Love of Writing discussion
Monthly Short Story Contest
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April: Into the woods
Hi Lynette and everyone,Happy Spring, April and new story challenge. Glad to be back after last month had other things that called for my attention.
David
Mod
Hi, David. Yes, Sir. Post your story here in this thread for April. Thanks & glad to see you here again.
Thank you sorry, I have been busy. Two new books coming out.
Gitchy Goomy997 words
by DB Martin - David Brown
Deep in the dark, dark wood of Gloomy Gulch,
Under the moist weeds, moss, and mulch.
There lives a creature, only seen by child,
It lives there alone, in the dark of the wild.
It’s not very big, and it’s not very small,
Some would say it was huge; others wouldn’t see it at all.
And although you’ve probably heard its name, many, many times,
In children’s books and scary nursery rhymes.
I’ve only known one, in all of my days,
Who has seen the Gitchy Goomy, and can tell of his ways.
Right outside the wood at the corner of Ivy and Pine,
In a small little house lived Tyler McVine.
He had just sat down, with a bowl and a spoon,
When he heard noises coming from in the next room.
He put down his bowl on the floor where he sat,
And stood up and listened, why, what was that?
Then he entered the room, but no one was there,
Just a bed, a dresser, an open window, and chair.
Then the noise a little louder, it once again came,
It was coming from outside his window pane.
So Tyler then went to the window to see,
But there was nothing there, just the yard and some trees.
So he went outside to search for the sound,
He went out the front door, along the house, then went round.
Then once he saw there was nothing, he sighed.
Then he heard the noise again like an animal cried.
This time, he could tell for sure, oh yes he could,
That the noise it was coming, from inside the wood.
Now the wood was a place; he was never to go,
His mother and father had both told him so,
Oh the wood they would say is a very big place,
And it is easy to get lost, in that kind of space.
But Tyler he thought that the noise sounded sad,
Help others they would say, both his mom and his dad.
So he thought then decided to go into the wood,
To see if he could help, because helping is good.
He walked through the bushes; he walked through the leaves,
He walked through the shrubs, and out into the trees.
He walked slowly out, listening for a sound,
Searching for the noise, or anything around.
The leaves they crackled in under his shoes,
And the wood grew darker, which wasn’t good news.
Turning around his house, it seemed really quite small
Now with him in the wood, and the trees all so tall.
Walking on, he thought ahead he could see,
Something far out, move in the trees.
So he walked much closer, just so he could tell,
If this was the place where the noise did dwell.
Then in through the bushes and trees,
And in through the twigs, the vines, and the leaves.
There came a rumble, a grumble, a growl,
Something big, why it gave out a howl.
Up ahead of him he could see something there,
Tyler’s feet wouldn’t move, he just stood there and stared.
He could just make it out, something big up ahead
With a bright purple body, and a little green head.
He couldn’t move, he was just way too scared.
I mean what if he moved, what if he dared?
Then standing there only a moment in time,
The beast turned and looked at Tyler McVine.
Now Tyler trembled with fear, he rattled, and shook,
He closed his eyes tight; he just didn’t want to look.
Then slowly he opened his eyes up to see,
The beast looking at him, and Tyler at he.
And Tyler saw that the beast, he was crying,
Why he had a look on his face as if he were dying.
And Tyler stepped forward and asked if he could,
Help him at all, and said that he would.
The Beast looked at Tyler and then looked away.
Don’t look at me he said, I will scare you away.
But why would you scare me that’s not very good,
When I’m trying to help, and I told you I would.
I’m not trying to scare you at all said the beast,
And If I had it my way, why I wouldn’t in the least.
Why, we would be friends and play all day,
That’s the way it would be, if I had it my way.
But that’s not the way; it happens for me,
If I turn around, you will run, and you’ll flee.
It’s just the way I look; it’s just what I do,
When kids look at me, they all scream Boo Hoo.
Well I’m not running, and I’m not afraid,
I’ve seen you, and still, I have stayed.
The beast turned and looked at Tyler McVine,
And smiled a big smile, and boy did it shine.
Why you haven’t run, have you said the beast?
No, you haven’t at all, no not in the least.
You’re not afraid of the way that I look,
Like some big scary beast, from a story book?
Tyler said you don’t look so scary to me,
Why we are just both different, wouldn’t you agree?
I have no problem being friends with you,
My Name is Tyler McVine, why how do you do.
Oh how do you do said the beast, shaking my hand,
I am so glad to meet you, oh really I am.
My name is Gitchy Goomy, and oh how do you do.
I do quite fine, said Tyler, I’m glad to meet you.
And Tyler and Gitchy Goomy, had fun all day,
And became good friends, while they jumped and they played.
And at lunchtime, Tyler went home and he got,
Them both peanut butter sandwiches, with the crust, cut off.
And later as the day slowly came to an end,
Tyler had to say goodbye to his friend.
But Tyler said he would come again to play
And he did almost every single day…
Mod
997 words
by DB Martin - David Brown
Deep in the dark, dark wood of Gloomy Gulch,
Under the moist weeds, moss, and mulch.
That would've been excellent for the 31 Days of October! That was really cute & creepy. :) I had to skim over that since I'm doing billing & dispatching at work.
Glenda wrote: "Gitchy Goomy997 words
by DB Martin - David Brown
Deep in the dark, dark wood of Gloomy Gulch,
Under the moist weeds, moss, and mulch.
That would've been excellent for the 31 Days of October! Tha..."
Deep in the dark, dark wood of Gloomy Gulch,
Under the moist weeds, moss, and mulch.
David, good verse for story one.
David Russell
Struck OutDavid Russell
736 words
We lived outside Red Rock Junction, Idaho for years. My dad worked in the factory that made bats for the major league baseball teams in America and, his dad did too. My sister and I worked in the factory during summers during our teen years. It was that, the pickle factory, bail hay, or lay around home and listen to mom and the other Red Rock Junction women bitch all day about this, that, and the other thing. The latest thing though was the bat factory. The EPA and other groups had been pressuring proponents of baseball to save trees. Become a society less dependent on paper. Stop manufacturing the conventional wooden baseball bat and construct one from plastic or other synthetic materials. It was the mid 21st century and global warming was well under way in North America. People were getting hot under the collar for longer periods of time and less hot in places they used to be.
It was Monday night, council meeting night still across towns and cities in America. There was gonna be a town meeting. Close the bat factory. Close the business that kept this place going. Wages had given people something to do on Friday nights at the Rock Lounge while they gossiped, played cards and country music on the jukebox. They treated their hangovers at the Pancake Stop on weekend mornings over a breakfast that would keep the health professionals in business down in Boise when people reached their 60s.
As sun set in the western sky, we turned into the parking lot with a bright clear sign reading
Red Rock Junction city hall
for this town meeting all about closing the bat factory.
"Hell Shannon, you ready for this shit to come down?"
"No Rob. It's like a natural disaster only planned," I said.
All of us seemed to walk one speed with one unified facial expression into the main room inside. Minutes later Mayor Caldwell called the meeting to order. After all the old shit was dispensed, the new shit happened.
****
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Mayor Richard Caldwell, and most of yous are probably here because of the business item to close the bat factory." A sudden roar went up from the crowd. I guessed it to be protest or collective agreement that the mayor was right about this.
"Well, let us have discussion about this. Who's gonna be first?"
Mrs. Jordan, the town gossip raised her hand and approached the podium.
"Close the bat factory? No way. It gives our men somethin to do. A man needs to work. A man needs to earn a livin and feel good about his self. A woman needs to know her man is out workin and not layin around at home let alone someone elses home. We got enough troubles as it is so keep the bat factory goin so are men keep workin."
She walked back to her seat with no one clapping only slight movement in their seats.
"Next<" said Mayor Caldwell.
I stood up being one not lost for words.
"Mayor Caldwell and people of this community, it's a damn shame that jobs could come to pickles and hay around here. We have provided entertainment for millions of baseball fans for decades. Now, they wanna use a plastic bat because it's environmentally friendly. I'm environmentally friendly with the right guy." Momentary laughter erupted.
"Well, damn that notion. If they wanna close the bat factory - let them. Let's find a cutting edge service and move that here. We're capable, smart, intelligent, tax paying, English as first language people, potato lovers, let's show the world we can rise above any muck we're tossed and get on with life." Applause broke out.
Suddenly, movement occurred. People began to rise from their seats. Were they coming at me? They began to exit the hall and head to the bat factory. It took a couple hours but major destruction occurred and the place was closed permanently by the community's actions.
Collectively, clubs, rocks, bats, matches, anything that would help destruct it tore it down in a unified effort. Several weeks later, a tourist center and water park were planned for the location and it would be called the Inn Field. In its first two years of operation, the facility with organized marketing and PR broke even and in its third year had a significant profit.
End
This is an early draft. Open to suggestions for making it ready for a flash fic website.
David
David, I love the story. I love the uneducated dialect of some of your characters. It read well. I would like maybe more description of the town gossip, I have her pictured in my head. Is this for this month's story? About a book, a disturbance in the trees and a rare creature? The theme being: Encountering the unexpected
Excellent poem, David! David, I understand this is an early version so I start by developing your characters. I don't know what word count you are working with but there is little here to adhere me to the story. I would trim down the backstory and focus on the character development. Just my thoughts.
Looks like a good start to this month's contest.
David, first I want to talk about your poem. It has another name but an't think of it. Anyway you did a really good job. You have a knack for rhyming prose. as far as the expose is concerned, it depends on how and where you want to use it. You have good subject matter.
Shelly what do you mean this story has a different name? Are you talking about what kind of story it is? A narrative story, like the Raven? Or are you saying you have heard something like it before and it had a different title?
Hi Writers,David Russell here.
Lynette and David B, thanks for your comments about my submission "Struck Out." Yes, it's an early draft. The something unexpected is the closing of the baseball bat factory that used wood from the trees in the nearby forest for bat construction.
It is realize now this might be too short for flash fiction and your point, Lynette, concerning developing the character is well taken. The MOOC I took last Fall made the point repeatedly, building character or characters is what makes the story go. I'm slow to get that through my thick skull. Building the world of the story isn't a bad idea either.. Thanks.
David Russell
David, I think character development and world building is a continuous learning process. I hardly profess to be a professional at either of those things. I fact, I consider myself to be somewhere between novice and barely tapping into pro level.I have heard professional authors who written best sellers for decades admit they are still learning how to write. So I guess there is hope for the rest of us as long as we keep writing.
Lynette, Your words are like a fresh cup of dark roast coffee on a chilly day, yummy, tasty, refreshing and appreciated! I am working on my story "Struck Out" (submitted here) and to a critique group figuring out how to create conflict, and how to restart the story up again since a secondary character put it in the hole with his thoughts about what should be done -- nothing. His words took the air out of everyone's confidence, and now I need someone to jump-start the crowd as it were and get them enthusiastic again.. Big sigh....David R
Thanks for the writing challenge, Lynette.The Hairy Man, w/c 658
(This is based on a historical event.)
Living on the Icelandic sea along an unfriendly coastline, it was not unusual for the remains of shipwrecks to drift ashore. One day, centuries ago, villagers found a large body upon their beach.
At first, they thought the man was clothed in a grey robe. It looked human enough from a distance, but as they neared, it became obvious that the body was covered from head to toe, not in a robe, but with long, coarse hair. Several women screamed at the sight and ran back to their homes. A few men – braver they were in numbers – knelt beside the creature and rolled him onto his back.
They each were relieved to find him drowned. At an estimated seven feet tall, and hideous enough to look at dead, if they had found breath within him, there were more than a few men who would have scrambled back to their homes, too, and barred their doors.
“Let’s throw it back into the sea,” a farmer suggested.
“No!” several voices cried out at once.
“Would you want to drag that up into your net?” one of the fishermen asked.
The men gave a collective shiver.
“He can’t be buried in the church cemetery,” the priest said. “That’s holy ground, and I’m fairly certain this thing wasn’t a Christian.”
After much discussion, it was unanimously decided, “Into the woods.”
They rolled the creature onto an old quilt. It took twelve strong men to lift it. All of the men of the village, and several women with a handful of older children made for a large funeral procession. Many carried shovels or hoes. They were followed at the last by the priest, carrying with him his heavy Bible. Perhaps so many came because they wanted to witness with their own eyes the final resting place of this stranger among them.
As they neared the forest, one of the hairy man’s arms flopped out from the quilt. The two men nearest to the appendage yelped and dropped their part of the funeral shroud. At the imbalance, the hairy man tumbled onto the ground. People screamed, and several danced from one foot to another as though the dead could snake his long grey arms over to where they stood.
Back onto the quilt, this time with renewed grips and determination, they followed the trail through the willow scrub and walked into the taller forest. As they entered, the aspens quivered. This was not that unusual of an act. In fact, aspen leaves of ancient Iceland often fluttered in the sea wind. What was strange was that at that time there wasn’t the slightest breeze on the hillside. The villagers knew that even the woods sensed there was something not right about this beached creature.
“There. Over there,” the priest said quickly.
They buried the hairy man in the side of a ravine off the well-worn path, wrapped with the quilt and covered over at last with the dirt. The priest opened his Bible. He said nothing, keeping his face on the words of Scripture. All eyes turned to him. He slammed the book shut, causing several to flinch.
“I can’t,” he said, then turned to go back to the village, but he stopped suddenly. He pulled in a deep breath, looked back at the grave and said, “May God have mercy on his hairy soul.”
This should be the end of the story…but it isn’t.
In the years which followed, some from that area of Iceland have said they have spotted the giant hairy man, standing on the edge of the same ravine, silently staring, staring, staring at them as they walked the path. Others swore that when the land wind blew out to sea, they’ve seen a hairy grey hand in their windows, or even reaching for them in the fog.
Truth or not, I will not judge. I only know what I’ve been told.
Sandy, a beautifully told tale. I love it. Two suggestions. 1. I think he should be hideous enough to look at death, not at dead. 2. I think the title should be "Into the woods." Just suggestions, overall I thought it was wonderful and very well written. You should be proud.
Thanks, David B. Good suggestions. I chose a different title because the monthly topic was already Into the Woods, which I tried to work into the story. As you though it should be the title, I suppose that was accomplished.And your poem was fun. I am SO lousy at poetry. I try it now and then, but find it too difficult. Good job.
Hi guys. Loved your story, Sandy, you presented it in a quaint and interesting way.David that's not the way I read that line in the story. the creature wasn't looking at death The people were brave enough to look at him dead. It is amazing how people can read the same thing differently. And you, Sandy may have written it another way. Which ever, the story was delighful especially the scene wth the quilt when they dropped him. Funny.
Shelly, I think you are right. I believe I read that wrong. Thanks
Yeah. Shelly was right. I was being polite. (Always room for improvement.) But if it was misunderstood by one, then it may need some tweeting. Or not. Thanks for reading it and commenting.
Will get to it next week when my writing spirit is up and about....cheers all
Mod
I hope that you are on the mend after your operation.
The Power of Forgiveness anthology will launch as promised before Easter. Word from Stephanie is that both the cover and book matter have been accepted.
To all my writer friends, have a blessed Easter / Passover weekend.
Agree with Glenda's comments: Heal, Christene. Happy Easter/Passover.
I agree as well. I hope you doing well.
One last thing on the subject of "dead and death" .... that is why punctuation is important. I hope texting doesn't do away with it like it has with cursive writing. Gone is the personal pride of those with beautiful penmanship, letters under glass in museum's, love letters with a ribbon. Tear drop.
Blessings to all this special time of the year.
Thank you for your well wishes, they are much appreciated right now. Wishing you all a Blessed Easter/Passover season.
Shelly, I must assume from your comment that you write letters to friends and family in cursive longhand (as well as texting and emailing, of course). I do.
Hey all,I was invited to participate at the Barnes & Noble book fair on April 22nd at the Bayshore, NY store. Earlier this week I got a call from the Business Development Mgr. who informed me my novel 'First of Jules' was not registered me. The "You know what hit the fan". They finally agreed to put me on consignment for the event, but I have to get registered with B & N for any futureness. I need help. Anyone who has done this please advise. You can call me on my cell if you wish. 516-743-0707. Thanks All.
Mod
I was invited to participate at the Barnes & Noble book fair on April 22nd at the Bayshore, NY store ..."
I just now sent them an email asking about registering:
"Your Question has been Submitted
Thanks for submitting your question. Use this incident number for future communications with B&N Customer Support: #170416-000015
A member of our Customer Support team will get back to you soon."
Mod
Christene wrote: "Thank you for your well wishes, they are much appreciated right now. Wishing you all a Blessed Easter/Passover season."Bless you and hope your recovery is is speedy.
David wrote: "Gitchy Goomy997 words
by DB Martin - David Brown
Deep in the dark, dark wood of Gloomy Gulch,
Under the moist weeds, moss, and mulch.
There lives a creature, only seen by child,
It lives there ..."
Oh my goodness what a rhythm - I could totally imagine this in a childrens picture book...a bit like Dr. Suess. Good show, David:)
David wrote: "Struck OutDavid Russell
736 words
We lived outside Red Rock Junction, Idaho for years. My dad worked in the factory that made bats for the major league baseball teams in America and, his dad did..."
Hi David - a strong moment in a town's history for sure. I sensed the villagers emotions in letting the bat company go. With limited word count, you've accomplished a good story.
In the ending, I'd separate the present tear-down sentence (giving it its own paragraph) from the future success of the new facility;)
Sandy (S.L.) wrote: "Thanks for the writing challenge, Lynette.The Hairy Man, w/c 658
(This is based on a historical event.)
Living on the Icelandic sea along an unfriendly coastline, it was not unusual for the rem..."
Sandy, wonderful tale. Nice detail and tight writing.
Thanks Susan and David B. I look forward to your take on the challenge, Sue. Thanks for welcoming me into this group.
Soren’s Calling – Susan Davis – w/c 967The tree, miles inside the dense Michigan forest, billowed with majestic energy, same as it did fifteen years ago. I’d sensed its power even then, at ten years old. Something marked in my memory like a reoccurring dream called me back to this place.
I touched the kaleidoscope of bark, reveling in its swirls of uneven texture, and swore it shivered. Or was I vibrating to its high frequency? Excitement and exhaustion sliced through me. “Hello, old friend,” I whispered.
A sudden heaviness settled into my body and eyelids. I dropped my backpack and leaned against the tree, bending until I rested on the ground. The sketch book. I pulled it from the pack and thumbed through the pages of my drawings. There he was. I want to see you again.
My eyes closed of their own volition, sending me into the darkness of deep sleep.
* * *
Breaking branches, rustling leaves, and a thud on the ground next to me startled my mind to consciousness. I jumped to my feet, the sketch book landing with Soren’s page open. I glanced at it for a second before scanning the area and seeing nothing.
Then…he stood in front of me.
“Soren?”
His violet-rimmed dark eyes studied me. He’d grown in stature, still long-limbed with clawed hands and feet. His shoulder-length silver hair was drawn away from his sculpted face by a couple slender braids. He sniffed the air and his mouth opened showing long incisors.
“It’s me, Becca.” I reached my hand toward him and he jerked back, snarling, the talons on his fingers displayed in full. The hair across the nape of my neck snapped to attention, reminding me of the graphic way he’d stopped a wolf from attacking us years ago.
Maybe this wasn’t Soren. I lowered my gaze to the drawing at my feet. He stepped closer backing me against the tree, his thin brows pinched together as he studied the drawing. He looked back at me, wide-eyed, and planted his hands on both sides of my head. Somehow we fell inside the tree.
We plummeted into a wind tunnel. His arms locked around me as he spun my body around until our heads were up and our feet were down.
What the heck just happened? I didn’t recall this part.
Warm shimmering light surrounded us, making the violet color of his eyes opalescent as we free-fell in this make-shift elevator of air.
“Becca,” he whispered and nuzzled my neck. “You came back.”
My eyes moistened. “Soren, I’ve missed you.” His earthy cocoa-spice scent doused my olfactory in memories. The three days and nights we’d spent together, climbing the tree, finding mushrooms, swimming in an icy pond, enjoying campfires…until my parents found me wandering the forest alone.
We never went to that forest again for our spring mushroom hunts.
All this time I thought the tree and Soren were figments of a child’s wild imagination. I returned to the forest in hopes of finding the tree, where I’d first fallen asleep so long ago. I lifted my head away from Soren’s shoulder to study him closer. His face appeared more human. The fangs had receded. His ears lost their pointed tips and his nose wasn’t so snout-like.
The tunnel opened into a vast terrain of vegetation, thistle huts, pools, gardens; a whole underground civilization. Our descending slowed until our feet rested on solid ground.
“Where are we?” My focus went ballistic, attempting to take in everything at once.
Soren tapped my chin, closing my mouth.
I laughed. “We didn’t come here as kids. I would have remembered it, especially the trip down.”
“No. Our kind never brings humans here.” He grabbed my hand.
No humans? My stomach roiled and my knees shook then folded. The whole falling through a tree into another world of beings wasn’t connecting inside my brain. A living nightmare might work as not one human knew where I’d gone, too hard to explain a child’s quest.
“Becca, you must stand, now, or everyone will know.” He pulled me up and wrapped an arm around my waist. “We must hurry.”
I jerked to a stop. “I don’t understand. Why did you bring me here?”
“Shhh. No scene. Come now.” His nostrils flared and he eyed the gathering crowd. “Explain in a moment.”
A pack of wolves came to mind. My stomach flipped a couple more times at their red eyes, flaring nostrils, and growing fangs and claws.
Soren yanked me along a narrow grassy path, the others followed on our heels. Their snarls and growls closed in. Soren lifted me in his arms and ran toward a large round hut. He pushed through the fabric-like doorway into a cool dimly lit room. Not one of the creatures entered after us.
“They want to hurt me. Or eat me. Why did you bring me here?”
He set me on my feet and motioned for me to sit on the cot in the center of the room. Then he slid my sleeve above my wrist, his fingertips touched two small scars. “Those are what called you back. I marked you long ago, as you slept, with the intention of giving you another that bonds. It is why we were attacked. Spring is our season to bond, no matter what age, we bound our mate and when the age is ripe, like now, we mate for life.”
“Instinct brought me here? You told me humans aren’t allowed.” My heart beat into my ribs so hard my body moved to its pulse. A mix of emotions swept through me in a shiver.
“There are no humans here, only our mates and us.” His face morphed, fangs extended.
“No.” My voice a mere whisper as he pushed me back and his fangs sank into my neck.
Susan, I loved the story. Good descriptions.
Oh, Susan. You did not disappoint. Loved the way you pulled us smoothly through so many emotions. We wondered at the mystery right along with the narrator. And now you have me, the reader, wondering, "What now?"
David wrote: "Susan, I loved the story. Good descriptions."Thank you, David...glad you liked the story:)
Sandy (S.L.) wrote: "Oh, Susan. You did not disappoint. Loved the way you pulled us smoothly through so many emotions. We wondered at the mystery right along with the narrator. And now you have me, the reader, wonderin..."Thanks Sandy - I appreciate your comments. Always:)
Looking forward to sitting down at a quiet time and reading all of your stories this month. Doing mine this weekend
Nature’s WayBy
Shelly Heskett Harris
1050 words
A giant, flat rock, against an ancient oak, by a bubbling brook, deep in the woods may sound like a setting found only in fiction, but such a place does exist in the woods below my summer cabin and it is my favorite place in the world. I am CEO of a large publishing house in Dallas.. The work is demanding and the stress is unbearable, but I love the job and the way I manage to keep sane is to spend the occasional weekend in the Texas Hill Country.
I may have taken liberty with the bubbling brook reference, but it was a lovely stream with a fiord by my tree. More flat rocks had made a partial dam so the water was shallow and formed the only crossing for miles. On the other bank the woods dwindled and turned into a pasture belonging to the next ranch.
The Texas sun beat down on the tree leaves which tried to act like colorful fans aided by a steady breeze. I was comfortable on my rock in a short set that would have worked for a swim suit. My long hair was up in a bun and my feet were bare. We, Texans know how to dress for Spring. In Summer, we just don’t go outside.
I became aware of a noise in the distance, but didn’t pay much attention to it. I was generously applying bug lotion to myself and fly spray to the air around me. The sound continued, louder and clearer now. It was the crackling and snapping of the of the underbrush, something was coming my way. It was big and fearless and I was a bit concerned. No animal would make so much noise. There was plenty of wildlife around the area, but they stayed away from people.
It could be one of the wild boar. They wreak havoc across So Texas and usually follow the streams and rivers. I looked around for a tree I could climb. There was no way I could make it to the cabin. Those hogs get up to several hundred pounds and are vicious. The sounds across the stream were getting louder and louder. I crouched against the rock and the solid Oak trunk. I had my bug spray in one hand and my rat-tail comb in the other.
Across the creek I caught a glimpse of brown hide too tall for a pig. I melted in relief. It could still be a man up to no good, but I doubted it. I hung there glued to my tree, not moving a muscle and watched the animal’s slow progress. Finally she, it was a deer, a pretty young doe. broke through the vines and shrubs. She halted a moment to rest and then continued her painful journey, descending down the bank and proceeded to cross the stream
Her left foreleg was broken in two, the lower part dangled from the elbow. Every step she took she came down on that raw joint. She left a bloody print with every step. She passed by me so close I could have touched her. Her eyes were glazed over and they seemed to roll with pin. She looked at me, but didn’t recognize an enemy so dismissed me, and continued through the woods evidently to a place where she felt safe.
I gathered my things and went in search of Sam. He is the go-to person, the one who takes care of our cabins, There are ten of us who built beautiful rustic homes that we expect to live in when we retire. Sam manages it all which is quite a job since the community owns a fairly large chunk of land and a cow or two. I found him sitting on the rim of the stock tank waiting for it to fill with water. I slammed on my brakes, left the car door open and ran to the tank.
‘You’ve got to come. ‘ i yelled, though out of breath. I was babbling everything that happened.
“You’re going to have to put her down. She‘s in so much pain and she’ll be a target for the coyotes, they’ll tear her apart.“ I was crying by this time.
“Whoa now, no sense goin’ off half cocked.”
Sam was the typical cowboy from his 6 foot x 2 inch frame, clothed in plaid shirt, blue jeans and boots - run down at the heel. He had weathered skin and the look of a man whose horizons are always in the far distance.
He never used two words when one would do, “Nature’ll take care of it.” he said.
I went back to Dallas with the deer still in mind. . . until the next season’s bestseller came out in competition with New York and the battle began. It was Fall before I could slip away for a week to my cabin. Sam met me at the door and carried bags, got me settled in, and got my approval for the way he stocked the cupboard and refrigerator.
Finally he said, “I saw your deer,”
“Tell me.”
“I can take you down there.”
“Oh, yes, please.
“She has a fawn with her.” he was grinning as he said it.
I was ecstatic. No best seller ever made me feel so good.
The sun was painting a bank of low hanging clouds red and gold against the deep blue of a water filled sky. The pasture grass had been recently mowed and stood a foot high colored bright yellow. Against this natural background a herd of fifteen or twenty deer was grazing.
“I don’t see her.”
“They’ll catch our scent any minute. There!”
Suddenly, every tail flew up exposing white hair on the underside and along both flanks. The danger signal of the white-tail deer telling each other to run. The herd ran in unison, except for one that was slightly out of step. It was my deer. She was running on three legs, the injured limb was gone at the knee, She moved as easily, as the other deer if not as gracefully and the fawn, hightailing it along beside her. They came to the fence and she cleared it with the same grace as the others. The fawn scooted under the fence, caught up with her and they were gone.
I turned all the way around. I looked at the pastures, the woods, the winding trail up to the cabin and finally the shy cowboy and I wondered what I was doing in Dallas.
THis is the wrong copy of my story. This version has 50 too many words. Take the last pargaraph off and the reference to the hogs and that'll do it. Or I can delete it and and re enter Which is the least offensive?the second ending only occured to me when the character became stronger
Setting – any
Plot – your choice
Length: 500 to 1,000 Words
Submission deadline: April 25th 2017
Here are the three components that must be included in this month's challenge.
1. A book
2. A disturbance in the trees
3. A rare creature
Theme: Encountering the unexpected
Genre: Fantasy, Thriller, Sci-Fi, Mystery, Crime, Comedy, Romance, or a mixture (BASICALLY, anything but erotica)
Purpose -
Some fiction writers are looking to win a short story contest, keeping in touch with making deadlines, and/or simply sharpening the skill of writing fiction. The main purpose of this contest is to sharpen plot and character skills, collect your own short stories, receive good feedback, make a good connection with other writers, and take a short break from your current novel to get a fresh view when you return to it.
Rules and Directions -
* Type in English - a minimum of 500 words; a maximum of 1,000 words; no erotica, no profanity.
* Post your title, by line, and word count total in the first line of your story posting.
* Writers are responsible for their own copyright. Authors keep all rights. PRIVACY POLICY IS ENFORCED. COPYRIGHTS AND INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS BELONG TO INDIVIDUAL AUTHORS. THIS CONTEST DOES NOT GRANT ANY PERSON THE RIGHT OR LICENSE TO COPY OR USE OTHER STORIES. EACH STORY IS PROTECTED BY THE COPYRIGHT OF THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR.
* ONE entry per person, must be writer's original work, a final revision, and a new piece of writing. Please do not delete and re-post since this becomes confusing to the readers. Try to post your final revision.
Judging: The story will be judged on creativity, proper grammar, good punctuation, and overall good quality for story.
Voting: Please vote for first, second, and third place. Votes are tallied as follows:
First place: 3 points
Second Place: 2 points
Third Place: 1 point
You are not allowed to vote for yourself. If posting this month, you MUST vote, in order for your story to remain eligible.
Contest opens 03/31/2017 and closes 04/30/2017
Entries must be submitted by midnight on 04/25/2017. Voting will begin at 1201 04/26/2017 and will close at midnight on 04/29/2017. All times are Mountain Standard time.
Here are some story ideas to get the creative juices flowing:
1. She has dedicated her entire career to prove their existence now she found one. However, all the books and research failed to tell her....
2. The memory burned in his adult mind as if it was yesterday. He planned to return here years ago but the years have passed far too quickly? A child's memory now altered by adult contamination but yet nothing had changed. The trees, the smells, the haunting sound...
3. It was a child's tale. Right? But yet here they were in the middle of this cursed forest looking for a creature that is not supposed to exist. Turning as one toward a sound behind them....
4. She opened the worn book and began to read. Page one drew her attention away from everything around her. By page three everything around her...
Feel free to run with one of these ideas or create your own. Have fun and enjoy the great outdoors.