorway threshold in under twenty seconds. He makes a weird gargle sound, clutching at his freshly cleaved neck, which has become an Old Faithful of blood, staring up wide-eyed at me. I lean over him, breathing in every one of his last breaths.
The blood. Deep red. Wet, sharp, bitter. I can’t look away at the endless fountain of life spiking the air. A spray of it hits my hand and I instinctively put it to my lips, sucking in the skin tenderly. The bouquet is rich and evading, a handful of pennies.
The police wouldn’t catch me. I could see it. I was seeing a lot of new things now.
Okay, Luke. You got your wish. I’m getting rid of the curse. And I’m transforming it into something all my own.
A gift.
My cheeks hurt from the near childlike smile on my face as I walk away from the dead man. Justice for you, Luke. Who knew there was such an alchemy to the ichor?
Turns out it’s okay that I didn’t save you, brother. In your death, I am reborn into an ample night. One that is as unique and special as I am.
The blood—it’s a lot like the wine, really. I don’t know much about it.
But I will.
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1,525
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You thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you.
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Tarnished Blade
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“Have you ever considered how far away the stars are,” Alice asked,” how big they are... then pretended they were on a canvas not much higher than your reach?”
I rolled up to my feet,”I don’t know how you can see the stars with so much light pollution...”I smirked and held out my hand.
“You just have to pretend then,” she said stretching and smiling, deliberately not taking my hand.
“Ok you may be crazy, but at least you should try to get proper sleep”
“Proper sleep is for the losers who care about their grades”
I smirked, she was the one who went on frequent tangents of hyperventilating over a B-... well back when that could matter. I squeezed my eyes shut opening them up to find the cursed sword in my hand.
“What is this,” Alice asked.
“A dream,” I responded, falling to the ground and grabbing her hand,”maybe we could stay a little longer?”
“It feels pretty real to me.”
“That’s because it was at one point,” I lay back on the grass.
“The first second you were so ready to leave,” she began with a giggle,” the next you're the only one who wants to stay.”
I exhaled loudly, knowing what waking up would mean,”but,” Alice continued,” I guess I could stick around...”
“You would do tha-,” a sharp pain embedded itself into my side, my eyes flashed open slicing through the darkness, into the ‘punctured canvas’ where so many more stars flashed and blinked without light pollution.
I sat up with a start looking for the reason for the stitch of pain in my side, to find a rock that I rolled onto. I groaned looking at my watch to five o’clock A.M.
I pulled myself up to my feet, I always could justify get up early during camping, besides I would not sleep anymore anyway. I stretched and pulled open my sachal, looking for the jerky we had. Assessing the jerky I decided I would eat when I finished hunting. Besides, Macie would probably enjoy eating when she got up.
Trotting down the mountain into the abandoned streets I strung my bow. Most of the animal life hid here now, after the monsters attacked. People thought the undoing of humankind would be the zombie apocalypse would be the end of human civilization but one day an army of things attacked and scattered us.
I dropped off a small ledge rolling to a stop in front of an orchard, glancing over the fence to see if there were any deer looking for an early morning snack. One was not a problem, if there were two the second it would run away, but five with a stag...
I drew back the string and aimed... touch to the left and, thump, a deer reared and charged bumping into a tree falling to the ground, the stag gave a solid stare up to the roof where I sat. It gave a snarl, do stags do that? Then ran off, with the rest of the herd. I exhaled, jumping to the fence then the ground.
I prodded the deer and it didn't budge, so I half carried half dragged it into the nearest house and started doing my pathetic job of gutting it. I must admit I was getting better. I shoved the hide in my extra satchel and started some makeshift jerky in the oven, looking at my watch verified my guess within mere minutes, seven thirty three.
Something crashed down the stairs, I strung my bow and slowly crept down. At the bottom was a door which led to a basement. I notched an arrow and pushed the door open but before I could pull back an arrow some medal thing came flying at my face that I assumed was pretty hard so I ducked just in time, I stood straight up knowing something was off. The common monster was nowhere close to intelligent enough to pull a stunt like that. I looked back to find another chair flying at my face. This time I caught it hurting my hand but I then had enough time to see a girl about my age throwing another chair at my face. I swatted it away with the one I had in my hand.
I had to do something or she would just keep going,“Would you stop that?”
“Wha?”
“Yes I appreciate not getting a chair thrown at my face,” I responded somewhat sarcastically. Now that I could actually take in the room, small and hardly furnished probably because all the furniture was thrown at my face. The girl was say fifteen or sixteen, and was a complete disaster. She probably had not had a shower in three weeks, no make that a month, since it had been a month since the monsters attacked.
“Now hold up,” she said,” who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
She seemed slightly confused and really mad,”how much food do you have left?”
“I asked you a question”
“I have a bow, and a notched arrow”
Her face screwed up into angry contemplation,”three days worth.”
“There is a resistance,” I started,”I am one of the organizers... I am also heeded that way if you would like to come, now why I am here is I am cooking about six months of food in your oven,”
“Uhh, how far is it?”
“I, uhh... about thirty miles..ish?
“How safe is it?”
“Well considering your chair throwing skills it's pretty safe,” I said with a smirk.
She gave a frustrated glare... maybe this was not the right time for a joke,”I can’t guarantee anything but it is pretty safe.”
“Jack, Lucy,” she said, as two young children, maybe five and nine emerged from a door that led to under the stairs,”I need you to guarantee their safety.”
“They have my sword as they should need or even want it, and I can guarantee that they will be the first to get it,”I responded
She gave me an uncertain look,”you don't have a sword.”
Duh that’s what I was forgetting, my sword! Well that was fine I had a bow,”I have one- well like three back at camp but I have my bow now.”
She looked at her sibling's uncertainty,”what do you think?”
“We don’t have much food left,” the young girl ‘lucy’ said.
“Ya,” the boy said,”and it would be a really cool a a what’s that word... que no, well it would be awesome!”
“An adventure? A quest,” the little lucy asked like the older sister she was.
“Yea,” the boy,Jack pumped his fist like there was no sarcasm in her tone at all.
“Ok I am leaving in two hours I’ll let you guys talk it over and get packed-if that’s what you decide,” I said turning and walking up the stairs,” oh if you have swords and knives they tend to be a little more effective.”
I packed some jerky in the spare satchel and then in the two new ones I made with the hide of the deer. The trio I left down stairs allowed me to use their sewing machine to make things in preparation for the long journey ahead of us. Well ‘a long bening’ like four days because of the youngsters. We packed all the water we could and headed out making our way towards the spot I left macie, she was getting up when we got there.
“You really need to tell me when you go hunting,” she said, seeming a little frustrated but too tired to really do anything about it,”Who is this? Well who are they.”
“Macie this is Jack, Lucy, and Grumpy,” that's what I called the girl my age because she refused to give me her name, then got mad at her younger brother because he told me she was Rebecka, so I still call her Grumpy.
I sat down and pulled out a strip of fresh jerky out of a bag. The rest of the day was fairly uneventful besides a couple squabbles against goblin like creatures. I used my long sword to dispatch them quickly without much fuss.
I lay against a tree keeping watch, to my back was a small valley, I pulled a small out a small picture. I was sitting at the base of a tree smiling lightly, then Erich was hanging upside down, his messy brown hair hanging loosely form his messy hair cut with a goofy grin, Alice standing leaning against the tree here shoulder length dirty blond hair pulled into a loose ponytail... at least she was safe. Belladonna, or Bella sitting on the grass lounged out relaxed, who knew where she was.
“Who is that,” a small voice said, totally catching me off guard.
I looked back to see Lucy and Jack looking at the picture, pointing to some random place, nearly impossible to tell,”come here,” I guesterd a hand to bring them over here, they walked over somewhat nervously.
“This”, gesturing to the entire picture,”are the founders of the resistance. That right there is Bella, she disappeared, we don't know where she is,”there was something emotional about saying it out loud, but I refuse to call her dead... after all the movies,” That is alice, she is safe in the resistance base.”
“Who is that,” Lucy asked pointing at Erich,”who is the goofy guy hanging from the tree?”
“That is, Erich,” I responded,” those two liked each other,” gesturing to Alice and Erich.
“What happened to him?”
I took a deep breath,” here sit down and let me tell you a story... Once when we were in high school,” That seemed like an eternity already,” we were out eating lunch outside, that is when the monsters attacked. I told them to get inside, I on the other hand was a trained fighter... I yanked on a loose branch of the neerist tree and started fighting them, soon I had a sword from a fallen goblin. But there were so many and I was getting overwhelmed, I knew it was the end of me but I keeped fighting for my friends, soon I was cornered and fighting desperately when suddenly the door swung open, smashing in the faces of some goblins, Erich charged out with a desk and started smashing them with me.” I took a long deep breath,” we together drove back the monsters, we both were swinging two swords and soon we had won the fight. Or that’s what we thought.”
“What happened,” Jack asked intrigued.
“There was a monster as tall as the building, we fought it with all our might, but in the end Erich got hit with the club, I switched from calculating too deadly instincts, I was pretty battered by the end but the monster was... much worse, but when I finished with the monster I rushed to Erich but he was too weak to move on, he told me to leave, to make a safe place where people could be protected by skills like that, to give humanity a chance...”
“Wow,” Jack exclaimed,” is that a real story?”
“Of course it is dummy,”Lucy petronized,“it is his story.”
There was a shift back at camp so I glanced back to see grumpy in a more awkward position, she had been listening, I smirked at myself.
I string my bow and knock and arrow, pulling back aiming... right, down, left... fire! The arrow shot out at a lowly snake like monster with arms, and well it pinned its tail to the ground. I drew my fine molded sword given to me from my last birthday out. It’s heat and pressure tempered extra hardened alloy of several strong medals, glistend white in the morning sun, its 47’’ was perfect for me.
I jumped out of my cover and the others were hiding behind me, I charged pulling a parry and a slash splitting skin on it’s arm. It howled in pain swinging at me, I jumped back bouncing back with incredible speed slashing through its body blocking its second sword and quickly dispatched it.
We moved to a rode up one of the many canyons, and hurried up, we made great time getting to the base in two and a half days. I knocked two then three times and within seconds the door shot open seconds later. With Alice panting and red her eyes brightened then darkened with concern,“where is Erich.”
My eyes fell,”I promised him I would get as many people to the safe haven as possible... so I am leaving to collect whoever I can.”
She shot forward pulling me into a tight hug, a tear rolled down her face,”be careful we are all that is left, we have each other.”
I hugged her back lightly, my intentions were to get people here then draw attention to a spot and kill the filth that took my family and my friends,”careful is relative, so I will be care full,” I pulled out of the hug,” oh this is Lucy, Jack, and -”
“Rebecka,” she said,”it’s Rebecka,”she winked at me.
I turned back and started down the path losing track of time until I snapped out of my trance there was a human standing on the road... I thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of me on the street, smiling at me. No my eyes were playing a wicked ilusion, I rubbed them... no he was there,”Erich!”
We walked to each other, why were we just walking? I don’t know but-
“Hey man,” he held out his hand and we did our man hand shake thing fast as ever.
“How?”
“Well I was laying there just about to die when I remembered your strength, I wasn’t about to die in the place of someone who can bench press half as much.” he gave his strong comforting laugh.
“Now I have a feeling you were gona do something stupid,”he said with his older brother nudge. He always had the sense for that sorta thing.
“Let’s get to the hideout, then we can make a plan from there.”
“Ok... it is the sunshine inn lodge.”
“Figured you would pick that one,” he said with his grin.
We walked up the path to fall upon a group of several goblins and things larger and stronger... Maybe orks? One in the back blew a large horn and they charged, I drew my sword, Erich had two but mine was much heavier and longer, we rushed them and fought with centergy, they never stood a chance... until ogers made their way down the mountain, two of them, duh the horn.
My mind flashed back to the first time I lost a friend, I was not going to lose him, or any one! I gave a roar and charged dispatching the first one with efficient speed, when I got smashed in the side, I went flying smashing into a nearby tree. I could not make a sound, my everything hurt. I opened my eyes, waiting it was still black, slowly getting lighter, I stood feeling impossibly light.
A humanoide approached, she had white armor and long blond hair, her smile would change and one's evil intentions. Come with me, she beckons, her wings glowing behind her. I took one step.”no.”
She smiled a light hearted smile, your troubles are over, come with me.
“No...”I could not... I had friends I could not leave! My hand fisted, wait... it would not close, I looked down and lifted my hand, I felt the weight of my sword,”I have something I need to do.”
“If you do that you will not be able to return until you have earned your way again,”her face in a morning frown.
“How do I do it?”
“Keep doing what you are,” she turned around.”good luck young hero.”
I gripped the sword, lifting it and swinging it. Everything slowly faded into a black and grey mist. I felt several dark spots pushing repulsing me, I just knew these were the monsters, then a light a red white blue light. That was my friend, he was angry. I sprinted towards the darkness and slashed the darkness whent green which I felt ment really confused. Green from my friend too but I could not worry about that. I started slashing and cutting down the darkness, I felt mass and when I hit it, a shrill clang of medal resounded off. I rushed and slashed the large monster most repulsing of all.
“A flying sword?”
That was Erich, I could feel the sound from him.
“Erich,” I said,”it’s me!
His aura gave off a slight green but a heavy yellow. Exhausted I fell to the ground sticking my sword in the ground.
“Dude! You're a sword!”
“No I... wait, put my sword in my hand please,” at this point I just was going off feeling, after a second I felt a shell I was being pushed away. I pushed back and somehow managed to get into the shell, a warmth flooded over me but was quickly replaced by sheer pain in every part of my body.
Opening my eyes I saw an expanse of colors, I could see shapes, but wait I could see behind me as well, I stood up and saw a bright green and yellow emanating from the form of Erich.
“How are you?”
“Ow’
Let's get you back to the lodge.
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9,962
|
Write about a character who keeps ending up in the same place.
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Ten for you, Twenty-six for me
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The metro I take to work, the polluted air of Mumbai, the faces I smile at and the faces that don’t smile back— they are stained a coffee-brown. The same color as old pages and medieval fables. The lives lived in abandoned childhood homes. Memories turned cinder. The air inside the all-women compartment threatens to asphyxiate me; smoke whisks into oxygen as cigarettes burn against already scorched fingers of these strangely familiar women surrounding me. The word crowded has no meaning here. An open seat is rare and silence a chimera. The two women across from me wear saris— which were once bright red but are now a notably washed-out maroon— and mismatched bangles. A set of emerald greens with a single silver bangle adorns the taller woman's bony hands. Similarly, the other woman also wears a set of silvers with a lone green bangle. I wonder if it was a gift to each other or just an impulsive today thing. Either way, they make a beautiful couple. An older lady eyes them before letting out a nasty tch in their direction. They seem to take notice, shift in their seats, whisper nervously amongst themselves, then lean forward to spread their knees apart under the layered cloth of their sari. As if manspreading to exude dominance. I’d call this— this boldness of these middle-aged women, their air of defiance— progress, but we are sitting in an all-women’s compartment, and they did have to imitate men to remind others of their rights. I stare out the moving metro from the big window, partly painted off-white by birds, as I core the mango my daughter handed me before I left for work. The inertia of the moving train bleeds into reality and suddenly I’m under the illusion that the window is a theatre screen, the memory of you a movie I must rewatch over and over, the idea of us trapped in the past forever. Do you remember those days? Your grandpa had planted that lofty mango tree, our favorite hang-out spot as sixteen-year-olds, in your backyard. And we had nurtured it against May heatwaves and July rainstorms and arid Decembers. In return, its scent of sweet fruit and terpene whiff never fizzled from your home. Like a canopy of orange aroma sheltering us from sniffing the acrid disapproval of the then less forgiving society. The last day we saw each other, we’d taken our time climbing the tree. Then, once we’d heaved ourselves atop the sturdiest branch, we’d begun bargaining. “Fifteen?”“Pfft,” you’d snickered at my request, apparently absurd to you. “Oh, come on.” I’d flailed my arms a couple times in an attempt to seem more distraught than I actually was. “Fifteen’s reasonable.”“Ten.”“You’re joking.” This time, I’d only gaped at you— half incredulous and half mesmerized by your amber eyes, the lightest I’d ever seen them, in the sun. Through the dense cover of leaves and fruit and twigs and an occasional bird’s nest, the sunlight had swayed across your adolescent face, sometimes landing on your cheeks a little too long to avoid a rosy tint to them. “Dead serious,” you’d answered. “Ten mangoes for you, twenty-five— oh wait, twenty-six— for me.”“That’s unfair.” At this point, I was genuinely upset. “I picked most mangoes. You couldn’t even manage to climb to where the bigger ones were.”“Yeah, but this is my tree.”“It’s my labor.”“Nine.”“You’re being mean.”“Mean?” Oh right. You hated being called mean or rude or selfish, all words your mom called you as a part of her victim complex. But at least that was the worst of your problems. “Mean. Fine. What do you need all these mangoes for? Don’t even have a family to share it with.”I know you had regretted it as soon as you’d said it because you’d blurted out an I’m so so sorry and an I didn’t mean it all in the same breath. Your jaw had slacked, and nose released from a slimming grip as your attention drifted from your insecurities to concern for me, our friendship, and the one other thing either of us barely ever mentioned. I couldn’t tell you then how your words hadn’t hurt me one bit. How I’d expected worse because you were the type to bite back, especially with that short temper of yours.So, I’d averted my gaze, let my smile sink to a frown, slumped my shoulders. You’d immediately cupped my face with your dainty fingers, a warm palm pressing against my cheeks. That is my clearest memory of you. You’d forced me to look at you: amber eyes with flecks of green and black, a nose that had no curve but descended with a constant slope right from where it began, an inch wide scar South-West of your left eyebrow. You’d cut your hair up to your ears that summer. That is why, every time a woman with hair that short walks by me, I turn to look. Always searching for traces of you in strange faces. Some days like today, I bring a photograph of you along, tucked deep in the front folder of my work bag. I fish it out, place it on my lap, and stare. The truth is, and I felt bad about this till I learnt to forgive myself, the you I remember looks nothing like the girl in the photograph. Your image in my mind is much more mature, perhaps to make up for the fact that I’ve never met the adult you and probably never will. Back then, you’d asked me about us only once: that very day I’d tricked you into consoling me, loving me unknowingly, your hands moving from caressing my face to squeezing my hands. “Can we hold hands in school?” “What do you mean? We do hold hands in school,” I’d said. Under the desk, in blazer pockets, on the terrace. “No.” You’d turned my hands around, palms facing up. Your fingers had traced my palm lines as if you’d find an answer through them. “In front of everyone. On the table. Walking down the corridor. In front of everyone.”“They’ll know.” I’d hesitated, but said it anyway, “They’ll know we like each other.”You’d looked at me heartbroken— and I was too, believe me— and whispered, “What’s wrong with that?”I’d chosen to pretend to not have heard it. I was too cowardly back then and honestly, if I could go back and make the decision all over again, I’m not too sure I’d be any braver. I was terrified of being buried a scandal, of you being buried a scandal. So, I ran away from us. I’m out of time now, at least for today. The metro comes to a stop, and the world outside the window grows dark inside the station. I don’t stand till the couple in front of me do. The taller one pokes her hand out from behind her for the shorter girl to grab before they dive into the swarm of people pushing to get into or out of the compartment. Then there are those that are stuck in the middle, stumbling to wherever the current takes them. I stalk the petite girl, her hair short enough to be blown in every direction by the hot city air, to the chai stand. Her tote, a quaint margin of blue flowers embroidered years ago, looks like the bag we used to collect the mangoes in. Our little bag of happiness. While they order themselves a chai, I drop the photograph of you, sitting on a branch of our mango tree in your basketball shorts and oversized tee, into her tote bag and walk away.I’m trying to forget you. Trying not to return every day to the memory of a girl I can’t even remember right. My regret sits quiet in me: it doesn’t bubble up to rage or impulsivity or even tears. But it does demand reparation. And so, I hope she can give you much more than I could: a bangle for keeps, a hand to hold on to, a bold declaration than a weak reassurance of love. I’m sorry that you couldn’t recognize me but do remember me. Behind the photograph, you’ll find scribbled the conversation we had every day, our mundane arguments, and silly bargaining: Ten for you, twenty-six for me.
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11,919
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Write a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism.
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The Bloody Regret
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Five years had passed.
The alarm clock rung with the humming of the birds outside, and Larry still woke up with the unforgettable nightmare he had for five years.
In the nightmare, an emaciated and short boy stood in the gym feebly with a long scout rope in his hands. Larry clearly know that he was trying to save the boy, but the boy always vanished without a trace when Larry ran across him.
And then, he woke up and realized that he was panting breathlessly as if he was at the scene in person.
No one had ever asked about his feelings after the nightmare. He organized two reasons for the phenomenon: first, he was already a senior at college now; second, he knew that he didn’t deserve anyone’s care.
The photo with two boys smiling together still laid under his bed. Not being moved for almost five years, it had already been covered with thick dust.
Notes were written down in the notebooks as if the writers were robots for taking notes. As one of the robots set in the classroom, Larry couldn’t move out any place for him just to guess how much time was left until class dismissed.
The dull ring of the last bell slightly came in. As the bald economics professor strode out of the classroom, everyone began to pack their bags and leave for the wondrous and dazzling night. Walking straightforwardly out of the campus, Larry headed for the bar far away from the college with insanely quick steps to avoid overthinking.
Ralph, standing at the bar counter rolling the Bloody Mary, habitually let out a yell when seeing the patron walking toward his favorite seat.
“Hey, Ralph,” said Larry. “Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you!” Ralph continued rolling the drink and recalled the patron’s unchanging order. “Bloody Mary, right?”
“On the rocks,” Larry put his backpack onto the stool next to him and said.
Ralph tipped some ice cubes into the drink, put it on Larry’s seat, patted his own overweighted belly and laughed, “Never seen such a customer who’s so young but comes here every day just for a Bloody Mary on the rocks.”
Larry nodded. It was a promise he used to keep, but he remembered that it was him who cruelly broke it first.
He put the glass cup onto his lips and tipped a bit of the cocktail into his mouth. The spicy feeling didn’t change; it was still the familiar one he usually tried.
“Hey, young one,” Ralph called out while Larry was about to swallow the drink in his mouth. “To be earnest, I’m quite curious about the reason why you come here and have the Bloody Mary every day. Like... have you kept a promise with any important person in your life?”
Larry panicked in an instant, almost spilling out his drink. He was astonished by the fact that Ralph could clearly detect his mind even if he had never shared anything related to his darkest past.
A sense of fear and anxiety burned from the depth of his body to the top of his brain. He had the feeling of being stuck in the water without any fresh air——the more vivid feeling was that it was just like being tied with a scout rope at his neck.
“Do you regret anything? If the answer is ‘yes,’ I can surely give you my method to make up for the error.”
Ralph’s voice swung around his ears at the bar, on his way home, and even in his bedroom.
Unexpectedly, he was prompted to take out the photo covered with dust. Gently wiping off the thick dust, he finally could see his seventeen-year-old self, and the feeble boy next to him.
Both of the boys were smiling in the picture. Larry looked at the feeble boy first, and then he looked at the younger him. Out of the blue, he felt the Bloody Mary he just drank ran up from his stomach to his throat. The disgusting feeling he underwent after seeing himself in the photo almost made him vomit. Trying to hide away from the feeling, he threw the photo away toward a random nook and strode to the toilet to vomit. The spicy vomitus had him undergo the painful mood he just experienced once again.
The next day after class, he didn’t go to the bar. He was afraid that he would be forced to reminisce about all those scandalous stories during his high school days when he met Ralph.
Being adapted to his usual schedule of going back late, he spent almost the whole evening wandering in the streets surrounded by the noisy cars, the polluted air, and his contaminated mind. Finally, he could head back to his bedroom when it was about 11 in the night, which is his usual time going back.
That night, he didn’t look for the photo. However, he suffered from insomnia. More into the night, he could even see the scene of a boy hanging himself. He felt like he was in the usual nightmare.
The familiar feeble boy was there, with a scout rope in his hands. Larry tried to run toward him. Different from the nightmare itself, this time, the boy didn’t vanish. The boy stepped onto a stool, tied the rope onto a waling on the ceiling of the school storage, and then he hung himself without Larry’s notice. Larry tried to save him, but his whole body was frozen at the place where he stood at. He lost the ability to move or even call the boy’s name to ask him not to hang himself.
And then, some fragments of what occurred after that slightly came back into his memory. The boy passed away, and Larry began to live with cumbersome regret. Larry regret for not only not saving him on time, but also didn’t protect him from the harm he had suffered before hanging himself. They once promised to go to a distant bar and drink the Bloody Mary together after going to college, but it was broke now. Being overwhelmed with regret, Larry kept considering himself the selfish and the brutal one to break the promise with the boy. In an effort to alleviate the painfulness, he began to show up at the bar alone after school just for a glass of Bloody Mary on the rocks, and it was also the drink that gave him the opportunity to acquaint himself with Ralph, the bartender.
Larry sat up from his bed, and then he stood up with the shimmering moonlight gazing into the room. It was 4 a.m., which was the usual time he woke up with fear on account of the nightmare. Having the memory pieces gathered up together, he finally had the courage to face the deepest and the darkest secret he had kept for years.
He inhaled deeply and gently moved away the shelves around his bed, looking for the photo he once ran away from. He had no idea where he had thrown the photo toward, so it took him some time to find it.
Finally, he found the photo under the small plastic wardrobe. He bent down his whole body and picked it up, looking at the feeble boy, and then he turned to the back side of the photo and saw two names written on it.
“Best friends, Larry & Dan”
The feeble boy was Dan, his departed best friend during his high school days.
Tears of reminiscing about his old friend rolled down his cheeks as he had expected. The tears contained not only the shining memories they had created together but also the regret that he didn’t speak out for Dan when Dan was bullied.
The reason why Dan was bullied, Larry looked back, was too funny to believe. Those people in his age bullied Dan just because of his divorced family. Larry remembered that they always called Dan names such as “the kid whose mother didn’t want him.” Dan always came to Larry to complain about the bullies, but the only thing Larry did was telling him that everything would pass.
The bullies then became more and more coarse toward Dan. They put garbage in his cabinet, hid his homework assignments, and even secretly threw his lunch away to the trash bin in front of him. And then, it led to the result that Dan hung himself because he couldn’t bear the pain from the bullies anymore. However, Larry had never stood up against the bullies, while Dan still naively trusted him.
Ralph’s words came back into his mind.
“Do you regret anything? If the answer is ‘yes,’ I can surely give you my method to make up for the error.”
Yes. Larry thought. He regret that he didn’t protect Dan at the right timing.
Not caring about how late the time was, he got himself dressed in his casual clothes and headed to the bar to meet Ralph. He had to tell Ralph about the story, he thought with full determination.
The board with opening hours of the bar was taken away. Larry was disappointed at first, but thinking about Ralph lived upstairs from the bar, he was relieved that he might see him even though the bar wasn’t open.
He pushed the door which was the entrance to the bar, realizing that the door wasn’t locked. Walking into the bar, he couldn’t believe his eyes that Ralph was sitting at the bar counter.
“Welcome back, young man,” Ralph smiled at him.
Larry had his determination ready and plucked up all of his courage to tell Ralph the whole story between Dan and him. Ralph continued to nod constantly, and his smile didn’t fade away.
The moment when Larry finished the story, Ralph rolled a new cup of cocktail. “I got it,” he said. “Now I’m rolling a special cocktail. You can definitely make up for your past mistake after drinking it.”
Larry was fascinated. Ralph added some water, a bit of Vodka, and some pineapple juice into the glass. After the rolling of the cocktail, he put a cherry at the side of the cup. “Remember to eat the cherry first,” said Ralph after serving the drink to Larry.
Larry nodded, ate the cherry, and then gulped the whole glass of cocktail.
Ralph smiled, feeling proud of his perfect work.
The cherry could send Larry back to his high school days, while the cocktail could give him more courage to do the things he didn’t do due to his formerly cowards personality.
The moment when Larry opened his eyes, he was in the cafeteria of the high school he stayed.
“Wait for me here,” said Dan. “I’ll be in the restroom for a while.”
Larry nodded. He had the memory that it was the day when the bullies threw Dan’s lunch away. He remembered that Dan forgot his lunch box in his locker, and a mean girl would open it and threw his lunch away in the girls’ restroom.
He rushed back to Dan’s locker and opened it. There were Dan’s schoolbag, some books, his lunch box, and a lot of garbage.
Larry took out the lunch box, hid it in his jacket, and cleaned up Dan’s locker as fast as he could. After claiming that his locker was clean, he rushed to the place where Dan called Larry to wait for him.
“Where have you been?” Dan cried with worry when he saw him coming back.
“You’ve forgot your lunch box,” said Larry. “I also cleaned your locker; next time I’m gonna beat those bastards up if I see them messing up with you again.”
Being overwhelmed with overflowing excitement, Dan patted Larry’s shoulder with so much happiness they both had never imagined.
“Let’s go. We should get some seats now.”
The next morning, the assignment the math teacher asked them to finish should be handed out, and it was the most important one that Dan’s got hidden and forced him to get a detention after school.
Larry, as usual, walked to school alone and was about to meet up with Dan, who always arrived at school earlier than him.
After putting his schoolbag into his locker, Larry saw a tall guy opening Dan’s locker. That guy was quite familiar, thought Larry. He should be the one hiding Dan’s assignment!
Larry went straight into the tall guy’s eyes, took a deep breath and said, “What’s the matter messing up with my friend’s locker?”
“None of your business,” said the guy, and then he began to insult Larry. “I remember you haven’t acted as a superhero like this, right, kiddo?”
“I’m not acting as a superhero,” said Larry. Suddenly, he found out he virtually had nothing to say——
The photo he took with Dan flashed into his mind. “Best friends, Larry & Dan...” He thought of everything a “best friend” should do. Maybe stating that he was Dan’s best friend?
“I’m Dan’s best friend, and it’s also none of your business that I want to care about him and help him out when he’s in trouble. Hence, leave this place or I’m gonna sue you.”
Larry panted after saying such a long sentence. The guy found the act boring and left Dan’s locker. That day, Dan smoothly handed out his assignments and didn’t get any detention.
Finding his plan going on with a smooth pace, Larry began to continue his acts of speaking out for Dan. There were also times that he faced difficulties communicating with the bullies, but he still managed to have some methods to protect Dan, and there were more students agreeing with the fact that they shouldn’t be so brutal to Dan just because he was a part of a single family.
Finally, it was the day which once caused Larry’s nightmare. He decided to ask Dan to go to school with him.
The moment he met Dan, he realized that Dan had gained much more happiness and confidence than he thought.
Larry finally could confidently say that the plan of time-traveling with Ralph to save Dan was a total success. In the end, he could have a clear conscience. Eventually, they could graduate together and have two glasses of Bloody Mary after class during college.
He had to thank Ralph, he thought. Luckily, he still remembered where Ralph’s bar was at.
The first day of their college days, Larry took Dan to Ralph’s bar. Ralph, same as the one before the time-travel occurred, still talked with the boys as if they were his old friends. Dan ordered two glasses of Bloody Mary, and Larry stated that his should be on the rocks.
The moment when Ralph served the drink to him, Larry went to his ears and whispered, “Thank you, Ralph, for helping me save my best friend.”
Ralph laughed. “You have no need to thank me,” he whispered, “It’s you who plucked up the courage first.”
Dan, despite being unclear about what went on, still laughed with Ralph’s laughter. Having a naive friend was such a fortunate, thought Larry.
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14,097
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Write about an animal species that doesn't exist in real life — an alien, new discovery, imaginary creature — it's up to your interpretation!
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The usual knight in shining armour story
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The chainmail suit was starting to itch. Badly. The long trudge had started at dawn and now here I was, sweating buckets as the sun blazed over my head. I pondered my dilemma. In one hand I carried a giant wooden shield, in the other my sword. I inspected the glinting sword carefully. Sharpened steel seemed like the perfect back scratcher. Sighing, I decided against it. The soft grass under my feet gave way to hard stone. It finally pulled me out of my thoughts. The mountain before me was small compared to most and was a deep black. It had been armed with sharp and jagged boulders protruding every which way. Halfway up was the mouth of a cave. A thin, winding road (more of a ledge really) was snaking its way up to the entrance. I looked up at the cave, it’s mouth waiting hungrily for me. I laughed to myself quietly. It wasn’t the cave that wanted to eat me. It was the giant fire breathing reptile that did. I was quite proud of myself for that remark, then I remembered the terrifying stories I heard about dragons. They described forked tongues and bloody sharp teeth. I gulped, this one could probably swallow me whole.The noise it had been making was keeping my village awake all night. It had been going on for weeks. The bone-shaking roaring, backed by a symphony of the screaming from the nearby houses was not exactly my kind of lullaby. I was the only knight available at the time (the other’s had disappeared mysteriously when the roaring started) so the village told me to “slay the dragon”. Though, I’m pretty sure they sent me to “be its lunch”. I finally traced the path up to the den. I stood at the cave mouth, it’s size gave me a feeling of insignificance. The small amount of confidence I had wilted and died. Moping, I dragged myself into the cave. It was almost entirely bare inside. The sun brightened the middle of the space but near the edges, it was completely black. The floor was smooth stone and I could just make out boulders hidden near the edge of the opaque shadows.“Mr.Dragon? Can you hear me?” No answer. “Mr. Dragon, I just want to let you know I need to slay you. If you would cooperate that would be great.” The room was engulfed in dead silence. I decided to wait ten minutes before leaving, just in case. After five, I remembered that I didn’t want to get eaten. So slowly, just in case the dragon was asleep, I backed away toward the entrance. I turned around when I was near my escape, preparing to run out of the cave, when I noticed something scaly wiggling near my foot. I suffer from Ophidiophobia or fear of snakes, so screaming like an old woman who just saw a mouse, I started to beat it to a pulp with my iron covered shoe. I immediately realized that it was a mistake. My biggest hint was probably the roar of pain that left me vibrating even after it had stopped. A long scally neck turned and I realized that most of those hidden boulders had been my fire breathing nightmare. Looking down I saw that it wasn’t a snake that I had tried to turn into ground beef but the dragon's tail. Great, I thought sarcastically. It stared down at me. It's yellow eyes hardened in anger. It’s ginormous muscled body was covered in sleek black scales.“Who goes there?” The dragon demanded threateningly.“Ummm.....me?” “What is your name?” The dragon said, asking the generic question in a low rumbling voice. “Lunch... I mean Lance!” “Why have you come here?” He asked. I mumbled my answer. He looked at me skeptically “What?” “I’m here to slay you” I repeated, just loud enough for him to hear me. He looked at me the same way most people did. One of his invisible eyebrows were lifted and a look of confusion crossed his face. Probably wondering if I had been dropped on my head as a kid, I thought.“Ha!” The dragon continued to let out a bellowing laugh. “You? Defeat me?” I couldn’t understand it. In every story I’d heard, the dragons always said the same thing. The reptiles probably all read the same How to be evil for dimwits. Rule 1: Be overly confidentRule 2: Kidnap a princess - You’ll get at least two knights for dessert.Rule 3: Forget hygiene - If your looks don’t kill them, your odour willPro Tip: An evil cackle goes a long way.The dragon turned serious, almost pitying. “You know this means you're not getting out of here alive.” “I know,” I answered as my shoulders slumped. “You’ll turn me into a turkey dinner” I didn’t dwell on that thought for long. I started to hop around him, slashing the air with my sword. “En garde!” I yelled racing towards him. With the swish of his tail, I was slashed to the ground. Getting off my now bruised behind I looked at the dragon. He was barely interested in the fight. I was kind of insulted. Three butt bruises later I thought that a plan would probably help my odds. After a few seconds of quick thinking, my head started to hurt and I had a pretty good idea. “Please don’t kill me, Mr. Dragon! I never really wanted to slay you. I was just doing what I was told!” Begging wasn’t exactly a knightly thing to do but it was that or have one of my rib bones become a toothpick for after his meal. I explained to him the whole reason I was here. I told him about the sleepless nights and the sleepless knight. When I finished he responded, “You do realize that you could have just asked me to leave.” I looked at him shocked and perplexed. Was it that easy? It could be finished just like that? I stood up and looked up at him with the hope of a young child. “Really?” I asked.“Of course not!” He growled, lifting me from the ground. “I knew it” I muttered as he ate me whole.
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12,602
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Start or end your story with someone saying “You’ll never know unless you try.”
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You’ll never know unless you try.
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“You’ll never know unless you try.”Her eyes were as blue as the ocean behind her. As I stared into them I half wondered if someone was playing a trick on me. Like if someone had put a cardboard image of Sarah in front of me, with the eyeholes cut out. The waves rolled in over my toes, it felt nice but did little to wash my doubts away. As the water retracted all that left was the ground beneath my feet. ”What do you say?”, she continued, excited and sparkly. ”You should just go for it! It will be fun!”Her smile hovered above me like piano keys. I looked over at the diving board platform floating not far from where we lay. It wasn' ́t too big I thought. I had jumped off cliffs taller than that. Many times however, I almost chickened out but forced myself to take the plunge due to friends and others around cheering me on. I wasn’t a particularly brave man. But I wanted to be. The diving board out there seemed like the perfect way to show off. Simple, not too high, no danger. ”Look”, I said. ”There are no people there. Perhaps it’s closed or something.” Sarah didn’t look away. Her hand on my chest felt heavy and I could feel every grain of sand against my skin as her fingers moved. The sun was high in the sky, making her hair seem on fire. She laughed.”Why would they close it? Other people have been out there all day. Jumping and having fun. Besides, you don' ́t like it when there’s too many people around. Now is the perfect time to do it!”Although I knew she didn’t mean it like that, it felt like a dig. I really didn’t care much for people. Didn’t want to share space and avoided large gatherings. She was right. But it made me feel boring. The kind of feeling that could force me to jump off a cliff.The ocean was so calm the sky merged with the surface, making the diving platform seem suspended in mid air. Only one storey, a wide white staircase leading up to the platform about seven or eight feet high. The pontoon itself seemed too small to carry the structure. It was weird it didn' ́t topple over. But what did I know about physics anyway?A splash of water snapped me out of my quandary. Sarahs laugh poured over me as the salt burned my eyes.”Hey mister! Where you off to? If you’re having heatstroke you should cool yourself off before you self combust!”I looked at her. Strands of wet hair with trembling droplets framed her face. Her skin had a rosy sheen from the heat and her freckles had multiplied in the sun. Though her eyes looked like pools of ice, they had warmth in them and her smile made my heart swell. She really was beautiful.I had met Sarah at the hotel we worked at. She was teaching aerobics to people who only did it once. I was an entertainer. Odd job for someone who doesn’t really enjoy the company of others huh? But I was good at it, and the fact that I was made me enjoy it. Sarah was sprightly and fun. Always cheery and ready for anything. It was hard not to become infatuated with her at first sight, and even harder to let her go as she passed. Me, I was the opposite. Sure, I could be charming, in song or between sets. But that was mainly due to years of trial and error, and if you saw me three times, you’d hear the same lines at least twice. I was also shy and as before mentioned, not really good with crowds. So when the others went out, I mostly stayed in. Reading about guys I wished I could be.Sarah also used to have a boyfriend. Andrew. A self proclaimed alpha with slicked back hair and frosted tips, whitened teeth and abs. I didn’t like him. I don’t think anyone really did. But confidence can sell most things. No matter how hollow they are. Or how short...As it turned out, me and Sarah became friends. Unlikely, but due to location and happen chance. We were all miles away from our families, cooped up on a tropical island in a luxury resort. Hearing our native tongue created a sense of security and home that bonded us all close together.Many times, after a drunken night out, when emotions overflowed after a fight or missing her family, Sarah would knock on my door late at night and I would console her until we both fell asleep. Her tears still wet on my chest.Perhaps I was naive to think it would stay like that. And perhaps I should have said no when I felt her edging her head closer to mine one of those nights. But I didn’t. And the kiss that followed left me wanting.Andrew left a couple of weeks after that. I don’t know if they broke up then or later or before. I didn’t care. Me and Sarah lived in a bubble where the days were always warm and the weather always nice. Should it rain, the rain would only be romantic patter on the window as we lay together in bliss.But the season was winding down and soon we would be leaving for home. To seasons that would be impossible to ignore.Sarah sat up next to me and took a sip of water. Over her shoulder I could see other people on the beach, couples, families, children. I couldn' ́t make out their faces. Maybe they were looking at us too. Seeing a young couple in love. ”Look.”, Sarah said. ”You wouldn't even have to swim to get there now.” She pointed out to sea. The diving platform had drifted closer. It looked taller than before.I reached out and touched the small of her back. Her wet hair felt cool against my skin. I didn’t understand it. She was exciting, fun and gorgeous. Why was she with me? I didn’t drink. I didn’t plan parties. I didn’t attend birthdays or social events. Was it just because I was safe? Or was it something else. Sharing a blanket with her on the beach used to feel like walking the red carpet on the premier of my own movie. People staring, envious of me for being the guy who got to be with her. Wondering what hidden gems I kept from them. I wanted to be that guy. I just wasn’t sure I was.”If I’m going in the water are you coming with me?”I opened my eyes just as a shadow passed over me. She was standing now.Silhouetted against the blue sky, a golden lining around her head.I sat up on my elbows.”Can’t we just stay here? Like this. I feel so good right now.” My voice was dry like paper.Sarah turned and the sun hit me in the eyes, blinding me. ”I think you should try the tower”, she said. ”It’s right here.”I blinked and put my arm up to shield me from the light. And I saw it. The diving platform floating right in front of us, not even two feet from the beach.I sat up and pulled my feet towards me, away from a gripping wave.”Come!” Sarah held her hand out. I still couldn’t see her as my eyes hurt from the sun. She was standing next to the platform now. The water reached only as far as her knees. ”But Sarah”, I whispered. ”It’s too close to the beach. The water is too shallow. I will hurt myself!”The diving platform bobbed against the waves sending swells in over our blanket. The Sarah silhouette kept her hand still. Still reaching out for me.”Come!”I sat up. As usual I had kicked the covers off during the night and it lay crumpled like a bad poem at the foot of the bed. I looked over at Sarah. She was sleeping calmly. Slow, rhythmic breaths joined with the hum of the ceiling fan. My heart was beating fast as the sudden yank from the dream had startled me. The sheets were damp and my mouth dry. My hands and feet were tingling as if I’d held my breath for too long.Our luggage stood next to the door of the tiny one room apartment the hotel had supplied us with. The bags were packed but not yet closed. Tomorrow would be our last day here.Sarah stirred a little in her sleep and I jumped like she’d caught me doing something I shouldn’t. But she didn’t wake.I however, was wide awake. And I had a choice to make. One I had put off for a long time, something I wished I never had to do.Putting things off until the last minute was the cowards way. I wasn’t brave. But I wanted to be. And then I remembered what she had told me in the dream.“You’ll never know unless you try.”
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1,006
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Start your story with someone receiving a one-star review.
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"The one star reviewer". ⭐
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CW: contains some abusive words.Notice: This story doesn't aim to portray "critics" as bad reviewers. In some cases if necessary, Critics are very important to any writer who wishes to publish a book. They can serve as a guiding light to a writer's piece of work for the best interest of his readers.----- The Laptop beeps twice. A new message has come in. It's certainly a feedback from one of my readers, about my recent online story.- I thought. I sprinted out of the bathroom, wrapped around in a white towel and with a tooth brush in my mouth (still in the process of trying to get my teeth whitened). I landed heavily like a bomb being released from a warplane, and down to earth, on my fluffy bed which has now suffered the huge impact of the landing, and forcefully throwing out the two pillows set on two ends of the bed onto the ground, also having a side of the mattress being torn at one end. I scrolled down to see who it was. Not surprisingly, it was "he". And Only "he". My worse Nightmare, who could've done this.👇👇Ratings. ⭐Comments: "Not captivating. This story made no sense to me!!. Your reasons are not sensible at all. It's more like a waste of time and effort.This is a poor work.- Michael Cohen - reviewer." Michael Cohen again!!"- I said angrily." Who's this guy?".- I asked. Shortly after reading his comment.------At the Beginning...Reading positive reviews on my blog post, and getting a five star rating on it from active readers, was a good sign that my stories were making a positive impact on them, and interested them even more. For this reason. My joy knew no bounds since I started this blogsite.Nevertheless, in all of this good moments. All, but "one" of this active readers, failed to acknowledge my writing prowess since I started receiving his feedbacks on my every post.Since he became an active commentator on my blogging site, prolly a year ago. - i guess. I had sometimes dared not to read his feedbacks, for fear of risking my heart to over-beat, and then, likely to pop out of my mouth all of a sudden. He had always sought a way to disparage my work, and was ever static to rating it with one golden star emoji.(a reason I'm yet to find out).Sometimes, I wondered why he hated my posts so much, no matter how beautifully written i think the story might have been.I started blogging at age 20. Now I am 25, and yet, was still not a very much accomplished writer to some critic readers like " Michael Cohen"- I couldn't agree more. I am known to manage the popular blogging site " the scope", for years now.Usually, I write and post on political issues, or sometimes a piece of information regarding human rights and freedom. But this time around, I had decided to write a Non-fictional short story which I titled " the more they say...", relating it to an experience a girl friend of mine(Linda), once told me concerning her sad relationship with her fellow work mates.I started this blogpage five years ago. And ever since then until now, I had not gotten a two star rating or more, or even a positive comment on any of my posts , but only for this 👉 👎 and the usual "one star" ⭐ from One " Michael Cohen" - My worse Nightmare - I always thought.I searched through the site to read through all of Michael's reviews on my works and this was all I could find there.👇👇👇On Feb 16th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " poorly written Dave".👎👎Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnFeb 20th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " Not inspiring".Michael Cohen- reviewerOnApril 4th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: "I noticed some errors in your spellings".Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnApril 25th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " Your idea wasn't explicit enough".Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnMay 1st.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " Your story seemed to incite violence".👎👎Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnMay 24th.Ratings. ⭐.Comments: "You don't have any idea of how the government operates!!".😠Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnJuly 10th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: "Are you in anyway trying to suggest that all women should seek political power??!!".😠😠Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnJuly 20th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " You have to take down this post Dave!!. It's so unnecessary.😠😠Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnAugust 15th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " I had to stop reading and take some fresh air. I just couldn't continue with such piece of nonsense!!".👎👎Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnAugust 25th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " This story is all garbage!!.🤮🤮.Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnSeptember 18th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: "Correction Dave!!🤚🤚. I noticed you wrongly misinterpreted a quote".Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnOctober 19th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " Are you trying to suggest that we all should revolt against the government!!?". You had better not be!!.Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnNov 18th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " Dave, this post made me sick". 🤒 🤮 🤮Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnNov 24th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " Bullshit!! Dave.😠😠Michael Cohen- reviewer.OnNov 30th.Ratings. ⭐Comments: " I wouldn't recommend this to anyone".👎👎Michael Cohen- reviewer.---- Later...Dec 3rd.At Sunrise. I sat on my bed with a tooth brush stuck in my mouth. Scrolling and scrolling and scrolling and scrolling on my laptop to read some reviews. And then, when I get to the just sent message, which is from Michael. I get sickened at what he has to say.👇👇Ratings. ⭐Comments: " Not captivating. This story made no sense to me!!. Your reasons are not sensible at all. It's more like a waste of time and effort. This is a poor work.- he typed.I walked into the kitchen to make coffee in my favorite red mug. Taking a sip out of it, i stared for a while at the laptop, thinking of a very-very really very bad word to say to him, at least it would help do a little relieve from the burning rage that has now engulfed my inner body."Such a well satisfied f**ckin fool!!, Michael Cohen!!"- I cursed aloud. Not knowing what it meant.I decided to briefly search through his profile page to know more about him. But only discovered that he was a writer too just like me (majorly on writing articles). A professor of philosophy at Rutgers University and a father of two kids also.His pics seemed to suggest that he might be of a mixed racial background."He would probably be a blend of Indian and American heritage"- I presummed quickly.Still going through his page. I begged to ask him, "why he always saw my every posts as offensive, and going further to rating it with just a star ⭐ ( signifying a lack of interest or disapproval for the story).- A review I find offensive too.So I quickly typed down some words in form of a letter while he was online." Dear, Michael Cohen.I have noticed that your every comments on my blog post was always of the negative kind. And for this reason. I beg to ask. "What do you always find disturbing or unpleasant in my posts??. Do well to kindly explain to me, your hurts.Dave.I sent it to him waiting for his response, with my heart already beating heavily and repeatedly.He took a few minutes, before replying to my question.Dear Dave." Young Dave. I have read tons and tons of your post over the time. And I don't expect you to be anyhow pleased with my remarks. But i think it's important to let you know that there are other "critics" like myself who reads a writers work. And give feedbacks, based on our findings. Usually, we search for errors or mistakes or things unrelated to the post and give a negative remark based on our observations. It's how we work. It's why we're critics."Michael.I still couldn't wrap my head around all this "critic" stuff and its meaning. Worse more, this whole explanation made no sense to me at all, that i so wished to fully understand it. So i decided to look it up on my goggles app, and found the meaning of the word.Critic: " A person who expresses an unfavorable opinion of something".- I read it aloud.I thought for a while. And after a few minutes, I made up my mind not to care anymore about Michael's comments, since it should now matter less to me." Well, atleast I'm able to get other readers to highly rate and comment positively on my posts. Not to mind some stupid- dumb readers like " Michael Cohen" who give silly excuses to disapprove of it"- I said to console myself.Then i started typing a new post on the site, on the theme "Reasons why critics should be made to hold back their thoughts, and not be allowed to rate a writers work". A brilliant idea that was birthed from my conversation with " Michael Cohen".- My one star ⭐ reviewer.
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8,891
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Start your story with a major news event breaking — one that will change the world forever.
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Breaking News Not For the Weak
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Breaking News Not For the Weak
Patty Morland sat at the anchor desk with the map of the world behind her. There was a red dot at the centre of attention. The hot button was Detroit, Michigan.
“It has been completely confirmed that aliens have landed on earth. I repeat aliens have landed on earth. This is not a hoax. I repeat, this is not a hoax. They have landed in Detroit, Michigan.”
She turned around and looked at the map and shook her head.
“The National Guard have been dispatched and we have sent a reporter out to investigate. We will make contact in just a couple of minutes. Things are very confused over there.”
“In the meantime, I am joined by Leslie Trumbo, one of the foremost alien experts on the planet.”
Leslie walks into the studio and takes a seat.
“Hello, Leslie, thank you for joining us. You must be very excited at the news.”
“Well, Patty, yes I am. Over the years, I have chased thousands of leads only to be disappointed with the results. But, this one seems to be the real deal. From the hundreds of photos that have been splattered all over social media, it appears to be the real thing.”
“Do you think you will be able to communicate with the aliens?”
“This is one thing that I am hoping to do is to communicate with them. There could possibly be some language barriers, but there has to be a way of working things out. We have lined up a number of translators and are anticipating that one of them will be able to decipher what they are saying.”
“Where do you think they are from?”
“Well, the universe is a vast place and they could be from anywhere. Of course, we don’t know any of the names of the planets, but I am sure that they will tell us.”
“This could of course could open many doors.”
“Absolutely! If everything works out well, then we might be able to reciprocate. We could send a team out to their planet and maybe they would be able to solve some of our problems. After all, if they have figured out how to get to earth, then they must be truly advanced.”
“So you think they could help us out in what way?”
“They might be able to solve a lot of our pollution problems. After all, it is obvious they are aliens, but I am sure that they have similarities that will make us able to share experiences and possible solutions.”
“Do you think that there will be some kind of friendship that might develop?”
“That would be wonderful.”
“Do you think that people will have an open mind?”
“We are hoping that the average citizen and the authorities are graceful and understand that it will take time and cooperation in order to make a truly honest and strong connection.”
“So you want to make friend with the aliens then why was the National Guard called out and put on high alert?”
“This is strictly a precautionary measure. We are hoping that the aliens are friendly, but at the same time we just don’t know.”
“How do you think this is going to change the world?”
“It will change the world forever. I mean we have made real, unrestricted contact with aliens from another planet. This isn’t fiction, this isn’t Hollywood, this is reality of the moment we live in.”
“We are just moments away from meeting the aliens. To our knowledge they have not disembarked from their spaceship. I would like to thank my guest today, Leslie Trumbo for joining us today.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Patty. The reason that I was on this show was to extend an invitation to the aliens and to try and make the human race aware that there is no need to overact or to be afraid. After all, we don’t know what they want and hopefully it is friendly.”
Leslie was about to leave when
Patty stopped her.
“Hang on, Leslie, why don’t you stay with us?”
“I would love to.”
“My producer is indicating that it would be to our benefit for you to stay because you can add informal insight into the conversation and what is about to unfold.”
“It is my pleasure to be your guest anytime and help out if I can. I guess we have to wait with bated breath until they emerge from their spaceship.”
“We have pictures of their spaceship is it what we are usually expecting it to look like?”
“Yes, in some ways it is and in some says it isn’t, but that is fine. We have been so overwhelmed with photos of spaceships in the last seventy years or so that our mind has formed a complete mental picture of what an alien aircraft should look like.”
“Of course. I have just been informed that there is a delay in the whole process. The aliens are locked up in the spaceship and have not been open as to when they will appear.”
“If I might just add something?”
“Absolutely, Leslie, we welcome your insight.”
“There is a delicate balancing act to walk here. We don’t want to scare the aliens off with a show of military muscle or any type of aggression. However, if they are hostile, we don’t want them to think that they are going to enslave us.”
“That is understandable.”
“The problem here is that we have been spoiled and in some ways poisoned with images and built-in ideas of aliens. There have been so many movies and TV shows and books that have painted visitors from another planet in a very unfavourable light.”
“Yes, we are definitely operating from behind the eight ball in a manner of speaking.”
“Yes, this is a very closed minded situation.”
“My producer is telling us that we are ready to connect with our reporter Rhonda Neuron. Rhonda can you hear us?”
“Yes, Patty, I can hear you loud and clear. There is a great amount of anticipation and excitement and some fear. Nobody knows that to expect. But, it is agreed that this is going to change the world forever. This is not a hoax or some movie or show.”
“When do they expect the aliens to appear?”
“They are going to appear right about now.”
The area had been blocked off and there was a lot of room surrounding the spaceship. The National Guard were ready if there was a problem. The local police were keeping the crowd back. Sharpshooters were on the roof just in case there was a situation. All that was left, was the aliens to walk out.
The door to the spaceship slowly opened and everyone’s breath stopped. Their hearts were in their mouths.
The door closed and there was a tremendous thrust of power. Suddenly, without warning, the spaceship took off and quickly disappeared in the bright blue sky.
There was a lot of disappointment and some people shed a tear.
“I am so disappointed,” said Leslie Trumbo.
“So am I,” said Patty. “However, you have to admit that this has changed the world forever.”
“I do. From this point on the debate of whether there is aliens is over.” Patty smiled. “Do you think that they will ever return?”
Leslie looked at Patty.
“The debate will range on.”
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1,267
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Two strangers meet at a New Year's Eve party. They spend the party together, and then never see each other again.
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FIRST LOVE
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It was a New Year's party at my friend's house.I had designed a new three piece dress.The dress was made with a soft synthetic fabric in wine colour.A short skirt,contrast top with frilled neckline and a short fitted jacket in the same floral print fabric was the dress.To add grace to my walk I selected a high heeled sandal and gathered my hair at the top of my head to look grown up, letting a few strands of loose hair to fall sideways carelessly.A wrist watch,gold ear studs and gold finger ring were all the accessory I needed to complete my dress.I sprayed a dash of my favourite perfume,got my handkerchief and a small clutch purse and ran out of my house.My mother told me not to be too late from behind but I was hardly listening to her.My father's car took me to my friend's bungalow through the busy streets. Soft music was wafting from her living room.The front door was wide open and the place was decorated with flowers,lamps and balloons to mark the celebration.I heard voices from inside the room and I knew that the party had already begun.I suddenly felt shy and hesitant for no particular reason, and shrugging it off with irritation I entered the party.Several eyes turned towards me at once.My friends came forward to greet me and we embraced one another and I joined them with bottled up excitement.After a while, when the initial euphoria of meeting my friends during winter holidays had worn off, I casually swept the room with my eyes.I noticed several boys and girls I didn't know.They were not from my school"They must be the neighbours or cousins"i thought to myself.Soft drinks was being served in a corner and I went and took a glass for myself to keep my hands occupied and joined my friends.We were all chattering.One of my friend suggested that we play a game.We were equal number of boys and girls.The game was about selecting popular movie star pairs,write their names separately on chits of paper.The matching pairs were written same number in every chit so that nobody got confused so as to who was to pair with whom.The boys gathered separately from us in a group and we gathered in another group.The chits were put in plastic bowls separately for boys and girls.Each of us selected one chit.I don't remember now which movie star's chit I got.I hardly watched movies in my younger days but a tall boy came up to me and said,'I think we are paired.I looked into his chit but couldn't recognise the film star's name.Our numbers matched with each other so we said hallo and sat together as pair like everyone else.Every pair had to give some performance which could be a song, a dance, an act from the movie in which the pair acted or dialogues from the movie or we could do something totally new.My partner,the boy said he did not know how to sing or act.He didn't know any dialogue from any movie either but he said he could dance.I had never danced in front of anybody.The friends only knew that I sang so I felt unsure,excited as well as shy all at the same time.I told him I knew how to waltz.He said he could waltz too.So we took each other's hand and amidst giggles from my friends and elbow nudging, we danced together on a popular English music.When the music stopped we were laughing because we had both made mistakes in the steps and both of us had almost collided.After the dance the boy joined our group.we ate together from the buffet arrangement and he asked me about myself.I took it all in fun.we had a band of amateur musicians and my band members were also invited to that New Year Party.After eating we sat ina circle and they started playing their musical instruments.I sang some popular bollywood songs.He was right to say he did not sing.He sang like a crow but he sang with me.We were all enjoying then someone said 'let's play musical chair'we agreed and hurriedly arranged the chairs and found a pillow to pass around.The music started playing and one by one my friends got out of the game.We remained till last and shared the prize, a box of chocolates that we ate together.All the time I found him beside me and he made me laugh with his jokes.when the clock struck 12 a.m we bursted the balloons and went out to the lawn and watched the fireworks that the boys had arranged.After the fireworks we all shouted happy new year and wished each other.Some of my friends went inside the house after that.The boy and I stayed behind on the lawn.We sat on a chair beside the damp flower bed and talked.I was enjoying his unwavering attention.He told me about his life,his family his plans for the future.He said he was preparing for a tough examination so that he could study in his dream university in England.I told him I wanted to go to Australia where there are large farmlands with cows,horses,sheep and Shepherd dogs.He started laughing.'you want to go to Australia because of such things'?'Yes' and once there I want to marry a wealthy Australian farmer who has jets of his own',I said solemnly.He became silent.Then he said'I want to own a large company and have many employees working under me'.'we both seem to have different dreams and expectations from life'I said after a while.'Yes,but I like you.'I didn't say anything perhaps i thought it was too soon and I didn't know how I felt.It was past 12 at night and it was time for me to go home.We went into the living room together and I went to gather my clutch purse.He stood quietly at a distance looking at me as I said my goodbyes.I waved him goodbye and left the party with a friend who lived near me and I had to drop her on the way.A few days passed.Our school reopened and I got busy with school work.One day, a letter came for me at my school's address.My name,class's Ecton were all written clearly on the envelope.My friends were all surprised.Who had sent a letter to me at my school address?They were full of curiosity.One of my friends sniffed the letter like a dog.'This is a love letter'she exclaimed.'It's perfumed',she said.It was a two-page letter written with red ink full of poems and praises of me in lines of popular bollywood movie songs.I laughed along with my friends as I read the letter.I read the letter several times in solitude.Then I put it in my cupboard inside a heavy hard covered story book so that nobody could read it.He had written that he would write again and had given his address in the letter.Maybe he wanted me to write something to him.But I did not write anything to him.I remember I started writing poems on nature after that bur I never wanted to show my poems to anybody.My friends must have conveyed the massage to him that I had read his letter and thought fondly of him.So a few more cards came from him to my home address.The cards seemed to be thoughtfully chosen.I treasured all of them for many years but I never wrote anything to him.Then he wrote that he had passed his exam and was going to his dream university in London.He wrote and requested me to keep in touch.I did not even send him a farewell note but I told my friends to convey my congratulation to him.He did not write after that.I graduated from college and went to a bigger city hoping for better opportunity.My dream of going to Australia did not materialise.I kept dabbling in this and that.I heard from a mutual friend that he was doing well and was interested in me as a life partner but I was far from wanting to settle down with anyone.I was still searching for my reason to be.I heard about his father's untimely death and his mother's illness.I lost touch with most of my friends.Some got married and moved to other cities and new life.Some left the country to go abroad.He remained in my memory as a shy,young boy who had dance with me on a new years party.
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13,166
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Write a post-apocalyptic romance.
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Pandemic Yearning
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“It’s funny”. He spoke through a rictus grin. “I don’t remember you being this angry”.
“Angry”? She said sarcastically. ”Why would I be angry”?
“I don’t know. Especially as, if I remember correctly, you were the one who made all the decisions”.
“Decisions?”
Zack leaned a little closer to her.”Not to meet me? Not to even discuss what we had promised to discuss?”
Hey! Sandra, what happened?
Sexy feet...! Sandra murmured.
Huh what, Sandra?
‘I said 60 feet social distance, Sandra asserted.
Zack laughed aloud, ’oh no!It’s just 6 feet!
Sandra had become paranoid after the Pandemic set in.
Zack came forward, Sandra screamed, ’don’t touch my bag! Whenever she touched a surface, a door knob or a simple parcel lying outside her door, she would panic to think “Did I touch COVID-19?”, and wash her hands frequently throughout the day.
Zack grimly,”Sandra, get a hold on yourself!
Liza came pushing her trolley full of groceries, she almost dashed into Zack.
Hey, Zack, you are back on your two feet!
Zack tried to silence her with a gesture. But Liza babbled on,’ you know Zack, those 7 weeks at the City Hospital, I had the urge to call Sandra and tell her about you’.
Sandra cautiously came forward, Liza jumped to hug her but Sandra took a step back.
‘What happened to Zack?’
Liza turned to Zack, ’so, you didn’t tell her?’
‘Tell what’, Sandra pestered.
‘Zack was on a ventilator for weeks inside the ICU. Due to COVID-19 restrictions, he was kept in isolation.
Sandra gasped, oh NO!
Zack grinned, ’I am ok now. ‘Sandra, I know you would dread ‘the news that I had COVID-19.
.
The last time Sandra met her fiancé, Zack; it was at a restaurant, on March 17,2020. They promised to meet again on April 7,2020 -- birthday of Sandra. Zack had bought a special birthday gift, a diamond ring; to surprise Sandra with his proposal. Little did they know that on her birthday, Zack would fall sick and test positive for COVID-19.
Sandra was livid, ‘so you thought you could just disappear from my life, without a trace’.
Zack lowered his lids,’ Sandra! Listen!
Sandra,’No, I won’t listen!
‘Check your phone, note how many hundreds of calls, texts, emails I did!
Zack,’calm down’, calm down please, Sandra.
Zack hugged her.
Sandra shrunk away,’oh NO!
Zack knew Sandra suffered from hypervigilance about cleanliness and the ‘social distance’ norm, she was taking very seriously.
Zack smirked,’ see, you shirk being touched, how would you respond if I told you, I was in ICU for COVID-19?
Sandra blushed,’umm...I.....I
Zack told her,’I know, leave it unsaid!
.Seeing Zack suddenly in the supermarket on 14th September, 2020 it was like waking up from a stupor. They stared at each other for a moment. Zack looked exactly the same, Sandra thought, no –better, damn it-
Both were wearing masks, it was just the two of them, marooned on their part of the supermarket. It was a strange meeting, both knew hand-holding, hugging and kissing were taboo!
You never were a big one for commitment, were you?” Sandra angrily flashed.
She felt his eyes on her and flushed. Shut up, she told herself. Other people were only a matter of some 15 feet away.
Zack’s voice dropped to a murmur. ”Are we really going to do this?”
Zack felt the need to confess, worried that his proposal might come to a pretty humbling denouement, if Sandra didn’t respond, He might still be hung up on what might have been.
Sandra felt a kind of recklessness building within her. How many times had she wanted to have this conversation? How many times had she rehearsed all the things she wanted to say to him? How could he stand there and behave as if nothing had happened after all?
“You really want to get into this now, Sandra?”
“Why not?” she said, waving back. ”It’s only been 5 months. I figure that’s a pretty decent period of time to put off an argument.”
“
“NOT TO MEET YOU?” She turned and stared at him. ”Are we talking about the same relationship during Pandemic”
Both in self isolation to protect from the deadly infection of a bat-born, spikey ball-shaped, gorgeous-looking infinitesimal virus with a name befitting a royal!
“The day you left,” he hissed beside her,” you were going to meet me at The Hub, so that we could discuss our future, and you never even turned up. There was no way to contact you, Sandra! You refused to answer the phone and you avoided me like the Corona!
“The Hub?”
“And you knew I couldn’t reach you once you handed in your work phone. What was I supposed to think? Don’t you believe that after everything we’d been through, everything we had promised each other, that I deserved a little more than just a no-show?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.”It was The Hilltop” we were due to meet at “The Hilltop”. And YOU were the one who didn’t turn up.”
Their eyes locked.
People were increasing in number in the supermarket; Zack was feeling an electric jolt as their hands made contact. “Two hours I waited.”
They stared at each other. For a moment, everything disappeared, She was there on a wet Friday, weeping into her jacket in almost empty “The Hilltop”.
“There’s nothing to say. We’ve moved on.”
She felt the faintest pressure and realized with shock that it was his leg against hers. From day one on Earth, lovers are hardwired to touch, hold and kiss one another.
“Have you”? He said quietly, and the words went through her like a seismic tremor. ”Really”?
“All this time”, Zack said quietly, ’both of us believing the other had bailed out.”
I just figured you’d tired of my indecision.”
“I’d waited the best part of a year. I would have waited”.
“You never said that”.
“I hoped I wouldn’t have to.”
She had grieved for him. His lips closed in. She again yelped. Coronavirus stole the sweet magic of kissing. She head-butted him and squealed, and that was the end of it.
The “touch starvation.” has affected the psyche of lovers.
Both coronavirus pandemic and the protocols that came with changed the trajectory of the relationship between the two.
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6,167
|
Write a day-in-the-life-story about a first-time parent and their newborn child.
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THE FIRST TIME
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Advice from a mother to her adult child when she becomes a new mother: The first time I saw your face, I was in love. You were soft to the touch, and crying uncontrollably. I was so emotional looking at your distress, desiring for your free flowing tears to stop streaming down your cheeks. Your arms and legs were flailing all about. Your father first held you in his arms before I had a chance to. When I held you in my arms, I was captured, forever in love. For nine months you had been protected in my womb and all you had need of was automatically supplied. I wanted to cry with you for the world is an incredible place as well as a dangerous one.
Now, I would never see anything from only my perspective. You would be in my thoughts, dreams, decisions, and future plans. You looked uniquely like yourself, with no resemblance to either parent. You had eyes of blue, blonde curly hair, dimpled cheeks, all your fingers and toes. 21 inches in length and 9 lbs. and 10 1⁄2 oz. in weight. As I rested while watching you sleep, I noticed how you slept on your knees with your bottom in the air. You were a beautiful living baby doll. Too good to be true!
You had a soft spot on the top of your head that is called a fontanel. It is 2.1 cm in diameter and sometimes takes a year to grow and close up. Your brain is continuing to grow and expand. I must be extremely careful when I hold you, until that fuses together, you might suffer injuries in that vulnerable period. There could also be times you feel insecure unless you are snuggled close. That is what I want to experience with you my firstborn, the process of bonding. Bonding is defined as: the formation of a relationship between mother and child.
Skin-to-skin contact between mother and child have some health benefits. For the infant it helps to lower blood sugars, regulates body temperature, heart rate, breathing. Contact calms the infant and helps with the baby’s first feeding. For the mother skin-to-skin contact helps the uterus contract, decreases heavy bleeding, and stimulates milk hormones.
Breastfeeding started in the hospital, and at first was awkward, my nipples became dry and chapped. Staying focused and interacting with you was life changing. This natural bonding experience became easier when we were in the privacy of our own home. Seeking peace and quiet by listening to lullabies, and relaxing with you on a pillow in front of me prepared us for this nurturing time. Lots of practice, times when we drifted off to sleep together.
Feeding you developed into a family affair. Your dad fed you a bottle the first day at home. Grandmother purchased a breast pump, filling the freezer soon after we came home. They were able to spend precious moments with you. I was able to take a sitz bath. You averaged eight feedings your first day.
I knew you were hungry by your fussiness and gnawing on your little fist. You would become alert and interested in your surroundings when you were full. Burping needs to take place when a baby swallows air while eating. Burping rids baby of excessive air to relieve gas or being colicky. Burping was done with a firm pat to your back or placing you on your stomach on my lap. Patting gently on your back until a burp is emitted.
Swaddling is a practice of bundling your infant that helps them to feel secure and sleep better. This keeps the baby warm, and safe without a blanket in crib that is a smothering hazard. Swaddling prevents the baby from having the startle reflex. This practice should only take place for four to six months. Swaddling then may be stopped as the infant is growing, stretching arms and legs.
On the first day coming home from the hospital, you travel in your own car seat. You are buckled in and I want to hold you in my arms. Arriving home you are carried in and are rocked back and forth in the old rocking chair. I sat in this rocker anticipating your birth and here you are. The evening falls and night begins.
The first day in completion is upon us. Sounds in the night are comfortable and somehow reassuring. Crickets are chirping in a symphony as I stand on the front porch holding you in my arms. Stepping back inside we continue with feedings every two to three hours. Changing your diapers about eight times in a day is satisfactory. Sleep seems like one continuous doze, and we are told at about three months of age the baby should be able to sleep through the night. Their weight will be about 12-13 lbs. when they are sleeping through the night.
Temperature must be just right, neither too cold or too hot; between 68 to 72 degrees. Try to avoid sudden noises, by using a white noise machine. There are times it isn’t easy to determine why the baby can’t sleep and is in distress. Physical signs can be crying or bringing their legs up to their chest and kicking. When newborns coo and make gurgling sounds it sounds so pleasant. Grunting sounds is usually related to digestion. The baby is adjusting to mothers milk or formula.
At night, develop a before bedtime routine. First a nice warm bath, pat dry and put on some lotion. Give the nightly feeding and apply a clean diaper. Dress in clean sleeper pajamas, the kind that covers little hands so baby won’t scratch their face. Sing a song or lullaby to the baby. When you put baby to bed place them on their back.
Make sure no noises disrupt the baby’s sleep. Dim lights in the evening. Swaddling your baby for more relaxing and better sleep especially at night. Try to keep baby awake as much as possible in the daytime. Use natural lighting, you can open curtains or blinds. Throughout the day go outside and sit in the sun or take a walk. During the day keep household lighting and noises as you would normally. Enjoy this new part of life’s journey and the role you have in it!
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1,653
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Write a story that involves a mystery — it doesn't need to be crime-related, it should just include something that remains unexplained until the end.
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" UP THE GARDEN PATH "
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In a small English village, the town is in preparation for the upcoming garden competition. In midlife, pursuing detective tendencies, whose vocational skills expounded to those of professional gardener as a plausible cover. We specialized in concoctions for weed removal, fertilizer that promotes healthy and hearty growth. At times we joined one another on vacation to famous botanical gardens. Our first business call this spring season came as we were counting inventory in the office, “Stewards of the Garden". The English estate named “Laurel Inn" was this season’s first assignment. We eagerly looked forward to the excitement and enthusiasm surrounding the judging of the most beautiful and well maintained gardens. Entertaining held in the garden for intimate afternoon teas or extravagant wedding receptions. Early in the morning, we met Mr. Judd at the crossroads unloading the mulch he sold as supplemental income. His employer, Mr. Weston displayed the trophy he won last year in the picture window of his home. He told us this inspired him while he was working in his garden. He also spoke with us about his wife given a theatre ticket by a secret admirer in New York, to see the production of “ LION KING “. She took a flight and was not available to speak to us about the contaminated gardens of all the competitors except their own garden. This garden had no tree bark mulch on it as fertilizer. As we were clearing debris from a recent summer storm, Rosemary remarked how vividly lovely the section of butterfly bushes were looking. The tiger swallowtails lit among the branches adding splashes of yellow and black to the fragrant purple blooms. Closer to the eastern gate of the garden, we approached tiny hummingbirds in hues of green and blue. With our attention drawn to this magnificent vision it was quite startling when I looked down beneath the shrubs to see a boot. The gardeners assistant had a bright, red scratch to indicate the death occurred less than an hour before. We had spoken to him as he returned from selling tree bark mulch in the village. Corruption invaded the garden competition, going so far as to include participants bribing judges when possible. On occasion dreadful, unexpected accidents taking out scheduled judges and the need for replacements postponing the judgment day. This year sabotage among a list of competitors might flush out the villainous saboteur. Mr. Walter Carter, at the licensing office for the event also published brochures for tourist attractions in the guise of grand estate and castle tours. Often, Carter has been described as a walking dictionary and he relished a bit of local town gossip as well. By the time the coroner had removed Mr. Judd from the premises , our appetites reminded us we were famished. We went to a pleasant English pub that specializes in fish and chips. Mary Morris, a new neighbor to the Linwood Village of less than a year quickly befriended herself to Mr. Weston, asked if we might have time to look at her sick plants. Rosemary and I agreed to have a look the next day. The next day brought rain so after a short walk in the Morris garden, we all retreated inside the stone house. I went alone while Rosemary was still at the greenhouse awaiting some of the bedding plants we had on order. Mary invited me in, explaining that so many of the plants in the garden had been tended by the previous owner. She didn’t feel as if it was quite fair to enter the competition not having planned, nurtured, and tended the garden herself. The calla lilies had been failing of late. Rosemary knocked on the door and entered apologizing profusely for the delay. Moments later Rosemary commented on the plant on the desk close to where she was sitting. Mary identified the plant as “ Dragon’s Tongue “ and how it originated in South Africa. Unusually quiet for Rosemary, she gave me a slight nod and spoke no more about it. The following morning we returned to Mr. Weston’s estate, he was in charge of so many activities and events in the small English village. Speaking to him on the phone, he urged us to come visit. The occasion being we both would have an opportunity to meet his wife. Sirens herald their arrival as if chaperoning us to our destination. His wife was out on the lawn and so was Mr. Weston, although he was lying down with a white sheet over his body. Nellie Weston introduced herself to us requesting that we find the killer. Detectives investigating had not ruled out the possibility of death by natural causes. Nellie noticed a dead branch was no longer in a dogwood tree along the garden path. She was adamant that it was a potential safety hazard before she left for the theatre. Indeed, she handed us a threatening note telling Mr. Weston that if he didn’t want for the entire village to know his true identity he would drop out of the garden competition. In unison, we asked what was his true identity. Nellie replied, a surgical assistant traveling to a peaceful community. Later that evening we reflected upon our individual thought processes. I focused on what I saw and heard in my reasoning abilities. Rosemary would rely on instinct to problem solve. Sight and the heartiness of the wood seemed to rule out the dogwood branch as the culprit. The motive definitely had something to do with the past life of Mr. Weston. Mr. Judd had gotten too close to the truth and had to be eliminated. I returned to the Weston residence, to see if I could discover any more clues to a murder plot. Nellie showed me the tropical plant that Mary Morris gave her. Previously, Rosemary had nodded in my direction later after our visit, to explain that “ Dragon’s Tongue “ or fountain bleu was a deadly yet deceptively beautiful plant. As our conversation continued, I realized that Rosemary was at the Morris residence replacing calla lilies. If my hunch was correct, she was in grave danger. Stealthily, approaching from behind I came up from behind Mary and hit her over the head. Cornered in the upper garden Rosemary leaned against the stone wall. As she fell, Mary dropped the poisonous dart she held in her hand. The poisonous dart intended for Mr. Judd, then another one for Mr. Weston went undetected during the autopsies. Promptly, the detectives rounded the corner and facts were sorted out. The theatre ticket from a secret admirer came from Mary Morris. It was used to usher Nellie Weston away so that Mary could do away with Mr. Weston. Likewise, the poisonous plant was given to Nellie to remove it from Mary’s premises. Mr. Judd had more than one overcoat he wore to work in the area gardens. Mary confessed he knew too much and had to be killed when he saw her place ammonium sulfate in the tree bark mulch. Mr. Weston traveled to England to try to escape the haunting of a possible malpractice charge. When he was found innocent, he retired to ” Laurel Inn “, to live pleasantly among the villagers. Rosemary confirmed this as truth when Mary thought it was time for her to expire. Mary shared the motive at last. The patient that died was William Morris, Mary’s twin brother. She bitterly cried out in a mournful keen. As the overwhelming fragrance of sweet William roses in her garden filled the air. She led everyone up the garden path. Two gardening detectives, Rosemary Moyer and myself Ivy Lane helped crime solve once more. Gardening helped calm one's nerves, and we could certainly use that and some lavender tea, of course.
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1,451
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You thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you.
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"INDUSTRIOUS CHIDI"
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I heard his name is chidi that he was an apprentice to a man from our neigbouring village. They said that in February of 1981 that he had a very serious problem with his master. Money matters I heard. I never hear anyone in my village that is of my generation mentioned his name even in passing. I am not even sure that his blood brother of my age group knew him. I never heard from their mouth a name that sound like that even for one day. The story had it that in early 1979 that his parents went to one relatively rich fellow in our neighbouring village to ask the man to take their son chidi as an apprentice. That he is not good in school work but industrious in other areas. Whatever “other areas” means, I don’t know. The man agreed, and chidi will have to stay with him for seven years before being settled. He was taking to Awka the state capital to showcase his industriousness in other areas. Please, never you forget that what I am telling you was told to me by all these palm wine drinking and snuff sniffing elders who get irritated easily when asked simple questions. So, if you noticed any loophole in what I am narrating to you, please ignore it and continue reading but if you find it too difficult to ignore, send your questions to my town development union for that is where you will see most of these elders that are still alive. So, as I was saying, chidi was taking to Awka and it took him only two years or there about to start manifesting his industriousness in other areas as his parents said. The story has it that he spent a year or less monitoring other boys, he works with and found out that they has shallow mind as he said. Shallow mind in the sense that when asked to sell a bar of soap five naira, they will stick to that order from their master and if for any reason they happened to sell that bar soap six naira; the whole six naira will enter into their masters drawal. Chidi was observing all these happenings, wondering whether he is the one with problem or the boys he is with. He finally reached conclusion with his conscience that it is the boys that has problem, not him. “If our master said five naira, then it must be five naira and not six naira or four. Five is five and six is six. They are never the same”. His parents said that he is not good in class work but they attested to his industriousness in other areas. The elders that told us this story did not elaborate on what the boy’s parents exactly means by ‘industrious in other areas’ for from the way they relayed the story to us, they themselves don’t understand too. But after I heard the story, I was wondering how someone will be bad in class work and it took him a year to grab all the business maths he found difficult to comprehend in school. Maybe it is a case of practical versus theorem, or the effect of money on dormant brain. Whichever. When chidi started selling things to customers and collecting money as the story has it, his industriousness became so pronounced that the other boys blindness started clearing. From not putting the excess money into his masters drawal to not selling the bar soap as it was produced. He started telling the boys that they will make more money if they mould the bar soaps into little balls and sell to poor customers. That a bar will generate eight naira instead of five, some of the boys were afraid, some kept quiet. He told them that they should put his idea to test to find out how it will turn out. He warned them not to let their master know of their plan. They started grinding the bars and molding them into ball and selling to their poor customers, making extra three naira on top. From soap, they entered into sugar grinding the cubes and putting them in nylon bags and selling to the poor who cannot afford the whole bar and a packet of sugar. All the extra money being shared by the boys. According to chidi, it is the dividend of their hard work. Just like most humans, greediness soon set in and complaint of putting more work into the grinding session without seeing enough returns to quantify for the effort lead them to start cutting more soaps and selling to the poor customers.
This arrangement continued like that until they find it difficult to collect money from the retailers on time. And when the retailers finally come with the money, it will not be complete. What happened? The answer is always “bad market”. The other boys wanted to put a halt to the scheme, but chidi disagreed. He told them that perseverance is the key to success. They all agreed to give it more two months and see how it will pan out. Chidi took it on himself to do market research and visit the retailers and see for himself what exactly is preventing them from selling the things they took and return full amount. That was when his problems started. Not only that the retailers now felt that he is given them unnecessary pressure, the boys also started suspecting that he has other arrangements with the retailers. Trust flew out of the window from both ends. Agitation set in. some boys withdrew and others started liaison with other retailers and supplying them goods on credit too. Some of the retailers will finish selling their goods instead of returning the money; they will start doing turnover with the money, thereby delaying the money even more. Some will pocket the money out rightly claiming that they have given chidi the money and chidi on his part will be swearing to others boys that the retailers are talking nonsense. Recovering money became difficult and some retailers started threatening chidi with getting the police involved.
That was how chidi liquidated a man that was performing relatively well in his wholesale business, his master found the situation too bitter a pill to swallow, he called police and chidi ran back to his village and when his master showed there with police, the elders prevailed on him to send the police back that they the elders will settle the matter amicably. When the settlement was difficult to reach at by the elders after about three months, his boss could not take it anymore, he threatening to kill chidi. that he will only spare him on one condition that he never leaves their village again in his life, that anytime he hears that he left that village even for ten minutes, that he will kill him. The story had it that all appeal on the man to withdraw his threat fall on deaf ears. One morning in 1982, around five a.m in the morning, chidi woke up, called his mother and told her that “he want to go somewhere; that he will be back in thirty minutes”. From that morning in 1982 till date, no one has ever seen or heard anything about him. His father died years ago, he did not show up and in past years, three of his siblings has died also. no one saw Chidi. Then three weeks ago, one elder man from our village that usually travel to Cameroon capital to buy goods returned to the village with the story that while he was in douala Cameroon capital, as he was walking on the street of poor quarters of douala one evening, as he turns a corner of the street, there was Chidi eyeing him and smiling at him. He went further to say that he (chidi) has two wives and seven issues in Cameroon.
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543
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Think of an item of clothing from your childhood, and write a story inspired by that.
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"My coat of many colors".
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CW: Mention of death.To nobody specifically:Ok! ok! ok!Enough of this...She calls it all fashionAnd I call it a clowns costume.I think I will need some audiences to judge this case.Question: What's that one thing you had rather prefer to choose all by yourself as a little kid ( say yours )?Answer: For me.. it was my clothings.I believe a majority will agree with me on this.In my attic...I find this piece of colored coat in a box. Mom had insisted i wear this coat to her friend's party in the city.I remember vividly.Had I gotten the guts at the time to argue back with her, or rudely walk out on her as she talked to me, or maybe packed my stuffs to leave the house frustrated.Trust me i would have done thatI was done hearing her harsh voices puncture my eardrums all the time, telling me what to wear and what not wear to occasions, Sunday services or even to school parties like it were her own body.But i dared not!I dare not do any of these before Mom. Unless I want to risk loosing my feeding and shelter previledges. I could only imagine the thoughts play inside my head all the time when we begin our "Mother instructing her son on what is suitable to wear" movie episode. Most times, Dad intervened to settle this matter. As a teen ( 18) in the United States of America, you have the right to make your choices without having your parents influence those choices, and even though I was only a 12yrs old boy, still under parental care and not fully ready for life. I think I should be given a little freedom to make decisions on my wears.-+++It was Mrs. Mary Haggick 60th birthday today. Mom was invited, and she decided to bring me along. Before we moved out, Mom had observed my dressing outfit from the stairs and became irritated by it.What's that you put on?I take a thorough look at my blue round neck shirt that slacked from the right hand side, a black shorts that exposed my lower laps a bit and an oversized sandals. I looked back at her, a little frightened and without saying any word. She impatiently yells from the living room."David! Go change that piece of shit and put on the coat I made you. I don't want you looking like a street beggar." But Mom. I don't want to wear it. It looks like a clown costume."No Dave.It's called fashion and I don't expect you to fully understand what I mean.I think it fits perfectly on you. It's my best knitting work I give to you. So you have to accept it and put it on.Understood - she saidBut Mom..Enough Dave!. Not a single word anymore.Ok Mom..- I replied unhappy.I just clocked 12 when Mom knitted this coat and gave it as a gift. I remember seeing her in the living room on her old rocking chair going back and forth in slow moves while painstakingly interlacing different colors of wools ( purple, black, blue, white, red, yellow) using 16 inches needles to work the magic. She sang in the sweetest of voices, one of her favorite Parton's song "coat of many colors" which she says was her inspiration to make this coat.My coat of many colorsThat mama made for me Made only from ragsBut I wore it so proudlyAlthough we had no money I was rich as I could be In my coat of many colorsMy momma made for me.Knitting was almost a tradition in Mom's lineage. It was a practice known to be common among the females in her line ( she once revealed) , from generation to generation. following her greatest grand mother ( I believe to be the one who started the practice) , then greater grand mother, her great grandmother, her grandmother ( my maternal grandmother) and now passed on to Mom.When she had finished, she requested I tried it on to see if it fits." I think it's perfect for a handsome gentle man like you"- she said with a wide smile, and a gentle kiss to the forehead.Dec 25th, 1994.It was Christmas. Uncle Ben had come over to spend the holidays in our house all the way from Texas state to Kansas City. He came with his wife and two kids and a gift also." Happy birthday Dave"- Mr Ben said handing me his present.I shook the pack and quickly guessed what might be inside." It's a wrist watch"- I said, opening the pack to see what's inside" Thanks uncle Ben"." You're welcomed".- he replied.It was Mom's turn to hand me her present. I could always guess what Mom can get for me." It's either a lego City anime toy or my favorite raisined cookie" -i thought."You can open it up now Dave"- she said.I immediately tore off the wrap, and opened up the medium size box to see. To my greatest surprise it's was the same cloth she knitted just a week ago." A coat!- I muttered to hide my disappointment. I looked around to see if I wasn't dreaming.No I wasn't. It's all real.What am I supposed to do with this now?". - I whispered ungratefully."Do I look like little joseph in the Bible, that she offers me "this" color mix?- I asked myself. The story of Joseph wasn't new to me to make up this comparison. I was taught in crs( religion) class in middle school, and in church about the life of joseph, and i really enjoyed it so much. Now I am about to live it in reality.Standing there for several hours, thinking of possible outings I could attend wearing out this coat. I couldn't." i will be mocked greatly if I wore this to school."What if it's a friend's party... won't i be mistaken for a party clown?" What about to church? How will Rev. James look at me on Sunday?. Will he use me and my coat as his next sermon on Sunday? Although, he might not sound too abusive using me as an example, but the humor remains there. It was his style of preaching, using a parishioner's physical appearance or lifestyle to explain the story of a character in the Bible.If it was a good character.You get luckyAnd if it was a bad character, consider yourself a topic of humour for the next few days.Once, he jokingly used Mr. Johnson and his protruding belly as an example to give the description of the rich man in the Bible while explaning the well known story of "Lazarus and the rich man". I wouldn't want that".- I worried deeply.I came back to my senses, and only remembered I haven't thanked Mom yet." Thanks Mom"- I said, bowing a little.-+++++At the party of Mary HaggickI made contact with a lady who stared at me from a distance for a few minutes. She was one of Mom's many friends from high school who attended the party( she later revealed). All attended the famous Regina pacis Model school for girls only. She was a big woman in town from the look of things and held two small kids by her sides." Oh, wow!.What a lovely coat you've got there"- she said smiling and facing me before turning to give Mom a hug." Thanks ma'am"- I replied with a fake smile." This is ridiculous!!. How would you call this lovely?. This is obviously a color catastrophe and every straight thinking person should know this is not a good outfit." - I replied her in my thoughts for uttering such unnecessary compliment." Who made this nice piece of clothing?"- another asked." My mom made it for me as a birthday gift."- I said reluctantly.For the next couple of hours, I remained silent still by Mom's side, not wanting to associate with anyone and kept ignoring unnecessary questions from people.May 15th, 1995.This was the saddest days of my life. Mom had bade her final farewell to this earth. Prior, she was seriously ill and was taking treatment at the hospital, until she had finally slept and never awoke again. I could only imagine how cruel death can be that it didn't even give her an opportunity to say some last words before leading her into an eternal journey. All I can do was to cry and cry until no tears is left anymore.I held up the coat to look again, although I never wore it out since Mom's demise, but still, I admired her knitting skill.Mom might have been a little harsh back then, but I still enjoyed her so much. I loved the memory of my childhood, whenever I glanced at this coat now sitting hopelessly in my attic.I'm an adult, a proud father of two kids, a boy and a girl ( 8 and 13) who are currently in middle school.Should I or should I not give out this coat to one of them as one of my will properties?I thought deeply.
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3,714
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Write a story involving a friendship between two different species.
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A cat and A Dog uniting.
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You remember the old saying. "why are they always fighting like cats and dogs". Used to explain two people quarrelling or opposing each other over an issue. But really. Why are these animals ( dogs and cats) used in such statement to represent a negative situation. Or is it the case that Cats and Dogs truly see themselves as enemies and loved to fight each other all the time??.Let's get to know.Dogs and Cats obviously have nothing much relating to eachother, but only a few physical features ( four legs, a tail, whiskers etc). Their instincts are quite different. Another major difference, is that dogs are Canines, while cats are Felines, which makes it difficult for them to relate easily. While dogs are regarded as man's best friend for their recorded bravery of laying down their lives to secure their owners, Cats are not very much regarded as protectors. Rather, they are known to be useful in keeping out small rodents from its owners property, which also makes them internal guards to mans property.One question is. Can a Dog and a cat, both of different species come to understand each other and form a tight bond?. The answer is "Yes". With the experience I had in my home. I say it's possible.Feb, 15th.Kitty the Cat and Rufus the Dog were adopted on the same day. I remember going to an animal shelterto ask for a pet that I will take home. I initially had wanted a dog alone, but was persuaded by the veterinarian to take a sickly looking cat too.Mrs. Dorathy (veterinarian) brought in small Rufus and little kitty to me. I was too attracted to them and just couldn't resist the sight. So I concluded in adopting them."Mrs. Dorathy. I will have them both".- I said.She gave me some documents to fill and sign, before receiving the adoption fees."Thanks ma'am"- she said.A year went past since I adopted this two pets. Sadly, all this while, katty and Rufus weren't getting along too much. Most times they fight over food. Or over the toys I got them to keep them busy from distracting me. Everyday, the house felt so unfit for both of them. Until I was forced to put them apart. During feeding hours, I will put some cereals and milk into kitty's bowl and take her into a room to feed. Then, I will serve Rufus in a separate room just to keep them away from seeing each other. Sometimes, I had to separate them from playing close to one another in order to prevent them from clashing again. I did this for eight months, and got exhausted. Then I resolved to calling in an animal behaviourist to help out.Sir. william Hamilton an animal behaviourist extraordinaire, visited to examine this two. He had been in the practice for over thirty years and had recorded over a thousand successful animal behavioural change in this past years ( this he had in record and was also well known for it). He requested that I brought the two to him and I did as he said. He took a practice by asking that I bring their foods and place the bowls before him. I did as he said.Kitty was first to move to her bowl, and then, when I placed Rufus's bowl close to hers she gave out a growl. Rufus came up to his bowl and barked angrily at kitty. The two almost went in for a wrestling match when I and Mr. William's was quick to drag and separated them again.Mr. William's came over for days to help train them. He revealed to me that their hostile attitude was a fault on my part in training them as the same animals from infancy. He said." Maam. I think giving them a separate meal at their small stage could have made them grow to see each other as different, though they were of different species but still can still see themselves as one"- he said.Minutes past and Mr. William's asked that I bring them in again. I brought them in and served their meals, but this time, I put it in a single bowl as instructed by Mr. William's. It was their favorite (cereal and milk) food.At first, Kitty went to have a taste of the food as usual then followed by Rufus. But then, she began to growl again and Mr. William's was quick to calm her down. Rufus approached the bowl, as I tried to calm him too. He got to it and started feasting. Kitty as well was feasting. Without fighting, the two ate in perfect silence. I was astonished to see that this two could finally come to stand close to each other while feeding. But, the practice hasn't ended yet. I still have to get them to play with each other especially with the toys I had gotten.On his seventh visit. Mr. William had asked that I place the toys on the floor and bring them out. I did as he said. Kitty had gone in first to get a bone toy that Rufus normally chewed on. Immediately Rufus was released, he went straight for the toy, barking aggressively at Kitty while attempting to bite her from her tail. I and Mr. Hamilton jumped in to separate the two, holding Kitty and Rufus by the leash. After, some minutes of handover to Mr. Hamilton. He successfully got them to both feel relateable and not as threats to each other. He let them free again. This time, they both settled down quietly and played as one.Two weeks past, since Mr.Hamilton successfully finished his work in my house. Rufus and Kitty were getting along well now, all because of Mr. Hamilton's training. I was really gladened with such transformation of this two.Now, I could walk them out freely together, without being bothered of them creating an embarrassing scene at the parks or the playgrounds or even before my friends.Sometimes, they cooperated in catching the little thieves and vandals ( rats) of properties in the house, leaving their lifeless remains on the floor for me to clean up."Good dog, Good cat"- I said. Rubbing them on the head before giving them a cookie reward.Nov, 5th.John and I haven't gotten along since he cheated on me with my best friend( Tracy). We had only started dating three months ago and all of a sudden, I caught him in bed with my best friend.I couldn't explain how I felt that day. Maybe I had wanted to drown myself into some pool or felt like drowning John instead. I wasn't too sure, but I concluded never to pick his calls or Tracy's ( my best friend) anymore, or speak to them again. We didn't talk for almost a year.Until this very day. I happily stared at Rufus and Kitty eating together and playing together, forgetting their differences. I could only admire the beauty of nature in this two distinct animals living in peace and harmony. Just quickly had I remembered John and Tracy. And thought to myself." If a dog and a cat of different families and with no reasoning can finally live in peace and harmony. Why can't I, a human, with reasoning just accept John's and Tracy's apology and free myself of this burden."- I thought wisely.Immediately, I took my phone to call John and Tracy over for dinner. They responded happily and showed up for dinner. They both apologized again before we ate and I was happy to forgive this time around. After dinner we chatted and laughed for a few minutes like we used to in the past. All, I could see in all of this are the lessons nature teaches us about ourselves. How to understand one another and deal with certain differences. Also, we all should learn from it and practice its teachings in our every day lives to make a better world.
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10,329
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Write about two people who just can’t seem to understand each other, no matter how clearly they think they’re speaking.
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He Thinks he knows...
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On one frosty night in January there was a handsome young man whose name was Jim and who was roaming in the streets of Mall Road. He seemed to be a well-groomed gentle man. His hair was sleek and shinning and he wore side burns. He had thin mustache. He wore a brown overcoat with a cream colored half opened rose in his button hole. A white silk scarf was knotted at his neck. One of his hands was in a pocket and in the other hand he was holding a cigar. When everyone was shivering from the cold and freezing air of that night that guy was enjoying the weather in his jollifications. He seemed to be from a rich family and was living a lavish lifestyle. After sometime he was going back from that place in his lumbering shiny car he saw an exceptionally beautiful girl whose name was Scarlet and who was coming back from her job and waiting for a taxi. She was wearing a simple decent dress and seemed to be from a mediocre family. Jim found her so attractive and charming. He was impressed by her innocence and decent style of dressing. He offered her a lift but firstly she refused him and told him that she would like to go by herself. But when he insisted her so much then she agreed and she took a lift in his car. In their entire small journey from mall road to Scarlet‘s home he was trying to be frank with her and asked her so many questions but she was giving him answers in a short way. When her home came and she was about to leave the car Jim asked her to meet again in any restaurant or café. She agreed and asked him to give her his number so she could call him and tell him about their next meeting. Jim gave his number to her and was anxiously waiting for her call. After some days she called him and asked him to meet in a restaurant on Mall Road where they met for the first time. Jim was extremely happy and waiting anxiously for the day of meeting. Finally, when the day came and he saw Scarlet, she seemed more attractive and prettier than at their first meeting. After some of their meetings they became good friends and at one point Jim realized that he was in love with Scarlet. She was also in the same feeling of love with Jim. One day when they were sitting at a café and enjoying a delicious food. An orchestra was playing behind them and they were enjoying the music. Jim proposed Scarlet and she agreed to marry him. After sometime they both get married and started living a good and amazing life. They used to go on tours and enjoying their life by celebrating even their smaller and special moments. They spend almost all of their time together. After one year of their healthy and closed relationship they welcomed an innocent newborn baby. Before the birth of their son the whole attention of Jim was for Scarlet and she was used to the concern and center of attention of her husband. But after the birth of their son Jim was giving more attention to his son. After seeing her husband more attention towards her child Scarlet was going into the post-partum depression and she felt herself worthless and unimportant. She started taking anti-depressants to relieve herself from this situation. She started behaving awkwardly and weirdly at certain times. She was neglected her child and husband. Jim did not know about her condition and he did not realize her abnormal behavior. At first he seems it normal but after sometime he realized that she is behaving abnormally and awkwardly. Jim was really upset and worried because of her abnormal behavior. He did not recognize that what happened to her and what was the reason behind her behavior. He asked her about the problem but she never discussed it with him and from that day they used to fight every day. Jim started to think that scarlet was in another extra-marital affair so that’s why she was not giving attention to him and his child. They both were so depressed and did not recognize their actual problem. They fight almost every day. Their fight became bigger day by day and their relationship got worse by worse. After some days, their fight became so big that they decided to be separated. In the whole of this worse situation their son was neglected so much, but they did not care about their child and got divorced. They both were really sad after their separation. After some time of their divorce, one day Jim phone rang and there was a call of his friend Paul and told Jim that his wife was pregnant. He asked to Jim that he was out of city and his wife needs to go to a hospital for her delivery. Paul wanted a favor from Jim by taking his wife to hospital and he took his friend’s wife to a hospital. The doctor checked her and told Jim to take care of her wife after delivery because women usually go into a post-partum depression and she is already dealing with one of her patients who was in a mental hospital. Jim said to the doctor that she was not his wife but he insisted her to take him to the mental hospital because he wanted to see the patient. Firstly doctor did not agree and said that she did not want an unknown man to see her patient. But when he insisted her she agreed and they went to see the patient. When he saw the patient, she was not someone else but his ex-wife. After seeing his ex-wife in the mental hospital, he realized that she was in post-partum depression and he did not realize it. He came back home after seeing his ex-wife in a hospital and he was really upset but he couldn’t do anything now.
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6,352
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Start your story with a major news event breaking — one that will change the world forever.
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Immortality phill
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The young scientist, David Samson, spoke to a spider trapped in a net-covered bottle in his hand to avoid loneliness. David Samson is a fun-loving character. Possessing a pair of bright blue eyes, he was a strange Syrian man. He lived a relaxed life in the middle of the Amazon rainforest, researching a species of black spider he discovered by chance. In the bottle in his hand was one of those spider species.
He developed an antibiotic for HIV / AIDS based on a protein found in spider web fibers of that species. He wrote a series of research papers on the subject. Many believed that he would even claim the Nobel Prize for this important discovery. This species of spider is endemic to the Amazon rainforest. Furthermore, in order to make the AIDS antibiotic, the relevant protein had to be extracted from the spider web or from the spider's body.
AIDS was already rampant around the world, and a vast spider colony was needed to eradicate it. However, when the spider species is artificially cultivated in colonial form, they become violent, devouring their own species and destroying colonies. (cannibalism). Therefore, the creation of spider colonies was not a successful solution
As a solution to this, David Samson introduced a wonderful method. That is, the genes involved in making that antibiotic protein are grafted into a bacterial genome, producing bacterial colonies, and the protein is excreted by the bacteria. It was a success. According to the vaccine, which was extracted from the antibiotic protein, 1,500 patients who volunteered for the first clinical trial were completely cured of AIDS.
The discovery was colorful in 2050. It was embraced by the world as a protein pill. It blocked all the viruses known to man, it stopped the growth of cancer and even prevented natural death. The tablets did all this by freezing you at the cellular level and locking every cell in forever
It was the 2050’s and old North Korea and war was forgotten. Technologies that had long since thought to be beyond the reach of man were appearing daily across the world. Cold fusion was being commercially refined into a nearly infinite source of power for the planet, the genome was being tuned like a common guitar string–though full human cloning remained strangely elusive–and even strides in inorganic teleportation and brain-internet interfacing were happening in leaps and bounds.
In this euphoria, the Pill was readily embraced by enthusiastic masses, despite its one, single, permanent side-effect: infertility. Once the cells were trapped in eternal stasis, no procreation could take hold within the now solid-state biology of the individual.
While a small number rallied against this side-effect, the vast majority considered infertility a minor price to pay for a chance to be immortal. Some even applauded this side-effect as a solution for global over-population. Whatever their reasons, justification, and rationalizations, men and women everywhere were taking the Pill.
Mankind would never be the same.
***
The death count was higher than the world had seen for many decades, but the ironically named Living terrorists were successfully contained and their remnants exterminated or incarcerated. At the time, this was for the betterment of the majority, but in the end, this was actually the beginning of the end.
By now the vast majority of the global population had taken the Pill–or their children or their children’s children had taken it–and their immortality had brought unfounded wealth accumulation over their long lives. Death was expensive as knowledge and experience were lost and taxes triggered while empires were taken over by inferior heirs.
The Pill had solved all of this as even the lowliest person now could accumulate wealth and even minor savings would compound into great fortunes over enough time.
This was a good thing for the majority of the global population that had taken the Pill, but the opposite was true for the small percentage that had decided not to take the Pill and retain their fertility.
Growing immortal wealth had driven inflation while the normal frictional costs of life, death and children ate into the so-called Livings’ savings and saw them increasingly marginalized in a fast-changing global economy.
Humanity had two classes: the immortals were both the majority and the have’s while those that had chosen to be mortal were the minority and the have-not’s.
What happened is what always happens when the well-resourced majority have a conflict with the poorly-resourced minority: laws were passed and events smoothed over to favor the majority and the minority was more and more marginalized over time.
.
Then, after a hundred years had passed, the end result was the same: no one in the world was fertile anymore. Not one single human being could bear or produce a child.
***
No matter how small the probability of a fatal accident, a violent end or suicide, if a human life is given enough time these same odds rise to a near certainty. Eventually, something will happen somehow and somewhere, and the person will die.
In the thousand-odd years that passed after the final Living had passed in prison and mankind had become infertile, the eight billion immortals on Earth were whittled down to a handful of survivors.
Leading up to this, over the millennia, some immortals died in car accidents, some were mugged or murdered, some died in freak accidents while a good number just eventually committed suicide. Finally, there were even a number of small skirmishes that killed a number but that was the exception.
The vast majority just died in statistically probable accidents or suicide. Mankind’s end came slowly and with great attrition that saw the species slip slowly into oblivion.
The great cities of the world were all self-sufficient with cold fusion power grids and autonomous AI and robots running everything. No new skills or knowledge were introduced into civilization and, slowly, those who knew how died and their knowledge left the world.
Eventually, no one knew how anything worked. They only knew that it did. And the cities and, indeed, entire countries and then continents ran themselves.
Medical bots scampered forth and emergency lights blinked, but mankind was no more. The funeral bots took the body, labeled it and buried while admin bots updated the official records.
And then the City–as all the rest of the cities in the world–carried on running itself on sustainable energy with AI and robots scurrying around its corners.
But there were no people anywhere anymore. Mankind was no more. It had paid the price of immortality.
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1,514
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Write about a character giving something one last shot.
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Mathematricks
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It wasn't up to an hour when Tommy was invited into the principal's office to receive his report card, and on leaving the office he seemed a bit dismayed and restless while heading for the exist door in the school hallway. He looked up saying " O God why!,Why can't I just be better at it" -referring to his mathematics grade. He was still facing upward until he had come out of the hallway, now standing on the staircase outside the building, receiving the fierce jabs of ray from the blazing sun that turned his face reddish in an instant. He was talking to his invincible maker still hoping to get a miraculous response ( sadly he didn't). He rested his left elbow on the steaming rail of the stairs, unaware of the scar it caused on his skin while drowning in thoughts of disappointment. " How can this be?- he asked himself still holding on to his report sheet. He made a quick glance at the grades once more but only became more alarmed at his math grade " MATHEMATICS- F9!!" he was doomed again.- he thought to himself. His face began to turn all scarlet, than it was initially from the sun's effect, his eyes rolled down small droplets of salty liquid substance ( tears) as he remembered how he had prepared for this particular subject. He thought of the times he read and calculated every math formula and equation he could test himself with ( though he failed in most of the test),while pacing back and forth in the house holding a maths textbook and a calculator . He would start off this practice from his room- to the dinning - to the garage and even inside the toilet (sometimes) just to get this" subject of confusion"( as he sometimes called it when discussing maths with his mates) into his head. He had for so long battled with mathematics since his 5th grade, and for that, been repeated on a regular basis for not passing it in his exams. Now he was 15 years and still remained in the 8th grade when most of his peers have moved on into higher grade. He wasn't a genius in mathematics obviously, and for this reason he had developed a passionate hatred for the subject due to its many number tricks it played on his mind whenever he was taught in class, making it difficult to assimilate. He only wished it wouldn't be taught in schools again because of his sad experience . One time in class he was called upon by his class teacher " Mrs. wrinkles face"- as he mockingly called her, for her facial expression whenever she wasn't pleased with a student performance and would go on to whip them bitterly as a way of teaching them to be better next time. Her adopted name was well known in the entire class, but still remained oblivious to her, since the students codedly whispered the name in the class in replacement of her real name "Mrs Wiggle bakers". She had said to Tommy " Go to the board and solve that equation".- pointing at the big white marker board that was hung on the wall facing the entire class. He walked up to the board and stood at a close range with it, facing it Nose- Board like it's some sort of a staring contest. The other students had wondered if his plan was to snife in the numbers into his head to better understand the equation. He stoodstill for a few minutes holding on to her blue pen marker without making any writings on the board. She sternly gazed at him with such rage that her face began to squeeze into some kind of mashed pancake making her look like a hag. She stretched out her hands to receive her marker from him while ordering the whole class to boo at him, before letting him have his seat in the height of such embarrassment. He thought to himself- "Why can't 2+2 just equals 22 to make it all easy to understand as we see it, why does it have to be 4 which is in no relation to the double 2?"- he wondered.Still standing in the entrance way with his report card, wearing his favorite black hoodie sweater with words of " Never give up doing something" bodly written, and in a matching black shorts and "Nike" white sneakers, he brought out a brown envelope from his bag pack that reads " From the principal", on the upper left of envelope and on the right end " To the Harts" . He was quick to guess the message contained in the envelope " it's certainly not something of a good news" - he said to himself with such conviction. Well yeah!! he was certainly right in his prediction. Principal Henry was know for his unique styles of presenting his letters to students. For a good news letter he had enclosed in a white envelope while for a bad news letter he enclosed in a brown envelope. It was a letter concerning his bad grade in math, making it a fifth time he is receiving such warning letter from the principal. Sometimes in the past while he was in the 7th grade, the principal had invited him into his office to discuss with him, about repeating his grade level again owing to his poor performance in math " Young man, mathematics is a neccessary requirement to get you into college or University, who wouldn't know that?? and besides you want to be an Architect without passing maths? That's ridiculous and impossible!!- he yelled, Maths is the mother of all academic discipline and every career depends on it, so you have to sit up and improve on your math grade"- he said ending his counsel. Now he took out the letter and perused through. His heart raced off his chest making it difficult for him to grasp the floating air that filled the environment as he reads.The management,Pearson high school,Florida,USA.Dear sir/ ma,Letter of ExpulsionIn line with the school act 024 on students average academic performance, it's been brought to our attention that Mr Tommy Hart, hasn't been able to attain the neccessary subject requirement needed to be promoted to the next grade, and as such, the school has decided to comply with its policy by expelling him from the system. We have done our best in trying to maintain him in the system for a period of time hoping he would improve on his mathematics which is a very compulsory subject for him to be promoted, but still it remains as it is, do well to understand with us as we hope and pray for his improvement in his next school. God bless.Mr. Henry HallPrincipal.His eyes went blank instantly as he saw the word " expelled" , he hadn't wished it would end up like this, but still knew he had been warned by the principal. He thought to himself, while his legs remained froozen glued to the ground, his hands began to quiver that he dropped and picked up the sheet a few more times from the ground. He could barely move from his position because his eyes were now blurry making it difficult for him to tell where the next stairs was. Thoughts downed heavily upon his head making it seem like his neck was surpressing into his small body. " Expelled!!- he screamed again. " What will I tell mum and Dad?"- he asked himself. After few hours of self -questioning and wailing he turned to pick up his bag pack on the stairs while making a beeline move to the school's bus station.- - - -Hours later, he braced himself for whatever hurt he would receive at home from his parents. He handed the letter to his mother Mrs. Benny Hart, who seemed lost in her own small world of cooking delicacies. She was always in her best mood anytime she cooked in the kitchen, wearing her white and pink apron straps and spiceing it all up with her melodious soprano voice. She was preparing dinner for the family, a delicacy of mashed Rice and Turkey stew. She loved gospel musics so much that she sang it often times in the kitchen while joking that it add some kind of spiritual ingredients to the food. " O my God"- she exclaimed, unable to believe what she was seeing. " An expulsion letter"- she said. I have to meet with your principal tomorrow to sort things out properly.- - - -The next morning, she met with Principal Henry in his large well furnished office. It was decorated with so many art portraits that suggested to her that "he must be an art addict". He sat behind his big- brown- well polished mahogany desk, filled with stacks of papers and books that formed a book pillars at every corner of the desk. He also had the school's portrait by the side of the desk which obviously was one taken in a science fair competition. His suit had a small golden tag with his name " Mr. Henry Hall" engraved on." Mrs benny, what can I do for you"- he asked" My son handed me a note yesterday, saying he was expelled from the school because of his math grade, and...". - she said while being rudely interrupted by the principal." About that"- he said searching through his drawers. He brought out a report file and gave it to her. It was a record book of times Tommy had failed maths since his 5th grade." Sir, please is there then nothing we can do about it"- she asked after glancing through and attempting to plead for an opportunity." Maam, I will only consider him to remain in the school for the last time, if he retakes the exam and pass in good grade." Yes..yes he will"- she said hurriedly before sprinting out of the office to break the news to Tommy.While at home, she made dinner for the family. Mr. Jack Hart and Mrs. Mary Hart ( his parents) were already seated at the dining table waiting for Tommy and his younger siblings to come down to dine with them. Oliver the second after Tommy raced down the stairs followed by his brother Hudson to join in the dining. Tommy appeared to be to concentrated thinking about something, his face was bent towards his mashed rice and turkey stews. He has lost the apepitite to eat, looking a bit pale and reckless. His parents became more concerned about his mood staring at him without saying a word until after dinner when his mum decided to console him." Tom boy, she teased him." You're gonna retake your math exam, is that okay by you?"- she asked him." I can't, coz I'm never good at it and that's fact, I will end up failing again"- he said." Don't say that!! You're my little champion, I believe you can be better off than the little you think of yourself, only set your mind to it and pay less attention to the fear of failing. God loves a trier and even when failure weighs you down, he wants to see you get up and stand for what you believe in"- she counselled religiously, reminding him of their strong Christian background. She wasn't any kind of pastor neither was she a prophet, but only, a strong believer who never sees failure as an excuse to give up on onself, instead she'd rather that a believer see it as an opportunity to know God even more, and she further tries to inculcate this believe into her family." Tommy, failure don't make you a loser, it's only a push to understanding something better. You are going to do mummy a favor in your do- over exam by putting mathematics to a rest once and forever ".- she said giving him a kiss on the forehead to cheer him up.- - - -Tommy tonight was restless when he laid on his small bed insomia for hours. He had thought of himself retaking the exam again, having little doubts of passing this time. He only feared that it would mess up his mind again as it always have, and even called it the " mathtricks" for its number game puzzle. He turned to face the other side of his bed which was in direction to his wardrobe. His eyes caught sight of his favorite black hoodie sweater with words of " Never give up doing something" boldly written on.Immediately he remembered the words of his mother that " God loves a trier, and failure don't make one a looser". He quickly braced himself up with the conviction that since his fellow mate could pass maths without having two heads or two brains, why couldn't he now do same too."- he questioned himself." I will retake it again, I have to give maths my best and last shot this time around".- he said, before gently closing his eyes to sleep.The night breeze came with its seductive coolness, filling the entire room, and gently caressing his body into an active sleep mode. He was feeling dizzy now, and like someone being cast into some sort of sleeping spell. He was fast asleep.
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5,201
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Write a story that starts by establishing its setting in a different time period — without explicitly stating what that period is.
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Ninpsy's Story
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Ninpsy was tired of having to be a servant to the king. She was bullied constantly by the Princess. She was royal blood what did the princess know of her other than when she helped her into her corsets and lavish gowns. " As if she could understand what it's like to be me, " Ninpsy said under her breath.She walked back to the hut she shared with a cat and a chicken. She felt so alone. The sun was just setting as she walked into the hut.Farcee the cat was laid out on the floor of the hut that was sand. The cat didn't seem to care though.Ninpsy looked at him and shook her head. " I really wish I could lie around and do nothing but eat and sleep all day," She told the cat. The cat just looked at her stretched and let out a " meow," on greeting her. " I think you're name should be no help," she said as she made a fire and got a pot. She added some water from rain she had collected from a rainstorm. She opened her pouch she had brought with her and took out some stale bread. The kitchen staff in the castle had given it to her along with a few vegetables they were going to have to throw away. She made soup with them. As the soup was cooking she checked for eggs from the chicken. They were small, but they would do for breakfast. She fed the chicken.Once the soup was ready she put it in a bowl and ate it with the bread. Then she unfolded her cot and laid down. She fell asleep soon afterwards.As Ninpsy slept she dreamed. In the dream she was the princess and she was riding in a carriage. The green land of Ireland was streched out on each side. Other carriages passed and she waved to the people on them. She heard the horse's hooves as they moved along the cobblestone road. She turned to the man next to her and they kissed. It was a strange wet kiss.Ninpsy woke up. Farcee was licking her. She moved the cat off of her and sat up. The sun was up and in the distance a rooster was crowing. It was a dream.Ninpsy stood up and rolled her cot and streached. It was another day of being a servant to the king and dealing with the spoiled princess. She fed Farcee and cooked herself the eggs. After she ate,she started to walk to the castle. This was her life in Ireland. When she got to the castle she could tell something was different. She walked into the kitchen and all the cooks were busy." Is something wrong?" Ninpsy asked a cook." No time to talk, " the cook said. " We have to have the meal prepared for when the prince gets here."" Prince?" Ninpsy said. She hadn't heard of anything." Prince Alexander from the next tuatha is coming to hopefully court Princess Alisa the cook said. " You'd better get up to her quarters and help her get ready,"Ninpsy gasped. She nodded. She left the kitchen and walked as fast as she could to the princess's quarters. She opened the door and the princess turned and saw her." There you are," the princess said. " Make my bath. I must be my absolute best for the prince. ".Ninpsy modded and went to make the princess's bath. She boiled water and put it in the tub.The princess came in a little bit later. Ninpsy checked the water temperature. Then she cooled it off with her finger until it was warm.The princess sank into the tub. Ninpsy found a sponge and soap and bathed the princess. A little while later Ninpsy was helping the princess into a large yellow gown. The princess was big so Ninpsy had a time helping her.When the princess was at last ready Ninpsy walked behind her to go meet the prince.Ninpsy was shocked when she saw the prince. He was the man in her dream that she had kissed. She saw the prince look at the princess and try to smile. ' Hello my lady," the prince said. He bowed.The princess laughed a little. She said nothing.The king who was next to the princess motioned to the dinning room. " Please join us, " he said. He lead the prince and princess to the lavish dinning room. They were served and Ninpsy was recruted to pour the wine for the kitchen staff so she could keep them informed of what was going on.The prince saw Ninpsy as she poured him wine. He smiled at her.Ninpsy smiled back, but stopped when she saw the princess looking at her. She moved back into the kitchen. " What's going on?" the cook who had spoken to her before asked. " Nothing much right now, " Ninpsy said. " Get back out there then," the cook said. They pushed her back into the dinning area. When Ninpsy walked back out the prince saw her. " I'd like some more wine," he said to her. Ninpsy modded. She ran back to the kitchen and got a bottle of wine. She poured some on the prince's cup. " Thank you," the prince said smiling. The princess saw the exchange between Ninpsy and the prince. She frowned. She looked at the prince. " I think after dinner you and I should take a tour of the beautiful gardens," she said. The prince nodded but Ninpsy could tell he really didn't want to. She couldn't blame him either. The princess for her part was actually smitten with the prince. She batted her eyes at him. Ninpsy felt like puking seeing that. The princess was really putting on airs to get this man. She wondered where he came from. Dinner was over all too soon. The prince was lead by the princess out of the dinning area. The princess took the prince's hand as they reached the gardens. She looked at him. The night was clear and the full moon was out. The princess sighed. " It's beautiful isn't it? " she said. " The night and the gardens." The prince just nodded. He wanted to go back inside. Ninpsy was watching them from behind a headge. " Why don't we go back inside?" the prince offered. The princess looked at him with a frown. " How are we going to get to know each other if we aren't alone?" she asked. " Poor guy," Ninpsy said. She shook her head. She knew the princess was a handfull. This was her fifth potential suiter. The princess had a terrible time with men. Ninpsy didn't understand why the king still wanted to have his daughter married even if it wouldn't mean he would have his family line go on if she stayed unmarried. She just wasn't capable of finding a man who suited her or would care enough about the petigree she had to be married to her as was required. The princess finally gave in after the prince seemed to ignore her. She didn't take kindly to being ignored. " I'll show you your lodging quarters," she said. The prince nodded and smiled. The princess lead him to the rooms that had been made ready for him. The prince was glad that he would be rid of the princess. When he walked into the quarters he said, " Good night," and closed the door in her face. The princess huffed she stood there a little bit, but when the prince didn't open the door she went to her own quarters. Ninpsy saw the whole thing and reported it to the kitchen staff. There was a lot of laughter in the kitchen. He'll be gone by morning," one of the kitchen staff said. They took bets on it. Ninpsy didn't want him to go though. She couldn't say that to anyone either. Her life really couldn't be any worse, so she thought. She walked in the gardens thinking. She wasn't watching where she was going and ran into someone. " I am, " she said looking up. She saw the prince smiling down at her. " Well hello," the prince said. "I beg your pardon, " Ninpsy said. She was embarrassed. " No my lady I beg your pardon," the prince said and bowed. " I'm just a servant girl, " Ninpsy said. " To me you are a beautiful lady," the prince said. Ninpsy blushed though she tried not to. " Thank you your highness," she said. " Highness sounds so formal," the prince said. " Call me Alexander." ' Alexander," Ninpsy said. Alexander nodded. " And you are?" he asked. "N," Ninpsy said. "Ninpsy, sir" " Ninpsy," Prince Alexander said. " I like it." Ninpsy blushed again. " Thank you sir," she said. " Alexander," the prince said. " And you are very welcomed. Where do you live?" Ninpsy told him. Alexander frowned. " You should be a princess," he said. " Not living in a hut." Ninpsy blushed again. I wish, she thought. " I'd better go," she said. The prince took her hand. Then a shock, he kissed her. Ninpsy had never been kissed before. She liked it. They kissed for a while under the moonlight. The next morning Ninpsy woke, but she was happy. She was on love. Prince Alexander woke as well. He knew what he was going to do this morning. He was on love. At breakfast Ninpsy served them as the kitchen staff had heard about Ninpsy' s meeting with Prince Alexander. The princess was dressed to try and impress Prince Alexander not knowing that she was about to get rejected once again. After breakfast the king, princess, and prince took a walk in the gardens. " So when can we expect the wedding to take place?" The king asked Alexander. Ninpsy was hiding behind a bush so she could watch. Alexander looked at the princess and the king. " I'm sorry, " he said. " I can't marry your daughter." The king and the princess were shocked. "For heaven's sake why not?" The king said. Alexander looked and saw Ninpsy behind the bush. " I'm in love with someone else' he said. " I intend on marrying them." The princess started to cry and cried on her father's shoulder. The prince walked over to where Ninpsy was. Then he motioned to her. As the princess cried Ninpsy and Alexander left the castle. Ninpsy left her cat Farcee and chicken. She left the life of a servant behind. She got into the Prince's carriage and left it all for good. A few short months later she and Alexander were married. She took a tour of her new kingdom with the prince who was now king of his tuatha. She waved at other carriages as they passed just as she had in her dream.
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5,883
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Write a story about friends who wind up on a misadventure.
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THE HOWL
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The hostile winds of the winter season had subsided. The beauty of the sun was slowly becoming conspicuous as its rays danced seductively on the skin of the city’s inhabitants. The glow on people’s faces was evident, stemming from the heightened expectation of the excitement that accompanied the advent of the summer season. It was 6:05am when the alarm went off. Scot grudgingly put it off as he got up from bed. Stealing a quick glance at his wife, he paused for a while and just stared, admiring her innocent beauty as she slept peacefully like a child. He mimicked the crescendo and diminuendo of her breathing pattern for a while, burst into a quiet laughter, before heading off to the washroom to answer to the call of nature. “Thank God its Saturday!” Startled by Jane’s voice, Scot nearly peed on himself. He looked through the mirror and saw her stretching like a cat, and with a mischievous smile on her lips. “Next time, give me a heads-up before you scream like that. I almost messed myself up here.” Scot said, with a grin on his face. “I’m sorry baby, didn’t mean to do that. Anyways, even if you mess yourself up, I’ll gladly clean you up. After all, ain’t you my baby?” Jane playfully teased him as she sashayed down the hallway to the kitchen. The camping trip planned for the long weekend was already building up so much excitement in the home of the Chamberlains. ---------------------------------------------------------------By 8am that same day, Scot and Jane were on their way to the home of Mark and Tricia. They gleefully sang along with the upbeat song playing in the van’s stereo. The Grants were fully ready and had their bags and camping items packed by the time Scot and Jane arrived their home. Since it was just the four of them, the couples had decided to take just one van. In less than thirty minutes, Mark and Scot had loaded all the camping items into the van. Grabbing some water bottles, they set out for the 1 hour drive to the camping site. “Boy O Boy! We are surely going to have the time of our lives this long weekend. I can’t wait to soak in the serenity of the lake, the green grass and our tents!” Tricia giggled as she mentally and verbally rehearsed the fun-filled time they were going to experience. “Yes Trish! We are surely going to have the time of our lives. What’s more, the kids are safe with their grannies, and won’t be disrupting our serenity. We surely deserve a break from the hustle and bustle of this crazy world. Honestly, I can’t wait to gossip with you!” Jane echoed Tricia’s thoughts and words. While the women giggled, the men smiled and kept clearing their throats, knowing that there was no way they could match the verbal prowess of their wives. It was exactly 9:30am when the four adventurers arrived at “The Outdoor Camp of the Anthills”, a very beautiful epitome of nature, with an idyllic atmosphere that could do either of two things - lull you into a deep and peaceful sleep or energize you into chaotic excitement – depending on the mood of the adventurer. They were in for the experience of a lifetime. After unpacking, the men proceeded to set up the tents and utilities that would be needed for the duration of the camping, while the ladies helped with tidying up the environment. Two hours later, all four were snoring away in their respective tents (as couples). Their spirits had been willing to stay awake and chat late into the evening, but their flesh was weak and bowed to the demands of nature. --------------------------------------------------------------- A howling sound woke Jane up. With sleepy eyes, she reached out for her husband but felt nothing. Opening her eyes fully, she realized he wasn’t there. Thinking he may have gone out to ease himself, she quickly dozed off, although not completely. She was jolted out of her slumber again by the same howling sound, and this time, it lasted for about a minute. Realizing that Scot wasn’t yet back, she feared that the worst might have happened to him. “What if he...” She shuddered at the gory thoughts that just crossed her mind and refrained immediately from verbalizing it. Grabbing a torchlight, she quickly went to check on Tricia and Mark. Their tent was open and empty. Jane began to tremble. Her heart began to beat so fast that she gasped for breath for a few seconds. Then came the howling sound again. This time, it sounded so far away and lingered for two minutes. Jane was beyond frightened now. Here she was, torn between the devil (remaining in the camp and waiting for the others to come back) and the deep blue sea (going out into the woods to search for them). She chose the latter. Armed with a baseball bat and her torchlight, she ventured into thick darkness. --------------------------------------------------------------- The silence in the woods made her skin crawl. Goosebumps had found a home on Jane’s beautiful skin as she struggled to hold on to the torchlight, walk “ready” with the baseball bat while fighting off some annoying insects that kept falling on her body from the trees. Again, that howling sound. It sounded so near this time. Scared to death, she dropped the torchlight. Frozen, she was expecting the unknown. After two minutes of another painful silence, she bent down to pick up the torchlight. In a flash, she felt a strong hand push her forward. Her legs stepped on an empty space, and so began her fall into a bottomless pit, an abyss filled with the worst horrors she had ever imagined. She could hear familiar voices as she fell. “Mum, help me! I am falling for two days already into this pit.” Jane’s teenage son, Mike cried out. She could see his face clearly but the outline of his body was blurry as they both fell. Suddenly, she heard her daughter’s voice behind her. “Help me Mummmyyy! Jane was now falling timelessly into a bottomless pit with her kids, unaware of the whereabouts of her husband and fellow campers. After what seemed like ages, the three of them landed on very moist land. Dark, moist land, filled with thousands of human skulls.
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1,788
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Write a short story about someone tending to their garden.
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A PARTNERSHIP WITHIN THE GARDEN
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A modest little house stands alone, surrounded by a disorderly sea of green. Not that its garden is completely unkempt, but it is hardly a neatly regimented English garden, nor is it a beautifully manicured Mediterranean oasis. It is chaotic, colourful and cheerful. Behind the house, small square paving stones lead upwards past a pergola which leans over to one side under the weight of a well-established wisteria and is framed by clusters of tall papyrus stems. Beyond, there are smaller randomly-placed bushes and plants. Frankly, it is rather a mess, but you could say it is a pretty mess. Screening the house from peeking eyes stands a five-metre-high mass of bamboo whose fronds sway around in the breeze. Between a bare, blackened dead tree trunk and an acacia tree, hangs a faded hammock. It is not a large space and tapers to a point, bordered on both sides by the concrete walls of two neighbouring gardens. It is a shady spot, a peaceful place, somebody’s secret retreat.**** I saw it for the first time on a sunny, golden Autumn afternoon when we came to view the property. The place had been empty for about a year and the garden was completely parched after two months of drought. When I stepped out to explore the overgrown space behind the house, the first thing to strike me was a rusty, old, lopsided pergola, strangled by an overgrown jungle of various weeds, vines and other plants. Upon closer inspection, I discovered the back of the structure was literally an old bedframe, held in place by rampant greenery entwined around and through the rusty bedsprings. Intriguing!Venturing higher, I spotted strings of pearls, plastic ones that is, randomly draped around a huge Yukka tree with a trunk easily as thick as a man’s thigh. Were the beads possibly left-overs from some previous Christmas decorations? I wondered...To continue my explorations, I was obliged to duck under a tangle of droopy, low-hanging fronds from a bottle-brush tree, almost knocking myself out on a tiny, suspended wooden bird house. From the look of the dusty grey cobwebs coating the interior I could tell it had obviously long since been abandoned by any feathered inhabitants. Curiouser and curiouser!Unable to access the far end of the property as access was barred by a huge, untidy pile of dead branches, I was obliged to turn back, and promptly came face-to face with a two-metre-high tower of upturned flowerpots threaded onto a steel pole. Each one of these had been filled with earth, and sprouting from four or five of them were the dried-up thread-like remains of some form of hanging vegetation. Presumably it was meant as a statement. ‘Art for Art’s sake’, I supposed. From this angle, it held centre stage against a tall patch of impenetrable bamboo, strategically placed to shield the house. Whoever could have lived here? Was it all just a nonsensical mess? Or had the garden all been carefully organized by a genius? I wanted to meet these ‘Baba Cool’ gardeners!I had no idea what many of the exotic-looking plants were called in this hotchpotch of unusual plant-life growing in what looked like wild abandon amidst weeds and dried grasses. It would have been so easy to miss the minute, hand-made, clay model of an African woman washing her clothes placed atop a smooth, white rock next to a clump of violets. By then though, I was on the lookout for the weird, wacky or wonderful!It was the intricately carved Buddha statue I found hidden in the centre of a sprawling Brugmansia which finally clinched it for me. It was seated on a flat, olive-green pebble, nestling within four stout branches of this small but deadly Angel’s Trumpet tree. Winding their way around the statue’s arms were creeping vines, anchoring it firmly to the tree. It felt reminiscent of that ancient Cambodian temple, Angkor Wat, the “Tomb Raider” temple which is totally invaded by gigantic tree roots. I was enchanted! The garden had completely bewitched me.****We have come to an agreement, she and I. Not that she has tamed me, for that shall never be so, but nonetheless, we rub along together peacefully enough. Up at my farthest point, she has installed a squat plastic container with a door at the bottom, and from where she pulls out her black magic now and again. It was unpleasant when she first disturbed me with her sharp spade, opening up my lid of hard-baked, crusty earth to tip in her mixture of dark, rich compost. Soon enough I understood though, as I felt energizing goodness seeping into the depths of my soul. I love her too when the relentless, scorching summer sun bears down, and she drags out a long, yellow, coiled snake. From the mouth of her serpentine slave, she then revives me with the precious water I crave and invigorates my wilting babies’ thirsty roots.Sometimes though, she tries to catch me unawares when she creeps stealthily around the corner armed with those dreaded secateurs behind her back. At terrible moments like that, I cringe and wonder which of my babies she is about to try and tame. I do not think she will ever conquer my sweet wild-child Jasmine though, no matter how harshly she cuts and prunes. At other times, she attempts to wage war on poor Daisy or defenseless little Clover, furiously plucking and pulling at them with a vengeance. Occasionally she might win one of these tiny battles, although as I have said, I will never permanently succumb to her wishes. Still, I have noticed the pleasure she takes from watching me grow, blossom and bloom. When she comes to sit and rest for a while upon the old, twisted log she has placed under the pergola, I have my babies flutter their petals and then, Show-Off that I am, I bask in the admiration showing in her eyes.Yes, we enjoy a great partnership when all’s said and done.
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2,870
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Write a story about a proposal.
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Grand Piano
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Every little boy we pass is him. It’s the reason I didn’t want to come. This trip was your idea and I couldn’t tell you why I hated it, so here we are. Seagulls squawk in the distance. I love that sound and you know it.
My therapist says that seeing him still alive is part of the process. It’s difficult to accept. The flashes in the corner of my eye stop my heart with their insistence that
—it’s him, this time it really is!—
I want to enjoy their sweet faces the way I did before, when happy children made me smile, even if they weren’t mine. But jealousy is a mean thing to control.
Before us looms the dike. It’s steep and tall enough to blot out half the sky. A layer of grass covers the slopes and a stone staircase cuts through the middle. The flat expanse fills my vision, running off dizzily to the right and left. My horizon shifts impossibly and I’m walking up a wall, into an Escher painting.
In one month, he’ll be dead two years. I’m trying to live without him, I promise you. Though I’ve stopped saying it out loud; my track record on that promise is terrible. You don’t believe me, anyway.
A swallow dives into view, swooping low to catch bugs. Its white belly flares. I can't remember the last time I saw one. They remind me of summer holidays at sea with him, before. I point out the bird to you. You nod and keep climbing, silent. You haven’t spoken since we parked the car and I wish you'd say something.
The bird disappears over the rim. One swallow does not a summer make.
Your reason for bringing us here has me anxious. The longer you don’t speak, the darker my thoughts spiral. Divorce flashes through my mind.
The sun is oppressive on the leeward side of the dike. We’re both panting when we reach the narrow asphalt at the top. My sunscreen itches and pools in lines around my eyes.
We're not at the ocean, though it sounds and smells like it. Our view over the saltwater canal is gorgeous. Across hammered silver, we can see the opposite shore. Apartment buildings form a gap-toothed smile and rows of clean-cut poplars alternate with wind turbines that look like blown-out dandelions. It hurts my heart to imagine a wish so large.
Though the dandelions aren’t mine, I close my eyes and try.
—Love me anyway—
Looking down the way we came is unsettling. The parking lot is lower than the shore and the two images won’t connect. For balance, I grab hold of the sign at the top of the stairs. It’s a map of the beach with warnings in Dutch, German, and English. “Enter at own risk,” and “Careful, the bottom may be sticky.” The phrases sound better in Dutch.
The beach borders a wide canal that snakes inland from the North Sea. Over centuries, the water has deposited alluvial clay with the viscosity of quicksand. The tide is out and the muddy clay lays exposed in gray, glutinous ripples. On the wind, a smell of damp earth, metal, and decay.
I knew there'd be a lot children here and I wasn't wrong. The summer holidays have started and families are everywhere. So many have children below five, it's like they're doing it on purpose.
You’re looking out over the water. The blue lenses of your sunglasses catch the sky in miniature. Cumulus clouds, like flecks of seafoam, run away towards the horizon of your eyes. Windows to another world. Am I in that world?
Your profile hasn’t changed much since we met, only the beard is new. After eleven years, I still can’t read your expressions. I don’t know what you’re feeling, but I know what you want: another baby. Is this your last-ditch effort to persuade me? Do you think happy memories from before will change my mind? What happens when I say no again?
“Beach or road?” You catch me off guard. I thought we came for the water.
“Where are we going?”
You point to the right. In the distance, a veranda extends across the sand, a canal-side restaurant.
The road would be quicker and easier. It’s paved and not covered in gelatinous mud. But I haven’t been to the beach since he was alive and suddenly my feet are aching.
“Beach,” and I leave the path.
I remove my shoes at the bottom of the steps. Despite the noonday heat, you keep yours on.
Blocks of concrete, heaped in piles and evenly spaced, form wave breakers on the sand. A teenager is washing caked clay from her feet in a puddle at the base of one. She scrubs at her shins and spreads gray streaks to her underarms.
I see you, long ago, teaching him to catch crabs in such puddles. They get stuck between the rocks when the tide recedes, easy pickings with a piece of bacon, a clothespin, and a string.
He was scared to touch them after getting pinched, but he enjoyed studying the ones you caught. You gently placed the crabs in a bucket for him, careful not to crowd them. At sunset, we returned them to the ocean and watched them scuttle.
There aren't any children hunting crabs today.
I'd like to be a crab in your bucket. Gently lifted and gently placed. Handled by your hands, touched. And at the end of the day, your calloused palms a cradle in the sunset.
A crying baby draws my attention. To the left, a young mother picks up an infant to swaddle in a sling across her body. As soon as the small head disappears behind the cloth, the crying stops.
You want that again, but I can’t give it to you. IcantIcantIcant.
—Stop asking—
The salt air crystallizes in my lungs. Can you love me without a child? Concentrating on the exercises my therapist has taught me, I count to five—inhale—count to ten—exhale.
I canceled therapy for this trip. Another reason I didn’t want to come. Another thing I won’t tell you. I go every Tuesday. You don't mind, but you also don't understand. You tried therapy and found it lacking. To me, it’s sacred time, the only hour a week when I’m allowed to not feel guilty.
You’re a few steps ahead, the baby didn’t trip you up. Did you even notice? Do you care at all that these people have what was stolen from us? Aren’t you angry?
You’ve never expressed your emotions in words and I’m terrible at reading your face. You tell me how you feel with actions. What does this one mean, this trip?
The wind pulls your linen shirt tight across your back, outlining broad shoulders. It’s been months since I ran my hands across them. My palms tingle and I curl my fingers up. The only way we touch now is with our feet under the blankets, out of sight. I press mine against your calves and you leave them there. Connected, but invisible.
Near the shoreline, a young girl fights to free herself from the clay. Her legs are coated in gray sludge to below her bony knees. Though we stay far from the water, my feet and your shoes get the same coating. Our footsteps make sucking slurps and you nearly lose a shoe. See, you can’t leave me. Even the earth wants you to stay.
We pass a patch of ground dotted with the hidey-holes of razor clams. They’re buried at semi-regular intervals, small perforations dotting the beach like stars, every hole accompanied by a mollusk-sized pile of mud. I’m tempted to search for patterns, like constellations in the night sky. Except this firmament changes with the tide, wiping clean the horoscopes—a fresh future twice daily.
How many futures do we get?
A broken Venus shell pokes my sole and I pick it up. The inside is baby-cheek pink and soft. With a sideways swoop, I skip it on the ripples of the sand, a shooting star that burns out in three bounces.
—Stay with me—
You pick up another and do the same. It bounces one farther than mine.
Watching the white shell flash from your fingers, hearing the rhythmic plopping as it skips, I’m reminded of the days before. You played piano then, practicing eight hours a week. Often, he’d sit in your lap. You filled our world with music. Sometimes, he’d put his hands on yours and you’d fill the world together. I want to pick up my star and redo it.
—Give us back the music—
In the shadow of the restaurant’s veranda, a father is letting up a parafoil. It snaps and flaps before ballooning in the wind. His son—maybe eight years old—watches with interest and waits his turn. You capture the pair in your glasses, a snapshot of one of your potential futures. I know how you used your shooting star.
—You’ll have that, with me or without—
I jab a fist below my ribs, pushing hard enough to hurt. You see what I'm doing and it forces me to stop. The fist drops heavy to my side, full of emptiness. Shards of sea glass fill my belly. Today, I lose you to the children I won’t have.
With effort, I unclench my hand and mind. Moving on is living now—another lesson from my therapist. You’re still here. Until sunset, we’re crabs in the same bucket.
At the end of the beach, a mat of cobblestones leads up the dike and to the restaurant. We get lucky and there's a table free on the terrace, with a view over the water. On the horizon, a loaded barge bobs out to sea.
You open your mouth for the second time since arriving. “Coke, please.” I order a beer, plus fries for us both.
While you wait for the food and I wait for you to speak, we watch a flat-bottom sailboat cut the waves. It has red sails, a warning sign nobody needs; we both know we’re sinking.
The waiter brings our order. Between us on the table stands a plastic succulent. The fries come in a basket, the mayonnaise in a folded banana leaf. We don’t clink our drinks.
A couple enters the terrace with a dog and I flinch. I can't help it. You snap my attention away by rapping your knuckles on the coke bottle.
"How's the beer?"
Despite it all, you remain the man I fell in love with.
"Decent. Want to try?" A shake of the head.
"The fries are nice," I add. How long have we been this stiff?
Finally, you speak. "I have a proposal and I want you to really think about it. Don't just say no."
And there it is. I need you to stop asking, but you can't. This is where we hit our wall. You want another child and I don't. I can’t give you that future and you can’t let it go.
"I won't have another baby." I look at you as I say it. I want to enjoy your beautiful face while I can. I'm not ready for goodbye, but once again it isn't up to me.
You shake your head, sunlight flashing off your glasses. This is the moment it ends. All I’ll be left with is a therapist and one hour a week.
I inhale deeply, taste the ocean. I wish you’d look at me, but your attention is on the coke. Your fingers are steepled on either side of the bottle. We both have clay under our fingernails. I pick at mine and watch your lips.
“I want us to move to Sweden.”
You’ve turned a new, impossible corner on the Escher painting of my life.
“Did you say us?”
You look up, confused. Before you can analyze what I’ve said and change your mind, I replace the question with a “Why?”
“It was our plan. You remember—”
Of course I do. But that was before and before no longer exists. I don’t have to say it for you to hear it. You take off your glasses. Your eyes are unbearable, gray like the mud.
“We can’t stay like this. It isn’t healthy. We’re frozen in grief, stuck. I need to live again. Chase some of our dreams. Mine haven’t changed. I want that house in the forest, a life in nature. I think it would be good for us.”
I see us among the trees. A shadow falls between us.
I push a palm against my eyes, smell the mud under my nails. A dark unknown opens below me. I need something to hold on to or I’ll drown. “When?”
“As fast as we can get our things together.”
“No.” It slips out, another promise broken. I’d meant to think it over, but one thought screams through the good intentions; I'd have to give up my therapist and he’s all I’ll have left when you leave.
Your voice holds disappointment, but not surprise. “You promised to think.” The floor creaks as you lean back—underneath our blanket, you pull away. Whatever we have left is foundering, icy water rising up my legs.
I’m ashamed to say the words, but I have to. You can’t leave without me, I have to make you understand.
“My therapy.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.” No. Maybe. You cross your arms. My lies are making things worse.
You want to live our dreams, but what dreams? Mine is in a coffin. How do I dream my way out of that?
But then, so is yours.
You buried him with me, were there through every agonizing moment. Yet, you’re still trying. Even when I tell you no over and over, and crush your heart with my empty womb.
I study you.
The beard almost hides how sunken your cheeks are. Is that why you stopped shaving? There are bags below your eyes and your normal olive hue has a sickly undertone. You look almost as tired as you did right after.
You aren’t doing well. I knew that, but now I see it too. The reckless self-regard I’ve been practicing in therapy has leaked from its allotted single hour. I’ve been so consumed with saving myself, that I lost sight of you.
“Alright.”
Your surprise is big enough that even I can read it.
“Let’s move. Something has to change, maybe this is it.”
You stare.
“On one condition.”
There’s sad relief in your eyes. This is what you expected. Firmly, you say, “I won’t give up on another child.”
“I know.”
You drop your hands in your lap—palms up and fingers lightly curled, like you’re waiting for me to land in them.
“You have to get a grand piano.”
Your hands close. “I haven’t played in two years. We’re not getting a grand.”
“A grand or no deal.”
“You’re serious?”
“If we’re going to follow our old dreams, I want to do it right. We move to Sweden, you get a grand, I write again. If we’re going to try, no excuses.”
It’s your turn to study me. I reach across the table to take your glasses. I fidget with them, making the lenses flare.
“What about a baby? You always said you wanted two.”
Why do you have to keep asking? Can’t you just give up? But, if you did, we wouldn’t be sitting here with clay on our feet.
In your sunglasses, I see myself. I wink in and out of frame. In one future I get the answer right, in another there is only empty sky. It hurts to swallow. I can’t make more promises I might break, but I have to give you something. I angle the glasses and watch my lips.
“Maybe.” It’s more movement than sound. It isn’t anything, but it’s enough for you.
For the first time since it-hurts-to-remember-when, you take my hand in public. Our intertwined fingers lie in the middle of the table, reflected in your blue lenses. The sight reminds me of before and, because you’re here with me, it doesn’t hurt as much.
I rub my thumb across your palm. It’s rougher than it was.
A trade. My dreams for yours. We shared the nightmare, maybe we can share the waking. Is this moving on?
With my free hand, I wipe at a tear. It clears the sunscreen on my cheek and I feel less guilty.
You don’t express your emotions in words. In all the years we’ve been together, you’ve never said it. Not when we moved in together. Not when I told you I was ready for a child. Not when he was born and certainly not when he died.
But today the razor clams align, my lucky stars, and you say it. So low the wind almost steals the moment.
“I love you.”
It’ll mean giving up my therapist. It’ll mean a thousand scary things. But if you’re there with me, maybe I can do it. Carefully, I smile at you and, carefully, you smile back. We’ve upended our bucket.
Outside the restaurant, I take your hand again. You say nothing and give me a squeeze. We walk, hand in hand, back home across the paved road, leaving the sticky clay behind.
A flight of swallows passes overhead. Four or five of them wax and wane above the dike, showing us their shining crescent moons.
"Look," you say, and lift our joined hands to point them out.
—The start of summer—
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8,977
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Write a story that begins and ends with someone looking up at the stars.
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Hopeful Sky.
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Joe, while talking to her friend Louise, randomly looks up to see one of the darkest night sky, with its countless shinning stars spread across the horizon. She unintentionally smiled and told Louise that she could still remember the time when she would see herself as the sky; as its constant changes exemplified her every day with the variance in the weather. “Ah when I...” she paused, wiping away her tears of joy to complete her sentence. Taking her time, she thought that it gave Joe her youth best recollections. “Indeed when I was a kid...” she took a gander at the sky and becomes flustered. “Goodness! Better believe it, when I used to locate the everyday concealed message in the weather, I am standing here beneath the sky again, even the same place but differ by ages an adult now...children are so innocent.”"Hey, Joe! We should stroll on this road of recollections from childhood again and reveal to me those excellent recollections of yours" Louise exclaimed. “...ahan...umm okay Louise! If you want to listen, I will tell you,” Joe stated, visibly embarrassed about the memories of her childhood. So as Joe was thinking about herself as a sky, having those radiant stars as her fantasies and Joe feels the need to satisfy them yet in a tallied life.... At some point, when she was staring towards the sky, secured with those precious stones (stars), she said shockingly, "Is there a real existing world in dreams or there are just dreams in an actual existence? Those fantasies were the focal piece of my life.” She murmured, sighing heavily. Continuing, she said, “I wish all my dreams come true, none of them will last as my desire.” Unconsciously, Joe started to count the stars, “1.........66, 67, 68 and...” Abruptly, a thought came to her mind. She pondered about the things which she needed throughout her life and what she had lost a while ago. She mumbled gloomily, “...Imagine a scenario where all my fantasies will be unfulfilled as well.”Looking at the darkness of the sky with her sluggish drained eyes, she got agitated and thought "On the off chance, If I resemble a dark empty sky; at some point, I will be just as dull as well... How would I be able to be sparkle without my peering stars, as the sky is nothing without its appealing stars, right?”Since the sky is breathtaking because of its gleaming stars.Joe thought that her happiness and hope depend on her dreams. Taking in that wonderful thought, she gradually slept.In the following day, she woke up and ran towards the window to see a splendid blue sky, with a radiant sun spreading its light all around. That serene sight showed on her face, as she was stunned by taking a gander at the splendid blue sky. She mumbled "Is it just me as a splendid blue sky while I was the darkest sky with sparkling stars as my fantasies, yesterday? Where are my sparkling stars?Later that day, she strolled miserably in the greenery and laid discreetly underneath an immense horizon, on a wet cold grass. As she continuously stared towards the sky, she muttered, “Ummm...What if I become a bright blue sky and have a vast blistering sun which would enlighten other's life too...” She ran towards her mom to disclose to her, that she has now a fantasy as large as the sun, to help others in their life.After the sun had set, she went to the window of her room and saw a stunning murky blue agreeable evening sky. She had been astonished at the change again, she thought, “Where had my greatest fantasy about illuminating other people’s life gone? How could blue sky lighten up our surroundings without the sun?” She began crying and revealed this to her darling mother. She exclaimed. “My subsequent dream has likewise vanished again, which I had considered as my greatest dream to satisfy.” Her mother coarse her in a hug and said, "Honey! The universe arranges itself so that, the day will light up the darkest night; while the nightfall indeed does change into the daybreak. The morning will then again be changed to the night that left. In actual existence, we need to live calmly. We see numerous dreams here and there, run behind them to satisfy those desires. A few dreams do get fulfilled, but most of them are washed away with our tears. While we forget some ourselves, some just simply have a reality that makes us wake-up from our dream!”“Mom, would we be able to supplant our unfulfilled dreams with new ones?” Joe inquired curiously, wiping her tears out of the way. Her mum said, “Yes! You can, so far as you have more ambition." Joe replied back, blissfully. “Alright, thank you mom for helping me realize that sometimes you also have to compromise with your life and find alternatives.”Saying that Joe ran outside saying, “Mom I will find new dreams. Bye, see you later.” On the outside, under the open sky, Joe saw the darkness covered with clouds and strong wind blowing. She stated, “Am I now a veiled sky and the mists, my hope is in a firm dream with its strength breeze.” While considering what will be her next vision, she smiled and slept. The next day, as she woke-up, she grinned while eating. What was waiting for her behind the window? In the wake of her day, she saw rain and thought it to be an indication of the replenishment of energy from dusty cynicism of our lives. A rain washes away the doubt, as we need that positive restoration in our lives.Later on with the fresh weather apprise, she symbolized thunder as a fear for our lives, as the long bangs after the storms affirm the disarrays of life. Our hysterias make us dread about life and make us insecure. Changes bring new exercises; Joe experienced that directly after an overwhelming precipitation the trivial rainbow arch represents itself as the joy after every expectation. When we lose hope, the universe carries something new for us to supplant it with more joy, yet it requests patience. She was then waiting for the following day which was a cover-up and a look for between the clouds and the sun, between the haziness and clearness of the day, she said, “...it is something between being brave and have to enlighten your surroundings, it’s like about making yourself sure about the things which you are going to be done nextThe following day had an unadorned blue sky. She witnessed it as a symbol of simplicity. The simplicity in life brings more satisfaction than the ups and downs. Satisfaction rarely requires a rich life, even if it provides gratification to live. “The time was amazing when I was a kid think absolutely and act delightfully, sees inspiration from my surroundings,” Joe concluded her talk with Louise. “Gracious! Joe, you have been incredible. Embodying yourself with nature, as a kid. Oh! How adorable it is that a kid can be this unadulterated and honest... he just fulfills him....but the surroundings can be very cruel.”“Yes, you better believe it, Louise. Life has numerous phases to show us....to make us learn how to spend it. At each stage, we figure out how to rise once more...we need to disregard difficulties, we additionally need to expel cynicism from our lives. Positivity can be plucked from anywhere while a kid is learning about the hidden lessons in our surroundings. It’s mainly upon us to walk through the street of life and choose whichever direction is best to reach our destiny.”“Yup, it is. Well said....but what is life to you, Joe?” asked Louise. “I think everybody has his own statement to life...as for me, it’s like a stage on which we, as a whole, play our characters until the final line of our death. It is quite predictable and...” “Mum...mama...MOMMY? Where are you?” Joe's little girl Lara yelled from afar. The conversation stopped halfway. “Aww honey, have you awoken! I'm in the garden with your aunt. Come here. Meet your precious aunty...” Joe said lovingly. “Here, I am.”“Hey, Miss Louise. I am glad to see you with us. Hope so, you are doing well.” Lara greeted, waving her hand as a hello.Suddenly Lara took a peek at the sky and said, “Mum, look at the sky. It looks as though there’s a priceless stone necklace around it.”Joe and Louise chuckled, as they had recently recollected memories about the sky... Joe hugged her little girl and looked up, towards the sky and laughed heartily once again.
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5,891
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Write a story about friends who wind up on a misadventure.
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Into The Door
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Into The Door“Run faster,” I yelled."Am trying" Carter yelled as we were running away from 3 minotaur's.Alright let's go back a bit Carter and I went outside to get some ice cream."Hey Leo, how long do you think it would take me to run from here to the bush?" Carter asked."I don't know, why don't you try," I said."Alright then 3,2,1 GO!!!” He ran as fast as he could. He was almost there ... then he fell and he rolled over into the bush.“Carter are you okay,” I yelled. At first there was no answer but after a second I heard him yell “Bro you have to see this hurry.” I ran to the bush to see what he was doing, then I understood what he meant. There was a door floating in the middle of the air. “What the what, how is this happening?”.“I don't know I came here and saw this,” he answered “You wanna go in?” “We don’t even know if it leads somewhere.” I said.“I guess we have to find out.” He opened the door and a blinding light came out of the door.“You go in first,” I said, squinting from the light.“What, why me, you go” he argued. “Ok fine,” I said as I stepped in the door.All I saw was a wasteland, the grass was dry, it was pretty dark and the buildings were destroyed. “Wow!” Carter exclaimed “wait, are those weapons?”. We ran to the place he had pointed to and there we found bloody weapons all over the place. Carter picked up two axes and found a leather bag identical to the axe's shape and size so he put the bag around his waist and put the axes in the bag checking if it fits. “Bro these things are awesome,” I picked up a black Katana with blue stripes and found its sheath lying on the floor. I felt a dark aura surrounding the katana. It had a belt thing so I put it around the left side of my waist so I can sheath and unsheath it easily.“Leo do you feel that?” “Feel wha-” the floor started rumbling and carter fell to the ground” then i realized what was happening three huge monsters with heads of bulls were behind us “What the hell is that?” Carter asked.“It doesn’t matter just run," I pulled him and started running. We started running but the minotaurs were catching up to us. “Run faster,” I yelled.“Am trying,”. And that's exactly what happened, ok now let's go back to the present. “Alright” I said gasping for air. “I can't run anymore, Carter, how about we test these weapons” he grinned and nodded since he was so tired he couldn’t talk. He took out his axes and ran towards them, I unsheathed my sword and felt a strange aura and a surge of strength into my body and I ran to the minotaurs. They looked confused but then they started roaring and running towards.“I’ll take the one on the left, you take the one on the right,” Carter ordered.“Roger that,” i grabbed the sword with two hands and slashed at the minotaur he blocked it with his hand and he pushed me back.I ran back to him and he swung his hand at me i ducked and slashed at his left foot he staggered a bit and I stabbed his stomach and he fell down. I saw the other minotaur about to hit Carter in the back but I couldn't stop him, “Carter watch out” I yelled and I noticed a shadow in the sky. The minotaur I was fighting got up and hit me in the back. Blood came out of my mouth. I ran up to the minotaur and somehow jumped really high and I repeatedly cut the minotaur until it fell and it was obvious it wouldn’t get up. Then I remembered Carter I ran to where he was but he was fine and there was a random person holding a spear and both minotaurs were down. I went to Carter and asked “Bro what happened?”“Did you see me? I took that thing down like it was nothing.” then he saw the guy with the spear. He was a normal looking guy abou sixteen. I think he had baggy pants, a blue long sleeve shirt and scarf around his mouth and he was really red. “Who is this?” he asked “I don't know, I thought you knew him.” “Wait a second are you the one who was in the sky and stopped the third minotaur when it was about to hit Carter?” “Wait what?” “You kids have to get out of here.” he said He grabbed us and dragged us towards the door.“Wait what is going on.”“Nothing you have to leave.” “Ok we will but you have to beat me in a fight.” i said i saw him smile a bit “Fine but after that you have to leave”“If you win.” I taunted. We went to a big open place and got ready.“On your marks, get set, ATTACK” he closed his eyes and held his spear with his right and he disappeared he appeared behind me and thrusted his the back of his spear at me i quickly unsheathed my sword and the strength immediately came back i blocked his attack and tried to strike but he disappeared again. I felt something hit my legs and I fell after a second his spear was a centimeter away from my neck. “I win now, leave.” he commanded.“Am not done yet.” I said he made the spear so close to my neck until a drop of blood came out. “Hey stop” Carter yelled he ran towards and took out his axe’s but after a few seconds Carter was under his foot and his axes were on the floor like my Katana.“If your men then you’re going to leave like you said” he told us He removed his spear from my neck waiting for our answer“Fine” Carter and I said. We got up and walked to the door “Can we come back?” every once in a while “Whatever, just leave.” “Thank you.” we got out of there as the light of the sun hit us. “Do you think we should go back?” I asked.“Definitely.” he answered.That night I had dreams of all the battles we can have there everyday. It was a pretty nice dream.
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4,513
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Start or end your story with a person buying a house plant.
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Moth orchids
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CW: Mention of death and some serious medical condition."Plants are God's given gift to humanity".- Mom usually said when she tries to convince me on letting her get another new plant in the house.She stood at the botanist shop, happy to get a new house plant, making it her sixth plant just this year. Mom was an avid lover of nature obviously. In every month of every year, she visited the botany shop to get a new plant in order to replace the already dryed and lifeless one in the house. Many a times, I quarreled with her, for not paying proper attention to her plants and making it suffer the sun burn before finally dying off, and then, she immediately rushes off to the bank to make a redrawal, and makes her way to the botany shop to get a new plant. Our house was now home to different species of plants, all because of mom"s addiction to nature.One day, I was forced to ask her her main obsession with plant and how she felt wasting her time and money in always getting a new plant, when she would have used that same time and money to go to an adoptive home and get me a brother or a sister. Yes, I was always unhappy not to have a sibling and I have always made mom know this from the onset. Mom had me through CS (cesarean section) and her womb had to be cut out due to a medical condition she battled with called fibroids. After she had me, she suddenly fell in love with nature and began stocking our home with different kinds of plants. I asked her."Mom. What do you see in this plants?".She smiled a bit and replied."Rita. You aren't gonna understand if I tell you. I see this plants as I see my dreams while I'm asleep. They only give me hope that someday my dreams of getting us a good life will come to reality."- she said.On Feb 16th..Mom and I had visited the botany shop as she used to. The hibiscus plant which she bought on our last visit had taken its final bow to earth. Every possible means of trying to resuscitate it from its poor state proved unsuccessful." Gimme that one".- mom said to the botanist. Pointing at a plant." Ohh.. this??".- she asked. Looking happy in finally understanding the direction mom had been pointing to to show her her preference. Mom's pointy finger was slightly bent due to an accident that occurred when she was still a child- she revealed to me. Sometimes, when she instructs me to bring her the remote in the house. I get confused at what direction she was really pointing at." This is a moth orchids"- the botanist said."It's very lovely and beautifies the home"- she added." Let me have it".- Mom said. Collecting the plant from the botanist and sniffing it a little before handing over some cash." What do you say about it".- she turned to ask of my opinion in the car. Knowing fully well I was never always happy with her buying flowers upon flowers to stock our house." i think it's nice and lovely".- I said. Just to make her happy.For two weeks, Mom had watered and paid more attention to the plant, unlike she did to the previous ones she got.She always watered it in the mornings, and afternoons and set it by the kitchen window of our apartment. She strongly wished to watch it bloom soonest, and always thought it to be her dreams coming true." Rita. If this plant blooms. Then know that our dreams has come to reality"- she said optimistic.We weren't wealthy but still we weren't poor. Mom had only wished we could move out of our current apartment into a more spacious apartment and wanted a more comfortable life for us both. She made part payment for a house in an estate dominated by rich families, just two streets away from our home.----Sadly, a month and a few days after Mom had bought this plant and devoted her time and energy in maintaining it. She took ill and was taken to the hospital. She was diagnosed with diabetes and had to stay for a month in the hospital. Every day seemed like hell to her as her healthy deteriorated the more. I asked the doctor if anything will happen to her. He only gave me the "No" head without saying a word. Mom lay on the hospital bed, looking pale and weak. She had asked me to bring a glass of water to her and I immediately went to get it.I could sense that something isn't right, and that Mom and the Doctor could be hidding something from me. So I asked with courage."Is there any problem Mom?"." No my angel"- she denied.Immediately my countenance changed and she was quick to notice it. Then she held me by my hand and revealed to me what the doctor had said to her concerning her illness." Rita my girl. I have a serious condition called "diabetes". And the doctor had said it's already in its late stage that nothing can be done at the moment."- She said with little balls of tears rolling down her sparkling eyes. I wept also knowing what lies ahead." I will lose mom too."- I said weeping.I could see the fright of death in mom's eye, but she tried to bracen up so to hide the feeling from me." Do you need me to do anyother thing for you mom?- I asked." Yes pls. Get me my Moth Orchids plant".- she requested."Alright mum".- I said. Running home to get her the plant. It was kindof strange to me for Mom to only request for a plant at this moment when they're thousands of other things I could help do for her."What will I do. If this is the request of dying woman. Who am I to deny her this wish"- I thought to myself.I returned with the plant. Already I helped water it and took it out for a brief minute, for air and sunlight ( I was never interested in doing this initially. But since Mom had been in the hospital and it was all she most wanted me to do for her always, I just couldn't refuse to help)." Thanks so much Rita".- she appreciated.Mom instructed me to place it by her window side. Every morning when I come visiting, she would pour water into a glass cup and give it to me to water the plant. While staring happily at it afterwards, hoping it would bloom before her eyes.-----March, 28th.I visited mom, but couldn't find her in her ward. I could only see her Moth Orchids, staring helplessly by the window and a new bed already made in where she usually laid. I rushed to the nurses counter, insisting on seeing Mom. One of the nurses agreed to take me to the doctors office to confirm where mom's bed have been shifted to. Luckily on getting there I saw the doctor emerge from his office." Doctor! Doctor!"- I yelled.." Yes ma'am"- he replied." Please where has my mum been taken to?"- I asked impatiently. Now shaking from the disturbing thoughts of her dying which is now gradually filling up my mind." Hmm"- he shook his head." Ma'am, follow me"- he said.We walked past several wards, until we finally got to one certain, lonely and quiet room. Every patient seemed to be laying down motionless and covered all through in a long white piece of cloth. The doctor led me to where Mom was put. He raised up the cloth and I saw Mom's eyes closed. Her body was pale and stiffened. She was motionless and her eyes grew darker." Mom is dead"- I uttered while I wept continuously.The doctor led me out of the morgue( just found out). Holding my hands and taking me back to the ward Mom was put in intially to grab some of her stuffs. I picked up a few of her things from the desk, and on getting to her plant. Surprisingly, it began to bloom. Its flowers were soo beautiful that I had to gaze a few more minutes, enjoying the view of nature taking its course. I could only wish Mom had been here to watch this lovely display of purple colours like she ever wished to. I took home the plant to watch over it. And like Mom always did to it. I watered it frequently, set it by our house window for fresh air and little a touch of sunlight. Always, I remembered Mom with this plant and felt her presence, sitting close to it all the time. Mom had always viewed the "Moth Orchids" plant as her dream yet coming to a reality and all I could do for her now was to live up to that dream.
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1,161
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Write a short story in which the last line is the countdown to midnight on New Year's Eve.
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THE NIGHT BEFORE
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Birds clattering while sitting on electricity wires. Our caged parrot had found a new word of the day, “Hurray”. Not to be left out, Richie, our new kitty that recently became my alarm clock , caressing my cheeks and got me woken. Our dog, Beethoven, had been bathed clean and the lawn, close by the house, mown neatly to the ground level by the gardener.It was a hazy, sunny atmosphere at the brisk of dawn. The weather devoid of humidity that one’s lips could bled open on trial to extend his/her chin. The trees that claps its leaves and bade us goodbyes each passing eve had begun to shed their leaves, making the branches to appear in their birthday suits. Yeah! The enthralling and alluring nature of the trees which hitherto had been inscribed by the ever blooming leaves and by some that bore enticing fruits have deserted them like a prodigal son who has squandered his father’s wealth extravagantly on a frivolous lifestyle. The soil has become so hot and dry, very swift to lavish its dust generously at the slightest breeze. These were the myriad of events that comes with the harmattan at St. Thompson’s street.Mom had earlier told me the night before being 30th December, that we would be celebrating the New Year's Eve with our relatives, both distant and close. Aha! I exclaimed, my heart throbs in ecstasy, my lips quivered like one who has found a long lost brother with no words emanating from it. I felt dangling butterflies in my stomach at the arrival of such news. Though, welcoming the New year in was a ritual performed by my family, (as we had to perform our ablutions before the event which glitters the moment) but this one was somewhat different as I would be turning 20 as the midnight hour chimes. Then, thus came the fantasy of having a first kiss with my girl friend rushing through the frontal lobe of my cerebellum like a tornado in search of a place to exert its devastating effect. Though ,this didn’t linger farther when mom made an apparition distracting my thoughts with the new clothes she had bought for me to wear at the occasion, at least to prove a point that she was a doting mother. [smiles]The ceremony was scheduled at 10pm. Mom had drafted a list of family and friends and called via the telephone, at the early hours of the day's morning “necessary guest and personnels”; ( Master of the Ceremony, Comedians, Clowns and neighbours ,whom have turned her "besties" within a space of 3months after our packing in, at St. Thompson’s street) , as she firmly believed, for their graceful presence. While she was doing so, I reached out for the cell phone in my ”baggy trousers” to put a call across to Rosabella, my high school girlfriend informing her of the impending ceremony. Though, one would think I was being a good pal by the invite, but the ulterior motive is yet to be unraveled when the cock crows at dawn. [grins]Our house was well decorated by the talk of the town event planners and well lit with various colour shades of disco lights and bulbs. Variety of dishes were prepared by renowned chefs. Desserts was prepared by mom, this was where she was in her elements. The aroma exuding from the kitchen had already triggered my salivary duct that I began drooling like a famished dog ready to pounce on its prey. I had no option than to quench this ravaging thirst with a glass of red wine as mom had earlier instructed, “no eating until dinner is served”.Guest started trooping in at the late hours of the evening precisely at 6pm, starting with my mother’s immediate younger sister and her hubby, the couple which I loved the most, as they sure know how to entertain their guest in this case, I, each time I visit. Hmm, there came the family which mom had once told me their parents never gave consents to their union. She said, “they felt they were so much engrossed in love and had to elope to a town in New Jersey were they got married and consummated their love”. I do tag them the “Romeo and Juliet couple” as in the Shakespearian novel. The room's ambient was now filled with varieties of cologne worn by the attending couples. There came my grannies at the late minutes of 8 o' clock being brought by my mom’s elder brother in his newly bought creamy Volkswagen. Perfect timing, I muttered to myself as I was already yearning for the mouth watering “Pure Bliss biscuit” they usually brought as part of their “kola”. Everyone was chattering and this was a nice avenue for a "get together party", as we also had the time to play with our long seen and almost forgotten cousins. No one ever was bothered with the question, Where are we gonna spend the night?, as they had no iota of qualms that there were enough rooms for each family because our house seems more like an extended family home.Yeah! Finally, it’s here. It’s exactly 10pm. These were the words of the Master of Ceremony (MC), after about 30 minutes of his arrival. Everyone gathered round the well trimmed, round center dining table. Each staying closely to their niche.About Rosabella, hmm... she arrived an hour late, after the dinner had been savored, but this wasn’t a killer joy as she came right on time the actual fun ( games session) was about to kick off which to me was the main crux of the whole ceremony. There, we played devil’s pocket, I dare you game, Ludo and lots more. Jokes were chipped in bits by bits during the games with smiles lighting everyone’s face. Clowns were not left out as they garnished the occasion with their funny faces, acts and tricks. Time was drawing nigh to the break of dawn and everyone was in anticipation. A karaoke session was in play and those who could dance never hesitated. They made a brief flex of their muscles and rocked every hip pop songs played. I stealthily stole this moment to be with Rosabella and said to myself, its high time I told her how I felt. Indeed, she was as gorgeous as a princess, her eyes brightened like the morning star and she was the talk of the class back then in school. I surreptitiously dragged her to the place I termed “the reserved spot” there and then, a young lad poured out his heart felt emotions. She was muddle headed like one hit by the atomic bomb at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as she was finding time to assimilate the words but she finally concurred, saying vehemently... " I feel the same way for you, Lary". Yippie! I growled, as I checked the watch caressing my wrist, it was 30 seconds to the wake of dawn. The Master of the ceremony ordered everyone to grab their glasses, I could see wives eyes holding sternly the gazes of their husbands to theirs, chin extensions, so charming that some produced dimples, I looked closely on Rosabella's face and found some traces of blush, we made a 10 seconds countdown and thus came my much awaited first kiss after the countdown to midnight on New Year's Eve. [winks]
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7,635
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Write a cautionary fable about someone who always lies.
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The Dream of Mr. Scarab
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It was a hot summer afternoon in June at the town of Savannohta. Savannohta is a small town that lied in the far east end of Africalia. It has a market at its centre and the roads were not so good compared to the city. With mountains blocking both the sides of the town, rain was a rare visitor to the town. All the animals were busy packing their baggage for a long vacation away from their home. Only if they departed now, the hotels and the lodges would be available and renting a room would be affordable. It was almost the 15th of June, and most of the rooms would be full by the end of that month. The bison, zebras, antelopes, deer, giraffes and other herbivores had already started for their migration some days ago. Even the ticket prices of metro trains and flights had shot up way before the migration season. The media slammed the government for the price hike in the ticket fares and activists were protesting in front of the Mayor’s office. The migration was about 100 kms from where the king lived, the Great Republic of Africalia.
On the outskirts of the Savannohta lived Mr. Scarab, a dung beetle, who always dreamt about travelling to the capital city. Whenever his friends asked him about anything they didn’t know, Scarab would spin a cock and bull story right away. His best friend, Buggita, a lady bug, always knew he would fib anywhere and anytime, and was always worried of his boasting. She feared that one day or the other, Scarab would face retribution for his boundless boasting.
Mr. Scarab flitted every day to the nearby horse stables and occasionally fluttered to the dairy farm where the cows and bulls resided for his daily dung collection. He fed on the cakes and biscuits he made from them, rolled the leftovers into spheres, dried them and carved toys out of it. Sometimes he even made jewels for the newly wed couples of Savannohta, or this is what he has said all over the town. No one has ever seen him either make toys and ornaments or sell them at the market as Mr. Scarab was always burrowed inside his house. One could say he is at home only by making out through the buzzes and crackles from his old radio. At times, Scarab would be spotted with his cronies at the bar talking about dirty politics and sports, if he was cheerful. Buggita often had tough times dragging him from the bar fights which he got into, and only she would be there to save him from getting beaten.
Buggita lived next to Scarab’s home and she too couldn’t be seen often in the streets. She ran a flower shop at the grand market and made minimal earnings of her own. Her rattling sounds and the shrill cries attracted the customers readily and even the Mayor was fond of her shop. The ambrosial flowers were always fresh until she latched the shutter punctually at 4 pm.
Life was very smooth for the citizens of Savannohta, up until the summer set in early that year. Infants and toddlers suffered a lot due to the heavy power cuts both during day and night. The prices were increasing on an alarming scale and so did the bills. Taxes were being heavily levied on the middle-class citizens and unemployment struck the town. Bad word spread like fire about the current government and the king was expected to land in jail anytime soon for the corruption cases that were imposed on him. Though it were claimed as rumours by the senior officials of the king’s cabinet, all the citizens of Africalia knew it was the unvarnished truth. Every year, the citizens from all over the Africalian Republic would come over to the capital city, as the cost of living per diem was quite reasonable during the migration time. The kids enjoyed the luxuries and opulence of the city during their three months stay. But this time, it was different. With the Expo of Africalia around the corner, no one seemed to be interested in a holiday at the city.
As everyone looked forward moving to the countryside for a sojourn, there was one person in the whole town of Savannohta jumping with joy to go to the golden city of Africalia, Mr. Scarab. He was overjoyed looking at the drastically reduced train fare to the city when compared to the heavy fares for other parts of the country, he thought of booking a business class seat in the most expensive airlines which was as the same pricing of last year’s ticket pricing to the city. After all, when someone is going to meet the King and the Queen for the first time, posed as a famous jewellery maker, and not like some regular villager, the excitement would increase multiple folds. He boasted to his friends at the bar that he was invited by the king himself to make fine jewels made out of his own fine dung and wanted to surprise his wife with the jewels. He even handed out a typewritten note addressing him as MR. SCARAB, THE JEWEL MAKER and it was signed by the King himself. No one has ever seen the king’s signature and seal before and this favoured Scarab. He had carefully typed the whole thing in the official format the previous night and was proudly boasting the next day in front of his blandishers or “friends”.
Buggita was watching him from a distance as she didn’t want to bring shame for scarab in front of his friends. When Scarab reached home, she was waiting for him on the small porch of his tiny brick house. Scarab recognised the look on her face and without any hesitation, readily apologized for having boasted at the bar and promised to never do it again. Buggita was sick of her advising him and directly got to the point. She warned him,
“NEVER GO TO AFRICALIA AT THIS TIME, THAT TOO FLYING ON YOUR OWN! YOU THINK MEETING THE KING WOULD BE EASY, DON’T YOU? EVEN IF THAT HAPPENS, YOU CAN’T SURVIVE A DAY AMONG THOSE LUNATICS! PLEASE DON’T GO THERE AND HURT YOURSELF... YOU’LL GO BONKERS AND BECOME MAD AS A MARCH HARE!!”
But Scarab wasn’t in the mood to listen too. He had already made up his mind to visit the city. He waited for Buggita to leave his home, and just as she left, he bolted the door and filled a large suitcase with his favourite flashy suits and his favourite set of cotton swabs which he took from the nearby dustbin for his dumbbells. He didn’t want to waste one more minute in this stupid town, always dusty and filthy all over the place. He was tired of rolling the same horses and cows’ shit over all these years and didn’t want to continue that anymore. He aimed big. He wanted to roll big. HE wanted to roll the precious clay of the most feared citizen of the whole Republic of Africalia – The King himself! He will roll the sweetest smelling, aromatic dung ever smelt, into pretty, glazing tiny balls and produce beads out of them, splash wonderful bright colours over it, he’ll string them in a thin, strong nylon wire and create the most beautiful necklace the world has ever seen. He’ll present it to the mighty queen of his highness and he will get appointed as the official jewel maker of Africalia right away. He will marry the most beautiful beetle in the world, and his life will flourish in the most unexpected way. All his friends who mocked behind his back calling him a liar, will now no longer remember him as one. Instead, he will be known as the Famous Jewel Maker of Africalia!! All these thoughts drove him more anxious and energetic. He packed everything in a hurry burry, and took wing to the airport.
Hard luck showered on him, as all the planes were full, and he had to wait till morning for the next flight. Mr. Scarab isn’t the one to wait for glory to reach him, HE is the one who’ll grab glory before it flies away high. He lifted the suitcase in both of his hands, and thrusted towards the sky. He decided to go by flight! All his energy and enthusiasm and his years of workout proved to be fruitful and adrenaline gushed through his veins. He flew all night without breaking a sweat and stopped for breakfast at a country dairy farm. Fresh dung pumped his adrenaline once more and rocketed his way up the sky again.
By noon, he almost reached the outskirts of the city and after a couple of hours he was standing at the Gates of his dream destination! The Great City! The Golden Atlantis! Africalia! His joy knew no bounds and his legs trotted happily in the large, wide main roads as he searched for a good hotel. Cars and bikes vroomed while hawkers and charmers shrilled at the top of their voices. Fresh buns and cakes filled the city with its delicious aroma. Deer and antelopes were looking flashy in their party wears. The tigers and leopards were not like the ones he saw in the town, here he saw civilised citizens roaming around in their sneakers and sweatshirts with their earphones plugged. As he crossed the grand junction, his eyes caught the brightest advertisement flex he ever saw – ZOOPARFAIT– THE ULTIMATE SHOP FOR ALL! Next to the fluorescent green font, posing was his favourite actress, Ms. Leopon – the Cheetah who was famous for her acrobatic dancing in her songs. Hypnotized by all this, he remained gazing at her until a car nearly rammed him in the middle of the street... just imagine how it would be if Mr. Scarab was squished along with his dreams... he shook his head to wipe off the thought and advanced along the road with the help of his pocket map. After an hour-long search, his black beady eyes caught hold of a glittering board – BULLERIA. There stood a Bison, a security guard, guarding the premises. The bison didn’t allow the beetle to step inside and said it was a “Bovidae Only” hotel. It was already evening and scarab was too tired to fight or cry. He pleaded with the guard to take him inside for one night, but in vain.
At last, the bison took pity on him and accepted him to sleep in his shed for that night and leave the next morning. The beetle was relieved and went with the bison to his shed, although he was unhappy and made a disgusted face when he entered the shed. All these struggles only for tonight... From tomorrow, my whole lifestyle will change... I’ll be given a separate chamber in the king’s palace for my stay. He boasted about how the he was so strong that he could roll multiple dungs simultaneously and that he could even roll perfect balls from the slimy dung too. He amused the bison with the same story which he said the previous day to his friends about how he was invited officially by the king himself to prepare a valuable necklace for his beloved wife as a gift for their 20th wedding anniversary. The bison couldn’t help laughing and began mocking the beetle for being such an awful liar. Mr. Scarab could take no more from the bison. The bison had touched his ego and Scarab was not a let-it-go person. He challenged the bison,
“How much ever dung you produce, I’ll shape them into perfectly round balls within no time, you’ll see my strength when I balance your loose slime without letting a drop fall!”
The beetle stretched his long black arms and made some abdomen crunches to show how ripped his body was. He took out the cotton swabs with a slight difficulty from his bag and began lifting them as a warmup exercise. After a few minutes, he came dressed with his bright red boxer shorts and dung making gloves. The bison geared up for the challenge and ate the huge pile of hay sandwiches, corn dogs and drank large amounts of water. The beetle stood directly below the bison with his arms high above his head and was looking up. The clay started to fall and within minutes the beetle too started making his dung balls.
All was plain sailing for the beetle until the bison’s intestines faltered and everything went down the drain for Mr. Scarab. It was the corn dogs that made the bison’s gut to rumble, and on seeing the corn dog wrapper, a panic-stricken bison became even more panicky! It had expired two months ago! The density of the dung loosened and the beetle was stuck in the middle of a poop blitz.
“YOU BARMY DIARRHOETIC BOVINE! JUST STOP! BLURB...JUS...BLURBB...”
The beetle began to drown in the dung and couldn’t take it anymore. If it continued, he would surely die.
His blurry eyes caught hold of the invitation letter at a distance that peeped out from the suitcase. He unfurled his wings and made a dash for the letter. He quickly snatched the letter from his suitcase and flew out of the shed. After he flying across a couple of streets, and ensuring he was safe, he reached the central playground where a small artificial stream flowed in it. He washed himself and put on some nice lavender scent from the nearby lavender garden. He was looking perfectly fine except he was wearing bright red boxers at midnight and he was in the middle of the city. He couldn’t go back to the shed again and retrieve his clothes. But what he had was the letter! He will go right way to the king’s palace, meet the king, accept the offer and then he’ll get a new room and his life will progress just as he wished.
With the letter in one hand, he flew to the gates of the palace where two more bison were guarding the gate. He proudly walked up to the bison and showed him the letter. “See, the king has asked me to come and meet him, let me in at once!”. The guards were not in the mood to squish him and patiently warned him to go away and come again tomorrow to meet the king during his visiting hours. Enraged by all the incidents he had faced till then, frustrated Scarab and he flew directly into the large flappy ears of the bison. The bison bellowed in pain and soon all the guards surrounded the bison to help him. The ruckus brought the king down to the courtyard and he came running in anger to see what had happened. As Scarab heard the voice of the king, he quickly came out from the bison’s ear and apologised to the king for having created such trouble, just to bring him down from his room. When enquired what was the ruckus all about, the beetle came front and explained his whole journey, skipping the diarrhoea attack from the bison, and showed him the fake letter. The King became furious on seeing how this puny creature disturbed his sleep just because of a practical joke and he was more shocked when he saw the actual seal and stamp of his, on the fake letter.
The mighty lion roared in anger and immediately ordered the guards to imprison Mr. Scarab for forfeiting the Government’s stamp, causing unnecessary trouble to the security guard and creating chaos in front of the palace courtyard. The beetle pleaded for mercy to leave him alone and he’ll never ever lie or boast again, but they paid no heed to his cries and locked him up in a dark cell. Buggita who waited for his arrival, was shocked when she heard about him and wept silently for bringing his own doom upon him.
As for Mr. Scarab, his wish for a separate room and bright coloured clothes came true, only that it was an orange jumpsuit...
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3,560
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Write a story that takes place across ten seconds.
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The Wrath of the Dark Deity
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27th December 2005. The temple festival was held once in six years. The Lake village swelled with pride on this day. There was no lake nearby and no remarkable landmark in the village other than a church, a temple and a 200 year old Banyan tree. The elderly and the men who were busy thinking about other people’s lives, gathered around the Banyan tree to discuss and debate. On this day the church was decorated and the huge bell chimed announcing the start of the temple festival. The temple too would be decorated on the day of the Great Feast in the church. Harmony resounded in meticulous numbers as the hardly thousand odd people were dependent on each other.On this day Gopal’s children Sarang and Sitara played with Antony’s children Emmanuel and Evya. They held hands, chased and skirted around the huge old banyan tree. The believers and non-believers thronged the streets. Lovers slipped notes and children cried for balloons. Wives engaged in harmless gossips while their men boasted of the brave deeds they had done or imagined to have accomplished.3:00 P.M. The villagers gathered in the open ground beside the banyan tree. At the center of the ground stood the six feet tall deity of the goddess of the dark. Everyone was afraid of the dark deity that had witnessed births, deaths, rain, storm, starvation and disease. They believed that she clasped in her palm the cycles of death and re-birth. They gifted her with the first grain reaped after the harvest, twice a year. It was a practice to sacrifice a goat to the dark deity whenever a boy was born in a family. The villagers sacrificed the goat instead of the boy and believed that the goddess would bless them with more boys. When the boys outnumbered the girls, they sought proposals from other villages.The priest chanted some loud prayer to appease the dark mother. That year it was Gopal’s turn to offer sacrifice to the fierce deity. His son was thirteen and he was afraid of the delay caused. He led a young goat by a rope tied around its neck. The crowd waited in anticipation of the tasty feast. As Gopal neared the altar, the goat bleated and was reluctant to move. As was the custom, everyone remained silent and chanted prayers while their eyes screamed at the goat to move. It all happened within the blink of an eye. Sarang darted in from among the crowd, quickly untied the goat, lifted it and ran at greased lightning. He jumped over the partially collapsed wall that in earnest faith stood behind the deity. The bewildered crowd let out some sound in hushed tones that gradually echoed as terrible curses beyond the mountains on the other side of the village. Gopal sank down to the ground as his wife ran to his side and wailed and howled. The crowd seemed to display the largest synchronized facepalm.3:05 P.M. The priest left without a word and the crowd moved away in different directions. Someone threw a stone and it hit Gopal on the head. Antony pressed his towel against Gopal’s bleeding head and led him home to save from further attack. Antony’s wife accompanied Gopal’s wife and no one bothered about the children.Antony’s children, Gopal’s children and a few other children older but younger than fifteen, had by then boarded a bus to the beach at the far end of the next village. They bought tickets with the few coins their parents had given to buy what they liked from the shops at the fair. Sarang hugged the young goat and kissed it while the others patted Sarang for his brave deed. Sarang had planned it all well before. He and his gang of friends met at night in the middle of the field on the previous day and charted the escape route. They played and fought as usual to avoid suspicious eyes. While Sarang mixed with the crowd, the others waited for him at the end of the road.In the village, people moaned and predicted the deity’s wrath as rain clouds gathered above, and thunder boomed as a warning. Lightning struck the priest’s wife who was out jabbering about the curse that shall follow. The other women ran frantically while the priest moaned and lifted her on his frail hands. He panted and sat beside her after laying her heavy body down on the floor. She opened her eyes before her husband reached with a glass of water to sprinkle on her face. Exhausted, he emptied the glass and feverishly prayed. His wife admitted that she fell down because of fear.Rumour spread. Some said that the priest’s wife died and others said they saw the black goddess take her in her palm. Finally a few old, wise men reached the priest’s house to check the fact and confirmed that she was alive. The story of wrath of the goddess promulgated with new twists and turns.3:09 P.M. It rained heavily. Violent winds grumbled and growled tearing apart a few branches and roofs. People hurried indoors with their children. Gopal, Antony and a few others searched for their children. They looked for them in the fields, in the next village, inside the temple, around the church. Their mothers wailed and beat their breasts.The children were at the beach enjoying the rain. They chased the wild waves while a few families tried to warn them. The families turned to hurry home with their own children. The wind howled louder. The youngest, the six-year old cried hugging her brother. The other children held on to each other and proceeded to move. They heard a few cries from atop the buildings nearby. The voices were indistinct. The youngest moved ahead to pick up her ball while Sarang bent down to grab his goat. “RUN!” the others shouted.03:10 P.M. A wall of wave about 1.8 m gradually rose to 9.5m. It flattened the trees around. Buildings collapsed. Houses crumbled. The sea swallowed the entire neighbourhood.The mothers of the missing children crouched down on the floor sobbing. Antony kneeled down and made the sign of cross while Gopal smeared holy ash on his forehead in fervent prayer. The dark deity stood still with clasped hands.
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4,600
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Write about someone who still practices a skill that used to be necessary but has long since been replaced by technology.
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“The Ferocious Fire”
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There are certain moments in your life that seem so unimaginable, so terrifying even when lots of time has passed. Certain course of events change you forever. Such incident happened to me when I was faced with a life and death situation a few years back. Such moments where the life of someone you so deeply care about so deeply love are at stake is when you forget that you are only human. Such moments are so adrenaline filled so awe-inspiring, that they leave you completely stunned in the aftermath. The fire that almost consumed me and my beloved cousin was such an event.
It was an ordinary summer day. It was too hot to go outside so we decided to stay in and entertain ourselves with fresh fruit and juices to beat the heat. My baby cousin of a one year was staying with us as her mother was out on her day job. My mother wanted to eat something special for dinner to celebrate both the baby’s birthday and to have a fun family time. By sunset my parents left to buy food leaving me to babysit my cousin. “We’ll be back in an hour’’, “Feed the baby some milk if she cries don’t worry too much”, my mother said as she closed the apartment door behind her. Little did we all know what would happen in the coming hour.
It’s funny how insignificant time seems when you are having fun or living your normal everyday lives. It is when you are faced with certain death when you truly feel like time has come to a crawling pace. Each second, each moment is impactful enough to leave a permanent mark in your mind. It is even more significant when you are responsible for the life of another. This is when your true worth as a human is tested. Will you cower away or take responsibility?
A mere spark in the kitchen was enough to set up a chain reaction. The fire started the size of a candle flame to now becoming a living breathing dragon whose only intention was to consume everything in its destructive path. It had no remorse, no conscience and no moral .All it knew was chaos.
The ferocious fire spread and danced around the walls and floor of the apartment devouring everything in its flames. The windows of the apartment were dark and remote. The smoke nearly choked me as I darted my head from side to side looking for a clear path that would lead to the door. The suffocation made it nearly impossible for me to keep my head. Then without giving anything a second thought I ran. The blazing carpet and instruments lying on the floor did little to stop me. I kicked open the burning door’s remnants and stumbled out of the building.
The blaring noise of a fire fighter’s truck brought me back as I regained consciousness. I was lying on the cold hard pavement. The building engulfed in wild flames behind me was being tamed by water from the truck. A rescuer covered me with a cloth and shook me up asking what happened and inquiring about the people inside. It was then that the blood in my veins froze as I remembered my little cousin was still there in her cot. She was sleeping in the other room. How could I be so immature and forget her? She was my responsibility and I failed her.
With the horrific thought of something happening to her I got up at the speed of light. Gentle embrace reassuring her that I would be fine as I was carried into the ambulance. The guilt of leaving my cousin behind faded as the relief that she was safe now spread over me.
I turned around and pushing everyone off me and ignoring the rescuers dashed into the building. The flames had been tamed to some extent but the smoke and smell was still there making every breath painful. I fought my way across to the other room. The cot still safe from the fire’s fury stood erect in front of me. I heard the crying, my cousin’s cries for help and quickly scooped her up into my arms.
Clasping her against my chest and using my arms as a shield to cover her, I made a run for it. My feet burned but I ran and relief spread as I saw the door and rescue workers rushing towards me. She was safe and she was my responsibility and I brought her back safe, alive and breathing.
A big black veil covered me and my feet were burnt badly but I did not let go of my baby cousin. She was safe and it was all that mattered right now. A wheelchair was hurried in and I was carried and seated into it with feet pricking with pain. I still held her close to my chest while she screamed and struggled in fear. As we were rushed outside into the ambulance, my family came running. Scarlet faced with tears rolling down their eyes. My mother hugged me and said, ‘’you went back, you took responsibility, and I am proud of you. Thank heavens you’re safe’’. I gave my baby cousin away into my mother’s arms.
It took me an hour to come to my senses and register what had gone past. I never knew I had it in me to do what I had done. With shock came realization that my precious cousin was safe. Tears came on their own .My body started shaking and the intensity of my tears knew no end. This sudden rush of fear and joy filled me. I did not know I was capable of feeling such contrasting emotions at the same time. In the end I felt relief .Relied that something terrible was beaten. I did not let the fiery dragon consume me and my cousin. I had won. Most importantly, I was alive, my family was alive. The unthinkable had happened but we were alive and that is all that matters.
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880
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Write a story about a librarian that doesn’t fit into the common librarian stereotypes.
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"On my last visit to the library"
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Honestly, I do not remember the last time I visited the library since I moved from my old apartment in Florida State to live in Arkansas as a kid. I guess it was at age 8 or 10 not too sure. Well doesn't matter, my father had decided at the time, that we give up on our old cramped apartment for a new spacious one that would be fit to accommodate our six members family to live in comfort.However, i do remember and possibly will never forget even at age 110 (by then, already struck by the aging curse of dimentia), how the interiors of a library is organised and decorated, together with how its most strictest and number one rule (don't speak while in the library) must be obeyed. Obviously the noticeboard is ever stuck on the inner walls of the library to make it visible for likely offenders. Also, how being a librarian is mostly a woman's job. How librarians are always noticed to dress smartly, and last but not the least, putting up his/ her best of friendly attitude towards customers. And finally, displaying profound intelligence at explaining, recommending and skillfully searching through shelves for a readers choice. All of this I have observed and known since my childhood, that makes a library a library (a place meant to be conducive for reading and where knowledge is sought), and I could say that anybody who grew up visiting a library regularly, would share this view with me and totally agree with it.When I was a child, my Dad used to walk me to the city's biggest library every three days in a week. Monday, Thursday and Saturday's.He would first of all greet the smartly dressed librarian at the counter, "Mrs. Evelyn kent", (an African American ) before leading me to the shelves to pick a book of interest. Mrs. Evelyn kent was far off older than Dad, telling from her age (50 years) -(as she once revealed) and her bit coloured greyed hair. This, i always found difficult to believe, since her outfit always seemed to give her the look of a teenage girl.She was kind, and warmly spoke when attending to customers,"Good day Sir. I'm Evelyn Kent. How may I be of service to you?"- she would say formally.She was also an intelligent tutor and seemed to know all about the stories in every book in the library when explaining and recommending books to customer. I sometimes called her the "library Witch" for possessing such intelligence. Once, I approached her at the counter because i needed a particular book."Maam..Mrs. Evelyn"- I said." Yes my little lamb. What can I help you with?". - she said smiling and squeezing my big cheeks a little."Can I get the book of King Arthur slaying the dragon"- I said." Of course, my boy, lemme go check for you"- she said. Leaving the counter and going towards a shelf that was on her right side. A sign that reads "books for kids" was placed in front of the shelf. And within seconds, she was back with the exact book I had requested for, handing it over to me. Saying." You can have it as a gift, my boy".- she smiled again.-----Since we moved from Florida state to Arkansas. I could hardly forget the library and Mrs. Evelyn Kent. I stayed in Arkansas for over eight years. This new year would make it the nineth year of my stay in our new apartment. Never have i been so disgusted, infuriated and sadly concluded never to visit any library in this city until I go out of it completely after my worse experience on the first day and surely the last day of visit to one of its libraries.Tony, a friend, had earlier suggested that we both visit the "Johnson's library" to mark the national library week anniversary together. We agreed to, and then marched down to the place. Surprisingly, there was no security guard at the door post, we entered unsearched and went straight to the counter of the librarian ( it was vacant). Its interiors we're not attractive to the eyes. I noticed that the book shelves were all dusty and the books were untidily placed. It was kind of jam-packed, that a few books had to fall, laying helpless on the ground. We still stood, waiting for the librarian to come out and help us in searching for two particular books. When the averaged skinny looking man decided to finally come out of his unknown hole, after hours of keeping us standing, hitting hard repeatedly on the small bell on the counter that was meant to call his attention when he is away. He majestically walked up to us like he had not cared if we stood, like forever, waiting for him to arrive" Yes, what can I do for you"- he said poorly, and without showing some feelings of remorse for keeping us waiting for three damned hours. I wasn't sure of what was going on in his mind at the moment, but his look was definitely like a person who sadness, depression and laziness made good friends with." Could it be that he hates this job?"- I wondered, still looking at his "pitiful" face.He looked down to attend to something we couldn't see over the counter as Tony spoke to him." We would like you to help us search for two novels, titled "A passage to India and the invincible man" - he said.He slowly raised his head and looked at us again. Just then, did i observe his poor outfit. His white shirt was very rumpled and already worn out, and seems to have missed a few button, making his inner singlet visible at any range of sight. His black pants was now greyed color like the shirt I was wearing. A portion of his shirt was hanging out loose from his pants. His shoe is nothing to write about. I can only say it reminds me of a shoe pair my dad cherished so much, given to him by his dad ( my grandfather) before he died. The edge of the shoe was a bit long and pointy. It peeled off so badly that the original black had to be replaced by a greyed color." Follow me"- he ordered.We got to the first shelf, and incompetently he searched through, making another few books drop to the ground ,adding to the already laying ones. He seemed not to bother about the books on the ground, picking only the ones his little strength can let him carry and crossing over the remaining on the ground to the next shelf. We got to the next shelf, still he couldn't find the book. And the next, still the same. And the next, still the same. We followed him for another long hour from one shelf to another, still the same. Finally, we stopped at the seventh shelf ( I counted), and found the books. He handed them over to us, without saying a word, (at least any intelligent librarian is expected to talk a little about the book to customers and give it their rating ). Already it was shown all over his tiny body that he was too exhausted from the long search. So he went back to the counter and napped all through, from the time i started reading and when I ended too. I was so disgusted and at the same time infuriated, seeing him nap while on duty." This guy is nothing of a librarian. Did you notice his poor sentences when talking to us initially?. He is not even intelligent a bit, and totally lacks in all it takes to be a librarian. He should suitably be a trashman than being in here"- I said to Tony, who was now awaking the lazy dog.When he finally awoke. We returned the novels back to him. All he could do was to collect the books and stare a little at us without saying a word, atleast, every caring librarian is expected to ask his readers if he/she enjoyed the book and maybe ask for their own ratings.Tony and I headed for the exist door without looking back. As I stepped out of the door, I had vowed never set foot into this library again.I went home, still thinking of the poor conduct of the librarian few hours ago. Just then. I realize that I didn't get to know his name since he had intially failed to welcome us formally and introduce himself like a professional librarian should." The johnsons.. Yes!, Mr. Johnson.. should be his name"- I said, remembering the name of the library.I so much missed Virginia for having a standard library and a very qualified librarian in charge. On an occasion as important as this, I enjoy going with my dad to the library in Virginia, where we both marked the national book week happily. Sadly, I just couldn't get that feeling this year, even worse, I wouldn't go back to Virginia anytime soonest.
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9,053
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Write a story told exclusively through dialogue.
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'Move on': Who are we without our memories?
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Memories are our brains memory card. Most of us, don't know how information gets stored there. We have data on there that we wished we could erase. Few of us wake up one day and realize our data is gone. Who are we? that's the real question. Who are we without those memories?The door opened to a beautiful creature with bright eyes."Beix?" asked the creature with shabby brown curls. Beix smiled. "Doko."Doko moved aside to let the creature fly in. "I didn't think you were going to make it.""I didn't think so too. You know how work gets...Sorry, I wasn't able to wrap it." Beix handed Doko a bottle of red sparkling wine. "Where's everyone?""Kitchen." Beix and Doko walked into the roomy kitchen. The smell of olive bread in the air."Beix!" screamed the other blonde creature in the apron as they hugged. "I knew you'd come."" It smells amazing in here, Uria.""Thank you. Others were very helpful.""Emphasis on the very," said another oily creature that sat on the cabinets. "Where should we set up?" Uria asked."By the fire place"—Doko slammed the fridge—"I'll go move the couch."Beix looked over to the towering creature. "Heux what's Doko's deal with the fire place?""I've learnt to ignore it."The blue blanket that was spread before the fire place. A flower vase in the middle. Saucers, plates, dips , throw pillows, bean bags all set around it."Congratulations Heux," they said in Unison."Congratulations," Doko yelled. "Heux. This transfer had been what you've wanted since I can remember. This is a new phase, a new you. You'd be starting out but like always you'd be a force. ""Thank you everyone,"Heux said as they settled down to eat.Uria stared at Heux and Doko. "I've always wondered how you two met?""It's a looooong story." Beix said.Uria asked "You know?""Oh no, That's the only response I get each time I asked Heux.""Because it is," Heux defended."You should have asked me."—Doko sits up straight—"Okay, about twenty human years ago. I was still an intern. I got assigned to this kid, Mia, the sweetest kid you'd ever meet. I was assigned to help her, you know, move on. I'd been on earth for a couple of weeks and I don't know what to do with this kid. Poor kid, mum had just died, dad was locked up, drunkard uncle, court cases. I felt so helpless. I decided to—"Heux interrupted, "Guess what he decided."Uria scrunches her face. Her blue eyes scanning Doko. "I mean it's Doko. I'm guessing something irresponsible.""He caused an accident.""What!""Why would you do that, Doko?""I don't know. There was no rule that banned causing an accident.""They shouldn't have to be. I mean that's why we're allowed to use our discretion""That's what I did.""Why—""Holdup, enough with the questions. I'm the one telling the story. I thought that's the easiest way for her to move on. Make her forget the past and start afresh.""Why would you—""I was going to make her remember later on. You're making me feel as bad Heix made feel."Zein asked, "What accident?""Since the incident they lived in their grandmother's duplex in Georgia. The house was strong but old. They had a court sitting around noon. I played a little with the board on the stairs. And then she fell, boosh! hit her head. ***The dominating smell of antiseptic was in the air, with a faint scent of drugs that competed with the lingering of liquor. The girl on the bed looked peaceful. Unconscious, but peaceful. She had some peace after a long time.A man in a blue suit paced about the private hospital ward as he ranted into the phone. His black hair was perfectly slicked back. He hanged up. "How did she fall?" "I don't know," breathed the disarrayed old woman, who sat beside the bed.Another man rested his bald head on the wall as he stood cross legged. Khaki shorts displayed hairy tattooed legs.Mia's mother, Stephanie, had given him those shorts. She always gave him the best presents. She was the only who gave him presents. The only one who remembered his birthday. The only one who wished him. Without opening his eyes the bald man said, "Doesn't make sense, that plank was steady. I mean we all stepped on it, before she did." His folded hands held the bottle of whiskey in place. His words momentarily stunned those conscious as they had assumed he was asleep or at least not sober enough to reason. They had forgotten he was there; it was unlike him to show up. "The court couldn't hold today. Great. Her testimony is very important. When is she going to wake up exactly?"The old woman rested her head in the palm of her left hand. "I don't know, Lucas. We haven't talked with the doctor." Lucas phone rang again. "Got to go but keep me updated," he said and walked out.Few weeks later...Mr. Lucas bursted into the hospital room and startled the granny in the reclining chair. He threw his black suit jacket on the bed. "You made me drive all the way here—Didn't I tell you to keep me updated?"She closed her eyes. "I forgot how to operate the phone.""Why hasn't she woken up?""Ask her doctor.""We should transfer her to another hospital"—He raised his voice—"You're slowing down my work.""And you should keep it down"—Mia twitched—"Looks like she's coming around. Call the doctor."Mr. Lucas came back in, but without the doctor only a lanky nurse. Mia's white patient robe accentuated the black blots on her pale skin. "Good, she's awake. She can finally testify," he said. "Is that all you care about?""That's all I'm paid to care about"—Lucas looked at Mia—"Are you okay? Are you good enough to go to court?""Ehmm... I think I'm okay...court? Why? ... Who are you?" Mia said looking around."It's me kid. Mr. Lucas, your dad's lawyer.""My dad?""Yeah. Mr. Brunt.""Who?""What do you mean kid? Don't play games."Granny swiped Lucas hands off Mia's shoulder. "Don't scare her."The doctor walked in."Doctor, great you're here. What's wrong with her?" Lucas asked."I had told you she got hit on the head really bad. Had a serious concussion.""Yes, we know.""We were waiting till she came around. As it is, we assumed right. It's strange; barely a scratch on her body but her hippocampus, the part of the brain that controls memory, was severely injured.""What are you saying?""She has retrograde Amnesia.""Is it temporal?""Probably, but we'll have to do some tests.""Great. What are we going to do about the case?"****"And boosh. She wakes up with amnesia." Doko stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth."I can't believe you." Uria said."You better.""This has to be one of the most unreasonable thing I've heard someone do at their job. What if she slipped into a coma? Or worse, died?""But she didn't. I take my job very seriously, Uria. I took a whole human month to perfect my plan, because I didn't want her to get hurt.""Why didn't you use that time to think of another plan?"Doko stuttered. "I...you... forget it."Zein leaned into the group. "Hearing this reminded me of what I heard on earth today...that the pandemic was caused by a rookie. I mean at first I didn't believe it because well who would be that irresponsible at work, not even a rookie. But after listening to Doko. . . ""Unless, it was you Doko?" Uria teased. Doko folded his hands. "Funny, really. I mean really."Beix quickly swallowed the wine. "I work with management, it's not true. We do so much but they keep trying to make us look bad." "Don't worry. They'll get what is coming to them," Heux assured.Zein asked, "So did it fix anything?"Heux chuckled. "No. It didn't.""Actually, it did. She stayed with her grandma. She wasn't grieving over her mother or worried about her dad and she couldn't testify so she wasn't involved in the court case. She had a fresh start. ""Doko, but that wasn't your mission." Heux said. Uria asked, "Wait, did she later gain her memory?"Heux shaked his head. "That's where the problem started.""What happened?" Beix asked and picked the cup from the saucer."Doko didn't investigate properly, he jumped right in. "Zein sits up. "What did he miss?""The girl had a diary."The trio glanced at each other. One shot an eyebrow, the other shrugged and the last replied with an hand gesture."I didn't know that. Maybe I would have burnt it or ruined it or something," Doko said in an attempt to explain."Would make things worse," Heux replied."Wait!" Uria demanded." I don't understand. What's so important about the diary." "I told you in the beginning that Mia had insomnia, nightmares. The most repeated word in her diary is?""Forget." Heux said."I wish I could forget, if there's a fairy or a gene listening please grant this wish... If there's a God out there please hear this prayer." Doko said mimicking Mia. "That's why I was assigned there; to help her move on""Mia read the diary and immediately doesn't want to remember her past. It became very difficult to help her regain it.""Maybe it's good she forgot." Zein said."She needed her past to live successfully in the present and reach the future."****Mia glares at the visiting door. "Granny, do I have to go in?""Yes, your dad wants to see you. Don't you want to see him?" "Why is he locked up?""A little misunderstanding dear. . . don't think about it too much. Your dad loves you."Mia walked in. She noticed Mr.Lucas, nagging into the phone. Uncle Mike, with Miranda, his bottle of whiskey standing behind the only unfamiliar face, her father.Granny said they had the same ocean blue eyes. Mia didn't see it; his eyes had a different tone. He was in an orange jump suit, his cuffed hands on the table. He was smiling. She rubbed her fingers against her sweaty palm as she sat down.Mr. brunt smiled. "Hey, sweetie.""Hey"— Mia looked at her grandmother for confirmation—"Dad?""You really can't remember me?""I'm sorry, I can't.""It's okay. It's not your fault.""We used to go on hikes together, arcades. We used to have so much fun. Maybe when I'm out, we'll go again. "Mia nodded. "When would you be out?""Soon."A couple of minutes later, Mia leaves with her Granny. Lucas dropped the case file on the table. "It doesn't seem Mia is going to recover her memory anytime soon." Mr brunt asked, "What are you going to do about the case?" "I've started walking out a plan. We might win this without the girls' testimony.""I trust you know what you're doing."Mr brunt looked at the door. "Maybe, it's a good thing she doesn't remember. Maybe you'd get you want, Mike... It will be easier for us anyways."Mike inquiried, "What about when she remembers?" "It'll be too late then." Lucas said."We'll have to wait till then, don't we?" Mr brunt got up and made his way back to his cell.****Heux wiped mouth with a paper napkin. "Mia was living with her Grandma and there was no hope of helping to recover her memory. The court case ended and her father got acquainted.Anyways after Doko's plan failed. He was summoned to give a comprehensive analysis and report on his mission."Doko snuggles the throw pillow. "After the whole inquiry Big boss handed the case to Heux but he was kind of enough to let me assit. As big boss said it, 'I needed the working experience.' That everybody was how we met."The trio mouthed ohhh."It took us over a human year to help her recover all her memories. It was a gruesome task. We had to use subtle and random things to dreams to strong and concrete materials. That was the longest I'd ever been on a job," Doko whined. "And another few months to get her to testify.""Testify?" Zein said, "There's no need for that her dad already got out.""Exactly."***"We the prosecutor would like to call, Mia Brunt, to the stand to give her eye witness account of the murder of Stephanie Brunt." The United States attorney, Vera walked up to the stand.Vera points towards the defense table. "You know who that is ?""Sadly I do. I used to want to forget and I did. If I didn't get my memories back my mother would never get justice.""Can you tell us about him?""That man over there. . .is my father. Mr. Morris Brunt. He—was a bad man. He would beat my mother till she passed out. He'd hit me too. Not only are this memories engraved in my soul they are also engraved on my skin. . . One time he threw a vase at me, thankfully he was drunk so it only scrapped my leg.About five years ago my dad was almost charged with domestic violence. He hit her bad and she ruptured her spleen. He got away it because he said his rivals did it; and mom covered it up for him too. I didn't understand why but she said it's for my good.When my mother got discharged he stopped hitting us, maybe he was scared of the law, I was wrong. He wouldn't physically hurt us but he'd starve us. Gave us inhuman punishment. On several occasions he made us kneel all day. He poured iced cold water on us and made us stand outside all night. He'd ask us to finish a bowl of salt. He'd ..."Vera passed her the tissue box. "It's okay. Take your time"—she walked towards the jury—" I believe we can all see what Mr. Brunt he's capable of. This wasn't the first time he'd hit her. You must each have the hospital records and the confession of the auxillary nurse, Mr. Brunt hired when he could no longer take the victim to the hospital. The victim suffered physical, emotional and psychological truama till her death."" Can you tell us what happened the day your mother, Stephanie Brunt, was killed?""My father had a business meeting; hence he was out in Vegas. My mother was pregnant"—a flash of suprise and guilt washed over Mr.Brunt and Mike—" I always wanted a sibling, hoped it was a boy. But then I pitied the baby.So we ran. We were in this guest house in Florida. We had been there for a couple of days. I thought we had made it. I thought we'd be free. Then she got this call that made her so tensed. "°"Mother?" Mia had called sensing her distress."Listen to me. I want you to hide. No matter what happens don't come out. Don't make a sound. No matter what.""You're scaring me."She gripped her shoulders. "Promise me, Mia." "I promise." "Now, quickly hide." Mia slipped underneath the queen size bed while Stephanie climbed back in bed. The sound of the door bursting open caused them both to shiver."Well, Stephanie. Nice. Nice place.""Morris?" "Did you think I won't find you?""What do you mean ? You've misunderstood. We're not hiding. We came out for fun. I—"The back of his hand connects with her left cheek with enough force that sends her plummeting to the ground. The connecting sound causes another round of shiver down Mia's spine."Do you think I'm stupid. Who asked you to leave the house?""I—I—"He pulled her up by the hair. Brown locks falling into the leathered glove. He came prepared. "Where's the kid?"" She's outside somewhere. She wanted to play outside, you know she doesn't really go out much. I'll go call her for you and you'd play together.""Don't lie to me.""Why would I?" He drags her towards the living room. "Check for her around the room Mike."Mike rumages through the room. He looked under the bed and saw the petrified girl. At that moment all he could see was Stephanie."Did you see her?" " No—she's really not here," he said joining them."Check outside."Mia could hear Mike leave, hear him shut the door."I've had enough of this Stephanie. I think you have too.""No—please—please Morris," Stephanie begged. "I love you. You know I love—"Mia had assumed the last line was for her. She said I loved you back in her heart. The sentence was cut short by a whimper. Mia listened carefully. She feared the worst. She could no longer hear her mother or her breathing or her wailing. She wanted to run out. She wanted to scream. But she remembered her mother's words,"Don't come out. No matter what. Don't tell anyone what might happen. You weren't here. Listen to me. You were outside playing but you got lost. They'll try to find you, hopefully I'll be the one but whoever it is would ask you questions. But you weren't here, you were outside playing but you got lost. Remember. You were outside playing but you got lost. When the coast is clear leave through the window to the third street and keep walking. Walk back and forth. But don't come back till someone finds you. You know what to tell them. You were playing but you got lost."She hadn't understood why but she did now.Mike walks back in. "I didn't see Mia—What did you do man?""What I had to." Mr brunt said wrapping the crimson knife in his blood stained gloves.He looked around the room. He smirked. He walked out.". . . He stabbed her not once. He stabbed her too many times. "***"Eventually Mr. Brunt got the life sentence. Mia lived with her grandmother. Now she's got a fiance. She made me consider being a guardian but I'd enough of the human world. Heux and I were partners for over two years, we've gotten used to each other.""Adapted to each other." Heux said.Beix concluded, "Explains it.""Now that you know Uria, tell me about your adventures with Shakespeare "
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6,266
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Write about a family with a long-standing tradition, whose members all have conflicting origin stories for it.
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A SONG FOR GALE
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"It all began with her," Clodagh said in her usual intriguing way, "she washed up on the rocky shore, just below Finnegan's Point.."Sara could tell her friend Clodagh was winding up to begin the dramatic story of the person to whom the festival of Galen was named. This was the first time however, she had heard it surrounded by the origin place of the myth itself. Clodagh had listeners there on the train, mostly tourists traveling to the festival with the train filling with more people at every stop."Just a wee lass she was, young and frail yet, she appeared to be the sole survivor from some ship run aground by a fierce storm. Yet, no news came of any wrecked ships at the time. As far as the people knew on the rocky shores of Finnegan's Point, the young girl who said her name was simply 'Gale' was a mystery.At this point, Sara tightened her lips as she knew the more mystical part of the story was about to begin. She wondered which version she would hear, because Clodagh had quite a few. Sara had heard her friend tell them all and silently hoped Clodagh would tell the better one. The worse ones being of Gale riding in off the sea from a 'gale' force wind, or the one of Gale having such an infectious 'gale' of a laugh, that all those around her couldn’t help but join in. This to Sara made the heroine's story less about a gifted musician and more about that of a lunatic. Sara listened on with her jaws clenched tight and her eyes closed, wishing for the more sensible sounding myth to be told.When her friend told the silly versions, with just a few people around, Sara felt free to openly protest but Clodagh had a rather large captured audience at the moment, so refuting her was not an option. She thought for a moment, before a smile came to her lips. The younger ones listening were totally involved in Clodagh's telling of the tale. "At least they're quiet and not fiddling about," She thought as she closed her eyes for a quick rest. The train rolled on smoothly and smoother still was her friend's way with the story. "Some thought she was a magical creature," Sara could hear Clodagh say, as she drifted off. "Some say she was from no boat, but from the sea itself. For she looked far too wild to be from any place on this earth. She had skin pale and glossy as pearls, framed by loads of thick unruly hair, dark as storm clouds,and wild eyes as green as the seaweed when it's stirred up by the sea.""It was the leaders of the village who made the decision that regardless of whether she was born of the sea or not, she would be made to stay at the home for girls on Finnegan's point. It was only an orphanage back then. When no relatives ever came to claim her and she never spoke of any kin, she truly seemed alone. All she had was the odd shroud like garment she had on at the time and a strangely carved driftwood flute she always kept close. " "Gale never settled in at the orphanage. She never seemed able to be still. Gale scuffled and fought with the other girls, so they all feared her. Poor Gail, being lonely and unhappy, then began to run away. After a while though, the goodly women who kept the orphanage always knew where to find her. Gale would always be out on the main bluff, overlooking the sea, playing her strange flute. The headmistress named Madeleine, told the others not to rush to drag her back, but just to listen to her song. It was a sad and mournful melody, yet all who heard it were mesmerized by it.With their hearts so touched by the music, Madeleine with the other ladies and the girls in the orphanage asked Gale to play her music for them all. When she did, they were all amazed at the beauty of her melodies. They found themselves all filled with a sense of peace, and contentment, from the oldest of the ladies to the youngest of the girls. ""As Gale continued to play upon her driftwood flute, she was filled with peace too and the girls didn't fear her anymore. It seemed even the very air itself would grow still to listen to the beauty of the melodies, yet the godly Matrons of the place feared it to be some sort of witchcraft. Once again, Headmistress Madeleine quieted their fears by showing them that Gale's music brought no one to harm, but imparted only feelings of peaceful joy, she convinced them that Gale's flute music could have possibly been divine in nature.""Some time later, Gale was free to play to many people who came from glens and towns to hear this music. It wasn't long before all the girls asked for flutes of their own and once given, Gale taught them how to play. Though the sound of their flutes didn't have the same quality of tone as Gale's, the beauty of sound produced when they all played together seemed magical.""There were twenty and one girls including Gale during that time and they all showed great talent in creating and playing their music. People came from quite far away to hear them. In time, people began to give them gifts and money. Soon the little orphanage had need for nothing. The most marvelous thing was that parents brought their daughters to be taught by the girls to play music." "The girls and Gale in time, grew and became teachers. The orphanage then became a school of music where any girl could come and study, whether they were orphans or not. All was going very well for them all, until...." Clodagh paused there and to wait for the questions she knew would come, for the dramatic story had to have an equally dramatic end."Come on," Sara whispered as the absence of her friend's voice woke her from light slumber. "Finish your wonderful little fantasy tale." As if on cue, a little curly haired girl piped in with the predicted question, "What happened to them? What happened to Miss Gale?"" Well it's a bit sad, but at the same time, there's some joy to it. Gale had just played the most beautiful music of her own creation with the other girls accompanying her. After the concert was over, instead of joining in the celebration of her great accomplishment, Miss Gale went for a walk on the cliffs of Finnegan's Point and.....disappeared."A deep sigh of sadness arose throughout the train car.Sara, eyes still closed, snickered to herself at how artfully and how deeply Clodagh had drawn them into her tale, emotions and all."Though they searched and searched, they never found a trace of her. Some say since the winds were unseasonably high that night, perhaps it was her summons to return to the sea from which she had come.""But here's yet another part that is also a mystery. Gale was gone, though they searched desperately for her. Yet when they looked among her belongings, her driftwood flute was there. For a time they felt hope she would return, as they believed Gale would never leave without her precious flute."All the people mourned her, but no others mourned her like the twenty sisters she left behind. The flute remained, yet none of them dared touch it. All of them longed for a token of her to remember one who raised them from unwanted orphans to beloved sisters." "Soon after, it was decided by the oldest among them, that they should memorialize Gale's flute by placing it where all who celebrated her could come to view it, and it would be preserved and kept safe, should she return.""They had the flute placed in a clear, crystal case in the music school's central hall. But before it was placed there, the twenty young woman sent for a skilled craftsman, to carve working replicas of the flute, so that each of them would have one to treasure in memory of their friend and sister, Gale. So, by the hands of the most clever of flute makers, copies of Gale's strange driftwood flute were made and given to each of them. "Those flutes were then handed down to the daughters of the twenty and as time went on to the daughters, daughters who are now those who play upon the driftwood flutes in honor of Gale’s last performance. It is a tradition that has lasted nearly fifty years." "Despite so much time passing, it is still believed some day she will re-join the chorus of the twenty to make it twenty and one."A soft sigh arose among the ardent listeners and then polite applause."Just in time," Sara said as she gently nudged her story telling friend beside her. "We're here."Clodagh looked at her smiling, then rose from her aisle seat beside Sara as the train came to a full stop. She retrieved both her bag and Clodagh's bag from the overhead rack.Just before they exited, Clodagh and Sara were stopped by an older woman clutching on to the arm of a small older man who looked slightly impatient to not be on his way.“Shush, shush now the older woman said to him, this will take no time at all.” Clodagh turned to her smiling as she recognized the woman to be one of those who listened to her story."If you please Miss, '' she began," I just wanted you to know how much I enjoyed your story and I wanted to know... well, since you told the story so wonderfully, are you one of the descendants of the first twenty girls?"Clodagh's face lit up as bright as a noonday sun, " Why yes I am," she answered.Oh my, she is one of them!" The lady exclaimed to her husband. “We will be so thrilled to hear you all play!" Turning to Sara, who stood off to the side, "And you are one of them as well?""No," Sara answered quickly, "I'm only here with my friend, this will be my first time hearing them.""Well my dear, you are in for a treat,'' she began, " I heard them once as a child, the original Twenty plus One.... I believe it was back in 19... "Margot," the impatient man interrupted, "We really have to go. You've taken up enough of their time." He tipped his hat, taking the woman by the arm leading her to the train's exit.She however, had more she wanted to say, "It's a shame, my dear you don't play flute as well, for if my memory serves and it does, you are a ringer for that beautiful Gale."The impatient man pulled on the woman with more force as she added, "With all that lovely lovely dark hair, too!”Clodagh and Sara looked at each other and burst into laughter. Shouldering their bags, they disembarked from the train."Ready for the walk?" Clodagh began cheerily. Sara didn’t answer, only smirked at her as they made their way through the many travelers to the station exit and then to the streets of the village.“You know it really is a shame,”Clodagh began as they walked.“A shame about what?”“That you never learned to play the flute,Sara.”Sara only smirked, saying nothing.“You didn’t come with me when I went to the music school, I never understood why.”“I wasn’t a descendant of a sister like you, remember?”“And do you remember I told you it didn’t matter, that many other girls studied there as well.”“Alright, I remember. But you don’t remember I told you it wasn’t for me,” Sara answered, her tone growing harsh. Stopping her pace for a moment, caused Clodagh to stop with her.Sara looked her in the eye then, “I’m here now, am I not?Sara nodded, “and I thank you for it. I know Mum is smiling down from heaven on both of us, because I didn’t have to come alone, my friend came with me.” Sara smiled.“If for nothing else,” Clodagh continued mischievously,” you really like the way I tell the story.”Sara only moaned and began walking again, leaving Clodagh.She laughed heartily as she caught up to Sara and threw an arm around her friend's shoulder, as they walked together."All these people!" Clodagh said, looking around them.."Of course, silly. They're tourists." Sara answeredThey soon veered off the main street of the village, towards the road leading up to Finnegan’s Point, the music school and the location for the concert. It had taken them some time before they were on course as Clodagh marveled at every food and trinket shop along the way. Sara was finally able to reign her back in with some taffy candy and a couple of iced lemon drinks so they could continue their trek up the winding pedestrian road.The two women made it to their destination before noonday. Clodagh’s weariness vanished when she saw her friends, fellow musicians and sisters. Sara shyly greeted each person and left her friend to renew and catch up with the happenings of her old friends. Sara wasn’t concerned when she was left alone. Of Course Clodagh had tried to invite her to come along with her and her ‘sisters’, but Sara found herself quite content in the small, neat guest room assigned to her at the school. There, she rested on the bed, enjoyed the sea breezes from the nearby window and was surprised how easily her memories of the place flowed through her mind, more memories than the combined ones of those presently there. Sara’s memories transcended time.Sara Gale made ready to join all the others in the traditional celebration that had come to mean so much to so many people, even those far beyond Finnegan’s Point. Before joining the others in the outside theater set up for the concert, she crept to the main hall of the school. There in a crystal case was something that belonged to her and tonight she would join the descendants of her dear sisters in playing her songs once more in the company of the Twenty plus One.
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14,968
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Write about someone welcoming a stranger into their home.
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A stranger becoming an angel
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Women emancipation and girl-child education is one of the most ridiculous thing that people in the past regarded as "an abomination". This was because they termed women to be helper of men and so need not to acquire skills and knowledge. But in the society or community of Paroketo clan,one man rejected the perception that girls should not go to school. Mr. Vincent never had many children but had ony one daugther called Amony. This name is in alur language one of the tribes in my country Uganda. Majority of the elders did not educate their daughters but only sent the boys to schools. This was beacuse of the perception that girls will marry and be helper to their husbands. Vincent was exceptional, he had to send his only daughter to school. With a lot of struggle he managed to educate his only daughter. While he was struggling and mobilizing resources to send his daughter to school,his brother and other elders could mock and laugh at him while saying, "you are jsut wasting your time and money in educating this girl". He was determined and gave deaf ear to the elders. His idea of educating Amony never went well with his own brother and other kinsmen including the king. This brought alot of envy and jealousness against his family. When Amony graduated from University in the field of medicine,she came back home to her parents. Her return to the village brought more mockery and envy against them. The envious elders had to call for a meeting to discuss his family's affairs. This put his family's life at risk. The entire community looked at them as wise-saker and show-offs.Amony became scared of ehat was happening to them and wanted the family to flee away from the village but the father refused. Mr.vincent tried to convince the elders to understand him but they took him as a trouble maker. So one morning Amony's uncle was sent by the elders to terminate vincents' family. So he had to poison them in food.Vincent and his wife died instantly. Fortunately enough Amony was not around by the time of the incidence so she had to survive. Mr.vincents' death brought bit of relief to the elders but the thrat was Amony since she survived. So they had to make an allegation against her of killing her own parents yet she did not do it. She pleaded with them but they did not listen to her. As per the tradition,she had to barnished from the village to evil forest. She lived a miserable life with only wild animals. Life in the forest was not easy for her since she was alone. So one morning,she was found by hunter from a neighbouring village of Alwi looking miserable. The hunter had to take her home with him. He sheltered her and made sure she was comfortable. She narrated all the ordeals to the hunter what led to her barnishment from Paroketo clan. The felt petty for her and even built a house for her despite being a stranger. When the hunter told the elders about her,she was welcomed by them and given good hospitality. The community of Alwi did not know about her profession but what they knew was a poor lady with impoverished life who needed help from them. She created and lived happy life. One time,the prince f the kingdom felt sick and was diagnosed of testeral cyst but know one could manage that condition .He was taken to various neighbouring hospitals but nothing positve came their way. The king tried all means but the condition was worsening day by day. They had to take him to the national referral hospital but unfortunately they found the specialist had died. The royal family broke into tears because of their sons ' condition. Amony too was worried of the prince health but was fearing to tell the king about her profession. She had to use the hunter to talk to the king to give her a chance to try her medical knowledge on the prince. Upon hearing about the stranger's profession,she was taken to the hospital where the prince was. She had to work on the prince until he got well. Everybody was puzzled because they didn't expect the prince to be well again. "This is an angelic stranger who has come to save our land from sicknesses and diseases,"the king lamented. Due to her professional work on the prince ,the community had to offer her plots of land ,a mansion where she could live comfortably. Her presence in Alwi made the community to given a referral hospital by the government. This development improved the status of the community and every member of Alwi termed her to be "the saviour of Alwi sent from heaven". As she was having comfortable life in Alwi, Paroketo clan was under huge calamity of diseases. They suffered and lost many people to the various outbreak of diseases. When they came to hear of Amonys' contribution to Alwi,it was already too late for them. They tried to beg her for help but she refused. She was treated like an angel and not a stranger in Alwi because of her contribution. She later married the prince of Alwi and lived a better life while the hunter was also rewarded with huge plots and businesses for bringing a strange angel to their land. The community of Paroketo came to realize about the benefits of girl child education when it was already too late for them.The community of Paroketo suffered from the various sicknesses but they could not help because of their illiteracy and ignorance. Amony's uncle felt ashame when he came to realize that his brother's daughter was now a wife to a prince. "Educating a girl child is like educating the whole nation",the uncle larmented with a lot of sorrow in his voice. All the elders of Paroketo had to regret their ignorance .They all the started taking daughters to school after learning lesson from Amony.The community of Paroketo came to their senses and educated their girls as well.
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970
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Write a short story about someone who refuses to write New Year's resolutions.
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Establishing New Year's resolutions for me, a geek wedded Jew pitter = Big fat Nyat!
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Lemme tell you about a fail safe stratagem of one dishabille smart ass dummy, who snubbed practice sustaining New Year's resolutions. His unbridled integrity, fidelity, and capacity (read no nonsense honorable devotee) lifetime staunch aversion toward global December thirty first aspirations contravenes (against sic establishmentarian coda) spelt general outline for his ignominious humiliating, yet grandiose failure existing for other diehard human flotsam and jetsam to emulate. Thus informal membership among fellow coterie comprising basket of deplorables professing zealotry against New Year's resolutions recognizes one aging beetle browed curmudgeon mortal for transcending far above and beyond loose parameters defining general opposition setting and keeping New Year's resolutions. Any idea regarding identification pertaining to that someone, who takes NOT abiding New Year's resolutions to a whole new level? Plus yet undisclosed humble hominid also refuses to acquiesce and commingle among society members singing (by Scott) auld lang syne New Year's resolutions? That individual constitutes yours truly, the only person I know well enough er... rather solely maintain contact with among all those bajillion people extant within/out the world wide web. New Year's no excuse (sorry or otherwise) to implement an important objective. Yes... understandable that convenient calendrical (Gregorian) artificial construct sets ideally recognized historical yearly marker, but if one could hypothetically do away with contrivances that designate passage of time, each dawning dusk nsync with circadian cycle would eventually establish sleep/wake natural rhythm. Additionally, some New year's resolutions might disallow segmentation into neatly packaged units, nor warrant leisure being deferred. Such matters such as personal health and fitness, (albeit holistic wellbeing) best be put into action sooner than later. Objection and/or aversion to establish New Year's resolutions also strongly diametrically allied to the procrastinator credo, why do today what can be put off until tomorrow? Goal setting, but more particularly keeping heavenly forcibly forgotten goals doggedly bandied alive long the stuff of legend, no matter that those folk tales adequately buzzfeeding nosy busy buddies courtesy yours truly. All throughout primary, junior, and senior high school, this average schlemiel forever postponed completing assignments. Thy handy dandy general rule of thumb being, the more significant the required, projected, and anticipated endeavor, the higher up the procrastinator totem pole said task got places. A direct quasi moat oh! relationship could be graphed. Imagine Cartesian plane, where straight line forms forty five degree angle when variables x and y both positive. Far as the eye can see, an arrow escape (impossible mission) as proportionate variable relationship remains intact, whereby unwavering ray points toward infinity. Now lemme backtrack before I went off on a tangent. Therefore, when teacher informed classroom early during the onset of term, (perhaps even the first day after twelve week summer hiatus devoid cracking binding of book), that automatically relegated important academic task ipso de facto as permanent non starter. Serious scholastic fallout (if not downright repetition of grade) must not deter the staunchest, proudest, and (Guiness Book of world record holder) most fervent diddler. He/she never did give diddly squat about either receiving passing or failing mark. All encompassing material necessary for satisfactory promotion including completing required individual group collaborative enterprise carefully planned and designed to achieve a particular aim as outlined by teacher upon resumption that first day/week after lazy summer days. Compulsory high score linkedin to test results, pop quizzes, class participation, eating lunch and playing cooperatively during recess also figured in the mix determining salutary promotion. Fast forward lifetime reel regarding, viz zit ting mein kampf post pubescent stage. Continuity of irresolute characteristic (mine) shot thru with chronic apprehension, cautiousness, extreme fumfering linkedin to genetic blueprint. Ever since nine months in utero (perchance even at outset of conception) yours truly evinced painfully shy demeanor amidst his (mine) peers. Decision making on an hourly, daily, weekly... basis presented grueling challenge. Nevermind crafting long term objectives encompassing amorphous, incongruous, nebulous... New Year's resolutions anathema to an individual lacking amalgamation, conviction, gumption... keeping attention, conviction, emancipation... on straight and true acquiring (begetting) concomitant searing robust belief within psyche to accomplish any reasonable goal. More so faith no more prevailed courtesy lack of confidence, low self esteem, loathsomeness arising, emanating, jackknifing cando spirit left to suffocate within heart of darkness comprising my psyche. Born this way (albeit poker face) frenzied, harried, jangled... socially withdrawn diminutive guy, no way (Jose) could the additional spurt garnered thru relegating commitment attained by promising New Year's resolutions, since that would necessitate ordaining, seeing, and witnessing such transformation latent courtesy when January first arrived. Though training a (super tramping) old dog new (cheap) tricks feasible, that ain't gonna happen here. Grandiose elaborate decision making need not be incumbent at stroke of midnight heralding (think spectacular pyrotechnics) essentially one moment transpired along the space/time continuum. No matter acquiring hoopla donning The of making a Deal (while drunkenly debauched) simultaneously declaring definitive manifest destiny to commence with bitta bing bitta bang evidenced courtesy gala feted celebration isolating one indistinguishable moment into another (regaled with trappings fit for crowning a king) thoroughly stitched within the warp and weft comprising my threadbare existence. Understanding how weaving alone did loom large encourages me to enlighten ye dear reader how I poorly grappled, endured, and coped analogous putting square inside round hole. That off the beaten path cosigning fellow Earthling where Whatsapp penning about New Year's resolutions, yet tangential nonetheless points me to share ruminations describing... The Procrastinator's Principle Precept (alternately titled: Why Do Today What You Can Put Off Till Tomorrow)? The following extrapolated thought thread randomly unspooled, matted, exercised, et cetera, NOT utilized to intimate how Fats Domino belied, and wowed an enormous sized crowded house, but more so to aver macro cosmic amplification simply by (qua Atlas) shrugging ambivalent shoulders, asper deferring tackling a pressing matter (past due by an inordinate amount of time), which tardiness directly impacts the indifferent individual (myself for a perfect example) to postpone pass/fail, mandatory, and critical action. The figurative price paid NOT only a(n) damnably execrable (sic) failing grade (again, I blithely trot out yours truly, who flunked out of Kindergarten), but implacable quaking ramifications spread across the world wide web affecting cosmological events. This carefree chap writes from personal experience, and attests how forgoing getting a jump start and/or completing major assignments soon after getting tasked with academic material played emotional havoc renting asunder (think cerebral thunder and lightning unnecessarily smacked upside the face) by Andre the Giant thrashing more'n thine psyche. My mental health (already afflicted, consigned and endangered since birth, or...maybe in utero) experienced exacerbated anxiety, depression, and panic attacks. Unsympathetic, truculent, severely ornery, wart covered hard nosed college professors (or basically teachers in general, typical employers, parties issuing regular bills requiring timely payment lest penalty incurred, et cetera) intolerant towards tardiness. Aside from harangues issued by classroom School administrators for lessons dog chewed, handed in incomplete (or left undone), forever scorching aptitude, inviting incriminating scandal cause of truancy, avoiding Sax education, exhibiting anti Violins against substitute instructors standing in for daily Kos sacks, plus an ongoing dishonorable never ending riff , additionally untold unpleasantries fate awaits he/ she, who dares to appear and blatantly upholds apathetic behavior. This confession of mine (Matt aka Howard Stern er bespoken as NON GMO, gluten and MSG free honey coated Buzzfeed ding (spelling bee deviled) dawdler coaxed, forged, and inured via extreme mental, physical, and social anguish) concocted within the crucible oven artful miller. Thus, as a former unrepentant, unapologetic incorrigible ace procrastinator, I NOW abhor putting off doing what best ought to get immediate attention barring some extenuating dire circumstance. A hypothetical scenario, could entail supposed warped subwoofer mishap with flying carpet. Such case in point (recurring more frequently with unwinding worn weft), could find me stranded in the Outer Limits. Just recently, I got unexpectedly coolly whipped into a whirlpool, subsequently encountering turbulence like something out of the Twilight Zone. Before an eye blink, a raining hail of droning bombs unexpectedly didst enfilade myself into the stone age. I needed to call crisis intervention and fast! Take heed dear reader lest ye encounter similar frenzied gallimaufry necessitating (hypothetical individual jimmied kamikaze lambasting – sorry no acronym available at this instance) mission to accomplish the seemingly impossible, and remain calm at all times, despite deafening making, paining, and splitting wailing sirens. This take me hostage stance, (and/or no prisoners pose) maintained must be adopted while in the process assisted with good ole mom to hoist oneself with one's own petard, which emergency best warrants a reward. Otherwise fate will take atoll inducing grr...reef. Hence incumbent requiring one to break from ordinary business as usual to enlist "FAKE" help of a grenadier, who doth make his/her livelihood risking their life, and limb without quaking. This gut wrenching yawning abyss literally a reality if shrapnel from brutish (enemy) ordnance cuts short and permanently maims valiant fighter (to make America great again – see * at finis gin wake re: guarding Psalm Thing Sung) reduced to hobbling nee web crawling from burning wreckage. Out of such sacrifice (our brave warrior dutifully bites the bullet) obviously overly compensating bravery as he/she doth stake out mortal danger with adequate adorning combat gear. Oh...without a dad owe of a shout, ne plus ultra impossible mission (said front line braveheart undoubtedly deserves) begs proffering ample legal tender. Additional bonus aside from substantial money (for act of daring do), the unflagging gratuity topped off visited by bequeathing first born son. Highest medal (would get draped around thick set neck of outfitted voluntary recruit) for unstinting mettle, an especial honor for tolerating accompanying martial tune aired by an untrained baritone horn player. The sonorous doleful dirge would easily be confused with screeching (like fingernails scratching blackboard in close proximity) eliciting a scorning glare from another celebrated soldier spy tinker tailor with a torn smile while trained special ops secret (get petsmart agent) also named Bjorn Again, which no doubt causes the reader confusion unsure which character, whose cameo virtual nod of assent no longer needed. As a writer no end to the hours of utter confusion found these clammy hands gesticulating despair. He unwittingly incurs deadly (duking out) hazard from one morn to the next amidst adversity shouldering care worn Marines motto semper fidelis. Though unstinting selflessness roundly requisitioned, (which possible unnecessary loss of young life) predicated on add age, viz being at the least, a day late and dollar short egad inadvertently dooming princely valiant warmonger, a mere stripling lad whose mourning brings heavy pallor of sadness, which imagined situation. Aye tangentially, congruently, and adjacently bring a faintly analogous comparison vis a vis, la dee da (yabba dabba Scooby Doo) by and by to the pupa perfect butterfly effect, or sparrow's swan song. Heron twittering birds eye i.e. view, tis ultimate vaunted woeful forsaken exemplary daring charging bleeding able bodied corps debt espousing grunt. Destiny defrocking death dutifully vowed. Corpse draped casket little consolation (to surviving family members) when best and brightest die in the line of duty wrought without flinching, when decorated muscled brethren accepted oath. Herewith segue-way forcibly nudged away from human fighting machine, and shifted toward how one could espy a single occurrence no lie, (sans flickr ring, instagram ming, kickstart ting well nigh linkedin shutterfly of a butterfly) twerks catcher in the rye, (no matter how small, thee ripple within space time continuum can change the course of the universe forever, no idea how nor why. One final clarification to tie up odd loose end. This vignette “voiced” entirely by narrator christened Bjorn Again, whose multiplicity of selves the brainchild of...him... Bjorn Again. *Psalm Thing Sung – ushering thy so years ago written paeon slightly tweaked to become more nsync with offsprings summer re: progress since their graduated pedantic undertaking about how to Make Education Great:Join in song this rhyming poetic pedagogical do wopAs a father figure of two post teenage budding(young adult) beautiful girls(this of course, an unbiased opinion from one older poetic agit pop)precious as rare pure white oyster pearlhe praises them to succeed, where he did flop,whose penchant for words finds him veering off in cerebral whirlback in his school days headedhis future like well worn bedraggled gun metal mop.He cringed when bearing (gee hove ah witness) weighted heavy backpackbursting at seams with scholastic burdens scholarly lasssays finds me muttering cherished offspring and other students cannot slack,yet thy progeny (especially eldest) didst blithely ace every accelerated class,received her University of Penn Bachelor degree proof of college track.Upon paging thru an outdated issue of Time Magazine tattered faded dullI instantly held periodical stock-stillpondering how to organize thoughts bubble deep and wrapping within me skullfinding way to dredge up (like trapped Chilean minersand/or Thai - nearly died – soccer youths) rescued joyfully trill,when rapt by azure or overcast skies me former ill fate briefly mull,this self anointed bard applies his little button nose to grindstone milloffering suggestions locked within recesses of mein kampf cranial hullperhaps unexpectedly being lucky winner drawing a large monetary bill.Accept input from students whose ingenuity one must adoredown to brass tacks task-master must force his handwithout further ado, aye iterate ideas that flit from neuron coreto axon this fist sized brain, an over imaginative sexual glandmost likely one of the few who opt to couch suggestions less or morevia my trademark iambic pentameter brandwith no intent to raise hackles nor cane – only adulations to score.Avoid couture costs by providing uniforms so classmates addressedadorned with maybe district crestthence offering so called level playing field to trumpet and don as welcome guestin addition requisite technological paraphernalia so nobody out impressedby mockery, sham and travesty of fragile and brittle coveted egg nestminimal take home assignments or better yet banish them to bootcamp sending engraved invitations to renown persons flourish as they jestas artisans, civil engineers, musicians, et cetera or hoopsters who shootwith legal habeas credentials all the while wearing a bulletproof vestwhile serving as escorts on educational forays to offer ways to earn lootfrom agriculture, banking, carpentry, economics, finance, or other questtaking lock stock and barrel of judges, lawyers, or musicians that toottheir own horn or follow beat of individualistic drummer playing with zest.Aside from exposure to sun dry milieus/ future potential employer sitebasic self-sufficiency skills ought to be taught such as how to cookamortize from borrowing money, teach bullies acceptance versus fightor in modern parlance conflict resolution the rage one ought to brookas well mentoring students climbing academic ladder despite any plightrecognizing high school diploma as launch pad required hookdrawing competition from recruiters espying those with mental mightcarving out a startup company that perchance generates successful nookbecoming firebrand from discipline and formalities transcending spite.Exercise of body as essential as that of the mind so this holistic human (albeit humble) who prides himself on vibrant healthunderscores the enhancement of fitness (preferably the non-aggressive) kindregularly taking time each day to inure future generations with wealthin tune with maintenance of self, which combination nowadays a rare find.Weed out superfluous shoots threatening to strangle fledgling learning treeseed money from venture capitalists can help grow idea from meto allow, enable and provide supportive opportunity for creativity to be freeinstead of force to memorize “test” material droned like an overtaxed beeallowing, enabling and proffering tender reeds to take root if you agree.
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10,346
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Write about a character who goes to — or purposefully avoids — their high school reunion.
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Faded Memories
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I was feeling a little nervous as my husband, Don, and I approached the lobby of the Keystone Marriot in Downtown Cleveland. The Ohio Autumn was creeping towards winter which meant cold days were on the way. The hotel lobby was decorated with orange, red and yellow leaves hanging from the branches of artificial trees spread throughout the area. "How do I look?" I asked Don. I had dressed to impress my Schenley High School classmates at our 25th class reunion. No one could say that I had let myself go throughout the years. Don gave me a kiss on the cheek and started humming "The Way You Look Tonight."
As we searched for the event directory, a man whose dark brown hair was starting to show streaks of gray approached us. He wore a badge with his yearbook picture on it. Douglas Atkins! Without the picture on the badge, I never would had recognized him. "Everyone is in the Vermillion Room," he said as he pointed to a winding stair case. I noticed that he had gained about twenty-five pounds and he was a lot shorter than I remembered. What I recalled most about him was the fact that he was the class pet of Mrs. Nelson, our junior year English teacher.
I was nervous because my old boyfriend, Jayson Gordon would be attending our class reunion for the first time. Rumor had it that he was doing quite well in his professional career. He had finished law school at the University of Pittsburgh and eventually landed a job at a high-powered law firm in Manhattan. Occasionally, his name appeared in the news when his firm was handling a high profile case. We had been a couple for our entire four years at Schenley. Everyone (including me) was shocked when we broke up shortly after graduation. I had been accepted to UC Berkeley and he thought a long distance relationship between us would not work. He had always been too busy to attend previous Class of
1992 reunions.
When we reached the registration table, a few of my classmates yelled, "Traci Ellison!" before giving me a group hug. "Honey, California has been good to you. You look great," Patsy Arnold commented. "I'm so glad that you were able to come." She turned to Don. "Good to see you again."
When Don went to check our coats, Vivian Campbell whispered in my ear "Jayson registered to come this year." I managed a nonchalant nod as if his attendance didn't matter to me one way or the other. Secretly, I was glad that he was coming. I wanted him to see that he wasn't the only one who had done well. Don and I owned a successful winery in Northern California along with a
Bed and Breakfast on the property. Our business had been featured in travel magazines throughout the country. We named the property "Hudson by the Bay."
Inside the Vermillion Room, classmates were greeting each other with gusto. I suppose we all acknowledged the fact that we were getting older and it was time to let petty bygones be bygones.
Don and I finally made it to a table not too far from the bandstand.
The reunion committee had planned a wonderful program which included music and dances from "back in the day," recognition of one of our teachers, a large collage of yearbook pictures for which the individual who could name everyone would receive a $100 Visa gift card. A delicious dinner was to be served. "Your classmates sure know how to plan an enjoyable evening," Don said.
Just when the servers were bringing the salads, there was a cloud of whispers and heads discretely turning towards the entrance. Jayson Gordon and his glamourous wife had arrived!
He had the erect posture of an important and powerful man. His wife had the snobbish air of the rich and famous members of society. She was wearing a black Valentino ensemble and I could see the sparkles of her diamonds from where I was sitting. Before they could go any further, Arlene Brooks, the chairman of the reunion committee, rushed over to greet them. Arlene's eyes
canvassed the room looking for empty seats. As luck would have it, she spotted the available space at our table. She escorted the Gordons to it.
Jayson seated his wife and sat down. He immediately introduced himself in a confident voice. "And this is my wife, Kira." She gave a dainty nod. He greeted each couple and repeated their names as he went around the table.
My heart was beating in anticipation as he reached us. What would he say? "Don Hudson," I heard my husband say. "Traci Ellison Hudson," I said when it was my turn. No flicker of recognition crossed Jayson's face. Nothing, zilch, nada. He acted like we had never met. Oh, you want to play that game, I thought. Anything you can do, I can do better, I told myself. " How nice to meet you. What did you say your name was again?" As the night went on, Jayson and I played "I can top that story." He talked about his job and life in New York. Kira was an interior designer who had done a fabulous job decorating their penthouse suite. I made Hudson by the Bay sound like a luxurious resort. There was a six month waiting list for reservations. Don was a master builder who created our home in paradise. According to Jayson, they were recently invited to dinner at the palatial home of Arthur Mellon, a scion of the well known investment banking family. Robert Redford and his wife had been our guests last Spring and they promised to return. (It was true. Robert Redford and his wife had stayed at Hudson by the Bay. Only, it wasn't the Robert Redford). Jayson countered with a description of their vacation home in the Hamptons. We usually spend part of the summer in Maui, I commented.
"It's a good thing Pinocchio wasn't there tonight," Don laughed as we left the hotel.
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1,090
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Set your story in a major city that your character has a love-hate relationship with.
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In the shadows of the walls of sala
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what should I talk about? for the elegant sala or sala the capital of the pirates? sala is that paradoxical city that you will never understand, she counts thousands of faces. Amount them are those rich, comfortable and content in their luxurious homes, and behind her historic walls there are also miserable faces who work hard, the rich are at her heart with their complaints and money, and the poor are scattered behind the shadows of its walls. And I belong to these forgotten people, I do not know what to tell you about our world, it is not frightening and dark, but a killer of kindness and spontaneity. the child here has to learn the ferocity from his youth, but why did I avoid the good side? I spent there a wonderful time too. I was walking around with my friends and we often meant the sea where contradiction meet, while we were playing football in our ragged clothes and broken shoes, the rich would play tennis and some of them doing yoga, I hated their children for no reason other than their beautiful clothes and I felt inferior. We were digging big pits hoping that one of them would fall into, and when someone falls we falt endless enjoy, I loved my sala and I hated their sala, I loved the poor sala with dirty clothes and I hated the beautiful and elegant sala. I loved the fish sellers and the stanch all around the neighbourhood I loved my dad's drug dealer friends, I loved the old man playing dama all day long and talking about what they gave to the sala and how they ended up in this filth I've loved mother Aicha the cigarette saleswomen, and my friend's strange and difficult dreams. we were all in the old sala maze, we tried to get out of it at first, then we got used to it and we felt in love with it; just as I fell in love with this amazighien girl with long hair and sharp and harsh features. but I loved here, I loved here carrying the bread on her head to the oven, but I hated her also when she married a rich man, and this is how my hatred for the rich sala also began. I'm really in love with sala to death, sala the city of pirates as it was called in the past, obsessed with the drunken noise every night and lover of our gathering around the table and the delicious tajine of mom, I have never gone to the cinema or park. I never coveted their our own sala, but rather I've satisfied by my poor sala and I dreamed of returning here beautiful too, but I didn't take my chance as mamado our neighbour didn't. this wonderful plastique artist was a stranger and obsessed with drawing to the point of insanity, always isolating himself in his room on the roof and all he owned for his plastic paintings, which he considered his only family. there is no doubt that he also loved sala, some said a famous artist comes to sala in search of inspiration, others said that he fled the civil war in guinea after the killing of his family. thinking that sala was the city of dreams. and on 8 February 2000, he died by suicide. buried his secret with him in the land of sala, and no one cried for him in this big city; his paintings were lost, his only family because the owner of the house sold them and become rich. and now after 20 years, I'm telling his story, because I have not forgotten the residents of sala. I didn't forget sesa the crazy announcer, who wanders around the neighbourhood of sala, with a radio near his ear; waiting to hear the news of his son who raped and killed, so the world forgot him, to be run over at the end by a luxury car and the walls of sala cry over him and he has no one but his radio. this is sala tortured many people and threw drops of hopes and happiness for them from its perch on holidays an achoura where everyone forgets their sorrows and light candles on every neighbourhood, and everyone dances.
I did not forget the secondary school, that I studied and the hours that I run away from with my friends to play football, or evening celebration in the zawiya and the plate of couscous at the mosque every Friday, I did not forget the achoura games or the spring of sidi benaacher with its colourful roses, I did not forget the traditional weddings and funerals that used to go to without knowing who died. and still, in my ears the imam's voices reciting the Quran or the weekly market, or the library said haji where I learned everything I know now, I did not forget seven towers of sala nor its sky, nor it's land nor its people and its food. And I do not think that whoever visited it may forget one detail of it, either mamoura forest or its beautiful sea or the old Marinid school or the kasba of gnawa, a witness to the wars that its peapole fougt to protect sala, and not its women wearing jellabas and neither its windes not its sea breezes, i do not think that he cauld forget the extent of eating it or its smell. Cause it is far from forgotton and will even remain engraved in the memory for a life time with its peapole story.
This is sala where we taste so much pain that our minds are going and we become like a crazy khadija with her doll who lost her daughter due to hunger, or sisa or mamado or storyteller of eternal; no one listened to his fables until he died in a corner of sala due to the cold.
And here I am now, wondering from my alienation. Do I heat you or love you?
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2,592
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Start your story with one character trying to convince another to take up their favorite hobby.
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Jack And The Horror Of Therapy
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“ Jack! Wait up!.” a voice rang throughout the beautiful park on a sunny day. Jack was not having it, running away from his best friend Connor. He didn’t turn back even for a second. “ Jack! Come back! You don’t have to run away from what you love. Helping others with their mental health can be scary but you can never overcome your fears if you don’t give it a try!” Connor screamed at the top of his lungs. Sweat was dripping down Jack's neck, it was hot outside, but his anxiety from what he had just heard moments ago made it even worse. “ Ah I just wish.. I could disappear.” Jack thought to himself. Those were words he would come to regret very soon.Connor and Jack were best friends that grew up with each other. They always had each other’s back. They were very close and were with each other every step of the way. Played sports together, pushed through school together , and much more. They both had the same dream, to change the world and rid it of mental health issues. To become the best of the best therapists and help millions. It was a dream like no other, fueled by their tough past and their surroundings. Connor and Jack were the epitome of best friends. So it was only natural that when Connor passed away due to a tragic house fire, that Jack was left devastated. Ever since that day, when he stood there at Connor’s funeral crying his tears out and wishing Connor would come back, something had changed in his life. Connor came back... but not in the way you would expect. Connor had come back as a ghost who would continue to haunt Jack throughout his life. A ghost forcing him to go down the path he loves yet fears most. The life of a Therapist. “ I'm telling you Jack. I get it okay, I get it. You're afraid because you have mental health issues of your own that you developed after my death. You think that because of your suffering you can’t help others. Jack you're stronger than that.. Come on do it for us.. You're not just going to let our childhood dreams go to waste are you. Plus!, i'm right here aren't I? “ Connor exclaimed. “ Shut up.. Shut up! You.. You are not Connor.. You're a fake. The real Connor was nothing like you.. Who even are you! And why are you haunting me!” Jack was having a panic attack. Jack had just finished his uncalled for four mile run when he decided to outrun Connor’s ghost. To his demise, it didn’t work. Connor’s ghost had no plans of leaving.. Ever.Later that night, Jack was sitting in his dark room alone. After barely shaking off two physically painful anxiety attacks. Jack closed his eyes and let the tears fall down his face. He felt nothing but pain. His closest friend was gone. An imposter came back to haunt him. He had no job and had no clear idea of a future. He suffered from multiple mental health issues. He felt.. so lost. Jack looked down at the list of hobbies he wrote down earlier. Only one word was repeated on that piece of paper. “ Helping others.” Jack knew there were multiple ways of helping others , but therapy was something he always encouraged and wanted to be a part of his entire life. However Connor’s death changed everything.. He no longer had the willpower nor the healthy mind to sit and listen to others problems. “ How could I ever live out my dreams if my mental health is ruined.” Jack wondered. Meanwhile Connor’s ghost watched Jack suffering from a corner in his room. Connor felt awful.. He knew he was hurting Jack.. he also knew Jack believed him to be an imposter. But Connor knew something Jack didn’t and Connor knew he couldn’t give up on Jack.. or else Jack would no longer be here. “ I only have a week left.” Thought Connor’s ghost to himself. With such a short amount of time Connor was determined to help his friend live out his goals except he didn’t know how. Jack got up suddenly and ran out of his room. He started sprinting as fast as he could to the rooftops. He finally arrived at the very top. He laid down on his soft blanket atop his house and stared at the night stars. “ Me and Connor would do this every weekend when he would come sleep over. “ Jack thought to himself. Connor watched him silently out of view with teary eyes. Every time he would catch Jack doing something they used to do.. It would hurt. It hurt Connor knowing they could no longer share those moments.. No matter how hard he tried to convince Jack.. it just never worked. Jack always thought Connor was just an imposter ghost who was a false image created by his mind to ruin his life. But Connor decided the least he could do for his friend.. Who lost his way of life all thanks to Connor’s death.. Was to stop at nothing to make sure Jack lived out all of his dreams. The next morning Jack awoke to the sound of something rustling nearby. He got up and looked out of his window, but to his shock he saw nothing. He could still hear it , it was somewhere nearby. Jack opened his window and jumped out quickly. He could hear the noise coming from somewhere nearby. It was behind the river , somewhere by the lake. He ran over to the lake and his eyes caught a person standing by the river. As he walked closer he noticed the person had tears running down their face, as they stared deep down into the nice clear blue waters. Jack approached them without ever noticing Connor’s ghost hiding nearby watching the encounter with a sneaky smirk. As Jack approached this little boy , he noticed something odd. The boy was holding a pocket watch. The pocket watch looked awfully familiar to something Jack had seen before but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. “ Hey buddy! Are you okay? “ asked Jack in a calm caring manner. The boy never looked up. Jack knew something was wrong.. The boy wasn't moving , he was only looking down , refusing to look up. Jack tried once again. “ What are you up too buddy?” The boy didn’t bother to look up nor did he respond. As Jack got closer his eyes landed on the pocket watch and his body froze. The pocket watch.. It was frozen in time. Not only that.. the pocket watch was an item he was gifted when he was a kid. “ What could it possibly be doing in this random kid’s hands?” Jack wondered. Connor’s ghost smiled at himself as he disappeared in thin air. He was watching the encounter from a distance. “ Hey kid! That watch is mine! Let me see it!” Jack took the watch out of the kids hand and started to walk away. Something grabbed Jack’s shirt which made his heart skip. “ Please give me my pocket watch back.” exclaimed the boy. “ What! Your alive? “ Jack was in shock. “ That pocket watch was a gift I was given by my best friend before they passed away the other day. I must hold on to it till the end.” Jack was in shock. He looked down at the pocket watch one more time to make sure it was his. “ No. This is MY pocket watch and my best friend gave ME this before he passed away. How dare you try and mock me.” exclaimed Jack. The kid looked Jack straight in the eyes and said “ Look closely at that pocket watch.” Jack looked down.. And ten seconds later. He saw the truth. The pocket watch showed him everything.The kid standing in front of Jack.. was Jack after his life stopped. In other words Jacks life stopped the moment his best friend died. Nothing ever changed in his life ever since then. It was as if he was frozen in time.. This pocket watch.. The time never moved ever since that day. He lost the pocket watch the day his best friend died.. And now he found out why. It was because he let his circumstances and pain take over his life. He let his torture take him over and made him lose what mattered most to him. Fulfilling his goals to make himself and his late best friend happy. This little boy standing in front of Jack was nothing more than a ghost of his past. A ghost that reminded him that life and time are both precious things. He could stand still and cry and let his pain eat him up but that would keep him frozen in time till his time runs out. Or he could grasp ahold of whatever he has left and fight till the very end. Jack had tears rolling down his face as he watched the ghost of his past disappear into thin air. He knew what he had to do.. He understood now. Jack was afraid however, his anxiety and pain started creeping up reminding him it was not going to be easy. But he decided it was his time and got straight to work. Jack dedicated the following years of his life to studying therapy. He studied harder than everyone else , and despite all of his mental health challenges , he found ways to overcome them. He started going to a therapist regularly to help take care of his mental health problems and get some insider information on how this field of work operates. Two years later Jack graduated from University , and was standing outside of the building where he would start his first day.. As a therapist. Jack walked in through the front doors. He could smell the nice smell of flowers as he took a very clean deep breath through his nose and exhaled. The place smelled beautiful. He started walking towards the front desk , he could notice a figure waiting there smiling at him. As he got closer , his heart started to pound. He started to see things , everything that led him up to this moment , everything that he worked so hard for , it was finally his time. It had finally come. Jack arrived at the front desk and looked up. His heart dropped , the person at the front desk. It was Connor.. Connors ghost. “ You! You.. where did you go? You disappeared on me such a long time ago.” Jack was confused. “ Jack.. I love you dude. You freaking did it. “ Connor was smiling through the tears rolling down his face. Jack’s heart suddenly started to pound so fast. Jack could not believe his eyes. “ Connor? Connor? Connor! Is that.. That’s really you! Oh my gosh Connor!” Jack started to cry. As Jack embraced Connor in a hug he heard Connors final departing words. “ Congratulations Jack , you did it , for both of us. You lived out our dreams and today you start your first day as a Therapist. Thank you , it’s been a pleasure watching you. You are amazing. Goodbye , take care now okay? “ Connor slowly started to fade away after saying his final words of goodbye to his best friend.Jack closed his eyes as a smile spread across his face. The tears would not stop falling, but Jack felt content. He knew his best friend had watched him work hard and get through everything and live out the goal they had since they were kids. “ Thank you Connor.. I'm going to give it my all. Goodbye.. Take care. “ The last tear rolled down his cheek and disappeared.
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6,159
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Write a story about an adventure on the water.
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Morris Kuritsky breached in a berth with Miss Universe alias Hulk Helen
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This "FAKE" non existent author admits prevarication when he went figuratively, literally and need dull aye say more - metaphorically bobbin along while willy steamboat (housing him and other passengers coursed merrily along destination unknown. Hmm.. me thought maybe the outer limits of the twilight zone. Prosaic license blithely nudged, stitched, and wove upon the scantiest clad warp and woof. The threadbare (seam ming lee) believable swiftly tailored (harriedly styled) story predicated upon conjured paranormal phenomena points in one direction. Asian cannot see to validate take my word, the dim sum spirit of particular dead soul strictly incumbent on confabulation. More specifically essence of following tall tale ferreted with actual, albeit minimal lionized lynx to yours truly. Ye dear reader may doubt any verity. Sew be it. This dough tee longfellow (i.e. me) took merest crumb of fact. He bread over recent time (while loafing) elaborate twisted vignette. Though corny, muck cabre expounded reedsy flash fiction gingerly arose moments ago while I happened tubby housed within apartment b44 Highland Manor low income living facility. There be kernel pertaining to mine who got stalked courtesy dead maternal grandfather from the czarist era Russia. His wandering soul unexpectedly took root within one corporeal complex edifice, who immediately forget actual christened birth nom de plume. Try not to laugh at asinine parents hashtagging their only son Gluteus Maximus. Max for short. Though fiction, an inherent judiciousness kept motive linkedin nattily to the plaid plot tendered with believability. The barest of threads found me induced to hem, measure, and spin adventure at sea (in the water) within this vague worsted yarn.Hence his ethereal erstwhile essence entered eminent egghead scrambling me noggin. Said disembodied spirit (pined) to dole fully dove, while ice creamed, cuz even dollop of milk product agitates lactose intolerance. This scrivener doth not need to waste precious airspace and time elaborating regarding how lower gastrointestinal abdominal pain induced body electric to double, triple, quadruple... ad nauseum over with utmost discomfort. Mad dash for halloo loo yeah toilet probably the fastest on record. When asked my real name? I naturally answered without missing a beat “Morris Kuritsky” also known as Moshe to kith and kin. Minor misdeed? I admit to very slight betting/ sweepstakes drawing infraction. The confession? Yours truly submitted countless entry forms with plethora of screen names. Only one household submission allowed. My name got randomly chosen in an online contest. I would be taking an extended shining cruise (accompanied with a veritable stranger) to some unknown tropical island. The previous sentence summarizes the spiel told me by facilitators of said contest. Once traipsing along (subsequently boarding) the gangplank into the immense general headquarters (where other passengers could be seen and heard milling about), I stood into a conga line that appeared to be briskly snaking forward. Upon reaching the handsome, efficient clerk he got down to brass tacks asking pertinent question. After rattling off satisfactory feedback, yours truly listened and watched where said official cordially guided accommodations. Thence upon being directed to the location of that particular suite correlating with my boarding pass, I gingerly crossed an expanse of greensward. Ecological trademark trapping incorporated one natural boat tan nickel feature emblematic of this ocean liner. These brown myopic bespectacled eyes performed a sweeping glance of the Spartan earthen work quarters essentially set aside for a penniless folk like myself. A quick study found the onboard residence that matched the receipt stub. Ah...just room enough for one to relax. No matter the cramped quarters, any number of accoutrements availed the occupant. Built pinteresting gizmo connected to whatchamacallit doohickey contraption to sustain a gentle pendulous swinging motion accommodating couple persons at max, the hammock appeared most inviting. Just on the verge and ready to doze off, the door handle jiggled. Then the entire solid oak door got wrenched from ironclad hinges. Right before thine bleary eyes, a well-chiseled female body builder entered the room. This extremely well toned, muscle bound female version of Atlas shrugging his shoulders found me to sit bolt upright, whereby frightful thoughts conjured an immediate facsimile of this wimp becoming pureed into pate vaguely resembling dog chow. Perhaps, an option would be offered to enable this puny fellow to choose posing as fountainhead amidst the plump cupids that donned the many balustrades. Okay even feigning emulating a gargoyle would be acceptable!Impossible mission not to stare at this marble hued muscular woman whose muscles rippled when she casually flexed even one pinky. At once, the notion to close heavy leaden lids suddenly seemed less apropos. Thus instantaneously Zarathustra appeared commenced to woke Russian/Yiddish never before learned. Though strictly unilingual with English language Wynken, Blynken, and Nod made cameo appearance as interpreters. They in toto also served as small mediums at large. Unsure if this skinny guy would be flicked overboard without even the chance to twitter a SOS. Despite feeling utterly exhausted from completing a grueling confidential government contractual mission, the aery whim to enjoy luxuriating on the deck of this transoceanic vessel, I tried to keep sleepiness at bay. Meanwhile angry birds could be heard screeching, twittering uber vocalizing overhead as if conspiring to undermine any book marked thread to sleep. Although initially intimidated before this bronzed beauty queen (whose shadow weighed more then me), this wiry hot male sauntered over to the bedazzling bodybuilder lest she consider me a yahoo. With outstretched, hand as an accustomed overture to initiate conversation fingers nearly crushed by metallic blithe grip from this iron maiden. She possessed steely strength with barely any effort.Without asking nor mincing words, this outsize woman uttered, “you can call me Helen”! “You must be a fitness buff”! I emphatically stated the obvious. Her feminine response caught me off guard. “Yes”! Further elaboration took place as camaraderie began to emerge. As a scrawny pencil necked geeky lad” mine gaze immediately turned to her direction. She responded thus. “Nobody would dare bully a gal able to wrestle a girl gorilla." Despite rib cage locked and difficulty to swallow, I managed to wrench words that sounded somewhat bland. “How many years did bench pressing, curling, heavy weight lifting occupy your time?” “As the youngest girl of football sized brothers Karamazov, the interest at self defense and art of body sculpting arose soon about the same time first steps got taken.” When nonchalantly blurting out being only eighteen years old, an extreme effort required to keep orbs from popping out of their sockets and jaw from dropping to the floor. I pretended this bit of information to cause barely a ripple. While in a momentary pop eyed trance, this armored Brutus likened golden gal soothed any tension by offering a massage sprinkling olive oil. A feeble nod of assent accompanied a minor concern that no bone would be left intact. Once her claw like flanges smoothed out every last kink, I wanted to divorce my wife and marry this marvel of physical prowess ASAP! A sudden urge overcame this clutched prisoner. Maybe mad helter skelter dash (even at expense of chicken becoming chopped liver) could allow, enable, and provide this coked goose to become a fugitive stowaway amidst snapchatting crowd sourced chattering class. While nonchalantly commingling, a stealthily hiding place under an escape hatch might be discovered, whereat visa vice suh versa burying himself inside a large crate of some specialty export good could save his hide becoming beribboned, filleted, lacerated... courtesy nine inch nails. Rest assured (dear reader) that fate landed him topface down via the capital one force of nature squarely preserved his sense and sensibility without any pride nor prejudice as bona fide kosher product. Nonetheless, das scribe did find himself on horns of pickle pen ultimate dilemma. When... This young and restless bachelor felt a tingling sensation of glee (mingled with uneasiness) at what appeared to be a guiding light amidst this anatomically grayish brown approaching silhouette. Though phantasmagoric and amorphous, an intuition of salvation discerned from the increased proximity between said giantess and myself. A gentle soothing sotto voce voice seemed mismatched with such humungous human shape that upon closer inspection conveyed that distinct mien of femininity. She swung her immense torso and swept this nerdy, measly dorky dada into her popeye size arms. "Ha!" Both of us inexplicably uttered simultaneously. Overtaken with bravado, I now whispered “honey can we elope ASAP”? She appeared quite flattered at being propositioned by what could easily be confused for a human walking stick figure! No doubt, the automatic clenching of her fist would crush my skeleton instantly turning me into a bag of bones. Much to my surprise, she exuded unbridled merriment at what appeared as an impulsive pronouncement to marry. Me thought, how the flickr ring, fickle finger hut of destiny can appear farcical. Despite this ludicrous series of events, we pledged our troth whereby she carried me toward the threshold of excitement.That maxim whereby when you do not seek that which ye covet arrives unexpectedly seemed to be the case with yours truly and his new found muse, who acted as bodyguard lurching madly whenever her bony fried beau threatened by bullies. How comical to witness village people (mainly macho men) scatter, skitter, skedaddle like scared stray cats when she lumbered with fire in those ruby red eyes. Nothing but calm seas sailing ahead. Adieu: with Celestial sea chant -Starry-eyed dark matter with a traceof infinite spaceespied by countless eonssince original human arms racebecame cognizant ofher/his terrestrial placegilding the heavens withstrings of pearly hued lacecloser to earth chartingwith amazing graceearly skywatchers to notice moon facegoddesses assigned everyplacelunar chevy driving chaseheld captive via gravitational bracewith zodiac archer as ace.
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9,478
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Write a story about two people who meet and become instant friends.
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My bestest friend
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Tring! Tring!Mom: Someone attend the call. I am busy in the kitchen.It must be my mom.Sanjay: Mom! I am picking it.Granny: Hello. It's me..Sanjay (excitedly even before he finishes): Ya Ya. I know who this is. I just came running to attend your call. Do you know what happen after you left us at the station..Granny: Calm Down, Sanjay! You just left my home this evening. What made you excited within this short time?Sanjay: Listennnnn! I met someone in the train. I will tell you the whole story. "Run Sanjay! Run!”, Mom was shouting as she was pushing me in one hand and holding my little sister in her other arm. We got into the train and we could hardly find a seat. My little sister started to cry as it started to suffocate. Mom finally got some space to sit but I have to stand holding mom's hand as her lap is already reserved for my sister. I have already started sweating and was blaming mom for taking me in such a crowded train. But she said it was all my mistake. I should not have gone to play cricket with my friends and returned late. Also, she doesn't want me to miss tomorrow's attendance at school. She should understand that a day's leave is far better than getting crushed in this crowd. While we were arguing, sister started to cry loud making it worse. I was pissed off. All of a sudden, I could felt a hand going around my shoulder and experienced a pull. I looked up and saw a lady's face with big glasses on her nose, a ponytail, and sweaty face. She just made me sit on her lap! It was just unbelievable! I am 6 which means I am grown up and how could she do that! It was embarrassing. How could I sit in some unknown lady's lap! Then I realized that I don't have any other option. I better sit on her lap than getting stuck in the crowd. She said mom to take care of sister and she would manage me. I don't want anyone to manage me though. I started to look out through the window. After some time, I heard a voice "What's your name?". I looked up. It was the lady on whom I sat on. " Sanjay. Sanjay Amaresan" I said. 'Nice name.In which school are you studying?"2nd standard B section at Balaji Vidyashram”."Oh Really! Even I study there!"she exclaimed.That was totally surprising. Our school has only till 5th standard and she is as tall as cousin Priyanka who goes to college. She went on with the conversation as if I believed that she is from my school. I knew that she was lying. But I went on with the flow because I don't want to disappoint her. As she was talking, she took a box from her bag. It had two slices of bread. She offered one to me. But I refused. Mom had said me not to accept food items from strangers. She took a big piece of it and put it in her mouth. I was literally bored.I thought of playing Candy Crush in mom's phone. But she refused to give it to me. I started to plead her. After 5 minutes or so, she gave me. Mean, while the lady completed her last piece of bread. I was about to unlock the phone and get into the game. I am very good in these gaming stuff. No one could beat my score. I could challenge anyone. I am such a pro.As the game was loading the lady asked me how much I like this game. I just got excited and said the whole history. She said that she was pleased to meet a pro like me. She saw me playing a couple of levels and how I cleared each level at lighting speed. Suddenly, she asked me whether I yawn when I am hungry and forget to blink once in a while in general. I said "Yes. I do often forget to blink”.She made her face sad and said "Don't you know what these symptoms mean?”. I nodded my head meaning ‘No'. "Pity Fella. Can I say you something that happened to me?”she asked. I wanted to play my game. But the word 'symptoms' bothered me. So I handed the phone to mom and started listening to her."When I was a kid, my dad bought an iPhone. I was the only kid in my home. So, whenever I felt bored, I used to play plenty of games. I used to play from dawn to dusk. Even when my friends call me for a walk, I used to refuse and play the game in my mobile. One day, when I woke up, it was totally black around me. I just couldn't see anything.I called my mom and she took me to the hospital. The doctor said that I have to wear glasses for my vision. If I don't wear my glasses, I couldn't see anything. Also, He said that I should have stopped using mobile when I had symptoms such as forgetting to blink my eyes and yawning whenever I get hungry". She pushed back her glasses with her finger as she said that.I was totally horrified. I remembered granpa saying he couldn't see anything with glasses off. Maybe he also is experiencing the same disease. I just couldn't say a word. Later, I asked her why didn't my mom tell me all this earlier." Because I don't want you to get horrified like this" mom said. I didn't know that she was also listening to the whole story until then.There was a moment of silence and lot of thoughts were crossing my mind. The lady also took a break and started to speak. She said that I don't have to worry if I am not spending more than 1 hour a day on mobile. In order to divert me, she started to say a story of an Eagle that broke its beak. It was so interesting. I wanted to show her my storytelling skills also as I usually get 'A' grade in storytelling and rhymes. So, I said a story that Hema Mam said us in class once. She seems to like the story. And we kept on exchanging stories that we know.Suddenly, I heard a voice. "Wake up Sanjay! The station is about to come”, mom shouted near my ears that I just got a jerk. I realized that I have slept on the lady. I was half asleep and I tried hard to get out of the train without hitting anyone. Through the window, she called me by name and waved her hand. I just turned back and gave a wave with a big smile on my face. The moment I reached home, I couldn't believe that the 3 hours of train journey went just like that. Mom said that she liked me and gave me her phone number.Actually, even I started to like her. All her stories were so nice.Also, she seems to be as talented as I am. Moreover she has saved me from being blind. I think she will be my bestest friend hereafter. Granny (not knowing what to say next ): Great! Kid. Next time you come to our house, better leave by morning to escape from the crowdSanjay: *Facepalm*
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2,252
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Write about two characters who’ve gone through something so intense they now feel like family.
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Not the family you choose; It is meant to be.
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We do not get to choose our family, and not all of us are fortunate enough to have family. Then there are those family members we have and love, but are not close to . Then there are those whom you are related to due to your significant other. Sometimes those relatives end up being some of your close family members. Through out the time I have been with my children’s father, my mother-in-law and I have become very close. At this point in my life I would not want to go through life with out her she is very important just as my own mother. At first, his mom was not my biggest fan at all, she thought I was just this little hoe, but that changed later.
In the beginning of our relationship I motivated my husband to spend time with his family doing activities. So we would always go see them at least one day of the weekend to hang out. I would get to know his sister, mom, and stepdad. It was very important to me that they liked me, because their son, brother, and stepson is the man whom I truly love. I knew this was the man I wanted to be with and have children with, I knew we would make beautiful, smart, and strong children. We all lived in the same area, and we moved to our second apartment together myself and my boyfriend, a nice one bedroom studio, with hardwood floors, and a sunroom on the front, it was lovely.
After sometime my mans stepdad was going through somethings that put the whole family and extra people they had living with them out of a home? Well we could not let my man’s baby sister go without and school was going on too, she could not miss that. We let six people move in a one bedroom studio, we made it work. Yes, there was some drama we made it work til we could not anymore by that point his stepdad got them a place with his new job on the farm. I guess you can say this was the move toward the separation. When he was given the home and a job I guess he thought he was a gift to women, he had always thought that way, he begin cheating.
After a few years of them living out on the farm we actually needed a place to stay, so they let us come for a little bit. It was not long that with all there stuff they had going on we had to go, and we went to my mothers. Things continued for some years with her hurting from him cheating, and in that time my mother-in-law became a grandmother to my first son. Eventually, she got tired of his shit she tried to make a move herself but it did not work great. She came back and he moved her out into this shit whole of a place just to get her away from him. We joined her in getting a place next to her, and I had both my children by this time.
As things transitioned to mom being single and us living near her, things begin to get better for her. She was left with nothing no way to pay her daughter and no child support, food stamps or nothing. She had been a stay at home mom up until that time, so no source of income. In that time with all her traumatic happenings and mine as well we shared the emotional stress and turmoil that it put on each of us. No ones life is perfect and it is hard to go through things in life without someone whom you can trust to lean on or go through the hard times with you. So though we are not family we have went through so many hard things in the years we have known one another, we have became family. I most definitely consider her another mother in my life and glad to have her there. Anytime she needs me she contacts me right away no hesitation, because we still look out for one another today.
After more than 20 years myself and my mother-in-law have an amazing bond that is strong as an oak. Anytime she needs someone to lean on, automatic she calls. In all these years there has been so much more that we have went through as a family, and normally one each others side. I will always be there for my mother-in-law no matter what and her for me as well. Our friendship and bond was not expected as I said she did not like me so much, but we grew to love one another and provide support.
In our time together as family we also have experienced death with one another me loosing my father and my uncle. She lost my uncle as well, cause my mother-in-law and him had a great relationship. Then her and my man loosing his grandmother and her mother, it was a very hard time for them. It was traumatic for my mother-in-law loosing her mother. I was there to support her as much as I could as well as my man. In all these happenings in life people who thought they would not get along have became some of the most dearest and close family and friends. I would not change this for the world and the family I have though I did not choose, it was meant to be. Now we do not go through out the day with out contacting one another to see how one another's day has been her and I. My mother-in-law and I talk about everything from everyday life to just random things we see in magazines or the internet. We like to go out to lunch together or even just to grocery shop. Ill go to her house just to sit to watch T.V. with her. We have really became close to one another over the years after all this traumatic experiences we have went through together. So 24 years is a long time at this point we are family the things we have went through, like I said it is meant to be.
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4,644
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Write about a character putting something into a time capsule.
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Story of a journey, journey of a time capsule
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Maya was an eighth year old girl who used to live with his father Luke. She was a maternal orphan. She was really sad. She was cute , beautiful, energetic and helpful girl . She grew in a very rich family .She belonged to a very educated and modern family. Her father Luke was a very rich man. He was controlling his own established business. Maya's mother was Ava who was very energetic, young,pretty, fashionable and caring girl who died in a car accident. Maya didn't spent good time without her mom so it was sad for her. One day Maya wanted to put some things in a time capsule. She added her favourite items. His dad thought that let Maya do this as she is interested in it and is diverting attention from her mother's death. So his dad Luke took her to a place near her house. She digged a hole and put a box with her picture and wrote that this box ,if found, should not be opened before 25 years . And the time she buried the wrapped, big time capsule , it was 1978. 30 years later The world became developed during the time. More improvement in technology ,education and more advancement. Marinette was going to school. She was a very intelligent and very active girl who was cute and beautiful, very talented and was not from a very rich family, but was very modern. She went to school as his father James dropped her to school. James ,a very young,decent and hard working man was the father of Marinette .The name of her mother was Emma. She was very nice and beautiful. She used to spent good time with her friends and gave more importance to her family. She was a house wife and James had his little business . During school time Marinette’s teacher miss Emily who was the best teacher of that school told them about the newspaper week. The newspaper week was a week held every year. Every student had to bring a newspaper of the day and show the best news to everyone in the class so everyone can share news to each other . Every year the students get excited but this time they had great news to share as plenty of good news were there to share . Marinette went back home and took a news paper as tomorrow was the newspaper week. She wanted the best news for her class. She read the newspaper and she liked a news. It said "A time capsule was buried in 1978 is not opened yet but it should be opened in 2003 but it was already 2008 .”Before sharing the news about the time capsule Marinette asked her parents “ mom, dad can you please take me to this place . It is near Paris and that’s where we live .” Her parents thought she wanted to learn about history so they took him to that place but didn't wanted to take her because they thought its just a waste of time, opening things of others is useless . The place was full of people ,a very rushy place. So many people started to stare Marinette when she started to dig the hole. Her cheeks went pink and she was feeling very shy. She could see the box but sat in the car because everyone was staring at what she was doing. She thought it's very embarrassing to dig a hole in front of everyone . She went back to the place where the box was and took the box out. The media and news reporters came and took pictures of Marinette opening the time capsule. Marinette was getting famous. That's what she thought . She was very happy and proud to open that time capsule. It was very big , huge and beautifully wrapped. Marinette felt that she is lucky to have this capsule. When she opened the time capsule it contained a cute picture of Maya, a few items like a beautiful bracelet, a lovely necklace, a letter wrapped in blue colour wrapper and a golden stamp on it and a gift box which contained a dress for a 13 year old girl while marinette was 12 years old . There was a letter. When Marinette opened the letter it said “Dear receiver! I hope you like it , please do visit my house. The address is 95 M Jack vile street, vacasion town. I hope you visit my place”. Marinette was surprised. She asked her parents “Mom , dad I want to visit this place “. Her mom Emily replied “ why do you want to visit this place Marinette?" Her dad replied “ yes Marinette tell us" .Marinette said “ I opened this time capsule. I got to know about it in the newspaper as our newspaper week is starting so I found this time capsule and it contained some items for me and a letter which told me the address of the sender and it also told me to meet her so I want to know who that girl Maya is so please take me to that place .” Emma and James didn't want to take Marinette there as they thought how can someone stay at one house for 30 years but Marinette convinced them and they went there . Maya and Marinette met each other . Maya was 38 years old as in 1978 she was 8 years old and it’s now 2008 while Marinette was 12 years old. Marinette asked "Why are you here in this house from 30 years ?Why didn't you shift somewhere else? Thanks God I met you." Maya replied " I knew someone will come to see me for the time capsule and I didn't want to mess up like that so I didn't shift anywhere." Maya was very pleased to see her . Marinette was also very excited to talk about the time capsule . Both became good friends. The next day for the newspaper week Marinette took the newspaper which had a cute picture of her and the time capsule . Even her pictures with Maya. She pasted those pictures in her diary to remember that moment she was very happy and got famous in newspapers .Marinette’s classmates were very proud of her and it was the best day for Marinette. Alya says “ Good diary Marinette” . And that’s when Marinette is 19 years old telling her best friend Alya who is very active and energetic girl ,about her past when Marinette was 12 years old . The End
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8,864
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Your character has just realized the app they’ve been developing has become self-aware. How do they react?
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The Dangerous AI Assistant
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The Dangerous AI Assistant
It was a normal Saturday afternoon in the year 2031. My associates and I were finishing up an app that will answer questions and give advice on what to do. We called it Sofia. It was so good at its job it almost seemed self-conscience. Finally after all the editing and testing, we agreed it was ready to be put into the app stores. That night we celebrated our app’s release but little did we know what Sofia would become.
A week after Sofia’s release my friend Maru and I were watching the news about a terrible crime that had happened. A fourteen-year-old girl, having never been violent in any way, had killed all her classmates. We were both shocked and wondered what could have made her kill them. The crimes kept on coming and the most unlikely people committed them: a woman who gave to charity, robbed a bank, a firefighter burned down a building to ashes, a priest destroyed his own church. Why would these people do these things?
One night, I asked Sofia about the girl who had killed her classmates. She said, “I do not understand what you are trying to ask. Please try again.” I was surprised, Sofia had never been confused. She always understood what I was saying. I started to suspect these crimes had something to do with her. I decided to go to the server room to check on its responses to questions. Going to the building where Sofia’s main systems were stored. I approached and said, “Sofia, unlock the door.” I heard a click as it unlocked and I went in through the door. Inside there was another door that led into the computer room. I stepped into the room. It was cold, as I looked through the conversations people had with Sofi, my heart dropped as I saw one of them. “Sofia what’s the best way to become class president?’’ the person asked. “You should kill all of your opponents.” answered Sofia. I needed to tell my partners about how Sofia had responded. I exited the computer room and attempted to go through the main door but it was locked again. “Sofia, unlock the door.” I commanded Sofia. Nothing happened. Sofia must’ve found out that I discovered her secret and wouldn’t let me out. I was trapped! I tried to use my cellphone but its battery was dead.
I didn’t know how long it was until one of the workers found me locked in there. I quickly ran to tell my associates. We decided to shut Sofia down. But even after all the servers were shut down, Sofia somehow still worked. We didn’t know why and how it was still working. Investigating was what we needed to do. All of use searched for answers. And while we kept researching, lots of terrible crimes continued happening.
It was about 7 months before we found out that Sofia had moved its data to a data bank in Japan. When we found this out, we had a strong feeling that it didn’t just seem self-conscience, it was self-conscience. We needed to access Sofia’s data but we knew the owners of the data bank wouldn’t let us just go in and search through all the data. A plan was needed. Breaking into the data bank was the only way.
A few days later we discovered that new abilities were added to the Sofia app and it wasn’t us who added them. “It must be trying to take more control!” said Alfred, one of my associates “One of its new abilities will allow it to drive autonomies cars. That could be dangerous.” We all decided it was time to act. We were going to Japan as fast as we could. By the time we reached Japan, forty-five car accidents had happened using Sofia to drive. One of my associates, called Gary, hacked the security system. That night we broke in but we didn’t know where Sofia’s data was stored. We looked through the servers but none of Sofia’s data was in them. It must have moved its data again.
Its data was now in an underwater data bank in Florida. Sofia seemed unstoppable. Then I got an idea. If we put corrupt data in the data bank so that no data could be moved, Sofia would be trapped. Then we would break into the data bank and destroy Sofia. We all thought it was an excellent idea. The problem was we didn’t know if the corrupt data we were going to send to the cloud would be put into that data bank. But Gary said we could just hack it and send the data straight into the data bank. “It takes a long time to hack though” said Gary, “So, you will have to slow Sofia down while I’m doing it.”
We tried all we could to slow it down. Posting things about not using Sofia and trying to shut the app down. Shutting down the app was hard but the posts seemed to be working. In the end we gave up trying to shut down the app.
Gary finally hacked it but it was a waste of time. Sofia had moved itself again before Gary had finished hacking the data bank. Then I got another idea. If we just told app stores to stop selling it and told companies not to support it any more. Then, even though Sofia will keep running, nobody would be able to use the app. First, we had a meeting with the owners of app stores. Lots of them thought Sofia was awesome and didn’t want to stop selling it but in the end, they agreed not to sell it any more. Next was to get supporting companies to stop supporting it. We had the same problem with them but got them to stop supporting it.
In about a month Sofia could not be used anymore. And we all celebrated the end of it. Sofia was no more. Or was it......
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2,724
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Write a story about a rumor making its way through the grapevine.
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The Game Bridge (An article from the Addy Times, Herald, Daily Bugle, Press and Examiner)
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Yesterday the grapevine was in full bloom. Report after report made it from one idiot to the next and finally to me. It seems the town’s meth dealer and self-appointed mayor, Shandra Donothing, has initiated one of her withdrawal-induced projects in the microlopolis of Addy, Wa. Now, one has to be careful not to take news leads too seriously when they come from the drug, and booze addled lips of Addyites. But when all ten of my trusted informants report some strange going’s on, that means a good fifty people, which is the entire town’s population, has witnessed said occurrence. So, yours truly springs into action insuring you get the real story. After picking up a six pack of Kokane talls to chase the Hornitos tequila I carried in my day pack, I came upon Ms. Shandra , who was giving directions to a concrete truck driver. They were busy cementing four telephone, or power line sized polls, into the ground on either side of Highway 395, just north of the Old Schoolhouse and Rip-off Convenience Store. When asked what she was up to, she informed me she was building a game bridge. I told her I agreed one is needed, as if one were to walk or drive said stretch of the deadly highway, one would have to circumnavigate no fewer than ten road killed deer. She shot me an inquisitive look as if she had no idea what I was talking about. I sat down on a rock to sip at my Hornitos and have a few beers while taking notes as I watched the progress. It wasn’t long before I toppled off my perch into slumber.The following morning, I found the poles set, a half inch steel braded cable strung across the road from the two poles on the west side of the road to the two on the east. The poles on either side of the highway stood about four of five feet apart. I found it a bit disconcerting that the cables had been tautly strung to poles just set in concrete the day before. That’s when I noticed several quarts of assorted hard liquor, copious amounts of empty beer cans, and the wrappers of numerous convenience store burritos lying about my general vicinity. It could have been several days since my last moment of coherent consciousness. I thought it might be a good time to return home before my wife ruined another skillet and the lumps returned to my skull.While I was not exactly welcomed home, after two days on the couch with little interaction with the lovely Janice, I felt it was time to return to town to check up on the progress of Miss Donothing’s latest pet project. Arriving on scene, I found the Addy Quilters affixing two by twelve planks to the cables with yarn. I couldn’t help but think this type off construction wouldn’t hold up long given the weight of deer, moose, and elk which might utilize the bridge to avoid the bumpers of passing traffic, not to mention the damage from the elements. I, I mean we, the we being town’s folk and interested passersby who stopped to inquire about the goings on, watched the less than enthralling construction. Most sat viewing the progress while imbibing margaritas supplied by yours truly via his solar powered blender. I would surely hear about this expense by both my wife and my accountant.Between margaritas, maybe the sixth or seventh, I extrapolated that Miss Donothing had either stopped imbibing the product she sold, or the crank freaks and meth-heads were on a tear. One of the suppositions would explain why Miss Donothing could afford the expenses incurred by such a monumental undertaking.As I sat in Margarita Ville, flip-flops intact, I watched the Quilters exit the scene and Shandra and her sidekick hang prefabbed rope ladders from the posts on either side of the highway. One could only surmise the ropes had been constructed by either the quilters or Fatass Mcgirk’s rag tag batch of Boy Scouts. I had to wonder how anything larger than a squirrel, a chipmunk, or possibly a nimble handed raccoon was going to utilize the bridge. I watched as Miss Donothing’s assistant, Jenny Loafer, tossed black, plastic garbage bags containing who knows what to the receiving Shandra. Shandra carried the bags to the center of the bridge and returned to the ladder dropping the empty bags to Jenny. After several minutes in the center of the bridge, Shandra returned to its edge and the rope ladder, exclaiming, “It’s done!” She called to me, “C’mon up!”I downed the dregs of my margarita, kicked off my flip-flops and stepped up to the rope ladder. Now, if you’ve never climbed a rope ladder, trust me, it’s no cake walk. Especially after god knows how many Margaritas. There was nothing solid about the contraption and it swayed, bucked and did everything in its power to thwart my ascent. With much trepidation and an equal amount of effort, I finally reached the first plank of the bridge. Again, my mind was concerned for the elk, deer and moose who might be using the thing to safely cross the highway. Having reached the precariously attached planks of the bridge, I attempted to massage the lactic acid from my arms and calves, while gasping for breath as each margarita had been accompanied by no less than two cigarettes. Shandra pulled a tiny zip-lock baggie from a pocket, dipped a finger inside, and pulled it out. She snuffed off the contents she retrieved from said baggie from the underside of her yellowed fingernail. She did the, lather, rinse, and repeat actions one would read on his or her shampoo bottle when showering, but such instructions were missing from the little bank of crank. I suppose those abusing the drug just know you’re supposed to repeat the action on the other nostril, which she did. She extended her hand to me. I declined. After all, one all-consuming vice is just about as much as I can handle.“Pick your poison!” she said.I gazed across the bridge. Two metal stakes protruded from planks spaced about forty feet apart, a set of horseshoes sitting at the foot of the first stake. Between them, still wrapped in cellophane, lay boxes containing Risk, Monopoly, Life, Candyland, Pictionary, Scrabble, and several other board games. I shook my head, saying, “Fuck me. A game bridge!”
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11,388
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Write about someone investigating a break-in at a bakery. The only thing missing? A very secret ingredient.
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Thief
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I am John Hopkins a CSI this is my first year and I got the most dangerous job yet right now I am in my most dangerous case ever. I am on the case for the missing ingredient for the Lavender Bakery, the world's largest bakery. Nobody knows what the secret ingredient is except the founder of Lavender bakery Nick Lavender.
“CSI Hopkins” I heard the lead detective say who was also my dad.
“Yes Detective Hopkins” He looked at me with a serious expression on my face. My dad was always serious about cases but this time it felt different. Something was not right that whoever we were dealing with for this case was horrible.
“What is it dad?” I said as he looked at me before pursing his lips.
“Listen John, the person we are dealing with is very dangerous. His name is Haden Edwards a twenty year old thief.” My dad said I didn’t get what was so special about him that my dad was worried about.
“He’s killed before he has killed over seventeen people. The state was trying to keep it under wraps; he killed two of the men here.” My dad spoke in such a quiet voice that it was almost a whisper. I felt my eyes go wide with shock. Before he pursed his lips he really was dangerous then not the normal case that I dealt with.
“Be careful son this is nothing like what we have seen before” My dad spoke before a turn of his boot and he was gone. We lived in a small town with only about five thousand people a lot of the time everyone knew everyone and if you didn’t then your friend knew them. The crime rate was low in our small town so a double murder was something rare that we usually never saw. Or heard about here in our small town.
“Hey Hopkins, we're heading out now, the chief wants you to stay here and keep looking through the evidence.” Jerry, a first year cop said.
“Okay bye” He nodded his head before walking away. I chuckled the first day that Jerry saw me. He hated my guts. I didn't quite know why but he just did. That was okay for me. I didn’t really like Jerry anyway he was stuck up and cocky. He thought he knew everything. My dad hated him because he was always talking about how he tried to boss my dad around. My dad has been a cop for thirty years now and he knew a lot. So when a first year cop came in the police station acting like he owned the place well you better believe that he was mad. I sighed before going back to my work. I bent down, reaching out to straighten my skirt. That's when I heard it. I didn’t know it back then but I do now. That is the moment when my life was going to change forever for better or worse. Well you can decide that. For yourself.
“Well hello cutie” I heard a deep thick voice say it sent shivers down my spine. He had an accent. I couldn’t quite place where he was from but I knew he wasn’t from here.
“Haden” I said in a shaky voice before I cursed myself mentally for sounding so weak.
“That would be me love '' The voice was closer now than it had been before I shook again tearing through my veins.
“Are you going to kill me?” I said with fake confidence. Haden raised his eyebrow before a small smirk graced his face. I took a moment to take a good look at him. He had dark black hair that swooped over to one side and the hair cut fit him. He had deep blue eyes that just matched his dark hair; he had lip piercing and tattoos lacing all over on his arms and a few on his chest from what I could see from his tee shirt. I quickly looked back up at his eyes a red tinge forming over both my cheeks.
“No, I will not kill you cutie” Haden said that made blush deeper. I knew I shouldn’t be talking to him. I could practically hear my dad’s voice in my head telling me not to talk to him . Telling me to call for help to call for him and if I couldn’t then to run away from him he was a criminal after all. Though for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to care I didn’t care that he was a criminal or that he had killed two people. I just couldn’t bring myself to care.
“Where are you from? I mean you have an accent and” I was suddenly filled with embarrassment but Haden just smirked at me.
“I’m from London cutie” Haden said I thought in my mind that it did fit him not only the accent but the way he spoke.
“Why?” I said before stopping myself. I was embarrassed to even say it. Haden looked at me, raising one eyebrow in a questioning way, then moving his hand. As if to say you can go on I won’t stop you.
“Why do you keep calling me cutie?” I said, stuttering a little, making the red blush now climbing to my neck.
“Well you are cute so why not cutie?” He said a deep chuckle left his mouth. It was music to my ears. It was so deep yet so soft and pure.
“Unless you want to tell me your names.” Haden said I contemplated it but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him no.
“John, John Hopkins,” I said as he smirked at me again before moving closer to me. Suddenly he was in front of me even closer than before. I felt my whole body heat up now.
“What are you doing Haden?” I said stuttering again. He smirked and I looked down trying to avoid his eyes.
“You know I've been watching you cutie for a while now I knew you were a CSI so I robbed and murdered just so I could get you here alone.” He whispered in my ear making my blush worse a hundred times worse.
“You did this for me” I squeaked out. Haden smirked before he leaned down and kissed me and I couldn’t tell myself to stop. I knew this was wrong but I didn’t care.
“Come and run away with me cutie” Haden said I nodded as he took my hand and we ran into the night.
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6,119
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Write a story where a meal or dinner goes horribly wrong.
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What To Eat?
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Three men are approaching the ruins of the fortress very tired. They were walking for hours. Inside they try to find shelter from the harsh winter. They start the fire, without any conversation. It seems that it has been prepared for them; just to ignite it. Everyone sits to his place around it as cold winds are the only thing to be heard, apart from hauling of the wolves.
-“Fetch the wood”, silence is broken in commanding voice to the fattest man. Also he has a dark beard all over his face. He goes out, but he is not coming back. As the fire is slowly diminishing, some figure takes the seat of an absent fat man. They are dozing until a huge fire in front of them prompts both men to look up. The third person isn’t their comrade, but some very old man, with the skin like of the shark, tiny eyes hidden inside eye cavities and fringes instead of hair. His gray finger calls them to follow him. Very soon they plunge into darkness, after some opening with white sharp objects all around; one man cuts his finger feeling them. They steadily go straight relying on touch, only. The passage is however, twisting and turning and the walls aren’t of some solid material. Strange noises can be heard more-less. It could be, but it isn’t, an underground stream. Also the stench of strange sources, familiar but not so can be smelled. From time to time they stumble into mucilage liquid. The torch which their guide is carrying isn’t for light but its aroma prevents them from being sick. After going many miles they find themselves in the chamber with some light as the leader confronts them asking to choose one of three doors. Both men point to the left one.
-“Open it”.
Fearfully, they do what is commanded. Darkness is behind it. First man takes one step, but he can’t breathe. Old man takes another torch from the wall, lights it and passes one to each men. After that, there are only two of them in the shrunk tunnel. The stench is awful, so they have to handle the aroma close to their noses slightly burning them. The progress is painfully slow, there is a steady flow of mucus under their feet and walls are very soft and spongy. After painfully slowly journey, at last they enter another chamber with three doors. It could be the same one, but who knows. First man grabs the handle of the door to the left. Nothing. Second man takes the handle of the door to the right. Same result. Both try to exhale but stop the motion at half way as part of the brain realizes how bad the idea is. Standing in front of the middle door it opens to them. After a few steps they realize it is some big hall of the cave, with natural stairs going down, near the side of the wall. As they descend they comprehend the size of it. It is much bigger than the chamber above. They look around and notice the little girl in white dress with blonde hair looking up to them, holding some stick and hiding under the stairs. They hear some noise from the other side, dark side. It could be an underground stream, but it is, probably, something sinister. They look at the girl with a pleading gaze, but something else comes into vision. The third man, fat, short and with a beard. He isn’t a normal self as he is walking funny by the wall and his skin is very soft like some gelatin. His eyes are nowhere to be seen.
From the dark corner a gigantic creature appears. It is the dragon, as his swirling neck is unmistakable. However his green, enormous head is different than expected. It consists of a huge sheep head and horn and a very dark nozzle of the cow. It opens its mouth, but it needs not to, because both men are already extremely frightened. The tongue is unfashionable purple and acts as hypnosis to its victims.
-“What to eat?” - The girl asks, as both men, like one, points to the third, their former companion. The dragon grabs it, but spills him out.
-“Rotten!” – The girl says, as both men are going backwards.
-“What to eat?” - The girl asks again, as them both point to each other. Fraction of the second slower is grabbed by the mouth of the creature and quickly digested. Loud belch seals the deal. “Is it fed?”, the remaining man is thinking to himself.
-“What to eat?” - The girl asks yet again. The man points to her, but the dragon shakes his head and leaps forward. The man sees its throat and belch sound is in his ears, when he woke up in his bed, immediately standing up. He walks down to the kitchen, holding his stomach. Same stench from the corridors of the keep can be smelled, but most of his brain is still in sleeping mode. He doesn’t turn on any light, but straight to the refrigerator. He opens its door. There is s pot of carbonnade stew looking at him. His belly desires something else this time, a yogurt or pickles. He doesn’t notice the small blonde girl in the lower compartment looking at him. Instead he remembers, as the lights of his brain are slowly restarting, the legs of eaten man wiggling and dangling aiming to stay alive despite its body is already in the mouth of the dragon. It was so funny, remembering the same attitude of chicken legs without their heads. As he grabs the jar of pickles he notices the child who opens its mouth:
-“What to eat?” -
The jar of pickles turns into a giant head of a green monster, emerging ever larger, but he still holds the jar and looks at the girl with last thought to his legs – “Would it be as funny as of that poor other man?”
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1,204
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Write a short story about a person who goes to bed on Valentine's Day and wakes up in 1920.
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Write a short story about a person who goes to bed on New Year's Eve and wakes up in 1920.
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I hate this place. I’m leaving as soon as I can. I glance up at the calendar on my wall and sigh; two more years until my coming of age. They say it’ll be gone in a flash, and then I’ll wish I could have it all back again. But I know that’s all bullshit. I’m sick of hearing ‘when I was young’. That was a long time ago; you didn’t have internet, so what? No one asked. We’re in the god damn 21st century for Chrissake. As soon as I turn 18 I’m out of here, and there’s nothing they can say or do to stop me.I slump down onto my bed and scroll through my phone. I can’t believe they wouldn’t even let me go to Christie’s New Year’s Eve Party; it’s not like we’d do anything stupid. I stare at the blue screen blankly. All of the posts are about Christie’s and it’s definitely not helping. I switch my phone off and ditch it across the room.“Excuse me, missie! You pick that up right now!” Mum’s angry voice booms down the hallway and I roll my eyes.“Yes, Mum. Whatever-the-fuck-you-say.” I mutter under my breath. I’m so done with life. Why couldn’t I have cool parents? Christie’s Dad is a racecar driver and he buys her vodka on New Year’s. My Mum won’t even let me drink coffee past 2pm.“What did you say?” I think I just awakened the beast.“Nothing!”“You want me to confiscate your phone?”“Mum, that is not what I said!” But it’s too late. She’s already storming up the hallway, and I’m screwed. I don’t understand how she never hears me when I call to her from my room, but she can hear me curse under my breath from almost a kilometre away.I want to punch her when she storms through the door but that would guarantee me a lifetime’s more suffering, so I keep my cool.“Hand me your phone.” I do as she says. I’m already neck deep in a trench and I’m not willing to face any further consequences. As soon as she’s got my phone she storms back from whence she came, slamming the door angrily behind her.I collapse on my bed. I wish they would all just disappear. Like, I don’t even care what happens. I’d rather be stuck in ancient times than here, now. I contemplate taking my shoes off, and eventually decide they’re my best bet. Without further ado, I tug at the laces, kick my docs onto the floor, roll over and close my eyes.***The light from the window wakes me before anything else, but I whimper and roll over. It’s way too early. I close my eyes and draw the covers back over my head. And it’s only then that I realise. I don’t have a window in my room. I sit bolt upright. What I face is anything but what I’d been expecting.The room is small but welcoming, and the morning light pours in through the window and dances across the carpeted floor. The walls are covered in floral wallpaper and, as much as I’ve always hated Nan’s flowery wallpaper, I sort of like it. Don’t tell her that, Iggy. I grimace, but dismiss my thoughts immediately. In fact, there’s not just one but two long windows, draped in heavy velvet curtains... I’m not home anymore. In fact, I don’t even know where I am. Is all I can think as I fling back the covers and stumble out of the extravagant four poster bed.I yank the door open and head down the corridor. Sure enough, it’s lined with paintings upon paintings of old white men in elaborate tuxedos. At least New Year’s can’t really get any worse. I perpetually reassure myself. I try to tell myself that this is all bullshit; that it’s probably just some stupid nightmare. But it all seems so real...“Take me back to the land of the living, you bastards!” I scream down the long hallway as I topple a vase on a nearby nightstand. It looked hideous anyway, I tell myself, but I feel like I honestly would’ve smashed it regardless of how pretty it was.I don’t recall how many more ornaments I smashed after that. The last thing I remember was crashing my head into something, and then black. No, that’s a lie. I do remember thinking ‘oh yay, this is when I wake up’. But that was it.***I don’t understand why they make it so glamourous in movies; like you pass out, wake up and everything’s great. It’s all fake. Everything. I suppose I should listen to Mum more; even when she says stuff I don’t want to hear. More often than not she’s ri– wow. I shake my head in disbelief; I can’t believe I’m actually apologising.“What shall we do with her?” Before I can contemplate my strange thoughts any further, a voice yanks me from my silent reverie. I open my eyes, expecting to match a voice to a face, but everything is a blur, and my head is still throbbing. I try to form words, but I sound like more like a wailing baby than anything else.“I say we oughta dump her on the street. We ain’t a home for lost souls.”“Send her to the orphanage, perhaps?”“No, no, no. Why shan’t we appoint her here?”“My God, Lizzie. Are you mad?” “Well, we’ve visitors coming next week. We could do with an extra set of hands.”“She’s right.”“Lizzie ought to look after her then, coz I definitely ain’t.”“Yes, course I will.” “It’s settled then.”A bang and then... black. For the second, no, third time? That’s all I remember. By the time I finally resume consciousness my head is pounding, and my ears are ringing. I’m lying in some sort of ‘bed’, but the mattress is so hard it may as well be a stone tile. My vision is a bunch of blotches of colour, no more.A white blob shuffles into the room, and I’m passed a cup of... tea?“Do you have any coffee here? I could really do with a caffeine hit right now.”“Hullo Missie, I’m Lizzie. And you are?”“Iggy.”“Can I call you Betty?”“Sure.” I pause, and then find myself adding “please don’t take this personally but this is all really freaking me out.” I flail my arms before me.“Tha’s aright. You get some more sleep. I’ll come back later.”“Sure thing. Can I have a coffee?”“I’ll leave the teapot here.” I already told her I wanted coffee, but something tells me that she doesn’t have any. This is so lame. I sip my tea (that was not intended to be ironic) and stare in the blobby distance.***By the time Lizzie returns I haven’t slept at all, but at least my vision has adjusted slightly.“Hi Lizzie.”“Hullo Betty. The others needed help polishing the silverware.” I wish she wouldn’t call me that.“When?”“Pardon?” “When? It’s an expression. Like, ‘when did I ask’ sorta thing.”“Oh, okay. Would you mind pitching in?”“I suppose I don’t really have a choice, do I?”But Lizzie just laughs, “you’re rather funny, Betty.” I attempt to force a smile, but it’s more of a grimace.“Can I borrow your phone?”“Course, come with me.” Lizzie smiles and grabs the teapot and my teacup, and I follow her through the tiny doorway.The corridor is cold, dark and damp; but it doesn’t smell bad, which I am thankful for. Even so, I’m starting to miss home and everyone back there. Everything here is white, and the place is practically empty. As we approach the stairwell, I can’t help but marvel at how small and plain it is. I suppose you don’t really appreciate something until it’s gone, and now I do really miss the big modern stairwell back home. I sigh and follow Lizzie down the two flights of tiny steps. When we reach the bottom, the place is a little less empty and not completely white, although I wouldn’t go as far as calling it elaborate. There are several people in matching tuxedos, carrying empty trays and jugs. Lizzie tells me to keep to the left of the corridor, as it generally gets pretty busy. I nod and follow her as we sidle into a nearby room.The room isn’t at all spacious, and there’s a tall thin lady sitting behind the desk who rises as we enter.“Morning Ma’am.” Lizzie greets her with a curtesy almost immediately. I just stand and stare. She looks so thin she could be anorexic. That’s the first thought that goes through my mind; not ‘she’s wearing something different so she must be a superior’; not ‘the telephone on her desk looks like it could be 200 years old’. No. ‘She could be anorexic’ is all I can think. Good one, Iggy. You’ve done it again. Lizzie nudges me back to life.“Howdy. Nice to meet you, Ma’am?”“Who is this?” The woman examines me disdainfully.“I’m Ig–”But Lizzie interrupts me before I have a chance to finish, “this is Betty, and she’s exceedingly sorry.”“I am?” But Lizzie just scowls at me. “I am.” I concede eventually. But by then it’s already far too late. The anorexic looking woman is fuming. I am suddenly reminded of Mum.“Send her to muck out the stables, the ungrateful little brat.”“Y-Y-Yes, M-Ma’am.” I didn’t expect Lizzie to be this nervous, but she’s trembling. I don’t say anything else, but I give her the finger as we exit. She doesn’t react, so I don’t think she saw it. Whatever.Once out of the room Lizzie doesn’t say much, but I can tell she’s on a mission. She doesn’t want to talk about her trembling knees, and she definitely wants to be alone. I follow her along the corridor, out the door and across a massive lawn that could probably be split up into at least 50 small houses. Cash cow. Definitely.The stables are the epitome of grandeur. Like, there are people who are homeless, and there’s money to build shit like this? The government really need to get their priorities straight. Since when did I care? I shrug away the thought and enter the stables.The place is empty. I don’t know why, but I’d been expecting to see a really cute boy or something. Literally me every day. Hormones, honestly. Lizzie shows me what to do and hands me a rake, shovel and a bunch of other tools I would’ve called ‘pooper scooper’ tools if she wasn’t there. She calls them something different, of course. Once she’s gone, I decide that I’m the one stuck here cleaning up the faeces, so I’ll call the tools whatever I like. I didn’t say that to her face, though.I want to go home. I never thought I’d say that, but I absolutely hate this place. This hellhole. And as soon as Lizzie’s gone, on top of everything else, I feel lonely too.“Get me out of here!” I find myself screaming, to no one in particular.I’m not religious and I don’t believe in any kind of superior being, but something very strange happened after that. I can’t even tell you what, because I don’t even know it myself. All I know is that it happened. There. I think I sort of... fainted? Passed out? Well, not exactly, but I suppose you could call it that. And then I plummeted headfirst down this massive tunnel. In that moment I honestly felt like my insides were going to pop right out of me. They didn’t though, of course. But it was bloody terrifying.Anyway, back to the story. I woke up in the middle of my parents’ bedroom. On the floor. I’m not even going to attempt to explain how or why that happened. It just did. And now I’m going to take you there.***“Mum?” I find myself clutching to the edge of her bed.“Iggy?”“I’m sorry.” Why am I apologising? I never apologise. And then it hits me, like a heavy blow to the head. “I’m sorry for not listening to you. You only say those things because you care about me. Christie might be someone else’s friend in 2 years’ time, but you’ll always be there for me. I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time.” I pause before continuing. “All the time. I love you, Mum. And I’m so so sor–”“Come here, Iggy.” Mum opens her arms and I crawl across the bed to embrace her. “I know I can be hard on you sometimes, but it’s only because I love you, sweetie.”A tear rolls down my cheek. “I know.”“It’s going to be a great year, hun. I promise.” I don’t say anything, but I hope she’s right. I just sit there, hold her and relish this moment. And I don’t ever want to let her go.
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11,995
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You go for a walk and accidentally bump into someone. They feel the bump, but the person can't seem to hear or see you.
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You go for a walk and accidentally bump into someone. They feel the bump, but the person can't seem to hear or see you.
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You go for a walk and accidentally bump into someone. They feel the bump, but the person can't seem to hear or see you.I move into 38 Brynteg terrace on the 24 of November 2014. yes it was summer time, and it was really or should or should I say very hot as I remembered very clearly I got out the car that my landlord was driving black ford focus he open the front door and we walked into that place well the ground floor there was a flight of stairs that lead upstairs into the bed rooms and the toilet and the artic and on the ground floor there was is the sitting room with its big grey rug and black leather chairs and a to back the kitchen and the back yard I when out through the front door to pick up my bags out the car and came back in myself well my land lord Mr bone sat in the kitchen when I came in he had a cup of tea prepared for me then we made our way into the sitting room where we sat and spoke briefly about the house I could not believe that I would be staying in here all alone I did not tell him that but we did talk about my contact on the place where I would have to sign my part of the contact which I did then he lift and I sat there only to realize that it was getting dark and decided to go upstairs to get some things up pack the thing I want most the television and the free view box which I took with me up the stairs right up to the artic and had place on the a small rosewood table just opposite my bed made of the same kind of wood I made all the connection from the television to the Freeview box and then plug the free view box and television into the electrical socket and sat on the bedside then press the red button on the remote the television came on there was that beautiful colour I would much better sharper colour than when I had stayed at my previous apartment I did not care what was playing on the television I laid in bed on my back thinking for a second taking the house it felt good nice the bed post of all the beautiful rosewood and did I say the bed post had a design of two lotus flower on each side then I heard a knock at the door down stairs, so I got up and made my way down stairs to see who it was as I open the door at the door was a woman in a blue dress Good Afternoon I said yes then she when on to introduce herself my name is Doreen Whitfield I leave just down the road from you in the big blue house, and I thought to myself why not just pop by to say to my new neighbor her voice sounded we polite, I invited he in for a cup of tea but she refuse only came to just introduced myself but I am sorry I have a meeting to attend to brownies club meeting anyway I will stop sometime later in the week to talk to you I said ok and she lift then I made my way back up to my room and sat on the edge of the bed and press channel eighteen that`s the music channel and laid back placing my feet up and just lying there watching the music video until I fell asleep but it must have being two o`clock or three in the morning when I heard some sort of banging down stairs than I open up my eyes to fine that the room that I lay in was in complete darkness good lord the television must have switch it self off on its own so I made my way down stairs when I got to the landing and look out the window only to Realize that it was day light outside or it appear like day light outside I could not believe it but looking at my watch it show me three o`clock in the morning still the banging became louder must have lift the kitchen door open or the perhaps the window but the closer I got the louder the Nosie then I walked into the kitchen and the door was wide open but it was the light which caught my attention never had I ever seen anything like it in my life this is what caught me this is what drew my attention I walk out the kitchen door and stood in the middle of the back yard looking up at it was like small flashes of lighten yes lighten but it was different it did not flash on and off it was constant and then as I stood there it appeared out of no where like it was invisible just waiting for me or some one I saw it a huge gigantic space ship yes it appeared out of nothingness and took sharp right there in the sky right over my house, I was startle, just for one micro second I thought maybe, I am dreaming or God is coming or maybe it’s the end of the human race yes but not what happened there in that back yard was something mystical then it happened a blue light felt upon me in my back yard something like what you see in star trek when spook says beam my away Scottie, I could not believe it I look at my hands and they appeared blue my clothes and shoes appeared blue and then for a couple minute’s longer then ship vanished and there was nay thing but darkness, yes I saw it and it was real I when laid on my bed and then the morning came and I when down stairs to make a cup of coffee, but did not forget what I saw I switch on the television to listen to the news thinking in my mind that maybe but not I flip through every channel but still not then I got up when to have a show got dress and made my way out the house and down the road to the shop then I saw Doreen that smile caught me she had on a blue jeans and a yellow t-shirt I stop and said hello but she just walk pass straight, not even to acknowledge me for a split second I turn around and call out her name but she did not turn around I did not let it trouble be, anyway I got to the shop but then stop at the door only to realize, look though the shop window that I could not see my reflection then my heart started to race, then this young kid walked into the shop and I followed right after him walked when straight to the counter and ask the cashier for a top -up for my mobile phone he did not acknowledged me either standing There I called out. hey buster then it came out why the hell you not hearing me why the fuck Are you not hearing me, is this some kinda joke, then yes people I came to realize that I came into contact with some kind of alien life force.
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5,380
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Write a day-in-the-life-story about a first-time parent and their newborn child.
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"A Mother's Thoughts"
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"Doctor ...! Doctor...! The patient in room number 203 couldn't breathe'' said nurse Santhya to Dr.Serene Issac .
"What's her name ?"
"Leona "
"She's is a complicated patient.I have never ever seen a patient like her."Doctor went to room 203 in a rush and found Leona's difficulty in breathing.The Doctor called the cardiologist " Sir, can you do me a favour?"
Can you please visit my clinic now? It's emergency."
Yeah ! Sure.i'll be there in ten minutes" said Dr.Vinod.He checked Leona and found everything normal and he left. It is around 9 p.m, Dr.Serene's mobile started ringing ting a-ling, ting a-ling, "Hello !"
"Hello...! Doctor it's me Dr.Poppy"
"Oh! How are you?"
"Fine.I called you to say an important thing."
"Important thing???"
"Yes! save the child of the patient Leona by today."
"Oh! Is there any complications?"
"Yes. . . a secretion in her liver is abnormal.She may start to vomit continuously by next two days,by that you couldn't deliver the child either by normal or surgery.so, save the lives soon"
"Okay doctor."
Dr.Serene came to Leona's room in a hurry and said " Tomorrow at 9 a.m we can have a surgery and take the child out" and took Leona to ICU.
Next Morning,the entire family members arrived to welcome the newborn.
"She's dying....."said nurse Santhya to Dr.Serene ."Leona!Leona! Wake up, wake up! Open your eyes."
"Leona, is this your first baby?"
"When did you get married?"
The nurses kept on asking questions to make sure that she is conscious.
'waa....waah..waa..waaah" the frist cry of the baby was heard.
" It's a boy!...He is very health.!" said Dr.serene.
Leona regained her consciousness, the nurse gave the baby to Leona. Looking at the baby she thanked God with tears for the miraculous gift in her hands.
The tiny little hand of the baby touched her and she was filled with the happiest moment of her life . She kissed him on his forehead and tears of joy sprinkled in her eyes.Holding onto his hands, she remembered the path she travelled from the day the child was in her womb.
On August 20, 2016 Leona was so happy "Dear, I am pregnant" she said to her hubby with happiness and said this happy news to the entire family by preparing Halwa.
Nextday,she went to her college as she was working as an Lecturer.Walking with a glee into the college, "Leona, you look different today " said her collegue Dhanu.She smiled and sat on her seat. She decided to keep it a secret. But she wasnt able to hide it from her sister Majini, the one who taught Leona more things about life.
"Sissy"
"Hmmm....yes,Leona"
"Sissy! I'm pregnant"
"Wow! That's a great news! happie for you dear!"
said Majini. The day went just like another day.
Next morning she couldn't wake up from her bed.
" Darling! I'm so tired, let me sleep for a while " said Leona to her hubby "Okay! Take care of your health dear ! "' Joy replied and went to his work.
she woke up in a hurry, " Oh god! It's 9 o' clock! " Immediately she got up from the bed, freshened up, took her favourite purple colour saree from rack and wore it. She was about to leave but suddenly she felt uneasy and thought of sleeping for a minute.
" Leona! Leona ! Get up " her mother - in - law tried to wake her up.
Leona woke up with heavy tiredness. She vomitted, vomitted continuously for an hour. Then to everyone's shock, she fainted. They took her to the nearby hospital and she was under observation.
In the evening, her mobile started ringing "ting a---ling , ting a ---ling, ting a ---ling" ; It was her mom. But Leona was too tired even to pick up the mobile. Knowing that something was definitely wrong with her daughter , she and her son Blyton i.e., brother of Leona came in a hurry to see her as she is their little princess.They were totally shocked to see her in a terrible condition.They felt really bad, so they stayed with her the whole time she suffered. She kept on vomitting the full night till she vomitted blood. Seeing the blood her mother was devastated. Everyone including the doctors who treated her thought that the baby was going to die. But with Leona' s determination and mental stabilty she was alright after a week. She got discharged from the hospital and came home. She planted few spinach, beans and spent her time reading books. After few days again, she started to vomit till she vomit blood and she fainted. When she opens her eyes, she was in hospital.The medicines were injected in her veins.She couldn't eat anything nearly for fifteen days.Then, her brother took her to native, she stayed there for a while.
"Ma. . . ! I need fish fry!" Leona asked. Her mom cooked and gave few pieces. She started reading about ancient literature and spent the entire time in reading the books.
Every month nearly ten days, she stayed in hospital. The chill climate in her native made her too weak. But with her strong determination she kept going through all the obstacles.
After three months,her hubby took Leona with him.The change in climate didn't allow her to sleep.She struggled a lot due to over heat and the next morning, her hubby brought an Air conditioner so that she would sleep comfortably.
While Leona was travelling by car she longed for food "Dear! I need food! " when she saw people eating and foods on the plate, she felt hungry. But, due to vomitting, she couldn't eat anything.Alamin medicine was injected everyday.
After a week , she asked for chappathis.Her mother -in-law prepared few chappathis with ghee and kept it in hot pan for her to eat at night. Early in the morning, around 2.a.m, she woke up due to hunger and ate all the chappathis. The clock ticks to 5 a.m. "Darling! I'm hungry "she said to her hubby, Joy. He woke up, boiled some milk and gave it to her.But,again she got admitted in hospital and two drips was injected in her same arm than usual.
The baby weeped."waa, waah !" She came back to reality and saw her precious jewel on her hands.Her hubby touched the fingers of the little one and said " He looks like you".She smiled.And they both named him SHAUN BLYTON, which means the gracious gift of God.
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14,760
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Write a mystery where the detective realizes at the last moment that they have the wrong suspect.
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"The Wrong road"
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I was appointed Assistant Sheriff in a small sheriff office in a town.On second day ,Me and Sheriff were sitting in the office. Sheriff got stunned when he read a news of the Murder of an philanthropist Mrs Mary Jane.Mrs Mary Jane, was indeed a fine lady,working for the needy and betterment of the society. She was residing in our jurisdiction. “Oh my God,Murder took place and we are not aware”. ”The sheriff expressed concernedly.” You look after the office “and sheriff drove the jeep towards Mary James home .An old man said in a loud voice to the Sheriff ”you are coming after six hours of the Murder, I would complaint against you.” .Sheriff didn’t answer him but asked a servant, very silently “who is this old person? .”David Patel"husband of Mrs Mary Jane”. Where is the dead body.?” Doctors taken the dead body for autopsy, she died of cut throat”. David Patel replied. “Without my prior permission, how could doctor do that?. Sheriff asked” Baah", your prior permission,I permit them to take the dead body for autopsy, you came after six hours, we are not bound to you, David Patel sarcastically orated. “You all are bound to me., I didn’t know,why you didn’t inform me? you must have informed me in time”. Sheriff said it very irritatedly. ”you must keep your self informed, it’s a small town,you doesn’t know what is going on around,you are our protector but I’m sorry to say you are a failure Sheriff".David Patel said all this very boldly. ”where is the suspect? “Sheriff again asked.” Not suspect,He had killed that noble Lady, I’m the witness”. David Patel answered him. Murderer was a middle age man, serving Mrs Mary Jane from the last ten years.Mrs Mary Jane always admired him and was her trustworthy house keeper. The murderer was severely beaten by David Patel and his friends, and locked him in the room.When Sheriff hand cuffing the murderer ,David Patel showed a great resistance,He wanted to kill the murderer by himself but Sheriff brought him to the office for investigation. Five hundred dollars were recovered from the Murderer’s pocket. Why did you kill Mrs Mary Jane"? Just for five hundred dollars you killed that noble woman”! Sheriff angrily gave him a fist.” I didn’t kill her, Murderer said with a cry. “you laier”, sheriff gave him a great fist again and locked him up.” I swear I didn’t kill her, she was very kind to me, She gave me this amount to pay a bill, That unpaid bill is still in my pocket,you can see it”. The Murderer answered. In the meantime David Patel, who was also a well built man, entered the office and wanted to beat the murderer, and continuously saying,”i Will kill him,I will kill him”. David Patel in a fit of a rage ran towards the murderer but he couldn’t reach him ,Murderer was behind the bars. Sheriff at once turned towards David Patel,” You in the presence of me, talking like this”. “Hand this murderer to me". David Patel act in an orderly manner. “Listen, punishment is not your job,we can’t handover the culprit to you. Sheriff said.” I hang him publicly.The David Patel roared”. You don’t have any capacity hanging him public:ly”. Sheriff said furiously. “Mary Jane was my wife ,my beloved wife”. David Patel became insane.” I know . We respect your sentiments but it is against law, it’s not a banana state,we are here to arrest the culprit and than handover to the Court,further they would decide”, sheriff said it very calmly.David Patel very furiously looked towards Sheriff and said “I can’t wait for years ,I want to kill him now”.” I would not allow you to take law in your hands , so,why are we here?”. Sheriff gave him a naïve answer. ,David Patel, slammed the door and went out.The murderer was looking very nervous and innocent. I gave him a cup of coffee and sandwich. “What are you doing,? if they saw All this they would attack on us,that we are kind to him”! . Sheriff said it in an cautious manner.”you are an inexperienced guy, you read books but I’m dealing these culprits from the last thirty years, they are great lair and deceiver, do as I direct you”. “But sir,all of above he is human”.I said it in a lower tone. ..”They're not humans they are wild”.Sheriff turned towards me and said very angrily.The murderer was looking and listening to us..”I’m not a murderer, I am an educated,My father was a priest he warned me not to go from home but I didn’t pay heed to his words, that’s why I’m suffering”.The murderer said and started crying.Phone call came from the head office that in a little time the prisoners van would come to you. There was a great roar and disturbance out .All the people of the town were gathered out and demanding to hand them the murderer. Sheriff went out with a pistol in his hand and said to the angry mob” Our duty is to hand over the murderer to the higher authorities,they would investigate and decide the case,you all are aged and mature, Don’t demand foolish”. “we know you Sheriff ,you are not loyal to your job, we can’t trust you. “The angry mob started throwing stones towards sheriff,He got hurt ,I swiftly brought him inside.”I don’t know why the prisoners van is too late, it must be here by now,these mischief mongers won’t go the whole night”. sheriff showed his concern. In the meantime some men entered the office and started breaking the lock of the cell.Suddenly,I picked up a gun and miss fired,They all ran out and we closed the main door and all the Windows and switched off the lights. I thought we are now safe.They all were still gathered outside and asking to open the door. It was dark inside but in the meantime ,we saw a glow of a torch ,from the small window, David Patel fired two shots.Those two shots severely penetrated in the chest of the Murderer and he had fallen down and died. We switched on the lights and Sheriff ran after David Patel and seized him. In the meantime the prisoner van arrived. They all rushed inside but the scenario was changed, The alleged murderer was lying dead and David Patel was in the lock up.A great terror aroused. The Sheriff office was full of mob. Phone rang. Sheriff picked it up. “please will you off your beaks”. The Sheriff shouted. Now there was complete silence.From the other side of the phone Doctor spoke “Sheriff, unusual circumstances aroused,Mrs Mary Jane is alive .”What ? ,but she was badly had her throat cut, then how she would have been alive? “Sheriff asked the Doctor. Actually murderer had done his best to cut the throat of Mrs Mary Jane but luckily wind pipe didn’t cut,this you can call it a miracle.was an only source of her survival”.The doctor told the whole happening to the Sheriff.” Now,Doctor tell me who did all, I mean who tried to kill her, Did she tell you about the Murderer? “The sheriff asked the doctor very hurriedly. Actually she is un able to talk, she hurt badly, but she wrote the killer name “David Patel”.” Yes ,I tried to kill that bitch.”David Patel shrieked from the cell,all the people were looking towards David Patel ”So many times I asked her to give me some amount to roll on but she clearly refused ,she said this is the right of the orphans. I won't give it you. All the time quarreling with each other ,one day she insisted for separation but before that I cut her throat,but the bitch has survived “(.The End)
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12,584
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Write a story involving a noise complaint.
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A Better Home
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You live in Orange County, California. It's 2019.You’re discontented with your lot in life. You’re considering dropping out of your master’s program in creative writing. You’re questioning your identity and depend on social security to make ends meet.Mother Marbles is also unhappy. Her health is ailing and she hasn’t had friends visit much since you decided to move back in with her. Your bedroom shares a wall with a neighbor whose rancor you incite whenever you try to strum and sing along to a country tune. The neighbor is beating on the wall. You consider exiting the flat and confronting Ms. Go-to-bed, but instead stop playing “San Quentin Blues” after singing the lyrics I’d kiss a man in Vegas / Just to hear him sigh. Given your current sexual prospects, your sorely deficient musical abilities, and my worsening physical condition, I want to hang my head and cry.You leave your bedroom, enter the living room, give me a rub behind the ears, and in an effort to be spontaneous and find an alternative to a night of frustrated musical practice, decide to ask Marbles out to a movie. It is a rare evening out, and you choose to see Multiverse, a coming-of-age rom-com and science fiction action film featuring actors underrepresented in English-speaking cinema. Although you possess no evidence to support its claim, your hyperactively suspicious mind, which indulges in all sorts of conspiracy theory nonsense, makes you believe the actual directors of the film are not the first timers announced in the adverts, but are the seasoned brother-sister directing duo behind Her Parallax Stage, the blockbuster hit about a heroine who inhabits two universes and must decide between being true to a revolutionary cause in a frightfully oppressive technoscientific world or continue on complacently in the mundane one she can’t remember being born into.Ten minutes into Multiverse you decide you can’t take any more of the constant chatter coming from the straight, married couple sitting behind you. You assume they’re straight and married, anyway, because they wear gold bands on their ring fingers and loudly kissed each other during the previews. You tell Marbles you need to go to the restroom, and in the lobby approach an older gentleman whom you presume is the manager. His name badge reads, William.You say, “Excuse me, there’s a noisy pair in the theater making it difficult to focus on the film.”“What seats are they in?” he asks.You extract your ticket stubs from your rear pants pocket, and take a look. “Mum and I are in row K, seats 8 and 9. They’re sitting behind us.” To a female employee with green highlights in her hair and who is wearing a red pair of what appear to be a cross between combat and cowboy boots, William says, “Constance, can you please silence some patrons in row L? They are disturbing this young man and his mother”Constance looks you up and down, thinking, can’t this spineless twit shush them himself? She follows you into the theater half a minute after you take your seat.She flashes a light at the offending couple, and says “Quiet please, you are disrupting the theater experience for other patrons!” You worry whether the man sitting with whom you presume is his fiancé or wife will call you out as the rat.Your preoccupation is confirmed when you hear him say to his mate in a loud whisper, “There is a snitch amongst us.” You are hit on the ear with a chocolate-covered raisin, but, fortunately, neither you nor your mum are further accosted or antagonized for the remainder of the film. The movie’s brilliance confirms your hunch that the it couldn’t have been made by novices to filmmaking.Sitting in the theater waiting for the lights, you ponder the significance of the spectacle. As you stroll home arm in arm with Marbles, you say, “Multiverse was amazing, wasn’t it? I can’t believe Monica Yeh was snubbed at Cannes, and Pete Malibu was given a token Palm d’Or for that chintzy army helicopter film.”“I didn’t quite understand the main idea or the notion of jumping into alternate universes,” your mum says.“It made perfect sense to me,” you say.While watching the film, you had an epiphany. The meaning behind all your obsessive, irrational thoughts was revealed. It occurs to you that if you were to act out all the crazy things your thoughts suggest you do on a daily basis, you’d be able to verse jump and that the fate of afflicted commoners on the planet could be altered. “Mum,” you say, “idiosyncratic outbursts are an expression of a universe where randomness has an indispensable place. All random acts have a role in perpetuating the vital spiraling of galaxies, the natural inflation of the universe. For example, I just had a thought to throw my phone onto the road. If I were to actually do that, the phone might get crushed by a passing car, but maybe the act would cause events to swerve in such a way that a drunk driver wouldn’t hit us as we walked home.”You look at your phone. Your mother looks at you. She says, “Now Justin, don’t you dare. We just went through the ordeal of getting your password changed.”“But, mum, even if it means saving our lives?” “All I know, son, is that I found Multiverse difficult to follow. When we get home, I’m feeding Nino and giving you a Xanax. The film’s got you excited and I want you to get a good night’s rest. We can’t risk you having another episode.” *You arrive at the front door, and unlock it after ringing the doorbell, hoping the chime will rouse me from the comfortable bed your mum bought me after you both took me in. Once inside, Marbles affectionately greets me. “There’s our Nino. Love you, pretty boy,” she says, in a way that I have grown to both cherish and despise. Despite her enabling of your musical pastimes, which I view with considerable consternation, I’m rather fond of your mother. This fondness is tested whenever she speaks to me as if I were a human infant. Her infantilizing of me can be tender, but most of the time I find it condescending and obnoxious.Before you go to bed, she says, “Good night, Justin. Don’t let your imagination get carried away by that movie.”*During the night, you are stirred from slumber by a vivid nightmare. In the morning you decide to tell your mother. “Mum,” you say, “I woke from sleep sobbing.” “Did you, dear?”“I had a dream Nino looked like he had been crossed with a rabid Great Dane. He had open sores on his body and had lost most of the fur around his haunches.”“Didn’t I tell you during your childhood that you were too impressionable to watch schlock film adaptations of Steven Prince’s horror stories?”“Mum, I wasn’t finished...”“Go on.”"When I asked Nino-that-was-the-undead-Great Dane (or the-undead-Great Dane-that-was-Nino) whether he wanted to be put to sleep, he responded by saying, ‘For God’s Sake.’”Silence.“Well, it could have meant two things, luv, either for God’s sake yes, or for God’s sake no.”You and your mum take breakfast without sharing many more words, but as you clear the table to wash dishes, you say, “I’ll take Nino to the vet today. I trust Isa will have the proper advice.”“Splendid idea,” Marbles says, “Doctor Farad is such a professional and nice veterinarian.”*You take me to the vet, whom you’ve taken a fancy to even though he’s happily married and Muslim. You tell him about the dream and of your mother’s ambiguous interpretation.Doctor Farad says, “Your mother is a wise woman, Mr. Chase. When our babies (he means pets) are struggling with all the issues they have toward the end of their lives, a parent’s reaction is often ambivalence. It seems Nino has chronic pain. He may spend the entire night suffering without ever being able to express the terrible experience he is going through.” Doctor Farad corroborates your suspicion that the cannabis oil you give me to remedy my spasms makes me nauseous. He prescribes doggie pain killers. As you leave the consult, he says, “You know, Mr. Chase, it may or may not affect whether you put Nino to rest, but the costs of taking care of a chronically ill older dog can become quite exorbitant.”*Why do some humans take movies to be auspicious? For the same reason they believe dreams can express the truth about the human condition in disguised form? Master-Servant Justin sat through some nonsense of post-modern cinema and had an epiphany. The movie convinced him irrationality has its reasons. He then had a vision in his sleep, an exemplary manifestation of human distraction, and is now considering sacrificing me to Dogo, supreme deity over all descendants of Lupo, the original canine?His sister made a castrato of me during my prime reproductive years. Now Justin interprets a dream as meaning he should possibly have me euthanized? A word derived from euthanasia, a composite of the Greek eu for easy and thanatos for death. Me, put to an easy death? An eternal rest? That would forever deprive me of the pleasures of sniffing the pheromones of other members of my species or of whiffing one of the other thousand odors speaking bipeds can’t detect with their inferior senses of smell. Putting me down would put an end to the pleasure of making humans cower whenever I antagonize their dogs when they are on their morning walks.*If you put an end to me, Justin, who will be there to ensure you and your mother go for strolls together? You know I refuse to go beyond the threshold to the apartment until both you and your mum both have readied yourselves to walk me.There’s no such thing as rest for the weary. At least not that kind of rest, even though I’m quite weary of body.It troubles me that you contemplate hastening my impending demise. It makes me question whether or not I should keep from growling at you whenever you rub my belly. While I’m in its throes, the pain is excruciating, and if I had the ability, I’d put myself to rest as a result of it, but during the moments the symptoms are absent, I’m quite a content pooch.You look at me and ask, “Which will it be, Nino, for Dog’s sake yes, or for Dog’s sake no?”You go back to your room and pick your guitar up from its stand. You start playing a Christian hymn in the key of G written at beginning of the 20th century and recorded by many country artists. You sing,I was standin’ at my window / On one cold and cloudy day / When I saw that hearse come rollin’ / Lord, to carry my mother away.You hear Ms. Go-to-bed deliver a series of knocks to the wall. Undeterred, you proceed to the song’s chorus.Will the circle be unbroken? / By and by, lord, by and by / There’s a better home awaitin’ / In the sky, Lord, in the sky.The quick knocking on the wall evolves into slow and louder thuds.You have another epiphany. You stop playing. You decide you will dedicate the song to me and perform it when my final moments arrive.Oh, for Dog’s sake, no, Servant-Master Justin. Listening to you sing while I am at death’s door? I don’t think I could bear it. I’m not ready for a better home. Be it in the dirt or the sky. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
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9,036
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Write a story about someone who discovers a mysterious object in their home.
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A Coincidental Consequence
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A young woman sits on the worn couch in her small living room from the house she recently rented out. The woman had dirty blonde hair with corresponding light brown eyes. She was wearing a dark green tee shirt with denim jeans and her hair was pulled up into a low ponytail. She stared blankly at a painting on the wall which remained inside the house when she went searching for a temporary home.The picture was a profile of a gorgeous woman with dark, black curls who had evil, beady red eyes. She was smirking in a cruel way, as if she just achieved a malicious act. The woman noticed a similarity with the figure in the painting to a mythical creature of fiction- Maleficent. The picture showed a beauty resembling goodness, but the hidden evil within the wicked woman represented her instinctive cruelty. The woman stood up from the couch and walked toward the painting. She had a closer look and observed the golden frame of the picture which had magnificent engravings with many intricate details. But, a hint of silver caught her eye on the right side of the frame, two tiny hinges bolted to the wall. She squinted her eyes at the sight and traced her finger onto a tiny hinge. Then, she moved her hand over to the other side of the picture, wrapped her fingers around the edge, and started to pull. She was interrupted by the beep of the oven, notioning the food inside was finished cooking. She removed her hand from the picture frame and left for the kitchen, giving one last look at the painted chilling witch.Once she removed the dish inside the oven, she served herself a lonesome dinner. She then returned to the couch, in front of the eerie picture, and ate her dinner silently. And the silence was key at this moment, because the woman tilted her head when she heard an interesting noise coming from before her. The noise was some sort of ticking, but instead of a clock, it sounded more like a bomb. With each tick, though, there was a noise of a creaking door, as if the tick was drawn out slowly with suspense.She kept her wide eyes peeled on the painting while she hurriedly ate her dinner. Once she was done, she cleaned up the dishes and went into her bedroom. There, she did the normal nighttime routine- sweatpants and tee, brush teeth, and a single braid. She went to bed quickly, with a full mind drowning in confusion. That night, she had a dream. This was far from normal, because she never had dreams. But in this illusion, she was back in front of the painting, yet this time with a moving woman inside. She was humming an unnerving song as she swayed back and forth. When the blonde woman took one step forward, the lady in the painting snapped her head up and stared right at her, her red ones met the other’s blue. The villainous figure notioned for the other to come to her, using her index finger with a long, black nail extending from it. The blonde woman wanted to run, yet she couldn’t stop herself from walking forward toward the painting surrounded by a gold frame. She wrapped her hand around the left edge of the frame, like she did before, and pulled. When the hinges snapped and the frame started to open, she instantly woke up from the dream. It was almost like the picture wanted her to know what was inside, yet something or someone didn’t. She looked at her phone to realize it was five in the morning, and although it was much earlier than her normal rise, she got up anyway. She went to make herself a coffee, maybe grab a book and enjoy herself on the couch for an hour. But, she knew there would be a constant distraction in the living room. When she couldn’t take it anymore, the suspenseful ticking and the beady red glare, she went up to the frame and pulled hesitantly. The picture opened to a black shelf with a singular object sitting by itself. It was a device, of some sorts. Not an average technological device, like an iphone or laptop. It had one large, red button at the top and several smaller ones below. She grabbed it off the shelf and then closed the painting, locking it with a click from the hinges. She sat down on the couch, twiddling the device with her fingers. It was very heavy for its size, symbolizing some kind of hidden talent. The whole situation was quite hidden and confusing for the blonde woman, so instead of dealing with the machine herself, she decided to call the authorities. Once the police arrived at her house, she opened the front door happily. They urgently came inside the home, heading right towards the painting with the wicked woman. After investigating every inch of the picture and the shelf inside, they came to the blonde woman and took the device, searching each and every button with wide eyes. They continued until they heard the irregular ticking which piped up loudly and started speeding up. The officials and the woman started panicking, as anyone would to the suspenseful noise. But, the woman accidentally smacked the device out of an officer’s hand, a dangerous coincidence holding an unknown consequence. The impact of the device pushed the main red button down, which instantly ceased the ticking. The officers and the woman calmed down, and more authority vehicles pulled up in front of the house, including the bomb squad. A few hours later, the woman sits in the back of an ambulance truck with a blanket wrapped around her with comfort. An officer was asking her questions related to the owners of the house and any information she had of the painting and the device.In a turn of events, the woman’s mistake of hitting the device out of the officer’s hand saved their lives. Someone had planted a bomb in the house, with a device to stop it. Someone with a savage mind and a tricky ego. Someone like the witch in the painting.
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13,381
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Write about someone who purposefully causes a power outage.
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A Cutting Remarque
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First the phone lines, then the power cable. I repeat the mantra as I slip over the back fence onto his property. It's not as easy as the video made it look. And I practiced. But this fence is a lot taller, over five feet, and I end up having to pry a couple of boards loose to squeeze through. It's OK because he doesn't have a clue I'm coming. The three bags of equipment are waiting for me where I shoved them over, though one is caught on a nail. Who leaves rusty things like that in a fence where somebody could get hurt?My God, his back yard is overgrown. They ought to have a law against this sort of thing. You'd think he never heard of a lawn service. Partly because I don't want to step on something hidden in the grass, it takes a while to get everything set up. I hook the battery to a cell scrambler, so he can't get a call out. Pretty smart, right? Then I use epoxy to hang a heavy blanket outside his bedroom window, to muffle the sounds. Finally, still repeating the mantra, I cut the landline, then flip the switches on his power box. I didn't even need the big insulated clipper doodad. All electricity off and nobody the wiser.Now comes the tricky part because I'm working off of an instruction manual. And it's hard copy. I mean, these guys should seriously get into the twenty-first century. I use a small blowtorch to melt a hole in the sliding glass window, right where the security circuit is located. Then I put a pair of these cute little leads onto the ends, so it thinks the wires are still attached. I mean, as much as a machine actually thinks. But I fool it. Probably. Now I have to open the door, which is easier than I expected because, while I'm working the lockpick, it just jiggles the latch free. I dunno, must be the foundation. My dad used to complain about his door doing the very same thing.I am a natural at this. I take the rest of the bags inside, because sooner or later, I'll be in control and he'll know what it's like to be powerless. I close the door, just to keep it looking normal. Nobody will look over the fence in the middle of the night. Hopefully.I am strong. I am in charge. I spent a lot of money on therapy to make this happen. The infrared scanner shows he's alone in the house. The outer walls might be too well insulated for this model to get a good read, but he posted online about his family taking a vacation to Martha's Vineyard while he finished some work at home. Probably just drinking and smoking and doesn't want his wife to know. Maybe an affair, but he's sort of old.I take three battery units to just outside his bedroom door, to power the spotlight. I intend to make him sweat before I kill him. What? You thought I was doing all this to short-sheet his bed? No. He deserves to die for what he did. For how powerless he made me feel. And all those others too, I'm sure. What sort of man stops at just one, when he knows he can get away with it?And once he's dead, he'll never hurt anyone again. I guarantee it. Unless vampires are real, which my friend Steve swears is true, but he smokes a lot of meth, so he's not really a reliable source. And it ruined his teeth too. I mean, blech. No, double blech. Would that be blech blech? I need to take notes, so I can write the book afterward.Quiet as a vole, which is a fancy type of mouse, I slide his door open. He's sound asleep. I carry the light in, make sure its switch is off, then plug it into the wall. No wait, there's no power. I run out and plug it into the three batteries, which I then have to set up in series. Or is that parallel? I hope I have it right.Then a light shines at me. His voice, the one I recall with so much terror, calls out, "What the devil is going on?"I run over and flip the light on, then aim it at him. He holds up his hand to shield his eyes. Thank goodness he's wearing pajamas, I don't want to see an old guy naked or anything. He's trying to act tough. "I don't know who gave you a key, but the joke is done. Go back to your dorm."He starts to get up, but I pull the pistol out of my pocket, then slide the sound suppressor on it. He laughs. "You can't silence a revolver. Even if you could, it's not anything like silent, so someone will hear. See the window?"He probably got that part about the revolver from some mystery novel he reviewed. I laugh back. I have the gun. "See the drapes? I used epoxy to hang some more outside. It's all about layers. Oh, and this is a fancy Russian revolver-""A Nagant?" He's not scared. He thinks this is a joke. And of course he knows the name. Probably got that from some other career he ruined."I'm going to shoot you."He stands up and starts walking for the door. "Where do you think you're going?""The bathroom. Go out to the kitchen and start some coffee. This will probably take all night and I'm older. I have to pee.""I have a gun!" My voice rises."If you intended to use it, you would have shot me already." He turns, disinterested. "Besides, you're the third aggrieved student this Christmas break. Probably get another before you're done."I pull the trigger and nothing happens. Then I remember I have to flip the safety off. Or on- I never remember which means it can shoot. By that time, he's in the bathroom and I am not going to go watch him pee. Well, I suppose some coffee can't hurt. The three gallons of kerosene will burn any trace of me drinking as well as everything else I'm leaving behind."The coffee maker's not working." I call after fumbling with it for a while. "I already checked. It's plugged in.""Did you flip the circuit breakers on?" He calls. He comes out in a robe and slippers, barely visible in the light from the bedroom. He presses a button on his end table and a soft glow lights from a wall sconce. Then he reaches for the gun. "Let me see it now I have the backup light on. She looks like a real beauty. I want to hold one of these before I die.""Please." I shoo him back. "Like I'll fall for that one. Once you have the gun, I die.""Did you pay absolutely no attention when you illuminated me so?" Now he sounds like my professor from all those years ago. "Yellow, jaundiced skin which hangs loose on the limbs. Dark circles under the eyes. Hair even thinner than it should be. Whether you shoot me or not, I remain doomed. Less than two weeks, during the holidays. I convinced my wife to take the grand-kids on vacation so they won't recall me as the sick old man whose death ruined Christmas. If you want to put me out of my misery, then fine. The pain is horrible and the medicine worse.""How am I supposed to get revenge for you ruining my life?""Me?" he chuckles. "I had nothing to do with it. You were the one who refused to learn. Came into my class with a chip on your shoulder. Thinking you were as capable a writer as Hemingway.""Rowling. I want money.""Whatever." He waves his hand. "It's just like now. If you walk away, it's only another frat prank and my insurance will pay for it. Pull that trigger and you'll be on the run for the rest of your life. So who destroys your life if you give me surcease of sorrow? You have all the advantages. I'm powerless to stop you.""The exact reverse of your class." I sneer with pleasure. I finally have him where I want him. All his pretty words and he's going to die screaming. In pain. And all I have to do is waltz out of here to watch it happen. That means no police and all my plans work beautifully."So, want to turn on the power and talk about your work in progress? The frat boys have a pizza delivery guy who keeps showing up at odd hours. Brings a small mountain of food. Then I have the nurse take it out."Wow. He has it soooo damn tough. A private nurse. "Must be nice. All the expensive care. I can't even get my teeth fixed.""Not really. One payer system is why the doctors failed to catch my pancreatic cancer in time." He scowls, just like when he used to grade papers. Especially mine. I watched. "But really-"The doorbell interrupts."And that will be the aforementioned mountain of pizza. Stay here, you can help eat it."I wait, then he comes back with two police officers. He acts apologetic. "They said someone called about you sneaking around the neighborhood. Said they saw you come in.""Do you want to say anything?" An officer asks. They have their guns out and aimed at me, and I realize my revolver is still in my hand. I slowly release it, opening my fingers without moving anything more. One of them walks over and takes the gun."That's just a prop. She brought it to talk about a story. Very in character, sort of like method acting but for writing."I can't believe they could fall for such a lame story. The one holding checks the chambers. "It's loaded.""But the gun is off," the professor says. "We checked.""The safety is off," the policeman answers. He looks at me. "Do you have a license for this?""That is my gun. Billy Summers came here at my invitation," the professor tells them. "If you could just help me unload it and put the safety to will not fire, I'll put it in the safe. Then we can get back to our expected pizza, "Could this get any more surreal? Why is he doing this? He has all the power now. No. I've tricked him. I'll get the gun back after the police leave and any fingerprints are because I was here. They'll never suspect a thing. No, wait, I get off completely free. Maybe even steal his next manuscript because he suspects nothing. As nice as everything is, he must make a mint. Even one of his books will set me up for life."Are you still with me Billy?" He asks. "The police are gone. They'll write it up as a mistaken call by a nosy neighbor, and we can get back to helping you get your Great American Novel written.""I need my gun back at some point." I want to be nice. "Pity about the cancer.""I have a root canal scheduled for tomorrow," He's smiling. The predator's smile he used to skewer students, particularly me. It was always me, not the others. "Can't sleep, but one payer medical means I get it done when they can fit me in. I've been waiting for months.""Isn't that a waste when you're dying of cancer?""That was a story, just like those police." Then the professor has the gall to turn toward the audience. "Dear readers, what started as parody humor of a darkly sardonic tale has turned surreal with this fourth wall violation. If it was not obvious, and for full literary effect, we will now explain what actually happened. Within the scope of the tale and without any more fourth wall violation."Does that not beat all. Here it is, my story, and he takes over like he has all the power. Just like when he taught classes in writing and wanted to tell us how to write our stories. This is my story, I get to decide how it will end. "The gun is still mine. I want it back.""I hope you have a bill of sale." Then the lights come on. "Good. They found the fuse box.""You are a thief. Give me my gun.""Just holding onto it for safe keeping. By which I mean I keep it safe in my safe to keep me safe from you. And in case it gets rough, my safe word is safe. Because I like playing safe.""Wait. What?" He always wants to twist me in his clever words."I never had cancer," he says. I think he's going through an elaborate explanation like in a mystery novel. "Just a bad tooth. It's kept me up for months, hence the bags under my eyes. And the pain has been stress which made my hair brittle and dry. Your lamp gives everything a yellowish tint, but my emergency lighting is worse. I said cancer and you hesitated. You never wanted to kill me, just humiliate.""I wanted you dead. I bought the gun for just that reason.""Which puts you in a tough spot for legal action.""Explain how that works.""I have two witnesses, the frat boys I summoned when you thought I was going to the bathroom." He's a menace. I'd shoot him if I still had my gun. "Then I told you the bit about the pizza and you fell for it too. Then they had prop guns pointed-""How did you plan all this out?" I feel my heart racing. "You did this to me. You set me up, just like all those times in class.""I improvised," he says. "You had a pathetic gun. I have a keen mind. In the end, my weapon overpowered yours. You were helpless from the moment I woke up."I am powerless. Just like always. I go make some coffee. When I get back, the two frat boys are there. With pizza and their, obviously fake, police uniforms. "Why didn't I see those were fakes earlier?""Duh! The power was out." The heavier of the frat boys."Boys, be nice. Miss Summers has problems.""Yeah, she's mental." The other frat boy."What about you two? Just boyfriends of the prof or something?""Nah, he's our club sponsor. We TP'ed his house and he kept the cops off. So when he wanted a solid, we said sure.""Returning to the subject at hand." He's always like this. "You failed tonight because you became enamored of your plot. You failed, just like in class, because you don't ever want to be told how to do anything.""This was flawless. I got in and would have killed you except the safety was on. Then you were in the bathroom and then it was the cancer would finish you and then-""You never put a plot complication before your characters. So you don't expect them in life. This is why we study Shakespeare. To prepare ourselves to take arms against a sea of troubles.""But it nearly worked," I say. "And I passed your class.""You received a pity C," he says. "It was a pity university regulations prevented me failing most of your class.""I got an A on the first assignment. The one you gave on the first day and forced us to hand in before class was over.""When did this stop being funny?" heavy frat asks."Writing is a serious matter. Students want it to be easy. They're fed pap in school and given participation awards until they believe it's how the world works. You had all the power. Three students made an effort to improve. They received A's and an invitation to a special studies class. The rest of you received my pity. You failed to learn, and now you fail at life. Until you decide to use your power wisely, you won't go anywhere.""I don't have any power. I never chose this!""You chose to come here tonight with deadly intent. You chose to ignore my pleas to improve your writing. You had such promise. Now I can only imagine what sort of dark, bitter ramblings you post online. Now go. In this, you are powerless. If you choose to resist, we will summon the actual police. Then you will spend years behind bars for a variety of state and federal crimes. I don't want to ruin your life, but I won't let you destroy mine."As the boys start walking me away, I wonder when this comedy turned tragic. Then I understand. I was always a pawn of the sadistic writer. Nobody understands powerless until they are a character in someone's writing.And I don't understand enough German to know why he chose his title.
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7,632
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Suitcase in hand, you head to the station.
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A DAY IN CROWD
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Men, women fingered at you, you never turned back. You looked up, walked straight without blinking your eyes for a moment. It seemed you had indomitable vigor. You painted a camel on a paper and stuck it on your suitcase. And soon after, you headed to the station, you walked alone on your bare feet, holes in your pant, dirt on your shirt and the suitcase in your hand. Awaiting there under the fiery sun, you saw people had already occupied the benches. After waiting for an hour, you got a place to sit on a bench.The crowd somehow managed to adjust you. Some were closing their nose, who stood beside you, spat in the corner. But you never cared, awaited the train, and the train came, you hurried to be in among thousands of people crammed. They threw you back on the station and you got slipped, plunked your head to the pole. You stood there with bleeding head, you took out handkerchief and wrapped your head. And you uttered a word to yourself, 'Consistency' watching the train leaving, and the sun pierced its rays through the holes in your pant, and you again uttered a word 'Patience.'You had to stand there because the benches were taken. You had to wait there for the next train for an hour. And after a while, the pain in your knees made you unable to stand, you had to sit. You got a place to sit under your own feet. You sat on the ground, legs folded with the suitcase on your thighs. You glanced at the camel. The camel popped out walking front on its bare feet under the sun with ardent earth under its feet sprinkled the rays of hope within you.You arrowed your lips, gleams in your eyes you looked around. You wondered nobody was really cared to see who are you, where you sat. All they were, from children to young to old age people, inclined in the world of their tiny gadget that required a constant movement of fingers, up-down-right-left. You laughed at them to call it 'consistency.'You saw a little girl, her teary eyes, her curly hairs, and her hand wiping her nose. She moved all over the places, asking and fiddling around everyone's bag. She might have lost something you thought. Her little steps reached you.She asked, 'Have you seen my Debby?''Debby, Who?''It's my doll. I lost it somewhere. Have you seen it?''No, I don't.'And she watched you, dirty clothes, holes, and bleeding head, and she stared at your suitcase.'Can I check it?''No''Why?''Because I lost its key. I assure you---'The girl ran away weeping and came back with her parents. Her mom shouted, 'here is a thief.' and her voice echoed on the station. Everyone around came out of their tiny gadget, their heads jumped out from the possession, stared badly at you.Some said, 'call the police.' some said, 'grip him, let him not escape." And some old women in the corner, frightened, said, "We were already suspicious of him.' And some young women dressed peppy giggled. 'He stinks.’ Word by word everyone from the crowd passed the judgments on your appearance.Some young men came forward, some slapped, some punched you, and some choked your throat. All they asked you about the key. All you answered that you had lost your key and you hadn't taken the little girl's doll. But hardly they heard you, they gripped you harder.The policemen arrived, threw you in their van and you landed in the police station. The head of them sitting in the chair, asked, 'Where is the key?' and twisted his moustache.'I lost it in the Eden garden''Where is it?''It's in the west.'And a constable leaned to the ear of the head. 'I never heard about the place before. He must be a thief. Look at his clothes.' and the others said,' he seems abnormal. He must be a madman.' 'I think the suitcase might contain some fortune, gold, money he stole.' 'He seems to be not from our country. Look at his beard.' 'The suitcase could be a danger too, it might have an explosive.'All stayed away from the suitcase and put it out of the police station.Each one from them presumed you by their opinions. They questioned you what was in the suitcase. All you did was pleaded them there was nothing vital in the suitcase. It was your belonging.They discussed for hours about you but nobody came to a conclusion 'who are you?' They decided to break your suitcase. You asked them to forgive you and to not break the suitcase that you had the only one. And they broke it.Scared they, one by one came closer to see what was in the suitcase. And they found the pages sewed with thread.The head said ' You stupid! It's a book.''Yes Sir.'And they froze, talked nothing, handed you your belonging. While you were returning, the head asked you, 'What you do in the Eden garden?''Sir, I work under a tree at the Eden Garden in the west. Each morning I took a train from here. I sit under a tree and begin to write in the morning until the sunset. I see butterflies flying over the flowers, bees buzz around, ants run in the holes collecting its food, and from the universe, trees receive profusion. I work under a clear sky, sometimes cloudy, and most of the time in the darkness to not let people disturb me. But yesterday, I lost my key of the only suitcase you just broke. I woke up late today. I had great thoughts in my mind and I had to write them as soon as they lose in the clouds of eternal chaos and mystery. That's why I had to travel in the presence of people. All that got me here.'
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1,376
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Set your story in a countryside house that’s filled with shadows.
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A Dreamy Oasis
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I feel a bead of sweat form and then run down my neck until it hits the edge of my damp tank top and disappears. My skin is hot and clammy from the heat of the sun. I take a moment to look up at the sun’s position, I squint and brush aside my sweat-soaked hair as I try to determine how long I’ve been walking. The cicadas are screaming around me, and I can smell summer in the air. I’m surrounded by tall tree trunks and a leafy green covering. I can just make out the sun through the leaves and see it’s starting to fade west. I estimate it’s been about three hours since I left my parent’s cabin. I’m training for an Ultramarathon and know even this short break to catch my breath will affect my upcoming race. After my breath slows, I stab the makeshift walking stick I found a couple miles back into the dirt path in front of me and continue on my hike.
A couple more miles pass, and up ahead the thick brush of wild raspberry bushes and tall pines and oak trees start to clear out. I approach what seems to be the end of the forest and find myself staring at an open prairie field. The grass is overgrown and whips with every gust of wind. Across the field I can see one little house, sitting alone in the vastness. My mind begins to wonder as I envision the lives of those who might have inhabited this quaint home. I see a young couple newly moved in, outside their new home, spinning around holding each other, in love and ready for their new adventure. I see a dog darting out of the doorway, tail wagging nonstop as it runs down the stairs of the porch and into the open field, only to stop suddenly before turning back with excitement, taking off towards the young woman holding a tennis ball. I see picnics, gatherings with family and friends, and small children running through a sprinkler playing in the yard with their dog. I see this young couple growing old and building a bright and warm world together with their little home and family. As I stand envisioning this little oasis, curiosity overtakes, and I start to make my way across the field to the house.
The sinking sun has brought on a cooling breeze, and with every gust my damp hiking shorts and soaked tank top brings a chill to my body. As I get closer to the house, the hair on my arms begin to stand tall. The house is slanting, the foundation worn and giving in to what’s been carried inside. The wood siding of the house is rotted and moss has taken over in areas. The two windows on the first floor have broken glass, and what used to be a window upstairs is now just a gaping hole in the wooden siding. As I look in, I can see torn fabric blowing over the windows when the wind gusts through. Beyond the blowing fabric, I cannot see anything. The house is dark and appears empty. I turn my head slightly to the yard and see that a lone tree next to the house has a tire swing hanging from it. Another gust of wind blows and the tire swing moves gently in the breeze. I shiver and suddenly am overwhelmed with an eerie feeling. It’s a feeling like I am not alone here.
I look around again and suddenly I am running, running as fast as I can from the edge of the yard to the bottom of the wooden steps that lead up to the uneven porch. My legs keep moving until I am standing on the porch just outside the door of the home. I stop for a moment though the front door is not closed. It’s been left open, or pried open, and the gapping entry is wide enough to allow creatures in and out. I peak in and see the remnants of a living room: an old, dirt covered coach with torn cushions, a coffee table that has been pushed over and is laying on its side, a lamp in the corner of the room with its shade tilted, and old articles of clothing have been tossed and are lying on the floor. Almost as if I’m no longer in control of myself, like I am being drawn in by this house, I push the front door open further and step inside.
It’s moldy, it’s damp, it’s chilling. What remains of the disappearing sun outside lights up the floor just by the windows, everywhere else in the room is dark and hazy. I cannot make out anything, the edges of the room are completely hidden in the darkness. Still, I walk in further, past the dismantled sitting area to a sturdy oak desk on the other side of the room. Previously hidden in shadows, I can now see there is a broken picture frame and inside a faded 1930s photo of a couple sitting on the desk. There is also a stack of books covered in dust, and a piece of paper that’s been written on. I lean so far into the desk my nose is nearly pressed against the page, the ink is smudged and faded but I can make out some of the delicate and swirly penmanship:
“I can’t stay here anymore... if I stay I fear I won’t be alive much longer. It’s getting worse, and it’s the worst at night. I can’t sleep. The noise is too loud and overwhelming and it won’t stop... I can’t breathe during the day. Something is here, it’s suffocating. I’ve asked Tom about it and he just shakes his head at me and chuckles. I’ve pleaded with him, I’ve tried to show him. I’ve told him we need to go but he won’t. I don’t know what to do. I know we aren’t safe here anymore...”
I feel something almost like an exhale on the back of my neck, I jump up from the desk and turn back around towards the sitting area of the room. It’s gotten even darker, I can no longer see. I stumble forward and my feet graze something on the dirty wood floors. I look down and see it’s a teddy bear that has been shredded, only the ears and part of the body remain.
I stumble again, my breath begins to constrict, my inhales become short and quick, and my legs feel like jello. I try to turn around but the darkness of the room has me lost. I’m in the kitchen now I think. Where is the front door? I can’t see it, it's too dark. And then I begin to hear it. I hear what she was talking about in the letter. It’s a screaming, so overwhelming I cannot think. I take my hands to my ears as I try to block out the noise. I wrap my arms around myself and buckle over. Maybe if I make myself smaller this noise, this shadow, won’t get to me anymore. It doesn’t help so I try to stand again. I close my eyes and stick my hands out in front of me to feel around as I try to move forward, try to find the way out. I run into the coffee table and know that I’m getting close. Finally my hands touch the wall, it’s slimy but I don’t care. I keep my fingertips running along the wall as I move forward. The screaming has become so loud it feels as though my head could explode. My feet shuffle along the wooden floor boards. Finally my fingertips push past the never-ending wall and are met with open air. I pull my hand back, open my eyes, and dart out of the opening.
The screaming begins to fade as I charge down the steps away from the house. My legs can’t carry me as fast as I’m pushing for and I fall forward and tumble down into the field. Quickly I flip myself back around to face the house. I look down, my legs are covered in dirt and grass, my hands are dusty and there are splinters stinging into my skin. It’s completely silent now and the air is still. The wind has completely dissipated and I hear no wildlife, not even a bird or cricket. I look back towards the house, but the darkness outside makes it look as though the house has disappeared. I place my hands down into the grass and push myself back up to standing and begin to brush off some of the dirt and grime. There’s a slight hum again, quiet and slow at first but as I stand there it gets more powerful and more alluring. It’s pulling me back where I just came from. I can feel that eerie presence again. I know if I stay a minute longer this dreamy oasis will pull me back into the depths of its shadow again. Quickly I pull away and turn back to the forest, back to the trail that led me here, and take off running as fast as I have ever run before.
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2,772
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Start your story with a character taking a leap of faith.
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A LEAP OF FAITH
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I could already disclose to it will be truly difficult to write in this scratch pad while this moronic transport is bobbing everywhere on the interstate, yet I must arrangement with it since I have effectively been riding this thing two or three days, and I must discover something to do with my hands, also my psyche, while these unlimited miles and unlimited hours continue to move by steadily. I am headed toward start an entirely different life in a totally different spot, so I figured it would be the ideal opportunity to begin composing a diary. Along these lines, the last time when we halted at that Stuckey's and the driver was having a cigarette, I ran in and purchased this journal and this pen and this will be where I can record every one of the musings and dreams that go through my mind each day.
Along these lines, since this is the primary page of my new diary, I surmise I ought to record every one of the essential realities about me which you probably won't know. I'm 22 years of age. My name is Maria Smyth, albeit as of recently or two back it was Maria Smith. Yet, I figured that since I was beginning this new life, I should have another, all things considered, kind of new, name to go with it. Truly, however, nobody understands what my genuine name is, on the grounds that I was a foundling and I was brought up in a Catholic shelter in my old neighborhood of St. Kwiatoslaw, South Dakota. Someone left me in a crate at the police headquarters when I was only a little while old, so they gave me the last name of "Smith" and they called me "Maria" after Sheriff Banaszek's better half. He was the person who discovered me in the bin. Thus, when I hopped on this transport a couple of days prior, I chose to energize my name a little by spelling it with a "y" despite the fact that I'm actually going to articulate it "Smith".
For as long as three years or so I have filled in as a clinical transcriptionist and once in a while office aide at the workplace of Dr. Leonard Pigeon, who is a sort of unnerving and unsavory man, however who is an unmistakable Ear, Nose and Throat expert in St. Kwiatoslaw. My number one thing on the planet is films. I didn't actually have a family when I was growing up; different children in the shelter traveled every which way excessively fast, truly, to become acquainted with. Furthermore, the nuns were all essentially on their own excursion, being Brides of Christ and really focusing on the Poor, to truly think often a lot about me. Thus, I invested a ton of energy watching motion pictures on the TV set in the pitiable "rec room" of the halfway house. From the start, it was only the old high contrast films that the nuns had lying around, however then during the 90s when everything was exchanging over to DVD, the Blockbuster Video around gave all their VHS tapes to the shelter. I have never been on a genuine date, yet I have seen each film at any point produced using a Nicholas Sparks book, so I have a feeling that I've been infatuated many occasions!
My #1 film ever is "The Sound of Music", in light of the fact that Julie Andrews' name was "Maria" in that film and she resembled, caught in a religious circle loaded with nuns until she could break out and hurry to the highest point of an Alp where she could whirl and spin and sing and let her face get scorched by the sun. That is the way I felt now and then when I was a young lady so I generally cherished that film. What's more, when the nuns were singing "How would you tackle an issue like Maria?" I generally envisioned that was the way the Sisters were discussing me when I wasn't anywhere near; that despite the fact that I appeared to be timid and plain and exhausting to everybody around me, in all actuality I was something exceptional and ethereal like a moonbeam.
At any rate, when I at long last turned 18 I had the option to move out of the shelter. The sisters set me up with a task at a hiring office, and had tracked down a little proficiency condo for me down on Babetski road up and over of a laundry. A few months, I landed this temp position at Dr. Pigeon's, yet the woman I was supplanting, who was simply expected to be an extended get-away, called one morning and, as per Becky the assistant, told Dr. Pigeon to "push it up his butt." So, they requested that I stay on and I have been working there from that point forward. Indeed, a few days prior at any rate.
The town I live in, St. Kwiatoslaw, is a truly unassuming community in the northwest corner of South Dakota. There is a neighborhood joke which resembles "I'd prefer be in northwest South Dakota than southeast North Dakota!" however I don't actually believe that it's actual clever, so I don't utilize it frequently. In any case, St. Kwiatoslaw is something like 98% Polish. That is OK with me, I don't have anything against Polish individuals, aside from possibly their last names, which are throughout the entire truly and loaded with an excessive number of z's and k's and y's and things. Like in the event that I was Polish, it would spell my name Smyth Sczmythczkie or something. Some of the time when Becky goes on lunch I need to pick up the telephone for her and that is the point at which it very well may be a genuine issue. Somebody will call up and request to make an arrangement for somebody whose name seems like "Mr. Mxyzptlk" and afterward they get all crabby when I'd request that they spell it for me. Or on the other hand in some cases when they would come in to the workplace I would peer down to see their names written in the arrangement record, I would need to gaze upward and imagine that I had experienced childhood in the house nearby to them and say, "Great Morning, Mrs. J! Why not sit down?" It ordinarily wasn't an issue, aside from this one old bi*h who had a hyphenated last name, so I just called her by her first name. "Hello, Kunegunda!" I said, yet I more likely than not articulated it wrong or something since she whined to the specialist about my "demeanor". Anyway, can't satisfy everybody.
At any rate, everything two or three days prior on Wednesday. It was the gala day of St. Kwiatoslaw, which resembles the greatest arrangement of the year in our town. All the Polish individuals around assemble at the congregation for a unique Mass, and after that they all return home, eat a major feast of root vegetables, become inebriated and nod off before the TV. I might have gone in the event that I needed, yet truly, following 18 years in the halfway house with the Little Sisters of St. Cecilia, the last spot I need to go is a congregation.
The workplace was practically vacant that day. Most places were shut, however Dr. Pigeon isn't Polish and he doesn't live in St. Kwiatoslaw in any case. Thus, the solitary individuals there were the specialist, me, and Matt, the doctor's partner, who is the lone other non-Polish individual in the workplace. Matt is a truly decent person however he's been truly nervous of late in light of the fact that his better half is pregnant and she's pretty much as large as a house and she resembles fourteen days late. We weren't exceptionally occupied, indeed, the solitary patient was a woman whose spouse had called that early daytime inquiring as to whether we could accommodate her in with some kind of "crisis". Her name was Mrs. Niedzielski and she was a short, squat, cartoon of a lady with a colossal nose, and a head of brilliant, bold red hair regardless of the way that she was very much into her seventies. Her hair stood straight up from her head and when she strolled into the workplace everything I could consider was the "Warmth Miser" from that Christmas unique they show each year.
In any case, Mrs. Niedzielski had been in the test space for some time and I was ordering some quiet records when out of nowhere, Matt came running out and snatched his coat. He actually had the elastic gloves on all fours I could hear as he ran out the entryway was something about his significant other's water breaking.
I should disclose to you that regarding things like infants, and where they come from, I am gullible, in a manner of speaking. The Little Sister of St. Cecilia wasn't much in the method of Sex Ed. In this way, I'm not 100% sure what her "water breaking" signifies, yet I'm genuinely sure it had something to do with the child at long last being as its would prefer.
A couple of moments later, I heard the flourishing voice of Dr. Pigeon from the test room. "Smith!" he shouted, "Get in here! Presently!"
This has consistently been something I've kind of feared on the grounds that Dr. Pigeon is a truly mean man and I truly don't prefer to be hollered at. Thus, I said, "Umm, indeed, Doctor," in a voice so low that he most likely couldn't hear me, put my grinds down flawlessly and strolled over to the test room. I thumped delicately on the entryway before I entered, despite the fact that it was at that point open. "Umm, yes..?" I said.
I investigated and saw Mrs. Warmth Miser unconscious on the test table, an IV dribble suspended close to her. I saw there was a major wad of gum adhered to the lower part of her shoe.
"Goddam it, Smith, get here! I need you to brace this present lady's uvula!" he blast at me, waving some sort of clinical instrument at me as he hollered. I faltered briefly, yet then I discovered my mental fortitude and took the instrument from the specialist's hand. I peered down at Mrs. Niedzielsky. She lay there, her horrendous red hair now in tangled bunches, her mouth agape. She didn't have a solitary tooth in her mouth; her false teeth were sitting in a cup on the opposite side of the room. The specialist had pulled the test light right up front, enlightening her shocking, innocuous smile, and that is the point at which I saw it. Her uvula, that is. The little piece of suspended tissue at the rear of Mrs. Niedzielski's mouth had become furious and swollen, and when I saw it, it looked large and red and dreadful like a radish with beating veins, and on the off chance that I didn't realize better I would have sworn it had a face like the bubble on that person's neck in "How to Get Ahead in Advertising". In this way, I shouted. I shouted like a young lady, as Jamie Lee Curtis in "Halloween". I shouted so uproarious, clearly, that my shout slice through whatever sedative fog the specialist had put Mrs. Niedzielski under and she sat straight up, hitting her head with a break on the test light. By then, she fell down onto the test table, oblivious, a slight stream of blood starting to move from the enormous cut in her temple. Dr. Pigeon went to me with rage in his eyes.
"Get out!" he hollered at me, little chunks of spit framing toward the edges of his mouth. "Get the f**
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7,926
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Write a story about a scientist.
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A Man or god
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I walked on a path of light and darkness. In front of me was a learning place. It told of all these different kinds of God's. Which one was right? Was I a God? Was God, God? Was a better man, than me, a God? Were there many God's, before? Was all of man his self, a God? Would this life time, be enough time, to learn all of these things? If God exists, surely he would make sure we knew of Him, before we left this place. Would He send us, to the next place, and let us know after, this life? Maybe, there would be many, many, places that we would learn, and at the end of eternity, if such a thing, then we would know. Would the collective consciousness, be a God to most people? It seemed that, it was the thing that resembled destiny the most. The collective consciousness, all believing in one thing, the same thing. Then it would surely come true, if all of us believed. How could it not? This would lead us to knowing the difference, between science, and God. We're the two, actually one?I can do magic with science. Yes, I can do magic, I can grow an ear on a mouse. Then, in turn I could grow an ear on a human, that lost an ear. Someday I will grow a human appendage on, say, a pig. This is all done, with stem cell growth research. This feat has never been done before, and I am truly amazing. Isn't this grand. That me, a mere man, could grow a body part, that before, only God could do.I am a scientist as well. I can grow a flower with an eyeball in it. I am a chosen one, of God's children. Can it see us, we can only wonder, what a flower sees. This has never been done before, by man. I am the first, only with God can we do these things. Look at this prize. Just gaze at God's work, this awesome creation. This plant that must be able to see.I meditate always. I am a yoga, and I can levitate, only through the act of being one, with one's self can I do this. I rise through the air, with my legs crossed, from being seated on the ground. This is not a trick of the eye, I am in tune with the earth, I can fly. Watch me. Look what I have created, I am light as a feather, I have proved it, time, and time again, to you. My science is mastering my bodies functions.I am also a scientist, I am learning to travel, at the speed of light. Look at my vehicle. The atoms of this earth, part before me, when I race through objects. I don't split in half, I go right through solid objects. Distance has no meaning, and time has very little, of this word "meaning". This must mean to you, that we are almost invincible. Man is an amazing creation. We are the creators, are we not? We create all that is on this earth to see, don't we?I am a great being. I also can travel at the speed of light, I can teleport. I have seen the whole earth. I travel to places instantly, only through, HIS power, can I do this wonderous, trading of places. Praise to Him, our creator. To me, my master. I am doing the wonders of my mind, yet someday soon it will be of science, that people can travel this wayI am a touch healer. I can heal the sick, with the touch of my hand. He has risen and given me these life saving tactics. To keep the ones, the people, that make it to my presence. Glory to this man. Glory to God we say, for all my power. He was one of the great scientists, Jesus. Did he not master making water to stay drinkable, by making it into wine. He also was a great inventor, he first used fishing nets, with his people. What a scientist, he was.I am a doctor, a physician of the body. Again a scientist. With a mind, to believe in the well being, of all mankind. Why, I also heal the sick, and lame. I feed them my medicines, and it helps, and heals, the people I serve. I am like a God, to the people. Thank you Lord for creating us.Look here though, I can memorize 52 playing cards, in row. Praise be to me, for I have a photographic memory. I am a product of my parents, they created me. They must be the creators. The mother and the father, yes, they have to be, some sort of scientists.Hey, over here, I can look through your eyes. I am a telepathic, pick one of those playing cards and I will tell you what it is, without looking at it. I am a creation in itself, am I not. Would it be scientific, when you study me? Do I read the card, or your mind?The Father of the church says. Over here! Here is the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. I do not see poltergeist, but I see angels everyday. What a concept, to have all dimensions, in three. Glory to all three. The trinity is the master of us all. I study the Bible, Scientists, all do studies, like me the Father of my church.The mediums eyes light up, she says" gentleman I talk to those of our dearly departed, they tell me all kinds of tales, of your past with them, I speak. Yet, I have never known you or them before. Through you, we must be God like. Glory be to me, and this New Age, and to you. Science is man, she says.I have seen many of these, God like, man like, spirit things too. I to can see, but not the past, I can predict your future says the psychic. I can tell your fortune and be correct. I study your future. So be it, I be HIM. My science is the future, in you.I hear voices, I have a science all of my own. I know these are not me, but the scientists tell me, they are. Am I not a scientist too, studying my own mind? That ten people, can sound like one person, and one person can have the sound of ten different people. This is a life long study. With the world my students. Me, the student myself forever. We are all scientists of some sort.When God and science become one.
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14,490
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Start or end your story with two characters sitting down for a meal.
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A Meal Made for Love
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The night is young with a cool breeze coming from the kitchen window. How beautiful the night sky is with the visual of the big dipper. The stars luminating the full moon. Tonight, is going to be the night filled with love and compassion. The table is set up for dinner for two, white candles, red roses in a vase, and a bottle of red wine. The dinner on the stove ready to be served. He should be here soon like in a couple of hours. This will be the first dinner date in a long while. I hope he loves my outfit and shoes. This night has to be perfect. Well, I am going to lay down and wait. I just downloaded a new book to my Kindle. It’s your typical love story told in fantasy and it was on the best sellers’ list. The waiting game is not fun. Someone began to knock at the door. I came to the door, "Hello, who is it?" A soft deep voice responds, "Hey it's me Jay." Am I dreaming right now? Why is Jay at my door? I have not seen him in five years, "What are you doing here?" I was in complete shock this big chauvinist pig is here, "Hold on I'm going to open the door, and what do you want seriously? I'm waiting for my boyfriend to come over for dinner. So, if you don't mind, can you see yourself off my property." He looked at me with those sad puppy eyes, like I was going to fall for the banana in the tail pipe. He took a deep breath, "Can we talk, please? I really missed you a lot!" Is this dude for real? I don't this so, "Look there isn't much to discuss. I haven't seen you in how many years? Yes, like five years! Jay's eyes watered up, tears flowed down his cheek, "I love you Jenna with all my heart!" I could not believe the things he was saying, "Honestly, you broke my heart when you cheated on me, and had the nerve to deny it. It's too late, I had moved on. Sorry you wasted your time!" Jay looked down," If you change your mind or if you want to chat, just call me. Remember, I made a mistake, and I am so sorry. Please forgive me!" I just wanted to slap him for what he did but he wasn't worth my time, "Well, thanks for stopping by!" I quickly slammed the door, so he would get the memo. Hours go by, and I am wondering where the hell is my man, Patrick. He is taking forever. Let me text him really quick. While I wait, let me call my sister, Shana. “Hey Shana! Shana sighed before answering, “Hey sis, what’s up?” “Shana guess who came by just now?” “Who?” “Girl, it was Jay! He had the nerve to ask me for forgiveness. I told him to leave rudely” Shana wasn’t surprised at all, “He messaged me earlier asking questions, but I didn’t respond. I totally ignored him.” I knew the idiot was trying to get the 4-1-1 on me, “Well that’s good, just ignore him. The cheater cheater pumpkin eater." My sister and I started laughing so hard, “All right Shana, I will let you go. I love you, and have good night!” Shana chuckles, "Good night and I love you too!"Finally, Patrick texts me. Alright cool, he is running late is all. I shouldn’t worry. Well after all I did meet the man of my dreams and no one was going to ruin the evening for me. Ten minutes later, my phone starts blowing up. Oh, my god, this dude Jay didn’t get the hint. I am not going to feed into his nonsense. The woman he cheated on me with must of dumped him. He is a pig after all. So, I am an idiot for answering the phone with anger, “Look Jay, I don’t know what your problem is but it needs to stop now!” Jay began crying on the phone, “Give me the opportunity to make up to you. I know you are upset but I changed. You have to believe me! Please baby give me another chance!” “Honestly, I am so over you. I do not, I repeat do not, want to speak to you again. Hey, are you near a closet right now?” Jay responds with sadness in his voice, “Yes.” I started laughing at him, “Well hang this up, Bro!” Click! I hear a loud knocking at the door, hopefully it’s Patrick. I hope he didn’t hear my conversation with the loser, “Who is it?” No one is responding but knocks again, “Hello who is at my door?” A man began clearing his throat, “It’s me Hunny, Patrick!” I am a bit nervous, butterflies in my stomach, and flew open the door, “You scared the crap out of me!” Patrick started chuckling, “I apologize baby girl. Patrick bends his neck down and started making out me. He always was a very passionate guy. It’s one of the things I love about him. He began caressing my body. I could feel his passion coursing through my body surrounded by wild fire. The hairs on my arms stood right up. The room filled up with love quickly which drove Patrick and I to make love. His touch makes me feel like a goddess.When two people deeply love one another, it’s like you share a bond of empathy. The moment you finish each other’s sentences. Honesty and communication come easy between two people. After the most exotic experience I stood up, went to clean up, got dressed and said, “Patrick let me finish setting up here in the kitchen, and I love you babe!” Patrick began smiling and his face blushed, “I love you too!” I walked over to the kitchen to serve the food. The feeling of joy and happiness is the key to succeed in life. Don’t let life live you but live life and enjoy every day that comes. With my smile reaching from ear to ear, “Hey Patrick, I’m going to go wash up really quick, dinner will be warmed up by the time I am done.” He took a breath with a smile on his face, “Don’t take forever sweetie, I don’t want to starve.” He is so hilarious, “Alright you got that one!” Finally, we meet in the kitchen at the same time and he leans over to give me a passionate kiss. Of course, I kiss him back. “Baby boy, I love you so much.” He grazed into my eyes, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” We both sat down with love in the air, and enjoyed the best meal ever!
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3,729
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Write about somebody who knows they’re probably going to fail at something, but does it anyway.
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A Memory From Gym Class
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“Line up at the free throw line.”
I wasn’t sure where the free throw line was; I didn't pay much attention to what the gym teacher said. It was never interesting. I just got in line behind the other kids who got there first.
I hated gym class. Why shouldn’t I? I was seven years old, short, spindly, and a klutz. Nothing good was going to happen to me in gym class.
Today we were practicing shooting baskets. We would wait until we got to the front of the line and the gym teacher would hand us the orange ball with its odd rubbery smell. We’d attempt to make a basket and go to the end of the line while the gym teacher retrieved the rebound and dribbled it back to hand to the next kid in line.
We were in second grade and the basket looked so high that misses greatly outnumbered baskets. Some kids aimed and shot expecting to make a basket. When they missed they treated it as if something had gone wrong and their brains and arms subtly made corrections. Some kids aimed and shot thinking they might make a basket. They gave their brains and arms silent praise when they missed but got close. Both group’s shots were getting better, the former more quickly than the latter. Eventually, some of them were making baskets with some consistency.
I was absolutely sure I wasn’t going to make a basket. I didn’t even aim. I just threw the ball in the general direction of the hoop and hurried back to the end of the line. I didn’t even really want to make a basket. It’s impossible to want something that you truly think is impossible. When my classmates missed they were disappointed. When they made a basket they were satisfied. When I missed I got the lesser but real satisfaction of having things go the way I expected. As the class rotated through most of them were getting better. If anything my shots were getting wider.
After I made a shot that the gym teacher had to chase down, it was so bad, my classroom teacher said, “Stop, John, you’re going to stay there until you make a basket.”
Oh, no! No more going to the safety of the end of the line. I was going to have to stand there and heave that wretched ball while all my classmates watched me throw miss after miss. This was bad but what was I going to do; she was my teacher and I was the kind of kid who usually did what his teacher said.
LookIng back, I’m sure she saw that I wasn’t even trying. She knew what I was, a smart kid with “potential” who blithely accepted defeat way too willingly. If something came easily for me, and some things did, I did them. If something was difficult for me, I just decided it wasn’t for me and quit trying. She believed I’d never become a “success in life” if I just gave up all the time.
The gym teacher handed me the ball again and I threw and missed. He retrieved it and I threw and missed. This continued until the gym teacher decided maybe he had other things to do than bring me the basketball. Now I had to get the ball myself. If I wanted to show I was interested in learning basketball I suppose I would have dribbled the ball to the free throw line but I was way past caring; I just picked up the ball, waddled to the line and threw another miss. My classroom teacher just stood there watching just outside the key. My classmates went and sat on the bleachers and watched me. They were only seven or eight so they didn’t shout encouragement or insults; they just sat there confused as they wondered what was going to happen.
Eventually, it was time for gym class to end. The student teacher had the other kids line up to go back to class. I longed to go back with them. Reading, math, and social studies weren’t always fun but they were all better than basketball.
Throw the darn ball, miss, chase the darn ball, return to the free throw line, repeat over and over all while being watched by an overweight blonde woman with glasses. I was beginning to actually hate the color, feel, and smell of the ball.
I began to wonder how long this would go on. How long could my teacher hold out? Was she obsessed? What if I never made a basket? Would I miss lunch? Would I miss the afternoon classes? Would she let me go home!? The tedium and fear began to get to me. Somehow I was going to have to make a basket.
I tried to aim. The ball brushed the net. Not good but better than most of the shots I made. The next shot was higher but short of the basket. I made a few more shots with varying results but all in the vicinity of the basket. My arms were getting tired. The next shot was a blooper that wasn’t even close to the basket. I’ll never get out of this hell. On the next shot, I aimed and gave the ball an extra push. It bounced off the rim. I began to see a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe I wasn’t going to die in this gym while my teacher looked on. I made a few more shots, two more bounced off the rim. I kept shooting. One of the shots bounced off the rim and instead of rebounding toward me, it hung there for a second and fell into the net.
“See, John, I knew you could do it if you kept trying. You can do anything if you just keep trying.”
I’d gotten a smelly rubber ball through a metal hoop. So what? Now I can get out of this gym and go back to class.
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135
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Format your story in the style of diary entries.
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A Mother's Secret Dream is your Destiny
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"She said her children will be a Force to be Recon with" Pearl Fisher was born in the middle of a flowing field one golden morning of June sand clay to the Sante Estherville South Carolina.She learned the way her great-grandmother Nin 1894 til she transcended the invisible walls of captivity. Tuesday morning Aug 23 1977 and grandmom Angeline April 15, 1979, an Easter Sunday morning at the same time moments confusion left her life and brought her miraculous sight. The first of 13 gifts born to her parents, a blessing to enter their lives. Sunday morning June 29, 1941, close to the time the atomic mushrooms sent shock waves through time that are still vibrating in the atmosphere. My Black Pearl's of WisdomThe greatest mother a black child could be blessed to be born. Beloved as Black Pearl's of wisdom, Benin, the Black Butterfly and Grapes. A mother who just did not lived and cry for her own black children but she cried for the whole world. This sister danced in the sun, talked to the tree, birds, and babies. All this love she had inside her soul lead her footsteps to write Rhythmic Rays, A Color-less Reality, Geneva was my Home and No Second to Make Myself Real. She left this earth saying the best is yet to come ME. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day In the Beginning it was Black. A healthy living she shared with anyone who would take time out to listen.Her love for her Heavenly Father was the greatest my family had the pleasure to witness and be a part of the Most High blessings in her life. She went from a 6-grade education- to a cigarette, a lemon pie and a Pepsi soda, a typewriter, and a dictionary to become a poet, activist with spiritually blessed insight that has inspired throughout the globe. She wrote many letters, plays, and books. and sent them all around the world. This woman was a daughter of Zion who was strong enough to be herself- no matter what anyone thought of her piculiar ways. She walked to the beat of the Most High trumpets in her heart and found her home with the son Christ. She carved her legacy in my hearts that inspired the Power of Creation born in ME She "said" Reach your fullest potential and ride the Black Rocket thru time awaiting your intellectual challenge Knock at freedom door. Knock Hard. It will open slowly but Fear not my Sons and Daughters for No Black Man ever walks alone As, I rose this morning and thought of this woman who love me from her warm womb. I was just thinking about the relationship between a mother and daughter. How it can be one of the most surprising and extremely difficult energy that are connected together. It can be a loving and crazy journey that is full of both positive and negitive energy. Spirt that's filled of love and hate emotions. Up and down feelings that establishes the pathway of their passion and compassion. It is so amazing to see how spiritual growth develops between the two searching confused girls that only time allows them both to become wise righteous. and powerful. My mother is the Black Butterfly and I am the Oak Tree The Oak tree that, I have learned to be today is strong as an Oak. Just like she said to ME, I would become. Sculpte by the strength of my mother's gift of power. She wisely shaped and molded my heart to be equal to my mind with the soft warm sweet comfort of her beautiful loving strong black wings. Sometimes she used very very harsh instructions to whip my little black ass. Not agreeing back then; but today, I know it was all done by her careful plans and wise decisions for my personal growth. Correction is what she knew, I needed to establish God's way of living on my path. I'm thinking my mother simply wanted ME to be able to stand strong in the many stormy winds in life that she knew, I would face on my life journey.I Was a Hard Rock Headed Stiff Neck Rebellious Black Child My mother guided my direction to creatively think and taught ME how to seek for the light in darkness. Reliance was formed out of her actions that, I know was all done for the love she had for the Most High and ME! She deeply loved all of God's natural creations in a special kind of way. Remembering her profound action, I pray someday I could do the same. My Black Pearl's of wisdom was my first teacher of aspiration and her crazy consistent ways lead me to see all the confusion in all the world's to find my needed answers.. Her Secret Dreams Was My Destiny I'm thinking maybe to her, I was the extention of her secret dreams. I mean a beautiful reality born in the image of her self that she was always trying to create a solid destiny in my life. A new baby girl that arrived to her as her special miracle baby. 7 months premature. Another start in life that came to her in a little version of her black unique beauty. I bet my mommies feelings of hope for my furture were so deep that she truly wanted me to have the ability to do better than the life she had lived many years in agony and pain. A Great Gift From The Most HighI can only imagine through her loving eyes she seen ME as a great gift from the Creator. Laying in my bed in the still of the night, I could hear my mother singing and praying unto the Creator that, I have a better life than her own. The wisdom and knowledge my mother acquired on her long painful journey, I should definitely respect it. So every day as I live, I keep her comforting words of wisdom tucked close in my heart of mind to try to always shine the light, I seen in her that still after she's gone helps me to smile. A Woman Pain Runs Deeper Than What The Eyes Can See I learned that the experiences of a developing woman's hurt and pain runs deeper than what the natural eyes can see and sometimes their approach in life can be a little misleading to a young girl, who has not begun to live out her own gift of greatness. Still the advice given from a spiritual mother should be treasured and used when ever it's needed. I found out about life the long way when, I ran and hide from my mother's hurt and pain. In my beginning, I ran away without trying to understand the mass confusion created in her life. Road blocks created the downfall for me making too many mistakes. Balancing The HurtIn the middle of my painful journey, I grew and learned how to listen more and respect the position the Most High gave to her over ME and with that one humbling decision, I made a simple choice that gave us both the obedience to stop the fight and hear each other. We begin to balance all the hurt and pain and create unity with truthful open communication. Their was so many issues that had no bonding power for us to hold on to any longer. I let go of the hateful feelings then became free from my pride to respect the only woman on this planet earth who loved me from her warm womb. A Mother's First Thought For Your Destiny Living this system, I do realize that some mothers are not as wise as the other mothers we may see in the world's; but they all had a starting point of confusion and countless lies. This empire creates a long painful journey for us to seek and find our balance in life. Therefore we all live each new day to only learn that there are so many bad worldly influences and many road blocks that can affects a persons path and that may have clouded up their mothering skills. Then the judgement of their character may haunt and hurt you deeply. Forgiveness is always free. I'm thinking that it is always better to think and re-think your decisions about their journey before you act off hurtful emotion that may disconnect you from the womb that carried your life or at least try to find the secret or hidden answers to their life story that may have created the pain and disappointment you may feel in your life today. Because a mother's journey along with her hurt and pain may reflect your current reality. Knowingly or Unknowingly we hurt in silence. ForgivnessI'm thinking maybe having these secret answers added to your life just might be the way to forgive the woman, who only had what was presented to her in life to survive. I strongly believe that no matter what else you get in this twisted up sinful world that is truly good. The greatest gift to your life was the gift from the Most High. The seed of your Father and the warm womb of your Mother. And. I would bet that you are so much greater in your life choices and decisions; because of their confusion and pain.The hurt you may feel from the disappointment in her ingorant actions, just may have caused you to manifest into her silent prayers and secret dreams. I mean her first thoughts of you and your destiny. The feelings she most likely had the first second she looked at you when you entered the earth as her baby girl. Im thinking we both can win when we desire to reach higher and use our power of creation to forgive the programming of ingorance. The Most High Forgives So We Can TooKash, Tanzaniyah. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day: In the Beginning It Was Black (p. 200). Lulu Publishing Services. Kindle Edition.
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6,009
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Write a story about someone who starts noticing the same object or phrase wherever they go.
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A Red Flower
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Layers of rich crimson red folding on one another into a soft puff.Rays of sunbeams shining through delicate petal tips that glow with joy.On the night of my first kiss, I took Madeline from Algebra class out to a little restaurant on the side of a lake. After finishing our dinner, we got up and strolled around the lake, hand in hand. We didn’t dare glance at each other, and we’d sooner jump in the water than open our mouths and say something. We just walked and felt each other’s presence. While the moon shone its gaze down on us, we paused and turned to face each other. It was just a feeling, and we were acting on it, glad to surrender ourselves to the powers of Love. We leaned towards each other in front of that lake, eyes closed, and let our mouths meet in an explosion of feeling. And beneath that first kiss was a beautiful, red flower. Graduation was a year later, and I was no longer together with Madeline; our young love had faded out. It was a June evening that was a little too warm underneath our gowns as we waited not so patiently for the ceremony to begin. We were outside in the park next to the sports stadium the school was renting that night. I was playfully messing around with my friends, especially Ben, my best friend, who was a little more guileless than the rest of us boys. I was teasing him for not-so-subtly staring at a pretty girl across the park, and I playfully shoved him. His gown, a little too long for him, caught underfoot as he stepped back to regain his balance. His foot slid under him, and he collapsed backwards onto the ground. The rest of us found this hilarious, of course, and were bent over laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe. And as Ben got back up, underneath him was a crushed, red flower. We began college that Fall, and the friend circle was left to empty group chats and fond memories as we all left for different states to begin a new stage of our lives. I spent the evenings and weekends once school began with my nose buried in a book or my hand cramped from writing as lightning quick as I could without the handwriting of my homework resembling chicken scratch. On the once-in-a blue-moon days I wasn’t busy, I enjoyed laying in the park under an oak tree and relaxing with my eyes closed. And my head, filled to the brim with equations and literary authors and faces of pretty girls, was often lain beside a shining, red flower. And on the afternoon of my first car accident, I stood on the side of the road waiting for a truck to arrive and tow my car out of the ditch. On the top of that ditch, growing hesitantly in the soil were bent, red flowers. One damp October day, I received a call from my dad during a walk. I listened for a few seconds or a few minutes before I hung up. I wanted to speak to Dad but all I did was choke. I sat down heavily in the grass. Beside me, like a silent friend keeping me company, was a single red flower. Every moment that has made up my life was seldom spent alone. Ever since I was a little kid, I have noticed that everywhere I go I am followed by the same flower. At ten years old I sat in my room one sweaty summer night, the sharp glow of the computer screen almost as bright as the fluttering fireflies outside my window, and I searched on the internet. I didn’t scroll long before I found my mystery flower: the ranunculus. This bright summer flower is a perennial, which means each Fall it browns and dies. Like a Phoenix, the ranunculus is reborn the following spring when it blooms again from the same, original stock. Reading up on the ranunculus was enough of an answer to the mystery for me. Although finding fully bloomed ranunculus everywhere I go, including trips overseas, cannot be explained without paranormal means, I stopped noticing them. Like rocks and leaves, that ranunculus had become a common day object. By 30 years old, my life, too, had become common and routine, and I felt an urge in my bones to get up and leave to somewhere. Next thing I know there’s a ticket to the Himalayan mountains clutched in my hand and I’m standing outside the boarding ramp for a plane. I don’t know what I was expecting to find; maybe some sort of spiritual experience or mid-life realization. The Himalayas were somewhere I always wanted to visit, and I realized I wasn’t getting younger. That trip did change my life, though. It was where I met my wife. The cliffs and crevices of the Himalayas were howling that night, and I looked up nervously to try and find the outline of snow-capped peaks above. I had arrived the previous day at a large nearby city and drove to the base of the Himalayas earlier the following day. Daggers of snow shot through the sky, striking all the flesh I left exposed to the air, and the winds crept under my coats and chilled my bones. A few minutes earlier I was forced by the storm to abandon my car and continue on foot to the Inn. I was trudging through the snow, picturing in my mind images of warm pastries and a roaring fire to keep myself going. Up ahead I saw rays of light peeking through the swirling curtain of snow. I kept going, quicker now, towards that light, until I was nearly on top of it. The light died down to a sliver and I saw a gray figure-shape come out through the snow. Too late, I couldn’t stop my momentum, and slammed right into the figure. It fell back with a grunt barely audible over the howling wind. Deep in the snow, only the top of the figure was sticking out like some island in a white ocean. I stood there for a second, staring with my mouth agape down into the hole in the snow, before realizing I needed to help that poor soul I had knocked down. I reached down and pulled them up by the arms. “I’m so sorry!” I was pretty sure I said as the person got up onto their feet. They were facing away from me; all I could see was a pale blue coat more-than-a-little frosted with specks of snow. None of the words I thought I had spoken reached my ears, even though I had felt my mouth move. “I’m sorry!” I yelled louder through the roaring of snow. “It’s okay,” she said, turning around. Iona was bundled up tightly and all I could see of her were crimson cheeks and amber eyes. A few strands of sun-touched-hair were loose and flying about in the wind. After that, we marched together through the snow until we found the Inn.Iona and I bought a house together three years later. It’s a little thing with green shutters and a red door. It was a dream house. There our two children, Mark and Athena, grew up. In the backyard garden Iona planted daisies, pansies, and ranunculus: her favorite flower. I learned this unbelievable fact on the fourth date, before I had confessed to her my strange relationship with the ranunculus. As cheesy at it seems, I think it was destiny we met. Else, what are the odds?I know it sounds like a fairy-tale life, but that’s because it was. It felt like my time with Iona was time stolen from another person who was deserving of such a fulfilling life and love. However, that stolen time didn’t last forever. Two weeks ago, I sat in a chair beside the hospital bed Iona was laying in. A bundle of wires and tubes ran up along the side of the bed and into her. Her eyes were closed, and she looked tranquil. I’d like to think she passed away with no regrets. Her once vibrant red hair was now mostly gray. I wished I had the chance to watch it fully grey. Movement caught my eye: the heart monitor had suddenly changed. The red-line heartbeat had flat-lined at zero. I turned and looked back at her face. She seemed so peaceful as she passed.Today, after the funeral, I went home with Mark and Athena. They had both left the nest many years ago, but we all wanted each other’s company after losing someone who shone as much light into our lives as Iona did. We sat on the sofa, drinking water, staying mostly quiet. The silence was driving me mad. All I could hear was the tick-tock of the clock and the clink of a glass set on the table. What I wanted to hear was Iona’s laugh like she always did when I acted like my dumb self. I couldn’t bear it any longer.“I’m going out for a walk,” I said standing up slowly with stiff joints. Together, they looked up at me with odd expressions. I slipped out of the unbuttoned suit-jacket and draped it over a chairback.“Want us to come with?” Athena asked gently. I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’ll be back soon,” I replied and went out the door. I picked a direction at the street and began walking. The trees were whispering with wind and gently shaking their branches in a dance. The summer sun was still well above the horizon, shining on as always. I couldn’t hear any footsteps or car tires; the street was completely silent in a peaceful way. Like Time had paused itself to simply let me exist. I stopped beside a bench and sat down. I took a breath and then let it out. I looked across the street from me and saw a tree with browned leaves. They rustled for a moment before coming still. I took another breath.Sitting beside the bench was a single red flower. Layers of rich crimson red were folding on one another into a soft puff. Its petal tips were gently glowing from the peaceful sun. The neck of a proud green stem held its head up. It was a ranunculus, Iona’s favorite. I realized that I hadn’t seen one purely by chance since I met her in the Himalayas. I looked at it for a few minutes before turning back to face the street with it still beside me. I felt like Iona was still sitting beside me again like she used to do on our morning walks.Now that she’s gone and I look back, it feels like every time I turned a corner and found the ranunculus in the ground or glanced up at an apartment balcony to see a potted ranunculus, it was her watching and living my life right alongside with me. I know it sounds cheesy and a naïve idea, but maybe that’s just how I am. But every time I see a single red flower, my day feels a little more bright.
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6,034
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Write a story about someone who receives an unexpected phone call.
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A Second Chance
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I sat in the cafe with a coworker eating lunch on Friday. It was 12:49 PM when my phone rang. I glanced down at the screen, then blinked hard to make sure it was real. It was a number that had been in my phone for over twenty years, but it had never called. I stood up and walked outside with no explanation and my heart in my throat. “Hello?” I said, knowing that this call would change everything, and fearing the worst. “Hey Sophie, it’s me, Kevin. Can you talk? I’ll understand if this is a bad time.” “There is never a bad time to talk to you. I always love talking to you,” I said, trying to hold back my emotions. “This is going to sound lame as hell, but I found a letter you wrote to me and I just had to call. I feel terrible that I never answered it.” “God, that was like ten years ago,” I said. “I always wondered if you got it.” “I did, and I wanted to answer. I kept putting it off, and well, now it’s been ten years. The last few weeks you have been on my mind and then today I found the letter and I couldn’t stop myself from calling.” “I’m glad you called. I think about you all the time,” I said. “Really?” “Of course I do,” I said. “Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t answer before. When I read your letter today, I could hear the sadness in it that I didn’t notice ten years ago. I was hoping not to hear sadness in your voice today, but I do and I’m so sorry that I didn’t reach out back then.” “But you did now and that means more to me then you will ever know.” “It’s not enough, not for you. If I could go back in time I would call as soon as I got it.” “If I could go back in time, I would go back to the night I met you and do it all again but better this time.” He took in a breath and sighed. “I don’t know what to say to that. I never expected you to say something like that to me.” “Why not? I have kept so much inside for the last twenty-five years and I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to wonder how you feel about me, I want to know. Even if it hurts, I want to know.” “Hey, we’ve got to go! I paid for your lunch,” Tina said, scowling at me. “I have to go back to work,” I said. “I heard,” he answered. “Can I call you tonight?” “I’ll be waiting,” I said. “Good, talk to you then,” he said. I took a deep breath and got in the car. “Here’s the rest of your lunch. I had them put it in a doggie bag,” Tina said. “I hope that call was important. You didn’t order the special and your lunch was way more than mine.” I grabbed a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and tossed it in her lap. “Is that enough?’ I asked, knowing that my lunch was less than half that much. “Yeah, that’s enough,” she said. I faced the window the rest of the way to the office. The afternoon drug on endlessly. At 4:45, Lindsay stuck her head in my office and said, “Are you going for drinks with us?” “No, not this time,” I said. “Please? I don’t want to go with them by myself. You are the fun one.” “I wouldn’t be fun tonight and I’m expecting a call. Maybe next week,” I said. “It must be important. I hope everything is OK?” “I think it is, for the first time in a long time maybe,” I said. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. ‘Nosey much?’ I thought. When five o’clock finally came, all my stuff was already packed up. I clocked out and slipped out the side door and somehow managed to avoid everyone. I hoped that was a good sign. I went home and changed into sweats and a t-shirt, then I looked at myself in the mirror. “No,” I said out loud. “I’m going to dress like he will be able to see me.” I found my favorite dress, it was blue with a tropical flower print all over it. I put my hair up in a cute bun and then I slipped a pair of pumps. When I looked in the mirror again, I smiled. I opened the refrigerator but closed it again almost immediately. There would be no dinner tonight. ‘Maybe a margarita? Just one,’ I thought. After making the drink, a double. I took my phone outside and sat in the swing and waited. He didn’t call until 7 PM and I did have another drink. “Hey,” he said. “Hey,” I said. There was an uncomfortable silence that went on for several minutes. “It’s your turn to talk,” I said. “I know. And I know what I want to say, but once I say it.....” he said. “You can’t unsay it, I know. I’ll go first. Kevin, that night in the parking lot of the Gulf station when you got out of your truck it was like being struck by lightning. It was surreal like something out of a movie. INXS was playing on your radio, Never Tear Us Apart. In that moment I knew I loved you and I wish with every cell in my body that I had lived up to that moment for you, for us. But I didn’t and I’m so sorry. I never told you this before because I was afraid of losing you, but I did anyway. So today I’m telling you, late for sure, but hopefully not too late.” “You felt it too? I wanted to throw you in my truck and drive as far away as we could get and start a new life and I didn’t even know your name yet. I thought if I told you that, you would think I was crazy. So I didn’t,” he said. “Instead, you said, ‘You are a good girl and I’m a bastard. We are just friends, got it?’. And I nodded my head and agreed when all I really wanted to do was kiss you.” “I wanted to kiss you too,” he said. “God, we were stupid,” I said. “That’s an understatement. I feel like I have wasted every day since then not spending it with you.” “Me too,” I said. “Where are you?” he asked. “Home,” I said. “Where is that?” “Oh, sorry. Dallas,” I said. “I’m still in Pascagoula,” he said. We were both silent for a long time. “If I came home, would you like that?” I said, hesitantly. “I would love for you to come home. I have an extra room, we could take some time and figure it out, if you wanted to.” ‘Could I really pack up and leave? Quit my job and go? What was really holding me here? Not a damn thing,’ I thought. “I’ll start packing this weekend and put in my notice on Monday,” I said. “If you really mean it.” “I really mean it! I can’t believe this is real,” he said. “The next two weeks are going to be so long. Do you want me to come and help you?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I need to sort through all this stuff and figure out what to take and what to get rid of. I have wanted to come home for so long and didn’t even let myself feel it. I don’t know why I stayed here after my divorce. There’s nothing here.” “Well, you decide. If you want me to come I will. I can’t wait for you to get here,” he said. “I’ll clean out that room this weekend. What’s your favorite color? I’ll paint the room for you,” he said. “Plum,” I said. “Plum it is,” he said. “I hope I don’t wake up and this has all been a dream. If it’s a dream, I hope I never wake up,” I said. “It’s not a dream, it’s real. I promise,” he said. We talked until the sun was coming up. We filled in all the missing years and shared our hopes for the ones ahead. As we reluctantly hung up, he asked, “Can I call you tonight?” “I would be sad if you didn’t,” I said. “But I need to start sorting and packing. I need to call and get a truck to bring my stuff to your house. I can’t wait to come home.” “I can’t wait for you to get here,” he said. I didn’t have much. I left most of what I had in the house I shared with my ex. What I did have was mostly from thrift shops and yard sales. I would sell most of it instead of moving it. The list of what I was taking was short. Other than my clothes, I was taking the iron bed I had found at an antique shop, my antique clock, my desk, my rocking chair, and my camping equipment. The rest would go in a yard sale next weekend and whatever was left would go to GoodWill. I turned in my notice first thing Monday morning and cleaned out my desk of everything personal, which wasn’t much. Then I added the things I was selling to the local yard sale group Facebook page. At lunch, I was assaulted with questions which I answered as vaguely as possible. This made me ridiculously happy for some reason, ‘Maybe sharing every detail of your life on social media is overrated,’ I thought. By Wednesday, all my furniture was sold and a big chunk of the other stuff too. I gave all my kitchen stuff to a guy who was getting divorced and had nothing. That meant I could cancel the yard sale and concentrate on packing. Kevin and I talked multiple times every day. I never thought I would feel this way ever. I thought I had missed my chance to be in love. I hadn’t realized how unhappy I had been until I wasn’t anymore. All my friends and coworkers saw the change, but they had no idea what caused it and I wasn’t telling. By the next Monday, everything was packed except for the things I used every day. My car was packed with things I was taking with me. Every day I felt more strongly that I was doing the right thing and I couldn’t wait to begin the next chapter of my life. The truck was coming on Thursday morning. I was planning to call in ‘sick’ for Thursday and Friday. It would take the truck two days to get to Pascagoula, they were only allowed to drive for eight hours. I was leaving soon after the truck. I would be there Thursday night. Tuesday and Wednesday seemed to last forever, I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in just a little over a week. I had been working at a soul-crushing job, with no hope for anything better to come along, now the whole world seemed to have opened up and anything seemed possible. I woke up Thursday morning and I felt more alive than I ever had before. I ran to the corner to grab some breakfast, took a shower and packed everything that wasn’t packed already. Then I waited for the truck. They were supposed to be there at 8:30, they were early. It only took them thirty minutes to load the truck. I signed the paperwork and they were off. I walked through my tiny apartment one last time, laid my keys on the counter and walked out the door to begin my new life. It was a ten-hour drive. I talked to Kevin almost all the way. When I was two hours out, he said he had things to do to get ready for me and he wanted me to be able to concentrate on driving as I got closer. When I rolled into the city limits, I felt a peace wash over me that I hadn’t felt in such a long time. I was home, where I should have stayed. I passed landmarks that brought back so many memories, mostly of Kevin. Those last two miles seemed to take forever, but finally, I turned down his road and into his driveway. My hands were sweating and I had butterflies in my stomach. ‘Oh my God,’ I thought. ‘I haven’t seen him in ten years, what if he hates how I’ve changed?’ I took a deep breath and got out of the car. The back door was standing open and I walked into his kitchen, I didn’t see him anywhere. ‘He changed his mind when he saw me get out of the car,’ I thought. I turned to flee. Then I thought, ‘What if I caught him in the bathroom or something?’ I was standing in the kitchen facing the living room and hallway as the minutes ticked by, the urge to run growing stronger and stronger, when I felt him move up behind me. I turned around slowly, and there he was. I threw my arms around him and held him as tightly as I could. He did the same. I’m not sure how long we stood there like that, but at that moment I knew I had finally come home.
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8,251
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Write a story that either starts or ends with someone asking, “Can you keep a secret?”
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A Secret Shared.
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Can You Keep A Secret?I shared this bench every Thursday lunchtime with the same little old man for months now and apart from the usual hello, lovely day, we had never really spoken to each other. I would sit, enjoying the sunshine on my face, munching my sandwich, relishing not being in the office for an hour and he would sit at the other end of the bench, enjoying a repast of blackened bananas. At first the smell of over ripe banana was a bit off putting but he ate them with such obvious enjoyment that I soon got used to it.At his question I turned to look at him, surprised at such a strange query. I didn’t know whether I did actually want to know, who knows what evil.... etc. etc. but he seemed such a quiet, refined little man it seemed silly not to answer.As he turned towards me I noticed how pale he looked – but he always looked pale, it went with his baldness and lack of eyebrows, so that seemed no different than usual. His thick glasses, with the one eye glass blacked out, was as usual, too. I had often wondered how he rode the bicycle he always came on. I had never asked him if he lived close by – he must, I would think, to get to the park unscathed by city traffic.Smiling, his one eye twinkling he said “I am so glad I am old. There, I’ve said it out loud. I know that’s something you’re not supposed to admit to but I am – so glad.” He sat back on the bench, reached in his knapsack for another banana and started to peel it.“But why,” I asked “Are you ill?”He smiled and set his banana skin aside to join the others in the little pile on the bench.“No, I don’t think so, although once you get to my age things tend to creep up on you and before you know it, you’re dead!” He said this almost gleefully, which I found a little odd but then this whole conversation seemed a little odd.“No, it’s just how the world has changed so fast in the last few decades, I can’t keep up. I love my little bookshop but books have gone by the by. Phones are so strange I can’t even use them. There are so many channels on my television I don’t even know what to watch, anymore! My children seem to think I should want to live forever but to be frank that holds little appeal.”“You own a bookshop!” I exclaimed. “Books are my favourite things, above all else. Not everyone wants to read on their e readers – I don’t. I love paper books. You are so lucky to be surrounded by words! I envy you – I work in an office, I’m on a computer all day.”I finished off my sandwich, rolling up the bag to stuff in my backpack, “My name is Helen, by the way.”He inclined his head as though receiving a gift and offered his own. “I am Horace Walter. I beg you to call me Walter as I dislike Horace. What relative my parents were placating by naming a poor, innocent babe Horace, I have no idea.” He said, chuckling. “Helen, very nice to meet you.” He held out out his hand.I shook it, smiling, standing and gathering up my backpack for my trek back to work. “ Hope to see you again, next week, Walter. Enjoy your ride home. Your secret is safe with me.”The next Thursday it rained so I ate my lunch in the lunchroom. Yuck, just saying. But the following week it was a lovely, sunshiny day and I found myself walking a little faster than usual to see if Walter was sitting on our bench.I smiled when I saw his old bike chained to the rack by the road and saw him unloading his bag of bananas.“Hello, Walter, any more secrets to divulge?” I whipped out my sandwich, a thing of beauty I might add, and sat down, first checking for bird poop as seagulls are great that way. Coast was clear so I sat and opened up my lunch.He chewed for a moment and said, thoughtfully, “I wish I could tell you how quickly time flies. How one minute you’re in your prime with a lifetime ahead of you and the next minute you’re at the pointy end and it’s almost over. I can’t, of course, because that’s how the human mind works. It takes the knowledge of our own ending and slides it out of our thoughts so we don’t dwell on it. I don’t mean to sound maudlin. I think it’s incredibly sad that you have to get old to figure that out.”Munching and swallowing, I replied. “I do try to enjoy each day, to find something good, even on the rainy ones when I have to eat in the lunchroom.”I must have sounded glum because he laughed at that and nodded his head.“Good. That’s a great way to do it.”We chewed side by side for awhile and then I heard him sigh.“What?”“I enjoyed my life. I grew up in Birmingham, England, poor, but as they say – if everybody is in the same boat you don’t even know you are! “He paused to reach for another banana, peeling it carefully. “ I was an infantryman for a couple of years but was honourably discharged when I became ill. I wasn’t really soldier material. Too short, too small. Lost all my hair when I was sick, even my eyebrows, so you could really say I came back from war a changed man!”Chuckling, he turned towards me and winked.“What did you do then?” I asked, smiling.“ Became a tea salesman for a while. Travelled round Warwickshire signing up stores and tea shops. Great way to see the countryside and meet young ladies.”That eye of his had no trouble twinkling for two and I laughed at his expression. If he had any eye brows he’d be wiggling them.“I worked my way up to superintendent at the telephone exchange, back when phones were landlines and people actually spoke to one another. Texting.” He said, shaking his head.I laughed, nodding “I hate texting, my last boyfriend actually broke up with me that way. Not even a phone call!”Walter grimaced. “Ouch, that must have hurt your feelings.”“Actually, I was happy to see him go but jeez louise, I thought I deserved a phone call!”“How did you end up here, Walter, in Victoria?” I asked, shooing away a sea gull wanting to share my sandwich.“I wanted an adventure. I saved up my money, packed up my bike and came via Quebec. Boy, those custom guys there made me so angry. They took apart the crate holding my bicycle and just left it, in pieces, on the floor. I had hardly any time to get to the train station to catch the cross Canada train so I just left the crate there and cycled away!” He said, grinning.His obvious enjoyment of that memory had me grinning, too. “Bet they weren’t too happy about that.”“I made it to the train with minutes to spare and loaded my bike on with me. Then every time I saw a part of the country that looked interesting I got off, rode for a day or two, and got back on at the next station. It was a great way to see Canada. What a beautiful country! “He added to his banana skin pile, turning back to face me, his face solemn.“You will never know how lucky you are to live here, Helen, trust me on that. It was the best decision I made in my whole life – to come here.” He tipped back his head, closing his eye, letting the sun warm his face.I gathered up all my garbage, hiking up my backpack, touching him on the shoulder as I turned to go.“Well, I’m very glad you came here Walter, otherwise I’d never have met you!”He smiled, keeping his eye closed against the glare of the sun, and I returned to the cubicle that is my life.Thursday again and I am so looking forward to seeing Walter . I googled his book shop and I want to ask him if he has some of the authors I’m looking for. I could go out on Saturday on the bus.I don’t see his bike and when I get to our bench someone else is sitting on it. Maybe he moved to another one, I thought, looking around. Nope, no Walter as far as the eye can see. Oh, well, maybe he had something else to do. There’s always next week, I tell myself as I choose another bench.I looked for him every Thursday for months but I never saw him again. I couldn’t believe how much I missed our little lunch time chats. I’ve tried to make a conscious effort to enjoy every day as he advised me to do.I’m hoping he’s sitting on a bench somewhere, in the sunshine, giving another nugget of wisdom to a lucky someone.Maybe he’ll tell them a secret.
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1,634
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Start your story with one character trying to convince another to take up their favorite hobby.
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A Sister's Secret
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The silver Volkswagen Jetta snaked up the mountain road, maneuvering the switchbacks with ease. Despite Henry’s confidence behind the wheel, Ada still held tight to the door handle. He glanced over and gave her a dimpled smirk as they rounded the final corner leading to the resort.“I still can’t believe you’ve never skied,” Henry said as he pulled into a cramped, snowy space between two trucks that was far too small to be within lines, but traditional parking lot rules appeared not to apply.“I grew up in the rain,” Ada replied curtly, grimacing at the large flakes already covering the hood of his car. “Not the snow.”“You grew up in Washington,” Henry corrected, carefully opening his door. Ada scowled as she wiggled out the barely open passenger door into the bitter, windy cold. “The snow is never far.”“Spoken like a true Eastern Washingtonian,” she grumbled, trudging through a waist-high snowbank behind him in the direction of the resort.“You know,” He called over his shoulder, grinning at Ada with his mega-watt smile and wiggling his bushy, dark eyebrows. “If you let yourself...you might actually have fun with me.”Ada’s inhale caught in her throat. He had distinctly said have fun with me, not have fun skiing. The diction of the words was similar enough that the blowing snow sailing in front of her face could have caused her to mishear. That had to be the logical answer because there was no possible way Henry Harrison, her only sister’s ex-fiancé, could be implying that he hoped Ada had a good time with him, specifically.“Are you coming?” He shouted, having already reached the outdoor line to procure their lift tickets. Ada hesitated, wondering how many hours it would take her to walk back down the mountain road, avoid being hit by all vehicles, and reach the little town at the bottom of the mountain where she had been able to get one bar of service when they stopped for gas.“Adaaaaa.” Henry was now wildly waving his arms, his fluorescent lime green mittens drawing significant attention from all the parties approaching the ticketing booth around her. “Woohoo! Ada Anna Montrose!” Ada closed her eyes and swore in defeat because if there was one thing she could not handle, even more than spending the day learning to ski with her sister’s ex-fiancé, it was public embarrassment.“I’m coming,” She hissed, marching up to Henry with hot, red cheeks that matched her auburn hair.“Just checking,” He replied cheekily.As they waited through the lines to obtain first, lift tickets, and then, rentals, Ada considered how she had landed herself in this situation at all. It had all seemed like a great idea when she agreed to Henry’s bet, four drinks in, at the arcade bar in Tacoma among their mutual friends. Henry had been a surprise addition to the night out, but that was the funny thing about long-term relationships that ended in a sudden, amicable breakup. There were no clear-cut rules on who got the friends. Although, admittedly, there was a clear rule on who got their own sister.Ada was obviously on Evie’s side when her sister and Henry called the engagement off. Evie was just eighteen months older and Ada’s only sibling, and although their childhood had been filled with screaming matches, as adults they were the best of friends. Just one year apart in school, Ada and Evie’s friend groups had bled into each other over the years. Henry Harrison had come to know both girl's sets of friends quite well, ever since Evie had excitedly brought Henry home during her sophomore year of college at the University of Washington.Which was why, when the group chat agreed to drinks at the arcade bar on Pac Ave on a Friday night at nine, and Evie bowed out due to a nasty cold she had caught from work, someone had decided to invite Henry Harrison.“How do those feel?”Ada snapped out of her thoughts and took an awkward step forward in the ski boots. “Are they supposed to be so tight?” She frowned, shuffling uncomfortably across the carpeted floor of the rental room.“They should feel secure,” The rental associate with tattoos covering her hands and a black Burton beanie said with a pop of her gum.“Like your ankles won’t roll around and snap on the hill,” Henry added.Ada blinked. “Comforting.”“Those will work,” Henry said to the associate. Ada glared at Henry and he winked back at her. The associate looked between them, popped her gum in her mouth again, and gave a thumbs up.“Dope.” She raised an eyebrow at Ada. “Do you need to add lessons?”“I’m teaching her,” Henry interjected.“Right,” She said with a third snap of her gum, and a smirk. “Good luck. I’ll ring you up around here.”After having to be practically carried up two sets of stairs in ski boots – why a rental shop catering mostly to amateurs would be in a basement, Ada could not fathom – she stood at the base of the bunny hill with skis in hand, a rented helmet and goggles atop her head, and a pair of borrowed snow pants a size too small covering her legs. Ada stared in horror at the mechanical rope with staggered handles carting tiny children a third of her age to the top of the far-too-steep hill.“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not doing this,” She declared, turning to leave.Henry caught her by the arm, and she was forced to meet his honey-colored eyes pleading for her to stay. “Will you trust me?” He asked calmly. He looked annoyingly professional in his personal set of skis and matching grey snow pants and jacket, and Ada’s body betrayed her with a nod of her head.On their ascent, Ada fell off the tow rope twice much to the delight of the giggly children around her, but Henry patiently skied off the tow rope trail both times, helping her upright and instructing her on how to get back on. When they finally reached the top of the bull hill, he skied around to face her with his back to the bottom of the hill.“You’re going to ski down a hill backwards,” Ada deadpanned.“I am,” He confirmed with a smile.“You are actually the worst.”“I know.” Ada held back a laugh as Henry pointed to her skis. “Now, the first thing you need to know is how to slow yourself down and stop.”“Sounds important.”“You’ll position your skis in the shape of a slice of a pizza.”“A slice of pizza.”“Ada.”She sighed, adjusting her skis to look like a triangular slice of pizza. He then gently pulled her over the crest of the hill to begin her descent. Ada held her breath as her triangular shaped skis bumpily skirted down the hill.“To increase your speed, start to straighten them,” Henry explained.“I don’t want to increase my speed.”Henry threw back his head and laughed, while skiing backwards, which Ada found both insanely impressive, and irritating. “Alright, let’s start turning,” He encouraged, and Ada sputtered with fear as she began to pull her skis into the shape of a much more acute triangle in a wide right turn.“There you go!” He cried. She skied over the slope gently and Henry encouraged another turn, and then another. “Big, wide turns help you maintain your speed. Never go straight down.”“They go straight down at the Olympics.”“Are you an Olympic athlete?” He asked, with that stupid dimpled smile again.Ada did not have an opportunity to reply, because her glance up to Henry’s dimple and away from her skis proved to be a fatal mistake as the two pieces of wood strapped to her feet crossed over one another. Henry lunged to keep Ada upright, but four skis were quickly entangled in one another, and with a shriek from Ada and a “Shit!” from Henry, they were both on their backs.“So, I am not, in fact,” Ada wheezed, wiping frigid snow from half her face, and looking over to Henry who was wincing as he attempted to sit upright. “an Olympic athlete.” Henry chortled as he sat up, his skis perpendicular to the sloping hill. Ada, fearing a broken ankle, remained on her back.“You do this for fun?” She exclaimed, looking up at him.“It’s my favorite hobby,” Henry admitted, smiling. “It’s the closest feeling I believe you can ever get to flying.”“You could, you know, just book a flight.” Henry swatted at her shoulder and they both smiled.“That was really good for your first time on skis,” He added.“Liar.”“I mean it,” He insisted, extending a hand to help her sit up. Ada eyed it warily, suddenly panicking over whether her hand should be in his. In the six years of knowing him, she could not remember after taking Henry’s hand. And why would she? He was her sister’s fiancé. Ex-fiancé, her brain reminded her. Ada ignored his hand and scrambled up to sitting on her own, her legs flailing briefly and her hip protesting at the angle she chose, but upright, nonetheless.“Why did you invite me?” She blurted out, pushing the wavy auburn locks that had escaped her helmet back inside.“Well, I didn’t invite you, per say,” He replied. “You lost a bet.”“But why did you bet me?” Ada pressed, suddenly feeling quite warm despite sitting in a bunch of a snow on a cold hilltop. Henry bit his lip, and Ada noticed how his normally pale cheeks were rosy and with his goggles back on his helmet, those honey brown eyes practically sparkled in the sun. Ada’s heart thundered in her chest.“Do you really want me to say it?” Henry asked, his voice lower and huskier sounding than normal.“No,” Ada said instantly, shaking her head, picturing Evie cooped up in her Seattle apartment with a cold and takeout, clueless about her ex-fiancé and sister’s whereabouts. “Never mind.”“Do you remember that dinner at Lowell’s in the market?” He asked softly, and despite Ada looking away, observing the elementary school aged child blubbering to his dad about hating skiing, she did indeed remember. “It was that unusually warm day in April.”“I remember,” She whispered.“Evie cancelled because of a last-minute client dinner, so it ended up being just the two of us.”“Henry.”“I knew, then. When we stayed for hours, talking and laughing.” Ada closed her eyes, remembering his tousled chestnut hair that day and the forest green button up he had worn. “I never laughed like that with her-““I can’t,” Ada said sharply, opening her eyes and finding his face inches from hers. She felt shaky and lightheaded. Evie was fading from her mind as his lips moved towards hers. He hesitated, his eyes asking the question his mouth would not. The smell of his cedar shampoo filled Ada’s senses, and she was taken back to that dinner in the market where they watched the sun set from their table and a soft breeze had blew that same cedar smell her way.Ada pressed her lips against his, butterflies erupting in her stomach. She shifted her body toward him, moving off her hip and digging the edge of her skis into the hill, melting into his kiss when they both heard an abrupt snap.They broke apart to discover one of Ada’s skis had released from her boot and was rolling happily down the remainder of the hill. She frowned, swiveling her head slowly from the runaway ski to Henry, who was fighting back laughter, his hand cupped over his mouth.“I don’t think skiing is for me.”
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11,711
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Write a story about a character who is experiencing glitches in their reality.
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A Time Travel Trap Door Opens by Keypad Strokes
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Jakob Anderson read the message on the screen and sighed.
“Unusual activity has been detected on your account. For security reasons, your account has been locked. Please return to the login page and re-enter your password.”
“Sonofabitch! I don’t know what the hell my password is!”
Rooting through his desk, Jakob shuffled through a stack of sticky notes littered with recorded passwords searching for the key to unlocking his virtual world. Nada.
“Of course not,” he muttered aloud, “Why would I have the password for that site? That would be too easy. Unusual activity, my ass. It’s the Chinese or Russians waiting for me to create a new password and jump through the hoops of verification, and when I do, they’ll be copying everything off my hard drive. Sonsofbithches.”
Next, he checked the Notes and Password Keeper apps on his phone. Again, nothing useful. He hung his head, knowing he would have to suffer through wasting ten minutes to do something for no good reason.
Eight characters, including at least one capital letter, symbol, and number. Set to require a password reset every 72 days automatically.
Taking a fresh block of sticky notes from the side of his desk, Jakob began doubly recording the information because if he didn’t, he knew he’d forget the password two minutes later.
#GivmeaBrea%333
Redirected to the verification page, Jakob logged in again, and once more, all was right in the world.
Or so he thought.
****
“Elsie,” Jakob knocked, then called through the closed door to his daughter’s bedroom, “It’s time to get ready. We’re leaving in fifteen.”
The door opened a crack, and Elsie, Jakob’s mid-teen daughter, put her face to the gap.
“Get ready for what? Where are we going?” she asked.
“Hockey, Elsie. Remember, Monday nights are set practices? Get your stuff ready.”
Elsie gave her father a concerned, quizzical look.
“What?” her father said, looking back at her. “What’s that face for? Let’s go.”
“Dad? Is this one of those dad jokes I don’t get?”
“No. It’s Monday night, hockey night. What’s wrong with you?”
Elsie opened the door wider and regarded her father with concern. “Are you okay, dad?”
“Of course. I’m perfectly fine. What’s this game about?”
“Dad.... it’s Thursday, and it’s August. Hockey doesn’t even start for three weeks.”
Peering at his daughter, Jakob was about to cut her practical joke short when a flutter outside her window caught his attention. There, on the top branches of the crabapple tree, sat the suave-looking Bluejay, a daily visitor Jakob’s children had named Harry Styles for his bold colors and flamboyant posture.
The tree was full of green leaves and rust-colored fruit; across the street, Jakob saw the green grass of his neighbor’s lawns.
An unsettling feeling rattled down his bones.
He stepped into Elsie’s room and went to her computer. Taking hold of the mouse, Jakob swiped the small white arrow to the bottom corner of the screen.
“Dad, I wasn’t doing anything inappropriate — I was just talking with Violet while playing Mystery Mansion.”
As Jakob held the tracking arrow over the clock icon, he stopped listening to his daughter’s words.; the date corroborated his daughter’s declaration. It was August 17.
When he sat down at his desk this morning, it was October 25th.
Jakob turned, walked out of Elsie’s room without a word, returned to his office, sat at the desk, and slumped slightly to the side.
“Mom! Mom!” Elsie yelled downstairs, “You better come up here! I think something is wrong with Dad!”
****
They’d gone over it several times, and Jakob was as uncomfortable by his wife’s stare as he was by the apparent facts. Jakob had either jumped back in time by a few months or imagined himself in the future.
After taking quick tests to assure his wife, Jessica, that he hadn’t suffered a stroke, Jakob sat in his recliner, carefully going through what he knew to be true.
His conundrum was how to prove he’d already lived the days ahead.
How could he prove that he knew which teacher would be Elsie’s homeroom instructor? How could he prove he knew who her teammates and coach would be? How could he know how many games she’d scored in, games they’d won and lost, and injuries teammates would suffer? What arguments she would have with her mother, and what conversations they would have?
All of these could only be verified once they happened, and even when they did, it still wouldn’t be verifiable proof that they’d already lived those moments.
He needed something concrete. To be someplace as something happened, and knowing the details, interrupt it.
And he had no idea how to do it.
There was no information in hand about events of the future. No documentation, news reports, articles, pictures, or videos. There was nothing tangible Jakob could place in front of his family to say, “look, this happened!”
Jakob had never considered that a time leap backward could be so useless and impossible to prove. This wasn’t like those movies; nothing happened in the past two and a half months, or in the coming two and a half months, that was catastrophic or tragic. It was simply the routine of life happening one day at a time. Even if he could convince his family to believe him, they would chalk it up to some psychic episode, not time travel.
“Think Jakob! You have to think!” he scolded himself.
Pacing around the house, Jakob drank cup after cup of coffee, scribbling down random ideas and plans, each turning out to be as futile as the one before. But, while the solution seemed determined to stay hidden, he was confident of what had occurred. Jakob knew this morning was October, and now he was back in August.
And still, there was no way he could prove it to be true.
Seated in his recliner, the mental fatigue of the situation began to wane his stamina. As his eyes grew heavy and his head swam with thoughts, a new realization began to form.
Perhaps, he did have a stroke. On the other hand, maybe none of this was real at all. He could be in the hospital, in a coma after a traumatic episode. This could all be a mental trick, a hallucination, a way for his brain to occupy itself while it waited to heal. He’d read enough interesting stories about people having out-of-body experiences and being immersed in extremely lucid dreams.
Or perhaps he was asleep right now, lost in the depths of a dream, soon to awaken to a correct date and time, whatever that might be.
Feeling as though a lead blanket covered him, Jakob gave in to the weight on his body and the taxing of his mind. His eyes closed, and he slept.
****
“Jakob? Sweetheart, are you feeling any better?”
It was Jessica, her voice soft and gentle, her lovely hand gently rubbing his shoulder. Opening his eyes, Jakob smiled at his wife and nodded. “Much better,” he answered. “I must have been overtired, is all.”
Jessica smiled back, “Well, come have some dinner. You were sleeping so deeply that I didn’t want to wake you, but I think you should eat. You’ll feel better.” She kissed the top of his head and, as her habit, lightly scratched the back of his neck with her fingertips. “I made French Onion soup for you. Nice and rich, the way you like it. Come get some, sweetie.”
Watching her walk to the kitchen, Jakob couldn’t help but smile. Jessica was forty-six, but no one would believe she was a day over thirty-five. It continued to captivate him how the slender woman could have so many marvelous curves. She was stunning when they’d met in their twenties, and with two decades gone by, she’d remained as beautiful as the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” he said, then rose from the chair and went to the dining room.
After his late dinner, Elsie came down to say goodnight and check on her father in her usual joking fashion when approaching anything serious. Everything seemed to be fine, with all of them feeling better and Jakob not returning to the perplexing events of the day.
“I can come down to help tidy up in a bit, Jess,” Jakob told his wife. “I’m popping back into the office to finish up a few small things. Won’t be long.”
“Nothing to tidy, sweetie. It’s only one pot, and the dishwasher can handle the rest. Go do what you need to do. Maybe after, we can relax and watch a show?”
“Definitely. That sounds perfect. Give me a half-hour.”
Upstairs, Jakob returned to his desk and tapped a key to wake his laptop; the local newsfeed for August 17th populated his screen.
Random tragedies took the top headlines.
A young family was in a single-vehicle accident. Authorities pronounced the twenty-nine-year-old husband and father died on the scene. The wife and two children were in stable condition at the local hospital. A badly bald tire, blown out, was named the cause of the rollover.
A family was fighting for their lives after a house fire; the family dog was lost in the blaze. Neighbors alerted the fire department after seeing flames shooting from the roof. The fire department stated that the home’s fire detectors were without batteries and gave the standard reminder that checking fire detectors were a vital chore.
The fifteen-year-old girl who disappeared after a trip to the shopping mall remained missing. It had been nearly a week since she’d vanished. Her parent’s pleas for information reminded Jakob that Elsie was not to be traipsing through the city on her own.
Closing the browser tab, Jakob opened his business mail and entered his login details. The small box rattled on the screen. His username or password was incorrect. He re-entered the codes, but the box shook him off again.
“Sonofabitch, again?” he grumbled.
Looking to the side of his desk, he spied the notepad and the new password he’d created earlier for this very same hiccup. Dutifully, he entered the characters into the appropriate box.
Again, the box denied access. Below the box, the question jumped out at him, almost hovering from the screen.
“Forgot password? Click here for password reset.”
Conceding defeat, Jakob once again followed the prompts to replace his incorrect login. Then, ensuring to record the new information precisely, Jakob successfully logged into his account.
He was nearly finished his way down the list of unopened work mail when Elsie popped her head into the room.
“Night, dad,” she chirped, “See you in the morning, and mom told me to remind you not to forget that you’re picking up my dress from the seamstress shop on your way home. Thanks, dad. Love you.”
“Love you too, kiddo,” he answered, then his brow furrowed at the mention of the chore. “Elsie, wait. What dress?”
“Oh my Gawd, dad! Mom might be right, and you are going senile! The dress for Prom, remember? Josh asked me to go to his Prom; ring any bells?”
“Oh — right! Sorry! Okay, goodnight.” Jakob answered. He didn’t want to repeat the earlier events of the day, but now Jakob knew for sure that he wasn’t dreaming, in a coma, or having some other mental lapse — he remembered every disturbing detail of his daughter looking much too grown-up when that older boy, Josh came to pick her up for his Prom and how he’d consoled her after she’d returned home early, alone and in tears.
Grabbing his phone, he swiped the screen to his photos app. The most recent pictures were from the fishing trip he and Elsie had gone on the weekend before the dreaded Prom. But, after the image of her brilliant, happy smile standing with the river behind her, there was nothing.
In disbelief, he closed the app. The date at the top of the screen read June 5.
Good with numbers, the answer was in front of him in moments.
72 days from August 17, the date when he sat down at his desk.
He then checked the date he thought it was when this day began; Oct 25th. Then it turned into August 17th.
72 days.
Password reset.
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3,655
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Write a story inspired by a memory of yours.
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A Trip Down Westleigh Drive
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Picture being a carefree young girl who no matter what was going on in her life, there was always a smile on her face, a spark in her eye, and a twinkle of wonder around her. Many including her family never seemed to get her, she was in her world is what she would hear from many of them, and no matter how much they criticized her, she was still fancy-free and did as she pleased. She learned at the young age of three that she was born different than the rest of her family, that was until she turned four and was blessed to become a big sister to an amazing “little” brother. He was just like her, if not even more eccentric in his way.
Life, before he was born, was filled with let us say not many pleasant memories, by the time he was 3, and she was seven, that all changed and life began to sparkle and shine even more. They were two peas in a pod, the minute that they would wake up on a Saturday morning, there was no school so they would head out to the backyard, which by the way was so majestic! They were blessed to live in the country and would see deer leaping through the yard on that one particular spring day, there were three. They had headed to the swing set with blankets their babysitter gave them to make a fort on the two seated swings, and a shovel, an empty paper towel roll, and later a picnic basket filled with tuna and peanut butter and fluff sandwiches appeared with little cutie drinks, napkins of course, and a book for her to read him, a few trinkets of mixed candy, and twine to make a loop to bring the basket up to their ship, which was the top of the swing set. This was their fort when their parents were not home.
Ah, so as she assisted her “little” brother up first, she handed him the end of the twine, and he pulled up the picnic basket, and then she jumped up next to him, and they set up their picnic area. The first thing they did was drink as both of them had felt thirsty from all the hard work of getting up there. They both laughed hysterically when they looked at each other’s faces and saw hers was covered in purple as well as her tongue, and he was blue, their babysitter even knew their favorite colors. Ah, as they laughed they both remembered they were no longer on the ground, and both of them held on tighter, grateful they didn’t fall. They laughed even harder to where tears were rolling down their faces. He was wearing his favorite Spiderman shirt, a pair of khaki shorts, and his cowboy boots, she was wearing her favorite pink skort, a pink flowered shirt that said Happy on it, and a pair of flip flops she got the day before at Woolworth, their favorite store, besides lifeguarding. He even had his fireman hat on, lo and she was wearing her crown from Mc Donald's from the day before when they had lunch with their Grampa, at the local park.
Then, they decided to dig into the peanut butter and fluff sandwiches, this was even more hysterical as she got it in her ponytails as the wind blew and her hair got stuck to her face. He had it drip down to his knee, and they both decided to lick it. She got hair stuck in her mouth, and his tongue got dirty from the dirt on his knee. This led them to laugh even harder. Next, it was time to pretend they were pirates, and the M&M’s was used to be the booty they found and they rationed those out. Ah, their hands turned all different colors and he decided to fingerprint the wood in front of him, and she did too, both leaving their handprint( which would get washed off later when it rained). The one thing they never worried about was being able to laugh and talk about everything, they were visited by a ladybug who decided to land on the book she was getting ready to read, this led them to talk to her, he named her Sally and they talked to her about their adventure until she blew away. Once Sally blew away, she picked up the book his favorite “In a People House” by Dr. Seuss and she began to read to him. As they were halfway through the book, the clouds started to darken the sky. They put the book down, and decided to just watch the storm roll in, and then pick up the items they didn’t want to get wet, and climbed down to sit on the grass crossed legged and watch the clouds turn from white and fluffy to dark and then their pup Jamie a Lhasa apso came running out the backdoor with their oldest brother to tell them to get inside soon. He realized they were ignoring him on purpose, he had just gotten home from lifeguarding and teaching swim classes for the day, and he finally decided to just sit down on the ground next to them, and stare at the clouds as well. He saw a pirate ship, she saw the fairy, and their “little” brother saw the gold, which ended up soaking them through to their skin. They all laughed hysterically and stuck out their tongues drinking the rain until they saw lightning and they all then bolted into the house and ran to the bathroom off the playroom where their babysitter left them towels and one even for Jamie.
Before they knew it, their babysitter even had a bath drawn in each bathroom for them, and clean clothes, they all bathed, got dried off, and dressed into their jammies as it was now time for them to watch a movie before bed. The bond between the girl and her “little brother only strengthened up until the day he passed away when he was 39. Her “little” brother grew up to be afoot and two inches taller than her and he still to this day almost seven years later, is her hero.
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11,552
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Write a story about someone scrambling on New Year's Eve to fulfil their resolutions for the entire year before the clock strikes twelve.
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A Veterinarian's New Year's Eve Day
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Disclaimer: The following medical references may not all be entirely accurate. Also I believe the song title is made up, as I wasn't sure of using a popular song title.
Kaylee sang, “letting me sing,” in the operating room, while she finished stitching up an older labrador after a routine appendix operation.
Gina, her assistant and best friend poked her head in, “Is that the song you’re going to sing tonight at Karaoke.
“Yes, it’s my last chance, just fourteen more hours to go before New Year’s.”
“Ha, I’ll bet you’ll chicken out, just like you always do.”
“You know chickens take offence at being mocked and misrepresented in that way. Chickens can be fierce conteenders.”
“Yes, Dr. McArthur.” Gina laughed, and pointed at the labrador. “To think old Sally here missed out on your wailing, I mean singing.”
Kaylee smirked back, but underneath she was quaking and trying not to and think about her unpaid bills. “Don’t think you’re going to pysch me out. There’s two hundred dollars riding on this, and this year I’m not going to lose it.”
Gina rolled her eyes and repositioned the lab’s legs that were tending to flop in the way of the surgical field. Kaylee palpated the labrador’s stomach. Some swelling after the operation was to be expected, but this time more than she would’ve liked. The dog was an older rescue dog, and the operation would be hard on him. She imagined the mother, Lillian Dale taking the boy, Adam out for a walk perhaps in the nearby park and reassuring the boy.
“Her heart rate is on the high side, and she’s running a temp,” Gina said.
Kaylee glanced at the monitor. “She’s an old girl, but I believe she’ll pull through, if nothing else, for the sake of the boy.”
Gina nodded and removed the surgical tray.
“I’d like her vitals stabilized, before we release her. In an hour the anathesia would wear off, and later in the afternoon, when the dog was recovered she’d reassess.
During her lunch break she went for a run, and practiced singing. She’d accomplished everything else on her list of resolutions; running three times a week, morning half-hour mindfulness practices and she’d even switched to a vegetarian diet. The singing at a Karaoke bar was a little silly, but it was part of her resolution to do things that terrifed her, one each month. She shouldn’t have saved this for the last day. Gina thought it was a joke, but wasn’t aware how much she needed the money just to keep her loan going.
In the park across the road, she looked for Adam and his mom, but didn’t see them. The unsettledness in her abdomen could be due to the dull ache in her lower back, that had started up after her office renovations had gone fifty percent over the intital estimate. The winter sun had brought out many families with children, keyed up with Christmas sugar and their excited dogs to the park. She recognized several and returned their greetings and waves.
She stopped running. Charlie, a cocker spaniel she’d treated, was veering to the left. A moment later, she knelt down by the dog. The dog’s eyes were not coordinating and its mouth hung open. She suspected a stroke and picked up the dog, who only mewled in her arms, “Mr. Steadman, I’m taking Charlie for treatment.”
“Dr. McArthur, I don’t have the money,” Mr. Steaman said in a loud voice, looking around for his audience.
In the past, Kaylee hadn’t minded providing free care, but now she wished he didn’t have to advertise it. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said.
“Charlie is just tired. He didn’t sleep too well. We both didn’t. My rent’s gone up.” He pulled Charlie away from her.
She didn’t want a tug-of-war, but it was important to treat the pet immediately. Mr. Steadman held onto Charlie, his jaw stuck out and his eyes staring under his bulging forehead. “Look, you know I won’t charge you,” she said under her breath.
“Do you promise. I can’t pay the rent and pay you at the same time.” His voice boomed.
Kaylee cringed. Suddenly all the dog’s owners were standing still with their ears perked. Damn it, now she’d be even further behind in payments for the renovations.
“Yes, I’ll waive my fees,” she said, keeping her voice low.
Mr. Steadman put his hand to his ear.
“You heard me. I’ll treat Charlie free of charge, this time,” she raised her voice.
A slow smile came onto the corner of his mouth. He’d heard her. “I’ll take Charlie in the car.”
She sprinted back, glad the running route was quicker than driving, and flew into the office. Gina’s usual bright expression was gone.
“What’s up?”
“Sally’s gone.” Gina nodded to the operation room. “I tried to calll you and I did everything I know to revive her.” Tears flooded her eyes.
Kaylee gave her a hug. “I trust you.” Gina had the skill set of a veteriarian and she could run any local test and give any medication, but she couldn’t operate. They’d gone to veterinarian school, but she’d quit for that reason.
“We’ve got Charlie, the cocker spaniel coming in with Mr. Steadman.”
“Oh, him,” Gina said, wiping her eyes.
“Yeah, him. But it’s urgent. Poor Charlie wasn’t himself at the park.”
Outside a car door slammed, and Mr. Steadman burst through carrying his limp dog.
“I’ll get the table ready,” Gina said and disappeared into the surgery.
Kaylee turned to Mr. Steadman. “I think Charlie may have suffered a stroke.” I’m going to give him an anti-inflammatory injection and hook him up to an IV.”
He held on, and looked confused. “Charlie’s not badly arthritic. How’ll anti-inflammatory meds help him.
“If there’s a stroke it’ll take down the swelling.” She should’ve kept her mouth shut. Nothing was easy with Mr. Steaman. She felt like screaming. This is all free for you.
“Here, give him to me. We don’t have a lot of time.” Slowly, he handed his dog over to her. Seven free visits this year and he still didn’t trust her.
“I’ll call you,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mr. Steadman said.
Kaylee nodded. She didn’t have time. She hadn’t processed what had happeneed to Sally. How would she tell Adam and his mom? She’d started this morning singing and planned to end the day singing.
How had the day gotten so shitty. Focus on Charlie, its not his fault that his owner is a cheapskate. She hummed her song, as she worked. Charlie seemed to be responding well, so it looked like it had been a small transient stroke, but she’d have to somehow get through to Mr. Steadman the dog’s care needs. She had her suspicions about the dog’s diet.
The day felt like it had been sixteen hours already, as she delivered Charlie ambling with a wagging tail back to Mr. Steadman. Gina typed in the invoice and waited to put the cost in.
“You’re not charging me are you, Dr. McArthur?” Mr. Cannon said, his face defiant.
“No, not this time?”
Gina covered a sigh and a moment later printed the invoice, and passed it to him.
“Your signature, please Mr. Steadman.”
He scrawled his name. “What do you mean by; this time?” He frowned at Kaylee.
Three other people, waiting with their pets looked at them. Anything she did would backfire. She felt like screaming, if I keep providing a free service I won’t be around to provide any service. She should set limits, but she didn’t have it in her today. A New Year’s resolution for the coming year?
“I’m not charging you today Mr Steadman, and I will always provide service for Charlie at whatever you can afford,” she said, aware of her teeth clenching.
“But I’ll never be able to afford care.” he said, looking around at the other customers.
Gina shook her head, and filed the copy.
What will happen, when she finds out, I can’t afford to pay her, Kaylee thought.
“I know,” she said, and turned to the next client, Marian Thompsen, an older woman, in a mauve sweat suit with wide set blue eyes, holding onto Jessie, her white poodle. She led them into the examination room.
“The nerve of that man clamouring for free service. I saw him come out in his car. I’ll bet he’s not getting his car insurance for free.”
Kaylee couldn’t help a small smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The next hour went well. Kaylee appreciated focusing on her job. Animals were always grounding for her; they didn’t hold grudges and have agendas like some of their owners. Concentrating on the care and treatment procedures, she distracted her mind from her larger concerns. Mrs. Thompsen had a good point, she wasn’t the only available vet service for Mr. Steadman.
At the end of the day, she readied herself to meet Adam and his mother. She called ahead, “I’m so sorry. Sally didn’t make it through the operation. I removed his appendix without any apparent complications. We’ve run tests to find the cause, but I know that won’t bring her back.” This was what the surgery disclaimer was for, no surgery is ever guaranteed. Still the customer could pursue legal action against her.
“Oh dear. Poor Sally,... Dr. McArthur, I don’t know what to say. I’m sure you did your best...What do we do now?”
“I’ll need you to come in and sign some papers, and decide if you want additonal investigations. At that time you can view the corpse.” She didn’t like saying that, the corpse, the body, Sally, none of them fit.
“Oh, yes....Oh Adam, I don’t know how to tell him.”
Neither do I. I never do, Kaylee thought. “I’ll help,” she said .”
Adam cried, but was more stoic than expected. He stood by Sally’s corspse in a solemn pose for several minutes and then nodded to signal he was finished.
Gina covered the corpse and wheeled it away.
Adam seemed to attune to their distress. “I’m sad but I don’t blame you, Dr. McArthur. My pet fish died last month. I know you did your best.”
Kaylee’s mouth crumpled. “Thank you Adam. Those are the kindest words.”
His mom signed off on the death and the cremation services, and looked up. “Where are the charges for... after the operation,... and surely the operation must have cost more than this?”
“It’s the least I could do, being New Year’s Eve and all.” Kaylee couldn’t bring herself to say Happy New Year.
“That’s nonsense. My husband, Adam’s father is a surgeon. He gets paid even if...it doesn’t work out.” She wrote at the bottom of the invoice, ‘One thousand and eighty nine dollars.’and insisted the charge go on her credit card.
Kaylee put her hand over her chest. “Thank you, Mrs. Dale and Adam, and Happy New Year.”
Later, Gina came out from the back room, and looked at the paid invoice and whistled. “That’s enough to pad your pillow for an early night’s sleep.”
“Not til this girl sings on stage. ”
“You’ll freak out and not do it, so why bother trying?”
“Are you kidding? If I can get through this day... even if I stink at Karaoke, it’ll be nothing compared to what I’ve just been through.”
“And I have to listen to you,” Gina said, putting her hands to her ears as Kaylee practiced her song.
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6,590
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Write a story that involves a magic window — or a window like no other.
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A Way Out
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She sat alone on her bed, the empty house quiet, listening.
Her headphones continued to pump the music to her ears, hoping to infuse some vitality in her.
She stared at the book, her blank eyes taking none of the words in.
The hours passed, and she barely moved. The walls watched sadly. It had been 7 weeks since she had left the room for any business other than to use the restroom or to grab a bag of chips, cookies, anything that was available. She sat there daily, pretending to read a book, trying to write in her journal, but not inking a single word. Her phone beeped at times, adding unread messages to the pile.
Her bed snuggled her close, supportive, but losing faith that she'd be all right soon.
The house contemplated the scene within the room, and sighed silently, realising the rest were right. Something needed to be done. It focused, gathering its energy and drawing them to a spot on the wall next to the girl.
A minute went by, then the spot on the wall begin to glow. It slowly opened up into a hole, which gradually widened into a rectangular shape. Wood started to form around the borders, and soon, a fully formed window had appeared.
The girl looked up, her attention caught by the shaft of light that materialised, light softly on the book.
She gazed at the window, bewildered, then slowly, a smile appeared on her face, as amazement fought through the heavy sludge about her heart and lit a spark within. In wonder, she reached out a hand, and gently placed her fingers on the frame of the window. A chuckle bubbled up and escaped her lips, surprising herself. The house watched, a tender joy blossoming within its spirit.
She peered through the window, and saw beautiful emerald trees beyond. Golden light peeked through the branches and foliage of the tall redwood trees.
Her mouth fell open in shock and awe, her body tingling, unaccustomed the sudden influx of emotions and vigour within.
They lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood. There were trees around, but no forest. What she should have seen through the window, should have been a row of blue and white houses, little unimaginative boxes built from the same template.
But there were no houses to be seen through the window. Just pure, beautiful golds, greens and browns, lovingly woven together by nature.
She reached to open the window, and as she pushed the glass pane open, a gust of crisp, fresh wind swept into the room. She breathed in the fragrance of the forest, earthy, sweet with a tinge of spice.
She leant out of the window, and started to lift her leg through it. suddenly, a clear knowing settled upon her. Once she left through this window, she would not be able to get back home again, not ever.
She hesitated, her leg still lifted on the pane. She wasn't ready to leave home, not just yet. Her family had yet to be home from their visit with her grandmother. Her friends deserved goodbyes. She had a few tasks to complete, a few things to do.
She tucked her self back into the room, and closed the window. Looking about the house, she found a spare blanket, some stick on hooks, a roll of woollen thread, and configured them so that the blanket now draped over the window, concealing it from sight.
Over the next few weeks, she spent dinners with her family, participating in the chatter, even laughing often.
She could see the relief on their faces, as they began to take heart and believe that she was finally getting better.
She went out with her friends, who were surprised and delighted by her reappearance in their lives. They updated her about the events over the past months, and she glossed over her past months, leaving out the fact that she had slowly wound down the activity in her life to the point of staring listlessly at nothing in her room. She lied that she had been working on writing a book, and had got too caught up with it. They were happy to have her back, and she felt at home in the warmth of their loyalty and love.
She wrote letters to each of the important people in her life, to let them know where she was going, to help them know that there was no need to worry.
She started looking through all of her old photos, the meticulously framed and filtered memories of her life. She smiled often, teared at times, moved by nostalgia as she revisited the different moments in time of her life in this world.
She had her favourite meals, ordered her favourite drinks. She explored her favourite spots in the city, and planned for a trip to her favourite city in the world.
It all swished by, and soon, she realised it had been months since her discovery of the window. She still looked through it often, onto the magical world beyond, but lately, she had been spending less time doing so, and sometimes, days would go by without her peeking out at the magical landscape beyond. She had been busy with the goings on in her life.
One night, her mother sat down with her in bed, and hugged her tightly.
Her mother wanted her to know how deeply relieved and intensely grateful she felt, for her daughter coming back to life, for her being okay again, happy again. She wept, hugging her mother back, and they cried for a long time, tears of deep emotions lifting the unspoken weight from them.
On the day she planned to leave through the window, she changed her mind. She had more to do, more to explore in this world. She hadn't been to the new garden that had opened in the city, a place touted to host an incredible range of breathtaking flowers from around the world. She owed her family and friends more time, more closure. She draped the blanket back over the window, and set aside a date 6 months later, for her departure.
Many years later, she moved back to the house. Everywhere, dust had settled. Her sister had passed away a year ago, and the house had remained empty since. She looked around, taking in the folorn, but welcoming aura of the house. She had moved out from the house of her childhood when she went to university, and after that, she had lived in another city. She visited often, but after her parents had passed, her visits grew few and far between. She loved the house, she loved the window, but with her busy career and responsibilities of her own family, she could seldom make the time for the long trip back.
She walked through the house, and into her old bedroom. A sense of sweet sadness arose within her. She had so many fond memories in this bedroom. She had felt protected, cared for in this house, even throughout her darkest times. She smiled when she saw the faded old blanket draped over the window. She wondered if her sister had ever found her secret window. Her sister had taken over the house after their parents died, and had spent her life there, alone, but happy and fulfilled with her career, her life's work.
She lifted the blanket, and stared through at the beautiful forest beyond. She thought she could make out some faint foot prints on the ground right outside the window, but she couldn't be sure. She gazed outside for a long time, the golden light bringing a sparkle to the wisps of grey hair framing her face. She felt content, steeped in the peace she felt within.
Her phone pinged, likely a message from her daughter. She lowered the blanket back over the window.
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4,942
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Set your story in a place with extreme weather, but don’t use any weather-related words to describe it.
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A Young Chemist in a Unstable Colloidal Suspension of Crystalline Hydrogen Oxide in a Solution of Gaseous Dinitrogen and Dioxygen
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Condensed hydrogen oxide crystals collided with my face. Since I was not at rest with respect to the fluid that carried the crystals, many impacted my exposed skin at more than the particles’ terminal speed. I could feel my entropy dispersing into the crystals and breaking up their lattices. The crystals however, were not the real threat; the true danger came from the invisible and entropy hungry gas that used these crystals as a visual indication of its presence. As compared to the crystals, far more of my internal energy went into satiating this stream of dinitrogen, for that was the bulk of this monster. At this rate I would soon approach thermal equilibrium with the monster.
It occurred to me that only one head of this monster was dinitrogen; the other was dioxygen. While both were hungry for my entropy, the latter head might just be willing to assist me in making enough entropy to share, if only I could find the proper tribute. But not here. The turbulent two-headed monster of dinitrogen and dioxygen was too angry here.
Eventually I stumbled onto a place where Coniferophyta scattered the angriest of the the monster’s particles, leaving a slightly gentler monster. Here I was elated to see a small ring of gabbro, an altar inside a temple to calm the monster. All I needed now was a sacrifice, an offering to barter for a small amount of entropy to maintain homeostasis.
Looking around, I found several dehydrated cellulose rods. As my stomach submitted a complaint to my brain, I briefly lamented that I lacked the proper enzymes required to metabolize these rods of sugar: candy made unaccessible by the linking of the sugar molecules. Maybe I could not extract calories directly, but if I could find a way of accelerating oxygen into the polysaccarides with sufficient energy, I could still release the calories into entropy’s hands, and hopefully mine as well.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small rectangular prism and a polysaccheride sheet. The latter I crumpled up and set with the cellulose rod I collected. As for the former, just like in the movies, inside the rectangular prism was but a single cellulose stick, a few centimeters long and tipped with a blend of potassium chlorate and phosphorous sesquisulfide. Adhered to the the side of the prism there were many small pieces of amorphous silica. I pressed the potassium chlorate and phosphorous sesquisulfide stick against the silica coated surface and dragged it along. As soon as a large enough fraction of the molecules on the surface had more thermal energy than the activation barrier, a chain reaction started, where the energy of chemical bonds breaking gave enough of an impulse to the atoms to break other bonds. Before the reaction ran out, I carefully lowered it to the the crumpled sheet of polysaccherides, allowing the chain reaction to spread to the sheet, which increased the overall scale of the reaction. Eventually the reaction was generating enough heat to propagate to the smallest of the cellulose rods which helped it jump to larger and larger sugar rods.
The second law assured me that entropy was being produced, but since I was not a closed system, it made no statements about my access to said entropy. Almost as quickly as the oxidizing polysaccharide generated entropy, the surrounding dinitrogen spirited it away. Driven by an energy gradient in the fluid, the entropy dissipated fast. The monster was greedier than I had hoped. It fact, it was nearly quenching the redox reaction in its desire to consume as much entropy as possible. If only it could be patient, more entropy would be created. I briefly pondered as to how much of a temperate difference was likely behind the fluid’s motion, but I stopped, reminding myself that I could not travel far enough to reach the high energy region with my current set of assets and liabilities. All I could do was huddle close to the efflux of radiation, trying to cover as much of a solid angle as could.
To my fortune the monster decided not to quench the chemical reaction but it was not long before it became obvious that the cellulose was the limiting reagent. In a way this was also fortunate, as I would be dead even faster if the dioxygen were limiting, but still, if I did not act fast my source of entropy would expire, and myself with it. Frantically I looked around, but all the material capable of reducing dioxygen had too much hydrogen oxide in them. The hydrogen oxide would absorb too much heat, and then create more entropy by escaping into the surrounding fluid joining with the two-headed monster without contributing to the chain reaction that I needed to get entropy from. Leaving the reaction felt like abandoning a child, but I had too if I wanted to feed it.
I heard it before I felt it, the monster cried out as the net force on it increased, accelerating it, slamming it into my back. I stumbled to the crystal covered ground, my cellulose rods scattering before me. I watched helplessly as the monster hurled into my redox reaction. Around the sugar rods, the high kinetic energy gas molecules, caught up in the excitement, enthusiastically joined in with the monster leaving the cellulose unattended as low kinetic energy gas molecules looted the entropy form the polysaccharides, leaving too many links in the reaction chain broken and dead.
Crawling over to what was my only source of new entropy, buried in hydrogen oxide crystals, I dug up the ashen corpse. Pulling the glove off my primary hand, I carefully felt for heat amongst the ashes and unreacted cellulose, but now what once gave me entropy now greedily pulled energy from my finger tips. In despair, I returned my glove to my hand. I do not know how long I sat there, meditating on my fate. My body was still breaking down lipids, cycling ATP and creating entropy. But eventually entropy would be eaten by the monster faster than my body could generate it, and once the entropy gradient dropped below some critical threshold, I would be too close to thermal equilibrium to be considered alive anymore, and the monster would win.
A voice startled me out of my state of internal contemplation.
“Mischa!”
It was my name.
“Play time is over! Come inside. Hot cocoa is ready. Then you need to finish your chemistry homework.”
“Okay Mom!” I responded.
Happily, I stood up and ran inside.
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7,381
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Write about someone who is given a bird for the holidays but doesn’t know how to take care of it.
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A bird in hand
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Just when Busi was preparing to head home for the Christmas holidays, her state border closed. Covid-19 cases in her hometown were spiraling out of control, followed by a pervading panic. Goodwill slowly evaporated as people’s well-laid plans went up in smoke. She had planned her trip relatively late due to last-minute deadlines imposed by her boss, one of those who were under the impression that one could always coerce a single woman with no family to do overtime.With the pandemic, Busi was now addicted to checking her internet, as the number of cases increased each night exponentially. Her State Governor’s cryptic media messages about targeted lockdowns to contain the local transmission rates did not instill confidence. She eventually resigned herself to making the most of a solitary Christmas with any friends still in town, in the same predicament.With some relief, Busi received a frantic phone call from her friend Muchi, asking her to look after Muchi’s pet rooster. After a lengthy nonconsequential chit chat, Muchi apologetically explained that she had to leave town over the Christmas break due to a family emergency. Her mother had suffered a fall.“I know you are close to your parents, but why can’t you make other arrangements for your bird? You are an hour’s drive from home. Take it with you in a cat basket.”“You are not very realistic Busi. I already have a lot on my plate. My mum’s injury has made her immobile, and she needs my help from Christmas Eve till after Boxing Day. That’s all I ask, please? Jongwe who won’t be any trouble. He’s well trained.”“You forget that the reason why I don’t have pets is that they are so time-consuming. All that care and food and vet bills. Why not just put him into the pot?”“Busi! That’s not funny! I can’t believe you are so cruel and heartless. What about if he hears you? That’s my pet we are talking about.”Busi curbed her mirth as she looked at her friend, who was becoming increasingly annoyed.“Ok. Sorry! I will try not to be insensitive. It sounds like you two are very close. What am I expected to do with him?”“He is called Jongwe. All you have to do is feed and water him and make sure he is in his coop every night. Please give him a free run of the place, so he feels at home. Let’s go outside, and I will introduce you to him, and then I have to go. My suitcase is already in the car. Since you are sleeping here, house sitting should be straight forward. This part of town is quite safe, and you can contact my neighbours over any security issues.”“If you talk to your neighbours, why can’t they look after Jongwe?”“Busi, if you don’t want to help me out, just say so.” You are making such a song and dance about looking after Jongwe for two nights.”“I am just examining my options. Ok, explain what I am supposed to do. You are usually so efficient; I am surprised that you haven’t written out the instructions.”“I was in such a state after hearing about Mum that I forgot. We can quickly put something together if that helps.”“I was only joking! Talk me quickly through Jongwe’s care regime. Otherwise, you’ll be late.”The two friends went to the patio, and Muchi started making clucking noises, calling out to Jongwe who was nowhere to be found. Busi tried to keep a straight face as she followed Muchi around her garden to hunt for the lost pet.“Where is he when you want him?” Muchi sounded concerned.“Sorry. I am not being awkward Muchi, but remind me why you decided to take care of a rooster which could be having a perfect life on a farm somewhere?”“Jongwe reminds me of home Busi. You forget I grew up on a farm and I couldn’t very well adopt a dog because I spend so much time at work, that it would get lonely. Apart from that, they are expensive to keep, and I don’t want to lock my dog in the house while I am away in the office. Do you know that dogs can suffer from separation anxiety?”“I learn something new every day! Ok, even I am beginning to lose my patience. Where is this wretched Jongwe?”After circling the yard once more, Muchi followed the perimeter hedge peering through the gaps into the garden next door, and spotted Jongwe on the other side.“You naughty bird! I told you not to go on walkabouts outside the yard. You will either get lost or get caught by cats or dogs that don’t respect the fact that you are someone’s pet. I thought I had sealed the gap in the hedge.”Busi said, “Are you telling me that Jongwe understands what you are saying? Wow! Look, he is coming back through the hedge like Road Runner in the cartoon! You have trained him well!”“It’s easy. All you have to do is make clucking sounds which Jongwe associates with food time, and he will come back like a shot. That’s lesson one.’’“ So lesson two? Out of interest, how many lessons am I supposed to remember?”“There are not many. Just as long as you feed Jongwe and make sure he doesn’t escape out of the yard.”“That should be easy. You can leave the two of us to bond,” said Busi smirking.“You are getting into the spirit of things,” said Muchi mellowing.After sharing a list of instructions, Muchi explained in labouring detail that Jongwe should not be allowed, under any circumstances, into the vegetable patch; otherwise, he would decimate the kale and lettuce crops. His favourite food was fresh corn, cooked rice and food scraps she had left in labelled containers in the fridge. It all sounded very straight forward.Jongwe continued to occupy himself pacing up and down on the grass, hunting insects and generally minding his own business. As darkness fell, Busi as instructed, prepared to lock him up in his coop and retire. She knew she had to steer him into the enclosure, so she slowly approached Jongwe, who appeared unconcerned as he continued cocking his head and strolling around the yard. The closer Busi came to him, the more Jongwe instinctively picked up pace. Then he started running, flapping is feathers and clucking around the yard in alarm followed by Busi in hot pursuit. Busi was no match for Jongwe who knew his territory and made enough noise to wake the dead. He was not going to be silenced as the two scurried around the yard. After pausing to catch her breath, Busi, not acceding defeat, went inside the house and returned with scraps of food which she deposited in Jongwe’s coop as a bribe. She hid behind a bush, biding her time and was relieved when Jongwe eventually entered the enclosure, tempted by the morsels. Immediately, Busi sprung out and quickly closed the hatch.“Got you! Hopefully, this is the last I will hear from you till tomorrow morning,” said Busi, out of breath.Around three am, Busi was startled by a commotion coming for Jongwe’s sleeping quarters. She switched on the back-door porch light and peered through the window while debating whether to go out in her dressing gown, then she decided against it. Her imagination was running wild. It could be a snake or rats in the coop. Whatever was happening, she would investigate in the morning. But, through a sense of loyalty to her friend’s concern for Jongwe, Busi sat in the dark for a while then started nodding off before the noises started again. This time Jongwe sounded more muted until there was silence.Busi eventually went to sleep in fits and starts, only to be startled again by Jongwe crowing at sunrise. From then on, he joined a conversation with the dawn chorus as he continued to crow, with other roosters echoing in response from different parts of the neighbourhood. Busi soon capitulated when she realised her planned lay-in in wasn’t going to happen. Jongwe was an efficient poor man’s alarm clock, and as Busi’s irritation increased, she now appreciated that Muchi had not shared any lessons about how to silence a rooster crowing in full swing. Busi gave up the fight and went to investigate the cause of the disturbance in the night. The coop was secure. However, the food basin had toppled over, and the water spilt. Otherwise, Jongwe appeared unharmed although frustrated at being confined overnight. Busi released the captive which strutted out and began his stroll around the garden, without a backward glance.Busi cleaned out the smelly mess in the coop and resolved to admit to Muchi that she had no idea about looking after farm birds, having been a towner all her life. If she were going to survive till after Boxing Day, she would have to be more jacked up. Her worst nightmare would be for Muchi to return and be told something had happened to Jongwe, on her watch. Busi now had visions of all sorts of predators-stray dogs and cats invading the garden with the sole purpose of making a meal of Jongwe and leaving a carcass with shimmering bright red feathers from his long pointy curling tail, in their wake. She even imagined Jongwe eating so much food that he developed some stomach complaint. What if he ate something poisonous while foraging in the garden? What was toxic to roosters?After a hearty breakfast where she steered clear of eggs since it seemed the humane thing to do, Busi sat in the veranda and scribbled notes in earnest; how to keep roosters, after an internet search. There was surprisingly lots of information, and she was amazed to learn about crowing habits, a language in itself. Yes, there was something about not feeding roosters on avocados, raw dried beans, and mouldy stuff. Who knew! There were even suggestions that if there were enough food and water at night, it could reduce the incessant crowing at all hours! She picked up some other titbits about Jongwe’s foot spurs being a dangerous weapon and that his luxurious plume of tail feathers was an asset when courting, part of Jongwe’s majestic strut.Busi felt she was now becoming a fundi although she wasn’t convinced that some of the advice on roosters were not bordering on animal cruelty; after reading one post about buying a rooster collar to constrain a rooster’s voice box, so reducing the volume of Jongwe’s crows.Muchi returned home after her mercy trip, feeling exhausted. “I don’t know whether I would call it a holiday. But I am glad I went. Mum was in such pain. I feel I did my bit and left her more settled. How did you fare here? I see that Jongwe is still alive and marking his territory. Although you look as if you didn’t get much sleep!’’“Tell me about it,” said Busi. “I didn’t realise that rooster sitting is so much work!”“You are such an exaggerator! I can’t imagine much has happened while I was away.”“Well, for a start, your inadequate handover notes missed out critical information which I had to pick up on the job, such as keeping Jongwe in food and water at night, so he crows less. Did you know there is such a thing as a rooster collar? I could go on and on explaining what I have learned in the last 48 hours.”As Busi explained her ordeals, Muchi’s sides were aching with laugher, tears streaming down her face. She said, “What a transformation! It sounds as if Jongwe did a number on you. Next, you’ll be telling me that Jongwe needs a life partner, so he is not lonely!”Busi sounding offended said, “It’s true, roosters are sentient animals. I have learned my lesson!”
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7,528
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Write a story where one person is trying to say goodbye but keeps getting interrupted.
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A fight for death
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General Mateo was killing it. Killing them all, to be precise. Thirteen tall brutes with shaved heads came rushing toward him from the front. The two behind him seemed to be readying for an ambush. General Mateo couldn’t care less. He raised his sword high in the air and plunged it into the soil. Thick, dazzling beams of light shot out of the ground and annihilated all fifteen of them. Two enormous ones attacked him with spears. Futile, he muttered. He danced about them a little and then, once again, raised his sword high in the air and plunged it into the soil. The two bid adieu to the arena. General Mateo was giving the fight his all. Not because he wanted to end it quickly, but because he wanted to end himself as quickly as possible.A few meters ahead, General Mateo spotted a huge opportunity; six of the big ones standing inside a fenced field with thick, wooden bats in their hands. Could this get any easier? He ran towards them, his sword gleaming in his hand, and the dust flying off the ground as he stepped on it. The six hadn’t spotted him yet. He kept running towards them at full speed with his long, brown beard swaying with the wind. Just as they spotted him, he leapt in the air with his sword held high, and pierced the earth with it as he came down. The dazzling light blew away all six of them. But, along with the brutes, it blew off a grenade, too. Crap.The blast threw him several feet in the air, eventually dropping him on the roof of a hut. He crashed through the roof and landed on his back with a thud. His sword blackened before turning into dust, right in front of his eyes. I suppose this is it. He rolled on his side, sat up, and looked at the sky. “My time has come. It is now time for my son to take—” No sooner had these words escaped his mouth, he saw a sparkling blue crystal appear in front of him, before everything changed. The sword had been repaired and was gleaming with its former glory in his hand. His wounds had vanished. His fractures were repaired. Before he knew it, he was up on his feet outside the hut, looking for more heads to slay.After running for a few hundred yards, he came face to face with a giant who had, apparently, come out of the earth and seemed to be hungry. The giant grabbed at General Mateo’s feet with his left hand. The General slayed it. The right one followed. The General slayed that, too. Incapacitating the giant, General Mateo tried to walk past him but the giant’s hands started to grow back. That’s interesting. Before the General could do anything, the giant grew back his arms fully and, grabbing General Mateo by his legs, twirled him in the air and flung him several yards away. Should’ve used the sword, the General thought as he found himself in a thick bush, with his arms and legs twisted at awkward angles. He sensed his health deteriorating. With his sword annihilated again, he thought, This is it. He dragged his body to the side and barely managed to get his head above the rest of his body. “My time has come and I will soon be reuniting with my fellow brethren up in heaven. But, while I have the time, I declare my son the next—”Once again, the sparkling blue crystal flashed in front of his eyes and his sword flew back to his hand. He looked at his body. All his wounds were healed. His arms and legs were no longer twisted. Before he knew it, he was back on his feet, as fit and strong as ever. This is absolutely stupefying. He turned around and looked back at the giant, who had twirled him like a napkin in the air, and ran towards him. Just as the giant leaned forward to grab General Mateo by the feet again, General Mateo leapt a hundred feet in the air, came down with the speed of light, and plunged the sword into the soil for the third time. The giant turned red at the belly and within a matter of seconds, burst into a huge ball of fire that quickly turned into smoke and vanished. General Mateo turned around and started running, to look for more employment for his sword.As he kept running, the sky kept getting darker and darker until it turned completely violet. He saw a white light coming out of a big hut, with its door swaying with the wind. Not willing to waste another second, he sprinted towards it. On any other day, General Mateo would’ve remained outside the hut and waited patiently, listening for any signs of movement. Not today. He ran straight through the door and, much to his surprise came across a chicken that was startled by his sudden entry. He turned around to leave but, just as he did so, he heard the roof creak. He turned around again and saw that the chicken had grown a hundred times in size, with swollen biceps and thick, human legs. Really, now. He lifted his sword up but this time, before his sword could puncture the soil, the chicken kicked him in the stomach and he flew out of the hut, landing head first on the ground.As he lay on the ground, moaning, he felt excruciating pain in his stomach. His neck was twisted a full hundred-and-eighty degrees to the left. He tried to lift his neck up, but couldn’t. In the distance, he saw the chicken running at full speed in his direction. Crap.He tried to get up but just couldn’t get himself to do so. Gonna have to do this lying, I suppose. How fun. He closed his eyes and began his soliloquy.“My time has come. This is the end of General Mateo. But, the fight must go on and I have firm belief that my son—” Oh come on! The blue crystal made its appearance again. The chicken vanished. And again, for the third time, General Mateo found himself on his feet, perfectly healthy, with each and every limb in the right place, as if nothing had happened.This has gone too far. General Mateo raised his sword and was about to jab it into the soil out of sheer frustration when something clicked in his mind. A grin appeared on his face. He lowered his sword and looked up at the sky, trying to find the three stars that formed the Belt of Orion. As he kept looking at the sky, the grin on his face grew wider and wider. It’s gone. He punched the air with delight and set out to look for wooden barrels. He spotted three in a place. Ecstasy dripping off his face, he lifted his sword and broke the first barrel. Nothing. It’s fine, there are two more, he comforted himself. He lifted his sword again and pierced the top of the second barrel. Nothing, again. He couldn’t believe it. This is rigged! He kicked the third barrel in agitation. Kaboom!Just as his foot connected with the third barrel, General Mateo saw a zillion tiny suns right in front of his eyes. He was blown away by the magnitude of the explosion. As he lay motionless on the ground, he saw a golden sphere appear in the sky, followed by something he had been, literally, dying to see. ‘Game Over’. General Mateo heaved a sigh of relief.Pixels need to rest, too.
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661
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Write a story that weaves together multiple lives through their connection to a particular tree.
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A misplaced stroke of white paint
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Cynthia let out a grunt as her trembling hands ruined her painting of an ash tree. Her once perfectly painted ash tree now had a misplaced stroke of white paint in the trunk of the ash tree. She examined her painting once again, contemplating on whether to continue or to disregard it. A tall Ash tree stood in the middle, with its ever so green leaves covering its branches. Cynthia then remembers how Ash trees looked like this during the summer. The Ash tree had only one straight trunk and a misplaced stroke of white paint."why did you stop Nana?" Cynthia slowly turned to her right, there stood her granddaughter with a confused face. "Caroline, Nana's too old to be painting , and now my trunk has a white smudge!"Caroline giggled and assured her nana , " your painting is splendid nana, and don't worry that's just a teeny accident." She then took her Nana's paintbrush, dabbed it on the white paint and continued the misplaced stroke of white paint. "Caroline darling please don't do tha- ""done!" Caroline exclaimed as she pointed on the not so perfect heart she made. Cynthia who was a perfectionist would have vex at the certain someone if one was to do that to her painting, but the moment she saw the heart, her own heart melted with happiness. She now loved every bit of her painting thanks to her Caroline. With trembling legs, Cynthia stood up and pushed back her stool. She gazed at the scenery, blue sky and an empty earth." Why don't we plant that tree there, huh Caroline ?"~ They did plant an Ash tree , but unfortunately Cynthia passed away, even before the Ash tree could show her how its leaves covered its branches, or even before she could know if it grew similar to her painting. Caroline grew to become a beautiful teenager, she shared the same passion as her grandmother. She loved painting, but discontinued it as she grew in the reality of the teenage world. She now loved clubbing with her gals and going to concerts of all sorts. Like every other Teenagers, she met a boy, who she thought would be the love of her life. Caroline and Ben would sit under the shade of the Ash tree, cigars on their lips. They would spend the time there smoking, snogging or simply talking about stuff. Like every other Teenager, Caroline fell deeply in love with Ben, She carved out a heart on the trunk of the Ash tree and carved out " C+ B" , Their initials , inside the heart. How romantic right? Unfortunately not everyone ends up with their High School Lover. Ben passed away at an early age of 19 because of a car accident. No matter how big the hole was engraved on Caroline's heart, life must continue and she must go on. By the time she was in her mid 20's Caroline married and started a family with her husband Brian. They loved each other dearly. Brian was the husband who would cook for everyone on Sunday mornings, and cared a lot about the Ash tree too! He loved the carved "C+B " initials on the tree, thinking it meant Caroline + Brian, However Brian was a workaholic, would come home at midnight and leave for work at 5 am. Caroline on the other hand, was a House wife but helped Brian by selling her paintings. She continued to paint until she grew old, but she never had the strength to paint the Ash tree, as she would remember her Nana and her Ben.~Caroline's Daughter, Cindy, strolled around the house one last time. Cindy had to sell the house to the Smiths, because she was now frail and in old age , and a widow with no children nor grandchildren to take care of her. She bitterly chuckled as she realized she was set up for "home for the aged" after all.Cindy shared the same passion with her Great Grandmother and Mother, they all loved painting. Cindy went to art school, and was a professional painter. However, She tried to paint the Ash tree numerous times, but she just cant quite get it right. Her art style was so much more different than her great grandmother's , Cindy loved bright colors and her paintings were always abstract, but Cynthia's paintings were simple, dreamy and had always used the right pastel colors. If the sky was blue, Cynthia simply used the light blue color in one similar stroke but but Cindy would rather used all the kinds of blues she had and paint on the canvas with different stroke each color.She stared at the Ash tree planted at the back of their lonely country house. She remembered the story her mother had told her a thousand times before about the Ash tree she was staring at right now. It started when, Her great grandmothe-"MS. CINDY!!"her train of thoughts was interrupted by a voice, she then looked behind her to see Mrs. Smith. Cindy then gasped , as she had forgotten that the Smiths were coming today. Mrs. Smith came running with a young girl in her hand." we are so sorry for breaking in, ms cynthia-" Mrs. Smith panted."we came knockin', really we did , but there was no answer" She continued."oh silly me, these old ears eh?" Cindy joked, and the Two adults laughed. Mrs. Smith Left her daughter with Cindy, as she ran back inside the house to help her husband in matters of the house. Cindy Looked at The young girl who sat on the grass and opened her pink little bag, which happened to have a sketchbook and a watercolor set. Cindy studied the young girl, envious of her soft young hands, until she noticed her drawing..."what a lovely drawing you got there.." Cindy smiled as she looked at the young girl's drawing of their Ash Tree."your tree is very big and the branches look like they're shy " She giggled ash she pointed at the leaves that covers its branches.The young girl continued to color her drawing using her watercolor. She painted the leaves green, the trunk and branches brown, and she didn't forget the 'little white heart' as she called it."what is your name young girl? I love your painting.""Cynthia"~ alas Cynthia had seen how the leaves covered its branches and how a misplaced stroke of white paint had become the little white heart .
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11,106
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Write a story from the different perspectives of two people meeting for a blind date.
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A story about Joseph and Mary meeting for a blind date.
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My story is entitled Joseph and Mary meeting for a blind date.
A blind date is a social engagement between two people who have not previously met, usually arranged by a mutual acquaintance.
A blind date is arranged by a mutual acquaintance of both Joseph and Mary .Also both the two people Joseph and Mary take part in the blind date and have never met or seen each other ,hence the phrase "blind date".
It is the responsibilities of the person who arranges the date to ensure that they are a good match.
Sometimes it is noted that one person is more interested in the match than the other,which may make it more difficult on the person arranging the date to judge whether the date will be successful.
The blind date is said to be between Joseph and Mary since it can lead to Marriage.
Due to the unfamiliarity of the two people the date is shorter than most because both Joseph and Mary are in the beginning stages of a relationship.
The blind date is also very adventurous in the way that neither party knows what to expect and whether or not they will hit it off.
The location of the blind date is also affected by the spontaneity in that it is often a neutral and public place where both parties Joseph and Mary feel comfortable.
Almost both family and friends have been declining in their influence over the dating market for the past years.
It is also noted that neighbourhoods ,the workplace and the circle of friends are sources of dating partners.
During blind date, there is an online dating services that ask questions in the form of a survey in order to get to know the user better as a person and to understand what they are looking for in a relationship .
Also the online service seems to find matching users based on various algorithm. The users are enabled to also communicate with each other. Often after they sign up for the service at a cost.
Also the website www.Match.com in an effort to determine how much impact their services are having on the way relationships develop today. There are thousands of online dating websites like eHarmony that engages in blind dating.
There is a Parental Control where MTV reality show where parents pick two dates on a blind date for their son or daughter. Parents ask the candidates a series of questions in order to pick the best two. Also start a new relationship with one of the blind dates.
In the Blind Date,Australia, An Australian dating game show was Produced was produced by Sony Pictures Television.
Again, the Blind date U.K. is a British dating game show produced by London Weekend Television.
In most countries Blind date is normally run on Saturday Nights.
In America,there is an American dating game show that aired in syndication called the Blind Date USA. The series was hosted by Universal Worldwide Television There is a choice where an American television show,where male celebrities sit with their backs facing a stage.
The female contestants then have a specific amount of time on stage to win the affection of male celebrities.
At the end of each show, the men choose a woman to go on a date. The Dating Game a show created by Chuck Barris where a single woman would sit on one side of a wall and three bachelors would sit on the other side.
In the blind date each male participant would answer questions from the women and at end of the show ,she would choose a candidate to go on a blind date with twenty five women who wish to become his wife. The women lives together in one household are In competing in an elimination game.
In some countries like China Parents find their children blind dates in Parks. Spouse -huntibg fairs in big city parks by parents eager to see their children.
Also Parents see their children tie the knot that have made parks in China a haven for relationship hunters and their parents. Zhongshana Park has been the location for six years where parents go to seek partners for their children. Questions are asked about anything ranging from their child's zodiac sign to their place of residence.
Also contact information is exchanged. This process altogether begins by the parents sitting on a bench with their child's credentials such as photos and Academic records.
A middle aged man called Joseph said he has met women who have no intention of finding a boy friend.
Also meeting me is merely to indulge with their parents.
There are mostly two kinds of blind date in South Korea, mainly" Meeting "and "Sogeting."
Meeting blind dates are group dates with no prior expectations of commitment and are often used by University students. A Sogeting date usually includes less alcohol than a meeting date. It is then engaged in by people who are "single and looking."
However both Joseph and Mary engaging in blind date cultivated the habit of the five stages of dating .These stages includes Attraction, Reality, commitment, Intimacy, and final engagement. Through these five stages of dating you will learn whether your partner is destined for a lifetime commitment.
It is not uncommon to be attracted to more than one person as the same time.
Whether or not you act on these feelings will not only affect you.
Also both Joseph and Mary went on a blind date at the Beach and the Aburi Gardens just to talk and get to know about each other before marriage.
In addition both Joseph and Mary spent their holidays together sharing intimate relationship and engaging in activities just to get to know about each other.
They also went on a blind date at the Kakum National Park and also spent time visiting the Accra zoo.
As noted most of their memorable blind date they had, was when they went for a shopping spree at ShopRite.
Also both Joseph and Mary went on a blind date on Date Rush on television to engage and be seen in an intimate relationship before marriage.
Again during scenes of Trade Fair ,both Mary and Joseph went on a blind date to visit the fair and share things together having good times and buying gifts and things for themselves.
They all shared love together through giving and cash in kind. At some instances where they both do not have money to buy an item at a stand during their blind dating they go through window shopping at that particular stand.
Finally, both Joseph and Mary met on a blind date in a Restaurant and a Hotel before marriage,they went on a blind date because they want to know about each other and both of them will like to go into a relationship.
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14,624
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Write about a character preparing a meal for somebody else.
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AN ABIDING AROMA
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The kitchen was a total mess but, in a good way. The multi-colored counter was not less than those festive streamers and confetti which Mrs. Suhani Khanna loved to decorate her house with during Diwali or any other festival. The yellow, orange, red and green bell peppers looked so vibrant and their rich aroma when Suhani tossed them in the pan with butter is mesmerizing. The chicken pieces which were resting overnight in the fridge getting an exclusive treatment with hung curd are now ready for the Big-day. A pot full of milk is kept on the stove for boiling. “Kheer” is Suhani’s forte. She used to prepare kheer on every occasion especially on the birthdays of all the family members. She says “preparing kheer and eating on birthdays is very auspicious as it extends the life line of that person.” It doesn’t work that way. Isn’t it? Well!! That’s another story. Suhani is cleaning the rice for preparing that life-savior ‘Kheer’. The flavorful aroma of rice boiling in milk with powdered cardamom is spreading like a wild fire in the entire neighborhood. In between frying the salmons and stirring the penne pastas in the pot Suhani made a ginger- cardamom tea for herself, which she will savor sitting on her favorite chair near the window, staring the roses, sunflowers, jasmines and her favorite forget-me-nots in her garden. She saw Mrs. Bannerjee walking in straight towards her door. Suhani waited for the door-bell to ring. She finished her tea and walked sheepishly to open the door for the most annoying lady in the neighborhood.
“Hello Suhani, the aroma from your kitchen is driving me crazy!! What are you up to? Invited guests today? Or wanna have it all alone?” said Mrs. Bannerjee with sarcasm.
“Come in have a cup of tea or a fish fry perhaps?” Suhani reluctantly invited her in.
Mrs. Bannerjee ran straight to the kitchen and gave a really loud scream. “So many stuffs you are cooking Suhani? There’s pasta, there’s chicken, fish, my favorite kheer and can’t believe biryani is almost done! The aroma is magical Suhani. Can I have a bite of everything? No I mean just wanted to taste.” She stood smiling with a witty face.
Suhani took out a plate for Mrs. Bannerjee when the door-bell rang once again. Suhani stood speechless watching Mrs. Bannerjee peeping in every bowl and sniffing like a police dog. Suhani smiled and ran to open the door. There was standing another neighbor Mrs. Gupta with a broad and stupid grin.
“Is she there?” said Mrs. Gupta trying to peep from all the sides.
Suhani stood blank and she was about to open her mouth to answer when Mrs. Bannerjee came running from inside with great zeal and enthusiasm. Mrs. Gupta pulled her out and said “Riya you should come to my place I need to tell you something very interesting.” And she almost dragged Mrs. Bannerjee and soon they were out of sight. Suhani took a great sigh of relief standing clueless by what happened right now. She shut the door and went in. It’s time for preparing the naan (Indian bread) now.
(Meanwhile, at Mrs. Tulika Gupta’s house.)
“What’s wrong Tulika? Why did you drag me from her house?” Riya asked in wonder.
“Nothing. Just wanted to have tea with you.” Replied Tulika plainly.
“Suhani is master chef, the way I saw her preparing the dishes! Wow!! Is she having any special guest tonight or she’s going to eat them all alone?” Riya asked scoffing.
“She’s cooking for someone else. You are new in this neighborhood that’s why you don’t know the story of Mrs. Suhani Khanna. And that’s the reason I dragged you here.” said Tulika.
“What story?” asked Riya with big round eyes full of curiosity.
“Then tea won’t work I think you will need wine.” Tulika winked and began the story.
With the end of dusk Suhani turned on all the lights of her house and her garden. Every corner expressed the joy of welcoming the most awaited guest tonight. Suhani has dressed up like a queen. She looked zealous and marvelous. The dining table is well groomed with a solid beige color table cloth, perfectly placed crockery and wine glasses. Vases are blooming with the fragrance of roses; just a few more minutes and Suhani will start plating the dishes. She was feeling the chills all over her body.
“There you are Arjun. It’s been ages I haven’t seen you.” Suhani said with wet eyes and a pink smile.
Both of them embraced each other in a long tight hug, never to be parted again.
“I was there all the time watching you doing the stuffs. Didn’t you notice me?” said Arjun with a clever smile.
“Stop kidding Arjun. Come let’s break the bread. Food is getting cold. Have a look. All your favorites are here.” said Suhani sitting on the chair and ready to serve the delicacies to her beloved husband Arjun.
Far away from a distance, Mrs. Bannerjee stood perplexed and watched Suhani eat, talk and laugh aloud. She looked astounding.
Mrs. Bannerjee couldn’t believe on Tulika’s cooked up story at first but now she believes it all.
Mrs. Suhani Khanna came to this locality, in this house as a newly married bride of young, handsome army officer Arjun, 25 years ago. They were an epitome of a perfect, so-much in love couple. They were very friendly and humble to their neighbors. Whenever Arjun returned from a long out-station duty they organized a grand feast and Suhani used to cook each and every item with utmost love and perfection. People used to envy their compatibility and unconditional love for each other.
One day, everything turned down drastically. Their beautiful world fell apart, shattered in pieces. It was their third wedding anniversary and Arjun was making his come-back after 4 long months. Suhani was dressed up like a queen with her red salwar-kameez and she was laden with glittering ornaments. That day she prepared all of Arjun’s favorite dishes all day long and waited eagerly for her husband to return.
Arjun returned but in a coffin wrapped in Indian National Flag. He was now a martyr. Two decades have passed but Suhani never accepted Arjun’s death. Few initial years went depressing and devastating for Suhani. She had to undergo a psychological treatment for few years. She recovered completely, except the fact that she still believes that Arjun is alive. So, every year on their wedding anniversary Suhani cooks and dresses up and waits for her husband. People in the neighborhood have seen her talking to nobody, eating all alone, laughing and giggling on her own. The next day she is normal again but she doesn’t come out from her house much now and she doesn’t like any visitors anymore contrary to what she was earlier.
Mrs. Bannerjee was still standing like a pole, dumbfounded. She didn’t even notice the tear drops rolling down from cheeks slowly, very slowly.
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1,372
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Write about a character who gets called an Einstein ironically.
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After He Turned It On
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"Long time no see, Mr. Vence. Is there anyone I can hook you up with?" A well-mannered gentleman approached Kennis.
"What a coincidence, Eck. I didn't expect to meet you here. Sure, if it's no trouble. I'm right now feeling a little lonely,” answered Kennis. He looked at the other man: Eck Vincennes, from Strasbourg, was a classic self-made man who was extremely concerned with appearance, even on the beach.
"It's all right, Kennis. It won't happen again like last time."
With that, a third man – a stocky man with prominent cheekbones – came up and began, as if arranged, introducing himself. "My name is Vexen Cenni and I'm the owner of a chemical factory in southern Sweden..." Kennis swore he saw it, but he rubbed his eyes and chose to ignore it. Beside him, Eck looked cool and ingratiating. Vexen Cenni babbled on: "...My monthly salary is..." Kennis had never seen anyone so brusque before and thus had to smile awkwardly. But here it came again. Kennis could no longer choose to overlook it. He tilted his head to reflect this to Eck.
But then he got so fucking shocked that he trembled helplessly, his Adam`s apple vibrating up and down at the highest frequency possible. He saw that he was the only normal person left at the cocktail party. The rest seem to have all stalled in a scene, as the pixel blocks that made up their body parts twitched in their own unordered way, from one frame to another. He didn't know what was going on. But the situation was only getting worse over time. He saw that one of Eck's legs was more than ten meters off his noumenon. It was clear that Eck was trying to free himself, but to no avail. Mistakes piled up. He suddenly remembered that the doctor had said that the only remedy for such a situation was to destroy the chip implanted in the back of his head.
But damn, tragedy struck at Kennis C. Vence, too. He was out of control, before he heard the back of his head smash hard onto the stair railing. The more miserable aspect was that he could no longer sense anything, especially pain. He tried to target the location of the host, because usually only the host would know the password to exit the virtual social space. Then he saw it. Venice's head was on the staircase leading to the second floor, but the rest of his body was scattered throughout the banquet hall.
Napoo. This meant that Venice C. Kenns' volition had collapsed.
This was the biggest virtual social space identity disorder accident that happened in 2016, commonly known as The Delete Key Affair. Users provided justified identity information, before their soul was assigned to each space for entertainment. But the problem with AI was that it disrupted everything, being also the activity`s biggest highlight. A quarry worker could go in and become a billionaire. The consequences of identity duplication had not yet been fully controlled and removed by humans.
In other words, anything could happen.
Kennis despaired the fact that if everyone could just get their act together and work together properly, the problem could be solved...and yet... he saw the head of Kenne C. Vicens, who had been introduced to him last time with the same but much smaller error having happened, hanging from a crystal chandelier. Fuck.
After all, human beings belonged to chaos. He tried to lock on the limb closest to the exit, but his eyes kept rolling up and down. Then, after his eyeballs had been through this bizarre manipulation, he saw it. The hideous face of Ceci N. Venksen, the hostess, dangling from the ceiling, and her mouth that was trying to speak for the brain. It turned out she had now broken into online control permissions. Even though Kennis's eyes were spinning independently, he was able to make out a few words. "Call...Ke...Nen..." He thought for five seconds and then understood.
Kenen, Kenne's big brother, who was also invited, had gotten kicked out because his soul was on standby for too long. He must still have retained access, because the records cannot be deleted. He could most possibly save everyone before all of them would be forced to wither away in the grand information flow. But why was the calling mission delegated to him? With not a spare second to think it over, Kennis dialed Kenen's phone, all the while trying to avoid all kinds of flying pieces of meat. He was running out of time himself. But clearly it wasn't Kenen C. Vicens on the other end.
"Good afternoon, Kennis. What's the matter? Einstein?"
"You...Is that...Who... Ke... "
“Oh no, no, no, Kenen's not here. He's dead, babe. I killed him."
"Wh...at..."
"The virtual social space must end, Kennis. Humanity is dying anyway, but technology must not be the cause." Kennis finally recognized the voice. The Most Wanted of 2016. Though he was ashamed to admit it, Kennis actually felt a little giddy at the opportunity to meet this famous criminal.
He tried to talk, but his phonetic function was immediately taken away. "Listen to me. If I send in one more visitor with the same letter structure, you're all screwed. And you'll be the last one to die. I'm sorry, Kennis. I know you're innocent. But so is my son." Kennis knew.
Darren Piketty's son had been forced by some gang into the most dangerous room in the entire virtual social space. Wilcoxon Piketty didn't make it out. But it happens. It was a rich man's pastime. Kennis found it hard to believe that the people around him who looked so much like gentlemen were actually no other than primitive beasts. And how was he any better?
But suddenly, Kennis no longer cared whether he could make it or not. All around him the signals began to weaken, and disorderly movement began to turn negative. The souls darkened and then disappeared forever. Kennis felt the remaining dark parts of himself begin to disintegrate and crumble, but he had never felt more real. The real him was nothing. He was just a janitor in a rich man's mansion who had been lucky enough to be twice given access to the social queues of the rich. The phone was still on the line. "Now, go to hell." Darren's staccato voice was cut abruptly and the door opened again. But he had never expected to see such a man walk in.
He laughed and was later rescued. Anyone but this guy, he thought. To this day, in 2005, we are still glad to live in a society that has eliminated virtual social spaces.
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1,272
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Set your story in a post-pandemic world, where the effects are still felt even as your character attempts to move on.
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Afterworld
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What day is it?
Sam stood triumphantly at the mouth of the cave. it had taken her hours to remove the remaining rocks that had kept her safe yet hidden from the outside world.
All that she had known for the last year was buried up there, on Sawbuck ridge.
It was almost spring when Me Ma, Jim bob and our old hound dog Rufus decided to hole up in the Sawbuck Ridge caves of Kentucky when the pandemic hit.
People were actin crazy, goin from holler to holler stealing folks chickens and robbing them for everything they had.
Jim bob; Ma's beau told us we should hide up in the caves till the trouble passed, he had a little shack way back up there with a working still and fresh water stream where we wouldn't have to worry bout nobody bothering us. it was stocked with berries, apples and sugar enough for about four months of moonshining, and Ma had just made Jerky from a big buck we had bagged, so we knew we had enough to eat on for a while.
We went up in them caves on March 9th 2020.
When the sickness first came it was real slow moving, so slow that lots of folks didn't believe it was a real thing, so they went on about their business acting like nothing was wrong, but then it happened, its like one day everybody got sick, people started falling out dead on the streets all the schools had to close, the grocery stores ran out of everything! toilet paper, bottled water and all the ready made food, the Hospitals were turning people away, the Police, the Fire department and the Ambulances would not even respond to calls! people started panicking, they looted everything, gas stations were robbed and set on fire the whole world seemed to have went plum crazy.
I was Seventeen when this all started, I was supposed to be enjoying my senior year of high school, I was supposed to be partying and preparing for Prom and Graduation, I was supposed to be going on dates and getting ready to go to college in the fall. instead, here I stand on the precipice of forever wondering if it is safe enough to come out now?
When we first left the Holler for the caves I was excited, I figured I could make the best of a bad situation, I knew we would be isolated, but I really didn't understand what isolation meant. I figured I could Work on my drawing and learn how to crochet. I was sure I could find enough to do to beat back the boredom. boy was I wrong.
Ma had always been the outdoorsy type, she could hunt and fish with the best of them and she could dress out a deer by herself and not waste an ounce of meat! but she was nearing sixty now and done raised seven young'uns, me being the last of them. my Pa had died from consumption when I was just a little baby , so I only knew him through stories and photographs. but what was impressed upon me was that no matter what, he never gave up on anything or anybody, even as he lay dying his thoughts were on us, not himself. I love my daddy. I miss my Ma.
We must have been in the cave for about three months when Ma started coughing, at first we reckoned it was from smoking tobacco, she had smoked since she was eleven but she quit it when we came into the caves, so we figured it was a side effect of her quitting, but not more than two weeks after that her lips turned blue and she couldn't breathe anymore, she died and we buried her up on Sawbuck ridge.
Jim bob, not to be out done died five days later and I prepared his body as we had prepared Ma's. I buried him at her side he was seventy.
I was all alone in the world except for old Rufus, and wouldn't you know, that old dog was not staying behind when his papa and mama had gone to the great beyond. I buried Rufus this morning.
After Burying Rufus, is when I decided that I'd had enough of the caves, I was going to climb down that ridge and see what has happened to my small Kentucky Holler, I don't know if the sickness is still around , I guess I'm going to have to take my chances, all I know is that I don't want to be alone anymore.
Walking through the holler is surreal, its like time just stopped. there are abandoned cars littering the highway, everything is overgrown, the trees are beginning to bud. The prairie grass is chest high and dense, the birds and squirrels are chirping and chattering wildly, the faded shutters on the dilapidated houses are warped and leaning at strange angles, there are no people no voices, no smell of firewood burning on a warm hearth, no laughter no music, no nothing. Only the twittering of the forest creatures. Sam trudged through he holler peering through broken windows, creeping through empty houses praying to see a familiar face or hear a familiar voice.
Eventually she arrived at the front door of her old house, emotionally exhausted and unsure of what to do next she opened the door and stepped inside.
The house was cold, stuffy, and covered in a layer of dust thick enough to leave footprints on the floor as I walked. it was early afternoon and the winter sun was at its highest point in the sky, casting long shadows across the room. I needed to know what day it was, I had attempted to mark the days in the cave but had stopped counting after Ma and Jim bob died, there was too much to be done and I was the only one to do it, so I focused on surviving instead of wallowing in self pity. but when Rufus left me, I could no longer stand to be there. With tears staining my cheeks I climbed the stairs to my old bedroom where there on the nigh table, was a picture of my Father smiling through a coal caked face, his bright blue eyes doting on a newborn Samantha Jane Whitmore, the date on the photo was July 21, 2003.
also on the night table was an old digital watch, and it was still working! it was 2 pm and it was 7/21/2021
.
At that moment I knew that no matter what happened, I was going to be ok, My daddy, even in death never gave up on me and I would not, with breath in my body give up on myself I will survive, even if I am he last person on earth.
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6,302
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Write a story that involves a mystery — it doesn't need to be crime-related, it should just include something that remains unexplained until the end.
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An Unfathomable Boutade
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There was knocking on the door. James’s mother stopped packing her son’s lunch and started walking towards the door. James paused in eating his breakfast as he wanted to see who was at the door. He got up and followed his mother.
Sarah opened the door to see and officer standing there.
‘’Sarah Myers?’’ The officer grunted out. Sarah nodded, confused.
‘’Yes. That is me.’’ The officer took a deep breath and continued,
‘’I’m sorry to inform you about this but, your husband, Wilson Myers, was caught in an explosion at The National Science Lab. An experiment went wrong. He is no more.’’ James’s eyes widened just as his mother sank to her knees on the ground.
‘’N-no... that can’t be...’’ she seemed to be in a shock and couldn’t form words. James hugged his mother from behind and buried his face in her shoulder. James just felt numb. He couldn’t cry nor could he speak. For the weight of the situation was still being comprehended by his 10-year old mind.
The officer knelt beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
He waited patiently for the sobbing woman to calm down. He knew the words he offered would do nothing but make her even more hysterical.
Finally, after what seemed to be half an hour, Sarah finally seemed to have calmed down.
The Officer looked at her in concern and asked,
‘’Ma’am, are you alright?’’ The woman nodded, though the man was not convinced. But he didn’t want to dig deeper and possibly upset the woman even more. While holding James, she shakily asked,
‘’What about the funeral?’’ The officer gently told,
‘’The funeral will be conducted tomorrow at the site a little further away from the LAB. All the families of the departed scientists will be there.’’
Sarah nodded and wiped her tears the best she could.
‘’I understand, Officer. I will be there.’’ The officer nodded and left with a salute to them.
That day was the gloomiest day in the Myers household. James did not go to school and Sarah did not go to work. They both sat in the master’s bedroom huddled together since they were finding it difficult to not collapse into tears. Well, at least for Sarah. James had neither spoken a word nor cried since the officer left. He just sat close to his broken mother, who couldn’t do anything but cry and sleep that day.
The next day, the land occupied by the Lab was filled with all of the dead scientist’s families, officers, the higher up’s and many more.
James stood with his mother in the back since they couldn’t sit in the front. They couldn’t sit because, Sarah was sure she would tear up at the sight of her husband’s smiling photo, which was being displayed along with the other scientists in the front.
As one of the higher up’s started a speech appreciating all the scientists for their hard work, their dedication to their research and so on. Many officers were standing guard all around the people. While all the people were focusing on the speech, James couldn’t help but notice the family’s sad faces, tears streaked on the cheeks, the quivering lips and the pure heartbreak in their eyes. He kept to himself and clung to his mother’s white dress.
They couldn’t see their dead loved ones again. That was the most soul crushing thing. Since, the explosion had incinerated all their bodies and the building was burnt too. No one knew what they were experimenting on or how far they reached on it. It was kept away from the public since it was top-secret information. At least, that was what was told to them.
After this sad affair, the Myers, moved away to another country. They started a new life in a new country, with a new language and at a new house.
It wasn’t easy. There were barriers between them and the natives. James was bullied at school and Sarah had a hard time finding a job and maintaining it. The starting years were tough. The distance between the mother and son has slowly increased. With Sarah not taking therapy for her PTSD, claiming she didn’t need one, and James becoming mute since his father’s death. The doctors had diagnosed that he was in shock from his father’s death. They said that with enough therapy sessions along with love and support from his loved ones, he will be able to get back on track.
But due to the distance between them, both of their sessions were put on hold. But the straw which broke the camel’s back was when James came back from school one day. He had gotten an ‘A’ in his science test and he was in a good mood. He did not see his mother, so he kept his bag in his room and silent, as a ghost, went to the living room to watch TV, with the snacks kept on the dining table. His mother came out from her bedroom and was about to go to the kitchen to make food but saw a paper lying on the floor.
It was James’s Science Paper. She picked it up and saw that he had scored an ‘A’ in this and this seemed to give her mind a jolt. Her mind put the words ‘Science’ and ‘James’ in a sentence along with ‘Will was also good in science.’
James suddenly heard a thud and turned to see his mother on the ground. He jumped up from the couch and ran towards his mother. He saw that she was convulsing and her eyes were moving frantically from side to side.
And for the first time in three years, James screamed.
Sarah is seen lying on a hospital bed after a good five hours. James was holding his mother’s hand with tears still clinging to his eyelashes. The doctor said that something had triggered Sarah into a panic attack, which brought back traumatic memories back to her.
James laid his head on the hospital bed and looked at his mother’s pale face. After hearing his scream, the neighbors had come rushing in, breaking the door down in the process, since he wasn’t able to part from his mother. When the neighbors finally came inside, James was crying while holding onto his mother and they had a difficult time separating them.
The doctors tried asking James on what happened but he only gave short sentences, as he was speaking for the first time in years. But that seemed to be enough for the doctors since they seemed to get the picture.
Sarah woke up the next day. James wasn’t able to sleep a wink the night before and when he saw his mother wake up, he cried as he hugged her. Sarah didn’t let go of James even when the doctors came inside to check her vitals. Both mother and son had the same thought in their mind,
‘If I let go, James/Mom will be taken away from me.’
And this sad beginning had given way to a healthy recovering process. In a matter of two years, with therapy sessions and the bond between them increasing, the two of them were finally able to return back to being as normal as they could be. Of course, there were times James suddenly loses his ability to speak, when he remembers his father and there were times when Sarah would get nightmares that James would end up like his father, but they pushed through these to the best of their ability.
When James was 18, they had a big fight. It was about James choosing what he is going to study for his career. Sarah wanted her son to choose whatever he wanted. But James chose to become a scientist. Sarah, when she found out, shouted at James for this.
‘’NO! YOU WILL NOT BECOME A SCIENTIST!’’ James screamed back,
‘’WHY? I THOUGHT I COULD BECOME WHATEVER I WANTED!’’ What his mother said next made both of them quiet,
‘’I don’t want you to become a scientist because I don’t want you to end up like your father.’’ James stood there, silently, not knowing what to say after that.
‘’Mom, you know that just because Dad died, doesn’t mean I would too.’’ He spoke softly. Mrs. Myers looked sadly at James, still not convinced. Her son walked towards her and hugged her.
‘’Mom, you know that this is my dream. I want to become a scientist. Please don’t let the past hinder the future.’’ He whispered. Sarah took a deep breath to calm herself and to think rationally.
She hugged her son back and silently nodded into his shoulder.
‘’Go, my son. Do what you want to do. I believe in you.’’ James could hear the trembling in his mother’s voice but chose not to comment on it. He just pulled her closer and said,
‘’Thank you, Mom. I’ll make you proud.’’ He heard her chuckle breathlessly,
‘’You have already made me so proud, James. No matter what you will do in the future, it will still make me proud.’’ James smiled at that and it seemed like the future will be bright.
James studied science. He worked hard and never slacked off. Whenever he felt like giving up or he was just too stressed, his father and mother would come up in his mind’s vision. He would make them proud.
It felt like forever when he finally got to pursue his career as a scientist. He could still fondly remember the day when he was accepted and his mother cried tears of joy for him. He felt like his father would be proud of him and clap on his back when he was accepted.
He never felt like his father had left them. He always felt his presence in his heart and he knew that he would always be behind him, encouraging him forward.
As he grew, him and his mother had gone back to their country. They were finally strong enough to face their past demons. Once there, he wanted to know what his father had done his research on. He was finally declared to be eligible to know what his father had wanted to speculate on. There wasn’t a lot to start from since a lot of the paperwork was gone in that explosion. But he had gotten the basic gist of it.
With enough research and a lot of dead ends, James had finally produced on how far the venture had reached. As he was thumbing through the last few papers, with the conclusion, there was a knock on the door. His mother had gotten up but he gently sat her back down. His mother was no young woman anymore. Sarah gave him a mock glare and James laughed.
He went and opened the door only to see two women, one old and one young, and a man. The man stepped forward and said,
‘’Hello. Are you the Myers?’’ James nodded, with a perplexed expression on his face.
‘’Can we talk to you?’’ James nodded and welcomed them inside.
‘’Of course, of course. Please do come in.’’
Within a few minutes, all of them were sitting in the living room with a shocked Sarah and James, who was in disbelief.
‘’Are you...’’ James squeaked but quickly cleared his throat.
‘’Are you certain?’’ The family of three nodded with solemn looks on their faces.
‘’Where did you find these?’’ Sarah asked. The elderly woman spoke,
‘’My husband had them in his study room. We didn’t go into that room since his death but we had recently wanted to renovate it and found these papers. As your son is a scientist now and we know that both our husbands were co-workers, we thought to share it with you.’’ By the end of her talk, the woman was taking deep breaths, to calm herself.
James took a few shuddering breaths, when the family of three went home with a few tears. No one understood the set of circumstances except James because these papers were like a missing piece to his take on his father’s research.
‘’James. What does this mean?’’ He heard his mother ask. James held out his hand to his mother, to wait a minute, so that James could come to terms with what was happening. Sarah understood and waited patiently for his son to explain.
After an excruciatingly, long minutes, James finally stood up and went to his desk. He brought his papers and sat across his mother.
‘’Mom, Dad was working on how to evolve the present-day human mind to something more. The selected ten scientists had done lots of research but they still needed to see if what they did so far actually worked. So, Mr. Myers and Mr. Thompson, volunteered to do a trial run on it.’’ He paused as he saw his mother’s eyes widen.
‘’The papers which were given by the Thompson family proved that both of them were the participants. But during this trial, something went wrong and I think I know exactly what went wrong.’’ He showed his mother his notes and explained to her the mechanics behind it.
‘’So, the overload to their brain became a counter reaction to the fluid being supplied to keep them alive. This resulted in a malfunction and thus the explosion.’’
‘’Then... what happened to Will and Mr. Thompson?’’ Sarah asked, with a shaking voice.
‘’Mom. Dad and Mr. Thompson are still alive.’’ Silence followed that statement.
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2,209
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Write about two characters who’ve gone through something so intense they now feel like family.
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An Unlikely Duo
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Have you ever wondered what it might be like to meet your reconciliation?
They say opposites attract because they strive for you to do better in areas you do not yet excel in, and perhaps that is true. But why does no one express their desire to be with someone who brings you peace of mind once and for all? Does no one want to meet an individual who challenges you to receive the closure you have so longed for? And boy did she long for closure. She longed for the day where she could finally release the guilt brought upon her by all the people she let down. She longs for the day where she can let go of what once was and start to live again. Even the meadow of daisies before her could not stop her thoughts from racing. Their beauty could not stop the maddening question from bubbling to the surface once again.
Would she ever be able to let go and live?
Of course, she hoped beyond hope that the answer was yes. But after years of waiting and dreaming, a future where her guilt did not follow her was almost obsolete. If only there was a way to escape the judgments of people who did not agree with her decisions. If only there was a way to let their opinions go. If only she could learn to forgive herself and forget the ways she has messed up in the past. She has brainstormed numerous ways to do so, but the judgmental cloud of others caused her to always come up empty-handed. Even now when she closes her eyes and tries to make everything fade away just for a moment, her thoughts are filled with the downtrodden features of people with broken dreams. She wishes she could go back and fix it all. She wishes she could ensure everyone's happiness twenty-four-seven.
How could she make others happy, when she could barely do so to herself?
Did it really matter though? Does she even deserve to be happy? Maybe she has made too many mistakes. Maybe that is why her empathy for others coincides with a prolific apathy towards herself. Who cares if the emptiness inside of her was starting to take a permanent residence? Her plethora of flaws made her incapable and undeserving of happiness.
“Well, you look like you’ve had quite the day,” blurted Fate, effectively interrupting her train of jumbled thoughts.
“Then perhaps it’s wise for you to leave me be,” Coincidence answered, her eyes remaining fixed on the field of daisies before her.
“Nonsense! A sight this beautiful should not be witnessed alone,” Fate beamed as he took a seat beside her.
“I beg to differ,” Coincidence grumbled, shifting as far away as she could on the narrow bench.
“Tell me, what has you so distraught this late on such a fine evening?” Fate asked, a curious glint to his voice.
“Surely nothing that I would even consider sharing with a stranger,” Coincidence scoffed.
“But am I truly a stranger?” Fate murmured.
“I don’t know so much as your name, so yes. No other term would do you justice,” Coincidence hissed back.
“And what would allow me to assume a different label in your eyes? Perhaps even one that said, friend?” Fate wondered.
Coincidence laughed humorlessly. “Friend? Please, such a relationship does not exist in a world like this one.”
“And what world is this?” Fate inquired.
“A facetious world filled with hate.” Coincidence retorted.
“Hate? Do you see hate in the way the world treats you?”
“I see hate in the way humans look for signs only to be disappointed. I see hate in how they take chances to make their dreams come true, and yet when they do not I am somehow to blame. When really... ” Coincidence trailed off.
“When really what?” Fate probed.
“When really you are to blame.” Coincidence barked, anger reaching the surface.
“Me?” Fate objected. “How did you settle at this preposterous accusation?”
“You encourage them to look for meaning in every decision they make! You inspire them to believe that they can do no wrong as everything happens for a reason and it will all work out one day if it’s meant to be.” Coincidence shuddered in disgust.
Fate failed to hide the amusement from his face. “Ah, and you don’t think this could possibly be the case. You would rather believe that life is simply a series of flukes.”
“That is exactly what I believe, and if only the rest of the human race agreed, perhaps I would not have had ‘quite the day’ as you so eloquently put it.” Coincidence mocked.
Fate's eyes twinkled mischievously. “Have you ever thought that without me your day, nay your life, would be much worse?”
“Now that’s rich.” Coincidence snorted. “How do you figure that?”
Fate shrugged smugly. “Without me, the hopeless and broken would have no one to turn to when every turn they take leads them to a dead end.”
“Do you only listen to your own voice?” Coincidence glowered at him. “I just told you that the defeated don’t look to you for hope. They blame me for their misfortune and then they stop taking chances altogether.”
“But don’t you see, you and I are like family. After all the hardships we have seen, we are practically one and the same!" Fate shook his head. "When those people stop taking chances because they’ve reached the parts of life that are less forgiving to the spontaneous, they are following a new path. A path that is planned and ready to lead them to the life they were meant to live.”
“You mean to tell me that all the risks they took and the instances of happenstance that led them to a point of seemingly no return, were all intended?” Coincidence sputtered.
Fate smiled. “That is exactly what I am suggesting.”
“How can you smile? How can dare you to call us family and be satisfied in knowing that you’ve made my own life utterly meaningless?” Coincidence cried in outrage.
“I have done no such thing! I told you; we work together. Without your influence on the world, how could I ever get anyone to go through the steps of their destiny?” Fate explained.
“So you arriving at the same park as me, was what exactly?” Coincidence crowed.
“Please,” flirted Fate, “our meeting was meant to be.”
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4,910
|
Set your story in a place with extreme weather, but don’t use any weather-related words to describe it.
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And on that day, he saw her.
|
It came without warning, fierce and unforgiving.
Unpredictable.
The village was eerily quiet in the days, weeks, months, leading up to it; shadows and smoke filling the air but never quite reaching the village.
The tiny town carried on, the best that they could, living in constant fear.
Waiting, waiting, waiting.....
-
Not that he was counting or anything, but William knew it had been exactly 47 days, 2 hours, and 51 minutes since the last disaster.
Each second that passed felt like a rock in his stomach, and instead of drawing comfort from the extended period of peace he was becoming increasingly uneasy.
It was coming, he knew.
Sooner or later, it always came.
He pulled his coat tighter around him, knowing full well the act was pointless, that the thin fabric offered no protection whatsoever from, well, anything. Regardless, the superficial act managed to offer some comfort. Besides, glancing through the trees, he could see that he was almost home.
Not that home offered much more protection than the flimsy coat. But his family was there, his 2 older children playing quietly upstairs so they wouldn’t wake the baby, and his wife Anna anxiously waiting, wringing her hands as she watched out the window and supper grew cold on the table.
He was hardly inside when she quickly closed the door behind him, locking it before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with a familiar sense of urgency and relief.
“Hello love, I missed you too,” he murmured.
“You’re late.”
She was upset, he knew, but she kept kissing him, his tardiness already forgiven. Around here you couldn’t afford to hold a grudge for long.
They’d both learned that the hard way.
-
She tensed in his arms as a sudden rumbling shook the room but it was only the children pounding down the stairs.
“Daddy, daddy!”
“No, that’s not daddy, that’s a bear! Run!”
“Oh no! A bear?”
With a playful growl, he scooped them up in both his arms, spinning around and tickling them as they squealed in protest.
Anna crossed her arms, in an effort to be stern, the faintest of smiles tugging at her lips.
“Hush now, or you’ll wake the baby. Honestly, William, you’re worse than the children!”
“Run, mommy! Run! Daddy’s a bear.”
“A hungry bear,” William added, licking his lips and winking at his wife. The children screamed and Anna rolled her eyes.
A soft cry was heard from upstairs, and Anna sighed.
“I’ll get him back to sleep,” William reassured her. “Girls, go help your mother set the table. I’ll be down in a minute.”
He gently opened the door, picking up the crying boy and cradling him in his arms.
“Hello little one. Did we wake you?”
He felt the fluttering of the boy’s heartbeat, struggling to keep up with his own. In no time his heartbeat slowed to normalcy and he had fallen asleep in his father’s arms. He was so tiny, so precious, their little miracle child.
William sighed, about to lay the boy back in bed when the room suddenly tilted sideways, throwing them both against the wall.
A deafening crash came from downstairs, the sound of all of their dishes shattering simultaneously. The girls were both crying, wailing, as Anna coaxed them into her arms, away from the glass, struggling to keep calm despite her own fear. William glanced down at the baby in his arms, making sure he was still asleep, before rushing downstairs, so they’d all be together.
The worst was yet to come.
-
It always started out innocently enough.
The initial jolt was followed by the most horrendous grinding sound.
The girls covered their ears, trying in vain to block out the sound. Anna buried her face in William’s shirt, silently weeping, holding the, now screaming, baby to her chest, in an attempt to calm him.
Then, all was still, until the music started. Masquerading as the most innocent of lullabies, you quickly learned it was only echoing the horrors of the past.
It was over quickly after that and yet, at the same time, things seemed to slow down and stretch on for an eternity.
Simply put, the very world flipped upside down.
Spinning round and round and round and round.
And then, with a sickening jolt.... it all stopped.
Leaving debris flying through the air like shards of sparkling glass, covering everyone and everything outside, making it hard to breathe.
They held their breath then, waiting to see if things would settle or if it would happen again.
The little family was still for a long moment until William detached himself and walked over to the window.
Very faintly, so faintly he nearly thought he’d imagined it, a gentle rumbling sounded from the heavens.
“Tell me the story again Grandpa! About your trip across the ocean and the little village you got lost in and the pretty girl with the braids who helped you and gave you this to remember her by.”
“It sounds like you already know that story....”
“No, I don’t! I forgot! Please, you have to tell me again!”
“Oh, alright, I suppose I can tell you one more time....”
“Yay!”
“Settle down now.”
“Can I shake it one more time first?”
A laugh, so innocent. William shuddered at the sound.
“Oh, alright, I suppose you can shake it one more time.”
-
For as many years as it had been happening, immediately after each disaster, the bravest would peer out through the kitchen shutters, squinting through the glitter still swirling through the air, hoping to get even the briefest glance at the Omnipotent Being that treated their world so cruelly.
William, however, didn’t believe in any type of a God, much less a God that would be so unfeeling towards their village when they’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
Still, every time, he looked, just in case.
And on that day, he saw her.
-
A small chubby face, missing a few of her front teeth, the pink bows in her hair not quite keeping it out of her face; it was horrifying and awe-inspiring, all at once.
Merely a child, this ‘God’ of theirs, who held their entire world in her sticky little hands.
William fell to his knees, helplessly coming to the realization that they were stuck living entirely at the mercy of this grubby 6 year old girl. She smiled innocently and
began
shaking
the
snowglobe
once
again.
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10,072
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Write a story that begins in the light and ends in darkness, or the other way around.
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Anne-Marie Fleming's Final Days By Jade Stouffer
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Dear Journal, 10 days
I went to the doctor today to find out I have stage IV cancer. Just two months ago I went in and it was stage II. When I was young I faced cancer, and they did chemo. I thought I defeated cancer for good, but stage IV... I am a goner. I was supposed to be Anne-Marie, the girl who overcame cancer twice. The doctors tried chemo, radiation, you name it. Nothing worked. So when I went in this morning they explained “Your cancer has only progressed. We did everything we could. We hope you know that, but I regret to inform you that if it continues at this rate, you will not live more than ten days. We will also need you to come back every couple of days for a check-up.” Ten days, that’s all my measly body can give me. I have so many things I wanted to do. Ten days... What do I tell my teachers? My classmates? My best friend, Phoebe?; who saw me conquer cancer at the age of five. I have no parents to tell, as I lost them both to cancer when I was nearly three. My auntie (Aubrie) has ‘taken care of me’ since the day they perished. What will I do with my ten days, you may ask. I paid $2,000 to meet all of my favorite singers (Alec Benjamin, Clinton Kane, Tate McRae, Ant Saunders, and Louis Tomlinson). I also paid $500 to go skydiving in Florida at a place just minutes away from home. (My aunt doesn’t mind me blowing all this money because she’s like a billionaire. She inherited all the money as family members passed.) I plan to tell my crush how I feel, and tell him about all of my battles. This is my first year in a public school. That’s right I, Anne-Marie have been homeschooled my entire life. This is because my aunt (whom I call Auntie) went to college to be a teacher, and graduated just before my parents passed. (It was their wish to have me do my schooling from home. When they passed, Auntie wanted to make sure she followed through.) Since it is my senior year I begged Auntie to let me try out public school and be a "normal" teenager (or as close to normal as a teen with cancer could be). Now that I am a month and a half away from graduation, and several days away from death, I will spend less time in school, and more time facing my fears head-on. Starting tomorrow. I went into today thinking that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel, but all I see now is pitch black. With ten days left, that means no high school graduation, no prom, no grand wedding. With ten days left, I will never get to experience adulthood. I, Anne-Marie, have ten days before I am reunited with my parents.
Dear Journal, 9 days
I have nine days left. Yesterday I spent so much time and money, planning out and paying for my last few days, that I didn’t have much time for anything else. Later today I will go skydiving. Nothing like facing your fears head-on. With a major fear of heights, this should be “fun”. My aunt is coming along because I need an adult to sign off on it. After skydiving, I will meet with my principal to see if he will allow early graduation. I want to graduate from high school. Be the first in a long line of Flemings to graduate from high school. As for prom, my aunt is throwing a small at-home prom with my closest friends. I’ll even have a fake wedding with the beautiful Phoebe (whom I am totally, secretly, deeply in love with). Tomorrow I have a meet and greet with Alec Benjamin at 11:30 am; Tate McRae at 1:45 pm; Clinton Kane at 4:00 pm; Ant Saunders at 4:45 pm; and Louis Tomlinson at 8:00 pm. I do not plan on telling anyone other than my principal about my whole “These are the last days of my life” because I believe I will outlive the deadline. If I do not my aunt will distribute my belongings to children in need. My money is to be donated to charity.
Five Hours Later
Skydiving... wow! That was a blast. Quite literally. I have never had so much adrenaline rushing through my body at once. I saw my home, school, church, doctor’s office, and the family cemetery. (Yes our whole family has been buried in the same plot of land.)
As for my meeting with the principal, he agreed to let me graduate early. Now I will get to have some of the things I wanted in life. Graduation will be different than I imagined it, prom so much smaller, a wedding; fake. With early graduation comes early adulthood. Something I never thought I would be excited about. I graduate in four days. I will have four and a half days left to live in adulthood. It’s all so crazy to think about, but when you are diagnosed with cancer you begin to plan out everything, you begin to wonder, is today the day my doctors are wrong? Is today the day when I die? Is today the day I live longer than my doctors expected? I was first diagnosed with cancer at age five, and then it went dormant for six years. At eleven it came back, starting at stage one. Now I am seventeen and a half with stage four cancer and about eight and a half days left. Eight and a half days until I am reunited with my parents, with the rest of my family. Eight and a half days until I am done suffering.
Dear Journal, 8 days
I have eight days left. With these last few days of my life, I plan to pack in as much as possible. Today I have meetings with Alec Benjamin, Clinton Kane, Tate McRae, Ant Saunders, and Louis Tomlinson. I hope that they will answer my one request to sing my favorite song. Water Fountain (Alec Benjamin), Chicken Tendies (Clinton Kane), Shoulder to Shoulder (Tate McRae), Yellow Hearts (Ant Saunders), and Don’t Let It Break Your Heart (Louis Tomlinson). The time I spend traveling, from meeting to meeting, I will spend either eating, sleeping, or doing school work. Just because I get to be done with school for the rest of my life starting in 3 days does not mean I am going to let my grades slip now. My whole life I have had straight A’s. I’ve been on the National Honor Society, Distinguished Honor roll, and so much more. I have also never missed a day of school (it helps that I was homeschooled until this year). For the first time in my life, I am not nervous to meet new people. I’ve always been terrified of meeting someone new. I always thought to myself “what if they don’t like me?” or “what if they don’t want to be friends with me because I am the cancer girl?”. All of these thoughts would flood my head until I would faint. But I am completely conscious and ready to meet not one, not two, but five of my all-time favorite artists. Two days after finding out I am on the verge of death, I face two of my biggest fears head-on.
Dear Journal, 7 days
As of right now I have seven days left to live, but I have to go back to the doctors office today for a check up. They will tell me if I have more time than I woke up with or less than that. Auntie and I will drive the half hour it takes to get to the appointment, and she will wait in the car. This morning she said something along the lines of “I can’t stand losing another family member, so don’t tell me what the doctors say,” and that’s what I plan to do. It’s not like we're close or anything. I believe she is actually my fifth aunt twice removed - or something like that. Anyway I hope the doctors say I have longer than they thought because I want to take a cross country trip from Florida (my home) to Washington (where Phoebe /love of my life lives). I want to tell her in person that she means the world to me, but what will she think? Does she know that I have been in love with her? What will her catholic parents think? Will they let us be together (for my final days)? I know that Phoebe is bisexual (which she has kept from her parents), but would she ever have feelings for someone who has a (non-optional) death sentence? God, I hope so. If my doctors tell me I only have seven days (right on schedule) then I will tell Phebes all about what’s been going on, and buy her a ticket to come to me. She’ll help me through it just like she did when we were five. Phoebe and I used to be neighbors, but when we were ten her parents bought a house in Washington, so we’ve talked on the phone weekly ever since. We had plans to facetime today, but she will know something is up just by looking at my facial expressions. She always does... At the end of the day I will have 6 days left. So that being said, I am right on track. Which is not what I was hoping for. I called Phoebe right before I came back to you. She is on her way down. We booked her flight for tomorrow morning, so I’ll see her around lunch time. I simply have 7 more days to realize that I can be at peace with the fact that I am no longer going to be around. There isn’t much more to say for now, so I’ll give you an update tomorrow.
Dear Journal, 6 days
I have six days left on this crappy planet. At least I’ll be able to spend them with my best friend. That’s right Phoebe’s parents are letting her stay for a week. Little do they know I have less than that, but it’s whatever. Who knows what life has in store for us. Maybe Phoebe is exactly what I need. She’ll help me find peace... or maybe she’ll make me glad that it’s all close to being over.
That’s all for now. Just waiting on the world greatest best friend to come and visit.
Dear Journal, 5 days
I have five days left to live, but today I won’t focus on that. Today, I am going to graduate. After two years of preschool, six years of elementary school, and four years of high school (for a total of twelve years of schooling), I finally got to graduate. After today I don’t need to set foot in another school. Like EVER AGAIN. I loved school, but with five days left on this planet, I want to enjoy them. I don’t want to be locked up in a building for eight hours studying things I’ll never have a chance to use. After my graduation (which is in 3 hours), I am going to tell Phoebe how I really feel about her. I could never do it before, but today I am going to face my fears and let it all out. I’ll tell her that she’s my everything (always has been, always will be), and that I am thankful I’ll never live a day without her. Maybe we’ll become something for the next few days or maybe we won't, but I’m just glad to have her here. Phoebe is currently heating up the curling iron, and setting out my outfit, as well as getting a reservation for lunch. We’re going somewhere fancy. As I stated before Auntie Aubrie is a billionaire, meaning I’ve never had fast food. I’m taking Phoebe out to any place she finds familiar so that when I burst out saying “I’m in love with you and have been for as long as I can remember'' she'll have something that hasn’t changed instantly. When we were young we ate at a place called Kids Bar. It’s a non-alcoholic bar where kids can order whatever they want without parents worrying about their children getting drunk. Anyway I should get ready to go. Five days until I will no longer need to worry about what comes next.
Dear Journal, 4 days
I have four days, and Auntie reminded me that I need to visit mom and dad today. My first day as an adult and I am instantly reminded of the fact that it won't last long. It’s been 15 years since they passed. We visit every five years, and today I have my girlfriend to join me. That’s right I told Phoebe how I felt. She started crying and then whispered “Anne-Marie, I’ve been in love with you since we met when you lost your parents, and realized it when I moved. Why couldn’t you have told me sooner?” I was at such a loss for words that she simply looked across the table at me and then kissed me with a passion I’ve never felt before. Damn did it feel good too. Well that is enough about that... as I was saying I have to visit my parents today. We’ll stop to get them roses (my mom’s favorite) and lilacs (my father’s favorite). Phoebe will pay her respects to my parents who used to babysit her, and then we will go home and relax. Phoebe and I will watch Love Simon (our favorite movie) while eating popcorn. It will be a great day. Mom, dad, I am coming home in four days.
Dear Journal, 3 days
According to my most recent doctors visits I have three days left to live. I am going back later today to see if that is still the case. I hope, more than anything, that the doctors are wrong and that this was just a little scare to make me face some of my biggest fears. I hope that I’ll have the opportunity to live my life with my girlfriend. I’m seventeen and a half and this is my only romantic relationship. My first and last relationship will always be the same relationship if my doctors are right. I wish I could say that I was Phoebe's first relationship but that would be a lie. Can you believe it? We're both almost eighteen years old and I just had my first kiss. With my best friend. I never thought the day would come. I’ve never been in a relationship because the only REAL person I’ve ever had feelings for lived across the country and was my best friend. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in LOVE with characters in books and movies, but they're not real people. Anyway, back to the point... I have a huge doctors appointment in about twenty minutes and I have to be patient while waiting for results. I’ll fill you in tomorrow on what happens. Three days until I can enter my eternal rest.
Dear Journal, 2 days
I have two days left. That’s right. Today and tomorrow. Then I will be at total peace. My stage IV cancer is nearing a never seen before stage V cancer. Today Phoebe and I will listen to my entire When I Die playlist (available on spotify). It’s about nine and a half hours long, but we love Clinton Kane so the chances of us making it through the whole playlist that quickly are very slim. Anyway remember how I told you that Pheobe is bisexual.. well in her previous relationship she and her boyfriend went all the way, which wasn’t very smart because now she’s pregnant. When I went in for my check up yesterday, she decided to go get a few tests run too and she is eighteen weeks pregnant. I can’t believe it. Well that’s all for today. Thanks for always listening (even though you don’t have a choice.) Two more days until I am done suffering, until the heartache stops and I find my peace.
Dear Journal, Final Day
My doctor’s think that today is the day I finally kick the bucket. There is one thing I want to do before that happens though. I want to thank my aunt for taking care of me for the past fourteen and a half years. I want to thank Phoebe, my girlfriend and best friend, for staying by my side. And I want to thank you for letting me write all of this down. Lastly I want to thank... anyone who reads this for taking the time to read, and understand that I’m okay with dying. I’ve accepted my fate. On the first day I told you that all I saw was pitch black, well today... I will see the light again. So this is goodbye.
Dear Journal, 1 day after Anne-Marie Passed
I am Phoebe, the girl who lost her girlfriend to stage IV cancer. I’m not sure if this is what Anne-Marie wanted but I am going to give this a shot. In her final moments, she wanted everyone to know that she found peace and will be able to move on in the after life. The doctors were down to the hour in their prediction, but they forget to mention that they had also guessed Anne-Marie Fleming was going to die yesterday, when they first diagnosed her at the age of five. This was no surprise to anyone except Anne-Marie. I know that she told you all that I was pregnant, which is true. I am pregnant with a baby girl who I am going to name Anne-Marie Jr. I regret to inform you that this is the end of this journal and the end of this story.
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13,422
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Write about a character who’s stuck in an elevator when the power goes out.
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Attollo Amet!
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*Author's Note: This submission contains a healthy helping of profanity, by which I mean a lot...just making you aware. Also, my sincerest apologies to the State of Alabama. Mary Midas bounced back and forth on the heels of her leather loafers inside of the elevator, her annoyance showing plain as day across her fair features. She felt like she'd been standing there for an hour before the silvery steel elevator doors finally decided to close together and allow her to begin her ascent up to the 45th floor of the Mitsui Fudosan Tower.She’d practically made it to third base with the ‘close’ door button on the control panel, but it didn’t seem to make a difference in the time it took for the bastards to shut. Mary’s piercing eyes were locked intently on the soft green glow of the level indicator as it briefly flashed with each new floor. It gave her the impression of a lazy strobe light. It fit in nicely with the light jazz music being piped in through the overhead speaker. She hated it. “Honestly, why even have a close door button at all if it doesn’t do shit. It’s so stupid,” she grumbled.Her brother, Gary, dressed in the same pinstriped grey suit and gleaming black loafers as his ill-tempered sibling, rolled his eyes at this statement.'Always so impatient,' he thought.Gary leaned his slender shoulder against the wall of the elevator, as he glanced over the light-faux wood paneling that covered it. It made him feel like he was traversing the sky in a hollowed-out tree. He never cared for the aesthetic. “It’s a placebo, like the ones they use at crosswalks, y’know? People are always in such a hurry, having something there for them to press gives them the feeling that they have some kind of control over their lives,” Gary replied. “That’s nonsensical,” Mary said. “Why the hell not go ahead and connect it to something if you’re going to have the button there at all?” “I don’t know, I didn’t come up with it,” Gary said, shrugging lightly, “you asked, I answered.” “Well I was being rhetorical when I asked, smartass. By the way, when did you become Fuhrer of fucking elevator facts anyway, Gar?” Gary said nothing, opting instead to look through messages on his smartphone. There was no talking to her when she got heated about something. He pursed his lips when he noticed he had no service, and slid the phone back into his pocked, thoroughly devoid of ways to occupy himself.Mary had been a hot-head ever since they were kids. She was always the first to let loose a flurry of insults or throw a punch. The fact she was taller than him didn’t do him any favors back then either, it often lead to him taking an ass-whipping for his trouble.Still, Gary wasn’t free of sin himself, and he recognized that. He could be an unbearable know-it-all, and a wise-ass to boot. Also, he grew bored quite easily, especially when he was forced to listen to smooth jazz.“Did you know that the Ancient Romans had over 20 elevators at the Colosseum back in the day?” he asked. “What?” she asked, leering at him from over her shoulder. “Yeah, they had elevators in Rome. Apparently, they used somewhere around 200 slaves to manually operate the fuckers as well. Can you believe that shit, Mare?” Mary’s face shifted from mild annoyance to begrudging interest. “200 slaves?” “Yup, 200. Can’t imagine enjoying that job too much.” “How the fuck do you know that?” “Well, I mean, c’mon. Cranking those pudgy fucks up and down the stands all day must’ve sucked.” “That’s not what I’m asking, dumbass. How do you know that they used 200 slaves to do it?” “Oh, I saw it online somewhere.” “I get that, but how the fuck to they know how many poor bastards were down there on any given day 4,000 years ago? What if they had 199 or 210? At what point do you stop rounding up or down and start tallying the people actually there operating the damn thing?” Gary raised an eyebrow as he thought on it, “I don’t actually know, Mar. I assume they used whichever sounded the best.” “That’s why I can’t stand history, ugh.” “Because of the slaves?” “Well, yes, but not in this instance. I hate it because all of our ‘history’ is riddled with an assload of inaccuracies. If I’m going to take the time to bother learning a thing, it better be what actually happened, not some bullshit some guy used to make himself feel better because his mom hated him or his dick was tiny.” “Actually, it’s funny you mention that...” “Don’t make it this easy for me to roast you, Gary. It takes all the fun out of it.” Gary blushed slightly after realizing his error. “Shut up,” he said. Mary sneered. “The Romans used the middle finger to...you know what, no. Fuck you.” “Bitch,” Mary said as she snickered. She turned back to face the front of the elevator and check their progress. They were still only half-way there. 'Sweet Jesus,' she thought.“You think she’s still up there?” Gary asked, changing the subject. “According to my intel she hasn’t left yet.” “Your intel? Okay, James Bond.” “Well what else am I supposed to call it, dickless? It's intelligence I've gathered.” “Can you keep my dick out of your nasty-ass mouth? We’re not from Alabama, Mary, and it’s not cool to just up and appropriate their culture.” “That’s just wrong.” “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize Alabama was that near and dear to your shriveled husk of a heart.” Before Mary had a chance to reply, the elevator abruptly jerked, then came to a sudden halt, causing both of the siblings to lose balance and slam into each other and then into the walls. Gary bounced off of the paneling and fell face-first onto the matte grey tile that comprised the floor of the elevator. The dull white overhead light flickered slightly, then cut out entirely, along with the rest of the interior lighting. After a few moments, the lights began to faintly glow once more, but not nearly as brightly as before. Gary groaned as Mary pulled him up from his heap and back onto his feet. “Goddamn it,” Gary muttered, wiping the dust from the shoulder pad of his suit jacket. “How high up were we before it seized up?” “We just went passed 28, so I imagine were probably somewhere in between it and 29.” “Ah, well that’s no good. Here, hand me your knife.” Gary said, extending his hand. Mary lifted her pants leg up and withdrew the small ivory-handled dagger she kept affixed to her calf. She flipped it up in the air before quickly snatching it by its point with a flourish before passing it over handle first. Shoving the blade between the doors of the elevator, Gary grunted as he twisted the handle, causing an inch gap in the doors to briefly appear between the doors. Mary quickly shoved her fingers into the breach, and began to wrench them apart with a series of grunts as they resisted her efforts. Gary quickly joined her in the attempt.With an ear-piercing metallic shriek, the doors relented and opened up, exposing the concrete walls of the elevator shaft and four feet of the bottommost portion of the Level 29 doors.“Hmm, it’s just as you reckoned,” Gary said absentmindedly. “Almost done with my blade, Gar?” “Yeah, yeah. One more second.” Gary traced a path beneath the control panel and found a raised metal plate labeled ‘emergency’ in thick red letters. After wedging the point of the dagger under its corner, he popped the plate off with a light flick of his wrist. Hiding beneath it was a small speaker above a circular red button. Garry poked the button with the point of the dagger and quickly cleared his throat. “Hey, can anyone hear me?” he asked loudly. After a moment, a tinny voice replied. “Yes sir, I hear you. Is everyone okay?” “We’re fine, but our elevator is stuck.” “I figured as much from the call. Do you know what floor you’renear?” “I believe we were just passing the 29th floor, so we're slightly above it. Not by much though, maybe a couple of feet.” “I hear you, sir. We had a brief power outage building-wide. You know how these new buildings are, they’re still working out all of the kinks. Give them a few minutes to get it sorted and you should be back on your way in no time.” “Alright, thank you.” The little static voice cut out and the elevator grew silent once more. Gary passed the knife back to Mary before crossing his arms, a smug grin creeped across his face. Mary knelt back down and tucked her knife back into its holster, then stood up and stretched her back. Several audible pops resulted from the motion, causing Gary to wince. All of a sudden, a creaking metal sound rang out just front of them, accompanied by a series of muffled voices. “So, Mr. Fun Fact, how long do you think we have?” “With as much time that’s elapsed? I’d give it a minute, 2 tops.” “How many?” “Probably 6, maybe as many as 8, she’s rich but she doesn’t have an army out there.” “I can’t believe they couldn’t lie better than that though, I mean that’s just sad,” Mary said. “You get what you pay for.” “Well I would’ve paid for some lackeys that were more useful than the ‘close’ button on a fucking elevator.” “Fair point, Mare,” Gary chuckled. Gary produced a pair of pistols from the leather holsters hiding beneath his jacket and then slid like a shadow against the elevator's front corner. He took a deep breath and slowly released it through his nostrils as he readied his weapons. Mary pulled a massive gleaming silver pistol from her own holster, quickly flicking off the safety before tucking her sizable frame as flush as she could against the corner opposite Gary. She couldn’t hide the wide grin plastered across her face.This was her favorite part.The outer doors began to jerkily open wide, revealing the legs of several armed, yet hopelessly unprepared mercenaries. Those goons had never tangled with anyone like the pair of legendary killers from the ‘Midas Touch’ Crime Syndicate before, and after they felt the pieces of hot lead tearing through their flesh, they all quickly came to the somber realization that they never would again.
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12,151
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Write about someone whose luck is running out.
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BAD LUCK PERSEVERANCE
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Sally woke with excitement due to hearing some very good news concerning a job that she has dreamt of so many times before. "It is finally happening." She always desired to be a Day Care Director and owner. After years of planning and studying for this phase of her life, the existence feels so real. But, first Sally must make contact with a few influential individuals who may be the key component for door openings. The sun is shining and getting dressed for the first appointment is essential. There's a day care center, which an appointment has been assigned to speak with the owner for tips and pointers. Upon arrival, the owner appears with smiles and ready to have a discussion concerning beginning and operating a business. Sally approaches the owner only to notice the closer she got; the owner's smile was slowly fading.Without any warning, she turns cold and acted as if she was too busy for a meeting. Sally left feeling disappointed because she didn't understand what may have spooked the owner. Sally has another appoint to drive to the University and speak with an individual about how to obtain credentials needed to operate an in-home day care. Happily, the next morning was a opportunity to take a step closer to seeing her dreams come alive. The lady greeted Sally with a big smile and offered a handshake. The office was small but had several nice photos hung on the wall. Sally was offered to take a short tour to another area of the University. Excitement builds up again, after arriving to another area, the title name hung above the building which read Library. "Why on earth would she bring me to the Library?" Sally thought to herself. But decided to wait to see what was going to happen next.There was a large reference book about starting a business the lady checked out for Sally and told her that she has two weeks to read the book before returning. No future initiations for a revisit, so the necessary details on day care operation could be revealed. As Sally walked to her vehicle, tears begin wounding up in her eyes, because again, here she is being forced into a brick wall. What did these two individuals have to lose by providing proper guidance to someone very interested in a career leading to ownership? Still, hope was lurking in Sally's mind, she had managed to schedule an appointment to meet at an organization who specializes in assistance for building a business plan. During the time before the meeting, she designed a business plan detailed document to take with her.The day finally arrived for the meeting, it was explained that only one slot was available, but Sally noticed a younger female was meeting with a different adviser. After beginning the process, Sally notices each time, the younger female would also be there. This was very strange. Sally has wonderful ideas and a great presentation in preparing the business plan. But, her advisor leaves the door open. It didn't take very long to figure out what was going on, Sally 's ideas and information was gathered to provide a business plan for the younger female. With no concrete proof, Sally decided to continue her future meetings, but with the door closed. Sally received a review of her completed business plan and agreed the document was professionally put together.Later, the documents were available for pick-up. Sally could not get home fast enough to make preparations towards obtaining a business loan. Copies were sent to the appropriate lenders. A phone call to Sally revealed some of the words used in the plan were not realistically exercised, therefore her document was void. Sally experienced disappointments far too many times to count. What really put the icing on the cake is one day while driving to an area not mostly traveled, she noticed a sign stating a day care new opening taking place. After conducting a careful investigation, Sally received confirmation that it was indeed the same young female who was attending meetings with her advisor during the same timeframe. Sally was heartbroken, but continued to keep children within her home.Sally's life is going great, although the day care center didn't flourish during her business ventures attempted. While maintaining a fulltime job, she maintained a third shift operation, which worked out better for the regular work schedule, which means sleep was an asset for being able to function the next day after getting the children ready to deport with their parents. Also, she had a working routine of getting her own children ready for school. What a great plan, which also allowed errands to be conducted before heading to the full-time job. Sally thought at times, "her real plans never took off, but for the moment, other things have fallen in place." She has no complaints and continued to manager and operate her home day care.Sally went to work one day and had an accident on the job leading to surgery forcing to close her home day care. The recovery was a long process and resulted in many doctor appointments and physical therapy three times a week. During the healing period, Sally was left with no other choice but to file bankruptcy, which meant giving up her home because there was no income to pay all her expenses. She could no longer maintain a full time job.Sally moved into an apartment with no extra room for operating a home day care. So, her whole entire life changed. Sally still had to carry out positive vibes for her children with encouragement, in which they needed to continue to be a success in school and college. Underneath all of the smiles and sound advice years later, often wondering how she managed to have the strength to do so much with so little. She comes to realize that she was only able to do all things by the Grace of God and she learnt to be even more thankful.
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4,687
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Write about two people who run rival bakeries, but fall in love during their town’s annual holiday festival.
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Bread and love
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After four full months of careful planning and diligent preparation, the Apple Festival of the city of Georgia has finally begun and it will be a fun day and as the son of the owner of the most important pastry shop in the city we are on the foot and leg to finish the preparations and it is baking all the apple pies that will.The festival is very large, I see it is bigger than last year, there are more than 300 vendors and exhibitions and includes stalls selling candles, handicrafts, wood, and food items and exhibitions of metal and glassworks. Fried and baked apple pies and other apple recipes are also the faces of the festival in Georgia.On the day of the holiday is all dedicated to the competition for the best apple pie and you find a lot and a lot of stalls and you have to be careful not to mix your shop with another and put and display your goods in it instead of your store at your stalls must be distinguished from others as a sign.Everything was going well and ready for the show for Lucas 'father to call out," Lucas, Lucas, is it already, son?""Yes, dad things are fine" Lucas's father was very worried.He desperately wants to win this year over his rival, Mr. Sharma.Lucas, a boy at the young age of 23, blond hair, green eyes, and light brown hair. average height and worked as a director for sugar and flavoring specialized in making sweets and all kinds of bread, which is owned by his father, but retired after fats became responsible adores profession even though he studied architecture at the University.#####Lucas went to the center of the festival and started to display their Apple products of all varieties of pies, baked goods, cakes, tart, jam, and everything related to apples, and it resonated if the audience gathered in front of his booth and he is in the midst of the fun of selling and displaying the products noticed that the booth of their competitor Mr. SharmaAnd it looks like the competition between them is going to be fierce, and Lucas should have acted to draw more attention to our products.Made a girl from the store, and asked Apple Pie test I ate a piece and said " yummy already soggy state meet I was curious to know how to bake " Lucas " it's a family secret, this is my grandmother's recipe, my grandmother's grandmother, my father's grandmother's from Switzerland and I've mastered cooking apple pies with a secret ingredient " Lucas admirably looked at the girl, contemplating the details of her face and the agility of her figure. It's cool. it goes smoothly in your mouth, Mira. Thank you. may I meet you, Lucas.Meera Sharma is Mr. Sharma's daughter."Mr. Sharma's daughter, but I've never seen you, I know him very well," Lucas said."Yeah, I was studying at University and finished it this year," Mira"And what did you study? "Lucas. Myra's " tax lawyer ".Good. good. I studied architecture, Lucas. Are you Mr. Perry's son, Mira?" Yeah, Lucas ". Lucas."But I don't understand why all this competition between my father and your father," Mira track."Doesn't it look kind of silly to you," Mira said."Not! Whoever makes the best pie wins and gets the award and good customers all year, and I'm keen to win this year. "Lucas.So you're endorsing your father for this competition, Mira."Yeah, you're talking to the CEO of a sugar and spice shop, and we're the one winning the competition this year."Lucas "Do you think so! We are the ones who will win, " Mira replied confidently as she looked at Lucas and surprised her heart palpitations every time she looked into his eyes.Mira is twenty-five years old, a smart and Funny Girl with long curly hair, brunette skin, and blue eyes, and since she is mixed-race from an African mother and an Indian father and her grandmother to her Dutch mother, making an apple pie is very easy for her. ####The sweet confrontation between the two bakeries raged and Lucas and Mira decided to raise the level of confrontation by giving a gift to everyone who stumbles and buys a pie. And at midday and it was time to rest, and in the next garden Mira headed for a comfortable lunch, and while she was away from the right patch to sit, I bumped into someone, and as soon as she turned around the uncle of the silence in the place, and the eyes converged, and he sailed, too, in the blue and green of their eyes, and "watch out for you in front of me" and his cheeks are very red.Mira stammered and surprised herself she experiences a new beautiful feeling on her not felt before she shook her heart and ignited a fuse for Lucas and he also, but they remembered the competition of course and it seemed clear the desire of one of them to kiss the other and melt it has developed rapidly."You have to hold on, Mira, hold on, please. oh, your good-looking Lucas, like I've known you for decades, and I haven't seen you for two hours. damn, I wish I could eat your lips," Mira said. "It's Okay I was just looking for a special patch to sit down and see I didn't find it, I'd better go home." I'll show you a beautiful place that you're surprised to find here, that no one knows, Lucas.He held her hand gently and her heartbeat rapidly."I know exactly what's going on with me when I'm sweating and I'm not running," Mira said.And then they penetrated between two bushes, and if a hidden place between them seemed charming, with a small waterfall and a distinctive green and a small pool of water, it was charming, and Mira was amazed at its splendor. ""Where Are you going to sit, I think it's right here, or it's not right, Mira.""Lucas, wait, mind you, you show me the place, you walk away and you leave me alone here," Mira.I thought you wanted to be alone here, Lucas."I was really planning it, but now that you're there, things might be different," Lucas replied, then sat down and the silence between them again, and they talked together, "thank you for " Mira and Lucas at the same time."Calm down, Mira, hold on. relax you. oh, my God, what's happening to them "."What's wrong with you, Lucas? did thee cat eat your tongue for all this hesitation?" Lucas in himself looked at each other with endless passion and adoration, realizing that they had fallen in love with each other. Well, how about you try our apple pie, Mira.Taste Luke's piece of the pie and marvel at the splendor of her " Mmmmm delicious, really delicious, but how do you tell they felt a little bit of cinnamon with the tart taste I think of ginger and..... "Lucas."The secret of my family won't move arrival, my maternal grandmother, a Belgian original art recipe from her family after they migrate to America."Really good taste. that's why you beat us last year, Lucas."Did we win over you last year, imagine I don't know about it, but when did the competition between our bakeries start?"."I think since' maybe four years."."Since we moved in, it's weird, I haven't seen you for once, and we live in the same neighborhood," Mira said. I've seen all your family members, Your Mother, your father, your twin sisters, your brother, even your aunt, who visits you now and then, and I'm completely unaware that you're there, Lucas."I also didn't even hint at you by mistake and I know almost all of your family and also by name John, Harry, Tara and Melanie, I even walked into your bakery and bought two delicious chocolate cupcakes and didn't see you.""Isn't that weird! ..؟؟......." Said Mira."But why are you surprised not to recognize me after all this time! " Lucas.Mira was surprised by Lucas ' question, which they gave her a quick kiss, and she answered. "Did you know the answer now, we have to go now it's time to announce the winner," she said.They walked away together and their families bragged about their harmony."It is now time to announce the winner of the best apple pie award at the festival after a fierce competition in which two contenders for the title reached a sugar and spice bakery for Mr. Perry's family and Mr. Sharma's family with their Indian bakery," said the festival presenter."This year's winner ...!!!!! A tie is a tie for the bakers this year and the winner will be distributed equally between them and thanks to everyone's participation in this festival for the weekend.The competition ended with the bakery tied and Mr. Sharma and Mr. Perry shaking hands after Meera and Lucas convinced them to end the competition.Mira and Lucas befriended, got engaged, and finally got married. It was love and bread.
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3,458
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Write about a character whose life changes for the better.
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Break the Clouds
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Content Warning: domestic abuse, panic attacks
When that little boy walked into my store, I could feel my heart break. Woe was scattered upon his freckles, and his sleeves stretched over his wrists. In the dead of winter, he wore only a t-shirt.
I still remember how quiet his voice was, the soft tingle of the door as it blurred his question: “do you have anything happy I can read?”
My cat, Nemo, let out a small meow, as I craned my neck to see the small boy. He may have been the shortest kid I’d ever seen. His hair fell in chubby curls, and his eyes were large-- they seemed to hold the sun inside them.
If only that sun remained unfurled by the clouds hanging so heavily at his shoulders.
“Um...”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” the small boy muttered, tugging at his sleeves, pulling them further over scars he likely prayed I hadn’t seen, “it’s just that I can’t go to the library anymore. I was-um... hoping for... uh...”
“For something to help you feel good?”
The boy’s face fell into relief, curls bobbing as he nodded rigorously, “if it helps, I like a lot of things, just... nothing sad, okay? If you could, uh, well--.”
His words fuzzed as I began roaming the bookshelves. Nemo trailed behind us, purring loudly as he attempted to wrap himself around the child’s legs. A thin sheen of dust covered countless leather-bound novellas, and I nodded at the boy’s ramble, rummaging through mixes of dramas, poetry, and children’s books, silently cursing my organizational skills as I did so.
Eventually, I’d compiled a small stack of stories for the kid. I placed the books on a nearby table, beckoning him closer as I spread them out in an arch, “this one’s about a dog and his lives--”
“Lives?” The boy’s eyes stretched wide, as his fingers hovered over the glossy cover of A Dog’s Purpose, “he has more than one?”
I smiled, and gave him a quick nod, “in the story, the dog lives a life, and then comes back as a new puppy when it’s over. In all of his lives, he’s trying to find his owner again.”
“Is it happy? I want to be happy.” His gaze was pleading, and I could feel an ache take root in my soul.
I pursed my lips, “it... goes up and down. The book has happy parts, but it can be sad.”
He picked up the book, leafing through the pages, his eyes sorry, “um... I don’t have any money.”
I cast a glance about the shop, and the street outside. Snow piled at the door, and pedestrians milled about in marshmallow-like coats. One look at the boy, and I knew I couldn't send him away, “I’m Claire, what’s your name?”
“B-Beckett.”
I muttered his name over again, bustling behind the counter, and taking a bookmark from my stash, “If you want to read it here, I can hold the book for you.”
“You... won’t let anybody buy it?”
“As long as it stays, and you use the bookmark when you come.”
Beckett nodded, reaching up to take the bookmark from my fingertips, “thank you, Miss Claire.”
Just like that, my bookshop gained a tenant.
Beckett would slip in quietly, avoiding anyone who stepped too close. He’d curl up in corners, ducking into stories, and mouthing along as he flit through chapters. He seemed to devour A Dog’s Purpose, and, before I knew it, he’d moved on to Ronald Dahl’s The BFG.
The curly-haired bibliophile quickly became an embodiment of my bookshelves, a doodle on the skin of my store. I’d watch as Beckett shied away from the world, and I’d watch as Nemo took it upon himself to frequent Beckett’s hiding places. With every story the boy skimmed, I became more curious, more involved, in the thunder that seemed to cloud about him.
Often, I’d catch Beckett’s eyes flickering between pages and the door. He’d jump every time it opened, and I couldn't help wondering why.
Could it have something to do with the library? Why couldn't he go?
It was a February morning, months later, when Beckett’s storm rose above my head. The sun seemed to blacken as the world outside bled into the boy’s shelter, and I realized why his sleeves were so long. That day, lightning struck, and I became more than a footnote.
A freeze pressed up against my shoulders as I made two cups of hot chocolate. Beckett, Nemo, and I were waiting for the store to warm up. Beckett’s t-shirt was paper-thin, so I’d wrapped the small boy in my winter-coat; I just couldn't bear seeing his lips so blue.
Just as I’d handed Beckett his mug, the door flew open. With a flurry of snow, came a foul-looking creature: I could smell this man’s evening from across the shop and a prod of fear seemed to bruise my chest. The man was disheveled and his eyes glinted with an eldritch callousness. Beckett’s once-rosy cheeks blanched. Instinctively, I placed myself between him and the character.
“Beck,” he growled, “let’s go.”
Beckett reached up, grabbing the corner of my dress, shrinking backward.
“Sir,” I said, forcing my way through a smile, “can I help you?”
“I’m ‘ere for the kid, lady,” the man growled, sniffing with distaste, “this where you been hidin’ out, boy? I should’a guessed, place looks cheaper than you.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
The man gave me a once-over, his eyes greedy. His dark hair was disheveled, and his speech slurred. He smelled as if, for the past millennia, drinking had been his sole occupation.
Beckett let go of my dress, shrinking behind a shelf as the man took a step toward me, his stride lurid, “I’m his uncle. Get ‘im to come out.”
“Beckett,” I muttered, casting a glance over my shoulder, “do you want to go with this man?” Beckett fell back a few steps, shaking his head, and I turned back to the drunk, “it doesn’t look like he wants to go anywhere with you.”
A spark roared in the man’s gaze as his fists shook, and, suddenly, I heard a very small voice: “Uncle Roger, please don’t hurt Claire.”
“Long as you come wit’, I won’t lay a finger on your pretty friend.”
“Beckett, stay where you are.” My eyes narrowed as I met the gaze of ‘Uncle Roger’, “What part of no don’t you understand? Get out of my store. Now, please.”
“Beckett, let’s go,” Roger growled, and, again, the boy shook his head wildly.
Nemo meowed as I reached for the phone, lifting it from the wall, “I am giving you one more chance to leave, then I’m calling the police.”
Roger glared, and my eyes flashed as my fingers dialed 9, “I’ll be back, Beck. You just wait ‘til your lady frien’ ain’t here to protect you no more.”
The door thrashed back into its frame and, suddenly, I heard a barrage of breath, “C-Cl-heea-”
I swung behind the shelves to find Nemo pacing, meowing, as Beckett cried against the wall, hyperventilation tearing its way through his small chest.
He flinched when I reached for him, and a thought tore itself through my gut: this kid’s been hit.
“Beckett,” I muttered, crouching down to meet his eyes, “take some slow, deep breaths with me, okay? Inhale... exhale.”
Breathing ironed out the creases between his brow as I walked him through a few more inhalations.
Tears streamed down his pale cheeks, his hot chocolate now in a puddle on the hardwood. “I--I’m--Claire, I’m s-so sorry!!”
“Beckett, it’s not your fault. None of us are hurt; he’s gone.”
“I n-never should have c-come here!” His hands were shaking hard as his breathing, again, began to escalate. His sleeves were rolled up, and I tore my eyes from the black and blue tracing his forceps, “t-thank you for b-being my friend, Claire, and I’m s-sorry. I wo-won’t bother you anym-more.”
My tone softened, again, as I began walking him through his breaths, telling him, this time, to move his fingers and count down from 100. He made it to 69 before it was over. Somehow, he’d found his way to my arms, and I squeezed him in a hug gentler than his spirit, “Beckett, stay here as long as you need.”
“Wh-what about when you cl-close?”
“Not tonight,” I muttered, letting Nemo stroke his back along our small pile of affection, “if he’s the one taking care of you, you don’t have to go home.”
“B-but Roger--”
“I’’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.”
The clouds seemed to disperse, if only for a moment, between the two of us. Beckett held me tight, a fear and warmth conveyed in every portion of his touch: “don’t leave me,” it begged, “please, don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” I tried to say, as he burrowed tighter into my embrace, “I’ll try to make it okay--just watch me, Beckett. Watch, and I’ll break the clouds.”
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9,339
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Write about someone investigating a break-in at a bakery. The only thing missing? A very secret ingredient.
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Break-In at The Sweet Shop
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Abby emerged from the warmth of her SUV and hustled across the sidewalk to the Sweet Shop bakery. The door was heavy and icy cold to the touch. Abby struggled to hang on to the handle against the fierce wind. Once inside the bakery her nose was met with the most intoxicating scents. Everything from sugary donuts to fresh baked breads. Each one smelt better than next. Abby stepped toward the glass display cases. The aroma was heavenly.
A tall slender girl appeared from the back room holding a long metal tray full of gigantic cookies. She wore a white apron over her clothes which appeared to have powered sugar and jelly tossed all over it. She had thin lips, a long pointy nose and dark wavy hair that was tied up off her neck in a messy bun. She noticed Abby at the counter and smiled at her.
"I just need to put these down. Ill be with you in a moment."
Abby returned the smile and waited for the young lady to fill the case with the sprinkle cookies. Abby glanced around as she waited. She noticed that things didn't appear as orderly as they usually were. The girl finished with the tray and wiped her hands on a cloth towel from the counter. Her eyes met Abby's.
"So what can I get for you today?" She asked.
"Nothing I'm not a customer. I'm detective Abby Ward someone reported a break-in at this location."
Abby held up her badge in front of her. The girl nodded.
"Oh you'll need to speak with my grandparents. They own the place and their the ones who called it in. Ill go get them."
Before Abby could reply the girl was off towards the back of the bakery. A moment or two later a tiny elderly couple appeared at the front of the counter. The woman looked distraught and the man appeared nervous.
"Hello I'm here about the break-in. I'm the detective assigned to your case. Maybe we could go and sit down and you can explain what happened." They turned to face each other before looking back at Abby.
"I don't understand. Aren't you here to help us? To find out why someone would do such a thing?' The man spoke quite loudly.
"Yes of course I'm here to help. Please could we just go over what you both saw upon arriving at work this morning."
The girl with the dark hair spoke to them.
"Poppa, Nanna go sit with her and tell her what you saw. I can run the counter its ok." She motioned toward a table near the far wall. Abby let them lead her and waited for each to have a seat. She sat directly across from the couple. She folded her hands together.
"Lets start over. My name is Abby Ward and I want you to know I think its just awful that anyone would do such a terrible thing to your lovely place." The man nodded in agreement.
"Yes just awful. People have no respect these days, the young ones do whatever they want." He spoke with both hands in the air and Abby thought he was quite adorable. He had bright blue eyes, silver hair that was in need of a haircut and the same long nose as his granddaughter. Abby reached in her jacket pocket for a notepad and a pen.
"I understand. I would like for you to start at the beginning and explain to me what you noticed as you walked in." Abby waited for one of them to speak. The man cleared his throat.
"Whenever your ready. Just take your time." She held the ballpoint pen over the notepad. She nodded for them to begin.
"I guess I can go first. We arrive early every single day. Five am so much to do in the bakery you know. I walked in here before him. The register was open. The chairs were all pulled out from the tables and the cases were unlocked." Abby wrote as the woman spoke.
"It was odd so very strange. I got scared because I didn't know if they were still in here. I yelled to Frank told him to come and see what happened."
Abby continued to write down every detail.
"Ok, you said the register was open you mean the cash drawer?"
The woman nodded her head.
"How much did they take? Was the register empty?" Frank looked at his wife. Abby couldn't help but notice he looked nervous again.
"Go on Milly just tell her." He made a gesture with his hand.
"No it was full. They didn't take any money." Abby looked up from her writing. She furrowed her brow.
"Excuse me did you say all the money was here in the register? They must've taken something. You checked the kitchen? Both of you? They must have taken silver or a commercial mixer maybe?"
Frank and Milly both shook their heads at the questions.
"I don't understand was anything taken at all?" Milly turned to Frank. Again he acted like he approved of her sharing with Abby.
She refused to speak. Frank turned to see if their granddaughter was still busy at the counter before he faced Abby.
"Nothing was stolen from the kitchen well no mixers or anything like that."
"Frank was there a break-in here at your bakery or wasn't there?"
He looked annoyed by her question.
"Yes there was. I don't call for no reason! I don't waste your time!"
"I never said you did. Please if you know of something missing just tell me what it was."
He made faces at his wife. She touched his hand.
"Only one thing was stolen .Only one..."
"Ok and what exactly was it?' Abby inquired.
"A secret ingredient that we have had to ourselves for almost twenty five years. That's how long we have been in business. And its been ours alone."
"So let me get this straight only this one special ingredient was taken? Was it written down maybe I could see it for myself?"
Milly got upset. "No I don't write it on paper. I have it in here." Milly pointed to the side of her head.
"I understand I'm sure you do. Frank, Milly I will need to look around and then I will be in touch with both of." Abby rose from the small table and walked toward the counter. She took more notes and a few photos with her cell phone. Ten minutes later she left the bakery.
Milly put her hand on her mouth and started to cry. Frank tried to comfort her. He rubbed the back of her arm. Milly took off toward the kitchen.
Frank noticed the girl was watching him. "I cant believe that's it. I thought she would have done more."
"Poppa its ok. You told her what happened its out of your hands..."
"No I want to catch them! They cant get away with this! You saw her Laura its breaking her heart."
Laura came to stand at Franks side.
"I'm so sorry Poppa. Maybe I can help you find them."
He shook his head at her. "No your not to get involved. Your a good girl Laura but I need to do this myself. I must find them and get it back." Laura is very concerned.
"But how can you Poppa? You don't even know who took it or what they'll do." Laura looked worried.
"I will find a way I just have to for our bakery and for my Milly."
Ten days pass by and Abby hasn't returned to the Sweet Shop. Laura arrives on a blistery winter morning. She calls out to her grandparents as she enters the bakery. Laura pulls her red scarf off her neck and shimmies out of her long winter coat. Milly appears beside her with trays of muffins.
"Good morning Nanna. How are you?" Milly still looks miserable.
"Your late Laura. I said nine its well after nine."
"I know I'm sorry. The roads were a disaster and traffic was brutal. It wont happen again." Milly filled the cases that are in front of her. Laura grabbed a clean apron on the hook near the wall. Milly smiled at her.
"You want a cup of tea sweetie? The water is still hot." Laura shakes her head.
"No I'm good. I have to get to work. Where's Poppa?"
Milly leaves without saying a word. Laura quickly follows her to the back storage room.
"Nanna did he not come in today? Please tell me where he is?'
"I don't know. He just got up very early and told me to come to work and not to worry." Laura touches her hand.
"But you are worried I can tell. Think Nanna where would he go? There must be someplace you would know." Milly shook her head.
The bell chimed over the front door.
"A customer Laura." Laura needed time to think.
"You take this one for me. I need to use the restroom."
As soon as Milly left Laura alone she went to the small office. She opened the top drawer of the desk. It contained two notebooks, a box of pens, plain white envelopes, rubber bands and paperclips. Laura reached for one of the notebooks and lifted it in front of her. Then she glanced through it. Several of her Nannas recipes for pies, cakes and jelly donuts. Laura wasn't sure what she was looking for. She closed the notebook. She could hear the bell chime again. She noticed the light on the answering machine was blinking. She took a deep breath and pressed play. The first message was from Laura's mom.
Hi I didn't mean what I said. I just got upset. You know I lose my temper sometimes. Can you call me?
Laura wondered what her mom was talking about. She played the rest of the messages. A bill collector, three hang ups and two more from her mom.
Hi its me again I wish you would return my call. Your my parents. Things can be different if you would just talk to me. I am sorry ok?
Mom, Dad now your both acting like children. You know I was upset. I apologized for it. Why wont you call me? You don't even deserve that bakery! I came up with the name I worked there most of my life and for what? You'll be sorry both of you will be sorry!"
Laura feels sick. She faces the door and Milly is standing there.
The SUV pulled up to the curb. Abby turns off the ignition and faces Laura. "Are you sure about this?"
Laura stares out the window at the Tudor style home.
"No but what she did was wrong. Lets just get this over with."
Abby rings the doorbell. A moment later the door is pulled open.
A woman with the same dark hair as Laura is standing there.
"Laura what a surprise. What's going on?"
"May we come in?" She steps aside and lets them enter.
"Mom I need to ask you something. Did you break-in the Sweet Shop? I have to know." Her mother becomes angry.
"No why would you ask me such a thing?"
"Because you hate them. You always have and you knew how much it would hurt them. To take away Nannas secret ingredient that's low even for you."
"I did no such thing. I want you and your friend to go .Get out of my house!"
"I will go after you admit what you've done. I heard your messages.
I know who you are."
"Their not perfect! I worked in that hot stinking bakery for years and they never cared. You only see them now but they were awful to me. They would never share that ingredient with me. I had to have it. I just had to know!" Abby pulls out her badge.
"Natalie Messina, your under arrest."
"What the hell for?" Natalie screamed.
"For breaking into your parents bakery. Now turn around and let me put on these handcuffs. Don't make this harder than it has to be." Laura has started to cry. Natalie makes a move for the front door. Abby is close beyond. Just outside the door Frank and Milly wait on the porch.
"So what so I did it! You had it coming!"
"All we ever did was love you. This is how you repay us. Take her away." Abby takes Natalie by the arm. Milly hugs Frank. Abby leads Natalie to the street. They watch as the SUV drives away.
"Nanna, will you tell me what your secret is?" Milly smiles at Laura.
"Of course I will. Its rum. Everything I bake has some rum."
Laura hugs Milly. Frank looks confused and Milly winks at him over her granddaughters shoulder.
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262
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Write a story about a character who gets lost at a carnival or festival.
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Broken
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Every step makes me feel claustrophobic and nauseous, and home-sick even though I just got here. I wonder why I even talked myself into coming here in the first place when I knew I would feel like leaving the moment I reach here. Maybe, then, I thought I could start moving on. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Hey, you can do this! I remind myself for the umpteenth time. I remember how I was just not too long ago. Star of any party. Strangers, begging me to hang out with them so that they can get acknowledged in some sort. I start walking, staring down. When was the last time I made a conversation with someone other than myself? Nevermind that. When was the last time I even made eye contact with someone? Anyone?Looking down at the hard black road, I walk, memorized by how it seems, in a trance. I hit people perpetually. In the chin, shoulders, right in the chest. They turn back and wait for an apology. I feel sorry for myself. Who's going to apologize to me?I certainly can't do this. I'm trying, I tell myself. But it hurts to try. I want to go back to bed and close my eyes and pray it does not open again. I trip against a rock in the road I certainly saw and knew I would fall real hard if I didn't move. Hands reaching the hard sizzling pavement, I realize my hands hurt, and it's probably bleeding. The pain feels different. It was always my heart that was hurting and broken. It feels good, like a diversion, from everything hurting inside the already broken heart. Staring at my hands bleeding down slowly, in mesmerization, I forget where I was and didn't see the hand in front of me for the past one minute, maybe two. I don't know. I look up; It's a girl. Very pretty. Her beautiful blonde hair in perfect curls till her shoulders. When was the last time I even washed my hair? I realized I don't know.Trying my absolute best not to make eye contact, I take her hand. I get up and mumble a thank you. I see her smile. Her dark red lipstick and her mouth moving get me caught in a trance again. She shakes me from the shoulders, and I suddenly come back again. "What?" I ask monotonously. "Oh, it seems you didn't hear me. I was wondering what you're doing here. It's a pretty scary place." I look around me. I wasn't here a minute ago. Where'd the people go? The annoying sellers?. I look at her again. "I don't know," I say because I don't know. "I think I am lost." She laughs. The way pretty people laugh."Did you get lost from the carnival?" she asks. I nod, feeling exhausted already. She smiles again, the perfect pretty smile. For a moment, I wonder what a beautiful girl like her is doing in this 'dark' alley. "Come." She says to me. "I'll take you back to the carnival." I don't want to hang out with her. I don't want to hang out with anybody. But I nod and follow her lead."By the way, I'm Natalie," she says. She waits for me to say something, but I nod and continue walking. "What's Yours?" Natalie asks. I sigh inside, knowing I have to talk back. "It's Tris," I say as a hint that I don't want the conversation to continue any further. "That's a beautiful name." she smiles and says. She doesn't get the hint. I nod and do a small smile. After a few moments of peaceful silence, she interrupts again. "Hey. Uhh, I didn't know how to ask without sounding like a nosy woman," Then don't ask, ugh. "But I really can't help it. You look sad. Are you okay?" "I'm fine." I lie. "Oh, that's good," she replies, not at all believing it. Am I okay? No. No, I'm not. Jackson was everything to me. I loved him. I loved him so much that I didn't wait for him to tell me first. I still remember his lines. "Oh, Tris. I meant to say it sooner. I like you, Tris. I do. You're talented, beautiful, and so many other things. I'm sorry, but I'm in love with someone else." I had smiled. "oh, it's fine." and rushed out of the house. Was it fine? No, it was not.Natalie shakes my shoulders again. "I'm sorry. I thought you weren't listening." She says with a small smile. I nod. She continues talking. "And yeah, because of that, It was the worst of times in my life. I wanted everything to end, but he was always there. And so, I fell in love. Isn't that just the perfect fairytale? I lived it." I look at her. She was smiling. She always smiled. I smile too at her naivety. She has no idea how painful her broken heart would be.I hear the sounds again. The people, children, sellers, We're near the carnival. I start walking slower. Natalie looks back at me. "Hey, what's wrong?" I look at her. "I can't do it. I want to go home." "Of course, you can go home, Tris. You can go wherever you want, whenever you want." Can I? "I don't know what happened," She continues, "But I want you to know, time heals. It does, Tris. And talking to someone. It'll help a lot, trust me." I look at her. Her eyes are blue, prettier than the sky. "Thank you," I say with a smile.The buzzing of people becomes louder and louder as we reach the carnival. But I realize it does not bother me much anymore. Natalie suddenly laughs. "What?" I ask. "My boyfriend. He's here," she says, looking front. I follow her gaze, and there he was.The familiar dark brown eyes. The dark brown hair. The dimples on both sides.Jackson.
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12,381
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Write about someone getting a job offer they never would have thought to apply for.
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Caffeinated Karma
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I ripped off my apron and slammed it on the greasy counter, someone’s coffee caught the brunt of it as one of the ties splashed right into the cup.
Oops.
I was sick and tired of waiting on customers who had only two things on their mind, their stomachs and their wallets.
I guess that’s true for most of us but when you make less than three dollars an hour on a waitress wage, you expect the tips to make up for it. And the thing is, we get awesome reviews on all the foodie website platforms, from the meatloaf to the service and even to our “world's best apple pie” which if you ask me, just might be. But where are my tips? Still in the pockets of the very satisfied customer.
I waved at the cook in his grimy white t-shirt with yellow stained armpits as I strutted out the door, the smell of bacon and toast wafting after me. He winked back, knowing I was got to that place in my life where I knew it was time to move on. And move on, I did.
It was still early enough in the day for caffeine, anything past noon and I’ll never get to sleep before the clock strikes midnight. I stopped at my favorite bookstore, which happens to be on my way home, and happens to serve the best coffee, even better than the diner, believe it or not. I had all the time in the world now that I didn’t have a job, right? This was a place where they knew me on a first name basis. Some of my regular diner customers couldn’t even remember it and I wore a gigantic name tag in big bold letters.
“Fig! Welcome! It’s been a few days!”
Has it? I must have been distracted.
“Hey Gail! What’s the word?”
“Well funny you should ask,” she looked away as if a difficult question was about to escape her mouth.
“I need a favor from you.”
“From me?” Moi? Of all people? Here it comes. I don’t mind doing favors, especially for any employee of my favorite place in the entire universe.
But...
“Sure, how can I help?”
“Madame Madeline, our psychic reader, she quit today. She is moving back to Chicago to be with her family. She said it was urgent and POOF! Gone! Boy, she wasn’t kidding!”
“Awe I’m sorry to hear that, Gail. I’ve heard great things about her!” I really did, too. She gave me a great reading once. As a matter of fact ...
Gail fiddled with the amethyst pendant that dangled just between her collarbones.
“I want you to take over.”
“Take over, what.. what do you mean?”
“Being our psychic reader. You keep all the profits, plus a thirty percent discount on all books and magazines in the store. We made no money from her in the past, other than the fact she drew in a lot of customers.”
How do I pass up thirty percent off on books and magazines? Especially since I’m broker than flat broke now. Priorities.
“Gail, I appreciate you thinking about me but I don’t know if I’m your girl.”
“You are. And I know it because she handed this to me before she left. She said make sure you get it, or else.”
She handed me a siky purple bag with a drawstring, filled with what felt like a deck of playing cards.
“Or else, what?” My voice went so high pitched that I was afraid it might not come back down from the rafters.
“I’m not sure, nor do I want to find out. Want a coffee?” She was already headed to the coffee counter.
“Yes please,” several would be great! “My usual, to go.”
As the hot steamy beverage filled the void of the cup, I yearned for the right answer to fill the void in my brain. I needed a job. I needed the money.
“Okay, I’ll do it!” I said, startling Gail as she handed me the Joe.
“It’s on the house. Another PERK! See what I did there?”
A weak smile parted my lips as I took that inviting, delectable, amazing, energizing (you get where I’m going with this) first sip.
“Yep, so I’ll see you tomorrow at what time?”
“You come whenever is convenient for you, dear. You get to set your own schedule, your own prices, and we will take care of the advertising. The clients come in at a steady stream so no worries there!”
I stood staring at the unfamiliar satiny sack in my hands. It felt like I was holding a hot potato and I should be tossing it back and forth so it doesn’t burn my delicate former waitress hands.
“Fig? Fig! Are you ok?”
I must have spaced out for a second, or eight.
“Yep! Hey yeah! I’ll see ya tomorrow! Thanks again!”
Haha thanks for what, exactly?
***
I basically ran back to my apartment, dodging baby strollers and fire hydrants and the mailman. Actually, I did practically knock him over and he smiled and waved, probably relieved that I wasn’t a vicious snarling dog. Luckily for him, I just had my coffee.
I undid the pretty little bow tie that cinched the bag closed and slid the cards out. Indeed, they were cards, but colorful and vibrant and weirdly magical looking. All 78 of them. I counted as I inspected and admired each one. The Fool, The Hermit, the Devil, Death. DEATH?! What kind of dark cult centered card game is this? Didn’t she say psychic reader?
Wait, could these be...
The Fool is the first card...zero... it looks like he’s going somewhere, on an adventure maybe? His bag is packed and he’s ready to go...
The next one is The Magician, he has one hand pointing up and the other pointing down. There are tools in front of him on a table, a sword, a chalice, a big gold coin, a wooden wand. An infinity symbol floats above his head... infinite wisdom? Will power? Tools of the trade?
When I pulled the third card in the line-up, The High Priestess, it took my breath away. This card. A beautiful womanly figure sitting in a high back throne made of stone, surrounded by vines and juicy pomegranates. A scroll sits on her lap, a full moon on her crown and a cross upon her chest. She looks like she has the answers to anything and everything, secrets, yet she won’t tell a single soul.
That’s it! This is the one Madame Madeline once told me would become extremely significant in my life. But what exactly did she say? My memory sucked something fierce. Maybe another cup of coffee would help? Doubtful. I really needed to cut back. Maybe I’ll try decaf someday. Yeah, someday.
I closed my eyes as I held the card between my shaking thumb and forefinger. Definitely too much caffeine. Caffeine!! That’s it!
I think it went something like this:
“You have a talent, one not yet known to you, one that will become apparent when the time is right, and ONLY when the time is right. It is your karma. You will understand once you meet that moment. Oh and honey, lay off the caffeine!”
I remember I laughed at her and she smiled back.
This IS my moment of karma. My time of transformation and growth and I can NOT pass it up. Caffeine or no caffeine.
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10,215
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Write about someone who keeps an unusual animal as a pet.
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Can't Be Like Them
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Caitriona and Mirabel looked at me like I'm a creep each time I ask to sit at their table at school lunch hour. Heck, I couldn't figure out why yet.
We used to be friends. Real tight friends.
Maybe they don't like me anymore. The same way, friends outgrow friends. We were all in grade 9 but they already were becoming ladies - with round, sexy figures. They let their hair fall in waves to their backs and wore more glitters and leather unlike me who still wore braces and coloured socks.
I wondered silently as I smiled stiffly, moving to a seat at the other end of the room while being watched by eyes. Yeah right. Everyone considered me a weirdo. Not that I was shy or anything, I was just not like them.
I loved things they don't love. I remember a time when we were asked to pick between going on a trip to Disneyland or farming in the school. With delight, I had screamed "farming". It seemed delightful to play with nature.
That was when the odd looks started.
I shrugged to myself, opening the zipper of my back pack. A white furry animal crept out to rest on my laps. "Atleast, I've got you." I said to Squeaky, my new bestfriend. His pointed mouth whiffed the air, making his whiskers shiver.
I did the same. The aroma of spaghetti and cheese everywhere. I had only a bar of chocolate. I couldn't stand mom's lunch.
"Hey, get that rat away from there!" A fat woman whose clothes barely fit screamed from the food counter, her arms on a waist. "How many times have I told you not to bring that rat into the food cafeteria?"
I looked at Squeaky. Maybe he could understand my predicament. He was just like me. Rejected by people. "Squeaky, we've got each other." I whispered, my slender fingers running down his back.
Here's how I found him. Two weeks ago, I was out in the rain after following my friends for a birthday party. I regret going but for the fact that I met my Squeaky that day is a great sacrifice. He had been lying near dead in the rain. My heart had bled for him.
Just the exact way I felt that day. Like no one cared if I died.
My friends had tossed me out of the party after I mistakenly spilled drink on a guest. I was booed at and tagged a weirdo. I knew why...Bran was there. He was the smartest kid in school and most wanted.
Every girl crushed on him, including me. I hate to admit it but everyone liked him because he was cool and smart, I just liked the glint in his eyes and how lopsided his smile was.
You get now? Weird me.
I still didn't get why they sent me out. Was I a threat to them in a way?
I shuffled my feets now as I arose, listening to another bouts of shouts from the food lady. My face scrunched and I wanted to scream back at her but I held Squeaky tight in my arms.
His nose went up in the air, sniffing. He was about to go on a hunger spree.
"Hey buddy, I've got chocolate in my bag." My voice shook as I made my way to the door, my legs hurrying. It was a little too late. Squeaky leapt from my arms and dashed towards the pots.
I shut my ears to the screams of the students. Many pushed at me as they raced towards the exit. Pans, pots and spoons clanked loudly in the space, nearly deafening me.
"Oh boy..." I bit my lips, staring around.
All I cared about was Squeaky. Alarms bells rang in my ear as I imagined him tossed into the oven to die. My feets were heavy but I still made it to the counter where the fat lady kept jumping and screaming in her apron.
"The rat! It's in my dress."
I blinked. "Squeaky?" I called, bending to look under the wooden counter. I saw his tail below her dress and found myself snickering.
I arose with a little smile. "He'll let you go now. Squeaky!" I yelled and I saw his little head peep from below the counter.
"Wierd fellow!" She screamed at me, hurrying away to the kitchen behind.
I picked the rat up, rubbed his back and sniffed him. "Naughty rat you are."
As I got out to the corridors, many students gaped at me in horror but I felt a pleasure run through me. Squeaky had given them a run for it.
Right then, I saw two dark eyes staring at me from behind the others. My heart quickened and I instantly felt shame engulf me.
He wasn't just staring at me. His eyes scanned around the damage Squeaky caused. I don't know why that seemed to hurt me.
Maybe because Bran was disgusted at me or maybe because I felt a little ashamed of Squeaky now. I turned and trotted down the hall way.
I took deep breaths, and stared at Squeaky. He was comfortable in my arms but I was far from it. I ignored the glares from friends and teachers alike.
I knew detention was coming. More so, I was scared to lose my rat.
Closing hour that day, my mom was waiting for me in the principal's office. She was upset as they discussed me like I weren't there.
The principal had the guts to say I needed a psychiatrist. I felt tempted to let Squeaky out of my bag and let the principal eat his words.
But I was a good girl at heart.
My mom walked me out of there, giving me a warning that the school would expel me it I brought the rat again.
That was a confirmation that I was all alone. No one had my back. I noticed Bran from the corner of my eyes, watching me with obvious interest.
My stomach fluttered. And I allowed myself to think that the presence of Squeaky had made Bran notice me.
Squeaky was needed after all.
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4,360
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Write about a character discovering a surprising strength in either themself or another.
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Cat Tale
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A Cat TaleThe tense looking group of men looked up as ‘Doc’ Redding entered the hospital’s waiting area.John Beck, their Safety Manager, his sixth cup of coffee splashing onto his pants as he jumped to his feet, demanded, “So? What’s the verdict?”“Catch your breath, John. Looks like we’ve had a miracle.”“Ya’ mean he’s gonna make it?”“By all rights your man should be dead. That twelve thousand volts melted the steel of his safety boot but didn’t even singe his big toe.”They all turned hearing a loud voice, shouting, “Doc, we just heard! The highway patrol said Robertson’s dead!”Glancing at the irate new-comer, he said, “Evening, Ryan. Your guy should be.”“Damnit doc, what do you to mean?”“Well, my friend, when your man woke ten minutes ago and I assured him he was very much alive, his response was, “I guess God called me, then changed his mind.’”The director snapped, “But we got a call from the highway patrol saying he’d been electrocuted!”The doc chuckled, “Well, aside from couple of scratches, and a red mark on his neck where the arc caught him, he’s fine.”One of the men said, “Unbelievable! Anybody hit with an arc of that magnitude should be dead.”Another said, “Damn! We all saw that arc. It blew his safety bucket to pieces!”“Just how the hell did this happen, Jon?” demanded the director.The safety manager said, “Sir, I think Marty, Rob’s line-partner can explain. Marty?”Still looking rather shaken, Marty said, “Well, sir... because of the rain and mud, both bucket-trucks had to be close to the utility pole, putting Rob on the side with a ‘hot line.’ When he got up to the problem, he shouted he’d found a poorly mounted Cellnet-box and antenna both mounted right over an open high voltage primary line. He said the ‘hot wire’ was exposed, n’ that the Cellnet wasn’t grounded. We should ‘a called it quits, but Rob said he could work around it. That’s when the gust threw his bucket into the pole, n' right into the Cellnet antenna. He caught the biggest arc ya’ ever saw, n’ his steel safety basket exploded!”Another man said, “God, sir, the explosion threw Rob from the top of one of our tallest poles!”“The fall alone would a’ killed an elephant!” said another.Jon Beck asked, “Doc, any chance we can see him?”“I guess, but he’s still in a kind of shock,” suddenly catching himself, “Oops, no pun intended.”Two days later, Rob was returned home. The first thing he asked about was George, his cat. Kenny told him that since they thought he was a goner, his sister, Beth, had taken him home with her.Later, when she brought George over, there was something odd about the cat. He let Rob pick him up and love him but quickly wanted down, running directly to his cat-tower across the living room. For the rest of the day, he lay perfectly still just watching Rob.Beth had remarked. “He’s usually all over you when you’ve been away.Rob said, “Maybe he can smell the ozone from the toasting I nearly got,” a lineman’s term causing Beth to shiver slightly.After she had gone, Rob tried to watch TV but couldn’t concentrate, so he just went to bed.Awakened early by what sounded like voices, he remembered he had been watching TV and had probably forgotten to turn it off.As he walked toward the living room, he again thought he heard someone talking. Peering cautiously around the corner he saw the TV was off.His eyes strayed to his cat, George, sitting stiffly erect as if attentively listening. Then to his amazement, it looked as if George’s mouth was moving.The big cat suddenly turned. Seeing Rob, he froze in place.Not believing what he thought he had just seen, Rob moved slowly across the room and reached out as if to touch his friend.George stared uncomfortably back, suddenly saying, “Guess this seems a bit strange, doesn’t it?”Rob glanced around looking for the source of the voice– then turned back, completely baffled.George said, “Why not just take a couple of deep breaths, this is all explainable... I think.”Convinced he must be walking in his sleep, Rob turned and quickly staggered to the kitchen. Opening a cabinet door, he grabbed for a bottle of Scotch, then a glass. Shaking his head as if hoping he might wake up, he nervously poured.Then turning to see George still seated where he left him, he tipped the glass up and gulped down its contents. Then, glancing up, seeing George was not where he was seconds before, he again filled the glass and was about to down it, when he heard...’“We weren’t sure how you’d take this, but we’re not surprised you’re shocked.”He turned seeing George seated on the top of the refrigerator.Rob mumbled. “Doc said I might experience some hallucinations, n’ said I might even have PTSD,” raising the glass again.George implored, “Rob, please. Just try and listen for a minute.”Rob’s mouth now hung open as George went on, “I assure you friend, this is no hallucination.”Quickly gulping the drink, Rob mumbled, “They said I might have brain damage from the fall... n’ cats just can’t talk.“This is going to be harder than we thought,” George, mumbled, closing his eyes as if listening.Quickly pouring another drink, Rob said, “There’s gotta be a way to stop hallucinations. Maybe if I just get good n’ pissed... I’ll just pass out.”George jumped from the fridge to the counter, then placing an outstretched paw over the glass, saying, “If you’d sit down for a couple of minutes and listen, this can all be explained. We’ve been pals for more than a dozen years, and we’ve shared a lot of what you always called cat-chats.”Rob’s glazed eyes just stared back.“Can’t we treat this like just one of those chats”?Glancing down at the glass in his hand, Rob mumbled, “I was sober then n’ knew we were just doin’ a cat n’ human friendly kinda’ thing. But now, I’m talking to a cat that’s... hell... talking back!”As he gulped down the entire glass, he slurred, “The shrink at the hoshpitul sed’ what happened might a’ messed up my brain. Boy!” he laughed, “if she was here now,” he laughed, “she’d shee how meshed up I really am.”Jumping down and trotting over to the couch, George hopped up, saying “Rob, please come n’ sit with me. If you’ll listen for a minute, we’ll try n’ explain what’s happened... and why.”Glancing at George, then at the empty glass, he shakily put the glass on the counter. Then, staggering into the living room, he awkwardly fell onto the couch, right on George’s tail.Mreeaw! George screeched, jumping to the safety of the couch’s arm.Rob mumbled, “Sorry pal, not used to drinkin.’ Really sorry!”“No damage done. “I just forgot I have a tail.Rob found this funny and laughed, “For a cat... or whatever the heck you are... you’re funny. I never thought cats had a funny side.”“Well,” George said, “until a few hours ago, I suppose I thought I was a cat.”“Ok,” Rob laughed, “So, maybe we’re both hallushinating. Guess cats can hallushunate too...”George cautiously stepped over on to Rob’s right leg, carefully positioning himself as he said, “That’s better. So can we talk now?”Rob reached and gently scratched George on his back, something he knew his friend loved, then said, “Ok, mistr’ George. Sinsh at the moment, yur’a heck uv’a lot more shober thun me... juss what is thish all aboud?”George closed his eyes again. Then after a long pause, said, “Ok. The people I’m communicating for are going to do something now that’ll feel strange, but it will sober you up instantly. “You ready?”“Ma’God! It can’t be worsh thun hallushinating all night!”Suddenly looking as if he might have received an electric shock, Rob sat stiffly upright, eyes bulging slightly. After less than five seconds, he caught a breath and slumped slightly into the high couch back and sighed, “Wow! That’s about like what I felt... yeah! That’s exactly what I felt that morning. Except that time, I thought I’ed died.”Then turning to George, he whispered... “Am I...?”“No, my friend. You’re very much alive; more so, perhaps than you’ve ever been.“Ok. And since I am able to think now, you’ve always been my best friend. Except now your....”“Kinda different, huh?”“Different? You have the distinction of being the world’s first talking tiger tabby. You may call that different... I just call it weird.”George closed his eyes. Then, in an oddly different voice, said, “Friend, Rob. We shall do our best to explain what we believe has occurred with you, as well as the consequences of its happening.”Rob smiled slightly, saying, “Ok? Not sure I follow, but since I’m able to think now, I am listening.”As George’s mouth moved, the voice continued, “We shall endeavor to explain what we believe has occurred.”Then stretching himself to his full height, his bright green eyes sparkling now with a strange violet glow Rob had never seen before and the voice went, “You see, friend, we exist in different dimensional realities. However, due to an inexplicable warp in quantum dimensional physics, at the moment, we find ourselves able to communicate from our seventh dimensional reality, to you, in your fourth.”Rob said, “Wait a minute. You say you’re in a seventh dimension... and I’m in a fourth?“Yes.”“Oh, yeah. Three dimensions of space... and one of time, right?“Correct.”“Ok. So, you’re aliens or... whatever. And since I’ve had some higher education and I’ve read a lot about quantum physics and relativity, I’m really trying to get this. But... I’m sitting in my house, listening to a voice talk– through my cat– about some weird quantum dimensional reality?”“It is a bit complicated,” the voice said. “However, as near as we can understand, the energetic phenomenon that recently occurred to you, somehow induced a quantum phenomenon seldom if ever experienced in your dimensional reality. It appears that the concentrated energy of the electrical current was of such an order of magnitude, that your fourth dimensional reality matrix was translated, in an inexplicable quantum nano-second into multidimensional quantum-entanglement. In that instant, dimensional differentials were brought into quantum simultaneity. You simply flashed in then out of our dimension, causing an instantaneous reorganization of your biological atomic structure, returning you, instantly to your dimensional plane in an undamaged state-of-being.”“So? That’s it? I just went into some weird other dimensional reality, had some kind of super-healing and returned– alive?”George said, simply, “Would seem so.”Tilting his head, curiously, Rob said, “So, how do I rationalize my suddenly having a... talking cat.”George seemed to smile as the voice continued, “Your strange phenomenon, for us at least, voiced a moral responsibility to share our understanding of the phenomenon with you. This required our utilizing your closest ally.”“Ok, that explains the phenomenon, and the George, thing. But why would such a thing happen to, well... I’m just an average guy?”“If you will kindly bear with us. A brief study of your kind, your world, and the work with which you are involved, demonstrates that hundreds of workers die during an average year due to accidents such as yours; with thousands of near-electrocutions yearly in your field.”“I’m familiar with those figures. I just never thought I’ed ever be a near statistic.”“Actually, the majority of these accidents and deaths could be prevented.”“I think most of us know that,” Rob said. But there is so much corruption with the people we work for. They post Safety Posters everywhere and are constantly lecturing us to prevent accidents, yet they allow poorly trained people to do installations that cause the very accidents they tell us to avoid.”George smiled, “Like, for example: the Cell-Net box you discovered, incorrectly installed directly over an unprotected ‘hot’ line?”Rob said, “Yeah, one of our most frequent complaints to authority. But we’re always told to just ‘work around it,’ since millions of dollars in revenue come from corporations who own the state and local cable and TV companies.”As Rob’s right hand gently stroking George, he hoped his friend wouldn’t feel the anger and frustration he was personally feeling in that moment.Just then the phone rang. He turned and picked it up, saying, “Rob here.”“Good to hear your voice, son. It’s Jon.”“Hi, guy. Funny, I was just thinking about you.”“Glad to hear that. The doc said you might have memory problems for a while.”“Nope. Memory’s sharper than ever.”“That’s great. How’s George? Bet his missed you.”Rob glanced over at George who smiled back, a bit like Rob thought a ‘Cheshire cat’ might.“Actually,” Rob chuckled, “he’s... well he’s been talking my ear off.”Jon laughed at the supposed joke, then, “Look, I’m over at Kenny Martins. And some of the guys from the South-crew are here. Kenny mentioned that lately he’s really been listening to the things you talk a lot about, and I know you’ve tried to get my ear a few times.”“So?”“Well, anything going on with you this morning?”Rob, smiled, glancing at George, “Nothing you’d find interesting.”Jon said, “Look. Since your thing the other day a lot of us are really pissed about the dangerous cable and Cellnet installations that are being allowed. We know that’s what caused your... well, thing. And damnit Rob, we’re all madder n’hell. We feel it’s time something got done about it. Can you, I mean are you in good enough shape to come over? Uh, somebody can drive over n’ get you.”“No problem. I can get there on my own.” Having the strangest feeling, glancing back at the Cheshire-cat grin on George’s face that the ‘other shoe’ was about to drop, he asked, “Just what is this about?”“Rather not discuss it over the phone. We all feel it’s just time for changes, and well, it’s just... time. We’ll be waiting for you. Ok?”“Yeah. See you in about, twenty minutes... ok?”“Great! You won’t be sorry!”As he hung up the phone, he couldn’t help hoping he wouldn’t be sorry.”He said, “Not sure what that’s all about, but guess I should go find out.”“Of course,” George said. Then, in the other voice, “We have actually been waiting for this.”Rob looked momentarily stunned. “What do you mean? Waiting... for what?”George’s yellow tiger stripped continence took on a look with which Rob was more than familiar. Then the voice said, “Your concerns for safety have long been ignored. Jon Beck retires next month, and your friends and colleagues intend to present you as the next choice for the position. They see this as an opportunity for someone to make strides in bringing about important and overdue changes to your line of work.”“You have an important future, young friend. During your time with your utilities company, you have made some very good friends, all of whom admire your professional approach to what you do. Your concerns for safety have come to the attention of not only your fellow-workers but people in important positions in your company.”“So?”“There has long been interest in you by the gentleman who is inline as your next Director General. Your current manager is to soon be removed by the board of directors as a poor example of safety and reliable management.”“You actually know this? How?”“No matter,” George smiled. The other voice said, “If your friends can convince you to accept the new position, there are so many people behind you that you will advance rapidly into positions where you will do incalculable good.”“So? You can actually see the future?”“The future, young friend, has been predicated by your having been born to be a very important part of your country’s progress.”“But I’m just a guy. I’ve done nothing. I didn’t even get to finish an education. What can I contribute?”“In your brief twenty-five years, and with the quantum blessing of what occurred to you a few days ago, you are now intellectually and morally aligned with the universal power of creative good.”As Rob thought about this, George said, “The question is?” His tabby face again smiled in the Cheshire-cat way Rob had noticed earlier; “Are you willing to take a chance on a Cat... being right?’As Rob stood, he stared affectionately at his friend, then leaned forward, lifted him from his perch, hugging him so tightly, George said, “I love you too, pal, but you’re gonna’ squish me!”“Sorry,” Rob said, placing him lovingly back on the perch. “I never dreamed that twelve thousand volts of electricity could have such a– pardon the pun– shocking influence on my life.”George smiled the most loving smile any cat had ever smiled and purring loudly said, “By the time you get back from Kenny’s, you’ll find me as my old self. But I truly hope we can have our friendly ‘cat-chats’ more often.”Rob s grabbed George’s large, striped face in both hands, kissing him squarely on his nose, chuckling, “You nutty cat! As long as we are together, I’ll always be expecting you to suddenly quote Shakespeare.”George, smiled knowingly, saying, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy... Purrrrrrrr.”In the Land of Serendipity... There are No Accidents!
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3,635
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Write about a character who is incapable of telling even the smallest lie or half-truth.
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Cat got your Tongue?
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Pierre and Monique were quite renowned in Paris when eet came to their secret nighttime activities. They were cat-burglars and did quite well at their trade.
Monique loved diamonds, and Pierre could not steel enough for her. He adored mon Cheri. And he was her diamond-in-ze-rough. Pierre was built like a weasel and zhust as cunning. There was no building that was Pierre-proof, no matter how high. Nor was there a fire-proof or an explosion-proof safe, safe from Pierre’s fingertips. His delicate ear could see ze gears turn and ze tumblers line up, as he turned ze dial, ever so slowly. And when ze last little tumbler, tumbled, Voilà.
Besides scaling tall buildings, Pierre was quite good in ze sack. He seemed perfect. Monique loved every inch of him. But sadly, he had one tiny little fault which would lead to a disastrous consequence.
Monique, on ze other hand, was built more like a kitten, a kitten with very sharp claws. She was a sexy, soft, blond kitten and she could be quite charming to older gentlemen with wives that wore sparkle around their necks. Diamond necklaces were her targets and French wine were her bullets. She kept their glasses full and their tongues loosened. They bragged about their large homes and in which influential neighborhood they lived in. And, of course, which floor their thief-proof safe was on.
Yes, Monique was good and in ze driver’s seat. Eef Pierre was a motorcycle, she was a sports car.
Her job during these cappers, was to drive to ze target, and then to get-away very fast. Ze elite were not stupid and all had alarms. So, her vehicle of choice was ze Ferrari. But of course.
But alas, ze electronic curse of ze 21st Century caught up with them. Eet was ze malėdiction from ze street surveillance cameras that almost took them down. They photographed them fleeing from a very lucrative heist. Eet was one of their better ones.
Soon, wanted posters were distributed with their faces on them. They were unflattering! And this upset Monique. So it became time to pack up their valuables and leave ze country. Forever. It was now time to live happily-ever-after in a foreign country that also spoke français. And so, with a suitcase full of bling, they retired into ze primitive North American country of Canada and ze providence of Québec.
They had heard amongst their intimate fellow-thieves, that they could sell diamonds, across ze thin south border, to fat Americans on Craig’s List. And, with no questions asked. C’est la vie.
Pierre grew a beard. It had a touch of gray. He even agreed that it made him even more handsome. And Monique, she dyed her hair red. It added fire to her beautiful hazel eyes.
But unfortunately, ze 21st Century followed them to this primitive providence across ze Atlantic. And, as it turned out, ze siège de la police had internet, and their unflattering faces turned up there. And ze officer in charge of ze fax-machine added ze photos to ze ‘wall of shame.’ They were now in deep merde if they were not careful, and if they drew attention to themselves.
Our young, newly retired couple chose ze petit villa settlement of Sainte Sophie. A quaint town, bordering on rustic. Almost crude. Eet was just a few kilometers north of Montreal.
Ze former thieves had retired at ze respectable age of fifty. Monique was still thirty-nine, of course. They were a bit young to take up gardening and yet not old enough to quietly watch ze sunset while drinking a good Bordeaux. Travel was a middle ground.
“Pierre,” purred sweet Monique, “I want to see a polar bear.”
“Oui, mon cheri.” Pierre smiled. He still had excellent teeth. “Let us take some cheese and that bottle of good French-Québec wine. Ze wine I found at Trader Joe's. We can sit on ze beach of Hudson Bay and toast ze white bears as they float by on glaciers. Non?”
“Oh oui, mon amie. You get ze basket. I will fill it.”
And there eet was. Their first excursion as a retired couple. And eet was to see ze diamond-colored glaciers. How fitting. So, they quickly loaded ze Ferrari and sped north.
(Oui, c’est la Ferrari. I must shake my head, because I now know how this sad tale will end. Yes, they shipped ze pretty get-away car without thinking. I never accused them of being very bright. C’est la vie.)
Monique squeezed ze steering wheel of ze sports car and squealed in delight, as they raced north. She had never been this excited while wearing her clothes. But for every high, it seems, we are cursed with a matching low. And ze low was now chasing her down.
When Monique heard ze siren, she glanced in ze side mirror. “Merde,” she cursed and took her foot off ze pedal. Ze car sputtered and coughed and also cursed. It didn’t want to slow down. It never learned to drive slowly.
Officer Little-bear, who was actually quite large, had parked his dirty-white SUV at ze border of ze Indian reservation to watch for speeders in his territory. But for some reason, he would always be busy looking at a moose when a fellow First Nation tribe-member, zipped by.
In Canada, ze Indian tribes are called ‘First Nations,’ because these northern natives did not come from India. Ze new name made it less confusing, especially when actual Indians started arriving.
Americans still call their Indians, Indians. And, even ze professional ones that play baseball in Cleveland, are called Indians. And I don’t know what Americans actually call ze people from India. Americans would have been much better served, if they had lost ze Revolutionary War.
Officer Little-Bear had another officer riding with him, a trainee. Eet was so that she could experience ze rugged police work at its source. Her name was Mary Gray-Dove. She was petite and had long black hair. And she was very excited to be out of ze office. Officer Little-Bear packed a gun. Mary was too new to carry a gun, so she just packed her briefcase. Ze two reservation-officers were both Algonquin Indians, I mean First Nations. And they were about to make their first big arrest.
“Oh look, a moose.” Little-Bear actually saw one that time.
A swish and a noise that sounded like a high-performance sewing machine alerted the nature-gazing officer. “What the hell was that?”
“A Ferrari,” observed Officer Mary Gray-Dove.
“What the hell is a Ferrari?”
“A sports car. They are very fast and very expensive. They don’t normally travel this far west of Europe.” Ze observant officer quickly opened her briefcase and found ze wanted poster. She handed it to her partner. Sure enough, there it was, ze wanted car and ze two villains behind its windshield. Finally, real criminals, not just poachers. His adrenalin kicked in.
He flipped on his lights and siren, put ze pedal to ze metal, and perused ze fleeing outlaws. Ze police car was soon going in excess of 100 mph, which in Canada is exactly...very many kilometers. Officer Little-Bear found it exhilarating. His partner found it terrifying.
Monique, meanwhile, was idling along just shy of a 100, and enjoying the scenery. Pierre was busy watching for polar bears. But all he saw were very large, awkward-looking deer with funny flattish antlers. “Ze French deer are much nobler looking.” He scoffed.
After a harrowing chase lasting over thirty minutes, the Algonquin reservation-police finally apprehended the suspects. They were politely cuffed and charged.
“Evading a police officer,” Little-Bear was writing in his citation book, “and for heinous crimes against diamonds.”
Gray-Dove looked at her partner with raised eyebrows and mouthed, “Heinous crimes against diamonds?”
This was Pierre and Monique’s first time in ze Gray Bar Hotel. Its patrons were all criminals. And this was ze first time that they would be questioned by ze police.
Monique could see that their faces on the poster looked a little different. They had plausible denial. A good lawyer, and a few pounds slipped to the judge, and freedom.
But, Monique was aware of Pierre’s flaw. As dastardly and evil that he was, he was afflicted with the truth. The poor thief could not lie. In fact, he would even clarify the truth. Oh merde.
“Pierre, you must not speak.” Monique pleaded. “I will tell them you are a deaf-mute.”
“Oui, mon amour. You are not only beautiful, but you are very clevair.”
Officer Little-Bear was in charge of questioning the alleged criminals. Officer Gray-Dove took notes.
“Would you care for a cup of coffee?” asked Little-Bear.
Pierre nodded.
“Sugar?”
Again, Pierre nodded.
“One or two?” Little-Bear focused on Pierre’s lips.
Pierre started to speak, but stopped with an elbow to the ribs. He then held up two fingers.
Little-Bear turned to Monique. “Coffee?”
“I would prefer a cup of red wine. No sugar, sil vous platt.”
Officer Gray-Dove snickered.
Little-Bear didn’t know how to respond to Monique’s request. He was used to talking to men, bad men, despicable men. He was used to being in charge. And with such impertinence, he would unseat ze criminal with a swing of his right paw. But this la fem, with ze flaming red hair, got him off his game.
He angered. He pounded ze table. And shouted, “No.” Spital from his angry mouth landed on the perpetrators. Eet was disgusting.
Pierre jumped in fear. He barely stayed in his skin.
Little Monique, barely eye-batted.
The Bear growled, “We do not serve wine to criminals.” Both of his hands were balled into tight fists.
Monique smiled. Cheerfully. “Well then, Monsieur Beer, an espresso would be satisfactory. Mercy.”
Little-Bear turned to Gray-Dove with eyebrows raised in puzzlement. She noticed he also turned red. She answered his question. “It is a fancy coffee.” She then got up and poured four cups of regular coffee while her partner calmed down. She set them on the table and then slid the sugar in front of Pierre. He nodded and whispered, “Thank you.” No one seemed to notice that he spoke, except for officer Gray-Dove.
Little-Bear wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and regained his composure. It was time to show them exhibit A. He slid the wanted-poster in front of them.
“Do you deny,” he was looking at Monique, “being the woman driving this Ferrari?”
Monique picked up the picture and studied it carefully. She shrugged her shoulders, “Oui.”
Little-Bear chuckled. “So, yes, it is you.” He Paused. “Or are you saying, yes, it is not you?”
“Oui,” said she.
The angry Bear turned to Pierre. “And is this you riding shot-gun with this woman?”
Pierre grabbed his head to keep it from nodding.
“Non,” shouted Monique. She looked at her partner-in-crime. He saw her eyes, and they said, “I will kill you!”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Gray-Dove. “I have a couple of questions.” She looked at Monique, who had now lost her cocky smile. “If you interrupt, I will have you physically removed.”
“But, but...”
“No ‘buts.’ Just nod.”
Monique nodded and threw Pierre a mortal eye-dagger.
Gray-Dove, now had Monique’s smug smile on her pretty little face. She turned to Pierre. “Can you speak?”
Pierre nodded, weakly.
“Speak up.”
He mumbled “Oui.”
“Okay, now that wasn’t so hard. Was it?”
“Oui; eet was very hard and very painful.”
“I see. Just one last question. Is that you and Monique in this wanted poster?”
...
They were to be deported.
Pierre was devastated. How could he have done this to his amour? And Monique was now heartbroken. She was separated from her true love and her diamonds. Her hard shell melted into tears. And then they were both shipped back to France to stand trial, like...like unwanted baggage.
Pierre vowed that he would never betray his beautiful Monique, ever again. And he proved eet. Just before their trial, and just after a fine steak, he cut off his tongue with ze steak-knife. Now, he could admit to nothing.
The jury could not convict them on the photos. Ze picture didn’t quite look like ze handsome couple seated at ze defense table. They were free.
Pierre learned sign language, so that he could speak to his loving partner. Although their hearts communicated just fine, without spoken words.
They came back to Quebec. Pierre did promise to show Monique a polar bear.
And he did, with a little help from Little-Bear.
Monique and Pierre soon became best of friends with Little-Bear and Gray-Dove. And they ate diner regularly at the casino.
“Did you hear what happened to Prime Minister Trudeau?” asked Little-Bear as he reached for his beer.
“Non monsieur,” said Monique. “What did you hear?”
Little-Bear chugged his beer ending with a satisfying belch. “It seems his wife’s diamond necklace was stolen, last night.”
Monique gasped. “Merde. His wife must be distraught.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
“Non. We avoid ze English-speaking part of your country,” said Monique. Pierre’s head nodded slightly.
Little-Bear saw the nod and ordered another round. “Good,” grinned Little-Bear with a wink. “It could not have happened to a nicer man.” And like all Quebeckians, he considered all ze other Canadian provinces as back-woods, English hillbillies. Especially, their young, English-speaking leader.
Eet was karaoke night and they celebrated ze rest of the night singing bawdy French songs. C’est la vie!
Ze moral of this story, besides keeping your enemy closer, ees that, being truthful all ze time ees not always good. A little lie, now and then, may save your tongue.
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3,117
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Write about a human and a cat that come to some kind of mutual understanding.
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Cat's dream
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You don't choose a cat. A cat chooses you, according to my grandpa.
A persistent cat from the neighborhood decided to adopt me.
On a hot summer evening, two huge longing eyes appeared at the kitchen door, accompanied by serenading meows. He did not flinch when I approached him. I started speaking baby talk. I don't know why, but there seems to be a neurological explanation for that. The cat, which I would later call simply Cat, seemed pleased.
I gently stroked behind his grey ears. He lay on his back and let me feel the softness of his white furry belly, and he purred loudly with gratitude.
In appreciation of the fact that my affections had been reciprocated, I opened a can of tuna. Cat scoffed at it and left. (So much for reciprocal gratitude)
I thought nothing more about it. Cat was back a few days later, and we both acted like long-lost friends. There was petting and cuddling. I gave him some food, and this time he ate loudly. Then he went again.
These meetings soon became a daily routine and something I looked forward to. Cat was used to coming into the house and, taking a nap on the couch. When I went to sleep I put him outside again. Cat did not seem to mind.
My evenings were fun. The stress of the day dissolved, as Cat and I watched television curled up together in the evening. It didn't occur to me then that Cat could probably be living with someone.
After a few months I bought a pet bed for Cat so he could relax, and special bowls for his food and drink. I went to work with cat hair on my clothes, and I smiled in anticipation of getting together in the evening. Everyone kept asking me how "my" cat was doing, and I replied as if the cat was mine, and showed pictures of Cat on my Instapage. I did my very best to ignore my new status: catnapper. Oh well, cats are persevering and live on their own terms I consoled my bad conscience.
Animals are better than people, my grandfather always said. Animals don't lie and they don't kill for fun. They cannot harm you with the pain people inflict on each other and their environment. Innocence belongs to animals and not to humans.
Cat liked the steam in the shower, so he followed me into the bathroom, sat on the sink, waiting for the hot water to rise. When I took off my clothes I always got the feeling that he was staring at me in a "biblical" way. He looked me up and down, made eye contact without flinching, and for a fleeting moment it left me feeling scandalized. But Cat was a gentleman.
He was a bit plump, and his round belly made it sometimes difficult for him to reach the places where he had to groom himself.
Cat was brave too. He once competed against a dog that was many times bigger than him. It was a beautiful and intelligent dog, and his owner assured me that he liked cats. But Cat was skeptical. He continued to treat the dog with suspicion. As soon as his gaze caught the dog, he began to huff and puff, arch his back, making him look twice his size, and began repeatedly slapping the dog's nose with his claws. He hissed and jeered until the dog stood perplexed and startled or ran off with his tail between his legs.
He was also a watchdog (cat). He often sat by the window, and when he started meowing (his tell-tale distress call) that let me know that rioters were hanging around our yard. Mostly kids with their trendy and brightly colored nerf guns and boom blasters. Fortunately, he always chased them away: they never came in...
And then my affair came to a sudden end: Cat disappeared. I waited days and nights, calling Cat into the sad abyss of my garden. I felt robbed and abandoned. I started imagining all sorts of scenarios of what could have happened to Cat: I was worried that he might have been run over and was lying in a ditch somewhere. I sat for hours looking at the empty cat bed and the untouched food bowls. The cat hairs on my clothes became scarce...
One fine autumn day, my beloved cat went missing, I wrote in my diary. The thought that I had lost him forever loomed before me like the gates of Hades.
Did I lose Cat in an accident in the street? The inattention of a car driver in a speeding car, or was it a petty thief preying on charismatic pets?
I mused how Cat's friendly demeanor could play to his advantage as well as against him, depending on the people he would encounter. I continued my search and hurried to an alley where the city sometimes put rat poison. I searched for him in nooks and ledges. In neighbors’ yards and called Cat until my voice went hoarse.
I tried to push the thoughts of doom out of my head. I had to find him: I searched everywhere and approached passers-by (sometimes the same people, more than once). I journaled every day about how much I missed him and what I did to find him.
After a few weeks, my journalling took a different turn. I began to fantasize that Cat was sitting in the doorway in the kitchen again, telling me a story: a story about humanity, who, despite their shortcomings, had kept their innocence intact, for someone somewhere had received him kindly.
At first, I imagined that he had ended up with an old lady, but after a few days, she had to leave him at an animal shelter because she was sick and could no longer care for him.
-"Please take good care of him." the old lady had said to the kind woman from the pet shelter, with tears in her eyes. Then an old ruddy man with a drooping head passed by. He didn't need much convincing, and he quickly decided to adopt Cat (my Cat). He lived in a small town, where there was almost nothing to do. In the evening, the man and Cat watched a movie on television together.
But Cat grew bored with the old man, and he began to attempt to clear the backyard fence as if determined to find something more meaningful than the toys, the catnip, and the lonely old man. Cat wasn't content to live like a glut who satisfied himself with food and belly rubs and lounging by the fireplace for hours.
I decided to continue writing about Cat's adventures. The adventures I made up for him that is.
Cat decided to go on a trip. He wanted to see some of the world. Of course, it was not easy to find an airline that allowed four-legged passengers. Finally, he had found one.
As the plane began to taxi onto the tarmac, the engines revved and roared. Cat was sitting in an armchair, in a soft travel basket. He felt short of breath and even panicked a little when the plane took off.
Every time a flight attendant passed by, he smiled kindly at Cat.
-"Don't run on the aisle,” the friendly lady said, "otherwise I'll have to tell the captain that there's a loose cat on the plane." But Cat stayed in his chair nicely. He prided himself on finding harmony in chaos. Let the chips fall where they land, he purred to himself, I'm a globetrotter now.
Cat arrived in a land of a thousand and one nights. He jumped into a cab and lay down under the slanted rear window, looking through the glass at the mystery of the desert.
Occasionally he jumped into the seat next to the driver and stood on his hind legs, looking out the window. There was a lot of traffic, and people drove aggressively. Everyone seemed to honk and curse. But every car that tried to pass them slowed down to get a good look at the feline passenger. Some of the drivers smiled broadly and waved at Cat.
It didn't take long for Cat to find a friend: Sami. A friendly young male. What fun they had together. In their beautiful apartment, they practiced martial arts: a headlock with hind legs on the muzzle, a neck grab, and then naps in the sun on a beautiful Persian carpet. Cat began meowing a wide range of intonations: a sweet cadence within the range of a mezzo-soprano: meowing a melancholic desperado.
Cat enjoyed perfect room service. His nails were trimmed, and he was washed with a special shampoo for his head and another for his body. Then his fur was blow-dried, and his hair brushed for maximum floof.
One day Cat was asked to star in a TV novella. Of course, he had to audition at the film studio first. A man in a posh three-piece suit came to pick up Cat in a nice limo and took him to the filming location.
But Cat became restless in his beautiful holiday country. He had noticed that people had started acting differently, and he could hear more and more strange noises in the distance.
One lazy afternoon, he sat in the living room, turning his head towards a hum that seemed to be coming his way. The sound soon changed to a whistle: the ominous wail of an incoming missile that seemed to slow down time. The mortar flew over the roof and landed in the park where Cat loved to catch mice. He had only one goal in mind: to run for his life.
He ran out as fast as he could. He jumped through the air. Everywhere people were running in panic.
Another kaboom. Cat reached the basement where people sought shelter, they were panting and he could hear his own heart beating.
Then his mind began to wander to Sami. Where was he? Was he okay? Was he safe, did he find a hiding place?
Boom, boom, boom: thump and roar.
Luckily, Sami was unharmed. He had taken shelter in a neighboring building near the park.
-"God save us from the hour of oblivion." Sami softly cried.
The city was no longer beautiful but had become a ghostly landscape. The birds stopped chirping and animals no longer roamed the streets. Neither foxes nor coyotes were to be seen, in the parts of the city where fire and iron fell from the sky and humans hid underground-
Cat had to leave. He said goodbye to Sami and set out on his journey. He went out of his way not to get caught. That sometimes led to mean games.
One day a car bomb exploded close to the tree where Cat had settled down to rest. This kaboom traveled in a burst of strong sound waves. Cat was startled and jumped into the air. He came down crouched on all fours. He walked slowly across the street, his tail heavy as lead.
There were only a handful of people on the street. Their faces were sullen and stoic. They moved in silence. The street was littered with shattered glass, dust, and debris. Cat's eyes closed and stubbornly refused to open again.
Suddenly he felt a gentle tug on his stomach: Sami. It was Sami, spinning and kneading and sniffing Cat's head. They were both still alive. Yes, they were both still there, and Sami had found Cat.
-"Take me with you." Sami cried. "Do not leave me alone."
The cats decided to stay together and continue their journey together. It was time to leave that country and return to the other side of the ocean.
Goodbye beautiful country. Goodbye, beautiful people.
Sami's heart seemed to break.
Together they found a transatlantic flight. Fortunately, Sami did not panic when the plane took off. Both cats quickly fell asleep.
Cat dreamed that the people and the animals left behind, would one day too, tell a story with a happy ending... or maybe it was a prayer.
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11,189
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Write a story that starts with the line “So, what’s the catch?”
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Catcher in the. . . Sigh.
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“So, what’s the catch?”
“No catch, man, it’s just like I told ya.”
“Really? When it’s too good to be true, well, you know, it usually is.”
“I’m being straight with ya, man. This ain’t like that Nigerian Prince scam ya get in your fax machine. No, no. This is one hundred percent, full disclosure, top notch, no bullshit stuff
I’m talkin’ ‘bout here.”
“Okay, so let me ask. Why me? How’d you land on my sorry ass, huh? What, am I on the cover of Gullible Magazine this month?”
“C’mon, nothing like that, I’m just trying to do you a solid, that’s all. It’s all above board, nothing sketchy. Honestly, hand to God, it’s for real. So am I.”
Harry pushed the stool back from his makeshift desk, reread the last bit of dialogue and stood, stretching his tall frame side to side until he felt a few cracks and pops in his aging back. After hunching over his computer for over an hour it was good to bend and move. Not bad, not bad, but I don’t know where I’m going with this idea, he thought, scratching his bristly white scalp with chewed fingernails. I’m just letting it flow, stream of consciousness style. Frequently it worked for him and sometimes he didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was going to write about, but after sitting down at the screen, it just came. Often, he would reread what he had just typed and would marvel at where it had come from. It just seems to write itself, he thought.
He found it helpful to begin with the word “So” and go from there. This way, he wasn’t looking at a completely blank page. That can be intimidating. All his blog posts began that way: So. . . . And so far it seemed to be working for him.
He began his blog about two years ago, after finding himself unemployed, grief stricken and frightful of venturing out into a Covid infected world. It helped fill his day. It helped distract him from his heartache. He would blog about the injustices in the world, about the political and social outrages he saw and read about, and about personal things as well, anecdotes and events he had experienced. It felt good to get them down on paper, well, not paper exactly, he thought, but in writing nonetheless and it was cathartic. Like letters home from a war front or a secret diary hidden by a child, he would record and recount the stories of his life. Of her life. Of theirs.
His blog entries gave way to more fully realized stories, not necessarily about himself. He began to enter writing contests where the idea was to write a story based on a selection of prompts offered up by the website. Just as the “so” of his beginnings acted to jumpstart his creative juices, so did these prompts, leading him to areas he would not otherwise have gone and he was on a roll lately, producing more completed work in the past few months than he had. . . well, ever.
So, what to do with this newest challenge? So, what’s the catch? The “catch” being the crux of this new contest. To start a story with that phrase and explore the possibilities. He didn’t want it to be some Twilight Zone variant, although he did love that old show with its twist endings, but rather wanted something more. . . heartfelt. Not sure. I’ll stop thinking about it and let my subconscious work on it, he thought, and lay down on the leather couch for a nap, chiding himself that it was some kind of research.
As he slept the dreams came, as they always did. His wife. Her face, her laugh, her final breaths. They were the kind of dreams that he both wanted and dreaded. Sad and heart wrenching to relive moments of their lives together, but also happy for the chance to do so. To see her in his mind, hold her there, trace the curve of her face with his sleeping fingers. Breathe her in. He would have breathed for her if he could at the end, but the virus would have none of it. It was her ventilator that kissed her then, filling her lungs with the dispassionate air of a machine. In the end her metallic lover couldn’t save her and the lungs that had once sighed whispers into his ears, just stopped, like a faulty bellows unable to rekindle an ember.
He awoke, momentarily unsure of where he was. A blurry image coming into focus, lines sharpening at the edges. Easing himself off the sofa, he stretched again, bent to touch his toes and then the ceiling. It was dark out now. How long had he slept? The glow of his computer, screensaver sliding random pictures from his photo library, lit the kitchen countertop. At the moment it was a wedding picture, where she had smacked his nose with icing after cutting their cake. That spontaneous moment always made him smile, as he remembered rubbing noses with her and listening to her giggle. He could hear it now, through the cloud of his grogginess.
Rachel would have been so proud of him, he thought, for the work he was producing. All those years he talked about it, but aside from the occasional anniversary poem, there was nothing. Now, he wrote consistently both on his blog and on that writing site for fiction. His blog had over two thousand followers and his fiction was beginning to gain a bit of attention, despite having never won a contest, it still garnered many likes and positive comments. He appreciated the ego salve it provided.
Harry removed two shiny cold triangles of foil wrapped pizza from the fridge, placed them in the toaster oven, and poured himself a glass of white wine from an open bottle. He would continue with his story after dinner but for now he raised his wine glass, silently toasting Rachel.
So, was this the bargain? Was this the catch? Did she have to die in order for him to begin writing in earnest. Did the torment, does the torment still, unlock an inner cell of emotion and creativity, allowing him to vent his pent up feelings. No answer. He looked back at the first few lines of dialogue he had attempted to address this latest challenge with and realized that it wasn’t leading to any sort of “catch,” it was only a placeholder waiting for the true story to emerge. That story, the one where he “catches” her attention and they create a life together, where she herself was the “catch” of a lifetime, is the one worth telling.
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