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Writing Contests > Short Story Contest August 28 - September 9

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message 1: by Halah (last edited Aug 27, 2013 06:25PM) (new)

Halah Butt (valhalah) | 925 comments Hello errybody.
Obviously, this is the new short story contest and the topic is...wait for it..

Lies. As in, the act of telling an intentionally false statement..

No word limit, interpret it in any way you want, be creative and enjoy :D
Also, grammar is a virtue.

You may begin.


message 2: by Grace (new)

Grace (Fives) | 1090 comments I don't know what this really is... It isn't that good... But, whatever. I wrote something at least. I didn't even write anything last contest...
It's awful, whatever. Just... read it.
And hopefully someone writes something better.



I hear the trunk opening. The light is so bright and blinding.
“Hey, kid, we're leaving this car, the police know now.”
I listen to my kidnapper, he will kill me if I don't follow him.
“Get in the trunk!”
I quickly hop into the trunk, I can feel his gun on my back.
I'm so scared.
“Kid, what's your name?”
I whimper and say, “J-J-Josh.”
“That's a nice name... I'm Kyle Jr, but most people call me KJ.”
Kyle closes the trunk. I hear the car start up.
I quickly grab my cell and call 911.
“911, what is your-”
“I've been kidnapped by a man, my name is Thomas Micheal Jr, 12 years old.”
“Where are you?”
“I'm on highway 4, in a white Toyota.”
“Are you in the trunk?”
“No, I'm in the back seat.”
I hang up. Oh, god. I lied. I didn't mean to.
I feel the car stop.
“Josh!”
The trunk opened.
“Did you call someone?”
I nod and throw my phone.
“Did you tell them everything?”
I shake my head. “I lied, I didn't mean to.”
“It'll be all right if you don't tell anyone anything.”
I sit up, breathing in the clear air. “Can I get out of the trunk?” I ask Kyle.
I look closely at Kyle. He has chocolate brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale as the moon skin.
“Sure, Josh, just don't run or I'll shoot you!” Kyle says with a strangely friendly smile.
I slowly get out of the trunk. Kyle watches me as I walk out of the trunk. “Can I sit up front?” I ask him. He crosses his arms and says, “Josh, I don't trust you that much yet.” I frown and say unhappily, “Do I have to stay in trunk?”
Kyle smiles and says, “You can go in the back, but... don't touch anything.”
I walk to the car door. The car is a blue 2012 Ford Mustang, nice color.
The seats are soft and warm. The heater is on high, the cold winter isn't inside the car. I lay down on the chairs and begin to fall into a deep, deep sleep. When I wake, I feel that Kyle put tape over my mouth and he tied my hands together also. I don't see Kyle. I'm alone. I hear someone coming.
“Hmm, what's this? Someone just dump it here?” A older man's voice says.
“I dunno, why don't we check it out?” A younger woman says.
I start kicking at the door. “Oh my god!!” I hear one shout and run over. Once the door is open, the tape on my mouth and hands are gone. “What happened? Did you get kidnapped?” The woman asks fast but worried. My mouth starts moving and I start speaking, I start lying, “One minute I was getting ready to see my grandpa's grave, but then this tall Asian guy goes and kidnaps me!”
I see Kyle with a chainsaw. And I don't even remember what happens after that.



That's a lie.
Blood was all over me. Kyle smiles and grabs me. “Did you tell them anything?”
“No.”
He puts me in the trunk.
I can smell all the blood. I cry, I lied again! I can't help it! I don't know what to do.
My grandpa isn't even dead. I knock on the trunk. I can hear Kyle groan and turn the car into a parking lot. He opens the trunk and says in an annoyed voice, “What is it?!” I frown and say, “I need to pee.”
Kyle sighs, “Go in the bushes.” I run out of the trunk and into the bushes.
I run to a pay phone and call 911 once again.
This time, I will not lie!
“Hello, 911 what is your e-”
“I lied, I'm so sorry. I said was Thomas Micheal Jr! My real name is Josh Cherry! I've been kidnapped by a man named Kyle, he is driving a blue ford-” Before I can finish, Kyle is behind me and he has his hand over my mouth. He takes the phone and says, “Hello, my name is Kyle Micheal Jr, I will kill this child if you say even one word about this, I have men everywhere.” The woman on the other side has gone quiet. “N-no!” I shout as Kyle drags me back to the car. He shoves me in the trunk and says to me, “I told you not to tell anyone, Josh, now you're going to die.”
After a while, Kyle finally stops the car.
He opens the trunk, “Hey, Josh!” He says with a friendly smile. I can't help but smile back.
“Kyle, my name isn't Josh Cherry, I lied. My real name is Josh Bills,” I lie.
“Oh, no worries, I'm glad you didn't tell them your real name!” Kyle says happily.
“HEY! YOU BAST-” I hear a woman yell, she has a gun and many man behind her. There are police cars blocking the roads. Kyle shoots the woman before she can finish speaking.
But, luckily, she's wearing a bulletproof vest and just falls back. “GET THE KID AWAY!!” She shouts to the other officers. I grab onto Kyle and shout, “What's going on?!” Kyle puts down the gun and listens.
“ARE YOU SAFE, CHILD?!” The woman shouts to me. “Yes, I am safe, very safe. Nothing is going to hurt me, I am so safe!” I lie. I lie and I continue to lie, I can't help lying. “His real name is Josh Cherry, not Josh Bills or Thomas Micheal Jr and he is not safe,” Kyle says as he sets his gun down on the green wet grass. “K-Kyle? Y-you saved me?” I say with a confuse look.

After 10 years, I turned 22, happily. I still remember Kyle and what he did. I don't lie again more.
No, I still lie. I just can't stop lying. I am safe now and Kyle is in jail. I see him almost everyday.
I visit him in jail...

“Hello, Kyle.”
“Hey, Josh.”
“How have you been?”
“Awful, how 'bout you?”
“Great, my 21st birthday was yesterday! And my girlfriend gave me lots of chocolates!”
“Josh, you're lying again...”


message 3: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments That was an awesome story!! I don't know why you don't like it.


message 4: by Dana (new)

Dana (danachewy) | 735 comments Here's my entry! I haven't entered a competition in a looooong time but I've been following each one closely and I finally had time to just sit down and write!!!

xx

“I lied because I didn’t want to hurt you,” she typed. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.” Her mouse lingered over the Send button as her smartphone beeped.

She closed the laptop and slid it into her hot pink case and a tear slipped down her cheeks as she read the text message.

“why won’t u answer my txts??? :(“

She would have to face him sometime, but she couldn’t, not right now. She had to get to class now, anyways, or she’d be late. Although she didn’t like the class anyway, didn’t think she needed any “guidance” as far as she was concerned. The excuse was not a good one, but it was enough for her to push him to the back of her mind, with his text messages and his chocolates and flowers and I love yous.

Beep. Beep. BEEP. Three new texts she didn’t want to have to read. She turned off her phone hurriedly, her finger pressing the button down hard.

To others in the courtyard, she was just another girl they didn’t know and didn’t care about. Just another girl hurrying to class with a backpack and wearing glasses. She hadn’t meant to lead him on, she hadn’t meant to say those three words, she hadn’t meant to hurt him--

And yet lies built up her meager existence in this big school, where one girl was the same as the next. Separating herself from the others wasn’t always easy, but it was always the goal, and the end justified the means sometimes.

“You’re late, Ms. Deutsch.” Mrs. Nattan’s voice rang out.

The girl stood there in the doorway awkwardly, contemplating the possibilities. “I was volunteering at the animal shelter.” “I was meditating.” “I was studying for physics.” Or maybe, just maybe-- “I broke my boyfriend’s heart.”

“Well, Ms. Deutsch? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

The eighteen-year-old girl lowered her eyes. “No, ma’am,” she said, as she made her way to her seat in the middle row. Senior year. In another year she’d be off to college, another hurdle she didn’t want to have to handle. Another goodbye, another separation. Maybe it would be good to get away from here. But the lies would start all over again there, little tiny ones seeping into the cracks…

Mrs. Nattan turned to the board and started writing something about the pressures of society and expectations after graduation, oblivious to the girl sitting in the third row who needed guidance more than anyone else in the class ever would...


message 5: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Great story that's so interesting... Loved it.


message 6: by Dana (new)

Dana (danachewy) | 735 comments Thanks!


message 7: by Grace (new)

Grace (Fives) | 1090 comments Olivia wrote: "That was an awesome story!! I don't know why you don't like it."

Thank you! I didn't like it because I made the characters talk a lot, but I suppose it isn't the worse thing ever. It's just that everyone (my family) says that when I write, I don't describe things enough...


message 8: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Kranlox ran through the forest at top speed. They would be coming for him now. They had always been coming. They would be on their way, with their torches and knives and even spears and swords. To kill him, all to kill him, one harmless little dragon, who had done nothing wrong to them. He considered trying to fly, but his wings weren't fully developed. His prowess in combat was not as much as one might expect from a dragon. He was still young. The humans had hunted his kin down, almost to extinction. He was the last. And the least likely to get revenge. He was too young to fly, his fire was spluttering, and his scales had not yet hardened to the harder-than-diamond way that was standard to his kind. He was two feet tall with green scales and his feet were getting sore from all the running he did. His legs were built up, but his arms were thin from lack of use. He heard a sound. The humans. They had found him. Now or never, he thought. He flapped his wings wildly, and then remembered what his father had told him. "Get a steady beat, my son. Flapping wildly is for hummingbirds and other creatures that are weaker than us." He began humming his mother's lullabies, getting the beat in his wings and following it. He kept going, running faster, readying for takeoff. Then, when the moment seemed just right, the wind on his side, his wings in a beat, he leaped into the air, and flapped strongly to stay up. He was doing it. He was flying! Then he fell down in a sudden gust of wind and everything went wrong.
Kranlox opened his eyes to see what had happened since his fall. He was in an unfamiliar ground, a lush, dripping jungle. "At least there aren't any humans in sight," He said to himself. He looked around for some clues as to where he was. Being able to find nothing familiar with his eyes, he began sniffing deeply. He could smell the humans, coming from the west. He ran to the east, using his wings to jump over branches. He couldn't fly well, but he could definitely jump higher with his wings in motion. He kept going until the scent of the humans had faded completely, and he curled up on the ground, his one yard of length folding together, trying to conserve body heat. He missed the feel of his mother's wing over him, how many times he'd slept at her side on a cold night. He almost turned to ask his mother if he could before he remembered that she was gone. And then he cried himself to sleep.

Kranlox’s eyes snapped open. He had been hoping that something had changed. But nothing had. No mysterious miracle had returned his parents to him. No special phenomenon had brought the humans to reason. They were still hunting him. He could feel it. He could hear it in the bird’s alarmed chirping. He could feel the trees’ fear of being used for firewood. He could sense the most dangerous things ever to exist coming to them, ready to destroy the planet when they were done with him. Kranlox didn’t care now. He had nothing to live for now. He could hear the humans themselves now. “Hurry up,” He thought to his certain death.

And of course, they came. They came with their torches and knives and spears. They came with their weapons of war and tools of murder. Trampling roots, stamping on bugs, the humans came forward. Kranlox was in plain sight. He let them come. Why bother? What was the point? The humans came closer, always closer. They were unused to the jungle, but they were still moving. They were right upon him when Kranlox finally stood up. Kranlox closed his eyes. He readied himself for the piercing wound. He felt it, oh, he did. The pierce of the blade, the feel of the cold steel as it entered his heart. The humans had gotten him. He wasn’t going to get back up after that one. He wailed in pain. Seconds later, the last of the earthen dragons passed away.


message 9: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Oh my god that was awesome. You could almost make that into a novel if you explained what happened beforehand.


message 10: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Well look at me posting something. As I mentioned before I suck at writing but I would like you to tell me what it's like. I need to improve my writing a lot. This isn't that good though but here it is.




What If your Whole World Had Been Built On A Lie.

What if your whole life had been meaningless. That everything you have done up to now meant nothing in your life to come. Everything had been a lie. Your parents, your name and even your species. This is what my life had been up to now - lies.

March the thirteenth 2000 I was born but given to a different mother as a changeling. Of course my fake mother didn't know this and neither did I. She still thinks I am the baby she conceived. Apparently this had to be done. I was princess of the werecats to take the throne at the age of 15. To gain essential life skills and oh yeah, protect me from these evil guys who want to kill me, I must live with the humans until the age of 14. After that I am to learn the werecat ways and customs for a year prior to my being queen.

This is the position I am in now march the thirteenth 2014 I awoke to a room full of cats each mirroring each others emotions. They all had looks of awe and one of the cats the biggest one there had a very proud look on her face, almost as if she was proud of me. What surprised me was I could read the emotions on these cats faces. I could never do that before with any other cats. I didn't really react kindly to one minute a bunch of cats sitting on my bed head, then the next a bunch of humans standing right in front of my very eyes. "Diana, my child" said the biggest now human "My name is queen Elizabeth but you, my child can call me mum." OK I do reckon my mother should have started of with an explanation. Like seriously how would you react if a bunch of cat came waltzing into your room, turned into a human and told you that. " miss whoever you are, firstly my name is Wendy and secondly I have a mother" "oh and I forgot to mention 'what' the hell are you".

After my outbreak a bunch of what I believe we're this ladies guards protected her and said "I told you she would react like this." Then came the long lengthy explanation which made me want to put this woman and her sidekicks in a psychiatric ward.I had no option other than to believe it though. It didn't seem like a lie, I don't think this person was capable of making up such a sophisticated lie. Could this be the one person in my life who was actually telling the truth.

Once I finally believed the stories she told me I was full with a stream of mixed emotions. I was excited that I was a being that I thought only existed in books or fairy tales. At the same time though I was upset with her, this woman was the reason I had been lied to my whole life. Was this future I had ahead of me worth all the lies. This was a question only time could answer. To be honest I was really looking forward to the time ahead of me. Maybe all the lies would really be worth the while.


message 11: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Okay, you want a hint? Okay.
When I wrote that, I had my eyes closed. I emptied my mind, waited for an idea, and I could see little scaly green legs taking off through the forest. I pounced on the idea and tried to make something come of it. And it worked.
It also helps, if you are not a morning person, to write in the morning. Believe it or not, writing at the times when you feel that you're at your least productive actually makes you more creative (because you're more willing to jump onto a crazy train and make it work at those times).
But I actually did like it. It could go through a grammar check, but it's very good.


message 12: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Thank you so much that really helps. I will do that next time I write.


message 13: by Katarina (new)

Katarina | 491 comments Here's my entry. It's a little cruel but i love endings that surprise you and where the main character dies so.... yeah.
Lies
“No, you listen to me kid.”
I had this one coming. I had always gotten into trouble when it came down to be serious. I was going to get a bad lunch today, I could feel it.
“No, I’m tired of you Vincenzo,” I yelled at the top of my lungs.
The next thing that I knew was his rough hand across my face. Then, I couldn’t see anything. The tip of his fingernail hit my eye and I could feel the rest of his fingernail in my eye. I tried to walk forward a few steps to go to the front door, but that didn’t work. I wound up running into the sliding glass door. Then, I realized that I was in the kitchen. I memorized what the kitchen looked like. I turned from the sliding door and walked past the seemingly empty cabinets. I ran my hand up on the wall for support when I felt something on my hand. It was black and squishy. Was this house always that dirty? He had mold growing on the walls, I decided that I would make a run for it without the wall. I stumbled as I ran through the doorway. I was at the doorway going into the dining area that was so barren, and naked that it made me cold and gave me goose bumps.
I sat down in the room. I saw nowhere to hide. I knew that he would have all the doors locked by now and everybody guarding the doors. So, I hid in the corner. Then, I saw the china cabinet; it had doors on the bottom to put teas and extra cups. I climbed in there and ignored the dust, mold and debris. The sad thing about it was that it was cleaner than where I was being held. I locked the door from the inside, because you could lock it both ways. He would unlock it and see my shadow, but he wouldn’t be bright enough to put the two together. I had been of a darker complexion so I matched the dark oak wood of the cabinet. The only left was to learn how to hold my breath, not a problem I thought to myself. I had to hold my breath to eat Vincenzo’s food here. So this wouldn’t be a problem! Well, other than the need for clean air, but there was a tiny hole in the door to the bottom cabinet that I was in. The effects of this cabinet were getting to me; I was in an eight inch cabinet that was about a foot wide. I don’t know how I even got into here. I am amazed. Back when I was in the safety of my home, I couldn’t even fit into my closet, let alone an 8by12. Well, I was about 100 pounds then too. Now, I’m about 10 pounds lighter, I can feel it. I can see it. My thigh gap wasn’t even a thigh gap. Now it’s huge. Girls would be jealous because they starve themselves for this look and I got it in two months while it took them two years to get it to my ‘perfection’. Well, they might not be that jealous because instead of starving themselves I am being starved. They might not be jealous after all. But, I would be popular at my middle school, only for being the girl that got kidnapped for a while and came back with a thigh gap, and scars. Maybe going back to school wasn’t a good thing. But, either way, I was going to be the talk of the eighth grade, if I’m not already. I’m going to have those stares and people mumbling behind me “hey that’s the girl that got trapped, and beaten.” I don’t know how I’ll with all of the people’s snide remarks. But, I’ve been through this, so they can’t be that bad.
My thoughts had been interrupted by Vincenzo’s muffled laugh. I was lucky that I didn’t have any allergies. I would have given myself away. I heard him yelling at his partners in crime. “She has got to be in here somewhere you fool!” Then, I heard a snap; he had smacked the other one! I had to stay still, although I was in a very uncomfortable position, I stayed still and took a deep breath when I heard the cabinet door rattle. It was one of his tweedledee helpers; he opened it, and then closed it up not even a second later! He yelled “nothing in here boss.” Then, he slipped the door open again and dropped a roll in there. He knew that I was in here and he hadn’t given me up!
I whispered a “thank you” and he left. I might actually get out of this place.

The next morning I knew that Vincenzo would be fuming to know a 13 year old girl had gotten past him and his two ‘best’ guards. Well, I guess it was a ‘better’ guard if he saw me. But, I knew that he would try to help me.
I was woken up by the guy that helped me telling the guy that I was upstairs, and that he hasn’t told because he didn’t want to take all of the glory. He also told the guy that he heard the door open in the middle of the night so he and Vincenzo should check it out while he stays here to guard and look. The other guard bought it and ran to tell Vincenzo that they have to go search the roads.
Then, I heard the door knock and rattle. He said “it’s me kid.” I let out my breath. He started talking and giving me food and directions for after they left. He gave me a thermos a basket of rolls and noodles that were from last night that he made.
He told me;
“Go through the back, then turn right and run. The highway is right there, then hitchhike but not with anybody in a red car, ok.” I nodded and thanked him. Then, he closed the door and locked it.
Not even five minutes later I heard the door slam and a car start. This was my chance. I ran outside and followed all of the guy’s directions. When I reached the highway, there were so many cars going by, a few honked at me and I was weary of the red ones. Who would run this so close to a major road? I finally saw one car stop. He opened his door. It was an older gentleman and I trusted him. As soon as I got in he locked the doors and said “I gotcha kid.” I saw him pull out a gun and heard it go off, and that was it. That was the end of me.


message 14: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments That was amazing. I liked the way you twisted the ending its like just when you think they have hope it's all gone. I really loved that one.


message 15: by Isaac (new)

Isaac | 8014 comments I'll enter soon hopefully.


message 16: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments You really should I like your writing its really interesting.


message 17: by Katarina (new)

Katarina | 491 comments I know Emily, I said "oh my gosh I haven't written anything!"

@Olivia I love books like that so I really wanted to write one. And thanks Btw.


message 18: by Michelle (new)

Michelle Graf "Isabelle, this nice young man from the government wants to talk to you," Mrs. Trilby said, leading one of her orphans to the conference room.

"Did he find a long-lost family member that'll take me away on adventures?" The 7-year-old girl asked, her blonde pigtails bouncing with excitement.

"I'm afraid not, but you must be very important for him to come for you,"

Inside the conference room was a man in his mid-thirties, with brown hair that's starting to thin, all decked out in his uniform. "Thank you ma'am. I'd like to talk with the child alone,"

Mrs. Trilby was a little suspicious, but settle with his demands as long as she stayed out in the hall.

Once Mrs. Trilby left, the man started by introducing himself as Mr. Rick Bodin, and got to know Isabelle well. He knew that her favorite colors are pink and purple, she always wanted a cat, and loves to play pretend. But that wasn't what he was looking for.

"Isabelle, I heard that there are strange things happening around here. Do you know anything about them?" Rick asked.

"No. I might've been too busy playing fairy princess,"

"Let me make this a little clearer; there are strange things happening when you are around. Now do you know?"

Isabelle shook her head wildly and started playing with her shoes. Rick was starting to lose his patience.

"We have witnesses who saw you manipulate your surroundings- and other people. I only want an explanation,"

"What does 'many-pull-ate' mean?"

Rick slammed his hands on the table, making Isabelle jump and whimper.

"We have been following you since the beginning! People have mysteriously lost blood, objects have moved in midair, and kids adopted told of having a weight lifted off their chests. The connection is you!"

"But I don't know anything!"

"Don't lie! You caused this! You are a monster, and we're going to take you away from here! Away from everyone!"

Isabelle started to cry, bringing Mrs. Trilby in. "What are you doing to her? Don't answer, I heard it all! How could you say such things about this poor, innocent girl!"

"Mr. Bodin's lost his head, Mrs. Trilby," Isabelle said matter-of-factly.

At this moment, Rick certainly looked as mad as Isabelle said. He was sweating profusely, looking at Isabelle with fear. "You don't know what she can do, ma'am. I have to end this," he said, pulling out his knife and lunging towards the little girl.

Mrs. Trilby pushed Isabelle against the wall to fight off the deranged man. Isabelle watched in silent horror as the two adults fought, blood splattering to the ground. Finally, Rick Bodin slumped to the ground, a cut running through his neck. Mrs. Trilby had suffered many wounds as well, and the loss of blood was getting to her.

She motion for Isabelle to come closer, sure that this will be her last words. "I'm so glad you're safe," she murmured, struggling to stay alive. "Make the most of your life, for me?" She didn't live long enough for Isabelle to respond.

Isabelle took her caretaker's bloody hand in hers... and laughed.

"Such a shame. She was one of my favorites. These adult are so easy to lose. But it had to be done," She turned to Rick's lifeless form. "You were smart, Mr. Bodin. You even tricked your superiors to come here. You deserved the truth, even if you couldn't do anything about it,"

Isabelle wiped the blood off on her dress, and left the conference room, through the halls, and out the door. No one notice the little girl with blood on her dress.

Later that day, they found the two adults and conducted a investigation. The police searched through every record, every minute of security footage. There was no trace of a blonde 7-seven year old named Isabelle. No one remembered her, but all of the orphans living there felt they could breath easier, as if a large weight was lifted off their chest.


Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ | 3061 comments Michelle wrote: ""Isabelle, this nice young man from the government wants to talk to you," Mrs. Trilby said, leading one of her orphans to the conference room.

"Did he find a long-lost family member that'll take m..."


o_O


message 20: by Michelle (new)

Michelle Graf Yeah, I'm kinda shocked myself. I didn't know I had that in me.


message 21: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments I'm shocks that was a really big twist at the end. Her character just changed. That was great.


message 22: by Katarina (new)

Katarina | 491 comments Well, I know who's winning so far.


message 23: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Who may that be?


message 24: by Michelle (new)

Michelle Graf Thanks! This was my first writing contest on here, and I did it in one go on my iPod, so I'm really glad it went well!


message 25: by Katarina (new)

Katarina | 491 comments Tbh, I think Grace and Michelle to my tasting, but I really do like all of them.


message 26: by Halah (new)

Halah Butt (valhalah) | 925 comments Just a reminder that this ends tomorrow .-.


Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ | 3061 comments Hallee wrote: "Just a reminder that this ends tomorrow .-."

*sighs*
guess i'm not entering then. :/


message 28: by Katarina (new)

Katarina | 491 comments You can do it!!!! Write like crazy just do it like writers.


Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ | 3061 comments i'm going to be on a plane, haha. might be a tad bit difficult. :p


message 30: by Isaac (new)

Isaac | 8014 comments I want to write something but I don't know what to write about.


message 31: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments A soul being dragged to hell, looking back at all his/her past mistakes and begging the grim reaper to reconsider.


message 32: by Anthony (new)

Anthony | 140 comments AAAAHHH!

I need to finish writing my story! 80


message 33: by Anthony (new)

Anthony | 140 comments (warning: Story is pg-13ish)

Thomas scanned the bumpy plain, taking care to avoid the places where the ground was marred by small pits and surfaced roots. The grass was patchy but tall, up to mid-calf on him, and weeds poked out in clusters. They were surrounded by dozens of decaying woodpiles, the sheer amount of lumber suggesting that long ago they would have belonged to huge houses, easily towering over the boys. From years of exposure the wood had been splintered by the elements, looking as though a single touch could cause the mold-spotted rubble to disintegrate.

“Tom, are you sure we’re allowed out here?”

“No one has used this field for years, Danny. If my parents’ stories were right, maybe centuries, even.” Thomas had grown up with his father telling him stories of the old village that used to stand in the field. Back when farmers toiled over the earth by hand, when food, medicine and clothes were simplistic, people lived here alongside the vast forest just beyond the field. There was even a myth surrounding the forest, an absurd explanation for how the village had been destroyed. He didn’t believe in it, though.

Daniel glanced around nervously. “People had to stop coming here for a reason, though. “Maybe it had something to do with these woodpiles?”

“What, something came rushing out of the forest and destroyed the houses?”

“I don’t know how, but something had to happen. It’s not like we were around back then.” In frustration, he squeezed the baseball mitt covering his right hand. “And besides, what if someone sees us, like a jogger? I don’t feel like getting yelled at for listening to you again!”

At this, Thomas had to smile. The boys lived in a small neighborhood where everyone knew each other. They had been friends since they were practically toddlers, but it amused him to see how different they were. Thomas was always in search of adventure, seeking a thrill or causing mischief. Getting caught in lies was nothing to him; it just meant he would enjoy the moment and be forced to listen to someone yell at him later for being rebellious. Daniel was content with being reserved, at least until he was coaxed to do otherwise.

Thomas doubted someone would find them; the pavement had ended about five minutes ago, the neighborhood limits just out of sight. “Will you just relax, already? We have this whole area to ourselves, and all you can think of is going home. You don’t go back to jail after someone frees you. Cut loose for a change.” The baseball bat Thomas held swung to-and-fro in excitement.

Once they found a flatter piece of land, without the obstacles of wood and weeds, the boys assumed their usual positions. Baseball season was still a few months away, but practice was necessary, especially if they wanted to assure their positions in the lineup. Thomas spread his feet and raised his bat in a solid two-handed grip, getting his stance ready. Across the field, Daniel was all business, the whiny kid from before disappearing. Baseball was sacred to him, to both of them, one of the few places they fit in, which was one reason why Thomas enjoyed Daniel’s company. The intensity drove him to constantly work on his batting skills.

Daniel raised his front leg, turned his torso, and threw the ball, stomping harshly on the ground as his body shifted with momentum. Thomas readied himself, the ball speeding toward him. He took a hit.

All he felt was the wind as the ball sailed past his face.

On the team, Daniel has a nickname: Cannon Arm. Whenever he pitched, the ball flew by alarmingly fast and powerful, even though he was only thirteen. Thomas looked at Daniel, noticing the smirk on his face as he called out, “strike one!”

Thomas retrieved the ball, tossing it back to Daniel. “Nice throw, buddy.”

Daniel wound up again, his confidence growing. The ball was thrown, his wrist twisted slightly to the side. It followed the same path as the last pitch, but veered to the right as it closed in. Curve ball, Thomas thought, but he stepped into the zone too late, missing it by an inch.

Across the field came the annoying shout of “strike two!”

Infuriated by his two errors, Thomas tightened his grip. If he started playing like this during practice, the coach would move him down on the lineup. He leered at Daniel, adamant on getting a hit. The windup came, this time the tension in Daniel’s torso changing, the muscles coiled like a spring. When he released the ball, it spun radically, nothing but a blur of red seams and leather.

It was his all-out fastball.

Thomas deepened his stance, turning his body to meet the ball as it raced forward.

He felt the clash of metal and ball, stumbling as he followed through.

The ball soared, high over their heads, moving impossibly far. Daniel tried to keep up, tripping over himself, but there was no doubt that the ball was going to get away. If this were a real game, it would have been a home run. But with nothing in the ball’s path, it disappeared into the forest about ten meters away. Thomas hooted in celebration.

Daniel yelled something unintelligible, livid because of both the major hit and the chore of retrieving the ball. A moment later, however, a curious look was on his face as he stood a few meters in the forest entrance. He called out. “Hey, come here for a second.”

Thomas ran to where the trees began. Beside him Daniel had turned pale, staring at a wooden sign that looked aged, like the remains of the houses. In a dark, curling script, it said:

Forest of Sprites
Entrance Forbidden

“Thomas, Is this...?”

“Yeah, I think it is. The forest my father had talked about.”

“But I thought it was all just a myth. ‘Some made-up story to scare people away,’ like you said. What does it mean?”

Thomas paused for a moment, taking it all in. “Well, I still say it’s fake.”

“Fake? Daniel laughed. “The proof is right in front of you!”

“How can we be sure? The people that lived here could have made up a myth to scare people away from the forest. Kind of like a medieval bogeyman.”

“Either way, there is no way I’m going in there.”

Thomas turned to Daniel, mischief in his eyes. “If you’re too afraid to get the ball, then I will. Maybe I can investigate the myth a bit more.” He ran toward the forest. “Wish me luck.”

“Thomas!”

But he had disappeared in its depths.

The Forest of Sprites was an imposing place. Unlike the cultivated land of the nearby neighborhood, plant life grew rampant. At the entrance the trees were bathed in sunlight, sparkling with hints of morning dew. Inside the forest, however, the canopy of trees released very little light. The underbrush was thick, an occasional collection of sharp leaves or thorns cutting into his skin. While there was no definitive path, sections of grass were trampled where animals had treaded, making the trek much easier than his original idea of crashing through the tangles of bushes and branches.

Sound was dampened in the cavernous space. Try as he might, the only noises he could make out were the rustling of unseen critters, the occasional caw of birds, and his own labored breath. Running blindly forward seemed like a grievous mistake now that he thought about it, for the entrance was no longer in sight and what little light escaped the filter of leaves seemed to quickly diminish as he advanced.

He carried on, weary of where he stepped, but his foot slipped on a slick object. He tumbled, hitting his ankle on the rough ground. He cried out, grabbing where his leg had been struck. He tried to find what had tripped him. Among a jumble of vines, a round object gleamed.

The baseball!

Thomas reached out, relief coursing through him, when he heard something. It was a voice, too low to interpret. Upon hearing it again he realized it was someone giggling. The voice was close by, but he saw no one. Plants started to rustle around him, the swaying becoming louder and louder, an unseen wind sweeping through the area.


Impossibly, the baseball began to rise.

Thomas reached out, the ball moving just out of reach. It hovered for a moment, the strange giggle taunting him, and flew deeper into the forest.

He ran after the baseball, dodging low-hanging branches and upturned roots. “Hey, stop!” He shouted, barely avoiding a second fall in his haste. The white orb sailed through the air, quickly moving out of sight, as Thomas strained to reach it. Fine cuts were accumulating on his arms and legs, the scant amount of protection provided by his t-shirt and shorts doing nothing. His limbs felt heavy, his breathing coming in gasps, nothing but trees surrounding him.

He eventually gave up, holding on to his knees, sweat rolling down his face as he hunched over to catch his breath. When he regained he regained his strength, Thomas noticed something unusual. The forest had come to a clearing, the area about a mile wide, where the plants receded, replaced by lush greenery. The only oddity, besides the existence of such a place, was a statue of curious design. It was hand-crafted wood, populated with the faces of many creatures. Some were recognizable—wolfs, elk, various birds—while others appeared primordial, hidden among the rest with bared fangs and lolling tongues.

A swift gust of wind swept through the clearing, the strange laughter filling the space.
Thomas lost his temper, screaming at the air, “I’m tired of your games. Who’s there?”

A chill ran the length of his body as the wind turned harsh, the gale forcing him to cover his eyes against flying debris. When the disruption stopped, Thomas opened his eyes to a startling sight.
A figure sat on the statue, unlike anything he had ever seen. It has fair, almost translucent skin, iridescent in the light. The creature was about a foot tall, like a miniature person, draped in gossamer swathes of fabric that rippled like flame. Hair like polished oak cascaded down to its hips, and from its back protruded two glittering wings, rainbow patterns swirling on their fish-scale surfaces.

Thomas could not help but stare. “What on earth are you?” He mumbled to himself.

The creature surprised him more when it spoke. “I am of the Fey, a sprite.” She peered at him with obsidian eyes, a smile crawling across her face. “It has been many years since a mortal has come into my domain. Tell me, what do you seek, stripling?

“I was looking for my ball.”

“Do you speak of this?” With a flourish of her hand, the baseball materialized, floating in front of her face.

“Yes! Can I have it back, please?”

The sprite rose, hovering toward Thomas with the ball. He reached out for it, but the baseball disappeared when his hand made contact.

“What are you...?”

“I will give back the item you seek,” she said, taking a seat on his shoulder, “but you must accept my conditions.” The sprite raised her head to his ear, whispering. “I have been absent too long from the world of mortal men. I wish to see what has become of it. If you allow me to accompany you, I shall return the item. Do you accept my terms?” She flew in front of Thomas, hand outstretched.

Thomas was uncertain, but decided to trust the sprite. He grasped her tiny hand in his, saying, “it’s a deal.”

The sprite’s smile turned into a wide grin, small, pointy teeth like ivory daggers. She blinked, and her eyes changed. The black of her irises expanded, dominating the whites, until two dark pits remained. A chill spread through Thomas, starting with the arm gripping her, robing his body of heat and energy. Thomas tried to pull away, but he was frozen, his body disobeying him. Spots clouded his vision as he struggled, those black pits the last thing he saw before losing consciousness.

* * *


message 34: by Anthony (new)

Anthony | 140 comments (Oops, my story was too long for one post. Silly Goodreads.)

“Thomas! Thomas, get up.”

When he awoke, Daniel was shaking his shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Thomas looked up at Daniel, noticing the worry in his coffee-brown eyes, his blonde hair slightly askew from running.

Thomas had no clue about what happened, and he highly doubted that telling his best friend that he was attacked by some sort of fairy would help. He decided to make up a story. “Ugh... I was trying to find the baseball, but I was tired from running, so I sat down for a moment and must have passed out. There’s nothing to worry about, Danny.”

Daniel must have believed the story, because relief softened his features. “Okay, as long as you didn’t get hurt.” He looked at Thomas’s hand. “At least you found the ball.”

And sure enough, the baseball was next to his right hand.

Thomas remembered what the sprite had said about coming along with him. It filled him with a sense of unease. “Danny, how about we head home? I feel kind of sick.”

“Sure. Want any help walking back?”

“No, I should be fine. Let’s just get out of here before we get in trouble.”

Something snapped overhead. They both looked up, seeing a cracked branch. A bird was resting on it, and when it shifted, the branch broke, the sharp end falling over Daniel.

Thomas tried to get up, but he was too slow. As Daniel moved out of the way, the branch sliced a small cut in his leg. “oww!” He shouted, inspecting his leg. Luckily, the cut was nothing major, just a shallow wound. “That was random.”

“Do you need any help walking back, Danny?” Thomas said in a mocking voice.

Daniel chuckled. “Whatever. Just get up, already.”

Thomas stood up and they slowly made their way to the forest entrance. The sun was harsh, afternoon heat enveloping them. Thomas kept his head low, staring at the ground. When he looked down, he could have sworn that his shadow had changed a bit, like two broken ovals were protruding from his back, but he felt the same and attributed it to his imagination. The boys made their way back goofing off, Thomas forgetting about his encounter with the sprite.

* * *

Once they reached the cul-de-sac where their neighborhood ended, Thomas and Daniel parted ways. While walking home, Thomas had hoped that his father would be home, but when he passed by a bar next to the highway, he saw his father shamelessly flirting with a hostess. So once he was home, he stood outside, working up the courage to open the door. Whenever his father was out, it could mean only one thing: his mother was hitting the bottle. Hard.

His father may have been a nuisance, an unreliable man without ethics, but at least Thomas could relax in his home when the man was around, listening to tales of long ago. His mother loved the man, terribly so. Most of the time, his company would keep her alcoholism at bay, but when he strayed on an errand, it usually meant he was womanizing. This behavior brought out the worst in Thomas’s mother, who turned to liquor to fill the void in her life. With a bottle of the good stuff, she could get all the warmth her husband lacked, curling up eventually with the bottle in hand, drifting off to the bliss of drunken dreams.

Other times, Thomas was not so lucky. She would become violent, start smashing things or talking to herself, ranting about her worthless husband, her horrible life. At times like those, Thomas had to find a way to escape, or face the wrath of whatever she grabbed to beat him with.

Standing at the door watching the light gleam dully over his shamble of a house, with its faded brick siding, the roof sloping toward the ground, as if covering the house was too much of a hassle, the premonition arose that today might be a day to run.

“Walk in.”

Thomas jumped, wondering where the voice had come from. Looking at the pathway to his house he saw no one, just his own shadow.

A shadow with two broken ovals protruding from its back.

Who said that? Thomas wondered if he was imagining things again, but he heard a response to his question. In his head.

“Do you recall our agreement? I am a part of you, for now. I travel in your shadow, lurk in your mind. But there are some...unique benefits to our situation. And you shall soon realize the abilities you now possess.”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas thought. He waited for a response, but the sprite went silent. Pausing briefly, he turned the knob, walking into the lion’s den

Stale air hit him as he walked, the hallway that led to the living room cluttered with dirty laundry and empty bottles. Intuition told him that she had meant to start cleaning their clothing, but the empty bottles of beer next to them told Thomas how his mother had actually spent her day.

She sat on the loveseat, her body awake but her mind shut down, a mad glint in her eyes, like something feral roiled just beneath her skin, waiting to be released. Her bloodshot gaze lifted to meet his, freezing Thomas to the spot. With snarling words, she asked, “where have you been, boy?”

“I practiced for baseball with Daniel earlier. We must have lost track of time, because it was already afternoon by the time we headed home.” Thomas spoke politely; slow enough to make sure his mother understood what he said.

“While you were out, I bet you saw your father. What’s that scum up to, flirting again?”

It was the same question Thomas had to answer each time his mother was drunk. Thomas knew better than to give her the answer she craved. He ignored it, but not before his temper slipped. “Shouldn’t you stop drinking for now?”

His mother stiffened, as did her grip on the bottle. “Did you just give me an order?”

“No,” he said. Yes, he thought.

Something sliced through the air, a loud cracking noise splitting the tense silence. The bottle in his mother’s hand split at the bottom, a jagged cut in the glass as beer soaked the floor. Her face contorted, its sharp planes becoming dagger-like in her fury. “You little bastard, think you’re smart or something?”

“I didn’t do it,” Thomas said, a slight tremor in his voice. In his mind, the sprite was giggling.
Thomas’ mother stood, grabbing his shirt and slamming him into the wall. The bottle was pointed menacingly at his throat. “You have no right to criticize me. You’re just like your deadbeat father. Maybe you’re stringing along some two-bit hussy, too.”

The sprite spoke in his mind. “She’s distracted. Enrage her by speaking of your father. Craft a plausible story, stretch the truth.”

Thomas spoke up. “There’s no way I’m like him. If I were, right now I would be flirting with a hostess instead of here with you.”

His mother stared intently at him. “What did you say?”

“He’s at a bar right now, chatting with some hostess. I think she was leaving for the night. Maybe he has plans with her. It seemed like they really liked each other.”

She punched him, the bottle scraping his cheek. Hot blood trickled down his chin as the thunderous beating of his heart nearly drove him deaf. She had a malicious look, murder in her blue eyes as if something inside her had finally snapped. “So, he’s out there having fun, is he? Maybe I should have some fun, too. Show him a good time.” She backed away suddenly, letting Thomas slide to the floor. With a shriek of maddening laughter, she walked out of the house, leaving Thomas in shock.

Thomas lost track of how long he sat there, holding his cheek. His mother had done more than cut his flesh; cut within him was his sense of security, torn to shreds, even if it was tattered to begin with. But he was also tainted, the crimson impression all the proof he needed. It scared him to think of what might await him, but he had a duty, even deeper than his security, that told him what to do. It coursed through his veins, flowed from his heart.

After what could have been hours or mere minutes, he arose, walking to the bathroom. He washed the blood from his cheek, watching himself in the mirror above the sink, and ran toward the front door, into the sinking sunlight.

* * *

Thomas arrived to a bloody scene. People had fled from the bar, bystanders crying or talking to their neighbors. They stared at him in passing, the boy with the crazed mother, simultaneously judging and pitying him.

An ambulance was parked nearby, the dispatch unit patrolling the area, so Thomas was careful to stay close to the sidewalk, where plants could offer shelter from the lingering gazes of investigators and civilians alike.

The men were pulling along a stretcher Laying on it was a man, who could have been passed out, could almost be considered alive if not for the ring of clotted blood surrounding his neck. Thomas saw his father, laying there so helpless, and the taste of bile coated his mouth. He had to get away.

Thomas sprinted, not caring who saw him. All that mattered was escaping the nightmarish scene. He ran until his feet burned, until his legs felt like lead, and still he continued until he reached the cul-de-sac. Once he was off the street, he puked as though every vile memory would be purged.

In his mind, he heard laughter. “Have you discovered your new abilities?”

“Shut the hell up. There’s nothing I want to talk to you about,” he thought.

“I shall provide you with a hint, then. Every time you spoke a lie, did you notice something? A surge of energy or, as you might recall, a snap?”

Events flashed by from the day: Daniel and the broken tree branch, the beer bottle, the insanity in his mother’s face as he told her about his father. “That was you?”

“I draw power from lies, Stripling. Every time one was told, the person in your presence was injured in one way or another. And it shall continue until I have returned to my place of origin.”

Thomas saw the field in the distance. “Then let me take you there.”

* * *


message 35: by Anthony (new)

Anthony | 140 comments (Aaaaannd... the story still goes on. Don't kill me, Hallee!)

It took less time than he remembered to reach the clearing, the Forest of Sprites almost welcoming him into its embrace. The sun was setting, the beast statue casting a long shadow toward the clearing’s entrance. “All right,” Thomas shouted, “Show yourself, sprite.”

The sprite spoke, but did not materialize. “Now that I have returned, I shall give you a reward: the knowledge of the second ability you possess.”

“I don’t care about what you have to say, just get out of my head!”

Ignoring him, the sprite continued to speak. “When you influence someone with your lies, and they decide to commit murder, you give that life to the sprite your body harvests. And with that power, I can now return to my place of origin.”

“Then why are you refusing to show yourself?” Thomas asked.

“It is simple. The Forest of Sprites, as you humans have declared it, is not my place of origin.”

Thomas was furious. “Then where are you from?”

“Have you ever questioned why the Fey are so few in number, why we are regarded as a mere fantasy, a myth? It is because we originate from other beings, and therefore, return to them. The Fey come from mischievous souls and return to human bodies when we have enough power. We become more than shadows.” She paused, before saying;” I want you to see your shadow.”

Thomas looked at the ground and cried out. His shadow was expanding, becoming solid in the fading light. It clung to his legs, preventing him from moving. Thomas struggled, shouting out to anyone that might hear him. The darkness closed in, and his consciousness faded with a final, high-pitch cackle.

* * *

“Thomas, where are you?” Daniel had been roaming around the neighborhood when he heard the news of Thomas’ father being murdered. The man’s wife was missing, presumed to still be in the area, and Thomas was just as lost. Daniel figured that his friend would be hiding at the field, like they usually did whenever things went south, but when he saw no one, he started to worry.

And then he heard the pleas for help.

Daniel rushed into the forest, calling out to Thomas. When he found Thomas, the boy was clutching his leg, groaning in pain.

“Thomas, what happened?”

“I came out here, thinking I could get away from my mom, when I tripped. I think my ankle is twisted. Can you help me up?”

Daniel lifted his friend, letting Thomas lean on his shoulder for support. “How about I take you back to my house? You can hide there for a while, until the cops say things are safe.”

“Thanks, Daniel”

The boys made their way to Daniel’s house, and as the sun set, both of them smiling and goofing off as usual, trying to keep their minds off of what had happened. And Daniel never saw the peculiar new eyes Thomas had, like two orbs of obsidian.


message 36: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Oh my gosh Anthony that was amazing that has left me longing for more. I felt like I was reading a novel I never wanted to end, then it did. You are a truly tale enter writer. I wish I could write with such beautiful descriptions.


message 37: by Grace (new)

Grace (Fives) | 1090 comments Anthony!!! Don't end it now! I WANNA READ MORE!


message 38: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Who wins?


message 39: by Anthony (new)

Anthony | 140 comments @Olivia

Aww, thanks Olivia! I'm glad you liked it. It just comes from practice. I really liked your story, too, and I think it could even be expanded upon. Fairy tale elements in a story are always great! :)

@Grace

Thank you for the enthusiasm! I originally planed on making my story much shorter, but it just started to flow naturally. Before I knew it, I had pages and pages of material! I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should continue this by making it a longer short story (or novella length, even.) So I might be posting more on Goodreads sometime soon. :)


message 40: by Halah (new)

Halah Butt (valhalah) | 925 comments I did not forget about this! I didn't!

That was a lie. Ha.
Sorry!

Great stories everyone, they were all wonderful!

So, I'm the worst judge ever because I can never decide anything -.-
I'm going to settle on a tie.

And the winners are, Michelle and Anthony!

Congrats! I couldn't choose between your stories, they were both awesome. :s


message 41: by Grace (last edited Sep 09, 2013 07:23PM) (new)

Grace (Fives) | 1090 comments Yay, well done everyone!
Congrats, Anthony and Michelle, your stories were great!
I can't wait for the next contest!


message 42: by Michelle (new)

Michelle Graf WHAT! Words cannot describe what I'm feeling right now. Actually, that's a lie. This is amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who read my story!


message 43: by Anthony (new)

Anthony | 140 comments Yay! Thank you, Hallee! I'm glad you liked my story.

And congrats, Michelle! I really liked your story. :)


message 44: by Michelle (new)

Michelle Graf Pfft! Yours was far better.


message 45: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Congratulations Anthony and Michele, your stories are amazing. They are an inspiration for me. Looking forward to the next one.


message 46: by Grace (new)

Grace (Fives) | 1090 comments Who is doing the next contest?


message 47: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Yeah are you both going to do it?


message 48: by Anthony (new)

Anthony | 140 comments I... don't know. If you want to, Michelle, you can do it. Or I can co-judge the next one with you.


message 49: by Michelle (new)

Michelle Graf That's be awesome, I'd love to co-judge with you.


Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ | 3061 comments cool. do either of you guys have an topics in mind for it then?


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