Hello, everyone and happy July!
It’s so strange to think that one-third of summer is already over. I feel like it just started yesterday, but that’s just another reason to make sure that every day counts (and to make sure we all get enough words in per day on our manuscripts!)
Today, I want to start a discussion about short stories. What do you guys think about short stories? (more…)
Heyy! 🙂
I did another very very very short contest entry this morning.
Word limit: 50 words or less
The prompt: Imagine you have just died. What is the first thing you see?
I lay there, no longer feeling the knife protruding from my chest. There was no pain anymore. I didn’t feel anything at all. I couldn’t smell anything. I didn’t hear anything except for the dead silence. I could only see, and what I saw was his face, my killer’s face.
That’s all for today! I hope everyone likes it!
This was a short little 40 minute contest entry story I wrote this morning, inspired by Alias, which I’ve been watching a lot of. 
“Did you hear about Acacia?”
Those words started the whole thing. Her life was turned upside down, not that it was particularly right-side-up to begin with.
“My name is Acacia Brooks.”
“What is your profession, Acacia?”
“I’m an assassin for FIORA.”
“I work for FIORA.”
“Please explain FIORA to me.”
“FIORA is like a guild of assassins for hire. It’s your local Assassins-R-Us.”
“If this is a group of freelance mercenaries, why have a group at all?”
“FIORA ensures that our clients don’t double-cross us and makes sure that we remain safe throughout our assignments. In exchange, a portion of our commission goes to FIORA after each job.”
“There has been a rumor circulating among your personal circle of friends that you are not business professional as your cover specifies. Have you told anyone about your true profession at FIORA?”
“No.”
Acacia brushed her long white-blonde hair behind her ear as she leaned on her elbow at the steel interrogation table. The gray-haired man across from her had just finished the third round of questions, rounding out what felt like hours of ruthless cross-examination. She couldn’t this situation routine, but it was far from unusual. She knew FIORA took breaches seriously, but she hadn’t breathed a word to anyone.
The old man cleared his throat. He was starting again. Acacia sighed wearily.
Another round of questions. Another long period of silence afterward. Then, she was instructed to follow the man out of the room. Her belongings were returned. She was allowed to leave.
When Acacia emerged from the high rise building, it was dark outside. Pulling out her phone, she saw that it was 11:00PM. She shook her head. She had gone in around 3:00.
Thankful just to be out, she made a beeline for her car in the parking lot and headed home. Letting out a sigh of relief, she tried to stretch her muscles on the way home. Sitting for so long had left her stiff.
Thinking of how sore she would be in the morning, she caught a glimpse of blue and red flashing lights as she turned onto her street. She thought nothing of it at first, but as she got closer, she realized the squad cars were in front of her house. What was going on?
Acacia jumped out of her car and raced to the scene. Her first thought was that her house must have been robbed while she was gone and a neighbor had called the police.
At the bottom of her driveway, she froze in front of the yellow tape, officers telling her to move, but she couldn’t. She could see it all. It wasn’t a robbery.
Why? They had questioned her. They had let her go. It then dawned upon her. They never told her there hadn’t been a breach. They hadn’t told her anything. They only acted.
Sprawled out on the driveway, were the bloody, mangled bodies of her three best friends.
They’d heard a rumor. Now they were dead.
Wow well, that title sounds way creepier and deeper than I thought it was going to, but I suppose that’s alright. In reality, this post is a little profound just because I’m analyzing myself and thinking on a post.
As the title vaguely points to, I find myself captivated by dark writings recently. In all sincerity, I don’t think this is a bad thing in and of itself, because I’ve also been seeing that I can write dark pieces fairly well. Of course, this could also be a major misconception since I’m really only referring to a few pieces: You’re Not Sorry, Warehouse, and It Won’t Hurt a Bit which are all published on this blog. You can find them through the “Short Stories” tag/category if you wish to read them!
If you read them all, you’ll see that death seems to be a common theme as well as relatively dark settings to begin with. You’re Not Sorry takes place in a dark hospital room, It Won’t Hurt a Bit takes place in a dark alley, and Warehouse occurs in its namesake. Oh there’s also a healthy (or unhealthy I suppose) amount of revenge staining two of the stories. (more…)
Wow! I got pretty behind on this it looks like!
Well, here’s the next section! You can find the others by clicking “The Revelation of Narnia” tag!
Enjoy!
“You human children aren’t very smart are you?” the voice said again. Just then, a jet- black cat jumped out from one of the trees. Its yellow eyes had thin black pupils in the middles and it seemed slightly annoyed. The cat was much larger than any normal house cat. It seemed to be about three feet tall and had slender arms and legs with small paws at the end. Its tail was very long and slender and seemed to be about two feet long. The cat seemed to have great control over it as it used its tail to itch a spot on its black face. Its whiskers were very short, its claws were retracted. The cat extended its pink tongue and licked its lips. “Have you human children ever seen a talking animal before?” the cat asked, indignantly looking at the children who seemed to have never seen a talking animal before. “Well, come on now? Or are you so dumb you can’t talk? I’ve never seen a human who can’t talk. That’s very odd. There aren’t even any records of a human who can’t— (more…)
Alrighty! It’s that time again! Short story!
As before, this one is for a contest on figment.com in response to a prompt.
Fortunately, this one is not heart-based and all of them will be read, which is pretty great.
Prompt for [Sweetest Dark Realistic Magic Contest]: In 200 words or less, write a sketch about a character and his or her magical skills that come with a cost.
This was a good exercise for me since I don’t typically write first person. So here it is!
I cornered him in that dark alley. My electrokinetic magic crackled over my knuckles and arced between my bony, skeletal fingers. I knew how this would end all too well.
“Grace!” he backed into the red brick wall. “Grace!”
“You condemned yourself,” I said coldly, the electricity casting an eerie blue glow over my face. It created a prickly, tingling sensation as it ran over my skin, but I knew that would change all too soon. “Too little, too late,” I scolded. “But don’t worry. It won’t hurt a bit.”
Little did he know, I was actually telling the truth. For a moment, I hesitated. But then, raising my arm, I released a searing arc of electricity into his body. The blue beam slammed him back into the brick wall, but other than that I knew he felt nothing, which infuriated me even more.
Instead, a burning, blistering pain erupted all over my body. I could swear that my skin was melting off. I screamed until it was the only thing I could hear. I thought I would pass out, but when I let up, it was his body that was unrecognizable. Me? Unscathed.
“I told you it wouldn’t hurt.”
Alright! I’m starting to think this might just be a kinda Monday, Wednesday, Friday deal for this short story series!
I’m also thinking of starting another short story, episodic series that will handcrafted each week(?). I have some ideas about what I’m going to write about, but feel free to send me suggestions and comments either in the comments or in the Tell Me page. I would love to here them!
Also, please give me feedback on these stories if you read them! I love to hear what people think!
This is also the link to the previous part if you didn’t see it yet!
“I don’t see what it’s made of,” Anabel stroked her hand across the invisible wall. “It’s completely smooth. It feels kind of cool as well. It seems as if I’m looking into a mirror when I look through this door. It looks as if there is another room inside, but you can’t get to it.”
“Well, I do believe you now, Derrick,” Isaac said apologetically. “That is a very peculiar thing. When did you find it?” (more…)
So I just found this old “short” story that I wrote as an assignment quite a while back.
In actuality, I think it’s pretty good in my own opinion, but that’s me.
This story was for a literature assignment and the prompt was to write a 3-4 page short story set in the universe of another series.
At the time, I was reading the Magician’s Nephew of the Chronicles of Narnia series by C.S. Lewis so I set my story in that setting.
As a disclaimer, this story will be put up in a series of posts because the story ended up being 35 pages long…
SO. The posts will be tagged with “The Revelation of Narnia” and “Short Stories” in the categories!
That way you can keep up! Without further ado, here’s the first installment. Again, I apologize if some things are whack with the story. It’s old and I didn’t necessarily review it. And thanks for reading!
Rain clouds hung wearily in the sky over a bustling city as the work day dragged on. The small droplets of water fell down upon the city unnoticed. The dreary, gray sky only seemed to dampen the already dreadful mood of the day. People came and went on the streets, running in and out of the rain. Different-colored umbrellas appeared here and there as everything seemed to go on as usual. However, in a small, brown-roofed house four blocks away, trouble was already brewing.
Outside all seemed well and good, but going inside proved to be another story. Toys and other assorted items lay littered on the floor. Folders and school textbooks with papers sticking out of them every which way lined the countertops and tables. A little boy who seemed to be about four years old was sitting on a small carpet in the corner of the kitchen crying. His mother, who seemed very flustered, was putting together school lunches, writing notes, and trying to get her own work done while she tried to attend to the boy. It was truly chaotic.
Another boy who seemed to be about fourteen years old sat at the highly cluttered table. He had a sour look on his face and had his arms crossed. His brownish hair was matted on his forehead and he seemed annoyed.
“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to,” his mother said sweetly as she picked up the little boy in the corner. “I have to take Jonathan upstairs to take a nap so you can go outside if you like, Isaac. Your sister is out there too.” (more…)
This is another short story I wrote for a contest…which I’m not nearly as proud of as the vampire one.
I actually really dislike it…but I might as well put it somewhere.
The prompt: Write a scene of 250 words or less about a shapeshifter.
The footsteps grew closer and closer then stopped abruptly. Erin’s eyes darted around the dark warehouse as she tried vainly to slow her breathing. She swore the whole world could hear her racing heartbeat. Beside her, Ari, her older sister seemed perfectly calm.
“Ari!” she cried in a harsh whisper, her voice shuddering.
“It’ll be alright,” Ari assured her. “You know what to do.”
Erin gasped when she heard the shuffle of footsteps stop dangerously close to them. “I can’t!”
“Do it. We’ll escape,” Ari’s eyes shot to the entrance of the room. A soldier in a SWAT-like uniform patrolled the far end of the room. “There! Focus on that image.”
Her breathing picked up, almost rivaling her heartbeat. Slowly her appearance morphed to match that of the soldier, black uniform and all. However, looking at Ari, her eyes still betrayed her rough appearance, but Ari only nodded to her.
“Here,” Erin called, her voice having become low and gruff.
The soldier at the end of the room motioned for the rest of the unit. As they entered the room, Erin kicked away the crates concealing her sister.
“Where are we taking her?” Erin questioned as the soldiers approached Ari.
“Nowhere.” Three gunshots rang out before Erin could even process what was happening. Scarlet sprayed on her face. In front of her, Ari’s body lay slumped against the corner of the wall with three crimson holes blown into her body, the life fading away.
“Ari…” But she was gone.
Well, I finally got around to actually posting something on this blog! It’s about time!
For my first post, I have a 1200-word short story I wrote in response to a prompt!
And the subject: a vampire.
Enjoy!
Kale walked down a corridor of white speckled with dots of purple, blue, and green. Nurses clad in sea foam green scrubs filtered in and out of the same hallway. He had been here not too long ago, only in one of the rooms, lying in a hospital bed awaiting his death.
“Excuse me. Sir?”
Kale turned with glazed-over eyes toward a receptionist’s desk. His eyes gravitated to her fleshy neck with a pronounced jugular vein. Taking a breath, he blinked very consciously and tried to look as natural as he could.
“Who are you looking for?” the thirty-something blonde woman asked.
“Tyler,” Kale finally said with much effort, licking his lips, eliciting a disgusted look from the receptionist. She scanned her computer screen. “He’s in room two eighteen.”
“Thank you,” Kale nodded.
Breathing heavily, Kale tried to recompose himself as he scanned the placards beside the doors for room 218. His unbecoming fixation with necks had been only one of his challenges of late. Sure, remembering to eat and trying to maintain the appearance of a healthy skin tone were difficult, but the bloodlust was definitely one of the more challenging things that came with his new life.
After another agonizing moment of trying and failing to concentrate, he arrived at room 218. Reaching for the door, he caught sight of his reflection in the slender window. His free hand reached up toward his face, overly dramatically, he realized. But boy, that makeup was terrible. He looked as pasty as ever, and he might need to invest in some colored contacts because the crimson red eyes might be off-putting.
Shrugging it off, he entered. Closing the door behind him, he turned and immediately cringed and shielded his face with his hand. Even the dull, pale sunlight beaming through the streaky windows strung his delicate eyes. (more…)
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