Arthur’s Comments (group member since Oct 25, 2008)

Arthur’s comments from the Short Story Contests group.

But seriously, it was a good story you wrote H, we see this problem on TV a lot in stories too, not only the rape part I mean, but the violence too, not becoming black and wanting to be black, becoming that black was the humor. Sorrowful people cry and laugh.No humor in the sense of the story H wrote though, only I think about the same stuff too, about being black, not the ending with a stolid twist like in H's story. Yeah, I think wanting to be black was the humor in the story. Maybe not literally humor, but why not.

ws fun to envision the real to live Iranian gangsters, "On this particular night in late April everyone except the guards at the doors and several people roaming the basement’s halls were gathered on the second floor near the middle of the building.
WOW. I thought them all very terrific. I Want To Be Black , Pastels, & nail polish and theater curtains, are all kinda funny.

Title: A Deeper Black Swan
By: Arthur
Words: 1477
Notes: Give it a look….
Short Stories Galore: Yes

………………
“Grandpa?” Said Anita. “You can’t shoot a swan.”
Anita was not grown up like me, but that was all she had to say, because Grandpa Ted dropped his rifle in a kind of shock.
Beyond his eye sight was a big bird that did not look like a goose, he’d hunted before, but a swan in these parts? Swans are usually near the coast or at least water lying in their parks. A swan are not found on plain farmland especially during cold weather.
It was a spring morning and after all, seeing the swan spreading its white wings gave a hint of an odd breath. In our old pond it lay motionless, its head hidden in its ruffles of feathers of off-whiteness. The geese flew past. The swan was honking.
“It’s not a goose?” He said. He shook he head and peered down at the rifle. “I almost bang shot that silly honking swan.”
“Swans aren’t silly Grandpa Ted.” Anita told him, I heard that before so she basically repeated these things for a lesson.
At lunch the swan was all Anita could talk about. How it was her swan, and about the noise a swan made, its great beak and feathers. But with that strange distorted honk. Little did she understand of these things that it had a need to be with other swans. It could not last long in our pond. Can it?
That was when our father arrived home. When Pa came home we hurried out to meet him. We were dirt poor so I never saw a horse up close, but he had brought a horse. A beautiful horse as any horse I had ever seen. It did not have a saddle because Pa walked with it with a rope tightly round its neck, but it was broken. You can see it in their eyes the way they long for freedom. This one looked to be wild. Like that swan making a home for itself in our pond. Silly swan, one lost summer, how long can it last out there before it too has the look in its eyes it was broken?
Farmers of these parts sang songs when they walk alone. We could hear Pa when he sang a song of the old Drury Lane. Pa came up to the house with his new horse.
"Do you know the Muffin Man?
The Muffin Man, the Muffin Man.
Do you know the Muffin Man,
Who lives on Drury Lane?"
“Hi Pa,” Anita said. She was as surprised to see a horse as I was. He never had a horse. “Whatcha got?” She asked.
“This is a horse.”
A duh.
“He’s nice.”
He was. Anita had a good eye. Pa liked that. He stopped walking and with a grin agreed.
I was thinking it was the first horse we had on the farm. Pa must have bought it from the neighbor. I still couldn’t get over it; we finally had a horse on our farm.
Pa cut grass. He plowed the field. He rode out to the far end and fixed the fence. At the end of each work day he put the horse into the barn for the night.
Pa had to teach me to ride. I fell and landed hard twisting my leg. The neighbor was a doctor and he help set my leg in a splinter. Now I couldn’t go out to the pond with Anita and see the swan.
Saturday the sergeant from the military came to our home. He was looking for recruits for the army. It was war time. Since I hurt my leg he excused me. Pa said it was a good thing because he would feel bad losing me to the army. Pa wasn’t really a patriot since we were only settlers on the land. But I could work for our country. Or it could work for me.
That night Pa locked all the doors because the strong rain storm. Winds had blown over a tree. The rains had flooded one of the fields. Pa had been worried it would damage our house.
Later in the next day we found the barn door broken and the horse was gone.
The neighbor had been here helping asset the damage caused by the storm from the night. When we found the horse gone Pa hollered. Not thinking I tried to stand up to see if I could see the horse running in the grass. Instead I caught my balance using the cane before I fell.
“It could be a good thing,” What was it he said about it? He was pointing at my leg in the splinter made from twirled leather. The neighbor thought highly of the horse I thought. He thought highly of me.
The wild horse had vanished in the night because it found freedom. Still I wondered what happened to the swan.
Anita returned with Grandpa Ted from the pond. She clogged right into the room saying after she saw our swan at rest floating in the middle of the pond. Again she said it was beautiful. It looked whiter than before and had a higher pitched honk according to Anita. I told her it was trying to get it’s relatives to come visit by honking.
I should get my leather braces off soon I suggested to Anita. I thought maybe we could go see the swan together. Pa had built a coop. he had been busy repairing the farm himself and didn’t care what children did. In reality we had all day to ourselves. Old Grandpa Ted told us some stories about fishing in the days he had been in college. Grandpa had actually continued schooling until the time his pa died and he had to take over their farm. That was in the old world before coming to the new world. Grandpa says school was fun and that I’d love it there if I ever had the chance. I guess I’d like that too. But I think Grandpa Ted would like to go back to college even now.
A few days later Pa found a post along the fence damaged. He said something ran into it. Probably a wolf chasing a deer I thought. Tomorrow our neighbor will come. He will see if my leg is bendable. He fears I may be permanently lame. I think I’m fine.
But during the night fall we heard the wolf’s howling, Pa saw movement in the wood near our farm. It was a pack and it sounded like it was near starvation. Pa was worried and was watching our front door protectively. He also locked the coop.
Then suddenly out of the wood came running six beautiful wild horses. They were trapped by our fence from the far side of the wood. One of them, in the lead, was our horse.
They each stood in fear then one shakily leaped our fence. Over he flew onto our land. Then the others followed. They were soon safe inside our fence and away from the wolves. Pa ran out and opened our barn door and they decided to crowd into it which was a good enough solution. It happened kind of sudden and ethereally strange. They stayed in there for the night.
Pa intends to get his rifle if the wolves come on our property. He can go out to the wood now that they will starve with his gun and shoot them anyway.
That morning the doctor came. He was surprised to hear that six ponies were in our barn. After he analyzed my leg he managed to remove the twirled leather. I stood up and Anita didn’t mean to push me but she did. I tried to walk. I took a step and with a brief wobble stopped. That was all I felt like doing for the rest of the day. I took a few paces and after a while rested.
I managed to get rid of Anita. I wandered into the barn and saw the six ponies. After a while I saw how I could tie a rope around the horse to hold on to it to ride. Alright the first thing I did was loop it around its chest and then I was on it. I rode him out onto the field. It was still a wild horse but he didn’t buck or totter me.
I rode him all the way out to the pond. I didn’t know what got into my mind to go on my own. I did not even know if Pa would be angry with me. When I did stop I noticed a beautiful swan in the pond. It was not noisy as it was for most of the summer. When the sun was its brightest and the clouds were dreamy I noticed the other one, the black swan.

That is very good, Clare, ha, moose. I can see the textbook "6 rump-fed: of the various possible meanings, fat-bottomed (footnote: of moose, or in U.K. elk.)

A tame cat named Kachere sat upon some books in a store window in Gay Paris.
A man had amnesia from the war now returning to England.
He wanted souvenirs and goes into the shop asking for a poetry book, like Goldsmith, Swinburne, Dryden or Shelley.
The merchant says no he ever heard of them. Selling a good set including Macbeth instead.
The window becoming bare Kachere had only dried dying flies to play with.

ha; sad

It's pretty good, great fiction, whew. I liked your point of views of how you became educated, etc. of some of the double standards, it isn’t always easy to be a minority. People won’t look at you the same; I might even be a better black woman then others. Gets funny!

Well done, the week was fun. Pixie aka Sunny gets votes and she is this weeks contest winner, congratulations Sunny!
S.S.G. will post the winning story of Sunny's Wings of Scar for everyone evermore to appreciate. Congratulations!

Check out S.S.G. on the web: http://shortstorygalore.synthasite.com/

Instructions:
Please do not use a story previously used on goodreads. After the week's contest, you are welcome to put it on your profile writings, but please refrain from using stories you have already put on there.

You have until Saturday afternoon to post a story on here. Please post it directly onto this topic, rather than posting a link. Also, please do not discuss stories on here. You must go to Weekly Short Story Contest Discussion for that. This will avoid any clutter and confusion, so that people can simply come on here and read the story, without having to read comments on the story.

This week's Topic is Black. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You could write about black in colors, or devoid of light, macabre or clandestine; anything that is black or have the word black (w/e i.e. or not) in the story.

Weekly stories must be at least 500 words long to 2,500 words long. (if the whole story won't fit in one post, divide it into two)

Good luck!

Arthur [acting for Clare:]

P.S. PLEASE say if you would like to have your story on Short Story Galore, if you win. This way it wouldn't take me ages to get your consent afterwards. This includes adding a link to your stories. If you want to have your story on the Short Story Galore, but not the link, just say so.

awesomeness

You have until Sunday afternoon to post a poem on here before the Topic changes. Please post it directly onto this topic, rather than posting a link. You're welcome to discuss poems on here also.

This week's Topic is Spider. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Poetry Topic Objections post.


Poems can be as long and short as you want them to be. This is not a contest, it's just for fun and to show off our own poetry.

Thanks Bells

Good work members. Let's go and vote now. Now this is a closed topic.
If you still want to submit a story wait please until Monday

Okay you can have more time if you need it.

Bells I wonder if you hoped to post a story.
It's getting late and I'm going to post the poll soon, so don't everyone think I forgot today too. Any last stories please get them in.

it's really good Pixie

I just edited one of the errors, from "He ... to "She learned Joel had been in an accident

Three months later . . .

Joel finally had his leg caste removed. He took it easy because at first his mother would caution him to walk and not run. His mother made it compulsory Joel be driven the first few weeks after his caste was removed too remaining in their routine.

Joel’s father had unusual late working hours so when he came home one evening and announced he had been given a promotion in another department but that it was far away no one was surprised.

Joel learned within a week they would be moving to New Jersey. New Jersey a colder state. He wanted to stay, he couldn’t go and leave his bridge he had been looking forward to seeing for four months, but no he couldn’t.

They packed everything from clothing to kitchenette and had it sent to their new home. They flew by jumbo jet to New Jersey.

When Joel stepped into the cold wind he shrunk in his collar and his new winter wool hat. He looked at the snow and then his mittens and froze and wined. He walked to their new car and got in but could not so easily get use to living in New Jersey.

Although living in New Jersey was cold Joel learned at school that all the boys liked flying. New Jersey was the capitol of flying.

When he asked why they like flying he became his sulky self again like when he had to wear his broken leg caste. None of the boys liked flying because it was fun. They like flying because it was rich, because it was cool, because it was a way to meet astronauts.

Joel had no idea why his friends in school were saying astronauts. But unless he saw a fly or a grasshopper soon he was going to go mad.

He got the hum working again in his arms to flap until he felt he should fly. But now trapped in winter and there was nowhere he can flap his arms. The library was crowded. There were tall boys in the gym. He had no place he could go.

Spring had come but he was always stuck in school. Then the summer would come soon too, Joel thought, and it began his loneliness. And his loneliness drove him to leave school at lunch. A feeling of being caught and the lowliness and fear from being stopped made him hide his secret. To find a way to fly he had to go and look somewhere. And not just anywhere his arms itched to find some damp unused corner in a baseball field or he could hide in a secret parking lot. New Jersey had huge parking lots but he had to be back for next period or his secret would be failed.

He turned several corners and suddenly found a parking lot surrounding some apartment buildings. Joel’s coast was clear there were no cars and the street was quiet. He ran over to it and scanned it for grasshoppers.

In fact this would have to do. It was close to school.

Then he saw a little girl running out a door of an apartment. She jumped and kicked a soccer ball and it flew past Joel.

“Can you get that?” asked the little girl.

Joel wasn’t about to make a move. Was he going to get caught? He was actually afraid and froze in thought.

“Well?” asked the little girl. “Boys.” She said. She turned and ran around the corner of the apartment house. She was gone, out of sight out of mind.

The ball landed in a dusty corner on the lot. He picked up the ball and wondered why the girl ran away. He ran after her with the little girl’s soccer ball.

When he made the turn he found it was a lush grassy division between two huge apartments. The sun was eclipsed and there was a big brown tree with butterflies. The girl was on the ground fingering a butterfly.

“Why do you play with those?” Joel asked.

“These are my pets.” The little girl told him. She was particularly proud that she knew about butterflies. In her dreams she was the princess of butterflies.

The little girl explained how they changed from caterpillars to big butterflies and she was the princess.

Joel laughed and explained he liked the story but that he liked to fly which was why he found her. He flapped his arms and pretended to fly around the little girl.

Mrs. Jones liked Joel and allowed him to play with Sophia. The little girl was home schooled and Joel met with the little girl everyday until he realized he was going to go on summer break soon.

“Won’t you visit?” asked Sophia. She would miss his company too. She asked him to visit on the weekends indecently. Joel was afraid if his parents found out they would stop his friendship.

He created all kinds of stories in his mind of possibilities why he was going all the way to the apartment buildings on the weekends. None of those ideas seemed to leap at him as if they would work.

Finally Joel gave up and told Sophia he couldn’t come because he played baseball all summer. And if she was home next fall he would visit her. In two weeks the summer holidays would be starting. Already Joel was in a sulky mood because he would have to stop flying for the entire summer.

Joel stood waiting for the bus was late. He saw a grasshopper. Instead of standing at the wait he pursued the creature. He dropped his bag and opened his arms. He thought if he began to flap his arms while in his big hat like he did at Sophia’s he would look real odd.

Running a little after it until the bus was fun. He slowed to a stop. Just then he ran back to the wait because he saw the bus coming. When the bus stopped he tripped over his bag and flew out onto the street. He rebroke his bad leg in the fall.

Sophia waited two days but Joel never showed to play at lunch time. Mrs. Jones enquired of Joel at the boys’ school. She learned Joel had been in an accident and broke his bad leg. Sophia knew he wasn’t going to be playing baseball at all during the summer and wanted to invite him to visit.

They went to the hospital and met Joel’s mother. Sophia asked if Joel was alright. And she told her about Joel visiting her everyday. Mrs. Jones seemed happy that Joel wasn’t seriously hurt. Since he would be home all summer he could visit Sophia. Joel was such a nice boy even if he was a little eccentric and likes to fly. Flying was also something Joel’s mother never knew about Joel.

...the end...

Name: Flying
Words: 2041
Genre: Fiction
By: Arthur

…………………..
Flying

The boy wearing the big hat likes to fly. His parents would grieve if they knew which kind of things he did when he was alone. He likes flapping his arms with all his strength so he could lift off the ground.

In the wood there was a bridge that spanned across a little river creek.

He found a private shortcut to the big school everyday by crossing the bridge.

The bridge became his sole friend.

At dawn the mist melts and he catches his first glimpse of bugs.

Water crest bugs, butterflies, bees and the flies. He needed to cross the bridge to see them on their first move.

But the boy wearing the big hat sees them and then sees flying in himself. His friends buzzing and alive and animating him by his flapping his straight arms.

One day the teacher introduced at his school for career day a warm woman from wildlife studies. She told all of the boys in Joel’s grade school about insects and how they become a part of the food chain. The boys began to cheer when Ms. Doubtfire showed slides of birds who prey in the cycle.

Ms. Doubtfire had not realized how far but she had opened up a whole new order of possibilities in Joel’s mind. Birds were also after-all the dominant flying creature. To flap and fly would have to be about being a bird not just an insect.

Saturday morning Joel awoke to a scream. He sat up then rushed out of his room after putting on his little junior housecoat in a panic of his own.

When he reachrd the head of the stairwell he could hear their voices. When Joel made to the bottom of the stairwell into the front entrance and he could see his mother hugging a man in a suit. The man handing an umbrella to Joel’s father. It had been Uncle Calvin from Detroit.

“Come see Calvin, Joel.” His father said.

Uncle Calvin introduced Dorothy McQueen his fiancée and he gave Joel a big amorous bear hug. Joel was happy to see his Uncle Calvin.

“Do you remember when I talked to you last week Joel and you said you like to fly?” asked Uncle Calvin. “When I was at the airport I got this for you.”

He gave Joel a plane he pulled from his sac. At first Joel had trouble making out the toy from a train he use to have until he took careful notice that this had wings. Wings.

After diner Joel’s mother asked if they would stay longer. “Oh no, we might as well go to Florida since we’ve gone this far. Dorothy likes that idea don’t you, dear?” Uncle Calvin said.

“Why I never.” Dorothy replied. The idea of being in the states so far south had excited her. “We’d like to see Disneyland.”

On Sunday Joel had watched his Uncle Calvin and Dorothy leave for the train station with his father. As he decided he had free time of his own he asked if he might go outside and play. His mother usually didn’t like the idea but today she felt keeping Joel in due to the excitement was inevitably a bad idea. “I won’t go far I’ll play with what Uncle Calvin brought me.”

Joel made it outside and he went down to the bridge. He stared at the plane as if to suggest to it to start its wings. The jumbo jet did nothing so Joel gave it a nudge and a rock. He shook it too. It remained motionless and quiet. Still not like those pictures he saw or TV. He had got it into his mind if he threw it that the jumbo jet would make contact in the air and fly. On second thought he decided even that thought could be dumb so he just sat the plane down onto the ground.

“You can just watch me.” said Joel. Then he looked around for anything that was flying. It was sunny and warm and he went across the bridge to get a better look. Joel knew that the field had many grasshoppers.

There was one leaping in the field. And it leapt towards Joel. He cupped his hands and caught it. Joel ran across the bridge again to the jumbo jet he left on the curb. Excited Joel stepped out and in the travel was hit by a passing car. The driver stopped then called at the closest house 911. Joel’s mother was in shock it was her son hit by the man in the car.

Two weeks later Joel had finally got to go outside again. He had a caste on one of his legs. All the boys had given Joel a get-well card. He would not be able to walk to school for a long time and had to be driven by his mother. He missed his walk in the mornings seeing flies. He sulked in the car in the afternoon going home.

At night he could hear the living crickets and they seemed to chirp a special calling to him to fly. In the mornings he woke to bright chirps of flying birds building a nest outside his window for him to crawl into for him to grow up in and then to fly away too.

-continued ....

Name: Leaves of Spring
by: Arthur
Word Count: 643

notes: I intend to add the remaining as I go along, and am able to write it. I'll add it chapter by chapter.
.......................

Chapter One
The Leaves of Spring

In warmer climates the St. Lawrence Wetlands had been getting people throughout the summers on the river attracting them to cooler lake shores. Now the frozen surface of the lake had been cold and dry and covered mostly of ice.

The coming warm weather helped thaw thick layers of ice and soon it will become officially the Spring. It had come in the day and winter returning for the night. Donald Westlake had been working for the U.S. military biology sector. He was a matured man who was quiet and innovative and had peacefulness stamped on him. He was a veteran of marine science biology. He had never been taken over on a tour of duty while in service. His carrier was bioscience and he was checking water reserve in restrict water areas lying in many of the northern hemisphere reserves found in many nature parks. His keen knowledge of being aware and protective and his traveling widely was well respected for his attributing to the welfare of the canals and water systems.

Richard Stark a colleague in the same field was a tall dark skinned younger looking man with his hair thinning and graying. He had been thinking of the statistics of the city bay water area in Toronto. Richard has been resident teacher on the campus for marine biology at the University of Toronto for ten years. He was analyzing some older data he found from a library while he was wearing his reading glasses that reflected the monitor of a laptop he held with one arm in his office. He sulked when hearing his cell ring for the three vibrant beeps, he then picked it up. On his other end he could hear from Donald a huffing snort.

Donald said, “There are even more people pulling into the area. It’s making a strange place to be, you need to see this!”

“I can’t afford to come. I’ve got to get some more test results. But so far I don’t think it’s only the surroundings.” He set the laptop on an end table next to his chair and sat. He removed his eye glasses and crunched under his chin the cell phone as he used his free hands to sterilize the glass lenses with a cleaner.

Later that night in Ottawa in a restaurant during after hours sat three men goading about their past adventures while drinking. It was becoming late and a few rushed past to get in for the happy hour. The Ottawa had become cold and everyone one in the city had to be somewhere

Edwin Westlake sat down his last coffee cup with a grin on his mouth. He had heard Tucker Coe’s story of Indians before but tonight it had some enormous charge of charm. He leaned back and took his coat. Standing up put on his hat and said, “Well men, I am retiring, so hope to see you tomorrow. I can’t stand these late night liaisons anymore. I’ve got to get out of this dreadful noise. Tuck I hope you find an artist to paint your stories.” He chuckled and then stopped too flip out his cell phone that had three vibrant beeps.

Samuel Holt, the third man resting at the table pulled out his cell to check if he missed messages. He had none, except one less important from his mother. He had not called her yet this week surely that would be it.

Edwin sat back down and cleared his throat. “Tuck you ever notice anything strange in the Valley area in the air?” he asked.

“Not really. Mars is phenomenally close. The moon maybe too. My old professor would be the one to say that when the moon is this close it wants something.”

The men chuckled. Then they gathered coats and stood to leave.

These are stories that are ALWAYS less than 75 words. Today's topic is Macbeth.

You may write your story to be a really short self story, personal mystery or experience. It can be anything.