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Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 331 (October 12-18) Stories Topic: In the Air

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message 1: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4216 comments You have until the 18th of October to post a story and from the 19th to the 23rd of October, 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. Only one submission per person is allowed.

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: In the Air

Thanks goes to Garrison for suggesting the topic!

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

Have fun!


message 2: by Mariyam (new)

Mariyam Hasnain (mariyamhasnain) CJ wrote: "You have until the 18th of October to post a story and from the 19th to the 23rd of October, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best!

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Pleas..."


I need to post the story in the comment section here only ?

sincerely
Mariyam


message 3: by Jane (new)

Jane Jago The Tooth Fairy

Sunday lunch, and Caroline carefully masticated her roast lamb and overlooked vegetables whilst attempting to tune out the carefully genteel tones of her mother-in-law, Marjorie, as she treated them to her own version of the Sunday sermon. Today it was immigrants. And the EU, of course. But that was a blessed relief from child care 'hints' and open criticism of the way she and her sister-in-law dressed, spoke, and, one very memorable Sunday indeed, even how they smelled.

'Yaddah, Yaddah' she thought as she tried to push the two-hour journey home, with its inevitable sugar-induced tantrums and car sickness, to the back of her mind. She must have been doing quite well, because she was dragged back to the world of serviettes and Sunday best china by a derisive snort from her left-hand neighbour. She turned a polite face to her husband's younger brother, who wagged his head at her. Tuning back into the Sunday homily she realised why even he was pissed off. Marjorie was busily assuring her grandchildren that of course the going rate for the tooth fairy had gone up in line with inflation. About five pounds per tooth would be fair, she thought.

Caroline sighed inwardly and decided she couldn't face any more lunch. She put her knife and fork down and fished about in her head for something uncontroversial to say.

Before she had a chance to speak, and in an almost unheard of break from the rigidly enforced etiquette which normally prevailed, her husband leaned across from his seat on the other side of the table and whispered in her ear.
'Never mind the bloody tooth fairy. I'd rather like there to be a Shut up Mother fairy.'
In a rare moment of whimsy Caroline grinned at him. 'You never know, there might be. But you have to invite her in.'
He grinned back at her, though the lines of tension that bracketed his mouth from the moment they arrived at his mother's house until the moment they left were still etched into his skin. 'I do, don't I? Very well.' He closed his eyes and spoke softly. 'Shut up Mother fairy, I most humbly invite you into this house.'
He sat back in his chair, and the air filled with mocking laughter. At the head of the table Marjorie's mouth kept right on moving, but now she no longer made a sound...


message 4: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9094 comments For my first short story since being back from Hawaii, I'm going to write another deliciously violent tale called "Burning Dragon". The synopsis is much shorter than usual since I came up with this idea in the infancy of my membership here at the WSS.

CHARACTERS:

Brock Soulburn, Dragon Warrior
Night Terror, Floating Demon Mask

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Night Terror is constantly in the air since he’s a flying mask.

SYNOPSIS: Brock is a mercenary sent on a mission to retrieve a possessed mask for a local barbarian tribe. His beefy muscles and fiery breath won’t do him much good against this powerful demon that calls himself Night Terror. Fighting Night Terror becomes so frustrating that Brock actually considers walking away from the job.


message 5: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9094 comments Just when I'm ready to get back home from vacation and write stories again, I read this news report online:

http://www.bellinghamherald.com/news/...

A storm of that magnitude usually means power outages across the board. If for some reason I don't submit anything this week, it will be because of that. The storm hasn't come yet, but it's getting close. My brain is still in recovery mode from the Hawaiian vacation, otherwise I'd write a story this instant. I apologize in advance for potentially missing two weeks in a row of creative writing. :(


message 6: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments I'm off work today chopping wood and baking cakes, so I won't get anything done until probably early next week (maybe a poem, who knows). You better not let us down, G-Man!


message 7: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9094 comments Aeromancy is a powerful form of magic, my friend. But if the elctromancers get things up and running in a timely fashion, all will be well.


message 8: by Joy (new)

Joy Crain | 41 comments When I saw the topic for this week I couldn't resist writing a story with a hot air balloon So with that said, I present to you...

The Ride Of Her Life
by Joy

“No, No, a thousand times, No!” Tess Morgan crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the multi-colored hot air balloon hovering above her, shading her from the summer sun. She shielded her eyes and shook her head again. “Absolutely not.”

Rita, her sister, stared at her confused. “Ever since you were a kid you’ve wanted to go up in a hot air balloon. Here’s your chance and you’re chickening out?”

Anger burned within Tess’s chest. Her sister knew exactly why she couldn’t take the ride. It wasn’t the hot air balloon that she was opposed to. It was being confined in a small space with Everett Graham thousands of feet in the air with no one else around.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Everett. He was a pure gentleman. Always had been. That was probably why she had fallen for him in the first place back in high school. Their breakup had ended suddenly and painfully senior year and neither of them had spoken a word to each other since. And if it was up to Tess, it would stay that way.

Rita shook her head. “This is about Everett.”

Yes, it was about Everett.

“You’re being silly,” Rita latched onto Tess’s arm and dragged her nearer. “It’s just for an hour. You can survive that long, can’t you?”

Tess shook her head and resisted coming closer. “I….can’t.”

“Come on, Tess, stop being a big baby. He’s waiting for you.”

The closer they came to the basket, the clearer Tess’s image of him was. Everett Graham had filled out over the years. Muscular and tan. The moment his clear crystal eyes met hers, she found her feet glued to the ground.

He waved and hopped out of the basket. “Hey, Rita, you brought her.”

Rita released Tess’s arm and wiped sweat from her face. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted.

Everett pursed his lips as his eyes once again met Tess’s. “Nice to see you again, Tess.” He went in for a hug but she thrust her hand out. Taken aback, he took a moment to recover before shaking it.

“You too, Everett.”

The tension between the two of them Rita could cut with a knife. “Anyhoo,” Rita waved. “Gotta run.”

Tess shot Rita a warning that clearly said, “Don’t you dare leave,” but it was ignored and Tess soon found herself alone with Everett.

“So…shall we?” Everett pointed to the basket.

“I am NOT getting in that thing with you,” Tess demanded.

Everett sighed. “Just as stubborn as you always were, huh, Tess?”

“And you’re just as…”

As what? Handsome? Charming? Delightful?

“Annoying,” she finished.

“Hmm…that’s in improvement from what you called me last time so I’ll take it.”

“What did I call you last time?”

“A bloodthirsty heartbreaker.” He scoffed. “Among other things.”

“You deserved it.”

“Did I now?”

Tess contemplated turning around and walking away. Anywhere in the world would be better than being where she was now. Even as they were arguing Tess still felt butterflies swirling in her stomach.

“Look,” Everett finally said. “Can you just get in and we can take a ride? I promise I’ll be a complete gentleman and we don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to because we’d only end up fighting.”

Without another word he hopped back into the basket and held out his hand. “You coming or not?”

Despite her better judgment she nodded and let him help her in. “Okay good.” He started up the flame and released the ropes tying it to the earth. “Don’t lean too far out now.”

Tess grabbed the sides of the basket and squeezed. This was going to be a long ride and now it was too late for getting off. Her anger at Everett was only increasing now that he was behind her.
She wondered if she could slap him without having in fall over the edge.

The balloon rose higher and higher until Tess could see over the tops of the trees. She smiled at the horizon. The houses and farms looked so tiny from their perch high in the sky. The wind blew her hair in all directions and she laughed at the way a car driving in the distance looked like her brother’s old Hot Wheels cars.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Tess felt her body tense. She had almost forgotten he was with her.

“I thought we weren’t talking. You promised.”

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but like the sparkle she saw in his eyes as he moved nearer to her. He grinned.

“Fine. We’ll just stand in silence.”

“Sounds good.”

“For an hour.”

“Yes.”

“Could get boring.”

“Everett!”

He laughed. “Fine. Fine. You don’t want to talk to me after all these years, I get it. At least I’m trying to. I’m still not completely sure why you walked out on me.”

“You know exactly why I left.”

She didn’t like this. Being with him. It was bringing back too many painful memories she would have rather stayed buried. She needed to go but taking a step outside the basket would be to plummet to her death and she loved herself too much for that.

“No.”

“Then your memory is failing.”

He stood up straighter and directed his gaze right at her. “My memory is fine and despite what you think I do remember that day very clearly.”

“Oh yeah,” she challenged. “Please, enlighten me.”

Everett glanced up at the blazing flame that kept the balloon flying as if to buy time. “I remember after our graduation ceremony I went to our meeting place. You remember the old oak in the park, right?”

Of course she had. They had spent many nights under the stars pointing out constellations, talking, laughing, sharing stories and feelings. It had been some of the best nights in her life.

“Anyway, you came stomping up to me, slapped me across the face, called me a bunch of things I’d rather not repeat—including bloodthirsty heartbreaker—stomped away and I never saw you again.”

Tess’s anger burned. He had completely left out the part where he had been kissing Katelyn Palmer in the hall right after graduation. Tess had caught the two of them and had been completely devastated.

“What happen to Katelyn?”

“Palmer?” He scratched his head. “Don’t know, haven’t seen her for years. What does she have to do with this?

“She has everything to do with this,” Tess practically yelled. “Don’t tell me there isn’t somewhere in your memory that day where you kissed Katelyn Palmer, captain of the cheerleaders, in the hallway right after graduation.”

Color immediately drained from his face. So he did remember. Good.

“Tess…I…”

“Save it.” She raised her hand. “Nothing you can say about that day can ever make me forgive you for what you did.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Tess snorted. “You were right about one thing, Everett.”

“And what was that?”

“We ended up arguing.”

He turned from her and checked to see how much gas they still had left for the flame to keep burning.

“We’re not running out any time soon,” he reported.

The sun was beginning to set across the valley, casting an orange glow over everything. The feeling of serenity was only dampened by Everett’s closeness. She never should have agreed to do this.
Everett was quiet for a long time. He even sat in the basket and opened up what appeared to be a picnic basket. “Coke?” He held one out to her. She nodded and sat next to him.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.” He opened his can and drank it down at one time. More silence followed before he broke it. “I don’t know what you
saw, Tess, but it’s not what you think.”

“What I think? I caught you swapping spit with Katelyn Palmer and you have the guts to tell me that it wasn’t what I thought it was.” She huffed, throwing her empty can of soda at his stomach. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Still an upgrade from bloodthirsty heartbreaker.”

“You just wait, we still have a while before we come back down.” She stood and walked to the edge again.

He stood too and moved toward her, laying his hand over hers. She didn’t jerk away even though she wanted to. Tears threatened to spill down her face. Being mad at him was taking a toll on her emotions. Despite what he had done, there was still some part of her that would always feel something for him.

He spoke softly. “I know that even if I told you the truth you probably wouldn’t believe me.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Then, how about I show you the truth.”

Before she could reply, she felt her body press against his with his mouth covering hers. At first she tried to wiggle out of his arms but slowly found herself melting into his arms and into his kiss. Worse, she found herself kissing him back.

Their kiss broke when their lungs demanded air and he pulled his mouth away but still kept his head near hers. Tess’s heart was beating a hundred miles an hour, adrenaline shooting throughout her body. Only Everett Graham’s kiss could make her feel this way.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve been in love with you since junior year in high school and that is the only truth I know.”

Tess felt her body shaking.

“What about Katelyn?”

He twisted his mouth. “That was a mistake. I never meant for that to happen, it just did. I never would have let it happen if I had known it meant losing you.”

His words breathed life into the part of her heart that loved him. “I…I love you too.”

Everett wrapped his arm around her. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Tess felt warm in his arms, both of them staring out into the sunset. “Wanna land now? Hours over.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”

“You sure? We are running out of gas.”

She laughed. It felt good to laugh with him again. “Then we’d better land but it’s a pity. I was kinda getting used to the bird’s eye view from up here.”

The two of them landed thirty minutes later safe and sound on the ground. Rita was already there to meet them and seemed unsurprised when they emerged with Everett’s arm around Tess’s shoulder.

Her grin was bigger than the mood. “So, I take it you had fun.”

Tess couldn’t help but smile herself. “Best time of my life.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rita frowned at Everett. “So, where’s the fifty dollars you were going to pay me to drag her into taking that balloon ride with you?”


message 9: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9094 comments DISCLAIMER: If you feel like this has a Deus Ex Machina ending, please tell me. That's information I need. Otherwise, enjoy!


AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Burning Dragon
GENRE: Dark Fantasy
WORD COUNT: 1,642
RATING: PG-13 for violence and language


“Halt! Who goes there?!” shouted the poleax-wielding guard at the entrance of the Doom Hammer Temple. His brown leather armor, painted up face, and military stance gave off a “don’t fuck with me” aura that had many men shaken to their core. The guard’s blade was only inches away from the intruder’s throat and ready to slash it open at a moment’s notice.

The metal armor-wearing, blue scaled man-dragon Brock Soulburn gave a sadistic grin with his razor-sharp mouth and bladed tongue. “You’re shitting me, right? You fuckers have something I want, something that will give me a big ass payday and all the roasted chicken and red wine I can handle. Mmm-mmm-mmm! I want that Night Terror mask. I want it now!” With one vicious chomp, Brock took a bite out of the poleax’s blade and chewed it like a tender steak before swallowing it with a deep gulp.

The guard’s wide-eyed stare and shaky body took away his aura of intimidation in a big fucking hurry. “Holy shit!” he whispered fearfully before Brock breathed fire on him and had him dancing around in pain. The guard rolled down the stony temple stairs and bashed his body against every corner of almost every step. He was left a broken and fiery heap on the ground with nothing left to do but die like a bitch.

Brock gave a hearty belly laugh as he moseyed inside the stone-built Doom Hammer Temple. A small army of guards swarmed in on him with poleaxes ready to slash him to pieces. They threw their wildest and most savage strikes only to have their weapons gnawed on with Brock’s bear trap mouth.

With a mouthful of blades and wooden splinters, the man-dragon spit them out and rained down violence and fire upon the squadron of guards. The warriors dropped to the ground with shattered bones, spraying blood, and burning bodies. Those who weren’t caught in the crossfire continued to swarm in on Brock only to have their faces punched in with an anvil of a fist and their ribs shattered with a battering ram of a kick.

The entire guardianship of the temple resembled an ocean of fire, blood, and powdery bone meal. Brock was kind enough to breathe a harsh breeze upon the flames and douse them out completely. They were tall enough to obstruct his view of what lied ahead of him. At the bone-built altar was the placeholder for Night Terror, an evilly-smiling mask with dagger horns, bladed fangs, and bright neon red eyes.

Brock’s clear path to victory was weakly halted by an elderly shaman in a red robe and pig mask on his knees praying and crying at the same time. Even with the beastly mercenary approaching him, he never stopped praying and chanting. Whatever god he was pleading to couldn’t save him from getting a smack across the back of the head, which opened his skull and splashed his brains around the already messy floor.

“Damn, that was too easy!” boasted Brock Soulburn. His own delightful laughter rivaled the creepiness of the mask he came to collect. He even strutted towards the bone altar without even a modicum of effort to claim his prize. “Alright, you scary son of a bitch, your ass is coming home with me, baby!”

Night Terror convulsed with laughter as the mask came to life and planted a cartoonish kiss on Brock’s mouth. As the sickened dragon was wiping the flavor off of his mouth with his beefy arm, the mask gave off a series of high-pitched “Hoo-hoo!” chants as it floated around freely and crazily.

“You sick bastard! Get your ass back here!” shouted Brock before breathing fire in Night Terror’s direction. The swift mask flew out of the way as a stream of flames followed him around the ceiling of the temple. Night Terror’s path lead him back to Brock, where this time he licked the man-dragon’s pointy ears with a sloppy dog tongue. The “Hoo-hoo!” chants and spinning around continued.

After Brock wiped the slime out of his ear with his meaty finger, he clenched his teeth, growled throatily, and tightened his muscles in anger. With one monstrous claw, he ripped a chunk of stone out of the ground and chucked it like a baseball at Night Terror. Unsurprisingly, the mask dodged with deftness. Brock continued to rip chunks out of the stone floor and fling them at his target, but all he hit were pieces of the temple wall and a few sacred artifacts.

Night Terror mocked his attacker some more by sticking his dog tongue out and wagging it like a cartoon character. With his blood boiling, his teeth tight, and his veins ready to burst like blood bombs, Brock ripped up one more chunk of the floor and threw it with an even faster velocity. This time the projectile found its mark. The stone slab nicked the mask in the forehead and caused it to whirl around like a leaf before it landed on the ground, presumably down for the count.

“And stay down, you sick piece of shit!” shouted Brock before he stomped his way over to the mask to claim what was rightfully his. He picked up the fallen mask by both sides of its face and shook it violently while screaming, “You hear me! Stay dead, you stupid bastard! Stay! Dead!”

Night Terror came back to life and shoved his wet tongue up Brock’s nose, causing the dragon to spin around and hack up a huge wad of spit. The mask floated high in the air once again and laughed at his opponent while the man-dragon pounded the floor with both fists and shouted, “That’s it! I quit! I’ve had it with this crap!”

Before he had the chance to storm out of the temple, Night Terror made a silly sad face and said, “Quit? You can’t quit now, my friend. You’ve come this far and made so much progress. How can you quit when things are going so well for you? Did you already forget how delicious and wonderful that roasted chicken and red wine will taste? Surely, you can’t get it for free.”

“Oh, shut up, you disgusting prick!” shouted Brock with his arms folded like an annoyed child. “Everybody knows that nothing in this world is for free! That’s why I became a mercenary! It’s called work! You may want to try it sometime instead of irritating the piss out of everyone who comes here!”

“You want money?!” screamed Night Terror, which snapped Brock out of his angry trance. “There are easier ways to make money than by blindly doing what you’re told and going on suicide missions like this one. For example…”


Nightfall had cast its winter shadow over the Steel Wolf Barbaric Tribe. Everyone should have been tucked away in their straw huts for the evening, but the orcish warriors were standing around with their weapons drawn and anxious poses about them. Some of them tapped their feet, some of them banged their spears on the ground, but the seven-foot tall chief sat in his throne of bone with a chest full of gold at his side, his beefy fist underneath his chin, and a vicious look on his face. Their mask should have been retrieved by now in what should have been a simple mission for a simple-minded mercenary.

The orc barbarians got into military stances as the silhouette of a muscle-bound dragon warrior appeared at the wooden gate of their village. The chieftain stood up from his throne, grabbed his chest full of money with one hand, and hauled the heavy equipment toward the shadowy figure, thinking the job was done.

“Brock Soulburn!” shouted the chieftain in his authoritative voice. “We have the money we negotiated for earlier. This chest contains our finest and most ancient gold that we have harvested from our sacred grounds. You can live comfortably for the rest of your life with this kind of gold. All we ask for in return is the Night Terror mask, a treasure more valuable to us than any form of mainland money. Do you have the mask with you?”

The shadowy figure of Brock Soulburn slowly walked into the torch light of the orc village. The other warriors came closer with their spears drawn in case he tried something funny. Their intimidating figures turned to shaky cowardice when they saw Night Terror grafted on the face of the dragon warrior, who said in a newly demonic voice, “Get your own damn mask!”

The possessed dragon warrior breathed fire upon the entire cast of villagers, including the chieftain. This wasn’t ordinary fire. The flames were a bright blood red with a poisonous green center. The flames had also created a much larger blast zone. As they were burning into a pile of ashes, the barbarians’ souls were flowing out of their mouths and into Night Terror’s own sadistic grin. Even the mighty seven-foot tall chieftain dropped to the ground with a thud as his ancient soul was consumed by this savage fire. The more souls Night Terror / Brock Soulburn consumed, the bigger the man-dragon’s belly got. He even let out a loud burp that was so powerful that the flames were put out.

All that remained of this now dead village was that big juicy chest full of gold, to which Night Terror swirled his tongue around his face in anticipation. The mask carried the possessed body of Brock Soulburn over to the chest, who kicked the lock open with deadly force and opened it up to an orgasmic response. So much gold. So much treasure. So much delicious roasted chicken. So much heavenly red wine. In his demonic tone, the possessed Brock said, “Mmmmmmm, yummy food!” before hanging his sloppy tongue off the side and drooling heavily.


message 10: by Natalia (new)

Natalia I really need to be the worst member of this group; I write once or twice a month and then fall off the face of the Earth. I hope you enjoy my story, though :)

Title: Golden Wings
Words: 1206

Up in the air, she felt like nothing bad could ever happen. As Emma soared across the sky with golden-colored wings, she forgot whatever awful things were present in her life; she was able to lose herself between the clouds and the sun and the soft breeze her wings made every time she flapped them. When her feet weren’t touching the ground and her hair hovered behind her back, her eye vision didn’t seem to trouble her anymore and the constant weight on her chest lifted away. For a while, Emma could fly freely and forget the world.

That was, until she woke up.

As soon as she drifted away from unconsciousness and that marvelous fantasy world that came with it, she had to put her thick-framed glasses on to figure out the blurry figures surrounding her. After she had some time to fully open her eyes, Emma had to run to her little sister’s room – silently so she wouldn’t wake her father – and help her dress up and get ready to school. If there weren’t many chores to do at home, she would pick some pseudo clean clothes off the floor and leave the house as well. Every day the same routine. It was tedious and exhausting and plain awful, but what else could she do? She couldn’t just leave it all to her father; he worked really hard to bring food to the table and the least Emma wanted was to anger him.

“You’re twelve-years-old, Emma,” he had told her the first – and only – time she had complained about taking care of little Violet without any help. “You are a big girl now. And big girls help their parents when they need it. I arrive late from work and the least I deserve is to have a couple of beers; would you really deny your poor dad a drink?”

“No, Dad,” she had murmured, feeling suddenly guilty. Why was she even complaining? Her father did everything he humanly could. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey,” his voice was much softer. “Just keep taking care of the house and Violet like you do. After all, you’re the woman of the house.”

A year had gone by since then and Emma had taken her father’s words by heart. With only thirteen-years-old, she had learned to play so many roles in her family it almost seemed impossible; mother, sister, daughter, even maid. And was only once thanked for it.

It was late at night, Violet was already put to bed and Emma was finishing cleaning the dinner dishes when her dad called her from the living room. She walked in, still carrying the dish towel, and found him sitting in front of the TV, with a can in hand.

“Is something wrong, Dad?”

He laughed, as if it was the most comical thing he had ever heard. A bit of yellow beer escaped the can and landed on the couch he was sitting on, but he didn't even look its way and, instead continued to laugh almost maniacally.

“You really are the best daughter one could ever wish for,” he slurred his words and Emma could smell the alcohol in his breath. “So fucking helpful it almost hurts. And pretty, too, just like your mother.”

“Thank you, Dad,” her voice was barely audible; one of her hands was covering her mouth and nose tightly. The odor all over her father – and the living room in general – was making her nauseous and holding her breath just wasn't enough.

“No, thank you, daughter. Thank you for taking care of Violet when I couldn't even step close to her because her fucking eyes are exactly the same as Lilah's. Thank you for letting me drink like I do and not complaining,” he held her by the shoulders, closing some of the distance between them and Emma almost gagged when the smell hit her. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Sometimes I even forget you're my own blood and not some woman I hired to clean up.”

That said, he dissolved into chuckles. Emma, bewildered, removed his sticky hands from her shoulders and run to her room, trying not to over-think about what he had said too hard.

'He doesn’t mean it', she said to herself as a couple of tears escaped her eyes. 'Of course he knows you’re his daughter. He loves you. He’s drunk and confused. You can’t worry about it.'

That was the first night she dreamed about flying. Was it his words that finally broke her? That made her wants to escape? Emma wasn’t sure. No matter the cause, her newly found golden feathers were the best things that had ever happened to her. At night, she lived in complete, careless joy and, during the day, she tried to recall the feeling soaring through the air gave her. She told Violet stories about her dreams and they giggled together as they flapped their arms and run across the room.

Her wings gave her hope and strength to keep going. When her father hit his head drunk on the bathtub; when she had to drop out of school for a year because they needed extra money; when Violet came crying home because her classmates found amusing that she didn’t have a mother.

Until it just wasn’t enough.

Two years had gone by since the first time the golden wings had appeared on her back when her father left. He just arrived from work one day at night and, without even saying “hello”, locked himself in his room with a bottle of vodka. Emma had frowned at the image, not because of the lack of greeting but for his choice of beverage; what was he doing drinking vodka? He had always said that beer was the best drink a man could ever wish for. Something was wrong.

That night, the dream started just like any other. She was smiling to herself as she passed a cloud when she saw a dark spot flying straight to her. For the first time, her vision blurred, just like in real life, and she squinted as she tried to figure out what was coming her way. Too late she realized it was an arrow, which sunk in deep her chest with a thud. Emma watched in shocked as her shirt slowly started to soak in blood, without even realizing she had stopped batting her wings until she felt herself fall. She tried to stay on the air, but every single muscle and bone in her body weighed a ton; she doubted she could have even moved a finger if she tried.

Emma didn’t scream as she fell but just closed her eyes and thought of Violet. Not the sharp pain in her chest, nor anything else was more important than her little sister.

'I’m dying and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. I’m sorry, Violet.'

She was awoken just as she was about to touch the ground. It was her sister in her pajamas, her hair messy and her eyes full with tears. She held a napkin in her tiny fist so tightly it was about to rip.

“I found this in the kitchen, Emma” the seven-year-old said in between sobs. “Daddy’s gone.”


message 11: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Title : Gasbag
Author : Edward Davies
Word Count : 1030
Rating : PG13 for silly toilet humour

“So what seems to be the problem?”

Samuel Lupo stared down at his doctor from his vantage point, floating seven feet off the ground, his back almost touching the ceiling.

“What seems to be the problem?” Sam repeated, “Are you blind?”

“What, no,” the doctor blustered, “I just meant, is the problem your flying or something else. I don’t like to make assumptions. For all I know, you’re perfectly happy floating about the place.”

“Well I’m not,” Sam fumed, folding his arms across his chest while simultaneously crossing his legs at the knee, “I woke up earlier this week, after an intense night of drinking, only to find myself floating everywhere. It’s very disconcerting.”

The doctor took out a note pad and pencil, licking the nib of the writing utensil with a curious tongue, “And you say this has only been happening for less than a week?”

“Yes,” Sam sighed, “I woke up on Wednesday morning to find myself hovering near the ceiling with nothing but a sheet covering me. At first I thought it was just a weird hangover, but I soon realised it wasn’t. I almost fell over in shock, but I couldn’t. Gravity wouldn’t let me.”

“Gravity wouldn’t let you,” the doctor mumbled, making note of everything Sam said, “and you say this just happened without any provocation.”

“Yes,” Sam nodded, “what can I do?”

The doctor put down her notepad, “Well, I have to admit I’ve never come across a case quite like this. Spontaneous floatation is something of a new concept for me.”

“And for me,” Sam agreed.

“Have you tried poking yourself with a pin?” the doctor suggested.

“Poking myself with a—are you insane? What could that possibly achieve?”

The doctor shrugged, “It might release some of your excess gas.”

“I’m not poking myself with a pin,” Sam fumed, “what else can you suggest?”

The doctor stroked her chin, “Let me get this straight,” she began, “you started floating less than a week ago...”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t actually float off into the sky?”

“No,” Sam confirmed, “just roughly six or seven feet above the ground.”

“And if you go, say, onto an upper floor of a building, are you still floating the same distance above the ground on that floor?”

Sam shrugged, “I guess so.”

“Fascinating,” the doctor smiled.

Sam furrowed his brow, “So can you cure me?” he asked.

“I’m going to have to do a little more research,” the doctor told him, “If you can wait outside while I contact some of my colleagues, I shouldn’t be too long.”

Sam left the office, floating through the door into the waiting room. There he could see the other patients sitting, waiting, and he couldn’t help but feel jealous that they were able to sit down. He hadn’t sat down in almost a week.

As he hovered, waiting for the doctor to get back to him, he fumbled in his jacket pocket for something to eat. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and there was usually something n his pockets that he could nibble on; a chocolate bar, or a packet of sweets. He found some loose peanuts and, shrugging at the meagre meal, threw them back into his mouth, chewing slowly to savour the taste.

A little girl stared up at Sam as he chewed on his peanuts, “Mummy,” she asked, “is that man on drugs?”

Her mother frowned, “I’m not sure, dear,” she said, “but that isn’t the sort of high you’re thinking of.”

Sam groaned.

After a little while, the doctor came out of her office, “Mr Lupo,” she beckoned, “if you could join me.”

Sam floated towards the office, ducking to get through the doorway as the doctor closed the door behind them, “I’ve been speaking to one of my colleagues who works in the field of nutrition,” the doctor told Sam as he took up a position once more on the ceiling, “and he has some possible suggestions.”

“Which are?” Sam asked impatiently.

“Well,” the doctor began, “you mentioned thinking that when you began to float it might have been the effect of a hangover.”

“Yes.”

“Well, he was wondering what you’d been drinking the night before.”

Sam furrowed his brow, “Just the usual,” he said, “whisky and coke mainly.”

The doctor smiled, “Well, he suggested that the cause of the floating might be related to you having consumed a large quantity of fizzy liquid, such as coke.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Would you say you drank more than you usually would?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, “maybe a little more.”

“And did you eat anything?” the doctor asked.

“Just peanuts.”

The doctor smiled, “Peanuts,” she repeated, “of course.”

Sam seemed confused, “What is it?” he asked, “What’s so important about peanuts?”

“It’s possible that the build up of stomach gases may have caused you to begin to float,” the doctor concluded, “coupled with the intense build up of gas from the peanuts you confused, I think there’s only one solution to your floating problem.”

“Which is?”

“You need to fart.”

Sam stared down from the ceiling at his doctor, “I need to what?”

“Fart,” the doctor repeated, “there’s a build up of methane gas in your abdomen – you need it to pass through to your bowel and out of your system, then you won’t float anymore.”

“Seriously?”

“Hopefully.”

“Well, what do you suggest I take?” Sam asked incredulously.

The doctor smiled, “What foods make you fart? If you can think of any, eat them. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

“I hope this plan of your works, doc,” Sam said, leaving the doctor’s office, “thanks for your help.”

“Not a problem,” the doctor smiled, calling in her next patient. An elderly woman stood up from her seat, walking towards the office. The doctor didn’t recognise her.

“What seems to be the problem, Ms--”

“Don’t you recognise me?” the woman spoke in a youthful voice, “it’s me, Cassandra!”

“Cassie?” the doctor couldn’t believe her eyes – Cassie was only twenty-eight years old, “What happened to you?”

“Well, it all started on Saturday night,” Cassie began, “when I was at home, eating a bag of prunes...”


message 12: by Jane (new)

Jane Jago Edward wrote: "Title : Gasbag
Author : Edward Davies
Word Count : 1030
Rating : PG13 for silly toilet humour

“So what seems to be the problem?”

Samuel Lupo stared down at his doctor from his vantage point, floa..."


This made me laugh out loud.

Thank you


message 13: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Thanks Jane. Glad it tickled you.


message 14: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Jane Jago wrote: "The Tooth Fairy

Sunday lunch, and Caroline carefully masticated her roast lamb and overlooked vegetables whilst attempting to tune out the carefully genteel tones of her mother-in-law, Marjorie, a..."


A little bit silly - just what I like. :D


message 15: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Joy wrote: "When I saw the topic for this week I couldn't resist writing a story with a hot air balloon So with that said, I present to you...

The Ride Of Her Life
by Joy

“No, No, a thousand times, No!” Tes..."


This was a likeable story, but I couldn't help feeling that it might have been better if Everett kissing that other girl had been a misunderstanding, but he owns up to it. What's to stop him cheating again?


message 16: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9094 comments This is a blog entry I'm about to post on my social media accounts and I think this thread would be a good place to post it as well:



***BEDROOM REMODELING***

It’s the third week in a row and wouldn’t you know it: another one of life’s obstacles is about to limit my time on the computer. First it was the Hawaiian vacation, then it was Typhoon Songda, and now my bedroom is going to be remodeled with new floors and painted walls. This is a project we’ve been meaning to do for a long time, but never had the time or energy to do so until now. All of my furniture will have to be moved out of my room beforehand, which will take a full day and endless energy to do.

Among those pieces of furniture is my computer desk, which is the big reason why my internet time will be limited once again. What I’m hoping for is that this remodeling job will take minimal time and I’ll be able to compete in that week’s WSS contest. I’ve been told it’ll take only a few days, but you never know. If I do compete at the WSS, it’ll be a late entry, but hopefully still on time.

As you can probably tell, this latest development is making me a little testy. I try to whine and complain as little as possible, but this is the third week in a row where my creativity has to take a backseat to everything else. I love competing at the WSS every week, I’ve got a brand new novel to work on, I still have to reedit stories from Poison Tongue Tales, and I still have to beta-read Marie Krepps’ novel Never Again.

The reason this home improvement project has me on edge is because I don’t want to give my online friends the impression that I’m shirking my duties to them. Three weeks in a row looks very suspicious, I know. But I assure you that it’s only a coincidence. I’ll eventually make time to get my creative projects done. I never back out of commitments; that’s not my style.

If there’s any silver lining in all of this, I’ll probably take pictures of my new and improved room and blast them all over social media in case they happen to look artistic. The Hawaiian vacation was basically one big photo safari. Typhoon Songda brought a small kitty to our house. Here’s hoping the bedroom remodeling will bring some more delicious pictures. My walls will be painted cyan and my carpet will be replaced with either vinyl or hardwood. Let’s make some magic!


message 17: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Garrison wrote: "DISCLAIMER: If you feel like this has a Deus Ex Machina ending, please tell me. That's information I need. Otherwise, enjoy!

AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Burning Dragon
GENRE: Dark Fantasy
WORD ..."


This was silly, like an old Looney Tunes cartoon. It also felt a little like The Mask with Night Terror teaming up with Brock Soulburn, but I didn't think it felt contrived - the team-up felt pre-ordained rather than sudden or ridiculous.


message 18: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9094 comments (Brock Soulburn gnaws on a carrot.) "Meh...what's up, doc?"

Thanks for the awesome feedback, Edward. Looney tunes. Hehe! :)


message 19: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Natalia wrote: "I really need to be the worst member of this group; I write once or twice a month and then fall off the face of the Earth. I hope you enjoy my story, though :)

Title: Golden Wings
Words: 1206

Up ..."


This was an odd story. I couldn't actually tell if the father left the girls or drank himself to death - was that intentional?


message 20: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (last edited Oct 18, 2016 11:17PM) (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4216 comments Mariyam wrote: "CJ wrote: "You have until the 18th of October to post a story and from the 19th to the 23rd of October, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best!

Please post directly into the topic and not a ..."


**Major apologies Mariyam for not posting sooner.**

Yes when we have the contests either for the stories or the poems, please post below the threads that say whichever contest of that week.

Note: If you can't do this week's (because of my late reply probably, again sorry!) feel free to do next week's which will be up in a few moments!


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