Love of Writing discussion
Monthly Short Story Contest
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June Monthly Contest
My One and Only Life Several decades ago, I was given a life to live. I thank God and my parents for it. Albeit, life came without preview or choices. No exchange, no return, no trial or complaints! Sort of, “What you see is what you get.” You are granted this one chance at living and have to make the best out of the package you are handed—over your entire lifetime! At the age when I was able to distinguish the diversities of living, I realized I valued my existence and was content with my inner self.
And what came with my package? What has helped me always: One God and my religion to guide me; a Guardian Angel; loving parents; a small family circle, and a heart to love. A few necessary extras were included: the invaluable five senses; intelligence and its variants including creativity, reasoning, thinking, understanding, and logic… our great tools to discern life’s mental puzzles, plus innumerable other gifts.
When we elect not to use logic—from reasoning the simple task of putting a toy together to figuring out difficult personal undertakings—we lose the virtue of comprehending and analyzing. Those are necessary to solve complicated jobs. When that happens, we jump into quick solutions that often turn into little problems or big disasters.
It has always been said each human creature is unique… I can add that each person's life is not equal to any other. Our life, as much as we can manage it, revolves around factors not akin, as a whole, to those of any other person. On the surface, our precious being may bear a resemblance to that of another —whether it is a relative or a stranger. However, many things can alter the similarities, making each person's life his very own.
Though we cannot change life’s dictates entirely, we have a lot of control over the measures we take to reach selected goals by escalating our virtual ladder of success one step at a time.* Even though our imaginary ladder may seem infinite, at one point we will reach its last step. By then, our dreams should be fulfilled and the ladder will vanish into oblivion. If there were little or no achievements, perhaps we should have known when to move back or when to pause or the right time to change paths before it became too late.
A cynical perspective would define a good or bad life as bearing a direct link to destiny or luck. A more rational approach is to concede that any paths our lives follow can be affected by the lack of basic education or ambition or poor career choices, among others.
Excluding those with individual limitations (caretakers, parenting, health issues and so on)—as has been proven time and again in this land of opportunities—each person can make their way up the ladder of success by studying and working hard all the while saving or investing. The latter will be the first steps in achieving or exceeding set goals.
* One final thought: Precluding circumstances beyond our control, if we are wise enough to use our logic—combined with other elements that drive us to achieve—we may well succeed in our quest to become the person we always wanted to be. And it would not be measured by riches, but by having succeeded in the career or trade of choice where we did the best we could.
Mirta wrote: "My One and Only Life I realized I valued my existence and was content with my inner self.
This definitely fits the theme. Quite a surprise to see one so soon. :)
S,Glad the story met your guidelines. I believe that except for one month during the period I posted my stories, I was the first one to publish shortly after I received the monthly email. I knew if I did not do it then, something would come up that would prevent me from posting before the deadline.
Mirta wrote: "My One and Only Life Several decades ago, I was given a life to live. I thank God and my parents for it. Albeit, life came without preview or choices. No exchange, no return, no trial or complaint..."
Thought provoking, inspiring...I sense the depth of inner thought - well written, Mirta:)
Susan
Thank you, Susan. And I meant every bit of it.
Mirta wrote: "My One and Only Life
Wow, Mirta. I will have to read it again to take it all in. I agree with Susan.
Wow, Mirta. I will have to read it again to take it all in. I agree with Susan.
Thanks, Terry. It is realistic on my part and inspirational for those who may need a bit of encouragement.PS. Terry, I erroneously addressed "S" as Susan. I guess I like the name and it just popped up as I wrote. My error, not yours. I made a note of it on my reply to her.
Mod
...we may well succeed in our quest to become the person we always wanted to be. And it would not be measured by riches, but by having succeeded in the career or trade of choice where we did the best we could...."
I've been thinking about this lately, about if people will remember us when we cease to exist (in this world, anyway). I've recently visited my mother. My visit reminded me that life is short. I am preaching to myself when I say instead of focusing on the negative, we should focus on the positive and be the best we can be, whatever our station in life.
Mod
By Glenda Reynolds 780 words
I recently attended a meeting at work and was asked (as part of an introduction), "What advice would you give your younger self?" I answered that I would focus on the positive: keep my mind in a positive or enlightened place and not a dark place. When real life deals you a bad hand, it’s easy for your mind to be in a dark, bitter place. My mother married at age sixteen and had three children by the age of twenty-one. I remember a terrible fight between my mother and my father’s family, and the day my siblings and I were “abducted”, driven far away from my father. I was not even school age, but I remember understanding what was happening and crying as we drove through the night. I grew up without a father in my early years. When I was age eleven, my mother decided to ask her ex-husband to take me and my siblings to Tennessee because she feared what mischief we would get into during summer vacation. It was during this time that my brother looked through the phone book, probably to do prank calls, and saw his name in the phone book. He decided to call the man who shared his name. It was our birth father. It wasn’t long until my father knocked on the door where we were staying. We were reunited with his family. We never did return to live with our mother. Of course, it broke my mother’s heart. But I see it as my journey to know who I was and who I would become. I had a “God experience” at the early age of eleven at a church summer camp in an open air tabernacle. My life took a different direction after that.
It was so easy during my high school years to feel abandoned and discouraged since I chose to live out of state on a Christian campus. I took a summer job at a court house in East Tennessee; I snooped through the divorce records for reasons why my parents’ marriage failed. Stories from both sides of my family shook my relationships between me and my parents and paternal grandmother I lived with. I felt that my mother was pulling one of my arms while my grandmother was pulling the other in the opposite direction. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder” was true in my case, where I had time to meditate on who I really was and what God had planned for me.
Later as a married adult, I recognized more than ever that some family members held on to bitterness which seemed to stunt their emotional and spiritual growth. I also learned that if someone’s parents had been married and divorced multiple times as well as having a drunk and abusive family member, this doesn’t mean that your life is destined to follow suit. God is able to break the chains of the family cycle. It is only in forgiving others and living for God that you can truly be all you can be. It is very similar to the Cherokee story told by a grandfather to his grandson about two wolves living inside a man: one is evil and one is good.
When the grandson asked, “Which one will win?”
The grandfather answered, “The one you feed.”
For me the good wolf represents the promises of God in his word, the love and support of my husband and his parents, Christian radio, God’s grace, books or movies with positive messages without foul language, a devotional life, and a writing group that shares positive and artistic stories.
Feeding the bad wolf tends to hurt me since he represents unforgiveness, bitterness, books or movies involving the occult, abuse, or bad language, hate speech posted under the name of journalism, Hollywood, or on social media, lies that are given as truth whether on a personal level, religious or political level. What takes my energy? Dwelling on my shortcomings and my reactions to bad situations, focusing on the negative instead of the positive. Even though in the past I reacted in bad judgment, God was still faithful to guide me and provide for me.
“For I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his [God’s] love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels won’t, and all the powers of hell itself cannot keep God’s love away. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, or where we are—high above the sky, or in the deepest ocean—nothing will ever be able to separate us from the love of God demonstrated by our Lord Jesus Christ when he died for us.” Romans 8: 38 & 39
Glenda wrote: "Mirta wrote: "My One and Only Life ...we may well succeed in our quest to become the person we always wanted to be. And it would not be measured by riches, but by having succeeded in the career or..."
Glenda wrote: "What advice would you give your younger self?" I answered that I would focus on the positive: ..."
An inspirational and motivational story, Glenda. Loved it!
You are welcome, Glenda. Keep writing...
Renaissance Man or Monster by Todd Folstad (988 words)I have always considered myself a renaissance man–jack of all trades and master of none–but today I was confronted with redefining my assumptions after an interesting, hurtful and ultimately thought-provoking altercation today while shopping after church and before returning home to watch football.
The day began as many Sundays, with going to church, singing with my friends in choir, chatting with some members of the congregation and then heading out to face the rest of the day. I needed to do some shopping, new bedding, a few supplies, and sundries, so I went to my go-to location in Bloomington, Big Lots.
It was early enough that the volume of shoppers was minimal when I was surprised by one of God’s smaller creatures, a child about 7 or 8. Going up the bedding aisle, I was met by the small boy who ran around the corner and into my aisle, coming face to face with me. The youngster stopped, looked at me and yelled to his mother that there was a Monster in the aisle.
His mother came around the corner to see me, looking at bedding sets and pulled the youngster away. No scolding, no apology, nothing to note that I even existed other than in her child’s mind that I was a freak. She resumed shopping as though nothing had happened, but for me, it was an emotional hit that I was ill prepared to take.
Caught off guard with my emotions in a relaxed mode, all I could do was stand there in the aisle, reflecting on the words the child had said. It was like reading a Stephen King book and having my protective, adult armor dismantled to the point where I had no defenses. I actually teared up. I couldn’t decipher in my head if it was myself or the boy that I was getting emotional for.
I was seeing myself through this child’s eyes and understanding his perception of a much larger than average man. Though tolerance is something hard to impart from a parental standpoint, my parents always made it a point to explain to me why I shouldn’t make fun of someone viewed as different. This is a lesson that I’ve not always adhered to, but most of my life I’ve preached tolerance towards all.
As an adult, I should be able to fend off this type of situation, but my mind reverted to my childhood. I dealt with bullies and name-callers all through my adolescent life and was taught at a young age by my parents to slough them off and not to engage them in battle. I was always one of the biggest kids and any defense I might put up would be viewed as me being the instigator. So I suffered in silence as many kids do. I developed my repertoire of humorous comebacks and jokes to deflect the pain and to keep the bullies at bay or at least entertained so they might choose a different target. Cowardly in a way, that I‘d pass the problem on to another instead of facing it head on, but such is the life of a bullied kid.
This is the pain I carried with me through my life, my college years and beyond, until after surviving my first attempted trip to the afterlife, I learned a few things about myself.
I am a broken, damaged, flawed and occasionally stupid human. I still use defense shields now, as do most people. There are just some things that we can’t deal with or that we don’t know how to deal with. I’ve been through many relationships and all of the romantic ones have ended poorly, some due to my inability to understand and comprehend the emotional delicacies of situations, some for other reasons.
I am in a place now where I try to keep myself from getting in too deep in that type of relationship, partially to save me from the pain, but mostly, from the fear of reopening those old wounds.
I’ve spent a fair amount of my adult life feeling unloved, unlovable and isolated. That I am an uber extrovert, makes being involved with others at times a major practice in simply playing the role that is needed for a given situation. I truly only have three solid releases to turn to in times of crisis and reflection, those being music, reading/writing and smoking fine cigars. Like most extroverts, I become “switched-on” when confronted by an audience, but often find myself quite timid in smaller, more intimate settings such as one-to-one interactions with people I don’t know well. I’ve decided that as I’ve aged, I’ve become more of an omni-vert.
If this unintentional “attack” had come from another adult, I’d have blown it off without a second thought. The fact that children know no better and in this case, were not instructed properly by their parent, speaks poorly for many of our newest generation as the same values and morals instilled in those of my generation and before seem to be eroding away at a very fast pace.
This generation now seems more set on political correctness rather than simple human kindness. That litigation is the way to gain respect, rather than to earn it through your words and actions. There seems to be less parenting and more child maintenance going on rather than education and mentoring.
My aim is not to bring anyone down, but to raise awareness and provoke some deep thinking on how, individually, we can all address this type of situation to bring our society back again. I feel better for having bled these thoughts out for all to see. As I said, one of my release mechanisms is writing. It is here that I can get the often jumbled, cacophony of thoughts and words out in a format that is comprehensible for others.
That’s all for now – Folpork, signing off.
Todd wrote: "Renaissance Man or Monster by Todd Folstad (988 words)I have always considered myself a renaissance man–jack of all trades and master of none–but today I was confronted with redefining my assumpt..."
Your story could have been written by anyone, short or tall; skinny or fat, and so on. The kid who ran screaming "there is a Monster in the aisle," probably wanted to be cute or was a perturbed kid. Most likely, he was yearning attention from his mother since he was free to roam around by himself. At that kid's age, I am pretty sure he has seen from tiny to huge people on TV or the movies so what was he so excited about?
If your story was about yourself (not fiction), from your picture I can see a smiling guy who should not scare anyone. It is the kid I worry about. He could have been overly-warned about "bad people" and not told that those come in all shapes and forms. I liked your story and it should be an eye-opener for some parents.
Mirta wrote: "Todd wrote: "Renaissance Man or Monster by Todd Folstad (988 words)I have always considered myself a renaissance man–jack of all trades and master of none–but today I was confronted with redefini..."
Thanx Mirta - it was an actual day in the life of being me. I am generally a very happy-go-lucky guy, but just like most people, you never know what will hit you when you're defenses are down.
Todd wrote: "Mirta wrote: "Todd wrote: "Renaissance Man or Monster by Todd Folstad (988 words)I have always considered myself a renaissance man–jack of all trades and master of none–but today I was confronted..."
That's what I saw in your picture, Todd, a happy-go-lucky guy; however, how would one like to hear those words from a child in relation to our own person or persona? Monster is too big a word.
It has become an all too common word in our current lexicon - from Lady Gaga's fans calling her the "Mother Monster", to movies and cartoons catered to children such as Monster's Inc. In the end, most of it comes down to correct parenting and open communication with your children as to what is and what is not acceptable. Just my thoughts.
I totally agree, Todd. Aside from a kid learning to behave properly, it could have been dangerous for him to voice "what he saw" out loud. Had he seen a real bad person, he could have placed himself and his mom in an unsafe situation. He should have whispered what he saw and let his mother decide whether to check things out carefully or to leave the area.
Writers 750 are sharing deep inner feelings with a freedom not always seen. The pain in your words sears the heart and makes one wonder if others learn from this pain or see that we are not so different one from another. Thank you for sharing insight into your soul.
Mod
I have always considered myself a renaissance man–jack of all trades and master of none–but today I was confronted with redefining my assumpt..."
Todd, you touched my heart with your story. I just wanted to wrap my arms around you. I also had to look up the meaning of "omnivert"; I think I may be one too. Thank you for your story. I really wish we could "heart" or "thumbs up" like we do on Facebook.
This probably is not exactly what you are looking for, it just sort of wrote itself from your prompts, but after consideration, its a great metaphor and does represent, in a Lord of the Rings sort of way, what you were asking. If I wrote the real and complete non fiction answer, it would take me too many words. :)here goes.
Kevin by Shae Hamrick, 868 words
Sarah whimpered as she sat on the wooden bench, trying desperately to ignore the splinters in her butt, as her small bloody hands gripped the seat. She stared at the hard, stone floor in front of her. But it didn’t change. Nor did the blood that she kept seeing on the floor of the kitchen. Her aunt would be so angry. She hadn’t meant to kill him, but he was drunk again and had attacked her little brother.
Kevin was cowering in the corner, screaming as their uncle hit him again and again. She had come in the kitchen and screamed for Uncle Ed to stop. But he just kept on hitting Kevin. She ran up to him and beat his back, but he wouldn’t stop. Kevin had stopped. He lay on the floor. She couldn’t see him even breath. And, still her uncle hit him.
Her uncle shouted at Kevin to get up. To fight like a man.
Kevin just lay silently as Uncle Ed hit him again.
Her uncle then grabbed a chair from the table by the window and raised it to hit Kevin.
She couldn’t let him. Kevin. Her poor brother. Always a little slow. Always the quiet one. She had protected him at school. She had held him when her parents died. She had watched over him when they were sent to Grandma Misa.
And then kind Misa died, and Aunt June had picked them up. But Uncle Ed had shouted at her and said they couldn’t afford another two mouths to feed. He hit Aunt June. Sarah had stepped in and said she would work instead of go to school. She would go with Aunt June and help clean houses. And he had relented.
They had worked long hours and, when they returned, Kevin would always run and hide behind her. Sarah would take him to their small room and put the dresser against the door. They would sleep in the dark closet, a blanket shared.
Then last week, Aunt June fell down the stairs. She had been bruised all over and the ambulance had taken her away. Uncle Ed had slapped her across the room after they left, shouting that Sarah shouldn’t have called them. Now there were more bills.
Then tonight she had come home, smelled the alcohol in the air, seen the bottles around HIS chair in front of the television, and heard the screaming.
She could still hear the screaming and smell the metallic taste of blood. There was blood everywhere. In her mouth, on her hands, on the knife.
Sarah glanced around and couldn’t find the knife. She screamed and screamed in the almost dark room. The dark floor was covered in blood now and it was coming for her.
A light blared in her eyes. She covered them and looked to see a door open. Lights flashed and someone stood there in the light. But she couldn’t hear them.
A hand touched her arm and pulled her into an embrace and the room grew lighter. She breathed in the flowery sent of Misa. Looking around, she realized she was on a wooden bench in a bright room and the stone floor was actually soft gray padding.
Misa hugged her and Sarah sighed.
“Oh, good. She quit screaming,” an older lady said as she glanced in the door.
“Miss Aaron. Please leave,” a man in white with a frown said. She glanced at him, paled, and disappeared.
“You are alright,” Misa said, but it wasn’t Misa’s voice.
Sarah looked closer and Misa became Aunt June.
Sarah backed away but Aunt June held her hand. “Shush. It’s okay. You are going to be okay.”
Sarah realized she was screaming again and closed her mouth.
“There, there,” Aunt June that looked like Misa said. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“Kevin?” Sarah croaked.
Misa smiled. “He is in the next room. He won’t leave until he sees you,” came Misa’s voice. “You two were always so close. You protected him so well. Will you go see him?”
“Yes,” Sarah said.
“Yes, what?” the man in the doorway asked.
Sarah looked around. There was no one in the room but him now.
“Sarah. I said that your brother is in the next room and doing well but won’t talk or eat.”
The man crossed his arms and Sarah backed away. He shook his head and held his arms out to the side. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I promise. I won’t hurt you.”
Sarah glanced down. “You aren’t mad that I killed him.”
The man grimaced. “Are you?”
Sarah sighed and glanced back up. Behind the man stood Misa and Aunt June, a glow around them and a smile on their faces.
“No,” she said firmly. "Can I see my brother now?"
sorry about the spacing on some of the paragraphs. It's so hard to get it right on this forum. (ooo... fixed the spacing. all better now.)
Shae, it's exactly right. How could it be wrong? I'm so glad you shared this story.
Shae wrote: "Kevin
by Shae Hamrick, 868 words
Sarah whimpered
Enjoyed the story Shae.
by Shae Hamrick, 868 words
Sarah whimpered
Enjoyed the story Shae.
Todd wrote: "Renaissance Man or Monster by Todd Folstad (988 words)
I would say - Renaissance Man.
I would say - Renaissance Man.
Mod
Todd wrote: "Renaissance Man or Monster by Todd Folstad (988 words)
I have always considered myself a renaissance man–jack of all trades and master of none–but today I was confronted with redefining my assumpt..."
Mod
Shae wrote: "Kevin
by Shae Hamrick, 868 words
Sarah whimpered as she sat on the wooden bench, trying desperately to ignore the splinters in her butt, as her small bloody hands gripped the seat. She stared at ..."
Mod
Copyright Rejoice Denhere
982 words
Michael and Jean were passing through a local pharmacy one morning when Jean remembered she needed to buy some multivitamin tablets. She and Michael had been feeling a little run down lately and suspected it was because they had both been overworking.
“Don’t start buying the whole pharmacy now. We need to get home,” Michael warned her.
Jean rolled her eyes upwards, “Of course I won't!”
When they walked into the pharmacy Michael noticed a poster which sent chills down his back. It had a picture of a dripping tap. He’d been going to the toilet a lot more frequently recently. He'd ignored the possibility that something might be wrong. However, after seeing the poster he decided to make an appointment with his doctor.
When the results came back, the news was a complete shock. Michael was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer.
"I don’t want a prognosis," he told the doctor. “I don't want to be forever looking at a clock on the wall and thinking time is running out."
Jean held him very tight and told him how much she loved him and that she would be there with him and for him every step of the way.
He had radiotherapy followed by hormone therapy. Michael felt a bit weak after each session. He’d been warned he could suffer side-effects from the treatment. It was hard for Jean and her friend Julie suggested she find a support group. She found one where one lady's husband had similar results to Michael. One day the lady told Jean that she needed to have a talk with Michael about the elephant in the room. Jean was shocked at first, but it was what she needed to hear.
That day Jean went home thinking about how she would broach such a difficult subject, just months after Michael had been told the worst news ever. He surprised her by being the first to bring the subject up. He asked her to sit down and go through everything with him. Jean felt her son Danny should be included in the discussions about his father’s health. Michael was very open, which made the difficult conversations not quite so difficult.
****
The call from the hospice came through one morning as Danny was having his coffee. It was a lovely breezy day, birds singing in the trees. All of nature seemed to be singing except Danny.
***
Danny made most of the funeral arrangements. Jean only stepped in to choose the casket. Then there were the flowers and the suit in which Michael would be buried. He had actually chosen it before he died. The days following Michael’s death were the hardest. She hadn’t expected this because she had known it was coming. They had prepared for it.
When she was alone in the house Jean would busy herself with cleaning and cooking. At other times she would watch television just to keep herself from thinking, from remembering, from allowing herself to descend into that bottomless pit of self-pity and depression.
Often she would find herself sitting on Michael’s chair and talking to him as if he was standing next to her. She would let her arm rest on the armchair and look up. Sometimes she was sure she saw his face or heard his voice but it was all an illusion - a dream. Se pulled out photo albums and took out pictures of them together. She built a poster board - it was really a shrine - her personal shrine of Michael in which she tried to immortalise him. She knew she would see Michael someday but worried how long it would be before that moment.
***
The day of Michael’s funeral was beautiful, the sun beaming down from the bright blue dome of a cloudless sky. Jean stood numbly at the head of the visitation room gazing at the light streaming in through the uncovered windows. She couldn’t bear to look to the left and see Michael’s lifeless face framed by the satin of his coffin.
The sweet smell of flowers overpowered her nose. Her heart began to pound. Her legs desperately wanted to carry her some place far away from the gut-wrenching scene.
Mourners filtered through the doors. They took memorial cards printed with Michael’s picture before he was ill, signed the condolence book and made their way to slowly to Jean speaking in hushed tones. It was as if they did not want to disturb Michael. She gave a lot of hugs that day. She also shed a lot of tears and gave as many tissues as she received.
It broke her heart to see faces balk as they peered into the casket. Perhaps they were thinking about the brevity and uncertainty of life. She couldn’t help wonder about what might have happened had they not gone into the Pharmacy that day. What would have happened had Michael not seen that poster and eventually been persuaded to visit the doctor.
Half-way through the viewing she needed the restroom. She stepped into the hall where she narrowly escaped the clutches of a well-meaning group of church ladies who would have smothered her with their sympathetic hugs.
In the restroom, she reapplied some of her make-up, staring emotionlessly at the pallid worn face in the mirror. Was that really her? It was certainly the face of someone bereaved, a widow. She paused in the application of her lipstick. Yes, that was her. That was her identity now. A widow.
Had she decided not to marry Michael she might have been spared from the devastation she was now going through. But in her mind she knew she would not have had it any other way. She loved Michael with all her being and couldn’t imagine a life without him at the core. And if that meant she’d grieve for the rest of her days - so be it. She would always be Michael’s wife.
Rejoice wrote: "Darling DearestCopyright Rejoice Denhere
982 words
Michael and Jean were passing through a local pharmacy one morning when Jean remembered she needed to buy some multivitamin tablets. She and Mic..."
Well written, balanced story. It flowed, was picturesque, and for a short story, the characters were developed. I could feel the wife's sadness and could sympathize with her questioning the timing of going into the drug store. A most enjoyable, albeit sad, story.
Rejoice wrote: "Darling Dearest
Copyright Rejoice Denhere
982 words
Rejoice, your story is very current and could resonate with thousands of family around the world. Nicely done.
Copyright Rejoice Denhere
982 words
Rejoice, your story is very current and could resonate with thousands of family around the world. Nicely done.
Stories of the heart and from the soul bring us insight into human nature. Thank you, Rejoice.
Mod
Patricia wrote: "Rejoice wrote: "Darling Dearest
Copyright Rejoice Denhere
982 words
Michael and Jean were passing through a local pharmacy one morning when Jean remembered she needed to buy some multivitamin tabl..."
Mod
i>TERRY wrote: "Rejoice wrote: "Darling Dearest
Copyright Rejoice Denhere
982 words
Rejoice, your story is very current and could resonate with thousands of family around the world. Nicely done."
Mod
i>S. wrote: "Stories of the heart and from the soul bring us insight into human nature. Thank you, Rejoice."
Still time to get a story in today. Voting starts tomorrow through Sunday June 30.Winners will be announced on July 1st, 2019.
Send your votes for 1st, 2nd & 3rd place to swillett11@yahoo.com
My One and Only Life – by Mirta Oliva
Advice to My Inner Self – by Glenda Reynolds
Renaissance Man or Monster – by Todd Folstad
Kevin – by Shae Hamrick
Dearest Darling – by Rejoice Denhere
Project Deep Soul - by F.F. Burwick
Thank you Writers 750.
Project Deep Soul by F. F. Burwick 1000 wordsWhen Ned Burtem was called into the Center, he knew the time he had tried to be prepared for had come. The Research Committee had invested heavily into this new way to explore the human psyche, but it wouldn't go further without it being tried with any people. As it was still a secret research project known otherwise only to top officials, only those involved in it might be available as volunteers for it. Ned was a quiet man and generally not much involved with others, he was surprised when a colleague in this project suggested to him that he volunteer for this.
Ned approached the door of the project room within the Research Center. Right away it was opened for him, it was Doctor Welnar holding it open. "Good, you are already here. Let me show you this way where you will be set up."
One attendant was staying there in the project room with them, of course to monitor everything and attend the equipment being used. He was introduced as Harvey Clennily. There were the headpieces suspended over the seats on one side of the room, facing each other nearly straight on, where Ned and Doctor Welnar would be sitting.
Doctor Welnar said, "Well, we know how we are starting, so let us just begin." They took their seats, and as Harvey worked the controls, the headpieces were lowered to them. Each reached up to guide them just right for their heads, and brought the vizers on them in place over there faces. Doctor Welnar then said, "We are ready, let us begin."
With the equipment, they saw themselves before large thick curtain drapings surrounding themselves on all sides.
"You are blocking, Ned!" Doctor Welnar told him.
"I am sorry! I am certainly trying not to!"
"Well, let us work our way through these."
They saw themselves looking along where there were partitions between the curtain drapings, but when pushing those aside to pass through, there was another curtain draping behind those. And they would move behind the first layer along the draping they found behind it, until coming to another partition, they found another layer.
"We certainly have to work through a great deal," Doctor Welnar said, "it should not be this difficulty."
They found their way to another partition to that third layer. Beyond it there were no more curtains. Right before them was a wide opening in a stone wall to a tunnel, which was dark except for a little light coming through a few doors along that way, on either side. Along the floor there was a slight running stream of dark liquid. Doctor Welnar bent over and looked closely. "This is blood," he said.
"I don't feel good about this," Ned said.
"You don't? But don't you know what it means?"
"No, I don't."
"You have it covered really well, then. Let us go on, then."
They both walked along that passage, at length they came to one door that had light which came into that passage. They both looked in. There they saw a great ogre, in a frilly dress, holding a whip, standing over a body laying on a cot by one wall of the room they saw here. "Answer where you saw it! Now! I'm not just going to still wait!" the ogre yelled. And they saw the blood dripping from the one on that cot.
Ned backed away and went into the passage from there. "Oh my goodness!" he said to Doctor Welnar who followed him out, "I remember now."
"What is it?" the doctor asked.
"It was my big sister, when I was a little boy. She always brutalized me."
"But she didn't really look like that, did she?"
"No, she wouldn't have, but that is how she seemed to me then."
"It is very hard to imagine how you came through that," Doctor Welnar observed. "You do not show any of the trauma for that. That blood means something. It must have been horrible. But what did you see that she wanted to know the location of?"
"I was trying to think of what it was. Nothing came to me."
"Well, let us look in this next door."
They went to that next door, its light coming into the dark passage. As they looked in from there, it was clear that it was an unoccupied room. And then they saw it appeared to be an attic. Boxes and knickknacks lay about on the attic floor. Somehow more light was shining on a large shoebox among debris, near old bottles and jugs. As the two walked around the attic, looking at old furnature and dusty books there, they came to the shoebox singularly in the light.
"You do know what this is, right?" Doctor Welnar asked.
"It is familiar. But I am not sure."
"Open it, then."
Kneeling, Ned opened the large shoebox. In the opened box they saw a huge version of a cassette cartridge. On it was a handwritten, "Kyle & Crista". "Crista was my big sister," Ned explained, and said, "Oh! I know what this was. This is what she must have wanted. I know why, now. It had her and her boyfriend talking about how they went to the little home where our old uncle lived, when he wasn't there then, and stole valuables from there. They killed his dog, shooting it, when it came after them. Our uncle's health failed soon after that, he died within months of that."
Doctor Welnar indicated that they should move on. He told Ned, "I don't know how you were dealing with that. It was really repressed. But I wonder how did you do that and then go on from that without anything showing it affects your behavior?"
In the next room that they went to, they found something like a chapel, well lit. There were framed pictures of many people with nice faces. "These are all people who show they care, who I have met," Ned explained.
Mod
Shae, if you're reading this, you can post your July writing contest. Thanks.
F.F., I just now see that you have a story for us. Wonderful and just in time. The votes are coming in now and we will know in a few days our June winners. Thank you all for your stories and votes. I'm so glad to be a part of Writers 750.
Mod
S. wrote: "F.F., I just now see that you have a story for us. Wonderful and just in time. The votes are coming in now and we will know in a few days our June winners. Thank you all for your stories and votes...."
Mod
F.F. wrote: "Project Deep Soul by F. F. Burwick 1000 words
When Ned Burtem was called into the Center, he knew the time he had tried to be prepared for had come. The Research Committee had invested heavily int..."
Get those votes in today, especially those who wrote stories. The winner will be announced tomorrow. swillett11@yahoo.com
Mirta wrote: "My One and Only Life Several decades ago, I was given a life to live. I thank God and my parents for it. Albeit, life came without preview or choices. No exchange, no return, no trial or complaint..."
Well done Mirta!!! Very intelligently posed.
Glenda wrote: "Advice to My Inner SelfBy Glenda Reynolds 780 words
I recently attended a meeting at work and was asked (as part of an introduction), "What advice would you give your younger self?" I answered th..."
Very deep and personally enriching. It is clear that you know who you are and what path you are walking.
Shae wrote: "Kevin by Shae Hamrick, 868 words
Sarah whimpered as she sat on the wooden bench, trying desperately to ignore the splinters in her butt, as her small bloody hands gripped the seat. She stared at ..."
WOW! A very powerful story of love and protection - nicely done.
Rejoice wrote: "Darling DearestCopyright Rejoice Denhere
982 words
Michael and Jean were passing through a local pharmacy one morning when Jean remembered she needed to buy some multivitamin tablets. She and Mic..."
Great story Rejoice. I lost my father back in 2005 and my Mom went through a fairly similar situation and even though I'm the youngest in my family, most of the decision making and planning was left to me. It is never an easy time, but it is a necessary one.
F.F. wrote: "Project Deep Soul by F. F. Burwick 1000 wordsWhen Ned Burtem was called into the Center, he knew the time he had tried to be prepared for had come. The Research Committee had invested heavily int..."
Another solid effort Mr. Burwick - repressed memories are often the hardest to get to, ut when they finally do come out in the open - their power is released.
And the winners are...1st place - Renaissance Man or Monster by Todd Folstad
2nd place - Dearest Darling by Rejoice Denhere
3rd place - Advice to My Inner Self by Glenda Reynolds
Thank you all for your stories from the heart.
Theme: Your Inner Self
Possible prompts :
• How do you gather spiritual strength?
• What feeds your spirit?
• What hurts you or takes your energy?
Setting: Any
(500 to 1000 words)
Deadline: Entries must be submitted by midnight EST on Thursday June 27, 2019.
Voting period will be from Friday June 28 thru Sunday June 30.
Winners will be announced on July 1st, 2019.
Send your votes for 1st, 2nd & 3rd place to swillett11@yahoo.com
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. It 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.
You are not allowed to vote for yourself. If posting this month, you MUST vote, in order for your story to remain eligible.