- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- My timezone is PST
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Futanari
- Genres
- Homosexual, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Magic, Vampire, Werewolf, Supernatural, Angels/Demons, Superhero, Zombies
Greetings!
With the submissions now closed, please join me in giving admiration and constructive feedback to the many participants in the contest. Remember, all of these works undoubtedly took a long time and great effort, so be kind with your words. I also want to thank all those who sent in entries, it makes me so happy to see so many participants!
In the meantime, the judges @Kuno, @Absinthe and I will be reviewing all of the submitted pieces, and a winner will be announced on August 23rd.
Soft, shallow breaths of sleep filled a dark room, two bodies intertwined with each other; Hair laid messy and tangled, brown locks laying on pillows. Skin stuck together from sweat, cool air filtering in the room from a slightly cracked window, brushing against the bare bodies.
One body slept soundlessly, the best he probably had in a long time. Strong arms tightly coiled around another's thin waist, so tight it was like in his subconscious he was afraid they would leave again. That maybe, just maybe, they would rather be anywhere else but here. He was afraid that was the truth. But, there were little to no plans of leaving, not again.
The other slept less comfortably.
They stirred, brows furrowed and face twisted in his discomfort, his sleep plagued by yet another of his many nightmares that they couldn't seem to shake. Their medications had done a good job at suppressing a great majority of them all, but not this time. There was a constant, nagging reminder of that day. The day that their father had gotten into their head and fucked with it; The day they killed that man of terror; The day they lost something they had wanted, so badly.
That day was hard, filled him with an agonizing pain, both physically and emotionally. It made their own stupid mental state so much worse than it had ever been.
That was the day they had been so sure that they had royally fucked up. Yet, somehow, even after all the time that had been spent apart, they found themself in the same bed as the person they cared for most in this cruel world.
The thinner body of the two jolted awake just as an arrow flew at them, just before it lodged itself into their eye. They breathed in a sharp breath, stormy gray hues opening and blinking sleep away from them quickly. They had shifted ever so slightly to move to sit up, trying not to wake their sleeping lover beside them. Their hands moved up to rub at their face, a heavy sigh escaping pale lips before they muttered under his breath, "Not again."
Eyes moved down to the arms wound around their waist, and they couldn't help the smallest of smiles tugging at their lips. They leaned down a little, pressing a soft kiss to theman's temple before ever so carefully prying the arms from keeping them that were keeping them in bed. They moved then to shift to sit on the edge of the bed, pressing a heel of their hand into their right eye, and rubbed at it before slowly moving to stand up. Moving away from the bed quietly, the gray eyed individual scooped up a pair of pants from the floor and slid them on.
The body that remained in the bed shifted suddenly, an arm reaching out in the empty space where the other had been moments before. They froze and glanced back at the man in bed. There was a sleepy grumble from the man before dark eyes were blinking open, already looking around frantically as he searched for the brunette that had been asleep with him. "Love?" He moved to sit up, a hand quickly rubbing sleep from his eyes. His eyes locked with gray one and he visibly relaxed a little.
"Are you leaving again?" The words were quiet, almost like he was afraid of what the answer might be, "Please don't go- I-"
A quick shake of their head was given, eyes softening at the question. "I'm not," They shifted a little on his feet to be closer to the bed, "Just can't sleep."
Shoulders finally relaxed fully before holding his arms out towards the brunette, making little grabby hands like a child. "C'mere then," He spoke softly, "We don't have to sleep, I can just hold you for a while?"
The offer made a larger smile tug at the brunette's lips and they gave a nod of their head. "Yeah, I think that'd be good," Gray eyes moved to get back up on the bed and almost instantly collapsed into the man's arms.
A head dipped, lips pressing against the other's bare shoulder, pale and smooth, "I love you."
"I love you too. Always."
One body slept soundlessly, the best he probably had in a long time. Strong arms tightly coiled around another's thin waist, so tight it was like in his subconscious he was afraid they would leave again. That maybe, just maybe, they would rather be anywhere else but here. He was afraid that was the truth. But, there were little to no plans of leaving, not again.
The other slept less comfortably.
They stirred, brows furrowed and face twisted in his discomfort, his sleep plagued by yet another of his many nightmares that they couldn't seem to shake. Their medications had done a good job at suppressing a great majority of them all, but not this time. There was a constant, nagging reminder of that day. The day that their father had gotten into their head and fucked with it; The day they killed that man of terror; The day they lost something they had wanted, so badly.
That day was hard, filled him with an agonizing pain, both physically and emotionally. It made their own stupid mental state so much worse than it had ever been.
That was the day they had been so sure that they had royally fucked up. Yet, somehow, even after all the time that had been spent apart, they found themself in the same bed as the person they cared for most in this cruel world.
The thinner body of the two jolted awake just as an arrow flew at them, just before it lodged itself into their eye. They breathed in a sharp breath, stormy gray hues opening and blinking sleep away from them quickly. They had shifted ever so slightly to move to sit up, trying not to wake their sleeping lover beside them. Their hands moved up to rub at their face, a heavy sigh escaping pale lips before they muttered under his breath, "Not again."
Eyes moved down to the arms wound around their waist, and they couldn't help the smallest of smiles tugging at their lips. They leaned down a little, pressing a soft kiss to theman's temple before ever so carefully prying the arms from keeping them that were keeping them in bed. They moved then to shift to sit on the edge of the bed, pressing a heel of their hand into their right eye, and rubbed at it before slowly moving to stand up. Moving away from the bed quietly, the gray eyed individual scooped up a pair of pants from the floor and slid them on.
The body that remained in the bed shifted suddenly, an arm reaching out in the empty space where the other had been moments before. They froze and glanced back at the man in bed. There was a sleepy grumble from the man before dark eyes were blinking open, already looking around frantically as he searched for the brunette that had been asleep with him. "Love?" He moved to sit up, a hand quickly rubbing sleep from his eyes. His eyes locked with gray one and he visibly relaxed a little.
"Are you leaving again?" The words were quiet, almost like he was afraid of what the answer might be, "Please don't go- I-"
A quick shake of their head was given, eyes softening at the question. "I'm not," They shifted a little on his feet to be closer to the bed, "Just can't sleep."
Shoulders finally relaxed fully before holding his arms out towards the brunette, making little grabby hands like a child. "C'mere then," He spoke softly, "We don't have to sleep, I can just hold you for a while?"
The offer made a larger smile tug at the brunette's lips and they gave a nod of their head. "Yeah, I think that'd be good," Gray eyes moved to get back up on the bed and almost instantly collapsed into the man's arms.
A head dipped, lips pressing against the other's bare shoulder, pale and smooth, "I love you."
"I love you too. Always."
Word Count: 711
Chosen theme(s): Romance
Chosen format: Short Story
The summer heat was oppressive, the kind that made the air shimmer and every breath feel like inhaling fire. Charlie wiped the sweat from his forehead as he looked out over the park. Children's laughter mingled with the distant hum of traffic, creating a false sense of normalcy.
Beside him, Liam was busy setting up their picnic. His usual easygoing smile was missing, replaced by a furrowed brow and tense shoulders. Charlie tried to catch his eye, but he avoided the gaze, focusing instead on the blanket he was spreading out.
"Liam," Charlie said softly, "we need to talk about this."
Liam sighed, finally meeting his eyes. "I know, Charlie. I just... I don't know what to say. This whole thing is a mess."
The "whole thing" was the impending disaster that loomed over their town. The wildfires had been raging for weeks, drawing closer with every passing day. The sky, once a clear blue, was now a murky gray, filled with smoke and ash. Evacuation orders were being issued in nearby neighborhoods, and it was only a matter of time before they had to leave too.
Charlie sat down on the blanket, pulling his knees to his chest. "I hate this," he admitted. "I hate not knowing if we're going to lose everything. Our home, our memories... us."
Liam sat beside him, his arm brushing against his. "We won't lose us," he said firmly. "No matter what happens, we have each other."
Charlie leaned his head on Liam's shoulder, drawing comfort from his presence. "What if that's not enough?" he whispered.
Liam turned to him, cupping his face in his hands. "Charlie, you are everything to me. We could lose the house, the car, all of it, and none of it would matter as long as I have you."
Tears welled up in Charlie's eyes, and he blinked them away, not wanting to show how scared he really was. "I just don't want to lose you," he confessed.
"You won't," Liam promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "We're going to get through this. Together."
As if on cue, a distant siren wailed, signaling another evacuation notice. The tension that had been hanging over them snapped, and they quickly began packing up their picnic. Charlie's hands trembled as he stuffed the uneaten sandwiches back into the basket.
Liam wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back to the car. "We'll find somewhere safe," he reassured him. "And we'll start over if we have to."
Driving away from the park, the reality of their situation pressed down on them. The horizon was a stark reminder of the fire's relentless advance. They passed neighbors loading their belongings into cars, their faces etched with the same worry and fear Charlie felt.
Liam reached over and squeezed his hand. "Remember our first date?" he asked, trying to distract him.
Charlie nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "How could I forget? You spilled coffee all over yourself trying to impress me."
Liam chuckled. "And you still agreed to go out with me again."
Charlie laughed, the sound a small comfort amid the chaos. "It was adorable. Besides, you made up for it by taking me to that amazing Thai restaurant."
"I'll take you there again," Liam said, his voice steady and sure. "Once this is all over, we'll go back and order everything on the menu."
"Deal," Charlie agreed, squeezing Liam's hand in return. "I love you, you know."
"I love you too," Liam replied, glancing at him with a soft smile. "And we're going to be okay. No matter what, we have each other."
As they drove towards an uncertain future, Charlie found solace in Liam's words. The road ahead was long and filled with unknowns, but as long as they were together, he knew they could face anything.
Beside him, Liam was busy setting up their picnic. His usual easygoing smile was missing, replaced by a furrowed brow and tense shoulders. Charlie tried to catch his eye, but he avoided the gaze, focusing instead on the blanket he was spreading out.
"Liam," Charlie said softly, "we need to talk about this."
Liam sighed, finally meeting his eyes. "I know, Charlie. I just... I don't know what to say. This whole thing is a mess."
The "whole thing" was the impending disaster that loomed over their town. The wildfires had been raging for weeks, drawing closer with every passing day. The sky, once a clear blue, was now a murky gray, filled with smoke and ash. Evacuation orders were being issued in nearby neighborhoods, and it was only a matter of time before they had to leave too.
Charlie sat down on the blanket, pulling his knees to his chest. "I hate this," he admitted. "I hate not knowing if we're going to lose everything. Our home, our memories... us."
Liam sat beside him, his arm brushing against his. "We won't lose us," he said firmly. "No matter what happens, we have each other."
Charlie leaned his head on Liam's shoulder, drawing comfort from his presence. "What if that's not enough?" he whispered.
Liam turned to him, cupping his face in his hands. "Charlie, you are everything to me. We could lose the house, the car, all of it, and none of it would matter as long as I have you."
Tears welled up in Charlie's eyes, and he blinked them away, not wanting to show how scared he really was. "I just don't want to lose you," he confessed.
"You won't," Liam promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "We're going to get through this. Together."
As if on cue, a distant siren wailed, signaling another evacuation notice. The tension that had been hanging over them snapped, and they quickly began packing up their picnic. Charlie's hands trembled as he stuffed the uneaten sandwiches back into the basket.
Liam wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back to the car. "We'll find somewhere safe," he reassured him. "And we'll start over if we have to."
Driving away from the park, the reality of their situation pressed down on them. The horizon was a stark reminder of the fire's relentless advance. They passed neighbors loading their belongings into cars, their faces etched with the same worry and fear Charlie felt.
Liam reached over and squeezed his hand. "Remember our first date?" he asked, trying to distract him.
Charlie nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "How could I forget? You spilled coffee all over yourself trying to impress me."
Liam chuckled. "And you still agreed to go out with me again."
Charlie laughed, the sound a small comfort amid the chaos. "It was adorable. Besides, you made up for it by taking me to that amazing Thai restaurant."
"I'll take you there again," Liam said, his voice steady and sure. "Once this is all over, we'll go back and order everything on the menu."
"Deal," Charlie agreed, squeezing Liam's hand in return. "I love you, you know."
"I love you too," Liam replied, glancing at him with a soft smile. "And we're going to be okay. No matter what, we have each other."
As they drove towards an uncertain future, Charlie found solace in Liam's words. The road ahead was long and filled with unknowns, but as long as they were together, he knew they could face anything.
Word Count: 639
Themes: Romance and Catastrophe
Chosen Format: Short Story
Spotting you first time
Sworn enemies of long time
I was so wary
Shaken to the core
From domineering presence
So tantalizing
I kept stealing glances
Eyes of gold, hair of silver
Enormous hubris
My eyes glued to you
Observing through reflections
Head never turning
You had me surprised
Helping me to reach a shelf
My heartbeat racing
Encouraged to speak
I approached foolishly
A moth to a flame
We shared meals I served
Conversed ever so often
You protected me
Provided your warmth
You told me that we were friends
And claimed that you cared
So I trusted you
With my heart, body and soul
When others did not.
Unpredictably
You tempted me that evening
How could I resist?
I craved you so long
We spent night at your castle
Implausible luck
You baked me pancakes
When I was feeling upset
Ever so gentle
Should have known better
It was too good for lasting
Fleeting happiness.
You heard me speaking.
Those harsh words I never meant.
On that fateful day.
I acted stubborn
Misreading your intentions.
Answered so coldly.
My words hurt badly.
Yet I never realized.
I was ignorant.
Thinking of myself.
Your hatred was well-earned.
Yet one-sided.
It was late to beg,
I still sought your forgiveness
And you sparked hope.
Merely a sweet lie.
Telling me you forgave me.
Allowing embrace.
You remained distant.
Our bond gone, I kept your gift.
Holding for your warmth.
It carries your scent.
I watch you from the shadows.
Like I was meant to.
Hunter of your kind.
Back to being enemies.
Never meant to be.
All we ever did,
Was destroying each other.
Willingly or not.
Cold and distant glares.
Froze me even in July,
As you looked at me.
The trait of a dog.
Yearning for the constant praise.
Asking to be chased.
I crave your poison.
Suffering from withdrawal.
My sweet addiction.
I cannot forget,
Braiding flowers in your hair.
Its silky softness.
Nor that peony.
You softly placed in my hair.
Sweet and merciless.
Hold on your hatred.
I can never return it,
Even if I try.
Sworn enemies of long time
I was so wary
Shaken to the core
From domineering presence
So tantalizing
I kept stealing glances
Eyes of gold, hair of silver
Enormous hubris
My eyes glued to you
Observing through reflections
Head never turning
You had me surprised
Helping me to reach a shelf
My heartbeat racing
Encouraged to speak
I approached foolishly
A moth to a flame
We shared meals I served
Conversed ever so often
You protected me
Provided your warmth
You told me that we were friends
And claimed that you cared
So I trusted you
With my heart, body and soul
When others did not.
Unpredictably
You tempted me that evening
How could I resist?
I craved you so long
We spent night at your castle
Implausible luck
You baked me pancakes
When I was feeling upset
Ever so gentle
Should have known better
It was too good for lasting
Fleeting happiness.
You heard me speaking.
Those harsh words I never meant.
On that fateful day.
I acted stubborn
Misreading your intentions.
Answered so coldly.
My words hurt badly.
Yet I never realized.
I was ignorant.
Thinking of myself.
Your hatred was well-earned.
Yet one-sided.
It was late to beg,
I still sought your forgiveness
And you sparked hope.
Merely a sweet lie.
Telling me you forgave me.
Allowing embrace.
You remained distant.
Our bond gone, I kept your gift.
Holding for your warmth.
It carries your scent.
I watch you from the shadows.
Like I was meant to.
Hunter of your kind.
Back to being enemies.
Never meant to be.
All we ever did,
Was destroying each other.
Willingly or not.
Cold and distant glares.
Froze me even in July,
As you looked at me.
The trait of a dog.
Yearning for the constant praise.
Asking to be chased.
I crave your poison.
Suffering from withdrawal.
My sweet addiction.
I cannot forget,
Braiding flowers in your hair.
Its silky softness.
Nor that peony.
You softly placed in my hair.
Sweet and merciless.
Hold on your hatred.
I can never return it,
Even if I try.
Word Count: 353
Chosen themes: Romance, Madness.
Chosen format: Poem (Haiku)
ADARA WAS CONVINCED SHE WAS DEAD. There was no way that she could have survived the explosion of the SS Llamas. But then, the searing pain was much too intense for death. When the demigod had imagined death, it had been more peaceful. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the flames above the water — the orange glow was muted and distorted as the light was filtered through the water. It was almost as if she was in a completely different realm, sinking away from the madness of the world above. The inferno that had engulfed the ship. The scorching heat that licked at her skin. The deafening alarms. They had all thrown her into disarray before the eruption . . . the memories came in fragments, each one more disorientating than the last.
Slowly she felt a new burning — this time, in her eyes and from the countless cuts on her skin. Saltwater — that was the last rational thought she could muster as the flames above grew more distant, the surface of the water slipping further and further away. Sinking. Of course this was the way she would die. It had been her biggest fear after the sea claimed her life at four years old; it had only been for two minutes and forty-seven seconds, but it was enough to instill the fear.
The irony was not lost on her that her first quest had taken her to the Sea of Monsters, a cruel twist of fate that seemed almost preordained. And now, not even ten years later, the sea would be her undoing once more. It may as well have come straight out of a greek tragedy, a tale written in the stars long before she was born.
SINKING. She was sinking too fast. The realization hit her like a wave, pulling her back to the present. Tyson's arms were still wrapped around her, his grip strong yet gentle as he had tried to shield her from the debris of the exploding ship. The cyclops had saved her . . .but to what end?
The girl could feel the exhaustion creeping in and the pain growing exponentially. Her lungs began to burn with the desperate urge for oxygen. And yet, even then, she willed her mind to resist, to fight against the instinct that urged her to open her mouth and inhale. The sea would rush in — cold and unforgiving. Tyson's grip tightened around her, but the abyss was calling . . . a part of her wondered if the chaos would end if she simply relented, if she surrendered.
AS THE COLD SPREAD INTO HER BONES, strangely, she felt a warmth. It was subtle at first, but it grew, spreading through her body until she was hot, almost feverish. They were nowhere near the flames, so how is it that she felt warmth in the cold and dark? With one final thought, she determined that this must be what death felt like . . . a final comfort before the end. But was it meant to be so piercing? No, it didn't make sense, she gathered. The light began to take shape, forming into the outline of a face. The glow behind the figure obscured any details of specific features, but Adara could sense the presence of someone — someone familiar, yet distant.
The figure spoke, but the words were muffled and distorted to her. However, the mere sound was soothing and wrapped around her like a blanket. It was a warmth unlike the searing heat of the SS Llamas; it was comforting and safe, reminding her of the times she had sat under the sun at their home in Peru. But even as the warmth enveloped her to counteract the chilling ocean depths, a part of her remained tethered to the present. Despair had yet to fully claim her and as she hovered on the brink of surrender, the demigod had to make a choice between giving in and holding on.
Slowly she felt a new burning — this time, in her eyes and from the countless cuts on her skin. Saltwater — that was the last rational thought she could muster as the flames above grew more distant, the surface of the water slipping further and further away. Sinking. Of course this was the way she would die. It had been her biggest fear after the sea claimed her life at four years old; it had only been for two minutes and forty-seven seconds, but it was enough to instill the fear.
The irony was not lost on her that her first quest had taken her to the Sea of Monsters, a cruel twist of fate that seemed almost preordained. And now, not even ten years later, the sea would be her undoing once more. It may as well have come straight out of a greek tragedy, a tale written in the stars long before she was born.
SINKING. She was sinking too fast. The realization hit her like a wave, pulling her back to the present. Tyson's arms were still wrapped around her, his grip strong yet gentle as he had tried to shield her from the debris of the exploding ship. The cyclops had saved her . . .but to what end?
The girl could feel the exhaustion creeping in and the pain growing exponentially. Her lungs began to burn with the desperate urge for oxygen. And yet, even then, she willed her mind to resist, to fight against the instinct that urged her to open her mouth and inhale. The sea would rush in — cold and unforgiving. Tyson's grip tightened around her, but the abyss was calling . . . a part of her wondered if the chaos would end if she simply relented, if she surrendered.
AS THE COLD SPREAD INTO HER BONES, strangely, she felt a warmth. It was subtle at first, but it grew, spreading through her body until she was hot, almost feverish. They were nowhere near the flames, so how is it that she felt warmth in the cold and dark? With one final thought, she determined that this must be what death felt like . . . a final comfort before the end. But was it meant to be so piercing? No, it didn't make sense, she gathered. The light began to take shape, forming into the outline of a face. The glow behind the figure obscured any details of specific features, but Adara could sense the presence of someone — someone familiar, yet distant.
The figure spoke, but the words were muffled and distorted to her. However, the mere sound was soothing and wrapped around her like a blanket. It was a warmth unlike the searing heat of the SS Llamas; it was comforting and safe, reminding her of the times she had sat under the sun at their home in Peru. But even as the warmth enveloped her to counteract the chilling ocean depths, a part of her remained tethered to the present. Despair had yet to fully claim her and as she hovered on the brink of surrender, the demigod had to make a choice between giving in and holding on.
Word Count: 653 words
Chosen theme(s): Catastrophe
Chosen format: Short Story
I first saw her on a midsummer night. A distant shadow on the hilltop silhouetted against the light of the full moon, a she-wolf standing majestic, fur waving in the hot breeze. Pushing my snout against the bay windows of the living room, I saw the proud peaks of her ears flicker as she turned her head in my direction. I could sense a wildness in her gaze, a stark contrast from the tightness of the collar around my neck. As though hypnotized, I clambered through the doggy door and bolted through the overgrown fields, toward the place where she was. But I did not find her that night. There was only her scent left in the tall grass, the overwhelming musk of her urine.
For a month I waited for her, pressed up every night against the window. My human Mary would come and pat me on the head. "What are you looking at, Luna?" she would ask. But I never broke my gaze. Treats and toys and "good girl"s could not pull me from my station. And eventually, on the next full moon, I saw her again. As in a dream, she walked over that hill, silver fur gleaming in the moonlight, and stopped at the edge of our garden. This time when I ran to meet her she did not disappear. We circled each other and I took in her scent. It was the smell of the woods, of pine and blood and wild mint. Her eyes shone amber in the darkness, like wildfire. We ran together under the moon, traveling the secret paths known only to our genus. It was not until nearly dawn when I returned home, where Mary would wake to find me exhausted and covered in dew.
For a full year this continued. I learned to watch the moon for her appearance. When it rose full, we would run in the thick undergrowth of the forest, hunt rabbits and shrews, and nuzzle each other in the chill night air. As the day started to break she would disappear along with the moon, and I would return home to sleep at the foot of Mary's bed. Thus we continued from summer through winter and into summer again. In the warm months we ran after rabbits and drank from the cool river. In the cold months we made burrows in the snow. As we pranced and frolicked, the world changed slowly around us. The woods behind my house flattened into roads. New houses sprang up, and fences blocked our old routes. On the last summer night we ran together, we scrambled over wet concrete paths and dug under newly erected barriers, and I barely returned home before break of dawn.
The next month, on a hot humid night just like the one we met, I waited for her as usual. The air shimmered outside the window, cicadas chirping in slow crescendos and decrescendos from seemingly everywhere at once. I wagged in anticipation, searching for her shape in the distance. I waited all night for her, but she did not come, and as the moon rose and fell across the sky my tail drooped lower and my excited panting turned into soft whimpers. The hill where I first saw her was no longer visible, blocked by the bricks and concrete of a new housing development, and as dawn broke I laid down my head, finally ending my vigil.
That morning I did not eat the breakfast Mary prepared for me. I didn't move when she called me for our daily walk. I didn't even wag when she came to pet me. Mary did all she could to cheer me up. She brought me tennis balls and squeaky rabbits and prepared me feasts of beef and chicken, but nothing could lift my spirits. I spent my days alternating between staring out the window and lying on the couch with my head buried between the cushions. From time to time I crawled out to the back yard to sniff the air for traces of her scent.
In the midst of my misery, I barely noticed changes occurring in Mary's life as well. Though she still attended well to my needs, she seemed to be preoccupied with something else. She would spend hours on the phone, pacing back and forth in the living room, and sometimes she wouldn't come home until late at night, smelling of perfume and alcohol. She seemed happier as well. Often I heard her say the name "Claire." One day, Mary spent hours in her dressing room before giving me a pat and heading out in the afternoon. I didn't see her again until after dark, when the headlights of her car beamed through the front windows. Moments later, the door opened and two sets of footsteps entered the house.
"Welcome to my place Claire," I heard Mary say. Walking over to the couch, she continued, "This is my dog Luna. She hasn't been feeling very good lately, but I hope the two of you will get along."
My nose perked up as the new woman approached. Strange, I thought. That smell - it was the smell of the woods, of pine and blood and wild mint. I looked up at a woman with silver hair. Her eyes were amber, like wildfire. I almost barked in excitement, jumping to my feet and wagging faster than I'd ever wagged before. I ran over, raised my paws, and licked Claire excitedly as she laughed and stroked my fur. Behind her, I saw Mary's mouth drop open as she took in my sudden change in mood. Without taking her eyes off me, Claire kissed my head, smiled, and said, "I think we'll get along just fine."
For a month I waited for her, pressed up every night against the window. My human Mary would come and pat me on the head. "What are you looking at, Luna?" she would ask. But I never broke my gaze. Treats and toys and "good girl"s could not pull me from my station. And eventually, on the next full moon, I saw her again. As in a dream, she walked over that hill, silver fur gleaming in the moonlight, and stopped at the edge of our garden. This time when I ran to meet her she did not disappear. We circled each other and I took in her scent. It was the smell of the woods, of pine and blood and wild mint. Her eyes shone amber in the darkness, like wildfire. We ran together under the moon, traveling the secret paths known only to our genus. It was not until nearly dawn when I returned home, where Mary would wake to find me exhausted and covered in dew.
For a full year this continued. I learned to watch the moon for her appearance. When it rose full, we would run in the thick undergrowth of the forest, hunt rabbits and shrews, and nuzzle each other in the chill night air. As the day started to break she would disappear along with the moon, and I would return home to sleep at the foot of Mary's bed. Thus we continued from summer through winter and into summer again. In the warm months we ran after rabbits and drank from the cool river. In the cold months we made burrows in the snow. As we pranced and frolicked, the world changed slowly around us. The woods behind my house flattened into roads. New houses sprang up, and fences blocked our old routes. On the last summer night we ran together, we scrambled over wet concrete paths and dug under newly erected barriers, and I barely returned home before break of dawn.
The next month, on a hot humid night just like the one we met, I waited for her as usual. The air shimmered outside the window, cicadas chirping in slow crescendos and decrescendos from seemingly everywhere at once. I wagged in anticipation, searching for her shape in the distance. I waited all night for her, but she did not come, and as the moon rose and fell across the sky my tail drooped lower and my excited panting turned into soft whimpers. The hill where I first saw her was no longer visible, blocked by the bricks and concrete of a new housing development, and as dawn broke I laid down my head, finally ending my vigil.
That morning I did not eat the breakfast Mary prepared for me. I didn't move when she called me for our daily walk. I didn't even wag when she came to pet me. Mary did all she could to cheer me up. She brought me tennis balls and squeaky rabbits and prepared me feasts of beef and chicken, but nothing could lift my spirits. I spent my days alternating between staring out the window and lying on the couch with my head buried between the cushions. From time to time I crawled out to the back yard to sniff the air for traces of her scent.
In the midst of my misery, I barely noticed changes occurring in Mary's life as well. Though she still attended well to my needs, she seemed to be preoccupied with something else. She would spend hours on the phone, pacing back and forth in the living room, and sometimes she wouldn't come home until late at night, smelling of perfume and alcohol. She seemed happier as well. Often I heard her say the name "Claire." One day, Mary spent hours in her dressing room before giving me a pat and heading out in the afternoon. I didn't see her again until after dark, when the headlights of her car beamed through the front windows. Moments later, the door opened and two sets of footsteps entered the house.
"Welcome to my place Claire," I heard Mary say. Walking over to the couch, she continued, "This is my dog Luna. She hasn't been feeling very good lately, but I hope the two of you will get along."
My nose perked up as the new woman approached. Strange, I thought. That smell - it was the smell of the woods, of pine and blood and wild mint. I looked up at a woman with silver hair. Her eyes were amber, like wildfire. I almost barked in excitement, jumping to my feet and wagging faster than I'd ever wagged before. I ran over, raised my paws, and licked Claire excitedly as she laughed and stroked my fur. Behind her, I saw Mary's mouth drop open as she took in my sudden change in mood. Without taking her eyes off me, Claire kissed my head, smiled, and said, "I think we'll get along just fine."
Word Count: 958
Chosen theme(s): Romance
Chosen format: Short Story
Farewells hold a special kind of beauty in their recognition of the end.
A summer's worth of memories capped off by firelight,
The story of us: a song echoing in the hills of our hearts for the last time.
Is it crazy that I miss you already?
Days of sand and sea spent carefree amongst the waves,
Warm nights filled with laughter we never knew we'd soon miss.
In those days, it felt as though we could pause the real world—
Full hearts and renewed spirits—
An exchange of fulfillment with no returns and no going back.
We cast those memories in silver and gold,
Favored and timeless.
An enchantment all its own.
Even now, I long to see you once more,
If only just to share in your presence.
But magic is not meant to be recaptured lest it lose its very nature,
So instead, I will treasure our time like a rose gifted to a lover,
Holding onto its meaning
And all that made it special.
Golden hours retreating with the summer star,
Our time in the sun passing like fading leaves,
Turning to fall.
A summer's worth of memories capped off by firelight,
The story of us: a song echoing in the hills of our hearts for the last time.
Is it crazy that I miss you already?
Days of sand and sea spent carefree amongst the waves,
Warm nights filled with laughter we never knew we'd soon miss.
In those days, it felt as though we could pause the real world—
Full hearts and renewed spirits—
An exchange of fulfillment with no returns and no going back.
We cast those memories in silver and gold,
Favored and timeless.
An enchantment all its own.
Even now, I long to see you once more,
If only just to share in your presence.
But magic is not meant to be recaptured lest it lose its very nature,
So instead, I will treasure our time like a rose gifted to a lover,
Holding onto its meaning
And all that made it special.
Golden hours retreating with the summer star,
Our time in the sun passing like fading leaves,
Turning to fall.
Word Count: 187
Chosen theme: Romance
Chosen format: Poem
I didn't deserve to be taking Sara out, but here I was. Sara was the occasional pearl that Scarsdale, a grimy clam-of-a-town, might regurgitate after saturating in its own bile for a few generations. I was a gangly class-clown type, and when I asked someone out, they usually assumed they were the target of a prank. My greatest aspiration was to inherit the counter at the Gas-n-Snack. I acted the smart-ass in school, and maybe the act can fool some, but the reality was, outside school, I was as dumb and boring as everyone. That night, I had to hide it as long as I could.
It was dark and cloudy, hot and humid. We were out on our bikes, rumbling over the dirt road that parts the sea of corn in which Scarsdale is but a single island in an ocean. The wind was rushing through the corn around us in a gale. The only sound that could be heard over it was the distant yelp of a farmer's dog, woof! Woof, woof!
She said, "where are we going?" as I squeaked my breaks at the edge of an open pasture. Sad fact was, I didn't know! I was trying to think of an adventure to do all day, and came up with nothing. I was riding out, pretending like I'd had some surprise in store, and I was gambling that we'd ride out here and find… something?
That was when I found myself staring at the dark silhouette of a man standing far off in the middle of the field, perfectly still, almost invisible in the night, and saying not a word.
"What is that?" Sara said, and the man's black silhouette swayed a bit. Suddenly, he was running toward us, saying nothing.
I said, "Hello?" Feeble and pathetic. The man continued to run, and I realized he was huge and fast. He was almost to the fence, crashing through the low grass with thundering steps. Sara shrieked and fell.
The man was at the fence, and then turned! A horse galloped away to the side. It turns out it was a spooked horse, charging at spooky noises in the dark. I turned around, heart beating off my chest, and saw Sara had fallen right into a muddy puddle. For a moment I was horrified, but then, she laughed! And then we both laughed.
Things became easier after that. Back on our bikes, we were joking and laughing as we rumbled around, and I realized that maybe it actually didn't matter where we were going. We were spooking each other and imagining all kinds of terrors lurking in the shadows between the rows of corn.
We were riding for some time when I noticed that the dog's barking was still there. It wasn't getting any farther away. If anything, it was closer. We pedaled faster, but still the dog was barking, barking, barking. Something was off about the bark. Something hard to hear over the gusting wind.
And a storm was coming in. The thunderhead above let down a torrent of fat drops. There was an abandoned house nearby, and we raced to it. We jumped off the bikes and made for the front porch, both of us already soaked to the bone. Sara was looking for a way in as I stared into the black wall of the corn fronds. Between the flashes of lighting, I thought I saw something moving amongst the corn. Something… unnatural. I didn't want to believe my eyes. I wanted to believe it was just another trick, but somehow I knew, it wasn't.
She popped open a window, and finally, we were in the house and out of the rain. Inside was a lot of dust, rubbish, and broken furniture that lit up when the occasional lightning flashed. Soon, outside, we heard sounds of paws tip-tapping on the deck, then whimpering.
Sara heard it. "Aww, the poor dog is cold!"
She wanted to let it in. I said no. Why not, she says.
I almost didn't, but then I said it. "That dog outside is actually a goddamn man." I argued that the barks didn't sound right, and then told her exactly what I'd seen.
"Oh come on, this is the horse all over again!" she said.
She insisted. She went to the window. The rain was torrential, blowing sideways, and the window pane was blurred by the streaks of water coming down, making it hard to see. She put her face close to it, trying to look close to the outside wall where it was whining and pawing at the door.
Woof! woof! Aaahooooo! A man's face appeared, hands pressed on the window with wide, and frantic eyes and a howling mouth were smeared across the pane, wet streaks of hair covering his face.
Good enough. We fled, screaming up the stairs, falling over one another until we found the ladder into the attic, cobwebs be damned, we were up, through a trapdoor, then we threw a large trunk on top of the door and we barricaded the windows. Then, we sat, and we listened.
All that night, the howling went on while the storm raged, but eventually, the storm and the man-dog slunk away. And slowly, we relaxed, exhausted, and fell asleep, hugging one another.
When I woke up, I found my back pressed up against the trunk. Her head was resting on my shoulder and her hand was laid on my chest, and both of us were filthy and covered in spider bites. Sun was streaming into the cracks of our barricades. I sat there for a while, actually, staring at the dust swirling in the streams of light, grinning like an idiot.
Then the thoughts returned. This won't end well. I've managed to keep up the charade, but for how long? Sara, wake up and realize what a horrible mistake you've made!
Sara stirred, shifted her head a little, and said something simple. "Now that…."
"...was fun."
It was dark and cloudy, hot and humid. We were out on our bikes, rumbling over the dirt road that parts the sea of corn in which Scarsdale is but a single island in an ocean. The wind was rushing through the corn around us in a gale. The only sound that could be heard over it was the distant yelp of a farmer's dog, woof! Woof, woof!
She said, "where are we going?" as I squeaked my breaks at the edge of an open pasture. Sad fact was, I didn't know! I was trying to think of an adventure to do all day, and came up with nothing. I was riding out, pretending like I'd had some surprise in store, and I was gambling that we'd ride out here and find… something?
That was when I found myself staring at the dark silhouette of a man standing far off in the middle of the field, perfectly still, almost invisible in the night, and saying not a word.
"What is that?" Sara said, and the man's black silhouette swayed a bit. Suddenly, he was running toward us, saying nothing.
I said, "Hello?" Feeble and pathetic. The man continued to run, and I realized he was huge and fast. He was almost to the fence, crashing through the low grass with thundering steps. Sara shrieked and fell.
The man was at the fence, and then turned! A horse galloped away to the side. It turns out it was a spooked horse, charging at spooky noises in the dark. I turned around, heart beating off my chest, and saw Sara had fallen right into a muddy puddle. For a moment I was horrified, but then, she laughed! And then we both laughed.
Things became easier after that. Back on our bikes, we were joking and laughing as we rumbled around, and I realized that maybe it actually didn't matter where we were going. We were spooking each other and imagining all kinds of terrors lurking in the shadows between the rows of corn.
We were riding for some time when I noticed that the dog's barking was still there. It wasn't getting any farther away. If anything, it was closer. We pedaled faster, but still the dog was barking, barking, barking. Something was off about the bark. Something hard to hear over the gusting wind.
And a storm was coming in. The thunderhead above let down a torrent of fat drops. There was an abandoned house nearby, and we raced to it. We jumped off the bikes and made for the front porch, both of us already soaked to the bone. Sara was looking for a way in as I stared into the black wall of the corn fronds. Between the flashes of lighting, I thought I saw something moving amongst the corn. Something… unnatural. I didn't want to believe my eyes. I wanted to believe it was just another trick, but somehow I knew, it wasn't.
She popped open a window, and finally, we were in the house and out of the rain. Inside was a lot of dust, rubbish, and broken furniture that lit up when the occasional lightning flashed. Soon, outside, we heard sounds of paws tip-tapping on the deck, then whimpering.
Sara heard it. "Aww, the poor dog is cold!"
She wanted to let it in. I said no. Why not, she says.
I almost didn't, but then I said it. "That dog outside is actually a goddamn man." I argued that the barks didn't sound right, and then told her exactly what I'd seen.
"Oh come on, this is the horse all over again!" she said.
She insisted. She went to the window. The rain was torrential, blowing sideways, and the window pane was blurred by the streaks of water coming down, making it hard to see. She put her face close to it, trying to look close to the outside wall where it was whining and pawing at the door.
Woof! woof! Aaahooooo! A man's face appeared, hands pressed on the window with wide, and frantic eyes and a howling mouth were smeared across the pane, wet streaks of hair covering his face.
Good enough. We fled, screaming up the stairs, falling over one another until we found the ladder into the attic, cobwebs be damned, we were up, through a trapdoor, then we threw a large trunk on top of the door and we barricaded the windows. Then, we sat, and we listened.
All that night, the howling went on while the storm raged, but eventually, the storm and the man-dog slunk away. And slowly, we relaxed, exhausted, and fell asleep, hugging one another.
When I woke up, I found my back pressed up against the trunk. Her head was resting on my shoulder and her hand was laid on my chest, and both of us were filthy and covered in spider bites. Sun was streaming into the cracks of our barricades. I sat there for a while, actually, staring at the dust swirling in the streams of light, grinning like an idiot.
Then the thoughts returned. This won't end well. I've managed to keep up the charade, but for how long? Sara, wake up and realize what a horrible mistake you've made!
Sara stirred, shifted her head a little, and said something simple. "Now that…."
"...was fun."
Word count: 999
Chosen themes: All of the above (Catastrophe, Madness, Comedy, Romance)
Chosen format: Short story
There was a peculiar mouthfeel to the semi-conscious bite Jim began to take out of the fur-covered skin. It was enough to startle his transformation into momentary delay.
"Ow! You're messing up my fur, and if you get any blood on my fruit bandana I'm going to have a fit!"
Jim's disfigured face went slack-jawed.
"Oh good, you're a reasonable fellow. Bit weird though, no offense. Were I to turn into a human, I'd be doing it with much more grace and definitely not on a date."
Jim's skin bubbled.
"That's disgusting. But well, I had a sniff at some shit the other day, so who am I to judge? Come on, the summer sun comes early"
Jim followed as best he could, fighting back the impulse to tear flesh and muscle before slurping the marrow off the bone, yet fighting on to waddle and part crawl his way after the kindness offered by a dog whose skin was somehow unblemished by blood.
"Listen, love, we can't have my owner find you here, so you'll have to leave as soon as you're done."
In the shade of a backyard porch, Jim found his hand sliding out of the black furskin he'd been part of. A growl of rage sputtered out of him, guttural and wheezing.
"Not the worst date I've had, if anything I could have used more attention from you but bad boys never give it do they? Oh no, I didn't think about the mess… let me go find a blanket, we'll cover it up."
Glistening in clear goo, Jim slid away leaving bits of his night self along with red on clear streaks across the porch floor. Now that the craving for violence was fading, he turned and lay on his back watching the sky lighten with a sense of relief. The coming morning shook the last spasms out of his tired body.
As the first ray of sun touched him, so too did a soft paw. Jim turned to see a golden haired dog wearing a colorful bandana watching him with its worried brown eyes. Jim smiled as one would in the face of feeling complete trust. He reached one arm around and hugged the animal close to him, feeling like somehow it was not the first time he'd seen the dog.
"What the heck are you doing with my dog? And why the fu- Ah! Jeez, are you ok? Are you hurt? Here let me help you, don't stand, just sit here for a bit. I need to call for help."
Jim simply stared at the handsome man holding him steady. He shook his head at the mention of help and without thinking, on pure impulse, Jim nuzzled his face at the man's neck.
"You're pretty cute, but I'm at the verge of really freaking out. Hold on a minute, I read about this in the paper. The sightings… I thought it was in the next city over."
The dog bit at Jim's legs, pawing for attention, but Jim's attention was glued elsewhere.
"Ow! You're messing up my fur, and if you get any blood on my fruit bandana I'm going to have a fit!"
Jim's disfigured face went slack-jawed.
"Oh good, you're a reasonable fellow. Bit weird though, no offense. Were I to turn into a human, I'd be doing it with much more grace and definitely not on a date."
Jim's skin bubbled.
"That's disgusting. But well, I had a sniff at some shit the other day, so who am I to judge? Come on, the summer sun comes early"
Jim followed as best he could, fighting back the impulse to tear flesh and muscle before slurping the marrow off the bone, yet fighting on to waddle and part crawl his way after the kindness offered by a dog whose skin was somehow unblemished by blood.
"Listen, love, we can't have my owner find you here, so you'll have to leave as soon as you're done."
In the shade of a backyard porch, Jim found his hand sliding out of the black furskin he'd been part of. A growl of rage sputtered out of him, guttural and wheezing.
"Not the worst date I've had, if anything I could have used more attention from you but bad boys never give it do they? Oh no, I didn't think about the mess… let me go find a blanket, we'll cover it up."
Glistening in clear goo, Jim slid away leaving bits of his night self along with red on clear streaks across the porch floor. Now that the craving for violence was fading, he turned and lay on his back watching the sky lighten with a sense of relief. The coming morning shook the last spasms out of his tired body.
As the first ray of sun touched him, so too did a soft paw. Jim turned to see a golden haired dog wearing a colorful bandana watching him with its worried brown eyes. Jim smiled as one would in the face of feeling complete trust. He reached one arm around and hugged the animal close to him, feeling like somehow it was not the first time he'd seen the dog.
"What the heck are you doing with my dog? And why the fu- Ah! Jeez, are you ok? Are you hurt? Here let me help you, don't stand, just sit here for a bit. I need to call for help."
Jim simply stared at the handsome man holding him steady. He shook his head at the mention of help and without thinking, on pure impulse, Jim nuzzled his face at the man's neck.
"You're pretty cute, but I'm at the verge of really freaking out. Hold on a minute, I read about this in the paper. The sightings… I thought it was in the next city over."
The dog bit at Jim's legs, pawing for attention, but Jim's attention was glued elsewhere.
Word count: 508
Themes: Romance, Comedy
Format: Short Story
Jim Sandusky stands in the crook of the junction where the old Westford market road intersects 610 south, the aurora borealis dancing above him. The lights walk all over the Indiana sky like a wayward salamander, on air so still it might be frozen if it wasn't so damn hot. An orchestra of crickets serenades the night from the sorghums with sad sonatas on creaky violins. And all the while, I stand here in the darkness, watching him from behind the hedgerow.
Two months ago, the night his father died, Jim crashed his car here at the Westford junction. He was on the way back from the hospital. From where I stand, I can still make out parallel arcs of rubber burned onto the tarmac. When I visited him in the hospital, he was laid up in a bed across the hall from where old Mr. Sandusky had been just a few hours before. All the parents at the school put together a donation to help with the medical costs. They showered his doorstep with flowers, casseroles and get-well cards. The sympathy gifts piled up on his kitchen table, like some sort of colorful altar to grief.
Jim seemed to deal with grief admirably, at first. Two weeks paid leave, and he was back at work grading papers, covering them in red ink, and patiently admonishing students.
He ate his lunch with us in the teacher's lounge. He even went jogging in the neighborhood and said hi to the postman. If he seemed a bit strange, withdrawn, well, who wouldn't be?
"What he needs is to find a nice woman," said Mrs. Reeds to me one day, over a game of checkers in the lounge. The TV blared out something about patterns in the corn.
I smiled at her and nodded vaguely, but I knew Jim better than she did. I knew him better by a hundred miles, a thousand.
"Mrs. Reeds says you need a lady," I told him later, as we ate together in the house he used to share with his father.
"Mrs. Reeds can get stuffed," he said, swirling the wine around in his cup.
"Well, don't be harsh. She means well."
"She's like everyone here," he said, and his eyes had moved toward the open door of his father's bedroom.
"Me too?"
"No, sorry. Not like you."
A vacuous silence stretched between us. These silences came more frequently after his father's death. Nothing hostile, or negative. Just silence, and distance, neither bad nor good. A neutral silence and distance that I accepted as part of his grief. It would heal over time.
Later, we sat on his deck, and watched the aurora.
The auroras began the night Jim crashed his car, in June. They've appeared before, during solar storms. Those never lasted this long. We heard all sorts of theories on the news. Nobody knew what was going on. But they sure were pretty.
"Jim," I said, and he shifted uncomfortably against me. I plowed forward anyway. "Maybe we could leave Wash-Hole."
Silence.
I tried again. "Together, I mean. We could leave together. Go somewhere no one's ever seen a crop-circle."
He didn't answer. I didn't push. Let him have his space. We went to bed in the pressing silence, with the aurora still blazing outside.
Over subsequent weeks, we saw each other less and less. Texts and voice notes went unanswered. Then, four days ago, I went by his house to see him. I missed him. I hated the empty Jim-shaped spaces in my life.
I knocked on the front door, unsure if he was in, but he opened the door, wearing an undershirt and jeans.
"Hey. I brought takeout. I missed you," I told him.
"Hey. Look," his shoulders spanned the doorframe.
"What? Can't I come in?"
"It's probably not a good idea."
Silence.
"Look," he said again, "I think we should stop seeing each other."
The silence filled my lungs until I couldn't talk, only wobble on the doorstep holding Chinese takeout.
"Care to give me a reason?" I finally managed.
"I…." he looked over my shoulder for a long time. "I met someone else."
Then he closed the door on me.
"Who?" I finally yelled at him through the door. "Who could you possibly have met? There are only two of us in Wash-Hole!"
Now, it's nearly midnight. The aurora leaves afterimages in my eyes. Jim still leans against his car, smoking.
He taps his foot. He checks his watch. His father gave him that watch, with little phosphorescent hands that let you read them in the dark.
A strange light is growing in the sky, brighter and more concentrated than the aurora. Jim looks at the sky, with some unparsable emotion on his face. Anticipation?
The light grows brighter still, more and more until it eats all the others, until all I see is a suffusion of green. The epicenter of the light hurts to look at. I avert my eyes to look at Jim, now just a dark silhouette.
As it grows brighter, the green suffusion resolves into a flying saucer. An actual flying saucer, hovering about the Westford junction, slowly descending in front of Jim Sandusky.
"Jim!" I yell, but my words are lost in the silent cacophony of the saucer's engines. I run towards him, waving my arms. He's tugging something out of the trunk of his car. A suitcase.
"Jim!" He finally sees me. His mouth opened, forming words, words I can't hear over the sound of the engine.
A pillar of light floods from the side of the saucer. The shadow of a spindly figure stands in the light, maybe seven feet tall. I'm standing next to Jim now, staring into the light, transfixed.
Jim touches my shoulder one last time. His eyes aren't sad, exactly. I make out the words "I'm sorry" on his lips. Then he walks toward the figure and disappears into the light, leaving only an afterimage on my retinas.
Two months ago, the night his father died, Jim crashed his car here at the Westford junction. He was on the way back from the hospital. From where I stand, I can still make out parallel arcs of rubber burned onto the tarmac. When I visited him in the hospital, he was laid up in a bed across the hall from where old Mr. Sandusky had been just a few hours before. All the parents at the school put together a donation to help with the medical costs. They showered his doorstep with flowers, casseroles and get-well cards. The sympathy gifts piled up on his kitchen table, like some sort of colorful altar to grief.
Jim seemed to deal with grief admirably, at first. Two weeks paid leave, and he was back at work grading papers, covering them in red ink, and patiently admonishing students.
He ate his lunch with us in the teacher's lounge. He even went jogging in the neighborhood and said hi to the postman. If he seemed a bit strange, withdrawn, well, who wouldn't be?
"What he needs is to find a nice woman," said Mrs. Reeds to me one day, over a game of checkers in the lounge. The TV blared out something about patterns in the corn.
I smiled at her and nodded vaguely, but I knew Jim better than she did. I knew him better by a hundred miles, a thousand.
"Mrs. Reeds says you need a lady," I told him later, as we ate together in the house he used to share with his father.
"Mrs. Reeds can get stuffed," he said, swirling the wine around in his cup.
"Well, don't be harsh. She means well."
"She's like everyone here," he said, and his eyes had moved toward the open door of his father's bedroom.
"Me too?"
"No, sorry. Not like you."
A vacuous silence stretched between us. These silences came more frequently after his father's death. Nothing hostile, or negative. Just silence, and distance, neither bad nor good. A neutral silence and distance that I accepted as part of his grief. It would heal over time.
Later, we sat on his deck, and watched the aurora.
The auroras began the night Jim crashed his car, in June. They've appeared before, during solar storms. Those never lasted this long. We heard all sorts of theories on the news. Nobody knew what was going on. But they sure were pretty.
"Jim," I said, and he shifted uncomfortably against me. I plowed forward anyway. "Maybe we could leave Wash-Hole."
Silence.
I tried again. "Together, I mean. We could leave together. Go somewhere no one's ever seen a crop-circle."
He didn't answer. I didn't push. Let him have his space. We went to bed in the pressing silence, with the aurora still blazing outside.
Over subsequent weeks, we saw each other less and less. Texts and voice notes went unanswered. Then, four days ago, I went by his house to see him. I missed him. I hated the empty Jim-shaped spaces in my life.
I knocked on the front door, unsure if he was in, but he opened the door, wearing an undershirt and jeans.
"Hey. I brought takeout. I missed you," I told him.
"Hey. Look," his shoulders spanned the doorframe.
"What? Can't I come in?"
"It's probably not a good idea."
Silence.
"Look," he said again, "I think we should stop seeing each other."
The silence filled my lungs until I couldn't talk, only wobble on the doorstep holding Chinese takeout.
"Care to give me a reason?" I finally managed.
"I…." he looked over my shoulder for a long time. "I met someone else."
Then he closed the door on me.
"Who?" I finally yelled at him through the door. "Who could you possibly have met? There are only two of us in Wash-Hole!"
Now, it's nearly midnight. The aurora leaves afterimages in my eyes. Jim still leans against his car, smoking.
He taps his foot. He checks his watch. His father gave him that watch, with little phosphorescent hands that let you read them in the dark.
A strange light is growing in the sky, brighter and more concentrated than the aurora. Jim looks at the sky, with some unparsable emotion on his face. Anticipation?
The light grows brighter still, more and more until it eats all the others, until all I see is a suffusion of green. The epicenter of the light hurts to look at. I avert my eyes to look at Jim, now just a dark silhouette.
As it grows brighter, the green suffusion resolves into a flying saucer. An actual flying saucer, hovering about the Westford junction, slowly descending in front of Jim Sandusky.
"Jim!" I yell, but my words are lost in the silent cacophony of the saucer's engines. I run towards him, waving my arms. He's tugging something out of the trunk of his car. A suitcase.
"Jim!" He finally sees me. His mouth opened, forming words, words I can't hear over the sound of the engine.
A pillar of light floods from the side of the saucer. The shadow of a spindly figure stands in the light, maybe seven feet tall. I'm standing next to Jim now, staring into the light, transfixed.
Jim touches my shoulder one last time. His eyes aren't sad, exactly. I make out the words "I'm sorry" on his lips. Then he walks toward the figure and disappears into the light, leaving only an afterimage on my retinas.
Word Count: 999
Chosen theme(s): Romance, Madness
Chosen format: Short story
Following fairy tale logic, Tobias
at first was totally clueless
about his trip to Ecbatana.
The dog he had gotten to guide his blind father
abandoned her post when he set out,
following him out of loyalty
unsupplemented by wisdom,
and he didn't realise his other companion
was not quite human until the end.
Azarias, the angel called himself,
like one of the youths condemned to burn
by those who'd burn down Tobias' home town
no long count of years later and,
indeed, no long count of years seemed
to separate Tobias from his friend,
albeit in every other way
the two differed greatly by degree:
not only wiser but taller and more comely
was this supposed distant cousin,
this golden-haired son of black-haired Ananias,
such that even the dog forgot
her original loyalty
except that her master was the one
more strongly drawn to him.
Tobias followed his every word
not knowing what else to do, at first,
which road to take or when to pause
to eat, to wash one's self, to pray,
but soon the pleasure of following orders
from someone other than mother and father
gave way to the pleasure of being with someone
through whom the Psalms sung every Sabbath
finally made sense.
And before the bridge across the Tigris,
when Tobias again was following orders
by seizing the half-whale, by wounding his bare chest
with the thrashing fish's fins and scales
yet still holding on, still dragging it to the bank
and bashing its head against a stone,
Raphael, too, was changed:
why his Lord still listened to the cries
of His stubborn and foolish children
finally made sense.
The fire they used to roast their dinner
and dry out the entrails of the river monster
for the salvation of the most comely
Sarah, Tobias' yet-unknown betrothed,
they would not need to warm themselves
retiring for that night.
at first was totally clueless
about his trip to Ecbatana.
The dog he had gotten to guide his blind father
abandoned her post when he set out,
following him out of loyalty
unsupplemented by wisdom,
and he didn't realise his other companion
was not quite human until the end.
Azarias, the angel called himself,
like one of the youths condemned to burn
by those who'd burn down Tobias' home town
no long count of years later and,
indeed, no long count of years seemed
to separate Tobias from his friend,
albeit in every other way
the two differed greatly by degree:
not only wiser but taller and more comely
was this supposed distant cousin,
this golden-haired son of black-haired Ananias,
such that even the dog forgot
her original loyalty
except that her master was the one
more strongly drawn to him.
Tobias followed his every word
not knowing what else to do, at first,
which road to take or when to pause
to eat, to wash one's self, to pray,
but soon the pleasure of following orders
from someone other than mother and father
gave way to the pleasure of being with someone
through whom the Psalms sung every Sabbath
finally made sense.
And before the bridge across the Tigris,
when Tobias again was following orders
by seizing the half-whale, by wounding his bare chest
with the thrashing fish's fins and scales
yet still holding on, still dragging it to the bank
and bashing its head against a stone,
Raphael, too, was changed:
why his Lord still listened to the cries
of His stubborn and foolish children
finally made sense.
The fire they used to roast their dinner
and dry out the entrails of the river monster
for the salvation of the most comely
Sarah, Tobias' yet-unknown betrothed,
they would not need to warm themselves
retiring for that night.
Word Count: 318
Chosen theme(s): Romance
Chosen format: Poem
The squiggly lines on the monitor don't make any sense, and it's long past time to go home. It's pouring outside, but that won't stop the city from churning; there's enough rain to scatter all the light from the holosigns, and the city feels like it's rebelling against the dark and is going to do it forever.
The lines are wiggly when they should be jiggly, and trying to come up with the proper calibration to use is impossible with that humming in the background. It seems to be coming from outside, and everyone on the street stops to look just as headlights beam out from a side street.
Motorcycles explode into a school of cars, weaving through them so fast they look stationary, riding on the painted lane dividers as if they were tightropes. Rain drops pancake on their windshields, jump to splat on visors, and flow over the back of neon red helmets to join the spray from the wheels. As they break free of the cars and curve through the intersection, one of them slips and bucks its rider into a pole, then gracefully smashes through the window and into your office.
The street holds its breath.
You hold your breath too.
The rider unbends from the lamppost and peels their helmet off, burning two details into your mind. One, her hair is two tone, blonde on the outside and blazing red on the inside. It has to be synthetic, because a prismatic dye job would be too expensive. Two, she has a third eye in her left cheekbone and it's pinballing in the socket, probably from the concussion. She climbs through the window with a blast of humidity, hot oil, and metal, and struggles to right her bike. It actually doesn't look too bad, but the front fender is mangled and jamming the wheel.
You're leaning back, but something makes you put your weight on your heels, and you're now trying to bend or rip the fender away; it's hard to tell because you're just shaking and jerking it as hard as you can. After an eternity of making a fool of yourself, you see a pair of hands join yours, and together you pull until it snaps. She's getting onto the bike and testing the throttle, salting the quickly suffocating air, and you're just standing there holding a piece of plastic.
"Hey!"
She turns to you.
"Uuh... Are you... are you running away from something?"
Oh, fuck. What are you doing?
"Nah, I'm racing." She seems to have steadied herself, as her third eye is no longer rolling around. It's a window into her soul, because it lets you know that she's giving you only a modicum of her brain as focuses her two-eyed attention on the bike. "Do you race?"
"Oh, I, I don't-" and you know that was the wrong thing to say, because she can't even keep the third eye on you now. You're fading to the back of the mind, soon to be jettisoned out the rear as she rejoins the race.
"But I'm interested!" That gets one pupil of her attention.
"I've always wanted to try!" She's really looking at you now. "I just never knew where to start!"
The idling engine fills in the silence after your oversharing, with a chaser from encroaching sirens. She hops onto the bike and looks back at the pillion seat.
"Hop on, then."
She laughs.
"How are you going to hold on to me with that?"
You let go of the piece of fender like its red hot, and you wrap your arms around her waist just as she guns it out of the office and between a pair of cop cars that are trying to cut you off. She's flattened against the body, using the windshield as the visor, and even in the turbulence only the underside of her hair glows. You drop down, building a fire on her back.
"How fast are we going?!"
She can't hear you.
"HOW FAST ARE WE GOING?!"
She turns left just a fraction for the third eye, and you really hope that you don't look scared, but the underlid curls up wickedly and you know that she's either smiling or laughing.
"I know a shortcut, I'm not going to lose!"
You've only experienced one kind of speed, where the streetlights wink by, strobing the inside of your car. She's showing you the second kind of speed, where they blur into a line, and the rain accelerates to needle your face. If you tilt your head back a fraction, the drag will grab your forehead and snap your neck. The wind is cooking you. Sweat beads on your forehead and streaks up into your hair. At this point vision doesn't matter, because it's easier to tell where you're going by which side of your ribcage your organs smash against. As you shut your eyes, everything comes into focus. The sirens warble in and out, to your sides or behind, but never in front. Signs become technicolour splotches. Your heartbeat becomes the fifth cylinder of the engine. The tires squeal on the sidewalk, and all is quiet except for the roar of the four-stroke until you explode out of the alleyway. The vibration of the road disappears, and your stomach drops out. You're about to float away, but you cinch your hold at the last second and nearly bite your tongue off as you slam into the asphalt and screech to a stop.
"Second place."
She doesn't sound disappointed. A shift of her body severs the nascent link you thought you had, and you unstick from the leather and collapse to the ground. Through the blur of the midnight squall you vaguely make out that she's smiling, and you understand why she's happy.
You never got her contact code, but that's okay. With the way she rides, she's bound to come by again.
The lines are wiggly when they should be jiggly, and trying to come up with the proper calibration to use is impossible with that humming in the background. It seems to be coming from outside, and everyone on the street stops to look just as headlights beam out from a side street.
Motorcycles explode into a school of cars, weaving through them so fast they look stationary, riding on the painted lane dividers as if they were tightropes. Rain drops pancake on their windshields, jump to splat on visors, and flow over the back of neon red helmets to join the spray from the wheels. As they break free of the cars and curve through the intersection, one of them slips and bucks its rider into a pole, then gracefully smashes through the window and into your office.
The street holds its breath.
You hold your breath too.
The rider unbends from the lamppost and peels their helmet off, burning two details into your mind. One, her hair is two tone, blonde on the outside and blazing red on the inside. It has to be synthetic, because a prismatic dye job would be too expensive. Two, she has a third eye in her left cheekbone and it's pinballing in the socket, probably from the concussion. She climbs through the window with a blast of humidity, hot oil, and metal, and struggles to right her bike. It actually doesn't look too bad, but the front fender is mangled and jamming the wheel.
You're leaning back, but something makes you put your weight on your heels, and you're now trying to bend or rip the fender away; it's hard to tell because you're just shaking and jerking it as hard as you can. After an eternity of making a fool of yourself, you see a pair of hands join yours, and together you pull until it snaps. She's getting onto the bike and testing the throttle, salting the quickly suffocating air, and you're just standing there holding a piece of plastic.
"Hey!"
She turns to you.
"Uuh... Are you... are you running away from something?"
Oh, fuck. What are you doing?
"Nah, I'm racing." She seems to have steadied herself, as her third eye is no longer rolling around. It's a window into her soul, because it lets you know that she's giving you only a modicum of her brain as focuses her two-eyed attention on the bike. "Do you race?"
"Oh, I, I don't-" and you know that was the wrong thing to say, because she can't even keep the third eye on you now. You're fading to the back of the mind, soon to be jettisoned out the rear as she rejoins the race.
"But I'm interested!" That gets one pupil of her attention.
"I've always wanted to try!" She's really looking at you now. "I just never knew where to start!"
The idling engine fills in the silence after your oversharing, with a chaser from encroaching sirens. She hops onto the bike and looks back at the pillion seat.
"Hop on, then."
She laughs.
"How are you going to hold on to me with that?"
You let go of the piece of fender like its red hot, and you wrap your arms around her waist just as she guns it out of the office and between a pair of cop cars that are trying to cut you off. She's flattened against the body, using the windshield as the visor, and even in the turbulence only the underside of her hair glows. You drop down, building a fire on her back.
"How fast are we going?!"
She can't hear you.
"HOW FAST ARE WE GOING?!"
She turns left just a fraction for the third eye, and you really hope that you don't look scared, but the underlid curls up wickedly and you know that she's either smiling or laughing.
"I know a shortcut, I'm not going to lose!"
You've only experienced one kind of speed, where the streetlights wink by, strobing the inside of your car. She's showing you the second kind of speed, where they blur into a line, and the rain accelerates to needle your face. If you tilt your head back a fraction, the drag will grab your forehead and snap your neck. The wind is cooking you. Sweat beads on your forehead and streaks up into your hair. At this point vision doesn't matter, because it's easier to tell where you're going by which side of your ribcage your organs smash against. As you shut your eyes, everything comes into focus. The sirens warble in and out, to your sides or behind, but never in front. Signs become technicolour splotches. Your heartbeat becomes the fifth cylinder of the engine. The tires squeal on the sidewalk, and all is quiet except for the roar of the four-stroke until you explode out of the alleyway. The vibration of the road disappears, and your stomach drops out. You're about to float away, but you cinch your hold at the last second and nearly bite your tongue off as you slam into the asphalt and screech to a stop.
"Second place."
She doesn't sound disappointed. A shift of her body severs the nascent link you thought you had, and you unstick from the leather and collapse to the ground. Through the blur of the midnight squall you vaguely make out that she's smiling, and you understand why she's happy.
You never got her contact code, but that's okay. With the way she rides, she's bound to come by again.
Word Count: 986
Chosen theme(s): Madness, comedy, romance
Chosen format: Short story
