Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: pencil, apple and gigantic
William Tell-ish
The pencil buried itself in the tree trunk with a dull “thunk.”
Just for show, Evan scowled at the miss. Inwardly, he was basking in variations of “Wow that was cool!” and “Holy shit, dude!” coming from his audience of fifteen-year-old pimple machines.
They crowded around to get a better look at the rather ingenious crossbow Evan had built during third period shop. He’d told the instructor it was a spice rack. The old fart had bought it. Mr. Bench was way more interested in making time with the cafeteria lady and her gigantic breasts than supervising a bunch of emerging testosterone packages with power-drills and table-saws.
As he worked to remove his “arrow” from the tree, a small voice from below said, “Can I go now? I don’t want to be late to class.”
“Look Eddie, I just want to take one more shot. I think I know what I did wrong.”
“But why can’t one of the other guys take a turn? Suppose you miss and take out one of my eyes?”
He began to hyperventilate.
“Hold still and don’t be such a whiner. The shop goggles will protect your eyes. Besides, you’re the only one with a head flat enough to hold the apple steady.” That last part wasn’t really true. Several of the other boys also had flat heads, but Eddie was the easiest to bully.
Evan’s last shot had gone high. He mentally adjusted for that by aiming his next shot directly between Eddie’s eyes.
All at once, the bell rang, Eddie fainted, Evan pulled the trigger and a teacher yelled.
A moment later, Eddie was on the ground with a teacher tending to him. As for the apple, it had dropped four inches before being nailed to the tree by a number two Ticonderoga.
Word count 300
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Precious Cargo
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Blanket, Cocoa and Skating
Precious Cargo
Astra looked out over the skyport landing zone. A blanket of ammonia snow covered everything. Craft of all shapes and sizes were scattered about in seeming random disarray. Astra knew better. Different technologies and different species meant that multiple accommodations would have to be met in order to prevent chaos.
Quantum Tunnelers were the easiest to berth. They simply popped into existence at the appropriate time and place. Once their cargos were transferred, they folded themselves into an adjacent dimension and were gone.
At the other end of the spectrum were the Reaction Engine machines. These tended to make a big mess of things when they arrived. They were loud, large and crewed by the most primitive of species. It was best to keep them separated from the rest.
Astra double checked her arrivals for the day. There were more than ten thousand ship arrivals and departures on her agenda – a typical load for the Galactic Distribution Center. What wasn’t typical was a ship due in just after midday.
Manned by an aggressive species, the ship would be heavily armed; such a waste of potential cargo space. Their trip had taken generations, another waste but this was one of time. Sub-light travel was so inefficient. The biggest waste was the cargo they sought – gold and diamonds. To them, these plentiful trinkets were worth the trip.
Right on schedule, the loud and ugly behemoth lowered itself onto a distant and isolated pad. Astra watched as the port workers began skating out to unload the cargo. She knew that every species was watching carefully as the precious treasure was unloaded. The bidding would be high and the savages would get their worthless payment.
Astra began to salivate as the first container was being offloaded. Across the outside was the single word – Cocoa.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Blanket, Cocoa and Skating
Precious Cargo
Astra looked out over the skyport landing zone. A blanket of ammonia snow covered everything. Craft of all shapes and sizes were scattered about in seeming random disarray. Astra knew better. Different technologies and different species meant that multiple accommodations would have to be met in order to prevent chaos.
Quantum Tunnelers were the easiest to berth. They simply popped into existence at the appropriate time and place. Once their cargos were transferred, they folded themselves into an adjacent dimension and were gone.
At the other end of the spectrum were the Reaction Engine machines. These tended to make a big mess of things when they arrived. They were loud, large and crewed by the most primitive of species. It was best to keep them separated from the rest.
Astra double checked her arrivals for the day. There were more than ten thousand ship arrivals and departures on her agenda – a typical load for the Galactic Distribution Center. What wasn’t typical was a ship due in just after midday.
Manned by an aggressive species, the ship would be heavily armed; such a waste of potential cargo space. Their trip had taken generations, another waste but this was one of time. Sub-light travel was so inefficient. The biggest waste was the cargo they sought – gold and diamonds. To them, these plentiful trinkets were worth the trip.
Right on schedule, the loud and ugly behemoth lowered itself onto a distant and isolated pad. Astra watched as the port workers began skating out to unload the cargo. She knew that every species was watching carefully as the precious treasure was unloaded. The bidding would be high and the savages would get their worthless payment.
Astra began to salivate as the first container was being offloaded. Across the outside was the single word – Cocoa.
Word count 300
War's End
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: igloo, aurora and midnight
War's End
Queen Aurora stood before the group of top generals. Her hands were on her hips as she looked out over the attentive audience. In full battle dress, she was an imposing figure.
“The Yeti wars have gone on long enough.”
As one, the seasoned soldiers gasped. This was not what they had expected. For generations they had fought. That was the way of the world. It had been going on for so long that the beginnings of the conflict were more myth than fact. The truth was – they now fought because no one knew how stop.
Until this moment.
“Yesterday, I dispatched a messenger. I challenged the Yeti leader to put their best fighter against ours in a winner-take-all fight. It is to take place on the Great Ice Plains under the midnight sun, two days hence.”
The room burst into shouting and arguing.
“Who will we send?”
“We are doomed if we lose!”
The queen listened a moment before raising her hand, immediately silencing the room.
“This is not open for discussion.” She turned and left the chamber.
Two days later, on the Great Ice Plains, the largest Yeti on the planet walked out to the designated coordinates. There, it found a simple igloo with no one in sight.
A moment later, a single warrior emerged wrapped in a bearskin blanket.
The heavily armed Yeti roared – typical battlefield bravado. It was easily three times the size of its human opponent. He would make short work of this hairless creature ensuring his place in Yeti lore for eternity.
The Yeti lifted his sword and charged while still several feet away.
The warrior tossed off the blanket and the Yeti found himself skidding to an abrupt halt. Doubt filled his soul as he looked into the determined eyes of Queen Aurora.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: igloo, aurora and midnight
War's End
Queen Aurora stood before the group of top generals. Her hands were on her hips as she looked out over the attentive audience. In full battle dress, she was an imposing figure.
“The Yeti wars have gone on long enough.”
As one, the seasoned soldiers gasped. This was not what they had expected. For generations they had fought. That was the way of the world. It had been going on for so long that the beginnings of the conflict were more myth than fact. The truth was – they now fought because no one knew how stop.
Until this moment.
“Yesterday, I dispatched a messenger. I challenged the Yeti leader to put their best fighter against ours in a winner-take-all fight. It is to take place on the Great Ice Plains under the midnight sun, two days hence.”
The room burst into shouting and arguing.
“Who will we send?”
“We are doomed if we lose!”
The queen listened a moment before raising her hand, immediately silencing the room.
“This is not open for discussion.” She turned and left the chamber.
Two days later, on the Great Ice Plains, the largest Yeti on the planet walked out to the designated coordinates. There, it found a simple igloo with no one in sight.
A moment later, a single warrior emerged wrapped in a bearskin blanket.
The heavily armed Yeti roared – typical battlefield bravado. It was easily three times the size of its human opponent. He would make short work of this hairless creature ensuring his place in Yeti lore for eternity.
The Yeti lifted his sword and charged while still several feet away.
The warrior tossed off the blanket and the Yeti found himself skidding to an abrupt halt. Doubt filled his soul as he looked into the determined eyes of Queen Aurora.
Word count 300
Monday, February 21, 2011
Different Interests
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: invisible, ceiling and quilt
Different Interests
Five-thousand, three-hundred and twenty-two.
Charlie could not have been more certain. That was the exact number of little holes in the ceiling tile directly over his head.
With a burst of creativity, he decided to count the holes on the next tile over. Merciful sleep soon followed.
Husbands watched in anticipation as Charlie’s chair rocked back near the tipping point. A long string of drool hanging from the corner of Charlie’s mouth added to the suspense.
What would hit the floor first, Charlie or the spittle?
Money changed hands amongst the back row inhabitants, all of whom knew the ceiling dot-count. This was the most exciting thing that had happened for an eternity – the exact length of time they’d spent in the quilt making seminar their wives had tricked them into attending.
It was the lowest kind of marketing ploy - Bring your husband and get half off the price of admission.
Now, everyone in the room with a Y chromosome was fixated on Charlie.
The chair teetered as the drool extended impossibly long towards the floor. A brief snort followed by a short slurp caused the chair to shudder while the thin thread of spit backtracked a good six inches. The odds had changed and more money passed from hand to hand.
Suddenly, an especially aggressive bout of flatulence caused Charlie’s pants to temporarily inflate. His center of gravity shifted and over he went. The sound of him hitting the floor was loud enough to cause the keynote speaker, Quilt-Master Martha, to pause and look to the back of the room. The heads of the wives in the auditorium swiveled back accusingly.
Every husband, save one, was intently looking forward, as if hanging on Martha’s every word.
Every husband except Charlie who was hoping he had somehow become invisible.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: invisible, ceiling and quilt
Different Interests
Five-thousand, three-hundred and twenty-two.
Charlie could not have been more certain. That was the exact number of little holes in the ceiling tile directly over his head.
With a burst of creativity, he decided to count the holes on the next tile over. Merciful sleep soon followed.
Husbands watched in anticipation as Charlie’s chair rocked back near the tipping point. A long string of drool hanging from the corner of Charlie’s mouth added to the suspense.
What would hit the floor first, Charlie or the spittle?
Money changed hands amongst the back row inhabitants, all of whom knew the ceiling dot-count. This was the most exciting thing that had happened for an eternity – the exact length of time they’d spent in the quilt making seminar their wives had tricked them into attending.
It was the lowest kind of marketing ploy - Bring your husband and get half off the price of admission.
Now, everyone in the room with a Y chromosome was fixated on Charlie.
The chair teetered as the drool extended impossibly long towards the floor. A brief snort followed by a short slurp caused the chair to shudder while the thin thread of spit backtracked a good six inches. The odds had changed and more money passed from hand to hand.
Suddenly, an especially aggressive bout of flatulence caused Charlie’s pants to temporarily inflate. His center of gravity shifted and over he went. The sound of him hitting the floor was loud enough to cause the keynote speaker, Quilt-Master Martha, to pause and look to the back of the room. The heads of the wives in the auditorium swiveled back accusingly.
Every husband, save one, was intently looking forward, as if hanging on Martha’s every word.
Every husband except Charlie who was hoping he had somehow become invisible.
Word count 300
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Digital Sneeze
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: airplane, mouse and sneeze
Digital Sneeze
January 21st, 2013: Entry #24
I don’t have much time to write tonight. The sun will be down soon and candles can’t be spared. I will continue to document events past and present in the hope that someone, someday, will learn what has happened here.
The intrusion was so subtle that no one noticed it for months – not until it was way too late to do anything about it.
The virus entered the webisphere through the SETI dishes at the Arecibo Observatory in Puerto Rico. Like the old saying goes, “Be careful what you ask for…”
With every mouse click, we invited a byte of infection into our offices and homes. We were our own worst enemies on nearly every level. First, out dependence on technology helped to spread the disease. Secondly, the attack, when it came, put an end to the very technology we were addicted to.
When critical mass was reached; when enough of the program existed on enough platforms; it began to reassemble.
The mother of all computer viruses poised for its attack. There was a monster amongst us and we had no idea. We continued to click away, feeding the beast sent to us from outer space. It grew and grew until that moment when it unleashed itself.
When that happened, every technologically advanced device got sick.
The first digital sneeze brought down an airplane. I heard tell that in some places it rained Airbuses. Cars and trains stopped too. Entire power grids went off line.
Now we’ve been brought to our knees. We’ve been thrown back into an age of darkness.
I realize that all of this probably doesn’t matter nearly as much as what I fear is coming. They have arrived. At least I think they have. I see their lights in the sky.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: airplane, mouse and sneeze
Digital Sneeze
January 21st, 2013: Entry #24
I don’t have much time to write tonight. The sun will be down soon and candles can’t be spared. I will continue to document events past and present in the hope that someone, someday, will learn what has happened here.
The intrusion was so subtle that no one noticed it for months – not until it was way too late to do anything about it.
The virus entered the webisphere through the SETI dishes at the Arecibo Observatory in Puerto Rico. Like the old saying goes, “Be careful what you ask for…”
With every mouse click, we invited a byte of infection into our offices and homes. We were our own worst enemies on nearly every level. First, out dependence on technology helped to spread the disease. Secondly, the attack, when it came, put an end to the very technology we were addicted to.
When critical mass was reached; when enough of the program existed on enough platforms; it began to reassemble.
The mother of all computer viruses poised for its attack. There was a monster amongst us and we had no idea. We continued to click away, feeding the beast sent to us from outer space. It grew and grew until that moment when it unleashed itself.
When that happened, every technologically advanced device got sick.
The first digital sneeze brought down an airplane. I heard tell that in some places it rained Airbuses. Cars and trains stopped too. Entire power grids went off line.
Now we’ve been brought to our knees. We’ve been thrown back into an age of darkness.
I realize that all of this probably doesn’t matter nearly as much as what I fear is coming. They have arrived. At least I think they have. I see their lights in the sky.
Word count 300
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Paranoid - Maybe
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Blind, Ring and Chosen
Paranoid - Maybe
I know they’re watching me.
They know I know and somehow that makes it worse.
Not that it makes any difference. I have a job to do; what happens after that doesn't matter.
I am jolted back to the moment by the phone. I reach into the booth and grab it on the first ring but no one is there.
It must have been a test. Yes, a test.
The watchers pretend not to notice but I saw a few heads turn. They saw me see and turned away quickly; as if interested in a storefront window or a bit of something on the ground.
A “passer-by” hands me a flyer and disappears into a crowd hustling across an intersection.
It looks like an advertisement for some sort of bookstore. I know better. I can see things that others are blind to. I try decoding it but the message is illusive. They always make it hard; just in case it’s intercepted.
It wouldn’t do to have the “others” know what I know.
I squint at the words and let the message come to me. My implant shuffles through complex algorithms, looking for patterns.
Finally, I see it.
“Go five blocks east and wait,” it says.
I pretend to cough and slip the flyer into my mouth. I swallow quickly just in case “they” try to intervene.
With a casual look around, I pretend to have made a random decision and head east.
Most steer wide of me as I push my cart of possessions along the sidewalk. If only they knew who I was. If only they knew that I walked amongst them.
But I remain anonymous. I do so only because the “others” are watching – waiting for an opening.
The others fear me because I am the Chosen One.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Blind, Ring and Chosen
Paranoid - Maybe
I know they’re watching me.
They know I know and somehow that makes it worse.
Not that it makes any difference. I have a job to do; what happens after that doesn't matter.
I am jolted back to the moment by the phone. I reach into the booth and grab it on the first ring but no one is there.
It must have been a test. Yes, a test.
The watchers pretend not to notice but I saw a few heads turn. They saw me see and turned away quickly; as if interested in a storefront window or a bit of something on the ground.
A “passer-by” hands me a flyer and disappears into a crowd hustling across an intersection.
It looks like an advertisement for some sort of bookstore. I know better. I can see things that others are blind to. I try decoding it but the message is illusive. They always make it hard; just in case it’s intercepted.
It wouldn’t do to have the “others” know what I know.
I squint at the words and let the message come to me. My implant shuffles through complex algorithms, looking for patterns.
Finally, I see it.
“Go five blocks east and wait,” it says.
I pretend to cough and slip the flyer into my mouth. I swallow quickly just in case “they” try to intervene.
With a casual look around, I pretend to have made a random decision and head east.
Most steer wide of me as I push my cart of possessions along the sidewalk. If only they knew who I was. If only they knew that I walked amongst them.
But I remain anonymous. I do so only because the “others” are watching – waiting for an opening.
The others fear me because I am the Chosen One.
Word count 300
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Welcoming Night
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: bridge, dark and hotel
Welcoming Night
During the day he stayed in the shadows, for the darkness gave him a small bit of substance.
Substance was important. It meant he was alive. Without it, he was less than a forgotten thought.
To be so insignificant was something he couldn’t bear. The loneliness of never being noticed, of never being acknowledged was his biggest fear.
So he stayed in the dark.
Centuries later, it still didn’t feel right. A mistake must have been made.
Maybe God had simply gotten distracted. Mistakes happen. If nothing is impossible for God, then a mistake must not be impossible. Right?
Now he waited in the shadow of a little bridge over a small creek as darkness settled like a warm, welcoming blanket. When the time was near, he pushed his hand out into the fading light and watched as darkness gave it form. When it was safe, he moved towards the back alley behind the hotel.
There was a dim light there; just what he needed. Without the dark, he lost form just long enough to slip under the door. He scurried from shadow to shadow until he sensed an occupied room. Stepping quickly into the hall, he faded and flowed under the door and into the dark room.
He could hear them breathing. He reached out and knocked on the wall.
“What was that?” a voice asked.
“It was nothing. Go back to sleep.” said another.
They had heard! Oh how he savored the feeling. To be acknowledged was all that he and those like him sought.
Now he waited. To knock again too soon would bring the light and that wouldn’t do. He relished the feeling of being something, of being real, even if it was to only be known as that thing that “Goes bump in the night.”
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: bridge, dark and hotel
Welcoming Night
During the day he stayed in the shadows, for the darkness gave him a small bit of substance.
Substance was important. It meant he was alive. Without it, he was less than a forgotten thought.
To be so insignificant was something he couldn’t bear. The loneliness of never being noticed, of never being acknowledged was his biggest fear.
So he stayed in the dark.
Centuries later, it still didn’t feel right. A mistake must have been made.
Maybe God had simply gotten distracted. Mistakes happen. If nothing is impossible for God, then a mistake must not be impossible. Right?
Now he waited in the shadow of a little bridge over a small creek as darkness settled like a warm, welcoming blanket. When the time was near, he pushed his hand out into the fading light and watched as darkness gave it form. When it was safe, he moved towards the back alley behind the hotel.
There was a dim light there; just what he needed. Without the dark, he lost form just long enough to slip under the door. He scurried from shadow to shadow until he sensed an occupied room. Stepping quickly into the hall, he faded and flowed under the door and into the dark room.
He could hear them breathing. He reached out and knocked on the wall.
“What was that?” a voice asked.
“It was nothing. Go back to sleep.” said another.
They had heard! Oh how he savored the feeling. To be acknowledged was all that he and those like him sought.
Now he waited. To knock again too soon would bring the light and that wouldn’t do. He relished the feeling of being something, of being real, even if it was to only be known as that thing that “Goes bump in the night.”
Word count 300
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Nothing Personal
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: office, pillow and brush
Nothing Personal
He let out an audible sigh as his head hit the pillow. It had been a long day and he still had several more appointments to keep.
Still, it felt good to lie down on a quality bed.
He looked over at the lump in the blankets next to him. That was Bill Graham; or at least it was.
The autopsy would list cause of death as a heart attack.
Sorry Bill, it’s nothing personal, he thought, getting up from the bed.
A few minutes later, he was out and about.
He loved it in New York and was forever thankful for the assignment. There was certainly no shortage of work.
As he strutted down the brightly lit walkway of a main street, people stood aside. He was clearly a dude to be avoided. He paused in front of a store window to admire himself. He brushed his long black hair back with his fingers and then, turned and continued on his way.
He came upon a line of people outside of a popular nightclub. This was the place. He scanned the faces. He knew their time would come; just not right now.
Without turning to the street, he lifted an arm and a cab pulled up.
He turned slowly and looked at the driver. That was the guy.
Climbing in the back seat, he made himself comfortable and said only, “Go north for two miles.”
They drove in silence. The driver could sense trouble and reached under his seat to make sure his gun was readily available. It was.
“Hey buddy, how about telling me where you’re going?”
“To my office,” the passenger hissed.
“Where is that?”
Death reached over and tapped the man’s shoulder and said, “For the moment, in the back of a New York taxi cab.”
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: office, pillow and brush
Nothing Personal
He let out an audible sigh as his head hit the pillow. It had been a long day and he still had several more appointments to keep.
Still, it felt good to lie down on a quality bed.
He looked over at the lump in the blankets next to him. That was Bill Graham; or at least it was.
The autopsy would list cause of death as a heart attack.
Sorry Bill, it’s nothing personal, he thought, getting up from the bed.
A few minutes later, he was out and about.
He loved it in New York and was forever thankful for the assignment. There was certainly no shortage of work.
As he strutted down the brightly lit walkway of a main street, people stood aside. He was clearly a dude to be avoided. He paused in front of a store window to admire himself. He brushed his long black hair back with his fingers and then, turned and continued on his way.
He came upon a line of people outside of a popular nightclub. This was the place. He scanned the faces. He knew their time would come; just not right now.
Without turning to the street, he lifted an arm and a cab pulled up.
He turned slowly and looked at the driver. That was the guy.
Climbing in the back seat, he made himself comfortable and said only, “Go north for two miles.”
They drove in silence. The driver could sense trouble and reached under his seat to make sure his gun was readily available. It was.
“Hey buddy, how about telling me where you’re going?”
“To my office,” the passenger hissed.
“Where is that?”
Death reached over and tapped the man’s shoulder and said, “For the moment, in the back of a New York taxi cab.”
Word count 300
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Blobbish
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Torn, Blister and Answer
Blobbish
It started as a rash that turned into a blister; but that was long, long ago.
I can still remember those days but only with an effort. Hunger drives most of my thoughts anymore.
Hunger – it drives all of us.
A small furry morsel scampers by and I flick out a tendril, almost without thinking. It’s not much and before I finish swallowing, I’m hungry again.
There is only one call stronger than food, but only just so.
She’s been calling to me for days but I have yet to answer. With every seductive wail, I find myself more and more torn between staying put and making the long trek to destiny. She can’t be over a mile away; I could be there in a week if I start crawling now.
But the food here has been reliable, if not overly abundant.
“ooooooooooowaaaaaaaooooooooo…”
I can’t resist any longer.
I flick out and catch a small bird who’s underestimated my targeting ability and speed.
An hour later, I’ve covered a good fifty yards; not bad. I look back and see my progress measured by a slime-trail leading out of the park. I’ll miss that place. Lot’s to eat there if you weren’t too particular.
There won’t be any more food for me; not for a while – or forever more as far as that goes. She’s caught me in her wailing-web and I no longer have the ability to resist. She owns me now.
I know it and I really don’t care. I’ve always been owned by something. First it was hunger and now it's lust.
About a week to go, best guess.
Then it will be time for the feast - First the mating, then the feast. All she can eat.
As for me, I will finally be free at last.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Torn, Blister and Answer
Blobbish
It started as a rash that turned into a blister; but that was long, long ago.
I can still remember those days but only with an effort. Hunger drives most of my thoughts anymore.
Hunger – it drives all of us.
A small furry morsel scampers by and I flick out a tendril, almost without thinking. It’s not much and before I finish swallowing, I’m hungry again.
There is only one call stronger than food, but only just so.
She’s been calling to me for days but I have yet to answer. With every seductive wail, I find myself more and more torn between staying put and making the long trek to destiny. She can’t be over a mile away; I could be there in a week if I start crawling now.
But the food here has been reliable, if not overly abundant.
“ooooooooooowaaaaaaaooooooooo…”
I can’t resist any longer.
I flick out and catch a small bird who’s underestimated my targeting ability and speed.
An hour later, I’ve covered a good fifty yards; not bad. I look back and see my progress measured by a slime-trail leading out of the park. I’ll miss that place. Lot’s to eat there if you weren’t too particular.
There won’t be any more food for me; not for a while – or forever more as far as that goes. She’s caught me in her wailing-web and I no longer have the ability to resist. She owns me now.
I know it and I really don’t care. I’ve always been owned by something. First it was hunger and now it's lust.
About a week to go, best guess.
Then it will be time for the feast - First the mating, then the feast. All she can eat.
As for me, I will finally be free at last.
Word count 300
Monday, February 14, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Fifteen (My final one for the contest!)
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
The knight dropped to his knees.
He didn’t need to check the wound in his side to know he was done.
It had been such a glorious battle. Time after time, the two lines had clashed. Swords flashed and blood flowed, both with an abundance that would be sung about for years to come.
Bards from each side walked amidst the active carnage; missing nothing. They were the history keepers, and as such, were outside the battle. To touch one would bring shame. The Bards penned of heroes and cowards. They recorded last words and battle cries. All they observed became part of recorded history. Some would be written while parts would be passed down in the form of poems and songs.
The battle was done. Neither side could claim victory since both had suffered near complete destruction.
Now miles from the battlefield, the knight raised his head with an effort. As he looked out over the ocean he reflected back on the previous day.
The roar of battle had tapered off until an eerie silence took hold. Only the smoke, mixing with the morning fog disturbed the air. . He’d looked for the next fight but saw only the bard; not a single warrior remained. A whistle called his mount from where he’d left it in the forest.
It had been a struggle, but he gained the saddle. He gave the horse its head and it had taken him here; to a deserted beach.
A good place to die, thought the knight.
His horse had chosen well.
With great effort, he rose and stripped the stead of its saddle. He unsheathed his sword one final time and a swat sent his four-legged companion on his way.
As for the knight…he dropped to his knees, swayed for a moment and then went on his way as well.
A respectful distance away, the bard noted the event.
The final stanza done; all that remained was the telling of the tale.
 | ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest  Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Legerdemain (222)    |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
The knight dropped to his knees.
He didn’t need to check the wound in his side to know he was done.
It had been such a glorious battle. Time after time, the two lines had clashed. Swords flashed and blood flowed, both with an abundance that would be sung about for years to come.
Bards from each side walked amidst the active carnage; missing nothing. They were the history keepers, and as such, were outside the battle. To touch one would bring shame. The Bards penned of heroes and cowards. They recorded last words and battle cries. All they observed became part of recorded history. Some would be written while parts would be passed down in the form of poems and songs.
The battle was done. Neither side could claim victory since both had suffered near complete destruction.
Now miles from the battlefield, the knight raised his head with an effort. As he looked out over the ocean he reflected back on the previous day.
The roar of battle had tapered off until an eerie silence took hold. Only the smoke, mixing with the morning fog disturbed the air. . He’d looked for the next fight but saw only the bard; not a single warrior remained. A whistle called his mount from where he’d left it in the forest.
It had been a struggle, but he gained the saddle. He gave the horse its head and it had taken him here; to a deserted beach.
A good place to die, thought the knight.
His horse had chosen well.
With great effort, he rose and stripped the stead of its saddle. He unsheathed his sword one final time and a swat sent his four-legged companion on his way.
As for the knight…he dropped to his knees, swayed for a moment and then went on his way as well.
A respectful distance away, the bard noted the event.
The final stanza done; all that remained was the telling of the tale.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Fourteen
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
The first time Tim saw the Shaman he was dreaming.
He somehow knew it was a Shaman when he’d come upon him while fleeing down a jungle trail. It was the kind of “knowing” that only came in a dream. One moment he’d been fleeing for his life and the next, a Shaman was standing in front of him; holding out something indistinguishable.
Tim had turned away, waking immediately.
The morning found him dogged with a feeling of intense regret. I should have taken the offering, he thought. Next time…
Every night, he went to bed trying to recapture the dream. On the seventh night, he dreamt of the jungle trail. It was raining as he fled ahead of a terror. Not knowing what was after him added to the fear. He could hear it just a few yards back…and closing.
The Shaman appeared and the fear was gone. He was different this time. He seemed smaller, weaker.
The Shaman held out his closed hand and Tim hesitated.
He wanted the offering but fear slapped the hand away.
Waking in a sweat, Tim walked to the bathroom, intent on dispelling the dream with a splash of water. He then noticed his feet were caked in mud.
Cleaned up and back in bed, he dreamt immediately. The jungle was dark and stormy. Surrounded by threats, he spun, confirming that no direction free of fear…and then came the Shaman.
Old and withered.
Surely ages had passed since they first met in a dream not yet a week old. A frail, thin arm reached out with a clinched fist. Tim was terrified. Still, he sensed it was time. He held out his hand and accepted a small jade talisman.
Tim next awoke to find himself in the arms of his new mother. All around, the villagers crowded to get a glimpse. Drums were beating in the background. Today was a day of celebration.
The new Shaman had been born.
| ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Legerdemain (222)  |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
The first time Tim saw the Shaman he was dreaming.
He somehow knew it was a Shaman when he’d come upon him while fleeing down a jungle trail. It was the kind of “knowing” that only came in a dream. One moment he’d been fleeing for his life and the next, a Shaman was standing in front of him; holding out something indistinguishable.
Tim had turned away, waking immediately.
The morning found him dogged with a feeling of intense regret. I should have taken the offering, he thought. Next time…
Every night, he went to bed trying to recapture the dream. On the seventh night, he dreamt of the jungle trail. It was raining as he fled ahead of a terror. Not knowing what was after him added to the fear. He could hear it just a few yards back…and closing.
The Shaman appeared and the fear was gone. He was different this time. He seemed smaller, weaker.
The Shaman held out his closed hand and Tim hesitated.
He wanted the offering but fear slapped the hand away.
Waking in a sweat, Tim walked to the bathroom, intent on dispelling the dream with a splash of water. He then noticed his feet were caked in mud.
Cleaned up and back in bed, he dreamt immediately. The jungle was dark and stormy. Surrounded by threats, he spun, confirming that no direction free of fear…and then came the Shaman.
Old and withered.
Surely ages had passed since they first met in a dream not yet a week old. A frail, thin arm reached out with a clinched fist. Tim was terrified. Still, he sensed it was time. He held out his hand and accepted a small jade talisman.
Tim next awoke to find himself in the arms of his new mother. All around, the villagers crowded to get a glimpse. Drums were beating in the background. Today was a day of celebration.
The new Shaman had been born.
Friday, February 11, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Thirteen
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
The Maker was almost done.
It had been a long road but this one was nearly ready to be let back out into the fleet.
Sometimes, a fairy would come back so damaged that repairs would take weeks, even months. This one had been in particularly bad shape. It had taken an emergency retrieval squad just to bring her in alive.
The Maker recalled how the wings had been missing. There had been other visible damage but the missing wings told the whole story. It meant the worst had happened. Only the most damaged would lose their wings. The reason for this was simple.
Only a fairy could remove her own wings.
As she fluttered about, the Maker couldn’t help but ponder both sides of the equation.
On the one hand, to remove one’s own wings was to deny who you were. How tortured one must be to no longer want to be a fairy; to no longer help the helpless, give hope to the hopeless or grant wishes for those that dreamed of places beyond the horizon.
On the other hand, there was the one thing that could drive a fairy to give up everything.
It was always the same thing.
Love.
What must that be like? wondered the Maker. What could be so strong in a fairy that she would do anything to keep it?
The Maker fluttered back and surveyed her work. The easy part was done. Now came the waiting. Any Maker could repair wings or replenish stardust; but when the damage was deep that it couldn’t be seen, all anyone could do was wait.
For only time could mend a broken heart.
| ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Legerdemain (222) |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
The Maker was almost done.
It had been a long road but this one was nearly ready to be let back out into the fleet.
Sometimes, a fairy would come back so damaged that repairs would take weeks, even months. This one had been in particularly bad shape. It had taken an emergency retrieval squad just to bring her in alive.
The Maker recalled how the wings had been missing. There had been other visible damage but the missing wings told the whole story. It meant the worst had happened. Only the most damaged would lose their wings. The reason for this was simple.
Only a fairy could remove her own wings.
As she fluttered about, the Maker couldn’t help but ponder both sides of the equation.
On the one hand, to remove one’s own wings was to deny who you were. How tortured one must be to no longer want to be a fairy; to no longer help the helpless, give hope to the hopeless or grant wishes for those that dreamed of places beyond the horizon.
On the other hand, there was the one thing that could drive a fairy to give up everything.
It was always the same thing.
Love.
What must that be like? wondered the Maker. What could be so strong in a fairy that she would do anything to keep it?
The Maker fluttered back and surveyed her work. The easy part was done. Now came the waiting. Any Maker could repair wings or replenish stardust; but when the damage was deep that it couldn’t be seen, all anyone could do was wait.
For only time could mend a broken heart.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Twelve
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
He’d been there before; Heaven.
It was an aptly named planet and, as he looked up at it now, Jason recalled that he’d been there before.
He’d spent every waking moment of the last twenty years remembering what it had been like to live on Heaven. It was hard to think of anything else. The planet hung so colorfully large in the sky that even if he were to close his eyes, he couldn’t imagine a contrary view.
That was the intent.
That was why he was here and not elsewhere.
They wanted him to remember. They wanted him to feel the agony of a loss unrecoverable.
He’d had a family; a wife and two daughters. She’d be remarried by now; the young ones, grown with families of their own. They would have moved on for there was no grief in Heaven. He would not even exist as a memory for that would bring sorrow, something that those in Heaven couldn’t comprehend.
But he remembered and he felt the grief. He felt the sorrow like a knife through his soul. An instrument of mental anguish whose release handle was just out of reach – like the paradise planet hanging overhead…just out of reach.
Such was his fate. A life filled with memories of what had been lost; a life with no hope of regaining even of glimpse of what once was.
Yes, he remembered Heaven.
And he remembered a time when having everything just wasn’t enough. So he tried to take more.
His crime had been heinous, justifying the punishment given out to only a few.
He remembered Heaven and he remembered the day they’d cast him out. He remembered the ride on the dark, filthy prison ship that took him away to meet his fate.
He remembered disembarking onto the aptly named prison planet and the banner that greeted all men that shared his fate: Welcome to Hell.
| ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Legerdemain (222) |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
He’d been there before; Heaven.
It was an aptly named planet and, as he looked up at it now, Jason recalled that he’d been there before.
He’d spent every waking moment of the last twenty years remembering what it had been like to live on Heaven. It was hard to think of anything else. The planet hung so colorfully large in the sky that even if he were to close his eyes, he couldn’t imagine a contrary view.
That was the intent.
That was why he was here and not elsewhere.
They wanted him to remember. They wanted him to feel the agony of a loss unrecoverable.
He’d had a family; a wife and two daughters. She’d be remarried by now; the young ones, grown with families of their own. They would have moved on for there was no grief in Heaven. He would not even exist as a memory for that would bring sorrow, something that those in Heaven couldn’t comprehend.
But he remembered and he felt the grief. He felt the sorrow like a knife through his soul. An instrument of mental anguish whose release handle was just out of reach – like the paradise planet hanging overhead…just out of reach.
Such was his fate. A life filled with memories of what had been lost; a life with no hope of regaining even of glimpse of what once was.
Yes, he remembered Heaven.
And he remembered a time when having everything just wasn’t enough. So he tried to take more.
His crime had been heinous, justifying the punishment given out to only a few.
He remembered Heaven and he remembered the day they’d cast him out. He remembered the ride on the dark, filthy prison ship that took him away to meet his fate.
He remembered disembarking onto the aptly named prison planet and the banner that greeted all men that shared his fate: Welcome to Hell.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Eleven
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
Rakor looked up from his plate of beans and could see winter taking hold of the mountain top.
The pass would be the next to go. When that happened, all hope would be lost.
There was no time to dawdle. He must not fail.
He loaded up the pack animals with everything except a small pack that he carried on his back. The dragon egg contained within must not leave his immediate possession. That had been the way of his sect for as far back as time could tell.
Before starting off down the trail that was barely a trail, Rakor took a moment to check his progress against am ancient map. He unrolled it with great care for there was only this one and it was very fragile. Generations of the Seculars had passed it down, hand to hand. No one could remember it ever being unrolled before.
That was before the Sign of Ascension signaled a change of times.
Only a week earlier, the High Priest had called for a meeting of the elders. He’d led them deep underground to the ancient Keeping Chamber. As each entered the room, they could see that the time had come.
The dragon egg, left to their keeping ten thousand years before, was emitting a dim purplish light. A dragon was waiting to be born.
Rakor had been dispatched the next day. He had to get to the hidden mountain valley with the egg before winter locked him out.
The egg had to be placed into the Pool of Life or it would not hatch. If he failed it would be another ten thousand years before the opportunity came again.
Rakor, satisfied that he was on the right trail, rolled up the map and headed up the trail and into the coming winter.
He wasn’t going to make it. But he had to try. The world was in a sad way. It was time for a change; a time for some magic to enter people’s lives.
It was time for the Age of the Dragon.
| ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Legerdemain (222) |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
Rakor looked up from his plate of beans and could see winter taking hold of the mountain top.
The pass would be the next to go. When that happened, all hope would be lost.
There was no time to dawdle. He must not fail.
He loaded up the pack animals with everything except a small pack that he carried on his back. The dragon egg contained within must not leave his immediate possession. That had been the way of his sect for as far back as time could tell.
Before starting off down the trail that was barely a trail, Rakor took a moment to check his progress against am ancient map. He unrolled it with great care for there was only this one and it was very fragile. Generations of the Seculars had passed it down, hand to hand. No one could remember it ever being unrolled before.
That was before the Sign of Ascension signaled a change of times.
Only a week earlier, the High Priest had called for a meeting of the elders. He’d led them deep underground to the ancient Keeping Chamber. As each entered the room, they could see that the time had come.
The dragon egg, left to their keeping ten thousand years before, was emitting a dim purplish light. A dragon was waiting to be born.
Rakor had been dispatched the next day. He had to get to the hidden mountain valley with the egg before winter locked him out.
The egg had to be placed into the Pool of Life or it would not hatch. If he failed it would be another ten thousand years before the opportunity came again.
Rakor, satisfied that he was on the right trail, rolled up the map and headed up the trail and into the coming winter.
He wasn’t going to make it. But he had to try. The world was in a sad way. It was time for a change; a time for some magic to enter people’s lives.
It was time for the Age of the Dragon.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Ten
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
Simon inhaled through slightly parted lips and then let it out slowly through his nose; all the while, keeping a steady pressure on the trigger.
Even though he was nearly a quarter of a mile away, Simon could see the pores on the man’s face. It would be a simple matter to the man out, but he couldn’t. The real target wasn’t yet on the scene.
The operation had been months in the making. Now, the elaborate trap was set and baited. Andre, the infamous assassin was the one they were after. The private jet loaded with fuel and money were designed to attract.
Supposedly, Andre would take payment upon arrival and then fly safely away. The risk was supposed to appear slight; the reward – substantial.
The FBI had agents all over the place. They all had orders to shoot Andre on site.
Simon heard the click before he felt the barrel of the gun pushed just under his right ear.
Andre!
“So Simon, we finally meet. How foolish of you to think you could trap me, using a jet full of money for bait.”
Simon stood slowly, keeping his hands in plain sight.
“Yes, Andre, it was a trap. But you are wrong about one thing.”
Andre flew backwards as the force of several bullets struck him simultaneously.
Simon walked over the now-dying assassin and said, “You see, I was the bait.”
| ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Legerdemain (222) |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
Simon inhaled through slightly parted lips and then let it out slowly through his nose; all the while, keeping a steady pressure on the trigger.
Even though he was nearly a quarter of a mile away, Simon could see the pores on the man’s face. It would be a simple matter to the man out, but he couldn’t. The real target wasn’t yet on the scene.
The operation had been months in the making. Now, the elaborate trap was set and baited. Andre, the infamous assassin was the one they were after. The private jet loaded with fuel and money were designed to attract.
Supposedly, Andre would take payment upon arrival and then fly safely away. The risk was supposed to appear slight; the reward – substantial.
The FBI had agents all over the place. They all had orders to shoot Andre on site.
Simon heard the click before he felt the barrel of the gun pushed just under his right ear.
Andre!
“So Simon, we finally meet. How foolish of you to think you could trap me, using a jet full of money for bait.”
Simon stood slowly, keeping his hands in plain sight.
“Yes, Andre, it was a trap. But you are wrong about one thing.”
Andre flew backwards as the force of several bullets struck him simultaneously.
Simon walked over the now-dying assassin and said, “You see, I was the bait.”
Monday, February 7, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Nine
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and left the world of wakefulness behind.
Now, mounted on his huge black steed, Sir Nathan led his troops along the wall marking the boundary between his kingdom and the siege demons. The demons had been there as far back as Nathan’s memories could reach.
Not that he spent a lot of time with memories; they seemed evasive, almost painful to pursue. It was so much easier to just accept that he was on a horse. As for the demons, for now were at bay.
Nathan knew the princess awaited him back at the castle. He was certain she was beautiful…but he could not recall her face. In fact, he could not recall the castle, although it was only just over the hill.
His men trooped along behind him, faithfully. They admired him for his courage and physical prowess. They knew it was him, not the wall that kept the siege demons at bay. He knew his men would die for him and yet, whenever he would turn to look back, they would be gone.
So long as he never looked back, they never left.
Gazing out over the wall, he could see the demons. They, of all things in this world, were clearly visible. He could see them so clearly, that even their souls were open books. He could see how they wanted to pull him from his horse. They wanted to see him crawling on the ground. Some wanted to steal his voice while others hungered for the puppet strings that controlled his very being.
They wanted to harm him for no other reason than it would please them do so.
But Sir Nathan was not afraid. Riding high on his steed, shielded by the wall and with his men at his back he was beyond their ability to inflict any harm.
Here, he could safely, almost remember how grand his life was.
“Doctor, do you think we should cut back on the medication. He is on the verge of slipping into a coma again.”
“No nurse, look at his face. I don’t know where his mind is now, but it’s far better than the crippled body lying on that bed.”
| ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Leger~PackerBacker (222) |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and left the world of wakefulness behind.
Now, mounted on his huge black steed, Sir Nathan led his troops along the wall marking the boundary between his kingdom and the siege demons. The demons had been there as far back as Nathan’s memories could reach.
Not that he spent a lot of time with memories; they seemed evasive, almost painful to pursue. It was so much easier to just accept that he was on a horse. As for the demons, for now were at bay.
Nathan knew the princess awaited him back at the castle. He was certain she was beautiful…but he could not recall her face. In fact, he could not recall the castle, although it was only just over the hill.
His men trooped along behind him, faithfully. They admired him for his courage and physical prowess. They knew it was him, not the wall that kept the siege demons at bay. He knew his men would die for him and yet, whenever he would turn to look back, they would be gone.
So long as he never looked back, they never left.
Gazing out over the wall, he could see the demons. They, of all things in this world, were clearly visible. He could see them so clearly, that even their souls were open books. He could see how they wanted to pull him from his horse. They wanted to see him crawling on the ground. Some wanted to steal his voice while others hungered for the puppet strings that controlled his very being.
They wanted to harm him for no other reason than it would please them do so.
But Sir Nathan was not afraid. Riding high on his steed, shielded by the wall and with his men at his back he was beyond their ability to inflict any harm.
Here, he could safely, almost remember how grand his life was.
“Doctor, do you think we should cut back on the medication. He is on the verge of slipping into a coma again.”
“No nurse, look at his face. I don’t know where his mind is now, but it’s far better than the crippled body lying on that bed.”
Sunday, February 6, 2011
15 Stories for 15 Days: Day Eight
The 15 for 15 contest is held about once every nine months or so. The way it works is that every day at 8:30 WDC time, a picture prompt is posted. You have 24 hours to post your story that the prompt inspires. Here is the interesting part: You only have 15 minutes to write your story. You can think about it all day but once you start writing, 15 minutes is what you get.
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
Almost no one was hanging around for the Big Freeze.
No big surprise really. After all, there were so many more interesting ways to die.
In the early days, when we first found out about the sun’s problems, people scrambled for answers. Maybe we could live underground. Maybe we could fly off in spaceships. Maybe the math was wrong.
The math wasn’t wrong. There would be no escape save one.
“Opting Out” became a major industry.
There were so many ways to it: fun ways, scary ways and slow painful ways for the mal-adjusted amongst us.
I ran my own business.
The Big Drop is what I called it.
People were signing up weeks in advance. I could barely stay up with demand.
Here is how it worked. I set you up in a parasail and push you off the edge. Depending on the winds, you could fly around for hours. However, once you dropped below five hundred feet, the sail collapse. A few seconds later, it was all over.
People loved this idea.
Now the lines are much thinner than before. It’s not that the business has lost its charm. It’s just that there are no more customers.
This morning, I got up late. The line was empty. I spent a few minutes with my coffee, watching the sun, what was left of it. I tried to remember what it was like; when the sun hung large in the sky, heating up the world.
Anyway, my coffee is done and I think I am as well.
Putting the gear on myself was harder than I thought.
Making that final leap…that was easy.
| ID: 994771 (Rated: 18+) 15 for 15 Contest Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! by Leger~PackerBacker (222) |
The contest is limited to 50 competitors. Each day, there are 5 winners. First place will get 1004 points, second place will get 1003 points etc. The person with the most total points at the end of the 15 day contest is the winner.
The prompt for this story is the following picture:
My Entry
Almost no one was hanging around for the Big Freeze.
No big surprise really. After all, there were so many more interesting ways to die.
In the early days, when we first found out about the sun’s problems, people scrambled for answers. Maybe we could live underground. Maybe we could fly off in spaceships. Maybe the math was wrong.
The math wasn’t wrong. There would be no escape save one.
“Opting Out” became a major industry.
There were so many ways to it: fun ways, scary ways and slow painful ways for the mal-adjusted amongst us.
I ran my own business.
The Big Drop is what I called it.
People were signing up weeks in advance. I could barely stay up with demand.
Here is how it worked. I set you up in a parasail and push you off the edge. Depending on the winds, you could fly around for hours. However, once you dropped below five hundred feet, the sail collapse. A few seconds later, it was all over.
People loved this idea.
Now the lines are much thinner than before. It’s not that the business has lost its charm. It’s just that there are no more customers.
This morning, I got up late. The line was empty. I spent a few minutes with my coffee, watching the sun, what was left of it. I tried to remember what it was like; when the sun hung large in the sky, heating up the world.
Anyway, my coffee is done and I think I am as well.
Putting the gear on myself was harder than I thought.
Making that final leap…that was easy.
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