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

Arthur’s comments from the Short Story Contests group.

"Thou have to tie it to that tree there." He grinned, "Thou if that beast need water, thou can take that and fill it. It’s for the animals.” "If thou plan to store thou saddle that barn roof is busted little, thou peg it on the wall, get.” That was his and gods hospitality! That spoken, the man spoken to takes out a pack of Art’s Bart’s, chewing said, “Is not my horse priest man."

"You shall not preach unless your brothers and sisters are pastors !!!!" His voice broke the silence of the room. Each of their heads turns in the direction of the two in the discussion. One held a traditional black leather Bible. The other, with his hands against his sides. He listened to when the man with the Bible, who yelled. He stumbles clearly, "I did not say it’s wrong, I said, it bothers me."

I can not help, I'm not you. I wouldn’t have these problems, which has been in such a way. It was all a surprise and too sudden for me. I will say I have trouble. I need time to really recover. I'm almost desperate. The birds do not sing in my favor. They are discouraged. Turning people’s usual whisper encouragement, they ignore me. The tree of fruits has already ripped from the cold, have fallen.

Boy. The wheel of time. The bow of betwixt scurry. My home is weak. Mentalist weak. And I shook. Whether I was strong. Whether I was fast. I had then control. The situation was better than worse. I had it under control. But that was my condition. Where was the quality to come? Who better than I could make things worse? I will keep until I am not in a position to, until unable.

last one was funny,

One for the money, two for the show, we were to get ready… We were the ‘in’ group, and on the peer. We were about to swim in the lake, and Ned dove first, then Tracy. I suddenly got the shivers, like when it began to rain, and we would all sing, ‘It hurts like a tornado, when it doesn’t care, you about,’ when I realized I lost consciousness, and was frozen under water.

My family had been brought to our country poor even by migrant workers. I rustle up meals, cleaned pots and pans. There was little enough protection to people, friends and family all in the night came all at once into sleep. That was when they would tell stories to each other, why we are all here. That kept us all together. And in the morning was gone, as tornado magnets.

Little Zunshine on her tuffet, eating golden hair, came a rock, landed with a thud, missed her only inches. The shears appeared, cut off her hair, she let cry a pool of tears. The playground friends called her toddler names, and she drew big long faces. She stumbled lonely feet, finding her place, she finally, learned to laugh. Silly people, they thought I had such long hair before, and children came to play every day.

The rock stars shaved their beards. They lost everyone, signals of everyone, giving a darn for the publicity. The fans mourned the shorn hair of those faces. They lifted their arms without harms, in a park to their favorites. The rock fell with a blush, and flew over their hushed heads. All on a Saturday too.

I have a strange school memory of the Queen of England when she visits Canada, she came to (huh, either Kingston or cardinal, which are very far away from each, so why can I not remember) for a few hours, Schools closed for the day, and provides all local students on buses to see her in public. It is a rave.
No, I didn't enter any contests either for writing either. I was encouraged by my English teacher to, but had my own goals, etc. I've got to be perfect you understand. Thank you for your encouragement.

She rose to the zenith sky on large waves and docked at the beach. Breathing air into the lungs, she was on water, above a fish. He arrived in time to revive it. A mortal human, and she called in an alarm, "Away from me flee this area, because I'm a mermaid not be affected by a mere mortal!" The man pressing against salt shocked lips, thinking this is my mere fate.

I have a lot of years. I live in Canada. And there are also many adventures for the descriptions. I think it's where I like to live.

"I've come so far," he said on his way to a bird that was with a smaller look-a-like. Probably a small sparrow and his mate. "I came in this direction, but not see beyond that hill."
He left the small camp, breaking camp, and pulls up his jacket with his bag and lurched off. He focused on his stiff little compass, that points on the road to the north. He was heading west. He thought how lucky that really was. He would come along a river or cross-bridges in time. And until recently, up ahead he assumed were mountain ranges.
Half of the day went past within a few hours after a brief jog. Jarvis had made all the way through to the mountains up to what looked very much like a mountain. He stretched a hand. He realized. And then of the base of a large mountain of the sun could not rise above past and no longer either. It was not as dark as it felt powerful being under the presence among the largest mountain in the world as witness to Jarvis. The chill of the cold was welcomed. The wind was absent. The strange noises from cuffed behavior from what looked like miles and smaller rocky ridges another way towards the north. And it was shorn in the south. Jarvis immediately pitch camp. Found no stream in sight for water. He knew it would either not be enough snow, unless he reached the top, to make anything in a pot. He started a fire and realized he was not nearly cold. The sun was just around the other side of the mountain.
He could start going south, he thought. Decisions were difficult to make. He may find the stream he needed at either ends of mountain chains, but he could only go one way and not the other. For now, he would rely on bottled water and go to the south. His boots preened without difficulty. After his long rest, he stepped on in awe. If this was why people talk about mountains, he was glad he came all the same. The mystery and the invention of the foot was great to Jarvis.
Perhaps when the fog rose. And the cold too before he realized he was probably very lost. The bald south had nothing but gravelly ridges and what looked like small valleys. Behind was a different scene of a huge mountain. The summit welcoming and the signs of life from made Jarvis insist on the possibilities of water on the mountain or in the direction of the west where the sun was deep orange and in night’s horizon. It would be dark by the time he got around from the south towards the west. He chose going up a little of the mountain and then to the other side towards the west, where he spotted a cave in the mountains. It was a large and very deep cave in the mountain.
The fog had been a mist. Frost may even be in the morning. He filled his lantern and lit it. A burning lantern would last one and a half days. And in a cave he would need as much light as possible. He looked into it. It was uneven and creaks and a most wholesome healthy quiet. He decided that the quiet meant the extinction of anything but an ancient Indian ruins in the mountains. No Indians for hundreds of years, and they lived in reserved parks further north or were increasingly scarce and have to join regular civilization.
Perhaps this was an adventure after all. It was a mountain, cold and damp. And a hidden treasure left by a tribe in the old times. Jarvis predicted his luck and moved his way into the cold mountain. Where he felt his first chills. Not like in the winter but, but cold and unhealthy as mud on his shoes.
He sat up. It was midnight, the watch said the time with a chime. Midnight. Beep. Beep. Tang Tang Ting. It was one minute past and now he heard a strange purring and roar. That gave him goose bumps. He looked around the cave. It was too long to have fully explored. He had found no Indian hidden treasure. Was wary of the trip. He was worried that he was missed at home and now was scared. The fog had pealed at the mouth of the mountain cave with cold winds and drops of water that in a small but perceptible existing stream that ran into the cave and soaked in soil.
He pulled his flashlight and spun around in a circle. It was a Coyote? These are bitterly harmful if hungry. Jarvis was prey? He would be ready. He hunched against the wall with his hand on his gun. And stowed the fear, as he tried to sleep. But the purring and roars at intervals kept up. Lively enough to keep him awake. But by the early morning, when he was fully awake, he found what it was.
He noted, he found more paths and tunnels, that he assumed were unnaturally made by the Indians. Where he finally found the spot he knew the noise was from. It was a place deeper into the cave. And he crept through a narrow tunnel as an Indian on his stomach for an hour. He found a statuette of a cat. It made no sense for him. It was obvious what the noise was in the night. Jarvis decided he'd better return. And when he did, he highlighted a little note on his map with a cross through a cat face on the place, where he found. And left it alone.

The End

Name: The Mutant in the Mountain
Words: 1554
Genre: Fiction
By: Arthur
Notes: I wrote this after seeing the topic idea cold made me bring this into creation.



The boy had cold eyes. Jarvis has exceptional skills in search of his adventures. Tut de Ville, he called them. Every weekend he begins with the Saturday as a day of adventure. For the rest of his family was a day to rest. It can be made that he would skip breakfast as fast as any other person with his exceptional skills. Fain irritability and will be out the door. Explorations in his field on a hilly farm, he vowed to exceed the remotest hills to large mountains someday.
Carrying long wound ropes for climbing. The mountains he had planned, the cold and snow or ice. He had a dart gun pushed into his fold jacket for his protection. Bears were surely there camping along the mountains, Jarvis would remain safely away from their cold caves and where bears sit around lazy rivers in groups under the brightest of suns. Jarvis would navigate around such animals without having to awaken. He could make sounds with his hands, for ducks, or in real need, he had a real whistle in his pocket. Deepening its hilly terrain at the foot of what he would find lying on mountains, he would push on.
As the rain had most of the energy from him, he returned home usually disappointed. It was sunny weather in the hills for the summer. With autumn in the concept, he had been gearing up for special precautions. He bore a plastic sheet rolled in a log for his head when he stopped to rest. He could uncoil it for protection from the rain. With this he made the decision to go further and find out what was beyond him from his house on the farm. Where there was nothing for him, but his family and the predictable animals in the barn throughout the year. He would like to leave behind the days since, to see why he lived at all on such a farm.
Home was what he was about, his being precautious. Adventures alone would not hurt his pride. With three older sisters, nearly married soon, and almost out of his life he had feared it would end things like Christmas and with all its benefits with little of any notice of him. He could disappear for an entire night if he wanted to, and not anyone suspect he would go as far.
The breeze was not the normal breezes in the summer heat swelling. There were occasional fresh leaf stuck in dried mud. Or there were strewn all over pine. The ground was soft and presents ideal places he could swim without problems and leeches. The hills meant small rivers or it does not mean dangerous rapids either. He could put up a small fire to cook and make coffee and roots, to see what's really in plants.
The colder wind blew, and he wanted to press. It was still before noon and he had much to walk if he wanted to learn something.
He was chilled to the bone based on a tree. When he saw the first big hill, was darkened. That would mean, before rain and prevention. Or it could mean mountains beyond. He did not stay long to ask. It was nicely warming from a cold snap muggy morning. The birds were racing through to store things in the trees. Ducks was south. And few wild animals were also live. It was enough civilization in the vicinity to indicate that wild animals really can not be tolerated, especially for long. But Jarvis wondered about the winter months, with fewer and fewer people here, what life would have been like then.

The fish leave from his bucket was going on in the stream. So I started in the stream of vision and visitation rights. Down-stream at first with my head fixed on my chest and curly and then dive back to see to the setting sun light. It was too cold and I went out of the stream. So I swam in my cloths and had lunch.