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Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 418 (July 12-18) Stories Topic: Rain

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message 1: by C. J., Cool yet firm like ice (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4309 comments You have until the 18th of July to post a story and from the 19th to around the 23rd of July, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best!

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a story previously used in this group. Only one submission per person is allowed.

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

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

This week’s topic is: Rain

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

Most of all have fun!

message 2: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9620 comments For my entry this week, I'm going to write the fourth chapter of a novel I'm working on called Incelbordination. If you're confused and want to read the first three chapters to catch up on the action, they're posted in the most recent page of my writing folder. The fourth chapter fits perfectly with this prompt because it starts out with Oswald Crow wiping down his "rainy face". Just a quick heads up before I start writing in a few days.

message 3: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9620 comments AUTHOR: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Incelbordination, Chapter 4
GENRE: College Fiction
RATING: PG-13 for sexual references and swearing

Oswald wiped the rainy weather from his face long enough to see another reason to cry his eyes out if he so chose: Antero Magnus with a book of matches. Clearly, a compromise had to be made. Or did it? “Why the fuck do you keep following me everywhere I go? Are you some kind of lost puppy dog or some shit?” In a brazen move reminiscent of last night, Antero swiped the ready roll from Oswald’s hand and lit it himself before taking a few puffs. “Excuse me?!” said Oswald with big red eyes. “That’s not yours to smoke! I need that shit for my depression!”

Handing the marijuana roll back to its rightful owner, Antero spit out a cloud of green and said, “Let me ask you something, Oswald. How many times have you puffed the shit out of that roll and found permanent happiness afterwards? The answer is zero, because as powerful as that shit is, it’s only a temporary fix to a much bigger problem.” The incel took a seat next to his charge and patted him on the shoulder. “You already know what the bigger problem is, don’t you?”

Taking a puff and spitting out an even bigger cloud than his lungs would allow, Oswald said, “Yeah, I know what it is. It has something to do with a weirdo in a trench coat taking hits of my Mary-Jane. Seriously, what could you possibly see in me? I’m not what you’re looking for. I don’t blame my insecurities on other people.”

“Which is precisely why you punched a muscle jock in the dick and why you ran away from a smooth-legged English teacher.”

Wide-eyed yet again, Oswald exclaimed, “Dude! You’ve got to stop following me everywhere! That’s fucking creepy!” Antero chuckled and removed his sunglasses, revealing those horrifying cyan-colored eyes. “Ah! Put your glasses back on! Put ‘em back on!” screamed Oswald while shielding his face with his hands.

“As you wish,” said Antero before complying with his “friend’s” request. “But I must warn you, there are scarier things in this world than weirdly-colored eyes. There’s a conspiracy against us. And when I say us, I mean you, me, and every other Supreme Gentlemen who’s had the deck stacked against them their whole lives. We don’t look like the normies. We don’t talk like the normies. We don’t wear the same kind of hats they do either. That bothers them. So what do they do? They commit social genocide.”

“Okay, okay, okay, this is getting fucked up,” said Oswald with his hands raised. “Social genocide? You’re using the G-word to describe not being able to get laid? How in the hell do you…”

“I don’t expect you to understand right away,” said Antero while readjusting his sunglasses. “Some lessons take longer to learn than others. But to answer your question, the G-word isn’t all about getting laid. Anybody can get laid. Surely, there are enough sex surrogates and prostitutes to go around. It’s love that we seek and can never find. We give it all away and none of it is returned. A simple thank-you would be enough for some people. Me? I want a little bit of interest with my investment.”

Oswald’s mouth became O-shaped at the statement he tried so desperately hard to digest. Antero dug through his own trench coat and pulled out his wallet. “You know what? I can tell you’re not convinced just yet. That’s okay. College is a time for learning, right? Well, you’ve got a lot to learn about the way the world works against us.” Antero handed Oswald a thirty-dollar McDonald’s gift card and said, “Two words: McDonald’s prostitute.”

Flipping the card over and over again in disbelief, Oswald stared at the meal ticket like he was holding a severed head. “Mc…Donald’s prostitute?”

“That’s right, little man,” said Antero before patting him on the back. “Everybody’s got a price tag on them. For the women down at Mickey D’s, all they ever wanted was a little bit of loving and a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. That’s how shitty our economy has gotten. When you’re too broke for a basic McDonald’s meal and you have to turn to sex to get one, that’s how you know shit’s all fucked up. Of course, I don’t know how in god’s name a Quarter Pounder could taste good when there’s splooge sloshing around in their mouths.”

“This….this…this is sick, Antero. This is fucking sick!”

“I know it’s sick, Oswald. I know. But sometimes you can’t take the highroad forever. You want someone to love you, right? You want to experience that cherry pop for the first time? All you have to do so come bearing the gifts of French fries, nuggets, greasy meat, and…well….greasy meat!” Antero chuckled at his own joke.

Finally peeling his terrified eyes away from the gift card, Oswald said, “Dude…you’re not funny. Nothing about this is comical. This is wrong. Really wrong!”

“You’re a good man, Oswald. Ordinarily, being a good human being has its rewards. But not in this Stacy-dominated world. You’re desperate enough. I can see it in those bloodshot eyes of yours. You’ll either have the most romantic night of your life in a McDonald’s parking lot…or you’ll get a lifelong lesson that no sexy-legged teacher could offer you. Either way, I just gave you the keys to the city. It’s up to you now what it is you want to do with them.”

Antero patted Oswald’s back and walked out of sight. The little guy turned his flabbergasted attention back to the gift card. It was so wrong, yet so right at the same time. There was something seductive about the way Antero talked. There was a reason he led so many people down their destined paths. He made so much sense in that one oratory.

Having those dark thoughts jolted Oswald awake, causing him to accidentally drop the gift card on the table. “What the fuck was I thinking?” he asked himself while holding his head in his hands. “I can’t do this. This isn’t right. No, no, no!” The three no’s were punctuated with the dwarf lightly banging his head against the table.

Once the forehead pain became too much to bear, he took a look around the commons for any signs that Antero might be right. Sure enough, this place was swarming with examples. Men and women holding hands while walking together. “Chads” and “Stacys” making out on the grassy lawn. Oswald even saw one guy holding his crying girlfriend’s head in his lap while he stroked her hair. What the lonely dwarf would give for the chance to be touched like that.

That Mickey D’s gift card started him straight in the face with lust and seduction. It was such an easy solution. Antero could have been his savior in that one moment. His own personal Jesus Christ, to use yet another Matrix quote. Oswald finally made the decision to scoop up the gift card and tuck it away in his wallet. If nothing else, he could at least enjoy a good meal, one that made him feel better than any roll of green ever could.

Oswald walked away from the commons huffing and puffing on his roll of weed. He kept feeling his scraggly beard and lengthy hair while contemplating if he should clean himself up for this meeting with a McDonald’s prostitute. Maybe throwing his pot-smelling coat in the wash machine would also be a good idea. Then again, did he really have to change himself for someone who was only in it for the nuggets and the burgers? There was thirty dollars on the card, which meant he could get extra goodies to make himself more enticing. The shave and haircut could wait another day…if that day ever came.

The dwarf put his headsets on and played “Bless the Wings” by The Moody Blues on his MP3 player. Was that song a little too romantic and sappy for what was about to happen that evening? Perhaps. Was Oswald expecting too much when he contemplated a potential relationship with this McDonald’s girl? He thought so. But as long as he was high on pot and already depressed from the day’s events, a little lovey-dovey psychological cinema was perhaps the right call.

Judging from the stares he got from “normies” walking by, any kind of vicarious romance would have been welcome. He certainly didn’t get it from the “Chad” he bumped into when he wasn’t paying attention. Oswald landed right on his ass while the guy said, “Hey, what the hell?!”

The dwarf picked himself up and apologized profusely to the young man and his girlfriend. He thought that would be the end of that, but then he noticed the couple walking away with their noses in their shirts, presumably from the pot smell. Oswald was tempted to go back there and punch the shit out of both of them. But it was more tempting to just take a shower and wash his clothing rather than get himself expelled for stupid shit. Maybe he did have to change himself after all. But for a McDonald’s hooker? So much debating took place in Oswald’s mind, all of which was settled with a few more puffs of Mary-Jane.

message 4: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Title : Omission Admission (Helen Singer, Chapter 21)
Author : Edward Davies
Word Count : 1765
Rating : PG13

“Where’s Ladon, Helen?” my mum asked again, “Do you know where he is?”

I swallowed nervously, not wanting to go over this again. My mum forgetting some of the things she’d found out from earlier in the day did have its good points, but having to explain bad situations over and over again was definitely not one of them.

“I’m… I’m not sure,” I told her feebly.

My dad, in a rare moment of activity, rose from the sofa in the living room to join us, “Are you saying that Ladon may have been… taken by this child abductor?” he asked.

I didn’t have a good answer for that, so I just stared at the floor. Clearly my parents took my silence as a yes.

“I’m heading back to the station,” my mum said, grabbing her jacket and throwing it back on, “we can’t just leave Ladon out there on his own with some… some psychopath!”

“I can’t believe you’d keep this from us,” my dad said, making me feel really bad, “I mean… your own brother, kidnapped, and you knew about it?”

“That’s not really fair,” I argued, “you knew about it too.”

My mum stared at my dad, a little doubt in her eyes, “You knew about this, Seth?” she asked.

My dad looked flabbergasted, “I did not know he was missing,” he denied, “what on Earth are you talking about, Helen?”

I don’t really know why, but at that very moment I decided I needed to tell my mum and dad what was happening in this village. I had to try to trust that they’d understand and that they’d actually listen to what I had to say instead of assuming that I was talking rubbish, or worse, was completely insane.

I sighed, “Something happened the other night,” I began, “you, dad, were turned to stone.”

My dad’s jaw fell even further than it already had, “What?” he almost shouted, “Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not,” I continued, “you just don’t remember what happened to you.”

“Is there any reason why you think your dad was turned to stone?” my mum asked, more than a hint of sarcasm in her tone, though I was surprised that she was taking this path rather than the ‘You’re mad’ path my dad had taken.

“Because it’s true,” I said, “I saw him.”

“And how exactly did this happen?” my dad asked, “My turning into stone?”

I sighed, realising this wasn’t going quite as smoothly as I’d hoped, “It was a Basilisk,” I said flatly.

“A Basilisk?” my mum repeated.

“As in the mythological beast?” my dad added, almost sounding a little more accepting of the fact before adding, “Are you insane?”

I lowered my eyes, “I’m not mad, and I’m not insane,” I tried to explain, “you see, there’s this book…”

“A book?” my dad laughed, “Really? Next thing you’ll be telling my it’s the cursed book of Ichabod Flamel.”

I looked up at my dad, not believing what I was hearing. “You know about the book?” I whispered.

“Of course I do,” my dad crossed his arm, “I’m a librarian, so I pretty much know about most books. Those worth knowing about, anyway.”

“Have you ever seen it?” I asked.

“Of course not,” my dad laughed, “it’s not a real book. It’s just a local folk tale that’s been spread around by word of mouth. And, from what I hear, whenever something strange or unexplained happens in town, the so called curse of Ichabod Flamel is usually blamed.”

“I’ve seen the book.”

My mum had stopped her slow journey towards the front door, and my dad was staring at me.

“What do you mean you’ve seen the book?” my dad asked.

“In the library,” I said, “I saw it with Mr Iskander. That’s who turned into the Basilisk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mum told me, but my dad had fallen quiet. Finally he spoke.

“What did you see?” he asked, “On the book, what did you see?”

My mum looked bewildered when she heard my dad’s words, “Seth, for God’s sake why are you humouring her? We need to put an end to this nonsense.”

My dad took off his glasses and looked at my mum, “It might not be nonsense, Mary,” he said, “Helen might have seen something.”

I stared at my dad, unsure what exactly was happening here, “What’s going on, dad?” I asked, “Do you know something?”

My dad breathed heavily, “There’s no point trying to cover this up any longer,” he said, “but part of the reason I was asked to come out here was to research the curse.”

“You never told me that,” my mum said.

“I was asked not to,” my dad admitted, “by the people who employed me.”

“So you calling my insane was all some sort of an act?” I asked.

“Well, I didn’t know that you were being genuine,” my dad replied, “not until you mentioned Ichabod Flamel.”

“I could have heard about him from Fran,” I suggested.

“True,” my dad admitted, “but you seemed so sure of yourself. I never thought this curse might actually be for real – I’d never have moved us here if I’d thought there was a chance there might have been some sort of danger to any of you.”

“So you didn’t realise that the curse was true?” I asked.

“Not at all,” my dad said, “I was just intrigued by the idea of an urban myth that was so powerful a whole community believed in it. A suburban myth, if you will.”

Roll credits.

“While we’re admitting things,” my mum suddenly spoke up, “I wasn’t going to say anything either, but there was a reason I was asked to take this job as well.”

I looked at my mum, not sure what she was going to say. This was turning into something of a soap opera. Or an episode of The Real Housewives of Graves Hollow. Seriously, when it rains it pours.

“What was the reason, mum?” I asked.

“Well,” my mum swallowed nervously, “I was asked to come out here to investigate the… mysterious happenings in the village. From the deaths to the disappearances, it was pretty suspicious to say the least. People in the know were starting to think there might have been some sort of death cult working in the area, but if what you say is true, Helen, this could be immeasurably worse.”

I looked at my mum, then to my dad, then back to my mum again, “Did either of you realise that you were both being brought here for completely different yet oddly related reasons?” I asked.

My mum and dad looked at each other, “To be honest,” my mum replied, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Me neither,” said my dad.

I rolled my eyes, not believing what I was hearing; both my parents, who were reasonably intelligent people most days, hadn’t realised the reason why they had taken their jobs. And the fact that both their jobs were related to the weird happenings in Graves Hollow just made things even weirder.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, starting with my dad, “you took the job at the library so that you could investigate the myths in the area?”


I then turned to my mum, “And you took the job at the police station so you could investigate the mysterious goings on in town?”

“That’s right.”

I paused to think. Should I tell them I had proof that the curse was real, that I had gained abilities from the book? That I had, in effect, been cursed by it? Granted, if they could have remembered about the Basilisk, which they annoyingly couldn’t even though they had both seen it, the subject might have been easier to broach, but with their memories swiss-cheesed by either my hypnotic ability or the book’s need to protect itself, my new abilities weren’t exactly going to come across as a logical step in the proceedings.

Part of me wanted to explain, but another part of me really didn’t want my parents to worry any more than they already were. With one child missing, they didn’t need to be worrying that the other had been inflicted with a potentially lethal curse, and could be dead within the day.

“So,” I swallowed, trying to think as I spoke, “what do you think has happened to these missing children? To Ladon, and the others?”
“Well, if Basil Iskander was involved, there must have been others,” my mum said, “Someone tried to silence him by setting off that bomb at the station, and logically if they are keeping the children alive then someone must be watching them to ensure they don’t try to escape.”
When my mum spoke, I remembered the badge Fran and I had found in the abandoned building where we’d seen the Pied Piper. I took it out of my pocket where I’d placed it and showed it to my parents.

“Fran and I found this,” I told them, “where we think the kidnapped children are being kept. We think a police officer might be involved.”

“What?” my mum seemed pretty shocked.

“Our primary suspect is Officer Hamelin,” I added.

“Because of his name,” my dad nodded. Clearly he did know a fair bit about the myth of Ichabod Flamel if he knew the whole name dictating your curse element of the book.

“Then we need to lock him up immediately,” my mum said, “and anyone else he might be in cahoots with.”

“The thing is,” I said, “we think he might have powers.”

“Because of his name,” my dad said again.

My mum looked confused, “I don’t get it.”

“Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Mary,” my dad said, “he may be able to lure children away by playing music to them. And he might be able to effect us, as well.”

“This is so weird,” my mum shook her head, looking at my dad, “are sure this could be for real, Seth?”

“I’m not sure,” my dad said, “but I’ve never known Helen to lie about something like this before.”

“I can get his address from the station,” my mum said, “and I’ll ask some of the officers on duty to come with us. He might be dangerous.”

“If he’s been cursed then he definitely is dangerous,” my dad added, “and he’s unlikely to be at home, for that matter.”

“Well, we have to start somewhere,” my mum said, “and if he isn’t at home, then he most definitely will become our prime suspect.”

message 5: by C. J., Cool yet firm like ice (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4309 comments I apologize for not putting up the polls and contest. I forgot cuz life can sometimes be crazy and I need to learn to balance things, lol.

message 6: by Garrison (new)

Garrison Kelly (cybador) | 9620 comments There's no rush, CJ. Life is indeed a crazy thing and this world is just one big puzzle factory. Take your time and sort things out, buddy. :)

message 7: by C. J., Cool yet firm like ice (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4309 comments Garrison wrote: "There's no rush, CJ. Life is indeed a crazy thing and this world is just one big puzzle factory. Take your time and sort things out, buddy. :)"

Thanks Garrison. :)

message 8: by C. J., Cool yet firm like ice (new)

C. J. Scurria (goodreadscomcj_scurria) | 4309 comments Polls and new contest will go up later tonight!

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