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

Arthur’s comments from the Short Story Contests group.

lol

“Did you say slime?” asked one man, he had a brown beard and wizen teeth but he obviously asked while was in fear of his question.
“I said slime, what of it?”
“Did you know of a beast living in the water? About fifteen miles north? A water hole beginning in of a pond it inhibits?”
“Jeez, no! What of it? Make sense man,” It was the beginning of a greedy business transaction. “Are you marking out there is a quicksand?” Ah think! “Thank you again of warning us afore!” He said turning his beady eyes to that direction.
“Not a quicksand. He said a monster!” A short bald tubby one exclaimed.
“Is such true? You men know of such a beast?”
“I knew he was not from here.” The bald one said.
Lansalot shrank from his knowing.
“Changes from water to slime. It’s growing in the water.” Another man said spitting a cherry pit with eerie fear transfixed in his eyes.
“If I see it I’ll turn back and tell you if it’s getting bigger.”
“Will one day multiply and take over the wood.” Another with shortened hair admitted.
“The wood? I don’t believe it. What would you give me to get rid of it?” Lansalot asked. What would or wouldn’t they give? Gold earned for a beast. Better yet recognizing the blazon of Britannica for conquering this monster and saving the wood?
“Up north you’ll see it. Follow to the north.”
“Thank you for your hospitality. We may go south.”
“Aren’t you a knight, sir?” asked one of the men.
“What? How dare?” Lansalot steamed. He fidgeted in his armor. “How dare you accuse?”
“Accuse? You bring a mute?” the haughty one said to them.
“Alright, I’m a holy missionary. But he’s not a mute, he’s a servant!” Yelled Lansalot.
Some of the men were hanging their heads in the upcoming argument staying safely out of its design.
“He knew he would be wronged by evil conversations. He works for me!”
“Beg pardon, sir, but we know you was a knight.”
“Your servant was brave so we said nothing.” The bald one proclaimed.
“What brazen do you carry?” one asked spitting a cherry pit.
“Brazen? Why? It’s carried over in war or a laird’s land house or Kings castle. What are you implying?”
“That if you don’t help us rid the slime we will run you out. If we send word to the next place of destination of your description?” threatened the bald one.
Sidekick now was fritting away and quietly whistling in worry ways.
“How shall I prove I beat the monster?” He asked.
“I bet you a bucket of slime that no one could carry a bucket of it off unless it was killed!” suggested one of the man within the absurd argument. He was the one who begun the tale of the slime.
“You mean you’ll pay me and not blackmail me? Fine. What do I get in return?”
“We are poor. You are good looking. You do this service you get pardoned. If you kill the monster we will proclaim our land to your King. What do you say?”
Lansalot said. “Alright.” He paused, then “I bring back a bucket of this monster slime you proclaim Britannica and its King! We are on our way!”
They traveled north in the wood, going along rocky hills of little rigid walls painted in Viking graffiti. RED BEARD. COAST RIDERS. Boats. Curses. And X’s. Skulls and unnamable nightly shapes. They found they were at the watering hole then stopped there in disbelief. There was a large bubble pouring from its mouth slime. There was a strange noise within it. Sloshing sounds gurgling through a drain in its center and water and steam shooting straight up.
“I’ll smash it!” Exclaimed Lansalot. Make me a lance demanded Lansalot.
“Now?” whispered Sidekick, unsure he had understood the intend of its use.
“Yes you idiot. I will smash it with a lance!” he said brutally.
Sidekick went off into the wood collecting fallen tree to sliver into a lance.
When he returned an hour latter he had carried one chopped by axe. It was magnificently heavy.
“That will do.” He stood up, weighing it. He heaved it under an arm pit and ran towards the bubble. It collided with a thud. The force bent the lance and did no damage. But the mouth then stopped spitting out slime. The spurting in the center stopped. Then suddenly an eye opened and turned to Lansalot.
The eye opening bubbled out in anger and then out came a six foot tale baby slime. It walked on legs and wore a cloak. The first to begin its spreading to take over the wood. Lansalot got here just in time. “My mace,” he shouted to Sidekick. He pulled a long mace from a carry sheath and hurried to hand it to him.
He struck it with his powerful mace.
“Ouch.” The monk wore a mask. The mask flew several feet off. He held his nose. “No more. Oh!”
Lansalot recognized the Monk. “It’s you Fredrick! French Monk of Paris,”
How dare the French and Frederick create slime?
“I’ve got a good mind to kill you this time man, what ails thee?” Lansalot demanded.
The plot was simple. He rope bound Frederick who had built a factory to create potions for the French King of Paris. He had hidden his laboratory in this wood.
Sidekick returned by foot to the hamlet carrying with him the bucket of slime.
“But what of your sir?” they inquired.
“He’s well. Only sore and scathed by the fight. I must return. Here is a token of our lord. Remember you are bound by your debt to Sir Lansalot of Britannica and the King. You have sworn.”
“Aye, we did!” pronounced the mayor. He was proud as were all of the men. Proud as the entire inhabitant of Middle Veil. Freedom of the monster of Middle Veil. And Long Live the King!

The ‘Slimy’ End

They were on a secret holy quest. They were not on show. But perhaps this was fortunate. Sidekick was no mute, Lansalot knew but he grew embarrassingly shy in groups, unless he served his lordship Lansalot.
The group gathered around rock in a circle that had a fire burning. The men sat. It took a little time before Lansalot and Sidekick felt well around this strange town folk. But the men began sharing pieces of meat and eggs. Lansalot noticed as they consumed the food that many of the men were almost as tall as sidekick making Lansalot a little apprehensive or nervous. He constantly was in check of all possible and dangerous situations. If they were Viking he may say something to alert them of his intentions of his holy quest. He decided not to pledge the men to his kingdom as the bearded men swallowed their food. He merely watched and listened to every word. They spoke because in a dialect language he didn’t know. Vikings he thought, and possibly very ruinous and dangerous.
“Are you men in need of any services?” Inquired the smartest looking one with glasses. He had large frumpy looking ears that really bent down from weight of the glasses. He had a beard that fell to the ground and was wizen grey and pointed at its end. He did not look harmful so Lansalot decided he was the mayor of Middle Veil.
Sidekick looked up quizzically.
“Yous in town for a church meeting?”
The mayor looked to Sidekick then at Lansalot. They both shook their heads no. it must of looked strange the servant responding. The two looked away in deeper conscious thought worried. The mayor grew relieved. But the mayor passed it off as absurd and waved away his morning yawn, he then said “Sure, unless if yous are in further need I’ll get back to work. I swear to you that a brave deed you did young?” he waited for the name.
“My Sidekick,” Said Lansalot.
“Sidekick.” He pronounced it aware the young man be a servant. “I thank yous from the bottom of my heart,” he said to Sidekick, then askance looking over his crowd, he waved bye to them on leaving, “from the whole hamlet!” said again leaving.
“That’s fine!” exclaimed Lansalot and the mayor left.
Lansalot took it as the last opportunity this time afforded to corrupt the men remaining. “We are going.” He told them.
He then had to pause after a sharp whisper from Sidekick to his ear, “What?” he said.
Sidekick whispered something more to him, they offered me a good price on a horse. he said.
“Unless you did have a sizable horse for me?” He corrected them. He was asking though he had doubt.
“No sir, youd need a mighty fine mare. We had a few ponies. A fieldwork mare horse. A small one for your servant boy.”
“That won’t do.” He said. “And did you think I am a slime and would steal your mare even for my servant for his brave deed done. I am shocked. We go. Does the sun set there?” he pointed more north.

-continued

Name: I Bet You A Bucket of Slime!
Words: 2448
Genre: Fiction/Graphic/Cartoon
By: Arthur
Notes: yet another long story with adventure to find a bucket of slime… in high school I would write stories and draw characters, blah blah blah °> °> <•<• wish I could upload a cartoon strip “What do you mean you forgot my sword? Argh!”

@ ## @@ # @@ ## @@ # @@ ## @

I Bet You A Bucket of Slime!

Once upon the time it was just in the early morning in mid Barbarian’s Middle Veil. A dark and luminous cloud was over a lodging on the street. It was overtaking the sun which slipped behind it. Nothing but a small wind was in the Veil that morning. Early to rise early to bed. The early bird catches the first worm. Lansalot stood in his doorway of lodging. He was in lodging away from harms way of the roads and for the night. He found he had had a restless and fitful sleep.
He had sent ahead his Sidekick to find breakfast in the hamlet. His strength and weight mightily pressed against the frame and lent its hinges loosen and crack.
He looked down to his armored boots in shame of his peculiar shape and size. Still mud from yesterday collected on his boots from far fields and roads. He wasn’t surprised he stepped in dung. Where was his sidekick?
He brushed his enormous chin in need of a shave. Lansalot never would travel undressed in his armor to the nines. As each morning when he rose to place his chain mail back on he checked to see if the Sidekick had polished and cleaned and repaired his armor outfit. It seemed Sidekick had neglected his duties because of an arrival in the late night, and now out looking of breakfast. Food would be scarce in the Middle Veil. It only had paths leading to it from the far farmer fields. It seems Middle Veil was built upon a little creek in a large wood off very large grassy plains. In the far distance was a valley and maybe a river.
Stepping out from the lodging Lansalot looked for a place to sit. He did not ride upon a horse, he was even considered too large. In fact his servant boy Sidekick was fit to ride. Lansalot would not buy a horse for a servant boy. So each walk in the holy lands. Now off in Viking land looking to conquer it. Lansalot would need a large horse.
Both the he and his Sidekick had walked through fields and along roads before they found the farmers fields here. Here? Where was here? Neither of them had known. The Middle Veil was a little nothing hamlet in a forest in the wilderness of yet unconquered land. Viking land. The king of Britannica would say ‘tis . . .’ he said tis before most everything, “Better a hovel than no hen house”. It was a true saying for the King had no education and still managed to conquer Britannica.
It was an odd saying too but Lansalot coveted every word of the King. Britannica’s land region did not span out this far to these yet unconquered Viking lands Lansalot found himself in now. Lansalot had been on a Holy Crusade many years and have spoken of of conquering the neighboring lands single handedly.
Everyone feared Britannica because it was impossible to conquer. And the King. Everyone but the wizard that despised the King was ruled by Britannica and by the King’s charms. And to get someone to come to Britannica to tutor the King also was impossible. It was well known that the King is suspicious and depersonalized. The King would prove to behead an attempted assassination rather than too let them try. He would even behead his own wizard if he didn’t prove useful time to time.
A crowd of people appeared before Lansalot. They had someone surrounded, and Lansalot was then cursing for just who. That was when he noticed Sidekick had stood up in the center. He was standing between to gregarious men. They each had a firm clasped handhold on either shoulder of Sidekick. They appeared shouting and yelling. The Sidekick stood silently as he does, but Lansalot grew inpatient, as he did.
He stepped towards Sidekick and said, “What is going on here, Sidekick?”
Sidekick has long sand colored hair and bands it flat to his head with a metal flat wire that goes around his temples. He dresses like a Shepard or a pathetic stripped Elvin fighter and not much larger than one. Only nearly six feet tale, he some times travels without boot wear when his soles wear out and there are no shoe makers.
As it was the story unfolded and went that Sidekick had found a boy crying his eyes over a weather barrel in the alley. A kitten had fallen into the weather barrel and could not swim. The child could not reach it as it was about to drown under. Sidekick happened by, took the wet cat out of the barrel, saving it, gave it to the child. The towns’ people praising him for his heroism stood there praising.
Lansalot nodded, “That’s fine!” he exclaimed to everyone.
“If he hadn’t happen by then then what?” asked an ornery old man in praise.
“That’s fine!” exclaimed Lansalot again.
“I think the child is mute but has stopped crying, the man gave him back his kitten.” Exclaimed with passion a passing man.
“That’s fine!” exclaimed Lansalot.
A townie said, “Let’s give them a reward for his deed!”
It wasn’t above the crown to take rewards, so Lansalot patted that man on the back and said, “That’s fine!”
And he exclaimed it.
The butcher said he would give the men a free breakfast.
Lansalot said “That’s fine!” and nudged the Sidekick for creating this public indecency.

-continued

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 graffiti. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You could write about any types of graffiti, also known as tagging, or drawings or writing, scratching, painted or sprayed with symbols anything just have the word graffiti 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.

Although I will have to announce the winner, you can beat me to the point before by first checking the poll yourself, but seriously and so I'd first like to say that each of the story entrees are interesting. Bell's excellent and even a greater story after the rewrite. Bell's story has a point of clear and amusing humor and is an excellent quality to find in fantasy writing, which too has a genuine sense of humor. And a mention to Pixie aka Sunny for her work, very original and creative and laughable. I hope to see more from the writers in the future.

Congratulations to this week’s winner Clare for her outstanding additional storydom and what can easily be considered excellent writing. Congratulations, Clare!

Don’t forget all winning entrees may be found on Clare’s profile page: follow link http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...

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 School. 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.

I haven't finished reading all the stories yet, Bells is fantastic writing.

This short story contest is now closed.

Please remember this is a contest and the winner gets their story posted on Short Story Galore *the group's official web site of each winners of fame.*
Ok don’t get bald if you didn’t post your story, you may want to keep your story handy for the next short story contest.

Please vote for your most favorite story of this week’s!! Go to poll, or add a topic to the topic suggestions header, discuss the stories, each week remember a new contest begins every Monday.

cont

A strange voice coming from the other side of the broken wall mantle. I could see dim light from within. There was no real reason I couldn’t step within it to see the speaker. Only I would have to leap up into a hole in the wall and bend and jump inside.
“Who are you?” I called toward the wall with a resounding smack and echo for the dark sounding voice trying my patience but I pretended I was their friend.
“No. Who are you to sleep on the rock like a king?”
I was removed. That was a strange question, and I was unprepared for it. Surprised they went into such detail of why I was here. “I’m no king. But I’m visiting an old castle.”
“Yes; but only members of the clan who fought with us and won with us have a right to sit here for all eternity.” Said the voice from inside those walls.
“Are you afraid I’ve come to destroy the rock?” Anyways I wasn’t sure feuding at this spot was a good idea.
“No. It’s been destroyed beyond repair...”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“Trespassers!” Exclaimed my shadowy friend on the other side of the wall.
“Have I offended you?” I wondered. Almost alarmed and ready to bolt now that I was defending myself. Because I just came to the highlands and now have offended the first person I met.
“Maybe. Maybe it’s why I carried you off the rock because you obviously don’t belong. What did you want calling here?”
I espied the trick question. All my uncle and aunts family had died except my mother and grandmother. Now the two look at me as if I could understand the way my mother understood. A highland way. She had been the red haired highlander of her father. My mother had been wild in her youth like her siblings.
“I just came to the highlands today.” I said.
“I know that. That’s what I see.” The voice said prettily. “No tourists allowed. This is private property.”
The high pitched voice with purpose of offending me off the land had led me to believe I had been conversing with a fairy. Did I know they had fairy in the highland? I thought fairy were in Ireland.
“I’ve got a scroll that told me of this place.” I said.
There was hesitation and a brief pause before the voice spoke, “Have you? What scroll does you? I know nothing of a scroll.”
“It’s a piece of paper actually. Not really important enough to be a scroll. But it has my family tree written on it, but it goes back to this castle. I came here to find why the castle.”
“Get out now before it’s too late. And take your paper too.” Said the voice. And then I waited and waited.
“Your still there?” said the voice.
“Yes.” I commanded.
“If you are not clan then you don’t want to be here, this place won’t interest you.”
“How could it interest me?” I asked, “I found out my grandfather was Scottish from his forefathers who had been highlanders. No I guess my not being of the Clan would interest anyone. I seek the Clan.” They were extinct yet I had some surviving throughout the world; I’ve never met a clan relative before, but there were more were elsewhere than in Scotland.
“Why do you want me to leave?” I asked.
“To keep our secret. We are always trying to trick and fool humans, you are just too easy to trick so I picked on you.” The shadow from behind the wall answered me.
I had been unaware and made a friend from another world while in the highlands. “Are you an elf?” I asked
“No, they are tall. I’m a fairy. I found you asleep and I dreamed what this placed looks like hundreds of our years ago but you sleep so sound you forgot the dream.”
That was true. I had a fog for memory; I thought it was from being so far from home and results of jet lag. I shivered from my awareness. A distracted feeling crept over me. What if this fairy could tell me about the family I would never know? It will open up a new door for me.
“Please, I’m sorry to scare you. Come out, show yourself. I’m no trouble to you. I’m just a visitor. I seek to understand the old Clan ways.”
The little creature buzzed through the hole in the wall. It gave me a wave with a hand pressed on a hip. It fluttered on wings, “You are in the highlands. I’m just passing.” Said the fairy, “What could a human learn?” it asked with the shadowy voice.
It was natural what I wanted. To know something about the way of highlanders, why this castle was built and the famous rock destroyed by Calder.
What I learned was quite different than I expected. Instead I learn there were nosy fairies trying to interfere with human lives for fun. Loch Arkaig where we stood was a place the fairy would come time to time in secret. They felt theire world had been shrinking. The choose to trick the humans to destroy the rock because neither Clan along the sea would admit and they would feud and kill each other. The fairies had destroyed the rock with hope there would be no more Clan visiting. news brought about its destruction that it was Calder who ruined the sea rock while building the castle. The feuds had been fought between them ever since.
“So nothing ever really happened in history was actually true? If little fairies changing people could get rid of them?” I asked.
“Apparently.” Said the fairy.
“Are you not alone?” I asked.
“Oh yes, nowe I am. As lonely as you.”
That didn’t bring me any closer to knowing my family history. But this creature was harmless enough. I had to still find out why it was telling me this now. I wasn’t even a member of the Clan, just a distant relative since my grandfather died.

It’s true, my grandfather passed away without leaving his family any of his estate.
My mother was known to be so much like him and his side of his family, she with red hair and wild means, similar to her siblings.
Her siblings had wild black hair like their mother’s. When the five children grew up they had adventurous tales left to them from their father. When he left when my mother was still only eight she felt withdrawn and devastated. Then her youngest brother suddenly died unexpected. Things kept taking their shape from one event to another.
When my grandfather finally was dieing eighteen years ago, my mother had found him again, learned that he was wasting away in a hospital. He took eight years to die. She visited him every year. She said he never spoke to her.
I hadn’t thought going to see a man who couldn’t recognize me would help either of us. Plus I was far too busy with my work. And I had no memory of him because he left his family when my mother was eight. He didn’t even try for a divorce. He just left. We never knew him.
But when he died I gave up on all the things I would never know. Then each of my mother’s siblings died one by one. My only uncle first. His wife died a year before him. Some say he died after with cancer, I know it was loneliness. Loneliness because they never knew the love of having children like the love we gave them, for they never had any children of their own. Then three years later my oldest aunt died. She had been so grand of a woman. Then another year and my youngest aunt passed away herself. That just left my mother and grandmother. It was all so tragic. But it was old age or cancer or loneliness.
After my last grand old aunt husband died my mother became in possession of a strange paper that shows family decent. It must have been in her things. My mother gave it to me.
I decided to travel abroad to the Scotland Highlands to trace my ascendancy. The paper gave me my directions. I treated it as a scroll or prophesy.
I came to the highlands because I am the last in my family line. Well actually the family line ended with my uncle. The last from my grandfather for those untested in my history. I didn’t realize I was the last one alive to know where my grandfather had come from, until I inherited this family scroll that told me all I needed to know. The highlands power over centuries ago over my distant family’s clan. It was no legacy. I was not mentioned in the scroll by prophesy. The family didn’t have that kind of power, you see. Nor did it have any sizable power in their time in the highlands. Nothing would come into my hands. But I came anyway.
I was going to sit at the rock where my grandfather’s clan could have sat. It was said, “[the clan’s name:] . . . right to Knap
As long as this rock withstands the sea". Although the rock had been completely destroyed in the sixteen hundreds while building a castle. I guess the rock went into building the castle.
But when I reached the castle it was the last place I expected to be. The wall and tower took on features and looks redder until when you get up close to it. After all, when you are near you see the difference. Standing under direct sunlight that hangs just over the castle walls from the bluish sky the castle appears more of a brown. The bricks are so old and ancient it was certainly hard to tell by the look of them just how old.
I found myself just out-front of the castle of Calder. From its great height and its perpendicular walls they were seizing me with their giant weight and leaving me in their resizing impression. There was no other reason why I was out here.
In fact I’m not sure how I got here. For I think I had fallen asleep. I know I didn’t walk here. I was at the rock peering down at the castle built by the sea.
It had been awful hot and I was dreary for sleep. I think that was when I had thought it. I sat on some rock feeling welcomed on the old stones. I had slipped into an afternoon nap above dreaming of these castle walls when something took hold. Was it here they fought and lost the castle? Was it in some field my clan went to free other highland clan members? Or fought with Prince Charles? I came here to learn. But I knew only of the name of this castle and how this rock I sat on had been destroyed as if in a family feud. When I shook my head and woke up, I had been lying on this ground outside the castle and unaware of how I got there.
The original rock-seat at that rock was won by my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather’s . . . too many to mention, but of a long line of grandfathers in the family clan.
So that was when the family’s clan had lived here in Scotland before my grandfather’s grandfather was born. My unfortunate uncle married and had then died without leaving any bairns of his own. And my mother saddened by her own fathers departing her family withheld telling me the story of this castle. She withheld the clan and lands they once held in Scotland or lost in feuds or war. Or did she mention war against England fought for honor of the Scots, like with Prince Charles against King George. Many men of the clan were hunted by Hanoverian and they fled to the New World after they fought for Bonny Prince Charles in 1746. I would have never learn or appreciated anything nor enjoy it as a story as history if it were not my blood. If she knew our story she would have told it but she couldn’t recall it all. Her father had been born in Canada because his family had come to Canada. I thought emigrating. But his grandfather had fought in Canada protecting its border against an intruder. In those days he was rewarded for his deed from our Canada government. My grandfather’s grandfather received land and approval to return to the highlands. He brought back three boats of people. Members of his family clan and others. They came over in the eighteen-hundreds in his return to Canada.
How rich a decent of family history as ancient as Scotland was this clan I came here in search of my roots to find out? With my family’s clan spread out in the world I may never know its history before this spot. Without anyone of my grandfather’s clan to tell me I didn’t know. I would be crushed if I didn’t learn so I stood in from of the castle.
A voice began to speak, to me “Laddie, I see you are lost out of your wits. Why you come from a long way, I’ve never known anyone to come in this place before, not in a hundred years.”

*takes a bow*
Yes please, post 'er up on S.S.G.

It's going to be so awesome, thanks again Olivia

I loved 'Full Moon' it reminded me of Bitten by Kelley Armstrong (

If you still wanted a story posted, check out the two week contests.

No more stories for this week. You all can now vote at the contest poll.

Don't forget to visit Weekly Topic Suggestions with suggestions. http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/6...

Name: Bad Batty
Words: 997
Genre: fiction/reference: Bram Stoker
By: Arthur
Notes: Double-jeez.

Bad Batty

Bloody. Bloody. Bloody. Johnathan Harker would have called this the moment of seeing Dracula. Lady Lucy Westerna would have fainted strictly speaking. Never mind mere reaction of any by the likes of John Seward, Quincy Morris, Arthur Holmwood or Abraham Van Helsing. We saw bats!

There was a flat area of grass near the house under the big hickory tree. Math, Soldier and Allusion propped up their summer’s tent there in Math’s backyard.
If anything the tree reminded the boys of the air-refresher Math’s father always used in the car they all had been in after their baseball practices.
They were next seen carrying in a night worth of food.
About the property of Math’s backyard there had been a fence with wall-to-wall climbing plants and his mother’s flowers. Growing and living samples from different parts of the world Math’s mother explains this is the horticulture making home one of leisure. They are just simple forms of their small plots of land or vegetables, in gardens or greenhouses.
Math brought out his comic books. He had a long list he wanted to bring down from his room but he took his favorites he will share. They crowded around the lantern operated on batteries. Light spilled over a pile of comics. Math had anxious hands to handle the first.

Soldier’s watch had said it was ten. Way past a boy’s normal bedtime. Listening to Math and the comic books had done its trick of making Soldier sleepy. It was getting late. He began yawning.
Then Soldiers eyes were feeling heavy and occasionally were drooping. The next time he looked at his wristwatch it had budged one minute past ten. Anxiety.
Allusion crouched against a rolled up section of his sleeping bag. It was big and heavy and he had his pillow already stuck inside it. He moved far to one side leaning out while still in his bag. He had flattened popped corn kernels spill out from the open zipper of his sleeping bag. He could hear a slight crinkling noise from an empty potato flavor chip bag under him.
He almost seemed to stop in motion. He was trying to concentrate on Math and the strangeness of sleeping in his tent late at night; even though they were just outside a house.
The discussions had switched from war stories to Tron to Super League. Back to Looney Tunes and now and again to comic Daffy Duck. Daffy was in a haunted house. His story spoke for itself. Really there were no such things as vampires. Although Daffy was really a duck even if his feather were smooth as ink and even if he was a carton. But most everything else didn’t have that much more realism.

Math had remembered to bring his favorite comic. It was on the bottom. A half full moon shone a bright casting light through the tent nylon. The crickets chirped and quietly died. Then a cat somersaulted somewhere across the backyard lawn disappearing into the night. The evening’s noise around the backyard deadened to stillness in the tent. Even Soldier lay still. Probably fallen asleep. Math had to bring out his favorite comic. It was none other than a piece of resistance. The man called Morbius.
The comic book looked like it had been worn thin on the edges. A second hand copy no doubt. A very old issue in an old series before they were born. The story had taken sudden shape to appear written about true events of history. There was a gallant looking man perhaps he was a Viking or Nordic with a pretty woman lying below the shaded forest of a toppled over hallow tree. They were obviously talking of romance. They were suddenly interrupted. They hadn’t then lasted much longer because the man called Moribus ate them as do all vampires; they wilily drain blood from their willy-nilly victims.

Allusion didn’t mean to interrupt Math’s retelling of the slain likeness of the Viking character in the story, but he kept hearing strange screeching noises outside for a while. Could it have been a stranded dog off a leash and lost nearby as he first presumed? It had gotten clearer or closer since the crickets stopped suddenly.
The screeching was clearer and was very eerie while making Allusion uncomfortable. It now sounded totally different. It hadn’t sounded like screams before but now it suddenly did.
Both Math and Allusion looked bewildered towards each other. Math’s heart began racing. They popped there heads outside of the tent and saw the screeching came from flying bats overhead.
They rushed to the end of the backyard and climbed up a post of the fence to get a better look. They could hear the screaming. Math’s bracelet made a clinking noise against the metal fencing. The medical bracelet he wears to warn of his asthma.
He had to wear a medical bracelet. It was the reason he was only allowed to camp outside if he had been with friends. Now he found he was looking over the tall fence and could see the neighboring house. He could see a house and a falling wall of nylon like their tent but collapsing. In the terror stricken moments he could also see the girls racing around in their pajamas in a panic. They put out a Hitachi BBQ, the smoke and smolder rolled into the night air. The next door must have lit it to roast marshmallows in midnight.
Math then recognized one of the running girls. She was stopping to take down a telescope from its tripod and packing it into a bag. There were enormous bats screeching in the air above them. bats attempting to fly from tree to another. The newborn bats thinking they were birds and with the half moon brightness had made them easily visible. And half moon estranged.

I hope I’m not scaring you with my story, but that’s all I have of it. The End

~Clare~ wrote: "Oh gosh, my whole perception of time is all messed up. I thought it was saturday!! So yes, we will have a poll if more ppl write before tomorrow."

I hype to finish my story before Saturday morning. It's a big mess right now, written on separate sheets of paper.

I don't think she wants to resubmit. I think maybe post to comment on it.

any title?