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June 2016 Issue - Stories - Topic: Photo
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You always have amazing photos, Alex-Pie. They're so easy to write stories about. :)
NOTE FOR THE MODS : Not eligible to win. :(Title : In The Dark
Author : Edward Davies
Word Count : 1004
Rating : PG13
Spencer couldn’t remember how long he’d been in the darkness, but it felt like forever. Wherever he was it smelled like a sordid mixture of soil and death, and when he managed to find a wall it was cold to the touch and rough like stone.
His eyes hadn’t been able to adjust to the gloom, and since he’d found the wall he’d been banging on it, trying to attract the attention of anyone who might be passing by, assuming that the room he was trapped in was one that people could pass by. He couldn’t see his hands, but they felt wet, and he could only assume that they had started to bleed from his constant clawing at the walls. He could feel tears begin to stream down his cheeks as he wondered how long the air in this tomb of a room would last before he suffocated to death. He couldn’t feel a draft coming from anywhere, so he could only assume the room was airtight.
Just when he thought he was going to die there, in the dark, surrounded by nothing, he heard a voice.
“Hello? Is someone in there?”
Spencer immediately perked up, rushing towards the sound of the voice, “Hello?” he replied, “Can you hear me?”
“I can’t make out what you’re saying,” the voice told him, “how did you get in there?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer replied, but the person on the other side of the wall clearly couldn’t hear him.
“I can’t hear you,” the voice, which was female, told him, “if you can move, knock twice on the wall.”
Spencer reached his bloodied hand forward in the dark, fumbling for the wall, then knocked once, twice.
“We’ve got a live one in here, dad,” the female voice spoke, calling out to her father, “I don’t know how he got in there, but we’ve got to get him out. He might be hurt.”
“Are you sure he isn’t one of them?” a gruff male voice spoke.
“He can’t be,” the girl’s voice replied, “he understood what I was saying. They don’t communicate proper like what we do.”
Spencer smiled. The girl’s poor grammar put his mind at ease that she most likely wasn’t anyone dangerous. And if her father was as big as his voice made him sound, Spencer would be out of here in no time. He stood back from the wall, hoping for the best as he fumbled around, looking for something to sit on.
The older man’s voice rose as he grew closer to Spencer’s dark prison, “What is this thing, some sort of mausoleum?” he said plainly, and Spencer started to wonder where exactly he was. The last thing he remembered was being attacked by someone, the next he was waking up in the cold and the dark with no sign of escape.
“Maybe there’s a door round the other side?” the female voice suggested, “these things usually have some way in or out.”
As he found a place to rest, he heard a banging noise coming from the far side of his prison. It sounded as if the older man was hacking at the walls with a pick or a hammer. Either way, it meant that Spencer would finally be freed from this nightmare. Slowly, shafts of light started to appear in the far wall, and Spencer shielded his eyes which were having trouble adjusting to the change in brightness.
“I’m almost through,” the man called out, “can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Spencer replied, “can you hear me?”
“You’re going to have to speak up,” the man shouted, taking another swing with whatever tool he was holding, “you just sound like mumbles to me.”
Spencer decided to save his breath for when he was actually free, so he could thank this man and his daughter. He could feel tears streaking down his cheeks again, but this time they were out of joy, not fear.
The shafts of light finally coalesced into one large beam, and Spencer saw the outline of a mad holding a pickaxe standing there. Cautiously, trying not to trip, Spencer walked towards the man, stuttering hanks as he walked.
“Thank you, thank you,” he said, emerging into the light. The man stared at him, his expression changing to one of fear as he backed away from the mausoleum Spencer had just crawled out of.
“It’s one of them!” the man cried, shielding his daughter with his body.
Spencer stared at him, “What are you talking about?” he asked, “One of who?”
“Listen to his demonic groans,” the man cried, holding the pickaxe up above his head, “he’s a zombie!”
“I’m not a zombie,” Spencer said, looking down at his hands. They were coated in his own blood from hammering on the walls, granted, but surely they could hear he was intelligible. Everyone knew zombies couldn’t speak.
“I’m scared, daddy,” the girl said, hiding behind her father, “His groans are frightening!” She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, and Spencer reached a hand towards her, not knowing why they couldn’t understand his words.
“Why can’t you understand me?” he asked, taking a step towards them, “I’m speaking as plain as day! Why can’t you understand me?”
As the girl began to cry, her father lifted the pickaxe high in the air.
“Die, zombie! Die!” he yelled, burying the pickaxe in Spencer’s head. His eyes widened in terror as he felt the point of the pick connect with his skull, then his brain, then he felt nothing.
Spencer collapsed to the ground, dead, and the man pulled the pickaxe back out of his head.
“What was he doing, daddy?” the girl asked, “It was almost like he was trying to communicate with us.”
“Zombies don’t communicate with language like we do, honey,” her dad replied, looking down at Spencer’s dead body, the skin grey, the eyes red, the arms streaked with blood, “all they do is kill us and eat us. You’d do well to remember that.”
AUTHOR: Garrison KellyTITLE: Tiger Bullet Kick
GENRE: Martial Arts Fantasy
WORD COUNT: 1,649
RATING: PG-13 for martial arts violence and swearing
Bob Rua had been through every kind of battle and shed tons of blood in his day, but even he admitted that he hadn’t seen anything yet. There would always be stronger challengers and they would always come in greater numbers. The anthropomorphic tiger wore his battle scars as badges of honor. He purposefully walked around in baggy shorts with no shirt to remind himself of the many hits he had taken. His thick striped orange fur could barely contain the bloody slashes he had endured. Most of his fur was getting grayer with every passing generation. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he would often say to himself.
Old he may be, his job of guarding the Moon Temple Mausoleum was no less important. He patrolled the inside of the stone sanctuary and marveled at the golden treasures buried in caskets with their dead owners. Taking these jewels to the afterlife would make the “clients’” journey into heaven that much richer. Any lowlife bandit who dared rob these caskets would be met with a swift kick to the gut, a punch to the jaw, knees and elbows to wherever Bob felt like throwing them, or he could employ the infamous martial arts technique, the Tiger Bullet Kick.
Bob reflected on all of the times he was forced to use such a brutal maneuver. It not only obliterated anybody who stood in its path, but it took a lot of energy out of the user. Sometimes Bob would be bedridden for three weeks straight after executing the Tiger Bullet Kick. Sometimes he would cough up blood and vomit bile. It was amazing he lived as long as he did. The thought of having to perform such a technique again made him quiver with anticipated sickness and anxiety.
Elderly age afforded him the wisdom to show restraint when it came to the technique. It also caused him to be lost in thought whenever his alertness was needed. It wasn’t until he heard feint whispering that he was snapped out of his old man gaze. With his lantern guiding his way in the dark, Bob shouted out, “Who’s there? Show yourself! Family visitations ended much earlier in the day!”
Bob was getting closer to the source of the whisper and was able to hear that the speaker was using mystical tongues. “Necromancy? Is that why you’re here? Not on my watch, you scoundrel!” The tiger monk’s sandaled feet slapped against the stone floor as hard as they could when he approached the voice further. The whispers grew louder and faster until Bob’s lantern shone on the source.
Standing over a nearby coffin was a woman in red samurai robes with her orange hair pinned in a bun and her arms extended as she was casting her spell. She slowly turned her head around to reveal her monstrous, creepy clown smile complete with sharp teeth, a bloody nose, and bloodshot eyes. Bob let out a small shiver, but at the same time maintained his fighting stance.
“So you’ve come to my temple looking for your own personal minion? You necromancers disgust me! Being dead is hard enough without freaks like you trying to make puppets out of their corpses! I could vomit all over this floor right now!” said Bob.
The clown lady laughed like a horse and arched backwards like Bob’s warning was the greatest comedy in the world. She unsheathed her katana and spoke to him in a raspy voice. “Trust me, tiger man, Viktor the Warlord is hardly the man I came here for! I’ve got much more work to do on these sacred grounds!”
The necromancer samurai licked her blade seductively before leaping into battle with the martial arts tiger. The two warriors threw kicks, punches, and slashes at each other with whooshing sound effects behind them as they dodged like athletes. They continued to fight even faster than before, causing their dodges to resemble acrobatic flips and slides. During one of the slides, Bob Rua slipped on his ass and was vulnerable for a rushing stab from the samurai clown. But as the bladed warrior bolted towards him, he shot right back up and delivered an oxygen-draining spin kick to her stomach, causing her to double over and gasp for air.
Bob shook out his shoulders and said to his victim, “Is that all you’ve got? Are you going to finish this fight or are you just going to lie down and moan?” The clown’s answer came in the form of mocking laughter, to which the tiger monk marched over to her and lifted her head by her hair. “You think disrespecting the dead is funny? I should snap that skinny neck of yours right fucking now!”
The coffin the necromancer was working on exploded into green fire, knocking pebbles into Bob’s chest and stinging him slightly. Out of the fire came his worst nightmare, Viktor the Warlord, a seven-foot tall mummy wrapped up in filthy tape with maggots crawling all over his rotting purple skin. Viktor’s moans at first sounded like someone getting out of bed on a Monday. The moans then started to become animalistic, like a pack of wolves hungry for meat.
Bob tossed the samurai to the ground and rushed up to Viktor to deliver a furious beat down. His punches were like wrecking balls, his kicks were like sledgehammers, his elbows and knees were like battering rams, but all they did was stagger Viktor a few inches backwards.
The mummy wrapped both of his worm-infested meat hooks around Bob’s neck and hoisted him in the air while squeezing the life out of him. As the tiger man struggled to pry Viktor’s hands off, he threw even more jackhammer-like kicks to the midsection and groin area, but all he did was expend energy and darken his vision even more. Before he could completely fade away, Viktor released his grip and dropped Bob’s nearly limp body to the stone floor, causing him to nearly lose his lunch and his lungs as he coughed violently.
“Come on, tiger man,” taunted the necromancer. “Why don’t you use that Tiger Bullet Kick you’re so proud of. I know exactly who you are. You’re a dying breed of the Rua clan. You’ll probably be dead if you use that Tiger Bullet Kick one more time. Go ahead. Try it. You’re all alone in this temple. Nobody’s coming to help you. It’s do or die, my friend. Mostly just die, but you get what I’m saying.”
“Yeah, like I’m going to let you sneak out of here with the treasure once I’m dead and gone. Get lost, punk!” said Bob in a raspy voice as he staggered to his feet. This time Viktor grabbed him by the fur on his head and hoisted him high off the floor.
“It’s kill or be killed, Bob! What’s it going to be? You know you want to do it!” taunted the samurai as she did cheerleader-like hops and flips in evil happiness.
Viktor smiled at Bob with worms swirling around his teeth and tongue. His breath smelled like cow shit, almost bad enough to earn himself a KO victory. But then a bright yellow aura glowed around Bob Rua. The light radius grew beyond his prone body and the samurai clown was cheering him on. She knew what was coming and danced around like a madwoman. Viktor challenged him with an even nastier smile and said, “Do it!”
“It could kill me, but I don’t fucking care anymore! Tiger Bullet Kick!” shouted Bob. With fire and light surrounding his legs, he threw one powerful flying kick to Viktor’s chest, sending a heavenly show of golden aura throughout the temple, turning night into day and turning the moon into sunshine. The mummy warlord laughed like the monster he was before turning into a heap of dust and leaving Bob on the ground taking short and weak breaths.
The samurai spun around and tiptoed up to Bob’s lifeless body, to which she saw blood pouring from his mouth and nose. She clapped her hands happily and extended her arms to cast another necromancy spell. After her obligatory haunting whispers, she explained, “Truth is, Bob, I didn’t come here for Viktor the Warlord’s services. He was just a byproduct of a much bigger plot. I came here for you, tiger man. Forever more, you will be my undead minion. You will know your master as the great and powerful Makoto Lionheart, Gatekeeper of Souls. Now rise, you worthless scum! Rise from your slumber so that you may do that lovely Tiger Bullet Kick over and over again! Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you!”
Bob started moaning like he had sleep apnea as he got on his hands and knees and slowly stood up to face his new master. In a zombie-like drone, he said, “I shall do whatever you wish, my lord.” Makoto spun around and cheered to herself while smiling like an innocent child. “There’s just one catch,” Bob said before reaching out and grabbing Makoto by both sides of her head. “I said that the Tiger Bullet Kick could kill me, not that it would.” Makoto trembled in his vice-like grip. “I’m ready for the world’s longest nap. Would you care to join me?”
With his tiger claws buried deep into the sides of Makoto’s head, he spun her skull around multiple times before her neck muscles loosened and her neck bone snapped in two, leaving her a lifeless heap on the floor as soon as Bob released her. The tiger warrior smiled at his handiwork, but not without coughing up chunks of blood and sprawling over the corpse of his victim. As his body relaxed on what might be his last night on earth, he softly said to himself, “Man, I’m getting too old for this shit.”
The Lady of the ForestBy Gashbeen Saeed
The howling wind swept through the towering trees, rustling the leaves as the father stumbled through the dense forest. In his arms, the frantic man held a small bundle. He held the shivering child within close to his chest, desperately attempting to keep him warm in the icy greenwood.
The snow came down upon them with the burning rage of a thousand suns, and the cold cut through their layers of clothing to their bones. The moon loomed above the pitiful pair, its eerie light illuminating their panicked flight. As the father flew over the ground, held up high by his despair, his last child cried out in fear.
The man's heart twisted with the agony only a parent can feel, and he asked in a wretchedly sorrowful voice, "Why do you hide your face, son? What frightens you so?" The boy clutched his father's ragged shirt with terror as he wailed miserably, "She comes, Father! The Lady of the Forest comes for me! Do you not see her pale face, glowing triumphantly in the moonlight? Do you not see her cloak, fluttering in the vicious wind?"
The father forced himself to run faster as his legs grew heavier and his breath grew ragged; he replied comfortingly as his heart sank into the dark abyss of hopelessness, "Calm yourself, my son. The Lady of the Forest is not here with us. It is the mist you see." The child nodded, yearning for the comfort of the words his father spoke. His eyes then focused on a figure lurking behind his father, a gentle smile spreading across her lips.
The Lady of the Forest reached her arms out to the boy as she kindly spoke. "Come with me, sweet child. We shall play together on the banks of the river, and I shall spin you clothes of the finest gold. You'll have a full belly, and you will be warm all winter. Join me, beautiful child."
The son held on tightly to his father, his tormented face turning paler with fear. "Father! The Lady of the Forest calls to me! She beckons me to go with her! Do you not see her, Father? Do you not see her emerald eyes, shining brightly with mocking laughter? Do you not see her silky black hair, flowing behind her as she rides her magnificent steed?"
The father answered sternly, "Calm yourself, my son. You see things that are not there. That is no Lady of the Forest you see. It is the trees, shadowed in the darkness, that you see. The Lady of the Forest is not with us."
Looming over the father, the Lady of the Forest laughed, her joyous laughter ringing throughout the forest. "Come with me, sweet child. My sons shall play with you, and my daughters will sing for you. You'll never be lonely, and you will never know sadness. Join me, beautiful child."
The son shook violently as his youthful heart pounded with utter terror. As his father sprinted past the ominous trees, his breath escaping him in ragged gasps, the child cried, "Father! The Lady of the Forest calls to me! Her sons and daughters beckon me to go with them! Do you not see the Children of the Forest, with their clothes of gold and their silky hair? Do you not see the Lady of the Forest behind them, with her beautifully evil smile and her gleaming crown?"
The father replied reassuringly, although slightly uneasy, "Calm yourself, my son. I see what you mean. It is the shadows that you see. The Lady of the Forest and her children are not with us."
The Lady of the Forest reached an arm out to the child as she rode her colossal steed. "Come with me, sweet child. Your youthful beauty and beating heart enchant me. If you won't come with me, then I will take you by force!"
The child wailed with overwhelming terror as the Lady of the Forest clutched his arm in an iron grip. "Father! The Lady of the Forest has me!"
The father shuddered as the end of the forest came near. Gasping desperately for air, he reached the healer's cottage. As he fell to the ground with relief, his legs aching, he froze. Lifting his hand to his son's cold face, he realized that he . . .
He was dead.
Edward, that was an awesome twist you put at the end of your story. This whole time Spencer had been a zombie and even he didn’t know it until the pickaxe cracked his skull open. It was a good thing the twist was even there, because I honestly thought this story was just going to be a simple rescue mission with no real reason to deserve the end goal. Thank god for the all-important twist! The only piece of critique I have for you is that you might want to build up Spencer’s tension inside the mausoleum before he is “rescued”. When I read the beginning, I wasn’t completely convinced that he was suffering a horrible fate. It just seemed like a case of mistaken identity. Your story is only 1,000-plus words long, so spending a good amount of time in the beginning to build the tension would do your narrative a lot of justice. Other than that, thank you for presenting this piece to us! I loved it! Sorry about not being eligible to win, though.Gashbeen, your showing instead of telling skills are top-notch. I could feel the father’s exhaustion as he ran through the forest on spaghetti legs with the cold weather burning his skin. Normally, cold weather wouldn’t be associated with burning, but I can actually see how that would work. Being nearly frozen hurts like hell. It had to have been painful for the son as well even though he was wrapped in a tight bundle. If I could give you two pieces of critique, they would both have to do with dialogue. The dialogue seems a little unrealistic to me. The child is using colorful, literary descriptions during a moment of extreme fear. If a Lady of the Forest was calling out to me, I’d probably be screaming every swear word I could remember (not that your child should do that, don’t get me wrong). Also, whenever you have a new speaker, start a new paragraph. Two speakers in one paragraph is confusing to any reader. These things can be easily fixed with a little practice and some elbow grease. Thanks for posting this!
Thanks, Garrison! I usually have trouble with the dialogue in my short stories, so I'm not surprised that I could improve my dialogue. I decided to write my dialogue in this way because I wanted to describe the Lady of the Forest. However, I can see that I could have incorporated descriptions in other ways. Reading it over, I feel that the child's dialogue sort of takes away from the feeling in some ways, but also adds to the atmosphere in others. I can also see that it can get confusing if two or more characters are speaking in the same paragraph. Thanks again, Garrison! I'll see what I can do to improve it.
You can do it, Gashbeen. I know you can. :)
I always make it a point to help out a fellow author in need. :)
Maybe that's where we get the phrase "freezer burn" from. :)
Dialogue can get hard when you're good with description. The thing with me is that I'm really good at describing the environment, but I don't know how to write my dialogue so that it doesn't sound forced or robotic.
The struggle between colorful prose and realistic dialogue is real for authors of all shapes and sizes. I remember when I used to struggle with dialogue. I still do sometimes.
Have you picked a winner between Gashbeen and Garrison yet? :D
Garrison wrote: "Edward, that was an awesome twist you put at the end of your story. This whole time Spencer had been a zombie and even he didn’t know it until the pickaxe cracked his skull open. It was a good thin..."I didn't put as much effort into this one, seeing as I can't win.
Boo hoo! ;-)
CHARACTERS:
Bob Rua, Tiger Monk
Makoto Lionheart, Clown Samurai
Viktor, Mummy Warlord
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The entrance of the mausoleum is marked with the pillars in the photograph.
SYNOPSIS: Bob is the loyal watchman of a mausoleum containing mummified bodies and ancient treasure. Makoto sneaks into the building and uses necromancy to raise Viktor from the dead. It is revealed that Bob was the one who put Viktor in his grave using a martial arts attack called the “Tiger Bullet Kick”. In his old age, Mr. Rua can’t afford to use such a powerful move again lest it completely drains his spiritual energy and kills him. Sacrificing himself to put Viktor back in his tomb would leave the treasure and other mummies readily available to Makoto. Being an elderly martial arts master affords Bob a lot of wisdom, but even he can’t wrap his head around this one in a matter of crucial seconds.