Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 224 (August 4-11). Stories. Topic: Getting Away With Murder.

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message 1: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments You have until August 11 to post a story, and August 12-13 we’ll vote for which one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a story previously used in this group.

Your story should be between 300 and 3,500 words long.

REMEMBER! A short story is not merely a scene. It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

This week’s topic is: Getting Away With Murder.

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a story about anything that has to do with the subject. I do not care, but it must relate to the story somehow.

Have fun!

Thank you to Garrison for suggesting the topic!

message 2: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments Thanks for getting us going, Ryan! And for using my topic idea! :)

This week's story will be another trip into the fantasy genre and it's called "If I Offer You My Soul". Many of you have seen this synopsis in the story ideas thread, but in case you haven't, here it is:


Daniel Slater, Necromancer
Franklin McArthur, Cemetery Watchman
Ashley Marie, Daniel’s Dead Girlfriend

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Ashley was murdered and her killer was never found.

SYNOPSIS: Daniel visits the cemetery in which Ashley is buried in order to bring her back from the dead with his occult magic. He has to perform the ceremony before Franklin has the chance to catch him. Franklin has a shotgun while Daniel only has a poison-coated dagger.

message 3: by [deleted user] (new)

Thank you, Ryan!

Wow, interesting topic, Garrison :)

message 4: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments Thanks, Leslie! :)

message 5: by Rachel (new)

Rachel This reminds me of the new show coming out "How to Get Away with Murder."!

message 6: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan | 4795 comments I'm going to try and write a story for this before school starts on Wednesday :P

message 7: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments Happy writing, Angie!

message 8: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan | 4795 comments Thanks Garrison!

message 9: by Angie (last edited Aug 04, 2014 05:03PM) (new)

Angie Pangan | 4795 comments Title: Rebel with a Smile
Words: 695
Feedback always welcome!

Bernadette walked up the hill awkwardly in her cheer uniform. She’d always hated cemeteries. But she was vacationing in Florida when Chloe had died and hadn’t gotten home until after the funeral. To be honest, she’d been guilted into visiting Chloe’s grave by her mother and only came because she had expected the cemetery to be empty that day.

She contemplated escaping back to her car when she saw a woman in yellow kneeling at Chloe’s grave—the plot was still fresh. Chloe hadn’t been dead long enough for grass to grow. Something stopped cheerleader. She recognized the woman: she was beautiful, with long auburn hair and flawless skin. She was exactly as Bernadette has always wished to look. Madeleine. Even the woman’s name was elegant and lent itself to lovely endearments like Maddie or Del, while she often endured horrible nicknames like Bernie.

Bernadette bit her lip self-consciously before standing beside the young beauty; she should have dressed in something nicer and done her hair more prettily. “Del?”

Crystalline blue eyes looked up at her. “Do I know you?”

“I—” What was she supposed to say? She regretted coming; she didn’t know how to deal with mourners. She hadn’t even known Chloe that well; it wasn’t worth the effort. “I had dance with your sister.” Bernadette gestured awkwardly at the headstone. “We were in the same studio. She talked about you sometimes.”

Del grinned brightly up at her. “I’m glad that you came. It’s nice that Chloe has visitors.”

“I—um… How are you so happy?” Weren’t mourners supposed to be sad? Shouldn’t you cry when your little sister commits suicide? Chloe had idolized Madeleine; surely her sister had loved her back? After all, Del was visiting her grave and had laid sunflowers by the headstone.

“Because I’m at war.”

Bernadette didn’t know how to answer that. Was the woman insane? Her friendly smile and light tone were at odds with the gravity of her words. “With who?”

“The ones who killed my little sister.” She shook her head. “They might get away with her murder, but I won’t let them win.”

“Who killed your sister?” Madeleine was obviously unstable and couldn’t accept Chloe’s suicide. It was best to placate her and follow along until Bernadette could run away.

“Let’s go for a walk,” the girl suggested amiably. When she stood, she was a foot taller than Bernadette.


Madeleine took her arm before Bernadette could escape, leading her down a grassy path. “They killed Chloe. She was the kindest, smartest, most beautiful girl I’d ever met.” Bernadette didn’t particularly agree. Chloe had been somewhat chubby and slowwitted. “They killed her because all they do is try to tear down the ones with the potential to rise above them.”

“Who?” Bernadette asked again uncomfortably.

“Society, of course.”

“I don’t understand. How did they kill Chloe? She was a—” She stopped herself before finishing with “suicide”; Madeleine clearly did not accept that her sister had died by choice.

“The world is so dark. Have you ever noticed that everything on TV, all of it, just tells you that you’re not good enough? Society sets an unattainable standard and scorns everyone for not meeting it.” There was something seriously disturbing about the smile in her eyes; how could she sound so wise and calm despite her obvious insanity?

Madeleine continued. “The world will kill your soul, just like it did Chloe’s. She spent years trying to be just like me when she was perfect just the way she was. There will be no justice for her murder, but I won’t let them win the war.” Bernadette saw tears glistening in her eyes despite her beaming face. “They can’t take away my joy. They won’t bring me down. I won’t let them win.”

For lack of a better response, Bernadette backed away. “I’m late for cheer practice. I have to go.”

A look of sadness crossed the woman’s face. “I hope that you’ll understand one day. Maybe one day you’ll join the rebellion.”

The cheerleader took off running, wanting to get away as fast as she could. Away from that brilliant smile and pitying stare.

message 10: by [deleted user] (last edited Aug 04, 2014 05:13PM) (new)

Good story, Angie! I do notice that you slip into present tense once ("Madeleine continues.") Also, I understand you wanted an open ending but it did feel a little incomplete, in my opinion. Still, though, lovely story!

message 11: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan | 4795 comments Thank you, Sophie :)

message 12: by Saira (new)

Saira (herumouni) | 667 comments I'm trying!

message 13: by [deleted user] (new)

Angie, It was a very good story. I understand exactly what you mean about society and it is such a shame that so many people try to conform to what they think everyone else wants them to be. Many years ago, I tried to rid myself of this world as well. Thank God I did not succeed. I have learned to be "myself" in many instances and not worry about what others think. It is a process though!

I kind of agree with Sophie. It did feel a little incomplete to me as well. Maybe you could have Bernadette thinking of volunteering for a suicide hotline or thinking of some way do something to honor the suicide victim as she walks away. Just a thought ... Otherwise, very good concept and very well written! :)

message 14: by [deleted user] (new)

Here is my short story submission for the topic: Getting Away With Murder. Feedback ALWAYS welcome!

TEXAS HEAT by Melissa Andres
Word Count: 798

He sat in the back of the courtroom, a blank notebook balancing on his knees; a cheap but presentable suit causing the Texas heat to feel even hotter.

The small room was packed with onlookers. The defendant's family, friends and acquaintances. Jury and attorneys. News reporters. Cameramen.

Tugging at his tie, he wiped away a trail of perspiration trickling down the side of his neck.

"Hell of a day for the air conditioning to go out in the building, huh?" A pretty, long-legged brunette to his left exclaimed.

"Exactly," the man replied, his eyes climbing discreetly up the stripes on her short skirt.

"I'm Daria Copeland," she offered a heavily jeweled hand.

"Gentry Awler," he responded with a hearty handshake.

"Gentry Awler?" Daria smiled widely. "The true crime writer? Oh my goodness! I am such a fan. I've read all your books." She began shoving long tendrils of hair behind her diamond-studded ears.

"All three of them?" Gentry giggled comfortably.

"Oh, yes," Daria gushed. "Not that I am a fan of crime, of course, but your writing is so, I don't know." She crossed and uncrossed her legs. "It's just like you were there when it happened."

"Well, I will take that as a compliment, ma'am," Gentry winked and opened his notebook lazily.

"So, do you go to trials to get ideas and stuff?" The young woman was intrigued. "I mean, in your first book, 'Indication', you were so descriptive. How do you do that?"

Gentry shrugged his shoulders playfully. As he opened his mouth to speak, he heard the bailiff's booming voice.

"All rise! The Honorable Henry Scheiner presiding!"

The trial had been long, boring and tedious. There wasn't much physical evidence but many witnesses had taken the stand, providing statements about what they "thought" they saw or didn't see. Those witnesses were very convincing.

It didn't look good for Willy Mullins.

Gentry Awler scooted toward the edge of his seat in anticipation.

"And in your second book, 'Out of Reach', the description of the victim not being able to reach the knife because of the killer's boot on his hand was just spine tingling," Daria continued on in a whisper.

Gentry grabbed the woman's wrist and squeezed; shushing her.

The jury, a diverse group of eight men and four women had spent four days in deliberation.

Judge Scheiner, an extremely large man with a kind face, peered over the top of black-framed bifocals at the foreman. "What say you?" Scheiner prompted.

"Guilty, your Honor."

Gentry squeezed Daria's wrist tighter as he watched Willy Mullins slump forward and heard the sobs escape his slight frame.

Daria began to shake violently. Wrenching herself from Gentry's grasp, she flung her hands over her mouth.

"Mr. Mullins, you will be remanded to the State Penitentiary for ninety-nine years for the shooting death of Alexis Glenn."

Murmurs and gasps waved throughout the courtroom.

Daria scrambled over the seat in front of her but Gentry grabbed her elbow.

"Hey, calm down. He did it. He needs to be punished." He yelled over the din.

"No, no, he didn't do it!" She sobbed. "He couldn't have!"

"And why not?" Gentry's eyebrows knitted together.

"He's my boss. I know him. He just couldn't." Wet mascara darkened her upper cheeks.

Judge Scheiner banged his big wooden gavel and ordered quiet. With a quick lift of his index finger, the robed man prodded the removal of Willy Mullins.

Raising his head, the convicted murderer began to wail. Kicking, shoving and profanity quickly followed. Deputies tightened their grip on the man.

"I didn't do it. I didn't do it," he screamed. "Please, I have a wife. I have children! I didn't even know that girl!"

Banging his gavel once again, Judge Scheiner chastised Willy for his outburst. "That's quite enough, Mr. Mullins. When you do something wrong, you have to pay the consequences."

Gentry scribbled the word 'consequences' into his notebook and circled it several times before he looked up.

Willy Mullins was being half-dragged across the tile floor toward a side door when he broke away.

"I beg you," he pleaded with the judge. "Don't do this to me. Don't do this to my family." His arms flailed wildly. "I didn't do it. Someone else did!" Willy turned toward the crowd. Anger filled his dark brown eyes. Those eyes stung as they scanned numerous faces.

"You!" He pointed. "It was you!" Willy Mullins took two steps forward but collapsed to the floor as bullets ripped through his torso.

Gentry Awler shoved his notebook under his arm and slipped from the room, undetected amongst the stifling chaos.

"Getting away with murder is easy," he smiled evilly as he walked down the cracked sidewalk in his dusty boots.

message 15: by [deleted user] (new)

J Liana - Thank you! I am glad you enjoyed my story. I am about to read yours.

message 16: by [deleted user] (new)

Wow! Very good, J Liana! I was so interested and just wanted to keep reading and reading. You really captured my attention with this one! I can imagine this turning into a novel with a lot of twists and turns! I love your writing style and hope you stick around the group for a long, long time so I can read many more stories and poems! Seriously!

message 17: by [deleted user] (new)

You're welcome, J Liana! And thank you for accepting my friend request also! :)

message 18: by [deleted user] (new)

Melissa, good story! Lovely setup to the ending. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Angie, I just want to clarify. I don't think the idea for the ending is incomplete, I just thought the wording of your last sentence was not as strong as it could've been.

message 19: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: If I Offer You My Soul
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
RATING: A hard PG-13 for language, violence, and necrophilia references. Consider yourself warned.

Daniel Slater wasn’t in a huge hurry to bring a knife to a gun fight. He may have been a necromancer with phenomenal cosmic powers, but even he was no match for Franklin McArthur’s shotgun, which was locked and loaded. As Franklin, the cemetery watchman, waved his flashlight around the front gate, he wasn’t able to pick up the image of Daniel hiding behind a tree. The scraggly bearded old man walked away satisfied nobody was going to try to break into his graveyard.

The black trench coat-donning, silver-haired necromancer dropped from his hiding place onto the sidewalk outside the gate. He had been perched up in a dying tree this whole time and now with Franklin gone, Daniel pulled out his poison-covered dagger and slashed the chained lock off the cemetery gate. He also pulled out a yellow salve from his coat pocket and poured it over the gate hinges so they wouldn’t creak upon opening. Daniel slowly opened the gate and tiptoed across the wet grass while staying away from Franklin’s shining flashlight.

The gravestone he was looking for wasn’t very well hidden. In fact, a few more quiet, yet quick steps brought him to the resting place of his dead girlfriend, Ashley Marie. Upon seeing her name scrawled across the tombstone, Daniel forgot time was of the essence and gently brushed his hand across the marker as he reflected on his love for the girl who occupied it.

They both came from dark pasts and when they found each other, happiness took over them. The depressed mood returned to Daniel when Ashley was found naked on her bed with her throat slashed. That mental image was enough to conjure up a solitary tear in Daniel’s eye. “You’ll be with me once again, my love. Nobody will take you away from me ever again,” he said.

Enough time was wasted on sentiment. Daniel had to hurry up and cast this spell to bring his girlfriend back from the dead before Franklin McArthur returned with his shotgun ready to fire. The necromancer pulled out an old scroll and unfurled it while holding his magical dagger in the other hand.

He began speaking in occult tongues as his dagger glowed with neon purple energy. The further into the chant he got, the brighter the dagger glowed. Daniel raised the blade up high and brought it down into the grass where Ashley Marie laid. Purple electricity surged through the grassy burial site until the spell was over.

Daniel stood back up with a smile on his face, but lost his happy expression when the spell appeared not to work. Truth be told, this particular spell had only been cast a few times since necromancy’s conception. Daniel was so caught up in the emotions of seeing his girlfriend again that he didn’t even take that into consideration.

The necromancer breathed a deep sigh as more quiet tears rained from his eyes. “I’m sorry, my love. It was all for nothing,” he whispered. Daniel turned around and got a face full of halogen light. Sure enough, Franklin caught him and was pointing his double barrel shotgun at the wizard’s face.

“I thought something funny was going on when the lock was slashed in half,” said the watchman in his signature southern accent. “Nobody does voodoo bitch magic on my property. I don’t give a damn who in your family you miss.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll leave your property right away,” said Daniel, knowing he didn’t stand a chance in this potential fight with just a magical dagger.

Franklin spit tobacco on the ground and said, “I don’t think so, son. I don’t know what it was you were trying to do to that poor girl, but it’s a good thing I caught your ass. You probably wanted to get your freak on with her or some shit like that. You’re not going anywhere, buddy. I’m going to paint that girl’s gravestone with your blood!”

Daniel didn’t want a fight, but he got one anyways. He ducked down and hid behind a nearby grave as Franklin fired the first shot across the night sky. All it did was chip off a piece of the stone without harming a single hair on Daniel Slater’s body.

The necromancer continued to run across the gravestones with his body down low while Franklin shot at him some more. Tombstones were being blown to bits all in the name of killing one measly little trespasser. Pebbles were bouncing off of Daniel’s arms and legs and clouds of stone dust were cutting off his oxygen supply.

During this chase, Daniel tripped over a rat that was darting across the graveyard and fell face first on the grass. He scrambled to get back up again, but felt a heavy boot come down on his ankle. The necromancer screamed in pain until he was told to “shut up” by Franklin, who was holding the end of the shotgun against the back of his skull. “May God have mercy on your soul, you sick freak!” yelled the southern watchman.

“Shouldn’t somebody be saying that to you right now, Franklin?” said a feminine voice. Franklin and Daniel looked behind them to see Ashley’s dirty and bloody corpse standing where her gravestone used to be. Even in death, she was still beautiful.

Franklin smacked Daniel in the head with the butt of the shotgun and yelled, “What the hell are you doing in my graveyard, boy?! You trying to turn my clients to zombies or some shit like that?! You’re going straight to hell after I get finished with you, little man!”

“Hell?! Did you say something about hell?!” said Ashley Marie. “I’ve been there before. Except they don’t call it hell nor is it the fiery pit your preacher talks about every Sunday. You want to know what hell is, Franklin? Hell is knowing you’ll never see the ones you love again. Hell is being unable to help your loved ones when they need it the most. Hell is knowing your killer is a Jeff Foxworthy reject who kills women before he takes them to his graveyard and…” She began to tear up. “I can’t even say what you do to those poor women. I have a hard enough time saying what you did to me!”

Daniel came out of his dazed stupor and asked Ashley if what she said was true. Franklin answered for her. “Of course it’s not true! What kind of pervert do you think I am? I’m running an honorable business here and your girlfriend is trying to slander me from beyond the grave! This is bullshit!”

The necromancer breathed heavily in anger as he clutched the hilt of his dagger and whispered, “Are you calling my girlfriend of ten years a liar? Are you trying to get away with murder? No wonder you never got caught. Everybody here thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced fucking bread. I don’t think you’re great at all, Franklin. In fact, why was I even running from you in the first place?!”

Franklin pointed the shotgun at Daniel’s bruised face, prompting the latter to sarcastically say, “Oh yeah, that why.” before grabbing the end of the weapon and pulling it away. In a split second, Daniel plunged the magical dagger into Franklin’s black heart and injected a flood of purple and green poison in his bloodstream. The psychopathic watchman screamed in pain until the poison was gathering in his throat and turning his body to a puddle of goop. It was a painful, yet fitting way to die for this sicko.

Once the battle was over, Daniel and Ashley ran into each other’s arms and embraced tightly while professing their love for each other. They even kissed despite the decaying flavor in Ashley’s mouth. As far as Daniel was concerned, it tasted better than eating a juicy sirloin steak.

After the tender moment of undead love, Ashley hung her head and sobbed softly to herself. Daniel asked her what was wrong and she said, “You know we can’t be together forever, right? I have to go back to the spirit world eventually. I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m so sorry!”

The necromancer hugged his corpse girlfriend tightly and said, “I feel better knowing your killer has been caught. I’ll feel even better if we get to spend some time together before you have to return to death.”

Their moment of romance was cut off by the distant sound of police sirens. Ashley brought Daniel’s face close to hers for one more wet kiss before she said, “You need to leave here immediately. You can cast this spell as many times as you want. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

“Not to worry, my love. No tin god with a badge nor a disgusting undertaker shall keep me away from you forever. Maybe for a little while, but never forever. Goodbye, sweet princess. Rest well,” said Daniel.

He gave her one final kiss on the mouth before putting her spirit back to rest and making a mad dash out of the back entrance to the cemetery. He left just in time for the cops to show up looking for their next big case. Daniel didn’t care if they found out about Franklin McArthur’s sickening activities or not. The cops were never a necromancer’s friend anyways.

message 20: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments Angie, this is an inventive setup with the whole “society’s against us” deal. I’ve always thought that way about society and its way of pushing people into conformity. A little rebellion never hurt anybody. If I could give one piece of advice, it would be with the premature way the story was ended. Getting away from Madeline was way too easy for Bernadette. There should be some kind of struggle between the two for supremacy. But that’s just my opinion. Great story this week, Angie!

Melissa, that was a nice little swerve you pulled there with the writer being the killer. If anybody would have the expertise to do it, it would be a mystery writer with all the research and shadowing they do. In such a small number of words, you were able to depict the feeling of a courtroom drama perfectly. Good job!

J Liana, a school for getting away with murder is an innovative use of such a violent prompt. I’m reminded of the song “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2” by Pink Floyd every time I think about your entry this week. The only difference is being stabbed to death or framed for murder is a hell of a lot scarier than marching through a cookie factory and plunging into a meat grinder. You definitely know how to pull the reader into your story and not let go. Excellent work this week!

Garrison, I think you’re starting to scare off some of the younger readers with your story about necromancy. In fact, I’d even say this is worse than the time you screamed in horror at the hospital after getting your blood drawn. All those kids in the waiting room ran up the stairs not wanting the same thing to happen to them (even though it was only a needle prick). How do I know about what you did in the hospital? Because once again, I’m talking to myself. What can I say? Sometimes I need expert advice! Hehe!

message 21: by [deleted user] (new)

Sophie and Garrison - Thank you so much for the compliments! You make me feel really good about my writing and that's just one reason I love this group so much!

Garrison - I am about to read your story. I know it will be wonderful as usual. I will comment shortly.

message 22: by [deleted user] (new)

Garrison - Very well written! Great concept! I never would have thought of anything like that. I only have one little criticism and even that isn't a big deal. I was really sucked in and then you mentioned Jeff Foxworthy. (I LOVE Jeff Foxworthy!) but that particular moment made the story sound corny to me and I don't think that was your intention. I'm not sure how you could re-word that sentence but maybe just use the word redneck or hillbilly or something of that nature. Just my opinion and observation. Otherwise, great story!

message 23: by [deleted user] (new)

Good story, Garrison! I did think it got a bit cheesy in the later parts with Daniel and Ashley kissing and professing their love for each other. Also, you can scream as much as you want at the hospital; I get shots every day and one needle prick doesn't hurt me at this point.

message 24: by [deleted user] (new)

J Liana, good story! I do wish I could've had more info about the school, after all, it is such a strange assignment. But it was a compelling story all the same!

message 25: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments I appreciate the honest feedback, Melissa and Sophie. When it eventually comes time to edit my story, it'll be easy-breezy-lemon-squeezey. :)

message 26: by Anne (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments Angie wrote: "Title: Rebel with a Smile
Words: 695
Feedback always welcome!

Bernadette walked up the hill awkwardly in her cheer uniform. She’d always hated cemeteries. But she was vacationing in Florida when..."

Awesome story, Angie! And there's so much truth in it, unfortunately. I was afraid you were going to have Del kill the cheerleader as a symbol of the society that killed her sister, so I'm glad for the ending you gave it.

message 27: by Anne (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments Melissa wrote: "Here is my short story submission for the topic: Getting Away With Murder. Feedback ALWAYS welcome!

TEXAS HEAT by Melissa Andres
Word Count: 798

He sat in the back of the courtroom, a blank no..."

What a surprise ending! I really enjoyed the story and I really like the way you write. My only question is, why did he shoot the guy? It didn't really seem necessary at that point; he was convicted. If he'd had any proof anyone else had done it, he would have given it to his lawyer. It just sounded like the ranting of desperation. Also, I think it would be hard to get away with shooting someone in the middle of a courtroom and expect that no one would have seen anything, especially since he was famous. That was the only part that was a little hard to grasp. But other than that, I really liked the way it played out.

message 28: by Anne (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments J Liana wrote: "Something happened to the file that had my story, so I had to whip up another one. If anyone understands the references, you are awesome!! Feedback welcome at all times :)

Daughter of Evil

I love fantasy, so I love the creativity of this! I really liked the concept and thought the writing flowed well and kept my interest. I was very interested in learning how a girl, so obviously unsuited for such a school, ended up there. So I would have loved a little more background about the school and how it fit in the world-at-large. Thanks for a good read.

message 29: by Anne (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments Garrison wrote: "AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: If I Offer You My Soul
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
RATING: A hard PG-13 for language, violence, and necrophilia references. Consider yourself warned.

Excellent story, Garrison. i was riveted! I really liked the ending; it had a feel-good feeling about it. I'm glad you were able to get it in.


message 30: by Anne (last edited Aug 07, 2014 04:25PM) (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments Title: Rainbow's End
Author: Anne
Word Count: 697
Genre: Pure Fantasy

He was a fairy.
The flitting-around-on-gossamer-wings kind. But flitting – that was for a lazy day. Right now he was bubbling with excitement at this new world he’d discovered. Zooming like a rocket, he headed straight for the flowers that were larger than life. He rolled around in the pollen, savoring the silky folds, and sipped the honey nectar. The sweet, dizzying scent was intoxicating. Sated and exhausted, he allowed himself to languish on the velvet leaves. Ahh. This was the life he was born to live.

He was an explorer.
He loved to find out about things. Like where the gold dust was hidden under the mountains, how much silver was buried in the sea, where the largest crystals came from, and what secrets lay in the deep underground caves. The other fairies were content to spin their gossamer, sing their songs, weave their grass-baskets, and brew their honey-dew. Not him. Leaping onto the nearest rainbow and sliding down to the end was always sure to bring him someplace new -- where undiscovered treasures were just waiting for him. It was a good thing no one else knew how to unravel the secrets of the rainbow’s end like he did.
Which is how he came to be here. A new private place that no one else knew about. And just in time, too. Because you couldn’t really keep a secret for very long in Fairyland. Each one’s personality, thoughts, and feelings were typically visible for all to see. Like a beacon shining in the dark, it was hard to hide anything. Not impossible, but exerting. It made his life very difficult. But all that had changed now. Unlike the other rainbow-end places he’d discovered, he was now no longer inside Fairyland. He could sense there were none of his kind here. And the other creatures he’d seen so far were not communicative in the same way.

He was a chameleon.
Like all fairies, he had the ability to blend in wherever he wanted to. A natural protection against predators, it also made it easier to hide from the others as long as he froze his mind at the same time. But it was harder to keep it up for long. It had certainly come in handy today. Didn’t the others understand it was all a big mistake? His cousin, Clovis, should have known better than to provoke him like that. Just because Clovis was a fairy prince, he thought he could boss him around, make him work at stupid worthless jobs, take away his precious store of treasures. Who was he to say that the gifts of the earth belonged to all? Was he supposed to just give everything up that he’d collected? He didn’t really mean to pull Clovis’ wings off, well, not completely he didn’t. But he was just so angry. All the fairies knew that losing their wings was paramount to a death sentence. Without their wings, fairies were too vulnerable to other creatures, all of whom were much larger. There was no escape from their snapping teeth and greedy claws. So he blended himself into the background and froze his mind while the other fairies raced to save Clovis. They had heard his cries of torment. But it was too late. He heard the accusations in their minds. “Murderer,” they screamed at him. They had scoured Fairyland looking for him. But he was able to escape.

He was a victim.
They just didn’t understand him -- if they’d only leave him alone... His thoughts now allowing him no rest, he picked himself up off the velvet leaves and went in search of new distractions. He was very close to the rainbow’s end where he had landed. He was surprised to see it was still there. And then, too quick for him to react, he felt the pull and found himself unable to move. Stunned, he looked up to see Meara, Clovis’ mate, standing there, eyes blazing, and holding his wings in her hand. Appalled, he watched her crush them to dust. As she rose in the air, she said, “You really thought you could get away with murder? Well, I CAN!"

message 31: by [deleted user] (new)

Garrison - Glad you didn't take my small criticism as something big! You know I think you are an excellent writer!

Anne, Maybe I didn't make it clear enough in my story but Willy wasn't shot by the writer -- the bailiffs and other deputies opened fire on him because he was trying to step into the crowd. Willy did not realize that Gentry was the killer until the very end. Something he had seen or heard made him recognize the man. Gentry just sat and watched Willy being shot to death in the courtroom - therefore getting away with not just one murder, but actually two. He had committed murders before, hence his being able to write true crime books. He set things up, made it all look like it was someone else and then wrote a book about it. Famous people can become famous by doing strange things -- and getting away with it! I thought that was all implied. I am truly sorry if I confused you.

message 32: by [deleted user] (new)

I really liked your story, Anne. I really liked your title and how you started each paragraph with a one sentence description. Nice job!

message 33: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments You're such a sweetie pie, Melissa! :)

message 34: by [deleted user] (new)

Awww....thank you, Garrison! :) You are a sweetheart too!

message 35: by Anne (last edited Aug 07, 2014 03:48PM) (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments Melissa wrote: "Garrison - Glad you didn't take my small criticism as something big! You know I think you are an excellent writer!

Anne, Maybe I didn't make it clear enough in my story but Willy wasn't shot by t..."

Thanks Melissa -- that makes much more sense. I figured Gentry had set up other murders for his books & had gotten away with them, so I did get that part. But I was probably reading too fast, so didn't stop to think about who was most likely to do the killing here -- Yeah, it wouldn't have really fit with Gentry's character, now that I think of it. Thanks!
...And thanks for your kind comments about my story. Glad you liked it.

message 36: by [deleted user] (new)

Anne, Not a problem at all. Sometimes I get ideas in my head, put them on paper and just assume that everyone else knows what is in my mind (how scary is that? haha!)

message 37: by Anne (new)

Anne (annefrn) | 916 comments I do the same thing! When I write something, it all seems so obvious to me!

message 38: by Rachel (new)

Rachel Heinen | 134 comments Title: The Innocent and the Soulless
Word Count: 1156

I’ve done a lot in my days. I’ve fought in wars and killed people. I’ve stolen and cheated, but I have never sunken as low as did that night.

It was a dark and terrible night and my daughter, Alison, invited me to dinner at her house. I was happy at the time, because my daughter and me weren’t on the best of terms after an argument we had over a man she liked. I, of course, asked her why she wanted me to come over again we just had dinner the other night. She said she just wanted to talk to dear dad. So, I grudgingly came silently hoping she would provide me with some alcoholic beverages.

Upon my arrival she greeted me heartedly and hastily asked me to sit down. I obliged and took a seat at the long table. She quickly brought me some of my favorite whiskey and as soon as I drained my cup she brought me more. I drained the second glass, too, enjoying the familiar numbness that the alcohol brought me. A little while later she brought out the magnificent dinner she made. It was my favorite, chicken and vegetables. While we ate we continued a normal conversation. But the longer we talked the more I noticed things.

Alison was being too formal with me. Alison was only formal with people she didn’t like or when she was hiding something. She had the gift to make everything seem casual. Even when meeting someone for the first time she found a way to relate and make it seem like they’ve known each other since they were kids. But here she was talking to me like I offended her and she was trying to be polite about it. At the precise moment that I realized this I knew she was hiding something.

“What are you hiding?” I demanded.

“N-nothing father.” She stuttered back at me.

That sentence confirmed my fears. She was lying to me.

“How dare you lie to your only father. The father that clothed and fed you even after your dear, beloved mother passed away! You disgrace her memory you lying, conniving weasel!” I yelled rising out of my chair and spitting in her face.

“B-but father I did it for a g-good reason. I had to get you here. So I could tell you.” she said nearly in tears.

“Tell me what.” I yelled, spitting some more.

“I-I had to tell you th-that I’m going to marry Christian. I-I know you don’t like him, but I really do love him.” At that the doorbell rang. “Oh he’s here. You’ll see father. He really is nice and caring.”

She ran to go get him. At this point I was so mad I was practically boiling. When she returned holding Christians evil, disgusting hand I knew I had to do something.

“Excuse me, Christian, but could I please talk to my daughter alone.” I said as politely as I could to restrain myself from strangling his evil, disgusting neck.

“Of course” he replied as if I needed his permission.

“Come on Alison.” I said commandingly.

Alison followed me into one of the adjacent rooms. I remembered this room. All that was in it was a big purple, velvet armchair. Though Alison and I knew that under the chair was a secret cubby hole that was to hide in if anyone ever broke into the house. As soon as she got in the room I closed the door with a loud slam.

“Alison what were you thinking. You can’t marry Christian.” I said adamantly.

“Of course I can marry him with or without your permission. I just thought it would be nicer if we had your blessing, but if you can’t even try to get to know Christian we can just move away and never see you again.” she said matter-a-factly.

“You will do no such thing.” I yelled.

“I will and you can’t stop me.” she yelled right back.

“I won’t let you.” I screamed and pulled out my knife ready to stab her.

“Father, put the knife down. You don’t really want to hurt me. You know you will regret it.” she pleaded.

“Are you going to marry that evil, soulless creature?” I asked.

“Father-” she began.

“No. It’s a yes or no question. Answer it.” I cut her off.

“Yes, father I’m going to marry him. I love him.” she said as the tears start rolling down her face.

“Then I can’t love you.” I screamed stabbing her deep in the chest and she fell back in the big armchair.

The moment I stabbed her I regretted it. I let go of the knife leaving it buried in her chest.

After that I realized that I couldn’t get caught. Besides Alison wouldn’t want me wouldn’t want me to be locked up for this misunderstanding. It was just one little lapse of judgement. Then I got this good idea. I was going to frame the one who caused all of this. The one who turned my daughter from an innocent creature to a soulless idiot. I was going to frame Christian.

First thing I did was call the police, so that they would show up. Then as I heard the police make their way toward the house. I proceeded with my brilliant idea to get the sick, twisted man that corrupted my sweet, innocent Alison.

“Christian!” I bellowed, “Come quick something wrong with Alison.”

Then, as Christian ran toward the room, I hid in the cubby hole. Just as I got settled Christian ran in seeing Alison laying in the chair. He runs to her.

“Ally!” he screamed, “Ally, no, no, you can’t be dead. We are going to get married and be together.” He started crying and pulled the knife out of her chest.

Right as he pulled the knife out the police burst in grabbing Christian and arresting him.

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” He screeched.

I just sat in my clever little hiding space and laughed.

After the police left with Christian. I got out of my cubby hole and went home where I drowned my sorrows in whiskey. I drank more than I should have but that night I did worse.

The next day they came and told me that they found Alison dead. I faked my surprise and proceeded to sob like a little girl. They told me they caught the murderer but I knew, now sober, that they didn’t have the true murderer. If I had been a honorable man I would have told them I murdered Alison, but I didn’t for I knew they wouldn’t punish me as I deserved. I deserve to torture myself everyday until I die. So that is what I will do. I will relive what I did until the day I die alone with no one but my guilt to keep me company.

message 39: by [deleted user] (last edited Aug 12, 2014 05:47AM) (new)

This story is a bit different from my others. It's told in a more formal third-person narrative. I had a lot of fun with it, though. Enjoy!

The Navigator, the Boy, and the Bear: 2990 words, critique appreciated

At the crack of dawn, the navigator is up long before the wake-up call at Marshall Hargreaves Academy for Young Boys. He looks at the world through fresh eyes and a pair of binoculars, his messy hair sticking up. His long pajamas do not trip him, and he brings his pencil, notebook, and mind. It is his duty to find the bear. He is the navigator, and he will find him.

During the days, a boy—a completely ordinary boy—attends Marshall Hargreaves Academy for Young Boys. World War II is ending, and the boy knows that despite the things his mother won’t tell him, what has happened and why he is at a boarding school. The boy has a name, but it is plain. It is a fitting name.

At night, the moon hangs in the sky like a vaporous mist. Sometimes, it is a tiny silver slice, other times, it is half full. Or it is a plump full moon, shining proudly in the dark midnight sky. But just as many times, it is not there at all. No matter what the moon looks like, the lake by Marshall Hargreaves Academy for Young Boys is still quiet and the only sound that can be heard are the leaves crunching under footsteps. The trees shake in fear and the great bear breaks through them and roams the land. The navigator wants to find him, but the bear does not want to be found.


The principal of Marshall Hargreaves was Roosevelt Hargreaves, and was named after Theodore Roosevelt. He insisted everyone call him General Hargreaves, even though he had never been in the army in his life. He said it did good to show more respect to a person than necessary, but most of the boys knew that Roosevelt was a man with a large ego and he liked to feed it. Being the son of Marshall Hargreaves, a successful businessman with enough money to open up his own boy’s academy, it was hard work living up to the man. Marshall Hargreaves had also been an early riser, whereas Roosevelt Hargreaves was not, and since Roosevelt had to keep on the tradition of early wake-up calls for the boys like Marshall had, it was quite tiring as well.

Jack Auden did not like the morning. Some found it entrancing, some found it mesmerizing, but Jack found it a time where he can sleep. Unfortunately, at Marshall Hargreaves, the wake-up call was at 6:00. Back in Kentucky, he thought, the sun creeped up slowly and no one was awake in the morning but the birds. They sang their praise songs to the sun, and then went straight back to their nests. Back in Kentucky, mornings were synonymous with lazy. It’d be time for lunch when I came down asking for breakfast, and I would eat heaping piles of pancakes topped with butter and syrup and then not eat anything till dinner.

Though Jack loved pancakes, they were not served at the academy. It was one of the few luxuries the academy did not serve for breakfast. Otherwise, Jack loved the food at Marshall Hargreaves. On a relatively cold Thursday morning, his plate was filled with mounting piles of eggs, sausage, and strawberries. Jack loved strawberries. They were juicy, sweet, and soft. The best part, though, was that they were red. Jack loved red more than any color in the world. Even though he hated the taste of red peppers, he forced himself to eat them, because they were red. It was why Jack licked the blood off of his tongue when he accidentally bit it when he was eating.

That morning, Jack sat at one of the tables with his plate of eggs, sausage, and strawberries, and found a freckled, red-haired boy staring at him.

Jack knew Rudy Bishop. Rudy was short—not too short, but short enough for some of the other boys to call him midget or elf boy, with large, thick ears that protruded noticeably from his head. He wore round glasses that balanced precariously on his flat nose, and he was a peculiar boy. Every boy knew so, which was why no one seemed to talk to him. Rudy didn’t seem to mind. The only company he had were his papers. He almost always carried plenty papers around. Jack had bumped into Rudy and all of his papers had spilled out of his arm like a waterfall. He had seen multiple pictures of a large, brown bear, the lake that stood a little ways from Marshall Hargreaves, and a map.

“I’m searching,” Rudy had said, as if this was supposed to explain. He had said no more. He simply picked up his papers and walked away while Jack watched him until he could only see his blurry outline.

What a queer boy, Jack thought, pleased at himself for the use of the word queer. But despite his amusement, he was still unsettled. Rudy Bishop was still staring at him, staring deep into his eyes. Jack fidgeted uncomfortably and started to eat his breakfast. He snuck a glance at Rudy, who was still staring at him. He quickly flicked his glance elsewhere.

Finally, Jack walked over to Rudy, running on a spare amount of courage he had saved. Rudy had now taken his eyes off Jack and was busy cleaning his glasses with a small cloth. He even looks nearsighted, Jack observed.

“I ponder on the strangeness of creatures,” Rudy said, when Jack had sat down next to him. “Cleaning my glasses is a mere action. Very soothing.” Rudy finished cleaning his glasses and put them on his head. “May I ask why you are here?”

Suddenly, Jack did not know what to say. He felt shame burning through his cheeks. He stuttered out, “Y-you were staring a-at me.”

“I know,” said Rudy. “You are an intelligent human being.”

For some reason, the compliment was not well-received by Jack. Instead, it scared him more. Was Rudy perhaps an alien? Jack wasn’t sure. He plucked up his courage and said, “It was kind of weird.”

“I apologize,” Rudy replied graciously. Then, he spread out his map and observed it carefully. He then began writing meticulous notes on a pad of paper, occasionally glancing at the map.

“What’s that?” Jack asked, curiosity overtaking him.

Rudy smiled coyly and leaned in, as if telling Jack a huge secret. “I’m hunting a bear,” he finally said.

“Hunting one? You want to kill a bear?” These were the kinds of things boys at Marshall Hargreaves wanted to do. Shoot guns perfectly and hunt in the woods for game. Jack was perfectly fine with letting the creatures in the forest live.

“No,” said Rudy, shaking his head. “No, I want to find a bear. I call him Otto. He’s a brown bear, somewhere in the forest. And I’m going to find him.”

“Why do you want to find him?” Jack asked.

Rudy thought about that for a moment. “I’ve always found bears fascinating, to be honest,” he finally said. “Would you like to help me find one?”

It was a question that Jack thought he knew the answer to until the moment he was going to say it. He knew that Rudy Bishop was eccentric, yet something about his oddness intrigued Jack in a way he didn’t know. It enraptured his mind, and though he didn’t even really know Rudy, bears and maps and hunts seemed awfully interesting. Much more interesting than any activity he’d do at Marshall Hargreaves, or in Kentucky, for that matter. Also, up close, Jack realized how perfectly red Rudy’s hair was. So though he had planned to politely deny Rudy’s offer, he somehow turned it around and said, “Yes.”

And that was that.


Spring break was approaching rapidly and Jack was excited. Usually, it was because he would go to Kentucky and sleep in. Or he would go on a marvelous vacation, to somewhere beautiful and tropical and fun. However, in this case, Jack was excited because he was going to find a bear.

Jack had spent the rest of the days before spring break with Rudy Bishop and realized that Rudy was much more fascinating than any of the other boys at Marshall Hargreaves, and definitely more interesting than himself. Rudy had deemed himself the navigator, and a navigator he was; Rudy had the best sense of direction, and Jack knew that if there was any adolescent boy who could get them out of a dangerous forest alive, it would be Rudy, for with his compass, he was practically unstoppable.

Rudy had planned the bear hunt meticulously. Rudy’s aunt, Ea, was a beautiful, free-spirited woman of about thirty years and covered for Rudy no matter what. Rudy would tell the principal that he and Jack were going to his Aunt Ea. Rudy spent enough time using Ea as his excuse that the principal almost never checked, but it was a guarantee she would if the principal called. Jack and Rudy would then walk to the forest and look for the bear.

“Aren’t you worried?” Jack had asked.

“Worried?” Rudy laughed. “Why would I be worried?”

“Well, the bear is a wild creature,” said Jack. “Aren’t you worried that the bear might maul you or kill you?”

“Are you afraid of that?” asked Rudy.

“Well…” said Jack. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m not,” said Rudy. “I’ve educated myself in the art of taming bears. When I encounter a bear, it will love me.”

“Well, I haven’t,” said Jack.

“I’ll save you,” said Rudy. And Jack had believed him.


After they cleared the trip with the principal, Rudy and Jack walked a mile until they reached the lake. Jack peered over the lake and stared at his own reflection. He looked…different. Sure, he still had his messy brown hair that looked like he’d just jumped out of bed, his light blue eyes, his pale skin, and (much to his chagrin), his scrawny little body, but the way he stood—he was purposeful. He was important. He was someone. Jack smiled.

“We have to get up at the crack of dawn,” Rudy said, “to catch the bear.”

“The crack? Of dawn?” Jack asked. He had not signed up for this.

“Of course!” Rudy said. “The bear comes early in the morning. I’ve been up very early, but I’ve never even caught a sighting of him! I haven’t seen a mere shadow of him! But you wait. When we’re in the forest, we’ll for sure find—,”

“Wait a minute,” Jack said. “Have you ever been up late at night to catch the bear?”

Rudy scoffed. “No. The bear doesn’t come at night.”

“How do you know?” Jack shot back. “If you’ve never seen the bear in the morning, it must be because he roams at night.”

Jack looked like he was about to roll his eyes, when he stopped for a moment and thought. Finally, he shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, Jack,” he said. “Tonight, we will stay up late and see if we can find the bear. If we do, we’ll be legend back at Marshall Hargreaves! It’ll be the most amazing moment of our lives.”

Jack wasn’t sure if they’d be that famous at Marshall Hargreaves, and he was definitely sure that it wouldn’t be the most amazing moment in his life (and if it was, that was the saddest thing he had ever heard), but it was thrilling, thinking about finding a bear. A glimmer of excitement flashed in his eye.

“Yes!” he shouted. “I can’t wait!”

message 40: by [deleted user] (last edited Aug 10, 2014 02:52PM) (new)

The Navigator, the Boy, and the Bear (cont.)


Rudy had them rest up so we would be able to stay up until it was almost morning. Since Jack was a night owl, not an early bird, this was fine with him, but Rudy, who had kept on a rigorous schedule of waking up early to glimpse a sighting of the bear he so wanted to find, needed lots of rest if he wanted to stay up late. They set up sleeping tents near the border of the woods by the lake, and Rudy slept soundly. Jack explored the forest. Though he was not as comfortable with wildlife as Rudy was, he was sure that if trouble came, he would be able to face it.

Jack was a very confident young man then.

Finally, Jack checked my watch and pushed Rudy, who stirred in his sleeping bag.

“What…?” he moaned.

It was the first time Jack had ever seen him sleep, and he looked like a babe. Then, he did not look like the powerful, cocky bear-lover that he was; he looked like an innocent child. His eyes screamed youth, the curve of his mouth indicated naivety. Jack looked into his wide eyes. “Rudy, it’s time to get up.”

Instantly, Rudy bolted out of the sleeping bag and looked at me. “Let’s go catch a bear,” he whispered.

They grabbed their flashlights and some food (“It’ll attract the bear,” Rudy had said). Rudy also carried a large, red whistle (“Should anything happen to us,” he had told him, “not that anything will, I’ll blow the whistle and help should come.” Jack had noted that they should probably run before they blow the whistle, and Rudy had not said anything. Running had never crossed his mind.) The whistle hung around his neck like a decorative piece of jewelry. “Are you ready?” he whispered.

Jack shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They creeped into the forest. The moon had risen, and it was a spectacular sight. It was plump and silver, creating eerie glows around the lake. It shined ominously upon us, creating light, which created stark shadows that surrounded us like unimaginable monsters.

“Wow,” Jack whispered, but Rudy had no time for that. He had already ventured into the woods. Jack followed him, not wanting to be away from him. Rudy was the nature expert, and Jack did not want to be in the deep dark woods without him.

Suddenly, they heard the crunching of leaves behind us. Jack jumped, and Rudy touched his shoulder to calm him down. He threw his beam of light behind him, but there was nothing. “Probably just a squirrel,” Rudy said, looking disappointed, but Jack was relieved. When he met the bear, he wanted to at least see him for a couple moments before he saw me, so he could gather a feeling of safety and security.

They continued upon the path. Though Rudy’s flashlight was bright, and the moon was out, it did not ease the feeling Jack had of being in the dark. Rudy could sense his fear. “It’s just a lack of light,” he explained. “Think of it like this. When you don’t have anything on a shelf, it’s empty. That’s what this is. Empty.”

“Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Jack grumbled.

They suddenly reached a clearing. Rudy shined his flashlight on it, but there was only a pile of dead leaves. Rudy cursed under his breath, until he heard footsteps.

“Behind the trees—now,” Rudy said. “We don’t want to provoke it.” They dashed behind a thick, wide tree with a large trunk, sturdy branches, and leaves that were meant to hide people. Since Rudy was short, Jack climbed up the trunk first and helped him up, and they hid behind the leaves in the branches and watched the clearing with intent eyes.

Into the clearing walked the bear.

It was a magnificent beast, and a large one at that. It must’ve been at least 700 pounds. Walking into the clearing, it gave an aura that said, Don’t mess with me. Its chocolate brown fur was messy and tangled and gleamed in the silvery moonlight. Its paws were bigger than Jack’s face, clutching the ground violently. It was the kind of bear that sent families screaming and running if they encountered it during their annual camping trip, but Rudy smiled gleefully. Jack let out a breath I didn’t realize he was holding and gathered up enough courage to say, “What do we do now?”

“Now,” said Rudy, hopping down the branches of the tree, “we go say hello.”

That did not seem particularly wise, yet Jack followed him.

Rudy pointed his flashlight at the bear, and the bear grunted and squinted. “Hello, you wild beast,” Rudy said playfully, as if the bear were a household pet, not an animal that could maul a person. “I’m Rudy. I—,” He had not taken two steps towards the bear before the bear grabbed his neck with one paw.

Jack wanted to go out there and save him, but he couldn’t. He ran. He did not watch as the bear tore Rudy apart, until he was not Rudy but many pieces of him. He did not watch as the bear bit into his neck, blood and tears mixing to create a toxic taste in his mouth. He did not watch as the bear threw him around like a dog does to a chew toy. He did not watch as Rudy attempted to grab for his red whistle, yet failed. He did, however, hear Rudy scream agonizing screams.


Jack continued running. He felt adrenaline pumping through his veins. He finally reached the edge of the forest, and stopped to catch his breath. Forcing his lungs to collect air normally, he suddenly realized what he had done.

He had abandoned Rudy. He had left Rudy in the dust instead of helping him. He was too concerned for his own life that he forgot about his best friend’s.

Jack collapsed onto the ground and felt tears wet his cheeks. He felt hopelessness overcome him. He banged his fists onto the ground and whispered, “Why him? Why him?”

But soon he had wasted all his tears and they were gone, stained onto the ground. And his hopelessness washed away. Replacing it was something…something fiery. Angry. He would not let the bear get away for such a gruesome murder. He would not let the bear get away for killing his best friend. He would not let the bear get away for reminding Jack of his cowardice.

The bear would die. Jack would gladly die as well if his last breath was a triumphant one. If his last breath involved him holding the gun, holding the knife, holding the weapon that caused the bear’s demise. If his last sight before he died was the dead bear on the ground.

You’re mine, bear, Jack thought. All mine.

message 41: by [deleted user] (new)

Rachel - Very good story! I noticed a few typos here and there but it wasn't anything major that distracted from my reading. One little personal thing (nothing to do with your story but a name choice!) My oldest grandson's name is Christian. He is six years old and I couldn't imagine anyone not liking him so that did distract me a little bit. Again, it was a personal thing for me! Haha! And, I was just wondering with the story -- WHY did Alison's father dislike Christian so much that he would kill his daughter in order for them not to marry? Maybe just a one-sentence explanation would be good. Otherwise, well done!

message 42: by Rachel (new)

Rachel Heinen | 134 comments Melissa- Sorry about the typos I seem to make I lot of them and I don't notice them. Alison's father disliked Christian because he was going to take his little girl away from him. He's a little bit protective. Thanks for the feedback.

message 43: by [deleted user] (new)

Wow, loads of really great entries this week... it's going to suck having to pick one! :P

message 44: by [deleted user] (new)

Rachel, good story! The only thing would be the typos. There are also some run-on sentences that make the flow of the story seem quite disjointed. Still, I thought that you painted an excellent picture of a psychopathic man with his hate for Christian for no reason and his own self-assuring reasons and why he shouldn't get caught. Well done!

message 45: by Saira (new)

Saira (herumouni) | 667 comments Dang it. I forgot and now I don't feel like writing. Twitter and Facebook are depressing right now. :(

Good bye, Genie.

message 46: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9091 comments "You'll never have a friend like me!" Rest in peace, Robin Williams. :(

message 47: by C. J., Atm Seeker in the "Lin Kuei" (last edited Aug 11, 2014 10:42PM) (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4215 comments Aww man, now I'm crying.

I had a friend a few months ago who died the same way. Let everyone know this is not the answer in life because it will be the biggest mistake. And the last one in this life which isn't good.

message 48: by [deleted user] (new)

I remember Robin Williams from way back in the day on "Mork and Mindy". It's so terribly sad that with his comic genius he couldn't see what he meant to everyone and how much joy they brought him. You just never know what demons are crying in someone's mind.

message 49: by Melanie (last edited Aug 12, 2014 08:32PM) (new)

Melanie (melanienmo) | 34 comments (I realize that this submission is late and I'm fine with it not being in the competition. I wrote it yesterday but the power went out before I could edit it/ submit it. Since I already wrote it, I figured why not post it here anyway? As usual, I would still appreciate comments and criticisms!)

Ring of Fire
By Melanie

I rolled down the tinted window of the llimousine to get a better view of the house. It was a mansion, but nothing like mine. It was quite a bit smalller. There was no valet service, so I had the driver park in the main driveway. "Leave it running," I ordered as I gathered my clutch and the gift and got out of the car. "This shouldn't take too long."

My glittering black heels clicked up the stairs to the front door. A servant let me in. He asked my name, but I ignored him and kept walking. The entryway gave way to a massive ballroom where the light of a silver chandelier illuminated a grand party. Women in fabulous dresses twirled under the arms of wealthy men. I took a glass of wine off a servant's tray. He gave me a concerned glance, to which I raised my eyebrows. No, I wasn't old enough to drink, but who was he to stop me?

My liquid sequin dress didn't leave much to the imagination. I felt the longing gazes of men and the scalding glares of women as I stepped around the dance floor, searching. I didn't usually mind the attention, but tonight it was a bit inconvienient. I didn't need too many witnesses. It only took a few minutes to pinpoint my target: she was the one in a skin-tight red dress and lipstick to match. Very tacky.

She matched the photo I had in my clutch. Same platinum blonde hair and unnaturally tan skin. Same plastic breasts peeking out of her shirt. Same cold blue eyes, framed by spiderey eyelashes. Maria Ganwarma. I sighed. Of all the women in the world that my father could have an affair with, I would have hoped that he could do better than this.

Lately my father had become distant. He was cold to my mother. He spent long hours away from home and he brought home less presents for me. My mother spent a good deal of time crying. I had my suspicions, but it wasn't until I saw my mother confront Daddy with a pair of lacy red panties left in their bedroom that I decided to act.

It wasn't too difficult to find out who the mistress was. Daddy's butler traveled everywhere with him. In exchange for a picture and the address of the woman, I gave the butler seven minutes in heaven. He obliged, and here I was at Mistress Maria's twenty-sixth birthday party.

I slinked up to her at the bar and interrupted her conversation. I watched her eyes crawl up my perfect curves and land on my face.

"Who are you?" she asked in disgust. Her voice was nasally, the unfortunate side effect of a botched nosejob.

"Oh, I'm just a friend of Amanda." Her daughter, whom I had taken the care to know just enough about to forge a convincing lie.

"Amanda's over there," she said, cocking her head toward a blonde who was dancing promiscuously in the middle of the floor.

"I'll head over there soon; but first I wanted to drop off my gift for you."

Her eyes showed intrigue as I opened my hand. It was a small black box tied with a red bow. She took the gift from my hand and opened it with nails sharpened to look like claws.

The mistress held up a ruby ring that looked dazzling in the chandelier lighting. "It's lovely," she gasped. I plastered a smile on my face.

"I thought you would like it. It would look amazing with your dress, don't you think? Try it now, would you?"

Maria Ganwarma slipped the ring onto her finger and recoiled. "Ouch! I think it pricked me!"

I mustered false surprise. "Oh my god. I am so sorry. I got it from a different jewler than my usual. I hope I didn't ruin your birthday."

"It's fine. Whatever. I can get it fixed later. Thank you." She gave me a strange look and began to turn away.

"I chose red to match your panties," I called after her. She froze, but didn't look back. I left quietly. The limo ride back home was silent. I went to bed early.

When I woke up the next morning, the TV news was blaring and father's car was gone. The top story was up on the screen in red letters:


I laughed.

message 50: by Saira (new)

Saira (herumouni) | 667 comments My favourite was always Aladdin.

The deadline usually ends up being whenever the polls go up. I can't do it easily from my kindle, so I'll just let someone else do it.

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