Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion
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Cool, Steph. Thanks for posting this one!
:D
I read the new topic rather late at night, and it inspired me right then to write something spectacular. I typed away for an hour solid, the real world disappearing beneath me into a world of new and evolved things. When my eyes would not stay open another moment I set my head down upon a pillow of dream so deeply satisfied with my tale and determined to edit and post it today.This morning I got up and found out I wrote a load of giantly detail and well worded nonsense. Most disappointing morning ever.
Aww. Sorry to hear that Christa.
Sorry, but what do you mean by, "Fairy tale down under"? Fairy Tale in the Ocean? Or Austrailia?
((Sorry this is awful. A last-minute entry))Title: Sing to the World
A long time ago a people on a tiny land lived. They were not big like you or me. They were each rather small just like their land Tasmania was small. There were hundreds of them. Their kind, Aborigitas a small tiny race that was years away from growing as tall as a regular human being. They were slightly bigger than insects like ants.
These people could not sing. They lived and ate and had families but they wished that they could show how happy they were to the world with a song. A song that would pour out to the world.
One day they got into coconut husks and decided to travel the world. They decided to head north and go to wherever the sea could lead them. It was a long journey but they discovered a land that was very large.
The place made them happy. It felt like a real huge continent. They were more than joyous that they found a new land. The other land was just the right size for them but they could not live in just one place though after a time they missed the other land back down below in Tasmania while they were in a place called Australia.
They decided to call to them and play a song that would travel out over the plains over the lands and maybe they would hear their great song of love. They decided to work together and cut a long stalk that they work on with whatever they could find to shape it.
They found the long slender piece of wood needed to have a hole through it.
Their love for their people helped them grow as they made it. They overtime became as tall as a small dog. Then after another year or so they were as tall as a shrub or small tree. They realized when they grew making this instrument of reaching their people back home became easier for them.
All that work made their lungs overworked. But it made their breathing organs strong as well. They realized that for them to hear the song they would pour out to them it would be in one long, continuous note. Just somehow, some way they back home could hear them.
They were able to breathe into the instrument. One by one they held the long tube and blew into it. . . the call to their people that they hoped they could hear. They hoped they would listen to their song of hope, of victory for finding a great land.
A year or so had passed. They did not know what the people over the land were feeling or what they had been going through but they hoped they heard the song. That was all they cared about. Overtime they realized how like-minded the people back home were. . . and they heard the sound called back to them.
Two instruments from two different lands called back to each other. They had become strengthened and grew too. The instruments had one name.
They could sing to the world and all around them with their love for each other as well as whoever crossed their path. .
With the instrument the didgeridoo.
Ronald wrote: "Sorry, but what do you mean by, "Fairy tale down under"? Fairy Tale in the Ocean? Or Austrailia?"You could take it any way you want, I think.
Right, Stephanie?
The is brilliant C.J! A great fairy tale. I really enjoyed reading it and might even read it to my little sibs tonight before bed, with your permission of course.
Oh, I had forgotten tomorrow is the last day to submit...Just about, CJ. It can be related as loosely as just saying the words.
Schlorp1200 words
by Beansoda
Living in the sewer ain’t that bad. I mean, it’s not as great as they make it look in the movies and whatnot, but it has its charms. Seriously, if you ever visit, do NOT ask any of the locals if they’ve ever met Sludgehammer Harry or Skip Manhole. Those guys are probably nice enough people, but they’re just actors playing parts. They rarely make it down here, unless it’s some kind of promotional thing or location shot they couldn’t recreate on the surface.
I live in the east side of Stink Bubble, not to brag or anything. It was named after the great Stink Wilson. But we all know that story. I’m here to tell you about the luckiest day I ever had.
It was a Thursday evening when I was walking home. I had just come from the Leftover Loaf concert where I’d gotten into it with one of the other banana dealers. Jimmy Funghole said I was takin’ away his customers--but I charge less and I have browner bananas. Can you blame these folks? Anyway, he was gettin’ hot so I sold just a few more and headed home.
After walking through a few of the east tunnel connectors, I had a sense like I was being followed. You know that feeling. It’s always when you’re alone. You never get the creeps when you’re with a bunch of your friends at a Leftover Loaf concert. No, it’s always when you’re by yourself in an unlit water drain, after tussling with a guy named Funghole.
So I was gettin’ the creeps and I did the best thing I could do in that situation. I stuck to the wall. I’m not particularly sticky, but most of the walls down here are. So just hold your breath and give it your best jump if you’re ever feeling the need.
I waited up in darkness for a long time. I tried to breathe real quiet, like Sludgehammer Harry does in the scenes where he’s sneaking up on people. And just like in those scenes, something happened fast and out of nowhere.
Smack!
It hit my face with a wet slapping sound, and stuck there. It was warm.
“Urhnrnjrjnrjnnngg!” I tried to say. I was beginning to realize that the thing on my face wasn’t a creature in its own right, but the lips end of a long elastic trunk connected to some kind of beast a few feet away.
The slapper and its appendage made no effort to move. I could sense some serious strength there, so I decided not to struggle. This “ignore it and it will go away” strategy was becoming just as useful as my “stick to the walls and let trouble pass you by” strategy. Unfortunately, no going away or passing by seemed about to take place.
I reached in my jacket pocket for my Econo-Torch, but found only an old banana. Thankfully, the banana was a dark shade of brownblack and slightly more delicious than my face. After a few quick snorts, the trunky appendage began a slow lip-walk down my neck and arm on its way to the banana. The slurping sounds were somewhat musical as the appendage lip mouth thing consumed the banana from my hand.
I fumbled in my other pocket for my torch. I finally saw what was eating from my banana-hand: a medium sized sugar bear. I let fly a few curses in my native tongue.
“Urhnrnjrjnrjnnngg!” I’d only seen pictures of sugar bears. And maybe a real one when I was young, but I could have been lying (you know how kids are.)
He (I now know he’s a he) retracted his snouty trunk thing as he swallowed what was left of the banana. His eyes rolled up in his big furry head while he wagged his round body back and forth.
“You could’ve at least peeled the thing, you animal,” I said with attempted humor and relief. I was never good at making friends, particularly when it comes to large snouty beasts, but I hoped this big guy would stick around. It’s always good to have a sugar bear on your side, particularly if you sell old bananas in the parking lots of Leftover Loaf shows.
As I peeled myself from the bricks, I remembered the old saying: “Make friends with a sugar bear, you’ll be rich in lumps of hair.” See, down here, sugar bear hairballs go for quite a premium. I’d say twice, maybe three times as much as a crate of old bananas. Those hairballs make a fine sweater, and an even finer living.
I decided to bring him home. Well, you can’t actually bring a sugar bear any where he doesn’t want to go. I should say, he followed me home.
I named him Schlorp, after the sound his snout would make when it affectionately attached to my face. He did this a few more times on the walk home, but he was always gentle with me, his new buddy. His fuzzy brown fur was soft and a bit oily. Actually, I heard somewhere that sugar bears have clear hair, just like the old polar bears. But there’s so much grime down here that I can’t imagine ever seeing a clear one.
That night I watched Sewer Wars while Schlorp snuggled up on the couch with his fuzzy head in my lap. I rubbed his fur gently as he purr-belched approvingly. During commercial breaks I would pick up any hairballs that he’d coughed up and put them in my laundry sack.
“I’m gonna make a mint off you, boy!” I said excitedly. He grunted and wagged. As I passed out on the couch, I thought of all the cool things I could buy with my newfound career.
A garbage feed direct from the surface...
A FunkCo Mold Maker...
A sugar bear hammock...
TWO sugar bear hammocks.
Okay let’s not get greedy.
I was startled awake by something pressing against my throat. I opened my eyes to the skinny face of Jimmy Funghole, just inches from mine. He was holding the sharp thing that was pushing into my neck. It felt rusty.
“Watching some Sewer Wars, eh? Well. As they say...” He cleared his throat. “Looks like we’ve got a little unfinished business here, see?”
“I’d applaud if I didn’t think you’d cut my--”
“I am gonna cut you!” he spat. “Not enough room for two bananamen at these shows.”
“I’m out of the business Jimmy.” I could feel his hand shaking.
“That’s right. You are about to be. Right now.”
“No, really. I’m out. Change of heart and all that. No more bananas, honest. ” I grabbed his wrist and tried to push him away. He was surprisingly strong and held himself close. It took everything I had to keep the knife from pushing in.
“Honest? Like I care. I’m taking you out of--”
I think Jimmy was too startled to scream. Like I said, sugar bears aren’t a regular sight down here. Some say they’re magical beasts that only reveal themselves when the time is right, and that’s why you can’t see them. I think it’s just all that dirty fur.
The hairballs over the next few weeks had some rusty pieces of metal in them, but I got pretty good at combing that stuff out. I bought Schlorp a hammock.
Okay, two hammocks.
hahah.. nice Beansoda.
Aging Abigail544 Words
by Charlotte
Once upon a time there was a slightly slender princess of proportionately pleasing proportions who was called Aging Abigail by her kingdom. His father had thought it was a grand joke when naming her that, as she was constantly aging, of course, and her mother had laughed along at her great husband’s wit.
Poor Aging Abigail didn’t find it at all funny as an available princess of sixteen and not a single suitor to be found. Well, there were suitors but only Handsome Hairy Harry who was eighty-three and a player at large. Aging Abigail didn’t associate with players.
It was even harder when Singing Sandra was born to her parents at midnight and married off the very next morning. Understandably, Aging Abigail was incredibly depressed with her life.
“That is quite alright, Aging Abigail,” her mother told her. “If you do not marry soon, we can just send you off to a tower guarded by that lovely dragon Cheese Hoarder. He’s the biggest dragon around! Many a handsome prince will come to rescue you.”
As it turned out, in two weeks, Aging Abigail was set into a carriage with three trunks of shampoo and conditioner and carried off to Cheese Hoarder’s tower.
“Why hallo!” Aging Abigail called out to Cheese Hoarder as they got near. She hoped that her dragon was strong and fierce.
“Ah! Who that be? Come near? No!” Cheese Hoarder turned out to be big only because of his wings. They so ridiculously dwarfed his body size. When the carriage halted to a stop, Cheese Hoarder shied away and zoomed back to the back of the tower, knocking over one of the towers and turning it to shambles.
***
Aging Abigail really felt her sixteen years of age with difficulty, waiting for her prince. After a while, though, she enjoyed her life of solitude. Cheese Hoarder had begun to share some of his cheese with her and she had started a lovely garden of cheese with it. But one day, her waiting was rewarded, for on an almost-white nag of so-so proportions a handsome prince came with a beautiful feathered bonnet on his head.
“Princess! Oh princess! Let down your hair,” he called. Aging Abigail shrugged and tilted her head out of the window, letting her shoulder-length hair run down the stone walls.
“Ah, thank you.” The prince grabbed her shoulder and pulled himself into the room. It was quite a nice room, actually. He spent his time putting things into his pocket before kneeling down. “Princess! Will you marry me?”
“Wrong order,” Aging Abigail told him.
“Ah, that is true. Princess! I am Prince Magnificent the Great Man and I have come to save you from the Cheese Hoarder!” Aging Abigail snorted. “Come with me, to Briar Kingdom!”
Cheese Hoarder poked his tiny snout into Aging Abigail’s tower window and snorted. “Be careful of the dragon,” Aging Abigail told him, monotone.
Prince Magnificent the Great Man turned around and screamed at the dragon then proceeded to run out the tower’s front door. He hopped on his off-white colored nag and hurried away with haste. Cheese Hoarder huffed and put a tiny claw through the window to drop off some cheese. Aging Abigail rolled her eyes and continued to her garden. One of her cheeses was growing a delightfully green layer.
This is glorious nonsensical crap at its finest. But somehow, I kind of find it amusing all the same. Eh.
Ronald wrote: "Sorry, but what do you mean by, "Fairy tale down under"? Fairy Tale in the Ocean? Or Austrailia?"It can mean whatever you want, Ron. Ocean, cave, Australia, under a staircase--whatever you come up with.
Christa - Ron Paul 2016 wrote: "The is brilliant C.J! A great fairy tale. I really enjoyed reading it and might even read it to my little sibs tonight before bed, with your permission of course."Thanks, Christa. You did have my permission. I just went off this thread and kept off of here for a while.
To Chris: I like the creative way you used the topic. And good job on the story!
To Beansoda: I liked it a lot! It's funny and has heart with plenty of "stinky" goingson haha.Charlotte: A "glorious" and amusing fairy tale. (word I was thinking also). I liked it as well. Aging Abigail who was getting older from her ripe age of sixteen as she waited for a suitor. Great! :)
Who to vote for? I have no clue. Loved 'em!
ahh, didn't get to finish my entry. had to go out of town for a bit for work and Easter didn't help either. Ill finish it up hopefully in the next day or two after voting is over for feedback and helpful criticism. great reads from everyone who entered.
Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a story previously used in this group.
Your story should be between 300 and 3,500 words long.
REMEMBER! A short story is NOT a scene. It MUST have a BEGINNING, MIDDLE, and END.
This week’s topic is: Fairytale from Down Under.
The rules are pretty loose. You could write a story about anything that has to do with the subject. I do not care, but it must relate to the story somehow.
Have fun!