Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

Greetings all who bravely venture here! Here you will find the things that manage to struggle free fully formed (more or less) from the noise that is my mind. I have a lot of great starts and probably will have many more, but I'll refrain from posting those unless I really like it or something. Enjoy and by all means offer respectful and constructive critique if you like. Thanks for reading and happy writing.

This and the next few posts will be somewhat old pieces of mine inspired by Writer's Digest prompts. They are posted on WD as well as Fiction Press, but I figured I'd post them here too. New stuff will show up...eventually.

One Memorable Night

"You're beautiful, you know that?" This, from my boyfriend of six years after slurping down the last sip of his third SoCo and lime on the rocks. This was the first date night we'd had in about three months. It seems the longer two people are together, the less quality time they actually spend together. It's frustrating, to say the least.

"Aw, you're sweet when you're drunk," I said as I scooted my bar stool closer to his and laid my head on his shoulder. Not an easy feat, mind you, especially considering I was on my second glass of sangria. Blu Magick has the best wild berry sangria. Love in a glass, I like to call it. Blu is also the place where Kevin and I met.

I lifted my head from its increasingly comfy perch on Kevin's shoulder to have another sip or two of liquid love. I tend to close my eyes when I sip this drink; I savor it. I set my glass down on the bar, opened my eyes, and would have returned to the warm, sweet comfort of the space between Kevin's neck and shoulder, but I turned to see that he was...otherwise occupied. My boyfriend was locked in a deep and passion kiss with some ugly skank. Ok, she wasn't ugly, what I could see of her anyway, since most of her face was obscured by Kevin's face. My Kevin's face. Heavily mixed in with my quickly growing anger was utter confusion. Where the hell had she come from? Had she been here the whole time scoping him out? Was she even real? Did he know her?

What I wanted to do was wrap my fist in her hair and slam her forehead onto the bar a few times until she fell asleep. What actually happened was I attempted to get off the stool, caught one of my three inch heels on the foot rest, and landed hard on my hands and knees. I was a bit too tipsy and infuriated to be embarrassed or fully process the pain from the fall just yet so I tried to stand, and on the way up from the sticky, gritty bar floor, blurted out, "Hey, slut! Get your face off my face!" I'm sure that's not what I meant to say, but no part of my grand territorial gesture was working out as planned so far.

My drunken theatrics did get their attention just long enough for them to look at me, look at each other, laugh, and then walk out of the bar clutching each other’s buttocks. I did finally get a look at the skank's face. Where had I seen her before? Kevin's yearbook. It couldn't be. Gretchen? His high school sweetheart that he left for me in college. What was it he always said about her? "If she ever got the chance, she'd steal me back from you. She's a real witch." No. Couldn't be. Could it?

*Author's Note: I wrote this from a female point of view. It was interesting and I would probably try it again. The original idea for this had so much more going on, but word count constraints put the kibosh on that. I guess it's for the best as I sort of remember that it would have gotten fairly NC-17.

Digging

How long has it been? All I can remember is that it was still daylight when I started. It’s getting colder. Somehow I don’t seem to notice. I don’t seem to care. I don’t seem to really be…present. It’s as if I’m watching myself mindlessly dig this hole. Why am I digging this hole? Is it for me? Is it for someone else? Oh, God, what have I done?! No, I’m not a murderer. Look at the size of this hole. This isn’t for a body. I’m suddenly aware that I’m not the only one digging. About a dozen or so other disheveled bodies are mechanically digging away right along with me. I want to ask what the hell is going on. I want to stop digging. I can do neither. All my body seems to know how to do anymore is dig.

As I continue to dig I think I can feel a faint throbbing under my feet, a pulse. And warmth. We’re not digging this hole to put something in. We’re digging something up. And whatever it is, it’s big and alive and wants so desperately to be free. That thought triggers something, a memory. A fragment of an explanation flashes through my mind. A voice spoke to me in a dream. It promised me an end to my suffering. All I had to do was suffer just a little more, make one last sacrifice of pain to free him. All I had to do was dig. It seemed like a good idea at the time. My life is a joke, always has been. I was always a paycheck away from being homeless. I’ve never known love aside from my parents and they’ve been dead since I was five. This world has done nothing but take from me. Now I’m finally going to get something. I just have to keep digging.

More time passes and we’re so close now. The pulse is stronger, louder. The warmth is more intense. And there’s something else. Something I didn’t feel in the dream. Something I hadn’t noticed until this moment. It’s difficult to describe evil, but you know it when you feel it. We have to stop. I try to scream. STOOOOPPPP!!! No sound comes out. My body still doesn’t respond to my will. It belongs to him now. We all do. And it’s too late to do anything about it.

Suddenly, finally, we all stop digging. Under our feet is a huge ancient glyph. Before I can really process what I’m seeing I’m overcome by intense pain. We all fall to our knees in agony, begging for death. It comes swiftly and gruesomely as every ounce of blood in our bodies is violently drawn out and spilled onto the glyph.

The voice made good on its promise. My suffering is finally over. Sadly, though, yours is just beginning. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

Subject-0

I awoke groggily, painfully. My vision was blurry and as much as I blinked and squinted, it wouldn’t clear. After a minute I realized I wasn’t wearing my glasses. Panic immediately struck me and I sprang up to search for them. Or at least I attempted to. My panic intensified ten-fold when I realized that I was strapped tightly to what felt like a metal examining table.

“Oh, how wonderful! Our subject is finally awake,” said a voice from across the room. A fuzzy white form came into view, the source of the voice, I assumed. The man leaned over me, his foul breath threatening to make me cover myself with the contents of my stomach. Come to think of it, when was the last time I’d eaten? What time was it? Where the hell was I? Questions flew through my mind and a large part of me feared they would never be answered. I began to struggle, pulling at the restraints on my ankles and wrists, bucking at the straps across my torso and forehead. “Calm down, my pet, calm down. There’s nothing to fear.” He stroked my face with the back of a gloved hand as he said the last. “You are about to become a part of history. I am a pioneer, you see.” He began to walk slowly around the table on which I laid as he spoke. “I believe I’ve discovered a way to amplify one of the five senses while sacrificing another. You, my friend, shall be my first human test subject.”

Great. It was bad enough that I’d been kidnapped. Now, I’ve been kidnapped by a mad scientist and made to be a guinea pig. “If the procedure works, you’ll be a harbinger of great things to come for humanity. If not, then it’s back to the drawing board for me. And for you, well…let’s not think about such things. Best to think happy thoughts before a major surgery, right?”

At some point I had closed my eyes, squeezed them as tightly as I could, hoping to be safe in my bed when I opened them. No such luck. “So, you have a choice to make. And no, leaving isn’t an option. Nor is death. At least not on purpose,” he laughed.

I made one more futile attempt to wake up from this nightmare before making the obvious choice. But which sense to sacrifice? I began to cry because I couldn’t do anything else. What kind of choice was this? Through my frustrated tears I said, “You choose which sense to take.” He leaned down close as he put the needle in my neck. The last thing I saw before passing out was his crooked rotten smile.

Last Summer I had the idea to use The Gatherer (online database of every Magic: The Gathering card ever printed) as writing fuel. I'd click "random card" and write for 30 minutes on whatever card came up. I did it exactly once and have yet to do it again. Here's the result. I like the idea though and may try it again.

Sword Of The Ages

It was so close. How many years of my life had I spent searching for this accursed sword? Perhaps it’s a selfish thought. There are others that have suffered through this journey. And not just my traveling companions, my family too. They’ve made sacrifices as well. I’ve neglected them, to say the least. They hate me, and they are justified in doing so. I want to care, but I don’t.

We approached the tomb. Caution was the name of the game here. We had lost two good men just getting here this time. Four in the last wild goose chase before that. I once tried to find solace in the thought that when we finally did find the blade, their lives would not have been lost in vain. However, the realist in me always knew that every failed dig, every hoax, every empty hole in the ground was just a disgusting waste. A waste of time. A waste of life.

It IS here! I could feel it! And no, I hadn’t said that before. I could feel it like it was alive; a breathing pulsing source of warmth and light. I felt it like a pressure inside my head. It was still a good distance away but it was calling me. I wondered if the others could feel it too. And if they could, was it saying to them what it was saying to me? I slyly scanned the faces of the men at my back. Entranced, the lot of them, just as I had feared. There was going to be a blood bath and I think that’s just what the sword wanted.

“Let’s go, boys. The Sword of the Ages lies ahead. Not too far now. Soon we’ll finally have our prize.”

I pressed on, deeper into the tomb, the presence of the thing causing greater strain on my mind and soul the closer I came. Still though, I had the presence of mind to realize that it could never be “ours.” It would never allow that.

As we reached the threshold of a room, I paused. Suddenly a terrible idea occured to me. I stopped abruptly and slumped. “I know we’re here. We’re so close…but…but, I need to rest. Does the sword not affect you all as well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I feel just fine.” This from largest of our band as sweat dripped from his forehead, the effort to remain upright clear in his body as it was with the others. “Ain’t that right,” he beckoned to the rest. They all sort of moaned in agreement, barely able to muster even a monosyllabic utterance. “We’re going in.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” I said to their backs as they shuffled into the room. I could see the glinting form of the legendary artifact through the spaces between their shambling bodies. That sight was my cue to act. With renewed determination and vigor, I gathered myself up, pulled my pistol from its holster, aimed at the nearest body, and fired. Then again. And again. And again. Blood erupted from each fatal wound and soaked into the sandy floor as they became the last sacrifices of this journey. I’m finally here, I thought. It’s finally mine.

I grasped the sword’s handle, raising it triumphantly as I gazed upon the fresh corpses of my ill-fated fellows. “Fools. It was never going to be any of you. You were not chosen. You were not worthy.”

As I held the very epitome of power in my hand, I couldn’t help the maniacal laughter that began to escape me. I honestly couldn’t identify the emotion. Maybe it was all of them at once.

Now, to deal with the age old problem of wielding absolute power. No, not the corruption. I had no issue with that. It was the question of what to do with it, where to start, the ultimate goal. I had a few ideas. Yes, indeed I did.

This is also Magic related and probably one of the few unfinished pieces I'll post here. This was an attempt to go through "14 Prompts" by Joe Bunting (founder of The Write Practice). Again, like the Magic card thing, a great idea that I just didn't follow through with. I may return to this as well though. On with the story...

The moment I crossed the threshold, I felt at once far too young and far too old. It was my first Gathering. The other mages were clearly younger than me, but there was a gravity to them that belied their age, a palpable wisdom and power that I lacked. Needless to say I was intimidated. Every fiber of my being wanted to turn tail, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t run. I was here to prove myself worthy of apprenticeship, worthy of him.

I stayed on the fringes of the grounds surrounding the large oval-shaped sparring ring. As I walked, making it a point to avoid eye-contact, I couldn’t help but notice the occasional sneer directed at me. Soon matches would be called and each upturned nose and predatory grin was someone hoping my name would be called with theirs. I was an easy win.

I was visibly startled by the sound of the fanfare preceding the match-ups. After some time I finally heard my name. My opponent was a stocky young man whose mastery of the necromantic arts was fearsome to say the least. Few spells were aimed at me. He cast spell after spell upon himself; spells that no sane man would ever bear willingly. But he did, and he and his steadily growing undead army were somehow stronger because of it. It took every protection spell in my admittedly limited repertoire to stave off his attacks with minimal damage, while trying to amass my own ragtag army of corrupted wood dwellers and skeletal flying aberrations.

*Author's Note: This was the first prompt in the workbook where I was to write about a time where I felt "out of place." It is a fictionalization of my experience going to Friday Night Magic at a game store I'd never been to before.

SUBMITTED: 1/2/19 to Weekly Short Story Contest (late submission just to share for Week 440)
WORD COUNT: 822
WARNING/AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not really any trigger warnings, per se, but it's bittersweet and could be a tear-jerker for some. It involves the peaceful death of a little one. I had to fight back tears several times while writing it. I have no idea where my mind was, or how/why this came out of me. I don't have children and have never experienced anything like this, not even the death of a close relative or friend. Wherever it came from, it has proven to me that I AM a writer and I CAN do this. I just need to keep up the practice. Thank you for reading.

To the Stars
“It’s so warm, Daddy. And it kinda tickles too,” she giggled in that way that only little girls can. It’s the sound of pure joy and wonderment that lifts the soul and tells you that there is still good in the world, things worth living for.

“I know, honey, it feels amazing! Don’t you feel like you could do anything, be anything?” Victor’s eyes were wide with glee as he looked down at his daughter, bathed in the preternatural glow emanating from the unearthly rock the size of a bale of hay on which they each laid a hand. In that moment, Nel’s eyes were not her own. Where sclera and iris and pupil should be there were two tiny windows into the vastness of space. Galaxies spun, nebulae sat in quiet ethereal beauty, comets hurtled through the darkness.

“Oh, Daddy, your eyes are so pretty! They look like outer space!” She wooshed the hand not touching the rock through the air like a teeny space shuttle, up toward the sky as far as her little arm would allow.

“Yours too, Nelly!” He took a knee to get closer to her level, still at least a head taller. “Now close your eyes and make a wish. Anything you want.”

Nel squeezed her eyes tight, concentrating, really thinking hard about what she might want if she could truly have anything. Victor stood and took a step back, left hand still on the alien rock, as Nel became engulfed in a bright white light. He couldn’t see her, only hear her elation as her wish was being granted. After a few seconds, the light slowly dimmed and was gone, revealing something that was decidedly un-Nel-like in appearance.

Victor chortled. “I should have known.” Before him stood a horse, about chest high, dark brown speckled with cream, a mane and tail the purple of the sky just as sunset becomes night, crowned by a horn made of crystal and silver that gleamed in the full moonlight.

Unicorn-Nel playfully stuck her tongue out at her dad, then turned and darted off full speed across the moonlit field. She pranced and galloped, bucked and whinnied with delight. This would be more fun with Daddy, Nel thought, then sprinted back the rock.

“How do you like being a unicorn, Nelly?”

“I love it! You should be one too so we can play together.”

“You got it!” Unicorn-Victor was jet black, with a shimmering silver mane and tail. His horn was spiraled obsidian and rainbow opal.

Hours passed as they raced each other around the field and explored into the shallow woods surrounding. It looked like Nel had forgotten how this night was going to end. Victor played, keeping up with his daughter’s boundless energy, but knew that this was only temporary bliss. When he saw the deep dark blue of night begin to give way to golden day, he convinced Nel to settle down and lay with him in the grass to watch the sunrise. By the time the sun sat full and bright on the horizon, they had returned to human form, Victor sitting cross-legged with Nel sitting across his lap, clutched to his chest.

Nel coughed. “That was so much fun, Daddy. I forgot I was sick.”

“I almost did too, Nelly.” He took a moment to force the sadness from his eyes, then lifted her chin so he could meet hers. They were Nel’s eyes again, a light brown, but always green in this light. “Does anything hurt?”

She gave a small reassuring smile. “No. I just feel a little tired.” She closed her eyes.

“No, wait. Don’t go yet.” He gently shook her small form to wake her, the first of many tears rolling down his cheek.

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” She coughed. “Why you crying?”

“I’m…,” he hiccupped. “I’m gonna miss you, is all.”

“I’ll miss you too, Daddy,” She kissed his cheek, settled back into his arms, and looked toward the sun. “Where do you think I’m going when I leave here?” Nel’s voice held no fear or sadness, only curiosity. She asked as if she was about to go on an adventure.

“To the stars, of course!” Victor sniffed and wiped his face, tried to stop crying, tried to be strong, sound happy.

She turned back to him just in time to see the half a smile he managed to put on. “Will we see each other again?”

“Sure we will. Every night I’ll come back here to the rock and wait for you.”

Nel’s face lit up then. “And we can play the wish game again!”

Victor laughed, a real laugh. “We sure can, Nelly. But can we maybe be dragons or something next time?”

“OK, Daddy. Dragons next time.” She snuggled into her father’s chest and closed her eyes again.

Victor didn’t try to wake her this time. He just sat and held her until she was gone.

SUBMITTED: 1/3/19 to Weekly Short Story Contest Week 441
WARNING: Rated "R" for language, light violence, and vague sexual references
WORD COUNT: 1284

Fed Up

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. She loves me. She’s sacrificed so much for me. I keep hurting her. I keep fucking up. There was the red-headed 20-year-old cater waiter with the perky C-cups and even perkier ass at our wedding reception. I’m weak for freckles and curls. The valet guy I gave a “tip” to on our 1-year anniversary. The swinger couple I met while away on business in LA. The twin brother and sister visiting from Ukraine. And no, I did not sleep with them at the same time. Why do so many people fantasize about that? That’s incest. Fucking gross. Anyway, the list goes on.

I know she knows. How can she not? There are signs that my time may be up soon. The random arguments about small things that are obviously not about the small things. The way she’ll go days, sometimes weeks without much more than a peck on the lips. When a woman’s fed up, you know.

I love Janet. I really do. I don’t do these things on purpose. They just...happen. I hear you judging me. Just say no, you say. You have a loving wife at home, you say. Think of the children, you say. It’s not that easy. Losing my family would likely destroy me, but still I can’t seem to stop. I love sex. I love sex with lots of different people. I’m greedy. I’m a monster.

I need help.

***

“You were in there a long time. Like four people died while you were gone,” Janet whispered as I reclaimed my seat to her right. “Is your stomach OK?”

My stomach was fine. It wasn’t abdominal pain I was relieving in the restroom, more like discomfort from the persistent swelling I’d had since we walked away from the concession counter. I don’t even remember her name but she was soft and thick and tight and just what the doctor ordered for my...condition. “Sorry, baby. There was a line. Another movie just let out, I guess.” Nice one, Roland. Mental self high-five.

“Right.” That’s it. Just that one word. And the briefest of eye contact that, even in the dark of the theater, I could see meant that her bullshit meter was climbing dangerously close to 10. She sniffed. Then turned her attention back to the giant screen.

The movie went on. During any particularly gory scenes she would grab my hand and bury her face in my shoulder. I noticed her sniffing me as she pulled away a couple times. One time I could swear I saw her upper lip curl in disgust. I discreetly tucked my nose down my shirt and took a whiff. I didn’t smell anything except the lingering base notes of my English Laundry.

The movie ended. All but one person died. The killer got away. You know how it goes. Janet got up without a word, shuffled out of the row, and blended into the crush of people shambling up the aisle to exit the theater. She met me - kinda - by the building exit. As soon as we met eyes, she shoved open the door and started toward the car. I didn’t bother trying to catch up with her. If I hadn’t been the one who drove, I’m sure I would’ve been walking home. The ride was quiet.

***

Janet damn near flew out my car as soon as I threw it in park. Slammed my door too. I let it go. This was new and a little scary. I’d never been caught before. Not that I knew of. Part of me knew that this was the time, if not simply the last time. The straw and the camel and all that. She was too angry. It was too soon after one of my transgressions. I sat there in the car, just thinking. Wondering what was going to happen when I walked through the door. Wondering what she was doing. Would she just shower and go to bed? I wouldn’t need her to tell me to sleep on the couch. Would we have it out as soon as I stepped across the threshold? The kids were at her mom’s for the night and our nearest neighbor was half a mile away so a screaming match was not off the table. I couldn’t sit and worry and wonder anymore.

I started to speak as I was turning around from locking the door. “Baby, I’m sorr…” My apology was interrupted by a crack of thunder, and then a ringing in my ears. Reflexively, I reached both hands up to cover them. My right ear stung. It felt like someone had touched a red hot poker to that cartilaginous hump right above the lobe. I brought my hands down, focusing my gaze on the right one. It was nearly evenly coated in fresh blood. I raised my eyes to see my wife standing about 10 feet from me, holding the Glock 17 I’d bought her last year in a perfect two-handed grip. Someone’s been going to the range without me.

“Roland, I’m done. You have 10 seconds to either leave, or convince me why I shouldn’t empty this clip into your filthy cheating ass.”

“Baby, wait..”

“10”

“What are you doing?!”

“9”

“Listen. I know I hurt you.”

“8”

“What about the kids?!”

“7”

“You’ll go to prison and I’ll be dead. They’ll be orphans!”

“That’s what family’s for. 6.”

I dropped to my knees. I briefly considered crawling over to her, but thought better of it. “Please. Janet. We can work this out.”

“5”

“I’m not worth it!”

This gave her pause. She raised a brow. Her face relaxed just a little, intrigued, but expectating bullshit. “Huhn. Go on.”

I stood slowly with my hands slightly raised, just in case. Keeping eye contact, I slowly lowered my hands and took a breath. “Don’t go to prison over me. Don’t take us away from our children because I’ve been a shitty husband. I suck as a husband, but I’m a great father. They don’t deserve to be punished because of my mistakes...” She hardened again, tightened her grip on the gun. “Uh, sorry, no, not mistakes. I mean that you and the kids don’t deserve to be punished because I’m an inconsiderate asshole. I’m a dog. I’m an insult to dogs.”

She cracked the tiniest of smiles at that. “I hear no lies there...for once.”

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “OK. Now can you please put the gun away?”

“No.” She let her hands drop to her sides, gun still held firmly in her right. She moved to the sofa and sat, crossing her legs. “Because what I’m going to do is give you 10 minutes to get some shit together,” she motioned to the stairs with the gun, “and get out,” then swung it to point casually at the front door. I flinched because I was still standing in front of it.

Without saying a word, I jogged to the stairs and took them two at a time up to the second floor. I quickly shoved some essentials into a duffle, trotted back downstairs, and left. I’d take care of my ear, now mostly clotted, with the first aid kit I keep in my car. We spoke no parting words. What was there left to say without lawyers present?

I called George from the car to let him know I needed a place to crash for a while and that I’d explain later. He asked no questions then. He’s a good friend. The kind of friend who will probably punch me in the dick when I tell him. I’ll let that go too.