Short Story Contests discussion

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 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 Pink. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You may write about colors, plants/fragrant flower, etc. You may use variant meanings, decorate with holes, using pinking shears, stabbing skin with a weapon, use pink as a noun like Pink elephants or pink-slip, about anything or just have the word in the story.

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

Good luck!

Arthur [acting for 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.

lol pink! nice!

Im back!! I'm sorry i haven't been on here in forever guys!! But i'm back i promise!!

Lol pink?? Hmm....i could do something with that. Lol

deff!! I got five bucks on this contest LOL!

oooh, pink :) lol, should be fun!

I'm still brainstorming :P I have one idea... but i gotta keeps thinkin...

I'm still brainstorming :P I have one idea... but i gotta keeps thinkin...

o i got a couple ideas....hmmm yea

I'm Not A Mother Anymore

I will always associate my baby with the ocean.

Despite all the obvious reasons, her eyes are exactly like the ocean waves. In them is blue, and green, and eternity, and life, and death. The more I think about it, the more she seems the perfect personification of the ocean itself.

Before her, I didn’t know life. I didn’t know true love, or heartbreak, or emotion. I was floating through my existence, unaware of the fantastic world surrounding me on all sides. Looking back, I don’t know how I could have been so blind, but the first time I saw my baby girl, it all changed. She really gave birth to me, and without her I know she’s sending me to my grave.

I wish I could change things, but I can’t. Some things weren’t meant to be, and I wasn’t meant to be a mother. God has tried telling me this. My friends and family tried telling me this. Society has tried telling me this. I didn’t see it myself until I held her in my arms and realized she was beyond me.

Her eyes, those beautiful ocean eyes, tell me it’s okay, and that I’m forgiven. I’m forgiven for letting her cry too long before seeing what she needed. I’m forgiven for being late in feeding her a few times. I’m forgiven for spanking her when I had too little patience to solve a problem on my own. I’m forgiven for putting a little bit of bleach in my own food so she could feel some sort of empathy for me, for a change. She forgives me of all these trivial things, even if no one else will. That’s why she’s too good for me.

I want to tell her I love her, and I always will. I want to tell her how much she’s blessed my life, even in this short period of time. I want to tell her all that she’s done for me. But I can’t. What words can possible convey all that? What words that even a toddler would understand? The best I can do is lovingly wash her tiny body one more time, dress her in the pink jumper that makes her look like a cherub, and take her to the ocean for our goodbyes.

She not crying, she’s not smiling. She looks so serene, as if she’s sleeping, and I know she is telling me it’s going to be alright. I set her down in the bright sand and her jumper makes her stand out like a neon pink ink blot.

“Good,” I say, meaning to say ‘goodbye’ but knowing good is more appropriate.

This is a good thing. I will be good after this. She will be good after this.

I hurry to leave in this good moment as the waves pick up to lick at her feet.

I’m leaving her right where she belongs, right where I found her. I can only hope the next woman to walk by will have a better understanding family. One that knows the difference between kidnaping and love.

-END

Nice christy!!

Kyan wrote: "o i got a couple ideas....hmmm yea"

My stories gunna kick your stories ass Kyan.
xD

But were both gunan lose, cuz Davis is joining. Oh jesus....

My story will be up in a bit.

whos davis??

ill beat em

cerial thoug breast cancer chandani i thought you had more of an imagination....
hahaha youwill lose....

Davis, is teh guy who's gunna beat u Kyan!!

And that wasn't even my idea!! ur lil cuz gave me that idea, and i STILL haven't even wrote a story yet! Brainstorming, but i gots a few ideas :P I dont know which one to pick and write a story about thouhg...urg.

I hope you enjoy losing

Davis wrote: "My story will be up in a bit. "

Davis u kno u have to post it on here right? Cuz if you post it on your Goodreads thingy it doesn't count :P

Yep.

shweet

I iz writingz now

The stories are allowed to have 2 parts right? Ala Franz Kafka?

Yeppers

Kyan wrote: "whos davis??

ill beat em

cerial thoug breast cancer chandani i thought you had more of an imagination....
hahaha youwill lose...."


How bout u gimme five bux wen i win k?

hahaha, i took me minute to realize what you were talking about.... it looked like you said "how bout you gimme five bucks if i wink" lol :P

Title: End of Night
Author: Sunny
Words: 524
Short Stories Contest: Yes


Humans are diurnal. It’s not something that they admit very often but it’s a basic evolutionary fact. If we were nocturnal there wouldn’t be fear of the dark, we would be able to see at night and walk willingly into the midnight hours with only the moon and stars. But we aren’t so we surround ourselves by light. Every city has a glow around it, even from over a hundred miles away it can still be seen. The cities are everywhere. We are loosing our night.

I prefer night, the dark, and the quiet. To me it’s home. The dark holds no fear for me, to me it seems right, there should be time when most things rest but a select few stay out to prowl.

But the darkness is an endangered species in San Francisco, the city I live in. I search it out whenever I can, dive through the suburbs to the desert; try to get far enough away from the glow to see the stars again.

That’s where I am now, standing in the desert, staring at the sky. I’ve driven for hours so I can see some of the brighter starts and planets but the Milky Way is lost to me.


I sit back on the hood of my car and think. By looking at satellite maps I’ve found that there are still some large expanses of night left in the world, in places like Central Africa, Russia, Australia and part of South America. Places that aren’t as developed as America, Japan and Europe. I think Australia sounds like a place I wouldn’t mind living but I could hardly move there now. I’m twenty, broke and pregnant. I sigh, the only thing in San Francisco is my family; once I have the baby I’m planning on moving back in with my parents and after that I’ll try to get a different job. The one at Target is hardly paying enough for me to survive; it definitely wouldn’t support another person.

I start to walk, avoiding cactus and shrubs. Maybe I can start to save money an by the time the baby is three or four we could move to some place were I wouldn’t have to drive to be able to see the pink of the sunrise instead on the orange glow of the city’s lights.

The sound of my boots is all I can hear, I like it that way. In the city you’re so surrounded by noise that you can hardly any individual sound, it’s just one loud roar.

* * *

I’ve been here over an hour and have walked in concentric circles around the car. I get in wishing I could stay longer, but I had to work at Target tomorrow morning.

As I start to drive a feeling of hopelessness washes over me. I have a plan; in five years I’m probably going to be in Australia rising my child away from all this but what about the future generations? What about my grandchildren and great-grandchildren? Will there be any night left for them?

Alright!

The prompt might as well have been 'motherhood' lol

ha ok i dont think youll be gettin thatfve btw

Nice Sunny!!

Kyan wrote: "ha ok i dont think youll be gettin thatfve btw "

Think wateva you want, but im gunna win, no doubt.

Name: Punks Instigating Non-stopping Kaos

By: Clare

Words: 724

Notes: lollz it was very confusing to write, I'll tell ya that much...




****




The internet is a great thing. I spend 80% of my free time on it. Face book, e-mail, IMing, MySpace, Goodreads, Twitter, you name it, I’m there. I’ll have to say my favorite is MSN instant messaging though. The ability to talk to all my friends without having to actually call them, or meet up with them. I can do a million other things at the same time too. It’s a pretty good deal if you ask me. Which is why you can find me on IM almost every night after nine, like tonight.

Tonight I grabbed a bag of Doritos and a can of Coke and sit down. I click the Messenger window open and write ‘hatepasswords:P’ into the password slot and sign in.

A bunch of people are on so I don’t even bother talking to them each individually. I click on one name, my friend Kira, and a small window pops up. It has a section where everything typed it displayed, and there is a bar that separates it from the smaller box in which I type what I want to say. My picture is in the bottom corner, and is displaying a white screen with the letters: ITS TIME TO START SLAPPING PEOPLE. Kira’s is of a cartoon dragon. I add a bunch of people and start a convo. Takes them a few minutes to reply (always does), but after a few minute they started popping in. We all had weird nick-names, like Cup’Cake’Demon, SuckIt-Stupid, and Its.a.Sheep!! Mines was ME. Anyway, one by one they came in and said hi and started to goof off.

Know0where0u0live says:
Hi fools. I know where u liiiiive! Muahaha!!



Hi*freaks:P says:
Shut it freak



LoserLeader says:
Hi To You To.



Elf-huntress! has joined this conversation.

HHHHHHATEcha! has joined this conversation.


HHHHHHATEcha says:
Hey kids, hows it???/>


Elf-huntress! says:
BABYCHEEKS!!! I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN AGES!!! KISSES!!! :P :D


SuckIt-Stupid has joined this conversation.

Its.a.Sheep has joined this conversation.


HHHHHHATEcha says:
Shuddup elfy


ME says:
Lol cute


Elf-huntress! says:
:P


SuckIt-Stupid says:
OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!! u died yesterday. Sad.


Its.a.Sheep says:
As a sheep to be certain.... lollzlz


Hi*freaks:P says:
Foshizzle!


Elf-huntress! says:
HEY WHOS MR. SHEEP?


Its.a.Sheep says:
That’s for me to know and you.....not to know.


Elf-huntress! says:
FINE! B THAT WAY!


ME says:
hey guys, I came upon a revelation today...


Hottie-In-Mars has joined this conversation.
hey everyone! HOTTIE is HEREEEE.


Elf-huntress! says:
CHA CHA! A;skgj;kjsfg[pdkfanl’


ME says:
Hello? Anyone wanna hear my revelation????


LoserLeader says:
What Are We Talking About Again? : |


Its.a.Sheep says:
Life in general.


ME says:
PINK actually.


Hottie-In-Mars says:
Omg! Pink?! WHERE WHERE WHERE!!!!???!!!


Know0where0u0live says:
u like pink? disgusting


Hottie-In-Mars says:
read the name! pink = hot, and I’m hot!! : |)


Cup’Cake’Demon has joined this conversation.


Hi*freaks:P says:
Shut up lindaaaaly


Hottie-In-Mars says:
I hate that name b quiet : (


Cup’Cake’Demon says:
Whatd I miss?


SuckIt-Stupid says:
Ur life apparently. :PP


ME says:
Actually, I was thinking about pink means. I decided it means Punks Instigating Non-stop Koas.


Its.a.Sheep says:
Chaos. Its spelled with a CH retard. *rolls eyes*


Elf-huntress! says:
IT IS?!? IS IT IN THE DECLERASHON OF INDAPENDANCEE?? HUH?!?!?


HHHHHHATEcha says:
WHHHHHHere do u get off? ??!?


Know0where0u0live says:
Well the important part is that I know where u all live. O_O


Its.a.Sheep says:
Is she for real?


Hottie-In-Mars says:
Is there any hot guys in this convo? I’m free on sat!!! :D :D :D


LoserLeader says:
I’d Rather Stick A Toothpick In My Eye.


HHHHHHATEcha says:
theres sense in that statement...../..


ME says:
I guess no one appreciated my PINK theory. : /


Hi*freaks:P says:
U guessed it freeeak.


SuckIt-Stupid says:
Suck it :P lolllz


ME says:
w/e, ima leave. Ttyl.


Cup’Cake’Demon says:
What?! : O ur leaving?!?!?@# don’t go! I’m miss u!!


Elf-huntress! says:
HUGS! KISSES!!!! LA LA LA!!! Alghjksdklfjhglkdsjfh;kjpdf


Its.a.Sheep says:
Talk to thou later.


Cup’Cake’Demon says:
:*(


ME says:
Till next time pplz




I signed off. One thing about IM...absolutely nothing makes sense. Not that it matters. Lol.

I was sure one of them was going to turn out to be a cop.

lol that was a very random story.

wow sunny very tuching

Mine will be up in about 5 hours, I need to finish up part 2 and have it copy edited.

You have my consent to put this story on your site.

Title: A Postmodern Study Of The Implications Of The Colors Of Laundry On Relationships.

Introduction
We might have gotten married if she knew how to do laundry correctly. Allow me to elucidate before you jump to any hasty (and/or negative) conclusions. She had been occupying my house for around a week when it all occurred. By all accounts, it had been an amply joyful week and a great relationship; all up until to that fateful day.

For full comprehension of the repulsive events, which are about to eventuate, you need some background information. My name is James Elliot, I’m 27 years old, English and Linguistics major, and now a Linguistics professor at the University of Kansas (FN1). I live in a mid-sized loft in downtown Lawrence, Kansas and live alone (most of the time). The following events took place during Mid-July of last year, I hope you enjoy them much more than I did.

Part I
The incalculable dread of returning to school in a month has begun to loom over my head like a manic-depressive umbrella. I had finally begun work on my Usage Dictionary that upon publication was sure to get me a job in the English department. However, it was looking like no matter how diligently I worked, the book wouldn’t be on shelves for another year or so.

The calendar on the wall informs me that it is Monday and my watch displays the time as 8:30 P.M; I figured I might as well go out and meet Marissa for a drink. Hurriedly, I shove all my reference books back on the gargantuan bookshelf and grab a clean pair of slacks from the dryer. A quick text message reveals to me that she is already at the bar, waiting for me and that I was supposed to be there 15 minutes ago. Shit. I really need to start writing that stuff down (FN2).

Going down my stairs, I venture out into the Lawrence night; truly a beautiful city at night. The neon lights of the bar kaleidoscopically shine with an understated beauty of luminescence. Thousands of people swarm the streets, like a school of fish or a hive of bees, intense at work, or at play. Right in the middle of downtown, behind the courthouse, is a large, verdant garden. Every night on my way to the bar, I walk through this particular garden. It has been my personal sanctuary since I myself attended the University where I now teach (FN3).

Ensconcing on my favorite marbled gray bench behind a huge oak tree, I light a cigarette and inhale deeply. Normally, after an irritated text message from Marissa, I would be sprinting to where she is. However, tonight is divergent from normalcy. I am finally going to ask Marissa to move in I decided, and for some reason, I am floating in an aura of nervousness. The tranquility of the gently swaying arboreal environment soothes my jagged edges, firmly reassuring my intuition. Eventually, I stood up, stamped out my cigarette (FN4), and impelled myself towards the bar.

Meandering languidly through the faces and the arms and the feet and the fingers, the gravitational pull of downtown mysticism overcame me. Heads light of cars dazzle brilliantly and the entire orgiastic mass of humanity takes on a life of its own. The delicate labyrinth of the sidewalk and the street and the people and the shops and the energy stupefies. Finally, I arrived at the bar where Marissa impatiently waited, as much in love as I could be (FN5).

“Your late!” she exclaimed, without to much animosity. “I’m sorry baby, I was working on the dictionary and lost track of time” I replied back, omitting the fact that I forgot we were supposed to meet. “Well, I guess I can forgive you” she shot back with a flirtatious smile. Good, I muse to myself, she doesn’t realize I forget we supposed to meet; I’m having good luck with her already.

We ordered a couple of drinks, and I got a sandwich (FN6). The normal small talk proceeded with regularity and social niceties were exchanged with friends we recognized (and to some others who were quite intoxicated that we didn’t recognize). The night was just like any other night we went out together. Yet, in the recesses of my mind, I was studiously probing for an opportunity to pop my question. On the surface, I didn’t appear the slightest bit preoccupied; yet, the entire time I was far away, almost watching the conversation, calculating an opportune moment to pounce.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally left and began walking around, hand and hand. Gone were the massive throngs of people, and a melancholy prepossessed all I saw. I directed our route back to garden from whence we came. Upon reaching our destination, we sat on the same bench that I had pondered on just hours before. After getting situated on said bench, I gathered all my courage and suave and manliness and romanticism to proffer my proposition. Looking deep into her luxurious hazel brown eyes, my lips parted and offered up sounds in all of a sudden childish voice (FN7).

“Marissa, would like to move in with me?” I advanced shyly yet with tinges of absolute honesty, with as pure of motives as I could possibly muster. After a few moments of awkward silence that seemed to last as long as time itself she finally replied with a heartfelt “Nothing would make me happier!.” “Whew” I graciously stated “I was hoping that was what I would hear”. “Well, I already take care of you enough as it is” she teasingly replied “I might as well move in full time since I’m over at your apartment at least 5 days a week.” “Yes of course” I slowly responded “When do you want to be moved in by?” “As soon as possible” Marissa said eagerly “I don’t want to have to pay another months rent!” (FN8)

After our romantic rendezvous through our own Garden of Eden, Marissa and I walked merrily back to ‘our’ apartment to consummate our date. As soon as my door was shut and locked, the lights went off and we both hurriedly undressed (FN9) and advanced towards my bed. “I love you, Marissa” I said without a trace of remorse or dishonesty, greed, lust or selfishness. “I love you too, James Foster (FN10)Elliot” she said, with a perceptible crack in her voice, either unbridled glee or a joyful welling of tears in her throat.

Footnotes
(1)Making me the youngest professor at the University. It isn’t really a huge deal, because, who really wants to teach linguistics to Liberal Arts majors who don’t care? It is an ‘entry-level’ job for teaching English years down the road (which is what I really want to do).
(2)Marissa had a habit of making plans for us, without informing me (and then acting indignant when I didn’t ‘remember’ we had plans)
(3)(Although, to be honest, back then it was more of great place to take girls or smoke a joint. Ahhh, youth.)
(4)(Marissa has been bothering me to quit, so I try not to smoke in front of her)
(5)(She isn’t exactly a fan of my inner poet, so my revaluations were quietly kept to themselves)
(6)(I’m never able to eat while working on the dictionary, I get so immersed that I oftentimes really do lose track of time)
(7)(This problem had plagued me since I asked Susan Bloom out in the 7th grade)
(8)(Remember, at this point it is Mid-July, so rent would be due in a couple days)
(9)(Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever got my socks off)
(10)Did I neglect to mention that? Yes, my middle name is Foster. No, it is not for the Australian Lager. I HATE when people ask that. Man, do I hate it.

Part 2
Marissa has been living with me for exactly 7 days when the incident happened. I awoke to her sitting the window, viewing the modest, mouse-colored people beginning their day. I studied her like a textbook of pure beauty. Her auburn hair rested on her shoulder like waves gently floating on an ocean. Her hazel brown eyes contained an unsung poetry all their own, radiating beauty and love at the world below. High cheekbones gave her the look of a European model who hadn’t fully succumbed to a pure cocaine-and-cigarettes diet yet.

She had a large chest, yet not so large that one would question its integrity. As a result of daily trips to the gym, her stomach was flat and toned. The corners of her mouth twanged upward ever so slightly, displaying a smile that was at once sensual and understand and powerful. Her buttocks could have doubled as a masterpiece of Michelangelo, intensely firm and shaped as a gift form the god’s themselves. From her thighs to her calf’s, her legs irradiated pure woman pulchritude; upon stretching out, one could see every muscle in her well toned body strain perfectly in tune with all the others. In short, this woman was much too beautiful to be living with a loser who taught Linguistics and thought writing a usage dictionary was fun (FN11).

“Good morning, my love” I said sleepily, awaking from my slumber. “And good morning to you” she said, almost without turning her head “I have breakfast made and a load of laundry in dry that is almost done.” “I knew I would enjoy having your here” I laughingly said almost inaudibly to myself. “Of course you do, Mr. Lazy-pants. I take care of everything for you” she shot back. I have no idea how she heard me.

Today was the day I met with the heads of the English department to discuss my possible promotion after the publication of my (FN12) usage dictionary. I had awakened about 2 hours before I had to be at the building, assuming I had plenty of time to eat and get dressed and make my way to the University. Leaving her at the window, I got out of bed and headed for the table. Quickly engulfing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and Orange Juice, I began mentally preparing for the meeting. “You eat like an uncivilized pig” she half-teasingly yelled from the bedroom. After eating my fill, I got up and headed towards the dryer.

This is where things begin to go wrong. The dryer just finishes it’s cycle as I approach to open the door. Gripping the off-white handle, visions of me teaching students studying for English PhDs fill my head like so much sugar plums on Christmas Ever. However, my blithesome fantasy was cut short when I opened the dryer. Every single article of white clothing I owned was inside. My dress shirt, undershirts, socks, and boxers; every single item had turned pink. In the very bottom of the load, I found a bright red camisole (FN13).

Impulsively I shouted, “Look what you did!” Sensing my extreme agitation she disembarked from the window and came to see the problem “Oh my…I’m so sorry what happened” she mumbled. “I’ll tell you what happened, you put in your red shirt with my whites, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I yelled maliciously, in a voice that didn’t seem my own. “I was just fucking helping out, I did you damn laundry, it’s not that bad” she shot back self-righteously (FN14). “Not that bad, not that bad?” I cackled maniacally “I have a meeting with the heads of the English department today, and you turned my dress shirt, PINK!”

“There isn’t anything I can do about it now” she stuttered “Neither of us get paid till next week, so getting a new shirt isn’t going to happen, and not enough bleach in the world will save that load of laundry.” These words fell in a cacophonous heap that floated over both our heads. After a few moments silence I murmured viciously, trying with all my might not to shout, “Get out. You have to get out. Right now.”

“You want me to leave because I ruined a load of whites” she asked incredulously. “Absolutely. This is one of the most important days of my life and I’m going to have to wear a pink dress shirt” I said without a hint of irony (FN15). “If you really want me to leave for a few hours because I RUINED A LOAD OF LAUNDRY, then I don’t think I will come back” she said without any reserve and utmost emotion. “Suit yourself” I said, already beginning to wish I could reel back in the harsh words I’d spoken.

Silently, and with purpose, she began to pack her things (FN16) as I decided weather to wear the pink dress shirt of not. Why is that society looks down upon a man in a pink shirt? For God’s sake, there is a female clothing store titled ‘Pink’! Why must a stereotype of differentiation occur with that color? I never even seen homosexuals exhibit pink ensembles in actuality. I guess I’m a victim of a double standard (FN17), one of the many our society perpetuates.

She mumbles an impassioned goodbye, and slips out the apartment door. I had a feeling that was probably the last time I would ever see those perfect legs and sculpted buttocks walking away from me (FN18). A feeling of aggrandized despair overtook my senses, as if I was drowning my mistake and…misfortune? Oh well, I thought to myself sardonically, a young Linguistics professor can always score another perfectly beautiful cocktail waitress any day. Laughing at my own self-denial, I walked out of the front door of my apartment with pink socks on my feet, and a pink undershirt hovering beneath my pink dress shirt.


Footnotes
(11)The story of how we came to be a couple is both infinitely embarrassing to me and infinitely entertaining for her. I approached her at a crowded bar and procured a Wednesday night ‘pity date’. However, on said ‘pity date’, I pulled out all the stops and proved to be a ‘perfect gentleman’, successfully achieving a second date. I was gawky and shy, but something in me sparked her interest and after several altogether pleasant but haphazard dates, we began dating.
(12)(hopefully wildly-successful and critically-acclaimed)
(13)This actually was a moving-in-gift from yours truly. In retrospect, I wish I wouldn’t have spent so much on a damn undershirt, no matter how provocative it was.
(14)(although extremely defensively)
(15)I must insert that at this point, the average reader is going to think I’m an arrogant monster. I don’t believe this to be true. Meeting with these stodgy department heads in a pink shirt simply wasn’t an option, and yet it was the only option I had. I was furious, and I have never managed my anger well. I get mine in the end, don’t worry.
(16)(She hadn’t even fully finished moving in yet)
(17)(like a girl who has sex a lot is a slut, but I guy who copulates constantly is just a man)
(18)(I was correct…in a way. I saw her a week or so later in a bar, on the lap of one of the universities football players. She didn’t even wave.)

Awesome Davis!!!

Chandani wrote: "Awesome Davis!!! "

Haha, thanks.

good story davis!

LOL, i like your revolation about pink, clare :D

lol, that poor guy in pink, Davis you sure know how to write a funny story. haha

Title: Sprinkles of Heaven
Author: Holly
Words: 1709
Short Stories Contest: Yes

The Sprinkles of Heaven ice cream parlor defined the word ‘pink.’ The walls were pinstriped in shades of carnation and raspberry, the floors were tiled in pastel, and gauzy rose curtains had been draped across the windows. Even our uniforms were pink. It would have been bad serving Rocky Road to cranky customers when in jeans, but we were forced to dress like a Godzilla-sized bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded on us. I mean, seriously? There is not a person on the planet that can pull off Pepto-Bismol.

You can always see it when first-timers walk in. They get this stunned look on their faces and their eyes kind of glaze over. You can just tell they’re thinking, 'Oh my God! It’s like Cupid barfed in here!'

The boy was one such customer. He was a frail little thing, with pasty skin and arms that looked like a pair of twigs. He was wearing a Star Wars shirt, too. It was like he was just asking to get beat up. His mother nudged him towards the counter and said, “Anything you want, honey.”

Now, that’s not one you hear very often. Usually it’s ‘Nothing with chocolate’ or ‘No, you can’t get the extra-large double fudge sundae with triple the whipped cream and two cherries.’

“Okay…” the kid said. He pressed his nose against the display, clouding the glass with his breath. “I’ll have a large Superman with sprinkles.”

I dished the ice cream and handed it over. As the mom was paying, she leaned across the register and whispered, “Can you keep an eye on him? I have to run back to the office.”

Jessie Winkle, the only coworker I could actually stand, shot me a surprised look. I was just as taken aback. These days, you don’t just drop your kid at an ice cream parlor. However, something—maybe the desperation—in her eyes made me agree.

“Umm—well,” I stammered. Babysitting had never been my thing. “I guess…”

“Great,” she exclaimed and practically sprinted out the door.

“Tina!” I yelled to the boss. “I’m taking my break!”

I tore off my red candy-striped apron and jumped over the counter. I followed the boy to one of the back booths and sat down across from him.

“Who are you?” he asked, pulling his ice cream closer to his chest. Yeah, kid, I’m here to steal your Superman.

“I’m Beckett. Your mom told me to watch you.” I leaned back against the vinyl cushions and gave the kid a lazy grin. “She had to run back to her office.”

He basically ignored me. Scooping a giant spoonful of ice cream into his gap-toothed mouth, he kept his eyes glued on the ceiling.

“And your name is…?” I prompted. I was about ready to slap this kid. I mean, I was kind enough to spend my break making sure he wasn’t kidnapped or mugged or whatever, and he had to be totally snotty about it.

“John.” He met my eyes for the first time. Whoa. The boy was going to be a heartbreaker when he grew up, with those blue eyes.

“Nice to meet you, John,” I lied.

“Ditto,” John drawled. I held back a snort. Since when have children been so sarcastic? Was I like that as a kid? Wincing, I realized that was exactly how I acted.

“So, what’s the occasion?” I asked. “Moms don’t let their precious spawn get large ice creams for no reason.”

“I’m dying,” John said, without missing a beat.

“Wait, what?” I gasped, sure I’d misheard him. I gave the kid a quick once over. John definitely looked sick, with paper-white skin and the dark purple circles ringing his eyes. His face was thin to the point of starvation; his cheeks were sunken and hollow. The bird-like bones of his skull were prominent under a thin layer of skin. Yeah, John was a wreck. But dying? I must have been hearing things. He rolled his eyes at my reaction, making me think I hadn’t. Obviously, we were skipping the small talk. Honestly, what do you say to something like the sudden ‘I’m dying’?

I settled on a disbelieving, “Seriously?” and stared down at him, my eyes probably popping out of my head. John seemed to be oblivious to any hint of awkwardness his flippant comment had caused.

“Yes,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “The doctors give me a few weeks.”

“Why aren’t you in the hospital being pumped full of miracle drugs?” I found myself asking.

“There’s nothing they can do,” John sagely informed me. He regarded my bewildered face over his depleted bowl of ice cream. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” I assured him, not completely truthfully. “Why are you so calm about this?”

John shrugged. “It’s just death. The #1 killer in the USA,” he joked.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Terrified,” he admitted, eating faster. His Superman was melting, looking more like a puddle than anything.

“That’s not what it seems like,” I pointed out.

“I’m a good actor.” His eyes were sparkling. Was he about to cry? God, I hoped not. “My mom is worried enough about me. I feel bad for her, you know? I mean, when I’m gone, I’m gone. But she’s still gonna be here, without me.”

That’s when the waterworks started. Tears poured from John’s blue eyes, streaming down his cheeks. Honestly, I was a little shocked. John had seemed so together, so stoic. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. That’s what normal people do when their pretty much guaranteed to end up six feet under. They cry.

“Oooh,” I crooned, slipping around the table to put my arm around his shoulders. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” I patted his messy red hair, whispering the meaningless words. John knew as well as I did that it wasn’t going to be okay.

When John’s tears slowed, he extracted himself from my arms and scooted away. I understood. However much he had confided in me, I was still that random girl from the scary pink ice cream parlor.

“Thanks,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You think I was just going to sit there and let you bawl?”

John looked down, obviously trying to hide a blush that was evident on his white skin.

I grabbed his now empty ice cream dish and ruffled his hair. “Want another one?” I asked, forcing a chipper note into my voice. “On the house.”

John, not surprisingly, nodded. As a general rule, people—especially kids—don’t turn down free sugar. I went to fetch the ice cream, throwing a concerned glance over my shoulder.

When I rejoined John at the table, I handed him the dish and asked, “Are you doing okay?”

“Would you be?” he snapped, violently attacking the Superman with his spoon.

I winced. Stupid question, I berated myself. C’mon Beckett, you can do better! “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” I asked, ever sensitive and understanding. Not.

“Doesn’t matter,” John said, and his pretty eyes focused on something over my shoulder. It was like a punch to the gut as I remembered my earlier assessment of John. He was never going to grow up, never get to charm a girl with those eyes. “My mom’s back,” he informed me and scooted out of the booth.

The soft, childlike, John I’d been talking to for the last ten minutes disappeared. The brave mask was back, full force.

I followed John over to his mother. The woman didn’t look anything like him. She was tall and solid, with dark skin and eyes.

“Thanks for watching him,” she said to me, smoothing John’s overlong hair away from his face.

“He was an angel,” I assured her. At the fleeting spasm of pain that crossed her features, I instantly regretted my choice of words. I attempted to rally, saying, “I mean, he was great, not a problem at all.”

“Right,” his mom said, putting her hand on John’s shoulder and steering him towards the door. John pulled away and shuffled back to me.

“It really was nice meeting you, Beckett,” he told me shyly, and threw his skinny, sticklike arms around my waist.

“Ditto,” I said, half laughing. I’m not sure what the other half was. I patted the boy gently on the back, trying to return his hug as weakly as possible. He looked like one good squeeze would shatter him. Finally, John released me and hurried after his mom.

“See ya,” I called, even though I knew I wouldn’t.

The salmon-colored door swung shut after them, chiming cheerfully. The sound seemed out of place, like a pink sundress at a funeral. I grabbed my apron and resumed my post behind the counter, dishing ice cream for what proved to be a steady flow of rude customers.

I spent the rest of the day like a robot. I scooped the ice cream, handed it to the customers, and took their money. I didn’t really say much, and I caught Jessie Winkle gawking worriedly in my direction. Shooting her a grin, so she didn’t freak out and call 911 or anything, I tore off my apron and made my way to the back booth.

I stared at the place where John had sat, leaning his head against the pink cushion. Somehow, his impending death didn’t seem real. Maybe he’d been lying. No. Those tears couldn’t have been faked, not by a ten-year-old.

Tracing the patterns on the table, I tried to think of something other than John. I wasn’t about to cry in the middle of Sprinkles of Heaven. I have a reputation around here—and I don’t want to ruin it. But foremost and insistent on my mind was the image of a tiny, child-sized coffin.

“No,” I snapped, standing up. “There are miracles, Beckett. He’ll be fine.” I knew that wasn’t true. I’m not an idiot. But it seemed so wrong, a little kid dying. John liked Superman ice cream, wore Star Wars t-shirts, and had an adorable dry wit. He would never grow out of that phase—the ice-cream-guzzling, Star-Wars-watching, wise-cracking age. I mean, ten years couldn’t be the extent of John’s existence. It just couldn’t. He needed time to change.

We all do.

Title: Leprechauns and Flamingos
Author: Joelle
Words: 866
(If I win I would like my story on Short Story Galore.)

Felipe was taking a bath in the stream when Icebird got to the enclosure. Icebird was in charge of the flamingos, of which there were only five. The other four were always together and Felipe was always off on his own. None of the psychologists could figure out if it was his choice or the others’. Regardless, Icebird was the only one assigned to take care of them and it was a full time job. She went into the back room and bent over to pick up the food for the flamingos.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. She stood up and was surprised to see Sean in the doorway.

“Sean? What are you doing here?” Icebird asked, bewildered.

“I heard you were over here and I wanted someone to talk to.” Sean always came to Icebird for advice, but he usually called.

“What’s wrong?” Icebird asks, wondering what could be have caused him to seek her in this place, this early in the morning.

“I think I might be going crazy. I keep seeing these, uh, things!” Sean said, putting extra emphasis on ‘things.’

“Like what kind of things?” Icebird asked. She walked out the door and Sean followed her. She walked into the enclosure and tossed the slimy gunk into the feeding areas.

“I don’t know. Ghosts or something. They scare me and they won’t go away,” Sean said, talking quietly even though no one was around. He looked around and started to move around a lot. Icebird looked at him. Her look was one of longing, of wanting.

Icebird took a step towards him and grabbed his shoulders. “Sean, you aren’t seeing anything. You are probably just tired. You are perfectly fine.” After that neither of them spoke for a while, just staring into each other’s eyes. Without warning Sean leaned in and kissed Icebird. She kissed him back.

After a moment Icebird pushes away from him. “This doesn’t seem like the right time, Sean.”

“I’m so scared, Icebird.” He was still nearly whispering. Now Sean put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She pushed him away.

“I have to work, Sean,” Icebird said. She walked past him and back into the storage room. Just as she turned the corner Sean screamed. She rushed back out to see what was the matter.

“What’s wrong?” she said, clearly worried.

Sean laughs, “I knew you cared. You were acting like you didn’t care. I knew you cared.” Icebird folded her arms and Sean continued laughing. After a few seconds she turned around and walked back to the storage room. This time when Sean screamed she ignores it and continued her work.

She walks back out and Sean is pointing at an apparently empty spot on the pavement.

“What is it?” she asks, clearly annoyed.

“I think it’s a leprechaun.” Sean said.

“Really? That’s all you got. Not even a magical butterfly named Bessie?”

“Really. He’s just standing there. I think we should name him Pablo. Yep, he likes that. I wonder what Pablo is doing here anyway.”

“I’m sure you can find the answer inside of your imagination,” Icebird said, very sarcastically.

“Yah know, you’re probably right.”

“Are you kidding me?! Does your mental sickness bar you from understanding my sarcasm?!”

“He says something bad is going to happen to you in a little bit. He won’t tell me what though. He says when it happens I will know how to solve it though.”

“Oh great. Its like ESPN or something,” Icebird said, rolling her eyes. Just then Felipe seemed to need to see an exorcist. He got a crazed look in his eyes and his body started to convulse. After a bit he collapsed. Icebird jumped the fence and rushed over to his pink form and stroked his feathers and began talking to him quietly.

Then Felipe stood up again and began to beat at Icebird with his wings. Sean rushed to the edge of the enclosure.

“Stop!” he yelled. Felipe just froze. Icebird was still cringed with her arms over her head. She crawled from between the flamingo’s frozen wings and stared at Sean.

Sean stared right back. Icebird rushed over to him and jumped the fence again. She hugged him. As soon as she was out of the enclosure Felipe started to move again and seemed perfectly normal.

“What was that, Sean?” Icebird asked, sounding scared.

“I have no idea.” he replied.

“Well, I know one thing.” Icebird said certainly.

“What’s that?” Sean asked, curious.

“I am so done working with flamingos.” she said, laughing.

_________
Neither of them really wanted to investigate into Pablo the Leprechaun, but he followed Sean where ever he went anyway. He told him that bad things would happen to people he walk by on the streets.

At first, Sean would try and stop them, but eventually he found out these ‘bad things’ were never very bad. They would be something like dropping a twenty on the sidewalk or tripping on the curb. The only bad thing was the one that day with Icebird.

Soon after they were married and they continue to live their curious lives together, Pablo included.

Title: Pink Corvette
Author: Arthur
Words: 2280
Short Stories Contest: Yes
2280

…………….



Pink Corvette

“Almighty Tom, get on your seatbelt.” Jeff said reaching out and pulling the thing and holding it out. “Can’t you remember?”

“Ah! No. Gee I think I feel funny after I woke up.” Tom says. “Kind of like a tunnel is being constructed to drive trucks through in my head.”

“Not good. Now I’m taking you to the hospital for sure and they can scan you for permanent damages like those!” Jeff said. Mostly worried for Tom appeared sick and partly annoyed too. During the night Jeff lay still worried about the way Tom started acting after the accident. Tom couldn’t even remember Jeff telling him that Tom was in it. Tom had got hit pretty hard last night when they had been drinking heavily. Tom said watch me run. Only he didn’t run far, and slipped. He finally landed in a dug pit so deep he yelled back up to Jeff to help him out. The construction zone pit was for a new building across the street. It began to rain and mud started to slide into the hole where Tom was. Then the unsecured bucket filled with gravel slid off and came down on his head. He lied there for about a half hour until Jeff found ropes he was able to tie together. When he got down into the pit Tom appeared frozen in a state in the mud barely breathing and moaning.

Jeff carried Tom back to the house. He put Tom on his couch. Jeff had gotten Tom partly awake but he said things that got Jeff worried. Instead of getting to sleep off his drunkenness and sobering up a little, just what he would have needed, all night Jeff tried to sleep but was worried about his life long friend. And the contact hit Tom had.

The sun came up in the morning. Its big yellow scorching fire beamed into the living room. Tom has often stayed on many nights on the couch. He was known to rise up good and early and open windows or hitting the bathroom to shower first before Jeff even got out of his bed. Not this morning.

Jeff succumbed to the worry, he felt the concern and he got up. Jeff found he was himself in a frozen and aching mood of altered reactions from his night before with not getting his needed sleep. He didn’t mind the noises Tom usually made that he rushed a little now that Tom appeared quiet.

His mind was so filled with worried thoughts. He slipped out the door after he put on his slippers as he always did. He had opened his door first a little crack to see which way to go without colliding into Tom in the hall. Some nights Tom didn’t just sleep alone on the couch. It was a habit foe Jeff to stop and check before running into the hall or the bathroom and meet a stranger. He knew there would be no one special this time, there was only them here. He just was moving that much slower this morning.

Jeff walked into the living room to find Tom still fast asleep, and loudly snoring. Tom hadn’t snored like that before, which made Jeff think maybe the guy fell into a kind of complicated comas after he fell to sleep. Was Jeff thinking crazy? Jeff shook Tom roughly until Tom’s eyes flickered open. And then they were eyes of a person who couldn’t recognize.


“I don’t want to go with you!” Tom said.

“What? Why not man? You had a bad fall last night and now look at you,” Jeff said pointing to Tom’s pants covered in mud, “you look hurt.”

“I don’t feel hurt. I . . .” Tom trailed off. He couldn’t inevitably remember what he wanted to say so much. The pain started again. Then he wondered who was Tom, himself or was it that other guy Jeff was talking about someone else. Tom froze. Colors were coming back into his vision only they were fuzzy and confusing. He couldn’t remember why things looked as they did now and almost could remember colors of things looked more pleasant they his eyes were now telling his brain.

“I . . . I . . .” he kept stuttering while the colors adjusted. Things were French blue and bright neon pink and there wasn’t any primary in his vision. Then he began to tell himself that he just realized he couldn’t remember all sorts of memories like who he was. His name and the sense of who he was deteriorated in front of him and all the colors faded into tans of the real thing. He then felt sick and wanted to get back out of the car to throw up.

“I can’t remember.” He was going to say who he was when he pressed his hands on the door and jumped out. He threw up on Jeff’s front yard.

“Okay now, you feel any better? Let’s get going.” Jeff eased him back again into the passengers side.

“I wane to go home.” Tom said in a kind of sober voice.

“Okay I’ll take you there and if you still aren’t feeling alright I’ll take you to the hospital.” Jeff said soothingly.

“No, no, no. I don’t want to go anywhere, just home.” Tom told Jeff. Jeff eased of the clutch aiming his corvette into traffic. A mile later they stopped outside Tom’s apartment. It wasn’t fancy or even a luxury condo-apartment but it was home. And it required a key and password to get inside the building.

“Where are . . .?” Tom was muttering before Jeff jumped out and to his friends side of the car, incase Tom felt sick again, and he was beginning to smell.

“Here we are Tom, home sweet home.” And he pulled off the belt that wasn’t even clicked tight. He put out his strong hands; Tom held them and Jeff pulled his body out of his Vet.

“Here we are!” Jeff said again leaning Tom at the lock. Tom just stared at it this time.

“Is this the hospital?” Tom asked.

“No. Not unless you’re feeling alright.” Jeff said reassuringly.

(cont_)

“Why are we at a hospital? I want to go home.” Tom said.

“Okay. This is it, put in your password and you get to go up to your pad man.”

“Oh, I don’t know any passwords. I think I forgot.” Tom said.

“Stop your clowning around Tom! I got to be at work.”

“I can’t live here, I live in a house. I think.”

“You get out of here. You haven’t been in a house since your childhood, man that was a long time ago.” Jeff said.

“Well. Where was it?”

“You don’t remember?” Jeff asked in a more serious tone.

“I want to go to it. Take me there.”

“Alright Tom, I’ll take you right away. We can go to mom and dad’s house and that’s for sure.”

They got back into the car.

“You need to like get a different color for this car man,” tom said. “Pink stinks, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Jeff was looking in his rearview mirror as Tom said that. His brows furled up. Tom stated playing with his seat belt again trying to get it off. Jeff was watching the police car creeping up behind his car since they were at the apartment. Jeff thinks a neighbor spotted him trying to punch in codes into the door lock or something hoping Tom could remember.

After the next turn it turned in the next lane and sped past him without eyeing Jeff. He felt a little relieved.

“Why do you stop at them lights all the time?” Tom began asking in an almost child like voice.

“Cause we have to stop at the red ones.” Jeff said in serious trouble. Why did Tom have to go running and falling after getting so drunk and now was retarded or something? He hoped it was not permanent.
“Oh, which turns red?” Tom asked.

“Why?” Jeff realized that it means it was more of a game than a serious talk with Tom, right now, because Tom wasn’t serious about many things as a child either.

“Because,” That was all he could snarl in response to Jeff. So Jeff had to explain the rules of driving once again to an adult of how to remain safe on the road.

“So when it turns to this light,” Jeff said without explaining its color, only when the lights changed, “we go!” he sped on.

“When it’s blue?”

“What blue? There’s no blue” Jeff was worried Jeff had lots all total sense of reality. It took Jeff a few minutes listening to Tom about the lights and the colors they appeared that he decided getting him into his parents home was the best thing, when a police car pulled them over.

“Okay, everybody out!” in a screeching voice a little person dressed in a uniform waved to the two men in the Corvette to get the stinking out of the car.

“Whose car is this?” asked the officer, putting out a hand to take a license and proof of registration too.

Jeff immediately looked askance and wearily at his friend Tom, who was still trying to get his seat belt off.

Tom said, “Get your seatbelts on!” and made a few whirling sounds with his lips. The police officer looked up at him.

“Don’t give me that crap, because I’ll run you in!” The cop said, pointing at the billboard while figuring out what to write as a sight if the case should arise. Strictly going by the rules of the book.

“Alright,” Jeff said looking worried. He went over to the other side of the car and quickly removed Tom’s locked seatbelt. They stood outside the car. Tom was holding a rounded up towel on his head. There was a bag filled with ice wrapped in the towel.

“When I said to get out of the car it can also mean get your hands up, gentlemen!” the cop said.

Jeff looked in the distance, impatient and askance away from the cop. Also not totally sure about the cop.

“But you two guys are definitely up to something. No more? Why are you holding that towel to your head?” the cop asked.

“He doesn’t know,” Jeff said for Tom.

“I think it comforts the pain in it.” Tom managed to say.

“So are you having some kind of problem, is that why you were speeding?” The cop asked.

“We weren’t speeding officer! It was only a red light. It was his fault actually” Jeff said pointing at Tom.

“What red light? I didn’t see any red lights.” Tom manages to defend himself.

“You see? I mean don’t you see?” Jeff said to the cop.

“Alright, enough you clowns! No more arguing. And I thought you were doing the driving?” Pointing at Jeff.

“Err, I was. Err, I did. I mean, he’s sick. Look at him, and everything, and I really need to get him to see a physician.”

“I don’t want to go to a hospital; you said I didn’t have to.” Tom said.

“Why does he need to decide?” the cop asked them.

“He thinks there’s something broken in his head.” Jeff stated.

The officer took a brief note on his pad book. “Uh huh,”

“No I don’t,” yelled Tom curiously. “I said look one looked pink!”

“Hold it Bud! Don’t get me confused.” The cop said. He took his time, then nodded, “about that, you saw what?” he asked. “A large bunny hopping and you tried to get him to swerve?”

“No.” Jeff spoke up, then pointing to himself, “Remember I was doing the deriving.” Jeff grinned up his upper lip unknowingly.

“He told me to tell him the color. So I said blue. And he was driving me to my parent’s house. Then I saw one and it was pink.” Tom started explaining, but it made absolutely no sense. The cop was disappointed in the riddle.

“Interesting,” The cop muttered, looking at Tom’s head and towel.

“There’s nothing broken,” Tom said.

“I see.” The cop said. “And what light is blue that becomes pink you are looking for?” he asked.

Why those on the machine,” Tom said pointing at the lights.

“He doesn’t remember anything. He took a knock and cracked his scull after we watched wrestling.” Jeff stated hopping the cop would leave and he could handle the rest himself.

“On TV?” the cop asked.

“Yes. My friend jumped up roaring about it, then he slipped and the really weird thing is he says everything he sees is weird. All except he can’t remember anything. Is that normal?”

“No, it is not!” cop said. “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. I will let you go with a warning once.”

“That’s it? Thanks officer, we’ll go.” Jeff said pushing Tom back into his car.

“”Are we going home?” Tom asked again.

“Tom, soon. Then I will leave you there.” Jeff said. He looked in the rear view mirror as he streaked off the curb back into the street watching the cop stand there staring at his leaving. Tom unfortunately never recovered. And after getting him home he acted strangely around the parents he always had as if he never knew them either. The doctor said it was regression of memories. Today he sits in a hospital and plays with toys. His favorite is a big plastic pink corvette made for Barbie toys. He seems to have a fixed memory of riding in one once and relives his fonder memories.

The end

I hope everyone posted the stories they meant to write.

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holy sh**t im so pissed right now!!
my microsoft word locked up!
does anyone know how to unlock it so i can submit!!!??

Alt Ctrl Delete to get task manager?

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Just look at the poll.

When is the poll final though?

Today. You pretty much won. You didn't even need to vote for your own story!