Nov 09
fiction 3 comments challenge: Club

This guy asked me to join his club


"Mate, this guy just asked me yesterday if I wanted to join his club."


"Woah, what'd ya say?"


"Well obviously I asked him what it was about, you know?"


"Don't tell me it was some kinda cult or somethin' freaky like that."


"Geez no, he said it was a book club."


"Oh yeah? Sounds chill."


"And then I asked him if you could come, cause I thought you would love to go."


"Aww that's sweet."


"But then this jerk is like "No way your friend's got issues" 


"UM RUDE"


"I KNOW"


"WHERE IS HE I'M GONNA WHOOP HIS A**"


"DON'T EVEN WORRY MATE I SMACKED HIM ALL THE WAY TO KANSAS"


"Haha oml, thanks for that"


"No problem mate, anyone that's got beef with you has got beef with me"
Oct 19

The Jump

The Jump
My feet crunched the snow as my thick boots led me toward the hill. It was mid-winter, a warmer day than most, and the tramping was making my forehead sweat. My friend Clementine was ahead of me, my short legs and puffy snowsuit weighing me down-and slowing me down. Finally, I reached the top of the hill. I sat down, not caring if my butt got wet or not. Mindlessly, my mittens picked up a ball of snow and packed it evenly. This was the best packing snow of the winter. It was the perfect mixture of wet and fluffy, a combination rare at least to Vermont. Judson, another friend, was thinking the same thing.
Dec 05

Ten Days of Winter, 1892

Editor's note: In the 11+ years of this site, I have shared only a couple of things on the belief that this is your site, not mine. But I am sharking this because, well, becaue I thought you might like to read/listen to it and, also, to see that some stories take a long time to develop. I'd love some feedback -- this is your chance! :) 

I wrote this piece of fiction for Winter Tales 2017 and it was presented by Vermont Stage in its shows Dec. 6-10, 2017 at FlynnSpace. (It also was going to be presented at a similar winter story show in East Montpelier on Dec. 16.)

Audio download:
TenDaysofWinter1892.mp3
Feb 13

The House

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on vermontwritesday.org on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)
Feb 13

The Pendant

NOTE: This is part of the Sprout1 Challenge. This piece was written by an anonymous writer during Vermont Writes Day, and we loved how it started us thinking. How about you? If you would like to extend this story, please click the SPROUT button below and continue it. If you find lots of sprouts, and we hope you will over time, and you like where someone else has taken this, sprout that post. Have fun. And we thank whoever posted this on vermontwritesday.org on Friday, Feb. 10, 2017. (We have made a few edits, by the way.)

The old iron bell jangles as I step into the familiar shop. I wave to the owner, a kindly old gentleman, who smiles at me as he always does and says hello. He seems to appreciate my visits, even though I don't often buy anything. 

I make my way through a maze of old bookshelves and chairs, paintings, vases and other miscellaneous objects. I know almost all of it by memory and can tell whenever the store has sold something. 
Feb 19

Beautiful

She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.
She had long, flaming red hair 
Always tangled
Always down
She wore polka dots and stripes
At the same time
Didn't care
Didn't care
She had a gap between her two front teeth
Always smiled
Never frowned
She'd never let you get to her
Always happy
Always clever
She would punch you for being "weak"
Always tough
Always protective
But she was the kindest person I'll ever meet
Always polite, mature and nice
Never mean never mean
She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.
 
Feb 19

Beauty and the Beasts

“Help! I screamed, running as fast as I could into the forest. My breath was coming in short pants as I sobbed out cries for help. “Please, someone, help me!”

But it was to no avail - the wolves continued to pursue me through the woods, their red gleaming eyes promising that I would be their dinner tonight. Their four legs were much faster than my two, and I soon found myself cornered by a scraggly cliff.

“I’m going to die,” I thought, my heart racing, “I’m going to die here, alone, in the dark forest. My body will be ripped apart by wolves. Why, oh why didn’t I stay at the castle?! He might have been a brute, but at least I was safe there!”
Feb 19
browng's picture

Night Writing Assignment - Elie Wiesel


Prompt: Write a description of a hellish journey in a cramped and filthy railcar keeping in mind that you are a prisoner and are unsure of your destination or future.

Here I am, my Lord. Your faithful servant. Rotting in this dark. Damp. Cell. Where are all the blessings you promised to bestow upon me? Your beginnings will seem humble, so prosperous will your future be. I shuffle towards the caged window. Tracing the cold, metal-rust bars with my fingertips. How many days until this living hell is over?
Feb 18

A Dream of Broken Promises

 They say that when we dream, it’s caused by slow brain waves creating narratives that are a mixture of the days events and our imaginations. That these fancy imagines, designed for mental recovery, are of our own creation. But if that is true, somebody tell me why every time my head falls to it’s pillow and my eyes flutter shut, I see it. And why every time I wake up, my mind is full of memories of something that never was.
 I see an old, run-down, wooden shelter, held together by a few nails and planks of wood, glowing in golden afternoon light. I see long, silky, grass and soaring mountains off in the distance. I am confused, always confused, for this is a place I know not, I have never set foot on the ground here.
Feb 18
Artymanw's picture

Fighting words: Ghost's from Pac-Man.

“Dialogue”
“Get him!!” The red one    shouted. “He’s going for the power up, dang, he got the cherry!” The blue one said.

“Now he’s going for The Blinking Dot!” said the Orange one. “So cut him of!” The Red one shouted back. “Okay, on it boss!” The Orange one responded. “And don’t call me boss, who am I kidding, I love it when you call me boss!” The Red one said. “NO!!” The Orange one shouted. “Did you glitch again!?” The Red one asked “Yes, he went through me like butter.” The Orange one said shamefully. Bwoop! “He got it.” The Pink one said. “Run!!” The Red one shouted.But It was to late. “He’s kinda cute.” The Pink one said from inside the box. “Shut up, Pinky.” Everyone said. “ Eh, what's the big deal we’ll respond anyway.” The blue one said. “And it’s that optimistic thinking that gets us through the long nights Blinky.” said the Orange one.

Feb 17
fiction 2 comments challenge: Lost
mythicalquill's picture

Parabox

    You’re not sure why you’re here. There has to be a reason, doesn’t there? People don’t just show up places, especially not sparse, quaint little studies with a single desk and tinted windows.

    You look around. It’s nice, you suppose, in a quiet sort of way. There’s a box on the desk, about the size of a bread loaf—was it there a moment ago? Thick oak wood with a polished sheen, silver latch that beckons to be opened. You obey, of course, flicking up the metal and lifting the lid.

    Nestled inside, amidst the crushed-velvet interior, your fingers brush up against another box. It looks to be identical, save for being a fraction of the size. You take it out, open it, and feel a sting of déjà vu as more polished wood comes into sight.
Feb 17
mythicalquill's picture

The Edge of Nowhere

Colin’s jacket is dark, heavy, sturdy—although there’s barely a hint of a chill in the thick summer’s night air. Its many pockets are full, almost as jam-packed as the tattered suitcase that lays beside him on the dented metal bench. But despite his preparedness, his head echoes with the taunting notion that something has been forgotten, something left behind unnoticed in his rush to leave home that morning. Reaching into his jeans, he grabs the remains of a dry granola bar, half-eaten on a bus ride that seems ages ago.

Whatever it was he’d forgotten, it’s not snacks.

Munching away, Colin scruffs his boot against the grainy concrete as the music in his ears attempts to soothe his nervous, tapping fingers. The last bus has long since come and gone from this stop, the streetlamp to his left flickering tiredly against the sky. The moon, like his mind and his pockets, is full—it does much more to light the fields around him than its synthetic counterpart.
Feb 17

Oddities

The sky overhead is gray and depressing. The rain trickles off of the roof of the walkway I'm under, splashing onto the concrete tiles. I'm heading to my American Literature class, which is on the opposite side of the campus from my dorm. The time is seven thirty-three. 
I open my umbrella just as the walkway roof ends. I rush by a thick brick wall, surrounded by shrubs and flowers. 
That's when I notice the little brown notebook sitting on the ground underneath a shrub.
I pick it up from its' place, and am taken aback because the notebook isn't even wet from the rain.
Strange...
I flip open to the first page, weary of what might be hidden inside. Nonetheless, I begin reading.

January 23rd, 1962

Dear Diary,

Mother got me this little journal for Christmas, but I forgot that I had it until now. 
Feb 16
fiction 0 comments challenge: Lost
mat.the.man's picture

Lost


You wake up slowly, your eyes gradually adjusting. Suddenly, you're on your feet, looking frantically in every direction. You don't recognize a thing. Where are you?  The world around you seems to be hazy. You have a headache and you see that your on a small island. It's not a tropical island. It has a bunch of pine trees. It also has thick grass tufts spread throughout the island.  You can see a tiny island really far away. But you wonder how you got here? Why is your head ponding you feel a drip of something run down your forehead. You wipe it off BLOOD. Why is your head bleeding? You touch your head and you feel a gash on the top of your head, it stings when you touch it. You start to worry you take of your jacket and sweatshirt and wrap the sweatshirt around your head.  Then you put your jacket back on. You hope it stops the bleeding. You then start to explore your surroundings. You see a car you decide to go tho the car.
Feb 16
fiction 0 comments challenge: Lost
Emma.P's picture

Lost

         My eyes slowly open to a very bright light. My head is pounding and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I rest my hand on my forehead to shade my eyes, and I see I am lying in bed in a strange room. I see a window with the sun beaming through. Next to it is a TV with white and black pixels spasming. I slowly look around the room and find christmas lights hanging from the walls with pictures of a little girl I do not recognize. In every picture she is wearing a white sundress with a floral pattern on the top half. There is a man in one of the pictures. He is very tall and he is wearing a tux. His smile looks like the kind that lights up a room. I stand up and start to walk around the room when I hear loud footsteps coming towards my room. I stand still in shock not knowing what to do. I am still standing there when the door opens and I see a face peak through. The face of a man smiling. The same smile that can light up a room...
 
Feb 15
fiction 2 comments challenge: Lost

If You Get Lost, You Can Always Be Found


         I wake up in a completely strange place. I have no idea where I am. I slowly sit up, rubbing my eyes. I blink twice before I study my surroundings. I recognize nothing. It’s all completely alien to me. The lack of comforting recognition is scaring me quite a bit.
         I’ve somehow ended up on a flotation  device in a pool in a small neighborhood. The houses appear to be completely empty. There are no lights on in any of the homes. The entire neighborhood is desolate, probably abandoned years ago. The houses are beautiful, but they lack the beauty of humanity residing within them. I feel an indescribable rush of sadness from this.
         
Feb 15
fiction 1 comment challenge: Lost

The Afterlife?

The leafless trees dotted the landscape as the young boy awakes from his slumber. His gaze upon the vast forest with nothing but trees bearing no color or any sense that they are still living. The air felt cold and dreary as the only songs were sung by the crows as they searched for food. The boy slowly rises to his feet as he begins to explore this unfamiliar space. A sheet of fog could be seen between the trees, the young boy drawing nearer to the mist. The ground was covered with fallen leaves causing each of the boys steps to be easily heard with the crunching of the dead leaves and fallen branches. The boy felt as if the land was death itself. That the moment he walked into the mist, he would be judged. He could be sent to paradise or to eternal suffering.
Feb 14
fiction 0 comments challenge: Dye

Fine Print

   Okay. This is it. Today I will go to the drug store and get it. Get what? I am happy you ask! Hair dye! Yay! *Fireworks and confetiti* So yeah! I just need to stop bye and grab some hair dye! I was thinking about dying it blue, but then I wanted gold. But then I thought, Would that really go well with my hair? So I finally settled with...........purple! I am actually on my way to get it right now! I have wanted to dye my hair since I was really little, and have saved up a lot to buy some. Oh hey! I'm here! I get out of my car and step into the snowy parking lot. I walk into the store and shiver. A vent is blowing cold air right at me! I hurry into the isle with hair stuff and quickly check out my favorite (best looking) hair dye bottle.
Feb 14

Sixteen Minutes

8:00 am
A girl sits on a cement stairway, looking with tired eyes at the world that surrounds her. She has a love-hate relationship with it (mostly hate).
A boy lays on the ground, letting the pulsing pain in his stomach rage because he likes the feeling, but mostly because he knows he deserves it.

8:01 am
She has dyed red hair (done with kool-aid and it drips onto her gray hoodie)  with tanned skin from sitting out in the sun too long.
He has curly brown hair or had that hair before he shaved it off with a razor. Whatever, it was just a reminder of everything he hated.

8:02 am
Her hoodie is baggy and bought at the dollar store. She also has a pair of faded red corduroys with a rip in both knees. She wants to escape.
He wears a white shirt, holey and smeared with dirt. If he lifts it up there would be a bruise on his stomach given to him by his father. He wants to escape.

8:03 am

Feb 14
fiction 2 comments challenge: Lost

Tess

            I wake slowly, my eyes gradually adjusting to the dim but piercing light, my nose burning with too many smells. Everything hurts. I slowly sit up, propping myself on my elbows, my body screaming with the effort. I'm in a large room, two fluorescent lights casting an eerie glow on the starch white walls. I look down dreading what i will see. I'm on a hospital bed, my entire right leg obscured by a cast, an IV attached to my hand. More wires and tubes weave in and out from under a small blanket covering my upper half, connecting to multiple machines around the room, a loud beeping filling the air. My head starts to throb. I lay back down.
            I sit there, inspecting the tiny, trivial black dots speckling the tiled white ceiling, trying to remember something, anything. After awhile, a woman comes, carrying a tray of food. She introduces herself as Marie and asks how I feel, setting the tray on a little table on my lapp.