Short Story Contests discussion

31 views
Weekly Contests > Week 14 (Jan. 27 - Jan 31) DONE

Comments Showing 1-22 of 22 (22 new)    post a comment »
dateDown arrow    newest »

message 1: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune Instructions:
Please do not use a story previously used on goodreads. After the week's contest, you are welcome to put it on your profile writings, but please refrain from using stories you have already put on there.

You have until Saturday afternoon to post a story on here. Please post it directly onto this topic, rather than posting a link. Also, please do not discuss stories on here. You must go to Weekly Short Story Contest Discussion http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/6899... for that. This will avoid any clutter and confusion, so that people can simply come on here and read the story, without having to read comments on the story.

This week's Topic is Captive. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You could write about being captive, or taking a captive, w/e.... just as long as you have the word in it!

Weekly stories must be at least 500 words long to 2,000 words long. (if the whole story won't fit in one post, divide it into two)

Good luck!

Clare

P.S. PLEASE say if you would like to have your story on Short Story Galore, if you win. This way it wouldn't take me ages to get your consent afterwards. This includes adding a link to your stories. If you want to have your story on the Short Story Galore, but not the link, just say so.


message 2: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
Name: The Great Artist
Words: 1600
Genre: Fiction
By: Arthur
Notes: Um…it’s a big country. Elizabeth disappears and her husband is determined to look after her even if he has to travel across the country.
** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * **

The Great Artist

Elizabeth Mukluk had vanished. Disappeared. Dropped out of existence.
I had three of her works. Well four. Three rated excellence of Canadian standards. Excellence in the world. Three finished oils framed hanging in my personal gallery, my living-room. Giving her credit for the fourth would mean her visit and her finishing it. Something I fear is if she becomes reclusive it may have to wait too long to appreciate. Or it may become lost. It is my portrait.
My luggage bags are packed in my car. I have assorted my schedule to take two weeks, maybe more to locate Elizabeth. I’ve drawn several maps. Several I took from my/our journals and papers and books. My paper work have heavily stacked against the walls added color but with work as rare but important I had seen litters of books and papers piling for years. I barely can escape. I closed the door behind me.
For a week I have gone to popular haunts. No such luck of finding anyone who has seen Elizabeth. With only rumors I learn she had gone into a rural community thought mythic in the mountains in Canada I fly to British Columbia. Once there I seek people who may have known her in Vancouver and it appears she had been here for months. I can not find her here. She has learned of many things of those mythic peoples in Canada and has left.
I feel as though I can follow her. Even through mountains. I feel captive in Vancouver. I can not follow her without a guide. Without someone to share with me this information of where she has really gone I will be left lost. If these mythic people existed. I had to know where.
To begin with I learned little. Then there were so many loyal mouths that had not trusted me either. I had to bribe someone.
Drinking a man into a stupor and adding a lengthy check I learn of where Elizabeth had learned of a community of tribes people she intends to find.
I had never heard of those people. And it was hinted that they had come over in an early expedition as slaves and were used as slaves during an Inuit expedition. Inuit is the modern word for Eskimo. So in the story they have been a group of unlucky Indians from the south in America before the wars that had been captured then brought up to Canada to help explore the more northern arctic.



message 3: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
The expedition went very rye. A traitor’s greed or in his defense to survive questioned the sudden cold that fell that had killed some of the dogs that remain outdoors. The next night had proved colder. Etc. until the expedition was given up. To few of the men still lived and they didn’t have control over the tribes people any longer and let them go. Not that anyone believed the people had a real chance to survival. The tribes people left and were never seen again. Some time later the men returned to tell the story of their expedition. The story would change with the suggestion that those tribes people used black magic to kill their captives.
Elizabeth is now looking for these southern American tribes Indians trapped somewhere hundreds of years later in Canada. Maybe they had all died out. Maybe they had been more fortunate to find help from another expedition or even found the Eskimo.
History says it was one of the first expeditions. The likelihood of another was impossible in the day. So they either lived or died.
I Brad Mukluk look for my wife who I still love although we seek different careers in different worlds of exploration. This expedition she has learned of is one of many other most dangerous things she has taken interest in. What if the story does prove true? What can that lead to? I am only thinking of her and her safety. After I find her I will talk sense to her, even as an husband can, and have her return to Ontario. Maybe convince her to retire as we are both aging.
We were headed to Edward VIII Ice Shelf. It is said the exploration did become lost from the cold and had entered this Ice Shelf before they disappeared. But it is also a great and well known Nunatak. A nunatak is rocky ridges, mountain peaks uncovered with just ice and snow. It is thought a settlement had begun to appear near here soon after the other explorations had been successful. This means that the Indians had survived but had come out of caves in the mountains and built the settlement for protection. This is one of the oldest and considered areas forbidden to enter.
Marcus thinks we will find Elizabeth there. I pack my belonging. Foot wear, bag and gear. And I am ready. My guide a hairy burly Eskimo named Marcus John and says his two brothers are American named Wilbur and Font. They are expensive guides. They have the best knowledge of history and the territory we will enter. I arranged to pay half before we left. Half after we return. And bonus if we find the tribe or remains of a tribe. I promised just as much if we bring back Elizabeth.
I chartered a plane. I thought they invited me to use dogs and sleds when we planned out the exploration. But dog sled was not necessary. We have requisitioned ourselves a Snowcat from the Pacific Crest company. A snowcat travels on top of snow much like a skidoo only it is as big as a tank and has two rubber tracks which spin over the snow.
We flew in a small plane chartered to land in the north of the Rockies. Over the Rockies we had a rain storm and we heard the plane being struck by hail.
Nothing happened once we landed. We took a small amount of supplies and trailer and the snowcat. Entering on the steady grounds were flat but rocky of the nunatak flatter land with our snowcat and it being autumnal September we forged entering wherewithal the settlement. A hundred and more of years old. It is believed first built by those slaves surviving in 1715. It was old.
It was also unknown and not in any history book. I learned it was not usually spoken of and completely forgotten. Just how had Elizabeth heard of this settlement that had not been given a name I did not know? It has been secretly hidden for three hundred years why had she come here?
I wondered how old the original people had been and if they were from those legendary tribes people from slavery. At that time it was reasonably they would have known to survive and have trades to build. The original wood buildings looked one or two hundred years old. Well, they were definitely 1700ish in style, but still they were that primitive.
But it was also barren. No people were here any longer. It was obvious.
We saw some modern transportation up further near a hill. Out of sight from this old settlement were some newer building in an outcrop and looked alighted. I was happy to find civilization, at least remnants of one.
Marcus warned me it could be hostile and wanted us to walk the rest of the way. So as not to surprise them but also to leave our snowcat far enough away to run back to it if need be.
We walked the rest of the way. I waited then knocked heavily on a door. It was the largest of the houses so I assumed its chief or family if that was right.
A native answered and I had become shook. It was a South American native. And they spoke Eskimo and asked Marcus and his brothers to come in to warm.
Elizabeth had indeed been there. She was well known in this little settlement. But it would surprise me to learn the entire story and whether she had been indeed safe with this legend tribes people.
I met a man near my age named Baron von Bastion. He it was who led the original expedition. He who it was who first learned about black magic from his tribes people and once they entered this little place his men tried to stop von Bastion’s expedition going any further. They were off the map a great deal and they wanted to return.
They had struggled and fought. Von Bastion had murdered his own men and the ones escaped returned but said that the cold had claimed the others and they breathed not a word, not caring whether von Bastion was ever found.
That night the tribes people continued the expedition finding this place where an Eskimo tribe had been. They had never seen a white man and you know the rest. They worshipped him as a god. But the tribes people tried to make it true and had cast spells on von Bastion to make him the god the Eskimo wanted. Something happened that made him to no longer age.
Elizabeth had come to paint the story and the portrait of von Bastion who has been a captive since he met the Eskimo. He believed the Eskimo may have had the power. The tribes people thought maybe it was a mix of their own powers. But von Bastion never has tried to leave.

The End



message 4: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune good!


message 5: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
Thanks...
it came to me this afternoon after you opened the topic/
it's a bit rough/I left out an o or something in a to. Anyhow I hope it makes sense.


message 6: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune I do like the story, but we'd appreciate it if you didn't put up stories already on Goodreads...


message 7: by [deleted user] (new)

oh yeah! i'll delete it ... sorry ...


message 8: by Kyle (last edited Jan 29, 2009 07:36PM) (new)

Kyle | 8 comments This is very long

He sat in the damp room counting the cracks on the wall, just as he had done for the past three years. He could see a single ray of sunlight where one of the cracks was thicker than the others. It was all the sunlight he ever saw. He looked at the cracks a lot. It was really all he had to do, he might have gone insane if he hadn’t kept his mind on such things. Of course being in captivity for so long, he was no stranger to insanity. When he first arrived he had a fellow prisoner in his cell. The old bat was crazier than any man he had met, but when the man had told him that he had been in there for thirty years, he quite understood why. The old man had died some weeks later leaving him in complete isolation. That’s when he had realized how bad it really was being alone. He had taken to talking to himself and drawing on the walls. He had come up with so many escape plans he could not count, but again ‘they’ never let him out of that cell. “All people at some point in there life are crazy,” he would think to himself, “its just that the insane have given into that voice, but I won’t”. Yes that voice, I’m sure that you have heard it before. The voice that exists in all of us, the voice that tells us how inadequate we are, how pathetic we are; the darkness that lives in all of our hearts. When your sitting alone that voice can become overpowering. Yes Leo was no stranger to the insane. But he had strangely never himself become insane.
No he clutched to his conscious self with all his might. Maybe it had something to do with who he was or maybe he drew on the hope that he had, that they would find him. His companions, his friends. They had always stood beside him and fought for what was right. Leo had been a politician, but not in the sense that you are familiar with. A politician who actually believed that change could exist and didn’t lie his way into offices. He had really been the only honest politician in his country at the time. His country had originally been under an oppressive dictator. When a coup had succeeded in killing the villain, people lauded them for their efforts. A new government was set up by the rebels. It had started as all ideas do, good on paper but bad for reality. When massive massacres in the streets and kidnappings became a daily worry for the average man, Leo knew he had to do something. He had been only a boy when the dictator ruled, but now was his chance to do something. He had started smart and small and worked from there. He rapidly gained acclaim by all the left over free speaking networks, but condemned by the Government approved ones, he was becoming the new face of the underdog.
Leo had been speaking at a rally when a carefully orchestrated assassination attack, by chance, failed. He had fled to the underground of rebels and quickly became their leader. Leo raised his case through any way he could. He would put up illegal posters all over the country, speak to the desperate people of the nation through the radio. Always planning the eventual take over of the country. Many times he would ask himself if he was doing anything different than the original rebels. Would he end up creating a government just as bad as the one he was fighting? His answer was no, the original rebellion had been ruthless. They had bombed innocent people ,saying they were traitor to the rebellion. They had murdered the dictator and all of his officials, even when they had been begging for mercy. His rebellion was different, it was with words that he would conquer and peoples trust that would be his weapon. His plan was for the government to wake up one day to discover that it no longer had any people to control. Leo had come so close to this goal, people were in the streets speaking out about the change. Leo had decided that if the coup was going to be peaceful then they would need help from other countries. Against his friends advice he decided to take his case overseas. The night he was supposed to be waiting for the ship he had completely disappeared off the face of the earth. Some speculated that he had been assassinated, others believed he had made it overseas and the government had hushed it up. But in reality he had been taken, beaten within an inch of his life, then tossed into a eight by ten foot cell
Now he was here staring at a gray colored wall, fighting for his sanity. He had many times prayed for death and if not death then maybe another chance to change the world and finish what he started. “All of these things I have done, have to have been for something”, he always thinks desperately. When he had been taken, they had tortured him for where the underground was. They had continued to torture him for all three years. It was rally the only time they let him out. In all his time there he had not spoken a word to them, until now. The night we find him in his cell, counting wall cracks, is his most desperate hour. He is hours away from breaking, if he breaks then all he did will have been for nothing. So you see how sanity factors into it all?

Leo sat in his cell waiting for the door to open. Tonight is the night they will torture him, but tonight will be different. Tonight he will not endure all that pain. As the door creaks open, he closes his eyes waiting for the beating that they normally give him. For what reason? He doesn’t really know. All he knew that tonight it all was over. He had decided to end it. As the men come in to beat him he lays down and takes the beating, he used to fight but years have taught him otherwise. The men drag him to his knees and start pushing him toward the door. Leo completely collapses going limp. The men look down at him in disgust and kick him. Then one of them bends down to grab Leo’s hair. In one swift motion Leo grabs something that was hidden under his cot and smashes the guys face in. The men hadn’t notice a single rock missing from the wall, they were to busy beating Leo. Before the other man can act Leo throws the stone into his stomach and leaps at him. Wrestling the gun away, he pounds the man’s head against the cold stone floor. As Leo gets up, holding the gun steadily in his hands, he hears a shout from the end of the corridor. Without turning he ducks around a corner, firing two shots. Leo hears the man fall yelling in pain. He sees a door at the end of the hall. Running towards the door, he burst through it, catching the would be torturer by surprise. He doesn’t even wait for words and puts a hole between his eyes. As he exit’s the room he sees the rest of his way is clear, men lying cold on the floor. At the door that says exit he pauses a moment, then walks out the door into the moonlight. The stars are shining brightly. There is the car waiting for him. His men sitting in the front seat. He gets in the back of the car.
“Apparently you got the message?” says one turning.
“Yes”, he replies smiling.
“Pushing a note through the one crack, that was brilliant”.
“So are you ready to finish it?”
“Yes”, says Leo with a fire in his eyes




message 9: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune wow, amazing!


message 10: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune Name: Letter

Words: 799

Genre: Fiction

By: Clare

Notes: kinda rushed with this one,please fogive mistakes.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Ryan ran up the stairs and into his room, heaving his heavy back pack behind him. He poured out its contents, looking for the pocket knife he knew was in there. He sifted through his many school books, and thought angrily and desperately about why he had to do this. He couldn’t live like this anymore. People didn’t know he existed, and it was so lonely. It was like he had already died and was a ghost that no one could see or hear. Feeling lost, feeling friendless, it was too much. But now. He had just heard the news. His grandfather, the only one who seemed to know him, the only one he could talk to freely, had just died. This was more than he could handle. He looked frantically for the knife. He would end it now.
He finally found it, tucked in an obscure pocket, and he dragged it out. With it, came a square of black paper. He was about to discard it, but paused. Black paper? None of his school bulletins were on black paper that he could remember. He opened it slowly, though he longed to just end it all immediately. He was just stalling. A foolish thing to do, when he had been preparing for this for nearly a half the year. He started to unfold, none the less. There was a sheet of white paper that looked like it had been ripped to fit the black piece, was glued to the black. On it was a scrawled letter, in messy, barely legible handwriting. The first few letters were scratched out, and there were dark spots on it, like who ever had written it had been crying.



Dear love,
My Love
Mr. Te
Ry...


Hello,

You do not know who I am, but I’m known you for years. You see me every day, but you don’t even glance at me. But that’s not important. I don’t mind.
Despite never having talked to you, I do know quite a bit about you. I know you’re favorite color is green, you hate Wednesdays, but love Mondays. You can’t stand any sport but baseball, you’re quite the reader. You like Coke, but despise Pepsi, and you like your bread toasted always. I probably sound like a stalker, but I’m not. I’m just very observant, I can see you’re kindness, your true self, and I can see what you’re going through. I know what you’re feeling now. I know what it feels like, to be lost, to be scared. To feel alone, even when people surge around you like the ocean. To feel like no one cares, that no one loves you. You feel like you could slit your wrists, and no one would notice. Don’t.
You think that no one knows you, or loves you.
Well you’re wrong. Ryan, you have my heart captive. And right now, it feels like you’re squeezing it. Squeezing it so hard that it will break any moment. Every time I see your face, your eyes, I want to cry. The desolation, the loneliness. It’s like watching a horror movie. Every time I walk by you, I can see the thoughts go through your head. Should I leave? Should I end my life?
Please. I beg of you, don’t. I’ve been where you are. I’ve been on that edge. That one that breaks off into a sheer cliff, ending in sharp rocks. That dangerous one, that one that seems to be un-escapable. I’ve been there, and I’ve almost fallen. But I didn’t. And you’re the one who saved me. Don’t ask me how, or when, or where. Just know that you saved a human life.
All I can hope is that I can reach out to you with this letter. Reach out and let you know that you’re not alone, that there are those who do care, and that you are not un-loved. Please Ryan, though we may never meet, and I may never have the joy to speak to you, please don’t kill yourself. Please save my heart.

It wasn’t signed. Ryan stared at the papers, reading it through three times. Who could the writer be? What did this mean? It didn’t make sense. He’d never seen or heard of this mysterious girl before. He thought of all the girls he might pass every day, but it was impossible. There were too many. School, work, everywhere. Could be a neighbor, could be anybody. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He thought about what he was going to do. His first thoughts were ‘Who cares. Get on with it already,’ but he didn’t. He put down the knife his had clutched in his other hand and sat down on the bed. He placed his head in his shaking hands. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What about his parents? What about his other family? And the girl. This didn't sound like a sham. It sounded real. Could he do that to her? he took in a shaky breath. He would have to give this some thought. He tucked his knife away again.


message 11: by Kyle (last edited Jan 30, 2009 05:41PM) (new)

Kyle | 8 comments Thanks. Oh and though I doubt I'll win. I just noticed the Galore thing so I give my consent




message 12: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune The polls are up people! please no more stories, and please go vote! Thanks,

Clare


message 13: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune The polls are up people! please no more stories, and please go vote! Thanks,

Clare


message 14: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune The polls are up people! please no more stories, and please go vote! Thanks,

Clare


message 15: by jeeves... (new)

jeeves... | 306 comments okay. :D


message 16: by jeeves... (new)

jeeves... | 306 comments okay. :D


message 17: by jeeves... (new)

jeeves... | 306 comments okay. :D


message 18: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune okay : D we get it.


message 19: by Arthur, Live a little Give a lot (new)

Arthur | 554 comments Mod
Daniel wins his first Weekly contest taking first place with his story , and Clare gains a second place with her story “Letter”.

Congratulations Daniel.





message 20: by jeeves... (new)

jeeves... | 306 comments GRACHYLATIONZ!!


message 21: by Clare D' Lune (new)

Clare D' Lune cool story!


message 22: by Kyle (new)

Kyle | 8 comments Alright! Fame and fortune are mine :)


back to top