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Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 53-(September 2nd-9th) Stories----Topic: Flight DONE!!

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message 1: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ... wait, can u use the same story for essay and this?


message 2: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments I dont' think so...


message 3: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ya... didn't think so either


message 4: by Stephanie (last edited Sep 04, 2010 07:01AM) (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments Of course, you can't really because if you're submitting a story then it's a story not an essay. So it can't really be the same thing...


message 5: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ya...


message 6: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments *sigh*


message 7: by [deleted user] (last edited Sep 10, 2010 11:43AM) (new)

Flight from Cilmeri - 1021 words

“Llywelyn is dead! – the Prince is dead!”
Mortimer’s men gathered around the body, staring incredulously. Their early morning patrol had happened on a group of Welsh riders heading west near Cilmeri. Their challenge was not answered and so the short skirmish had begun. It was over in minutes, one Welshman run through by a lance, a clash of swords and another fell from his horse, a page captured and two had escaped west, towards Llanafan.
“What is your name, page?”
“I am Huw ap Rhys, servant of the Prince, my lord.”
“And is this the Prince lying here?
“Yes, my lord.”
“And where were you riding to so early?”
“To the house of the Lady Maud at Llan-ym-ddyfri, my lord.”

The leader of the Marcher troops was caught in two minds, if this really was the acknowledged Prince of Wales lying dead, then Sir Roger must come to claim his victory, but if the boy was lying then could it be a King’s man he had just killed? Plenty of Marcher Lords employed Welsh servants, either way, Sir Roger had to be told.
“John of Clun, stay here with the men, I will fetch Sir Roger from Llanfair. Guard the boy well and keep a sharp watch, the Welsh may try to retrieve him. Here’s some mead to keep you warm.”

Huw unsaddled his pony and spread the dead captain’s cloak over his back against the morning chill. The winter sun rose slowly from the direction of Aberedw and the cave where they had spent the night. The boy lay down on his own cloak and wrapped it around him, careful to keep hold of the pony’s reins. The English soldiers watched disinterestedly as they sipped the mead and basked in the thin rays of the sun. The tracks in the frost made by Pedr and Llwyd were beginning to disappear. Had they gone to fetch help? More likely they had seen the Prince struck down and run away to save their own skins. In any case, where were there Welsh troops in sufficient number to take on Mortimer’s Englishmen?

The mead was having an effect among his guards, they had stopped talking and one was even beginning to snore. Huw sat up and looked about him, he was about twenty yards from the ford which was screened from his guards by their tethered horses, now peacefully grazing on the thawing grass. If he could gain the other side of the river there was a chance of escape. He stood up and pretended to inspect the pony’s hooves. The guards didn’t stir. Huw edged towards Llywelyn’s body and on an impulse took the ring from the Prince’s finger, it would make it more difficult to confirm Llywelyn’s identity and buy him time. Huw knelt by the body of his Prince and said a silent prayer for the Prince and for himself for forgiveness for stealing the ring.

Still the guards did not stir, Huw pulled on the reins and led the pony stealthily towards the ford. One of the English horses neighed softly as if in encouragement. There was no going back now, gently through the ford and turn upstream. Now behind the willows and still leading the pony he skirted Hendre, they were for Mortimer there, and headed to the ford near the bend at Llanafan Fychan. Again he was careful to avoid the house, more Mortimer people there, but he was soon north of the Irfon again. Huw was sure they would think he’d made for Mynydd Eppynt and the safety of the mountain, but he was intent on getting to the abbey at Cwm Hir to get help to bury the Prince.

By midday, Huw had crossed the Chwefru and could see the Gwy from the high ground near Llanfihangel. From here he could either cross the river, pick up the Eithon at Disserth and follow it to Y Groes, or he could stay this side and work his way up the Gwy to Rhaedr. Both routes were fraught with danger, Mortimer held sway throughout this land and his castle at Cefnllys watched over the Eithon securely. Better to stay this side and high, and try to cross below the falls at Rhaedr under the cover of darkness. He kept off the tracks and stayed in the woods, the going was more difficult and exhausting but the pony was sure-footed and willing. The early moon helped them find the ford and by midnight he was at the door of the abbey. One of the lay brothers agreed to wake the Abbot when he was shown the ring. The old man immediately recognised him as the Prince’s page and greeted him warmly and Huw knew he was safe at last.

It turned out that a Christian burial was out of the question for the Prince, he had been excommunicated by the Archbishop of Canterbury on the insistence of the King. Under these circumstances the Pope would allow a Christian burial only if Llywelyn had received the last rites from a priest. The Abbot did however agree to send a party of lay brothers to fetch the body to the Abbey, at least he could be buried close to consecrated ground.

Two days later the brothers returned accompanied by Lady Maud, the Prince’s cousin. The Abbot gave instructions for a grave to be dug outside the abbey walls, near to the eastern gate. Huw had told Lady Maud of the Prince’s last moments and gave her the ring, he had also told her of his hurried prayer before he took flight from Cilmeri. Lady Maud called for the Abbot and said: “If Huw ap Rhys takes holy orders, would the prayer that he said over Llywelyn’s body count as the last rite?” The Abbot thought for a long time, went to the Lady Chapel to pray, and finally gave the order for the grave to be dug in front of the high altar.

Huw ap Rhys never left the beautiful, remote, high-sided valley of Cwm Hir until he became Abbot of the wealthy abbey of Strata Florida, thirty years later.


message 8: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 196 comments Great story with lots of action...a few too many unfamiliar place names made it a little hard to follow in places....it would be nice if we could hear you read it in person...that would help with the pronunciation and make it easier to follow, I'm sure.


message 9: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ah man.... i had to leave during the deadline... poop... ;D


message 10: by [deleted user] (new)

Jan wrote: "Great story with lots of action...a few too many unfamiliar place names made it a little hard to follow in places....it would be nice if we could hear you read it in person...that would help with t..."

Funny you should say that, I had always thought that when writing historical stuff it was very important to fix time and place, and of those two, time was probably more important. However, having written it I see that I have ignored time and haven't even placed the story in the 13th century, yet I've gone overboard with place! Not quite sure why I did that.

Yes, I realise that Welsh place names mean very little to non-Welsh people and they must seem a terrible mouthful if you're not used to them. It's very difficult to convey the lyricism of spoken Welsh in written English. I'll think about the problem next time I do something historical.


message 11: by Amanda (last edited Sep 12, 2010 01:01PM) (new)

Amanda (dreamweaver38) | 509 comments So... David was the only one who posted a story, so he wins by default. And seeing as we're three days over the deadline, I'm going to call it on behalf of Al. Still, I'm going to put up the poll for stories, so you can all vote for David and make him feel wonderful. XD


I am a LoZ & anime Lover!! (CityofEmber) I missed by one day... :(
Can put up my story just for the heck of it?


message 13: by Amanda (new)

Amanda (dreamweaver38) | 509 comments hmmm... To follow the rules set out by Al, I think I'm going to say that as long as you get your story up before I or someone else closes the topic at the end of voting, go ahead. It's wonderful to get feedback. Seeing as you haven't posted it yet though, I'm still going to rule that David wins by default if that's alright.

In the future, if the polls aren't up, or one of us hasn't posted that the contest is over, it's still on and anything you post is fair game. :)


message 14: by I am a LoZ & anime Lover!! (last edited Sep 12, 2010 01:13PM) (new)

I am a LoZ & anime Lover!! (CityofEmber) kk.

A Gift and a Curse
By LoZ Lover

Black wings spread over the twilight. They headed toward the falling sun. Ever so slowly they bob above the clouds overhead. Black feathers seem to rain down over the city. Suddenly, the wings fall. They crash into a tree. People gather to see what happened. A hand showed under the foliage. It was covered with a black glove. A siren rang out as an ambulance and police officers came around the block. Cops and doctors ran up with a stretcher, as others put up yellow tape. An officer ran up with a ladder. When he climbed onto a branch, black feathers bunched together like mud drifted down. He dragged a man; about eighteen dressed in all black, out of the tree and lowered him onto the stretcher.
Halfway to the ER, the man was awake. He was mumbling something that no one could understand.
When they reached the ER, the man was back asleep. The workers did an X-ray; he only had two ribs and an arm broken. Soon enough, they got him into a cast. They took him to an empty room.
That night he was gone. Only a solitary black feather on the windowsill remained.
The man’s name was Kraken, one of the few who had the gift of flight, but where forever cursed to roam the skies. If so ever they should they contact one of the land, they cannot fly again. Had he stayed his fate would’ve been sealed. Kraken had met someone on a roof, and had almost been grounded. He had left almost too late, and momentarily been shut off from his powers. He roams the skies once again, careful not to make the same mistake.


message 15: by Amanda (new)

Amanda (dreamweaver38) | 509 comments Ok, so I accidentally set the date wrong on the poll, so it'll be up tomorrow. ^^


message 16: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 196 comments I didn't even write mine. We've got used to Alex closing the polls a week late, so we got caught snoozing!
Anyway, I'll give you the scenario...it was to be about a friend of mine who was on his first trip to Europe. He wanted to enjoy every aspect of the trip. As the plane flew over Afghanistan,he was even able to join the pilot in the cockpit. However, when they landed in Italy there was a tense atmosphere in the airport. And a lot of confusion. What was going on?

It was September 11,2001. After that,planes flew further north, to avoid Afghanistan. Everything changed that day. We feel less safe. There are more security measures. Cockpits are locked. No visitors allowed. My friend may have been the last traveller to have a friendly chat with the pilots in the cockpit.


So there's my very short story! I have a request...when the comp is about to close, can you give us 24 hrs notice and say...closing this time tomorrow....then we can hurry up?


message 17: by Stephanie (last edited Sep 14, 2010 09:00AM) (new)

Stephanie (chasmofbooks) | 2875 comments I suppose it's too late for this. But I'll put it up anyway because I wrote it.

Title: Sorrow
Words: 561

Garrett watched the bird above him fly in circles. It was such a graceful action yet so dynamic. He used to love being in the sky, and being able to see the clouds from a whole new perspective. But those days were over; he was lucky he survived last time…

Horrible, graphic images flashed before his eyes. He frowned and took a deep breath; there was nothing he could’ve done. Part of him couldn’t believe that though. A beautiful face flashed before his mind’s eye and he clenched his fists. Fire covered his vision and it was like he was reliving it all over again.


There was screaming, everyone around him was panicking. Garrett’s eyes went wide and he braced himself for impact. “We’re going down!” he heard the pilot say. He shook his head, believing, yet at the same time unable to. This was just too terrible, this couldn’t be happening to him.

A small, thin hand clasped his as the plane met the first of the trees. There was a horrible jarring sensation and the smell of smoke dominated his nostrils. Garrett coughed; he wanted to put his other hand over his mouth but he needed to stay in his seat. He fiercely grasped his chair’s armrest. Its sides bit into his hands, drawing blood. A dull pain filled his hand and he could feel his wife’s nails bite into his other arm.

They were getting increasingly close to the earth. Garrett closed his eyes, waiting for the impact, a few seconds later he felt it. The front of the plane crumpled under impact. Some of the screaming had ceased but everything was much louder than before. The plane toppled over onto its back, groaned, then rolled over on its side. Cries of pain erupted from the living passengers and screams of terror from those who discovered their dead companions.

Garrett was in a daze. He let go of the armrest and touched his forehead with his bloody hand. His vision was blurry and he blinked several times in an effort to clear it. Smoke was all over the place and the smell of a growing fire wasn’t too far. He unbuckled and fell, sideways, out of his seat. He groaned but sat up to check on his wife. She lay in her seat, lifeless. Tears stun his eyes and he unbuckled her. There was no way he was going to leave her here, dead or alive. He put his arms under hers and started dragging her out of the plane.

The door was jammed. He dropped the limp body in his arms and kicked at the bent door. He realized it was locked, so he proceeded to unlock it. A few seconds later the door caved and he dragged his wife’s body out of the plane. Sirens were non-existent; ambulances and fire trucks obviously hadn’t made it there yet.

Finally, the tears spilled over and Garrett looked into the face of the woman he loved. Sorrow and pain racked his body and he cried.


Garrett sighed, dispersing the memory. The bird had flown off and the sky was growing dark. A storm was blowing in. He stood up and dusted the grass and dirt off his pants. “We just weren’t made to fly.” With that, he walked away from the sight of the plane crash, his last flight.


message 18: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) awwwwwwwwwww


message 19: by Amanda (new)

Amanda (dreamweaver38) | 509 comments Yeah and I failed. The poll won't show up and I dunno where it went.


message 20: by Amanda (new)

Amanda (dreamweaver38) | 509 comments David won by default, so no poll will be posted.


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