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Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 301 (March 1-7). Stories. Topic: *See Photo

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message 1: by [deleted user] (last edited Mar 01, 2016 04:14AM) (new)

You have until the 7th of March to post a story, and March 8-12, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best.

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 merely a scene. It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

This week’s topic is:

description

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a story about anything that has to do with the subject but it must relate to the topic somehow.

Have fun!

Photo credit: M Ragland


message 2: by M (new)

M | 11042 comments My pleasure! Leslie did all the work.


message 3: by C.P., Windrunner (new)

C.P. Cabaniss (cpcabaniss) | 637 comments Started working on a story for this! Just need to tweak it a bit and then I'll get it put up. :)


message 4: by Raven (new)

Raven (Reibunriinta) Fascinating...I'll have to write something for this as soon as I get out of school. XD


message 5: by James (new)

James Meadows | 146 comments Hello everyone, I apologize for my absence most of the last month. I've been kept busy with the last minute wedding preparations and then with the honeymoon (none of which gave much time for writing). Hopefully, things will calm down now and I'll have more time to write. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the story and I'd love to get some feedback.

Title: My Grandmother's Pendant
Author: James J Meadows III
Words: 1971 (approx)
Rating: PG

Backpack on my back, book in my hand, and small tears clinging tenaciously to the corners of my eyes, I set off down the long tree-lined path without so much as a look back at the house I once considered the closest thing to heaven in this lonely world. The house belonged to my grandmother but I would not see her again. Nor would I ever see the numerous family members, including my own mother, who had traveled from their various towns and states to attend my grandmother’s funeral. No, they were all behind me now. I was running away.

It was likely, perhaps even more than likely, considering how much my grandmother always said we were alike, that my actions were modeled in some small part after her own. My grandmother had run away when she was a child too. For her, she was fleeing the abuse of an alcoholic father; for me, it was a cocaine addict mother.

The sun had yet to crack the distant horizon as I walked through the gloomy shades of early morning. The company at the house would probably not wake for at least another couple of hours and no one would check on me for at least an hour or two after that. Being the only teenager in the family, and not wanting to room with my mother, I had gotten my own room. I made sure of it. I knew I was going to run away after the funeral was over. There was no reason for me to stay now that grandmother was gone. She was the only person who ever seemed to really care about me. I only hoped my attempt to run away could be as successful as hers.

My grandmother ran away when she was fifteen years old, the same age as me. She was missing for almost two days before she turned up at her doorstep dressed in strange clothing, missing all her belongings and wearing a bizarre pendant around her neck. Grandmother never told anyone what happened to her while she was away and never explained where she got the clothes and the necklace. She simply claimed it was a good luck charm.

It must have worked because from that day on, her father, apparently broken-hearted after his daughter left, gave up drinking. He never touched another beer or harmed her again. Shortly thereafter, grandmother also published her first book; one of many fantasy stories, filled with bizarre magic, strange creatures, and parallel worlds, that would transform the teenager into a best-selling author and celebrity. It was one of these books that I held in my hand as I walked away from the house where my grandma had lived and died, still wearing that necklace even on her deathbed.

I wished I had such a good luck charm. In fact, my grandmother, who had always promised to leave a special surprise for me when she died, had bequeathed the necklace to me. Unfortunately, as seemed to be my luck, the necklace had disappeared. No one could find it, though people swore she was wearing it at the moment she passed away. Somehow, someone must have taken it off while her body was being prepared for burial and the necklace had gotten lost.

The end of the lane was approaching as faint sunlight began to crest the distant hills of my grandmother’s plantation. I knew I needed to hurry my pace. The town, and its rickety old bus stop which was my pen-ultimate destination, lay several miles away. I needed to reach it before anyone could come catch me. The gate at the end of the lane was open and I was just about to dart through when I heard a voice call out to me.

“I will not say running away is a bad idea,” a woman’s voice rang out from the base on a nearby tree. “However, I will say that the time has come for you to return home.”

I spun around, my head turning in all directions as I sought to find the speaker. I spotted them at the base of the last tree on the right; a tree which had often caught my eye in the past for the strange way it seemed to stand out from all the others. Its exterior was darker than the rest with numerous knots, cracks, and large roots protruding from the ground; upon which sat a solitary figure in a brown hooded robe. Upon my turning around, the stranger rose to face me.

The mysterious newcomer, who I presumed to be a woman, based upon the voice, wore her hood so low that none of her features were visible inside the dark shadows formed by the hood and still rising sun. Likewise, the robe, which stretched all the way down to the tiptop of the freshly mowed lawn, obscured all of the woman’s features. I could make out only her lips, which smiled at me with an amused expression both strangely familiar and foreign.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The smile grew. “You know who I am,” she replied.

This answer, both cryptic and troubling, combined with the stranger’s bizarre appearance, made me extremely uncomfortable. I wasn’t in the mood to play games to begin with and, if I had been, I certainly wouldn’t be doing it with some cloaked stranger trespassing on my grandmother’s plantation at five thirty in the morning.

“No, I really don’t,” I replied, a little irritated. “And, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere that I need to go.”

I started to turn around when the stranger spoke again.

“Yes, you do,” she replied. “But you are not going where you think you are going.”

The words caused me to freeze in my tracks. A feeling of apprehensions gripped me and I turned around nervously.

“What do you mean,” I asked, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

“I mean, you are not going where you are going, but instead you are going where you are going,” she replied.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied, my fear battling with my curiosity, as the bizarre game continued.

“It will,” she said. The woman extended a hand from the cloak and help it out toward me. “Take my hand.”

Fear gripped me. Though the woman didn’t seem any taller than me and didn’t sound any older than me, she had a strong, commanding voice, that didn’t leave much room for questions. Even though she had taken no direct hostile actions toward me, I felt frightened. A part of me wanted to run.

At the same time, however, there was something strangely familiar about the woman. I couldn’t place exactly what it was, but there was something compelling about her; a strange energy which seemed to pull at me, making me want to comply with her request. Perhaps it was her confidence; maybe it was the gentleness with which she spoke; perhaps it was the strange familiar smile lining her lips, but whatever it was, something about her appealed to me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked

“I am taking you home,” she responded.

“You’re lying,” I replied.

“Of course I am. I am also telling the truth. Either way, take my hand.”

“Why won’t you tell me where we are going?”

“Because if I told you, you wouldn’t go,” she replied. “And you must go.”

“Why wouldn’t I go, if I knew?” I asked.

“Because you wouldn’t believe me,” she replied. “And it is dangerous. And you don’t trust me.”

“You’ve already admitted you’re lying to me,” I said, with some exasperation. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t,” she replied. “And you won’t. But you’ll come with me anyway.”

“Why won’t you give me a straight answer,” I asked. “Why do you speak in riddles?”

“Because sometimes riddles are the only direct answer,” she said.

“You’re confusing.”

“And yet you understand me,” she replied.

“If I understand you, then why I am so confused?”

“Because you don’t understand yourself,” she said.

“What don’t I understand?”

“You don’t understand why you’re going to go with me,” she answered.

This was true. For although I felt suspicious and distrustful, there was still that strange compulsion tugging at my mind; almost like an overwhelming sense of curiosity, so great it held me spellbound.

“Are you forcing me to go with you?” I asked.

“No. You’re going to choose to go with me.”

“Why would I do that when I know you’re lying to me and I know I can’t trust you?”

“That is what you don’t understand.”

“How do you know that I’m going to go with you?” I asked.

“That is what you’re going to find out.”

“And then what will happen?” I asked, beginning to feel stupid from the mix of bizarre riddles and answers that answered nothing.

“Then you’ll understand,” she replied.

Feeling both completely bewildered, and without fulling understanding why I did so, I extended my hand to take hers. She led me to the other side of the tree. There I saw, to my astonishment, a circle of tiny mushrooms. I was sure they hadn’t been there a couple of days ago and, if they had been, they should have been destroyed by the mowers yesterday. They must have popped up overnight.

“A fairy ring,” I said, gazing in astonishment.

“Step inside, and close your eyes,” she said, gesturing toward the middle of the circle.

“What will happen?”

“You will go to where you going,” she replied.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“To a place you wouldn’t go if you knew you were going. To a place you are glad you did now that you have,” she replied.

I didn’t understand but something told me I wasn’t going to get a better answer than that.

“What if I don’t go,” I asked.

“You will,” she answered.

“Why should I?”

I saw the shoulders of the cloak rise as though the woman were giving a shrug.

“What have you got to lose?” she answered.

The last statement was perhaps the first thing the woman had said which made any sense to me. If I was truthful with myself, which I had tried not to be so far, I was attempting an almost impossible get-away with little money, less food, and hardly any prospects of help. My only hope was that some bizarre miracle might happen like happened to my grandmother. I supposed whatever bizarre twist of fate was happening right now was as good as any other I could expect.

With a sigh of resignation, I stepped into the ring and closed my eyes. As I did so, the woman called out to me.

“One last thing,” she said.

I spun around to face her, only to discover that the woman had taken off her cloak. The face that stared back at me was one I knew only too well. It was my own.

Yet it was also not my own. It appeared more confident; more sure; more proud; more of everything that I wasn’t at this point in my life. She was wearing different clothes than my own but still had the same backpack on her back. What caught my eye above all else, though, was the necklace around her neck. It was grandmother’s lucky charm.

“Remember our grandmother,” she said. “And do her proud.”

As she finished the words, I felt a tingle, like a burst of electricity shoot through my body. I found myself unable to move or speak as every inch of my skin burned and pulsed with strange vibrations. As if responding to these vibrations, weird dancing lights and thick swirling white mist encircled me.

Through the haze, I watched my other self turned around and start back toward the house. The next second, white mist obscured my eyes and everything vanished.


message 6: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments I would have posted this synopsis yesterday, but a windstorm took out the power in most of Port Orchard last night, hence I couldn't use my computer. Everything's okay now, so here's the synopsis to a story called "Chaos":

CHARACTERS:

Kenny Ryder, Cop
Robin Cage, Cop
Derrick O’Brien, Werewolf
Sonya Demonic, Vampire

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kenny and Robin are driving the paddy wagon down the forest road in the picture.

SYNOPSIS: Kenny and Robin are tasked with transporting a chained up Derrick via paddy wagon to a special prison for “creatures of the night”. Keeping the werewolf under control is hard enough, but on their way over to the prison, Sonya stands in the way of the paddy wagon and brings it to a stop. It turns out she’s trying to spring Derrick free since the two of them are not only partners in crime, but lovers. Armed with little more than shotguns and side pistols, Kenny and Robin have a long night of battle ahead of them.


message 7: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Garrison wrote: "I would have posted this synopsis yesterday, but a windstorm took out the power in most of Port Orchard last night, hence I couldn't use my computer."

No computer? (gun to chin, pull trigger)


message 8: by Edward (new)

Edward (edwardtheresejr) | 2434 comments James, quite a story. Strong opening, and I was quite giddy during her conversation with herself. Though this could easily be the start to a much longer tale, the reveal at the end gave just the right amount of closure. Great job.


message 9: by Caitlan (new)

Caitlan (lionesserampant) | 2869 comments Wow, James, that was an awesome story. I agree with Edward; I could see this continuing, but the ending was quite poignant and left me feeling very satisfied. Great job.


message 10: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (last edited Mar 02, 2016 06:45PM) (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4214 comments The picture is beautiful M!

It's funny but it kind of reminds me of a story I hope to one day turn into a full novel (only about two chapters have been put down so far, though I know how it will end! Yep, I'm one of "those" writers, lol). In the beginning the main character has an intriguing dream and part of it involves something moving down a road, through rows of trees on both sides. It's interesting.

Hey Guy, is that kind of a fushigi?


message 11: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4214 comments Garrison wrote: "I would have posted this synopsis yesterday, but a windstorm took out the power in most of Port Orchard last night, hence I couldn't use my computer. Everything's okay now, so here's the synopsis t..."

I know what you mean Garrison. It wasn't long ago here in the east coast we had a storm (even a tornado watch!) and I prayed we wouldn't lose our power.

It worked out. No power loss that day... but the next day the wires outside were probably frazzled from the high winds and our power went out fortunately only for a moment but still it wasn't so bad. Plus, I happened to not be using the computer that day but it was a slight annoyance to reset all the plugged in clocks at our house, lol.


message 12: by Grace (new)

Grace Crandall | 299 comments @James I really love how ethereal the whole feel of this story is! really beautiful and fun to read :)


message 13: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments Hey, CJ, when the news anchors broke the story about the east coast storm, did they try to make an Armageddon or apocalypse pun out of it? Examples would be "Snow-Pocalypse" or "Stormageddon". News anchors do that all the time and it's really awkward to hear it on television from suit-wearing professionals. Hehe!


message 14: by Grace (new)

Grace Crandall | 299 comments Stormageddon, dark lord of all, might have something to say about news anchors making a joke of his name...


message 15: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments Stormageddon shall turn rain into tear drops and rivers into blood! Or something to that effect. Hehe!


message 16: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Chaos
GENRE: Creature Horror
WORD COUNT: 1,668
RATING: PG-13 for violence, language, and sexual content



The forest road seemed to be dragging on forever, like traveling on an endless conveyor belt. With the trees on the side of the road flexing back and forth in this windy weather, this seemed like the wrong night to take such a route. Officers Kenny Ryder and Robin Cage seemed to agree on that point, but they weren’t going to complain…publicly. They had a much bigger concern on their minds than potentially falling trees. In the back of their paddy wagon was Derrick O’Brien, the nation’s most dangerous domestic terrorist.

Derrick didn’t prefer bombs. He didn’t need guns. All he needed to get his message across were the blades on the tips of his powerful fingers, the flesh and bone-chewing fangs in his mouth, and the vocal cords of a bloodthirsty monster. The brown fur all over his body reeked of death and decay, like somebody who hadn’t showered in months while slashing victims to chunky pieces. The man wolf slept peacefully in his steel chain cocoon, but not without snoring like an AK-47 every time he breathed in.

Kenny and Robin kept looking over their shoulders and out at the road in short bursts before the chocolate haired Officer Cage broke the ice. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my career, but a fucking werewolf? If I don’t see a big fat paycheck at the end of this assignment, I might turn into a werewolf and go ape shit myself.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said the baldheaded male with the scraggly beard Officer Ryder. “You should have seen all the manpower it took just to chain that bastard up. And now they’re sending you and me to transport his big ass to some goddamn lab.”

“Lab? You mean they’re going to put makeup on him and squirt shampoo in his eyes?” asked Robin jokingly as she drummed her fingers on the dashboard.

“Hey, if I ever find out they’re testing Head and Shoulders on that big furry thing, I’ll gladly do commercials for those guys.”

“You don’t even have hair, Kenny.”

“So?”

The brief moment of comedy put weak smiles on Kenny and Robin’s faces. They hadn’t lost sight of how risky this assignment really was. One steel link snaps and Robin could lose her head. One pad lock breaks and Kenny could have his intestines spread all over the windshield. As quickly as the windstorm blew that night, the humorous mood faded.

“Oh, what the hell is this shit?” asked Kenny when he stepped on the brakes and slowly brought the paddy wagon to a halt. The halogen headlights did so little to make out the hooded and robed figure in the middle of the road. It was just standing there frozen in place when Kenny blasted the horn three times. He rolled down the window on his side and stuck his head out before shouting, “Hey! Move your ass! We’ve got a prisoner in tow and you’re holding us up!”

No response from the hooded figure, which prompted an even longer horn blast from Kenny followed by another shout. “Hey! I said move your ass off the road! Are you deaf or something?!”

“You want me to take care of this asshole?” asked Robin with her taser armed. Her partner gave a nod before she got out of the paddy wagon and slowly approached the hooded figure with her taser locked and loaded. “Sir? Ma’am? Whatever the hell you are, I suggest you get out of the road before I…”

“Before you what?” asked the feminine voice from behind the hood. She raised her bladed finger and continued her question with, “Shoot me with that little toy? Go ahead. See what happens, cupcake!”

Robin fired the electrical prongs, but not without the woman grabbing them and smiling at her with creepily seductive red lips. Officer Cage shivered and watched with wide eyes as the woman removed her hood and revealed herself to be a purple-haired vampire complete with bloody fangs. Before Officer Cage could let out a whispery swear word, the vampire rushed up to her and forearmed her in the cheek, knocking her to the ground and exposing her neck.

The vampire licked her lusty lips with anticipation as she knelt down to take a juicy bite. And then she heard, “Hey! Don’t even think about it, you circus freak!” Kenny stood at the opposite side of the paddy wagon with his shotgun pointed right at her. He even pumped it for intimidation, but instead got a voracious growl from the mysterious woman.

Officer Ryder squeezed off a shot, but hit nothing as the woman quickly ducked down and rushed toward the back of the vehicle. The shotgun wielder darted over to the fallen Robin Cage and put two fingers on her neck for a pulse. She had one, but it was fading. The entire right side of her face was swollen and purple.

Kenny watched his partner fade to black in front of him and said in a comforting voice, “Please, don’t die on me. I’ll find that bitch and put one in her chest for you.”

Robin painfully lifted her head off the ground and spoke in a raspy voice, “Kenny…forget about me…what about the prisoner?!”

The sounds of wet lips smacking together romantically could be heard from the back of the paddy wagon. “Oh no, no, not this!” shouted Kenny when he saw the back door swinging wide open. He patted Robin’s chocolate brown hair and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving your side. Those two are probably long gone by now. They’re someone else’s problem.”

“Such dedication to your craft, Officer,” said the lusty vampire, who stepped out from behind the opened door with her arm wrapped around a thin blond haired stud muffin in an orange jumpsuit, quite the contrast from the beast previously in lockup. She smiled at the man and said, “Derrick O’Brien, scourge of the werewolf clan.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ultra-sexy vampire queen, Sonya Demonic,” said Derrick, who was engaged in an intense lip lock with his blood sucking girlfriend, complete with ass grabbing and breast squeezing. Sonya took off her robes to reveal a stunning silk black dress underneath. “Excellent choice, my sweets!” They kissed some more.

“You two scumbags make me sick!” shouted Kenny as he pumped the handle on his shotgun and squeezed off another round into the couple’s vicinity. The blast hit Derrick in the chest, but the human-staged werewolf no-sold his pain with sarcastic clutches at his “wound”. Sonya Demonic held her mouth in mock horror and let out a few orgasmic screams.

The couple laughed off the “pain” together and hugged it out. Derrick wagged his finger at the shock-eyed Kenny and said, “Now, now, Officer. Didn’t I hear you say yourself that it took a lot of manpower to chain me up? What do you think happened to that manpower?” Derrick broke his embrace from Sonya and patted his tummy with both hands before snickering evilly.

“You sick bastard! You sick, sick bastard!” shouted Kenny.

“Sick? Sick? Who’s the sick one, Officer?” asked Sonya. “My beautiful werewolf boyfriend here, or the one person who keeps feeding able-bodied cops to the two of us for dinner? Did you two really think this was a transport mission to some god-awful laboratory? Come on, now. There’s nothing out here except for trees and windstorms. Go ahead. Call for help. I dare you!”

Kenny’s breathing was getting heavier and angrier with each passing second. He leaned down and picked up the wounded Robin baby style before sitting her in the passenger seat. She was still breathing, but shallowly. She sat upright, but with her neck at a forty-five degree angle. She let out a small cough to let Kenny know she was still alive.

Meanwhile, the shotgun-wielding cop was in the driver’s seat trying to work the radio buttons. He spoke into the microphone, “I need backup! Officer down! Repeat! Officer Robin Cage is down! I need extra units and an ambulance for her!”

There was a heavy crackling at the other end of the radio before an ominous voice said, “I’m sorry, Officer Ryder, but Miss Demonic and Mr. O’Brien are going to be full with just you two as their meal. It was the only way I could keep the creatures of the night from taking over this city. I’m sorry, Kenny. The sacrifice has to be made.”

Officer Ryder’s heavy breathing turned to silent weeping. The silence was broken when he pounded on the steering wheel and blew the horn while swearing his head off. The fit of rage ended when Sonya and Derrick were on opposite sides of the vehicle’s cab banging on the glass windows. The creatures smiled at them with bloodshot eyes, blood filled mouths, and plenty of hoarse laughs. Derrick had transformed back into his werewolf stage and was chewing on the door handle for special effects.

Kenny slammed his own head against the steering wheel until his forehead bled buckets. His vision was getting hazy and his body was relaxing. He didn’t even feel the storm of broken glass that nearly slashed his face up even more. His last vision before passing out from the pain of Sonya’s vampire bite was Robin Cage being dragged out of the vehicle with Derrick’s wolf teeth gnashing her skull.

The entire “dining experience” took little more than fifteen minutes of chewing, sucking, and chugging. Meaty morsels sliding down the creature’s throats while the bones were being cast aside. Blood oozing from their mouths like a waterfall of violence. They were full from their meals, but still had room for dessert, which they would eat in the privacy of the paddy wagon’s prisoner hold. Red velvet kisses with a few small drops of Pina Colata. Such a lovely meal for a lovely couple, who held hands afterwards and watched the night sky together. They had to do date night again sometime.


message 17: by C.P., Windrunner (last edited Mar 03, 2016 05:04PM) (new)

C.P. Cabaniss (cpcabaniss) | 637 comments This isn't the story I initially intended to post, but here it goes. Comments and feedback always welcome.

Title: Breaking Free
Author: C P Cabaniss
Length: 516 Words


I knot my fingers in a chunk of Magic's mane, legs wrapped around his bare heart-girth, sunlight slanting through the trees onto the path ahead of us. My other hand keeps a loose hold on the reins and I cluck softly, tightening my calves the barest fraction. Magic is always ready to go.

We spring forward into a steady, ground covering canter. Allowing my body to rock with the natural three beat rhythm, I sink lower, shoulders coming back, breaths deepening. My eyes close, trusting Magic to keep us on the familiar dirt trail. The leather glides through my fingers as I give Magic more rein, letting him choose his own pace. And I get lost in this moment, where nothing else matters.

One. Magic tilts forward, right hind leg reaching underneath us. Thud. It hits and we're lifted. Two. His left hind and right fore move as one, falling together. Thud. Three. his left fore flies forward, catching us as we rocket forward. On and on--one-two-three, one-two-three--we go, caught up in a rhythm, lost in a dance.

Overhead, birds chirp, their wings flapping as they soar fro tree to tree. Magic's hooves thud on the packed earth. A gentle breeze catches my hair, rustles the leaves. Magic's mane flaps up with every stride, stinging my arms. Sunlight continues to shine.

Getting lost is easy, forgetting is hard. I still have all the bruises and scars. Magic canters onward, through a sunny day, while my mind replays nightmares that happened while I was awake.

Screaming, fighting, smoke and busted glass. I tried to wrestle the gun from his hand. My cheek stung as I fell across the floor, disoriented. Then my ears were ringing, a single shot was fired. A scream pierced the silence of the night. A thud as her body hit the floor. Footsteps, loud and menacing.

I rolled over and found myself staring into the barrel of a gun, the body only paces away, blood spreading across the floor. His eyes were cold, dead, as he stared at me. One more shot; so easy.

"Clean this mess up and get to bed," he said, turning to walk away.

My eyes stare down at my hands now, holding the reins, knotted in Magic's mane. They're stained red from the blood that wouldn't come out. Raw from scrubbing that wouldn't wash the images away.

Far behind us, down this winding path, I hear the echo of a shout. But it's all in my head--there is no longer anyone left. The smoke billows higher, the roar of a blaze being left in our past.

Ahead, the road is serene, inviting. It promises better tomorrows, bright futures, without the stain of yesterday. The trees tower over us, lending their aid.

I lean over Magic's withers, tighten up my legs. "It's time to run," I say.

Three beats become four. Canter to gallop. And we're racing away, outrunning our shadows, into the light of a brand new day. A new life for Magic and me. No shouting, no blood, no bruises. Just sunlight and freedom.


message 18: by Edward (last edited Mar 03, 2016 06:05PM) (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Like Courtney I started off with a completely different story, but I'm saving that for something else. Instead, I give you.. this.

Title : Visitors
Author : Edward Davies
Word Count : 1612
Rating : PG

The trees embraced the lonely road like a protective lover as Margot and William walked slowly towards the strange new town. Their journey had been a long one, but their destination was going to be worth the time and effort they’d put into it. The dust from the road billowed in a friendly way around their feet as they kicked up clouds around them. Their fingers intertwined as they swung their arms gently in the late September breeze.

Margot squeezed William’s hand gently as they walked down the dirt track road, the trees above their heads protecting them from the early afternoon sun. She looked quickly at him before turning back to face their destination, not wanting him to see her sneaky peak at his face. She loved him ever so much, and the last few days that they’d spent together had been magical, in spite of what had happened.

The tree covered road soon gave way to a wide expanse of land, covered with newly built houses and peopled by the kind of hard working folk you’d normally only see in Amish communities centuries ago. Together they’d built this small town from the ground up, and Margot and William hoped above hope that they would be welcomed in with open arms. Or at least accepted.

“It looks so nice here,” Margot smiled at William. He nodded in agreement, a man of few words.

“I hope they’ll let us stay here,” Margot continued as the two of them walked into the heart of the town.

The first person they came to was an elderly woman, standing on the stoop outside her newly built home. She stared at Margot and William, clearly wondering what they wanted.

“Can I help at all?” she asked Margot, completely ignoring William.

“We were hoping that you had a place we could stay,” Margot asked innocently, “we’ve been travelling for ever so long, and we really wanted to stay here if we could.”

“You can,” the woman nodded at Margot, “but he is a different matter.”

Margot looked at William, a frown crinkling her otherwise flawless skin, then she turned back to the woman, “Why can’t he stay?” she asked.

“Because he’s one of them,” the woman said cryptically before walking through her front door and closing it behind her.

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” said William, “you see how people react to me.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Margot smiled blindly, “I like what I see when I look at you.”

“But this is going to be so complex,” William said, “people won’t accept us being together.”

“Well, they’ll have to learn,” Margot smiled, squeezing William’s hand firmly, “now come on, we have to find somewhere to stay the night.”

The two continued to walk through the small town, receiving quizzical looks from the people they passed. Every so often they stopped to ask if someone might have a place for them to stay, but inevitably the response was negative.

Eventually they reached a small farm, its land not yet prepared for crops. An elderly man stood out on the land, surveying what he might be able to grow. He stopped what he was doing when Margot and William approached, leaning on an old cane as they drew near.

“Excuse me,” Margot smiled, once again doing all the talking, “do you think it would be possible for us to stay with you? We don’t mind staying in one of your barns if you’d rather we didn’t venture into your home.”

The farmer considered the two strangers with twinkling eyes, eventually producing a kind smile on his wrinkled face, “You can stay in the spare room,” he told them, “it would be a pleasure to take care of you two brave souls.”

Margot, who hadn’t let go of William’s hand since they entered the town, skipped on the spot giddily, while William remained perfectly still, only his arm moving as Margot went up and down.

“Thank you,” Margot beamed winningly at the old man, “you don’t know what this means to us.”

“But I do,” the old man told her, “come, I’ll show you what I mean.”

The two followed the old man into his home, where he led them into an attic room he had already managed to fill with clutter. He led them to a trunk, which he opened as they stood behind him. From the trunk he produced a number of photographs, handing some of them to Margot and William.

“This was my wife,” he told them as they looked through the pictures. There was a young man, presumably the man before them, standing with a very pretty young lady. Her skin colour was the same as William’s.

Margot looked at the old man, “This picture is so old. People didn’t say anything about the two of you?” she asked.

“People didn’t know,” he smiled, “we lived in seclusion. Even that picture was taken using a tripod. We were happy for, oh, it must have been twenty-odd years, before people found out about us.”

“What happened to her?” William asked.

The old man looked up for the photograph he’d been clutching, a tear rolling down his eye, “The locals wouldn’t accept us for what we were. They tried to scare us away, putting dog’s mess on our doorstep, burning crosses on our lawn, until my wife simply had enough. They came in the night,” he sniffed, “they came and they took her back.”

“Back?” Margot repeated, “You mean to--”

“Yes,” the old man rubbed his sleeve over his eyes, “They took her back home.”

Margot reached out for William again, and the two of them held hands more firmly than ever.

“It isn’t as bad these days,” the old man told them, “things have changed quite a bit since the 2040s.”

“I suppose,” Margot said, “but you were still the only person in town who would help us.”

“People still don’t want to be singled out,” the old man admitted, “they’d rather keep to themselves than cause their neighbours to look at them differently.”

“So why did you help us?” William asked.

The old man shrugged, “You reminded me of my wife and me,” he smiled, “obviously with the roles being reversed.”

“Obviously,” Margot smiled.

A noise from outside drew the attention of the three of them, bringing them to a window in the attic wall. Peering through, they saw a group of the town’s folk gathered round, some holding flaming torches in their hands, others wielding shotguns.

“We know you’re in there,” the ring-leader shouted, “come on out and we won’t hurt you.”

“What should we do?” Margot asked, panic on her face.

William shrugged, “We might as well just give up,” he sighed, “no-one will ever accept us for what we are.”

“No,” the old man held out an arm to stop Margot and William from heading out of the attic, “this is what they did to me and my wife. I won’t let it happen again. You can’t go out there into that crowd.”

The three looked out the window at the gun and torch-wielding crowd, wondering what to do next.

“We can’t stay in here,” William insisted, “they might burn your home down.”

The old man’s shoulders sagged as he thought about the photographs of his wife which were in the trunk, “You can head out the back way,” he told the couple, “I’ll go out front and tell them you’ve gone.”

Margot and William headed down the stairs with the old man, he taking the front exit while they headed out the back. Before they left, they heard him speaking to the crowd. Voices were raised before they heard a single gunshot echo through the air. Margot gasped, and William grabbed her hand;

“We’ve got to go,” he said, leading her out the back doorway.

They ran through the empty fields that spread beyond the farm house, neither one letting go of the other’s hand as they tripped and scrambled away from the crowd that hadn’t yet spotted their escape. The dust leapt at their ankles as they ran, until they once again found themselves on the tree covered lonely road.

“There must be a better solution than this?” Margot sobbed, “We can’t just keep running from people who don’t understand our love.”

“But we have to if we want to live,” William told her as the wind blew dirt in his eyes. Margot held up her arm to her face as the dirt whisked around them, billowing her hair around her head as the tree covering above them slowly parted.

A ship appeared in the sky above them, a beam of light shining down on the two scared lovers. As they tried to stare into the light, they felt themselves being lifted into the air, eventually being deposited in the cargo bay of the ship.

Margot and William stared around them as the inhabitants of the ship appeared, taking their helmets off to reveal their faces. The first had the same skin colour as William, a chocolatey brown,, the next was much paler, almost a pinkish-white, while the third, like Margot, was a deep shade of green.

“We arrived just in time,” the brown woman smiled, beckoning Margot and William to come to her, “welcome aboard.”

“Who are you?” Margot asked.

“We are a resistance group, determined to unite our two cultures,” the pink woman explained, “but first we have to get away from this colony world. The Greenians will never accept a co-existence with Earthlings on this world.”

“Where are we going?” William asked.

The brown woman, smiled, “To Earth,” she told him, “you’re going home.”


message 19: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4214 comments Garrison wrote: "Hey, CJ, when the news anchors broke the story about the east coast storm, did they try to make an Armageddon or apocalypse pun out of it? Examples would be "Snow-Pocalypse" or "Stormageddon". News..."

I honestly don't remember if they did. I was honestly afraid when I heard we were probably going to have a tornado, happy that didn't happen though.

I did hear on the news them say about a "Snow-pocalypse" when we had an unrelated storm a while ago though. I can't help but not believe it when they say such a thing. As last year we were told about a terrible snow-pocalypse and they were wrong as it turned out it was little more than cold winds and low temperatures.


message 20: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4214 comments Ooh, I've got a story idea. Though it is loosely connected to the picture I hope it still counts.

Interesting note (I hope anyway): It will be a story based on a true experience.


message 21: by Natalia (last edited Mar 06, 2016 12:53PM) (new)

Natalia This picture gave me so many different ideas! I, too, started off with a completely different story but I decided I didn't like it much. Feedback is always welcomed!

Title: Elaine’s Road
Words: 1428

It was a dirt road. There were big, tall trees on each of its sides, their trunks so dark they looked almost black. Very few dared to go there; only the bold – or maybe stupid- ones.

The road was haunted. And every single person that crossed it was bound to disappear. Very few survived, and the ones that did always went mad.

It all started after the death of Lady Elaine Richardson. Common people started calling the road after her as a sign of respect, hoping that would appease her spirit. No matter how much they had loved her in life, in death, all they wanted was for the ghost to go away and find peace in the afterlife. Witches tried their spells; priest tried exorcisms; mediums tried to talk to the spirit. But none worked.

Lady Richardson was a people person. Unlike every other lord and lady, she actually seemed to care about her town; always walking around the village with one of her less fancy dresses while she gave away food she had taken from her castle. She always used to say that common folk deserved a better life and that they should have the same rights as the lords and ladies. Every single person in England had heard of her and her actions – both low and high-born – though the latter wasn’t too happy about it. She was a young revolutionist; a threat to the aristocrats. But Lady Elaine didn’t seem to notice – or to care.

She got engaged on December 18th to and important Lord from Cambridge. The children – both in body and in soul – thought it was their passionate love that had gotten them together in such a short notice. But that was a minority. The rest knew the truth: Elaine was becoming too wild and rebellious and she needed to be contained. And since her father was old and ill, the best option was to get her a husband. Really soon. Besides, she was already nineteen years-old; she needed to wed and fast.

“But, Father,” Lady Richardson protested as soon as she heard the news. “I don’t want to get married. And I have only met this man once before.”

“He is a good man; he will take good care of you, Elaine,” her father argued weakly; his illness made him more fragile every moment. “Besides, he’s richer that I could ever be.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of! Especially by a man old enough to be my father.”

“This is not a discussion. Call the servants and tell them to pack your bags. You are leaving tomorrow on first light to Cambridge,” Elaine opened her mouth to protest but quickly closed it. Her father had sweat all over his brow and was breathing heavily; the intensity of the argument was taking its toll. She didn’t want him to get any worse and fighting with him wasn’t about to help him get better. Even if he was shipping her off to wed a complete stranger, he was still her father and Elaine loved him. So Lady Richardson just bowed and left the room, her head down.

‘Maybe this is for the best’, she thought hopefully, but, somehow, she knew that wasn’t correct.

And, of course, her instincts were right. After a not-so-good night of sleep and having all her prettiest dresses backed up by her handmaiden – her father had promised her that she was getting two of them in her future husband’s castle –, Elaine was ready to departure from her home. She hugged every single one of the house employees goodbye and wandered through all the rooms, remembering good times. But, finally, the time came when she couldn’t continue stalling.

“I will see you in two weeks for your wedding,” Father said with sadness. “I will miss you so much, my daughter. I can just find comfort in the fact that you will be in the capable hands of a perfect gentleman.”

Elaine bit her tongue to hold back from replying. Instead, she leaned in to hug him softly. “I will miss you too.”

Lady Richardson gave her father one last kiss on the forehead – hot from the fever – and left the castle. Outside awaited Lillian, her handmaiden, and the coachman. She gazed at her home once more before entering the carriage, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Farewell, life,” she murmured as she wiped the tear away.
.....

After five, long hours, it started drizzling. The coachman assured the two women that they had nothing to worry about; “a little hurt never hurt nobody.” But soon enough, the drizzle stopped and a full-blown storm arrived.

“Should we go back?” asked Elaine uneasy. A thunder roared and she shuddered.

“No. Do not worry, milady. We are half way there. I is not coming back now,” answered the driver before whipping the horses, urging them to fasten up the pace.

‘This is no good. We should be going back home right now,’ Lady Richardson though but the coachman was stubborn and he wouldn’t accept it.

“Your Lord Father commanded me to take you to Cambridge. I am sorry milady but I cannot stop for nothing. I do not want to lose my job,” he kept repeating the last part over and over.

So Elaine didn’t insist. What was the worst thing that could happen, anyways? She soon found out.

They were passing through a dirt road – nowadays known as Elaine’s road – when, suddenly, the carriage stopped running as smoothly as it should have. The coachman stopped the horses and hopped off his seat. After examining his vehicle, he realized that the left wheel had been punctured by an arrow.

“Somebody did this on purpose, milady. This cannot be good,” he said as Lady Richardson got off the carriage. “We need to leave now.”

“But how? We have no—” Elaine was cut short by a piercing scream. Lillian’s.

The handmaiden pointed one of the trees frantically. “Men. Hiding. Dressed in black and...and with weapons.”

The coachman’s hand went to his belt, where his whip rested, but he didn’t get to take it out before a half a dozen men, all dressed in dark clothes with hoods covering their features, surrounded them. Two of the men went for Lady Richardson while the rest of them attacked her companions. She tried fighting them – she even bit one – but it was a lost cause. After only a couple of seconds, one had both her arms pinned behind her back while the second one had a knife against her throat.

“I apologize, my Lady,” the latter said. Elaine didn’t fail to notice that he didn’t use the ‘milady’ like the common people did; he was high-born. “But you have been causing too many problems. You have to go.”

With one flick of his wrist, he swiftly cut her throat with the dagger. She choked on her own blood for a moment before falling to the mud, her eyes still wide open. He turned to the rest of the men, then.

“Our work here is done. Kill those two and let’s go.”

Lillian screamed and the coachman fought but none got out alive. They were outnumbered and the others had weapons with them. It was anything but a fair fight.

....

The three bodies were found a week later, covered in dried mud and blood. After a really shallow investigation, the murder of Lady Elaine Richardson and her two servants was ruled as burglar’s work. Nobody but a handful of aristocrats knew that it had been so much more; an issue completely political. They all kept it a secret and swore to God that they would never tell. They thought it was over.

But Elaine just wouldn’t let it.

It started with the disappearance or death of every single lord and lady that passed through her road. The first few ones were considered a coincidence but, after a whole month, people had to admit something bigger was obviously happening.

The high-born decided to stop crossing Elaine’s road, leaving it completely to the common folk. But her spirit wasn’t content; she wanted more. More deaths, more retribution. That was when the peasants started getting attacked too.

Fifty years had gone since then and the murders haven’t stopped. People keep trying, though, thinking maybe they are the one destined to release the ghost and make the road safe again. But Elaine’s not going anywhere. Her vengeance is yet to be completed.

But when would it be over? Not even she knew.


message 22: by QUEEN (new)

QUEEN Can I still enter?


message 23: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments Of course you can, Sammi. The contest doesn't end until March 8th.


message 24: by Ruth (new)

Ruth | 90 comments I made it! I've been so busy this week I was afraid I wasn't going to get a story written! Anyway, this is very far from my best work, but it's something.


message 25: by Ruth (new)

Ruth | 90 comments Title: Moving On
Author: Ruth Erskine
Word Count: 374


“We’re going to miss you, Fiona,” Miss Elsie said.
I nodded. “I’ll miss you, too.”
I’d spent the past four years here, and now that my dad was back, I was leaving. It seemed impossible, almost. My suitcase was already packed, there was nothing left to do except go. But I had a hard time bringing myself to do it.
My best friend, Laura, had left last year, and it had been hard for her to go as well. Honestly I think I had it easier. She’d been here when I came, and helped that shy, nervous little thing I was get used to life here.
I took one last look around my room. I knew it would probably go to a new girl within a week after I left. Behind the dresser was where I’d written my initials in ink. As far as I knew, Miss Elsie had never found out. There was a stain on the rug where I’d spilled juice when I was twelve.
Hearing the beep of a horn outside made me finally pick up my suitcase. “Well, I should be going.”
“I’ll walk you down to the car,” Miss Elsie said.
The rest of the girls were already waiting outside, and so was my dad in his shiny new car. He seemed a little impatient, but I wanted to say my goodbyes. I hugged each of the other girls, even the ones I didn’t know too well.
And then I turned to Miss Elsie.
“You know, you can always come back and visit,” she said. “We’d love to have you.”
“Of course,” I said. But somehow I knew I wouldn’t. I’d never see the porch where I’d fallen and broken my arm while playing Joan of Arc. I’d never go back under the tree where we used to picnic. I’d never go back to my old room. And I’d never see Miss Elsie and the rest of the girls again.
And I knew this would be my last time going down that tree lined lane where we used to race and play games. I’d come down it the first time four years ago, and now I was leaving. As he started the car and drove, I didn’t look back.


message 26: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments James wrote: "Hello everyone, I apologize for my absence most of the last month. I've been kept busy with the last minute wedding preparations and then with the honeymoon (none of which gave much time for writin..."

An interesting concept that you could so easily expand on. Any plans on turning this into a full-length children's story?


message 27: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Garrison wrote: "AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Chaos
GENRE: Creature Horror
WORD COUNT: 1,668
RATING: PG-13 for violence, language, and sexual content

The forest road seemed to be dragging on forever, like trave..."


This is your first creature feature in quite a while. Plenty of gore and plenty of death, a typical Garrison tale. From this short tale you could probably do more stories about the relationship between vamp and wolf, it might be interesting to those of us that enjoy mythological tales.


message 28: by James (new)

James Meadows | 146 comments Edward wrote: "An interesting concept that you could so easily expand on. Any plans on turning this into a full-length children's story?"

Honestly, I was kind of surprised by how the story turned out. I wrote the conversation before I ever wrote the story and was just relieved to find a story that I could put to it. Once I read the story, though, it did occur to me that it might make for an interesting full story. I am contemplating what I can do with it.

Thanks to everyone for the feedback!


message 29: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Courtney wrote: "This isn't the story I initially intended to post, but here it goes. Comments and feedback always welcome.

Title: Breaking Free
Author: C P Cabaniss
Length: 516 Words

I knot my fingers in a chu..."


A fun tale - I take it this was supposed to be a child's playtime, judging from the interruption from someone who I assume is the father. I'm dense, forgive me if I got it wrong.


message 30: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Natalia wrote: "This picture gave me so many different ideas! I, too, started off with a completely different story but I decided I didn't like it much. Feedback is always welcomed!

Title: Elaine’s Road
Words: 1..."


I was really confused by this story, and all because of one simple typo - hunted instead of haunted. I had to go back to realise what I'd missed. Because of this I didn't realise it was a ghost story until close to the end. It's amazing what a single missing letter can do to change a story. Now that I realise this, it's a much more logical tale, and the death of Elaine doesn't stick out like a sore thumb so much now that it's in context. As I always say, check over your story with a quick read-through, just to check for typos that spell check will miss. You can easily edit this now so that when everyone else reads it they don't get confused too. Otherwise a fine ghost story with an interesting urban myth feel.


message 31: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Ruth wrote: "Title: Moving On
Author: Ruth Erskine
Word Count: 374

“We’re going to miss you, Fiona,” Miss Elsie said.
I nodded. “I’ll miss you, too.”
I’d spent the past four years here, and now that my dad ..."


Simple, yet effective, Nicely done.


message 32: by Natalia (new)

Natalia Edward wrote: "Natalia wrote: "This picture gave me so many different ideas! I, too, started off with a completely different story but I decided I didn't like it much. Feedback is always welcomed!

Title: Elaine..."


Wow, I can't believe I didn't notice that typo. I usually re-read the story before uploading it; I guess I just got sloppy this week. I already fixed it :) Thanks for telling me about it!


message 33: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments Edward wrote: "This is your first creature feature in quite a while. Plenty of gore and plenty of death, a typical Garrison tale. From this short tale you could probably do more stories about the relationship between vamp and wolf, it might be interesting to those of us that enjoy mythological tales."

It feels good to get back into the dark fantasy groove, that's for sure. Thanks for the feedback, Edward! :)


message 34: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments James, I must admit that it took me a while to piece everything together in terms of the ending and the mysterious woman’s riddle-speak. When I finally did, I realized that the narrator would do the same thing as her grandmother: return home to parents who will give up drugs and alcohol and never be abusive again. It’s a classic tale of facing your fears while the message is reinforced with a fantasy backdrop. It’s quite creative if I do say so myself. My only advice to you would be this: don’t draw out the riddle-speak for so long next time. It can be frustrating to a reader who wants answers, like a small child taking a physics test. Other than that, you’ve got it made. Great job!

Courtney, I feel as though your ending has been too easily obtained for all of the trauma the girl experienced. It was as easy as getting on a horse named Magic and galloping away into the sunset. What about the shooter? Is he in hot pursuit? Is he sending other guys out for her as roadblocks? With something as sensitive as murder going on, it would seem unlikely that the shooter would just let her go that easily. Speaking of going somewhere, where will she go next? How will she feed herself and Magic every day? How will she find shelter from potentially cold weather? Think about these things for your next story.

I’ll read the rest of the stories this week after I get something to eat. I’m starving!


message 35: by Anne (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments Edward wrote: "Like Courtney I started off with a completely different story, but I'm saving that for something else. Instead, I give you.. this.

Title : Visitors
Author : Edward Davies
Word Count : 1612
Rating ..."


Oh Edward, this was really good. A fine spin on a timeless theme.


message 36: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments Edward, xenophobia and racism both seem to be common themes among your science fiction stories. They do need to be addressed and your story is an excellent way to do so. Love is love no matter what race or nationality and your story drives that point home. I do have to ask, though, how did xenophobia become a source of creative fuel for your stories? I know you’ve said in the past how much you despise Donald Trump and I’m with you on that one. But I’m sure there’s something else underneath. Or is there? Either way, your stories continue to impress me week after week and this one was no different. Excellent work, Edward!

Natalia, I couldn’t help but notice that there are places where you tell the audience what’s happening instead of showing. You say things like “The road is haunted” or “She is a people person.” I understand how hard showing instead of telling can be. I struggled with it at one point and I still do from time to time. In fact, all authors do. Here’s what you can do to resolve some of these problems. Instead of telling us the road is haunted, describe people’s reactions using body language, emotions, and thoughts. Instead of telling us that such and such is a people person, show us some of the things that make her that way and engage all five of our senses in doing so. It’s tough to master, but if you work on it long enough, you’ll have it down to a science.

Ruth, your story this week seems more like a scene from a much larger story than a complete standalone tale with a beginning, a middle, and an end. So many questions were left unanswered. Why was the narrator leaving in the first place? Was the father a hero or a villain? How much time do we need to get inside the narrator’s head and know if we can relate to her or not? The story went by so fast that I didn’t know what to do afterwards. It’s not so much the fact that it’s only 500 words. It’s that not enough dramatic action took place within those 500 words. Maybe you can expand this scene in some way and make it into a longer piece with questions answered and a satisfying ending. Think about that for a minute.


message 37: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Garrison wrote: "Edward, xenophobia and racism both seem to be common themes among your science fiction stories. They do need to be addressed and your story is an excellent way to do so. Love is love no matter what race or nationality and your story drives that point home. I do have to ask, though, how did xenophobia become a source of creative fuel for your stories? I know you’ve said in the past how much you despise Donald Trump and I’m with you on that one. But I’m sure there’s something else underneath. Or is there? Either way, your stories continue to impress me week after week and this one was no different. Excellent work, Edward!"

Well, racism and SF go hand in hand. Why else are all those intergalactic forces fighting each other if it isn't basically because they don't like each other based on what they look like. Plus sometimes the story just takes over from me; I might start off with one intention and then it changes half way through. Racism is a scarily prevalent problem even nowadays with folk like our friend Trump inciting more hatred in your country, but growing up in Multicultural London I never found race to be a major problem. In fact other cultures and languages fascinate me, as is often shown in those stories where I take foreign phrases and make a story out of them. Glad you enjoyed my little story - I'll shut up now. :D


message 38: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9055 comments You don't have to shut up, Edward. Donald Trump? He's another story. Hehe!


message 39: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4214 comments Ahh didn't get to finish my story. I was about halfway through, oh well! I'll still read and vote.


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