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@Riorlyne pets

All right, here goes. :) Warning: massive wall of text below. If it’s too long, let me know and I’ll edit it out.

Boy

Feyli’s mother had told her many times not to touch anything the ocean brought them after a storm. That was Lanu’s job. Lanu was old enough to tell the difference between a fish that was good to eat and a fish that would send sharp pains all down your leg if you stepped on it, but Feyli’s mother was afraid that her little girl might get hurt if she explored too freely. The sea was not always kind.

Feyli knew she wasn’t to touch anything the ocean brought them after a storm. But she wasn’t sure whether he counted.

The waves had left him high up on the beach among the seaweed and broken driftwood. Feyli had seen him in her scampering dash to the water at sunrise and had forgotten her swim in her curiosity. At first, she thought he might be dead. The waves had scrubbed his skin as white as the bleached bones of a beached whale, too white for a living thing. But as she moved closer she saw that his chest moved with his breathing, and anything that breathed could not be dead.

Perhaps, Feyli thought, perhaps he was one of the fish people. She shivered, but her fear did not stop her from crouching by his side. A closer look revealed no scales on his skin, no gills on his neck, and no delicate webbing between the bones of his white fingers. At least, Feyli thought, a little disappointed, his clothes were still strange. And his arm was bent at a funny angle, as if it wanted to escape.

He was shorter than Lanu, she decided. And quite a bit thinner. And most definitely a boy, for he didn’t wear plaited grass around his ankles as she and her mother did. She could see where his body left an imprint in the sand, so he wasn’t a weightless spirit thrown loose by the storm.

No, Nei would not want her to touch something the storm had washed up on the sand, but Feyli wanted to know if the boy was all bones, as he looked. Perhaps behind his eyelids he had the wide, watery eyes of a fish person. She wanted to find out so badly that she hardly cared that he might leap at her and throw bad magic on her if she disturbed him.

Feyli crept a little closer in the sand and pushed the boy’s hair away from his face. It was stiff and sticky, just like hers. With tentative fingers she opened his left eyelid. Brown eyes, like Lanu’s. Feyli huffed in disappointment and kicked at the sand.

At least now she did not need to worry that he might wake and throw bad magic on her.

Feyli stayed by the boy’s side a while longer, but he did not sprout fins or speak or wake or do anything the least bit interesting. She thought of getting up to swim, as the sun was quite warm now on her shoulders. As she looked back at the boy, she saw that the skin on his hands was redder than it had been before and she realised—the storm had scrubbed him clean of the thick blanket of freckles that would have protected him from the sun, and he was burning.

Well, Feyli could not have that. She hopped to her feet at once and hurried around until she was behind the boy’s head. Then she caught him up awkwardly under the arms and began to drag him further up the beach, dodging driftwood and seaweed and the occasional fish thrown loose of the ocean. She did not stop until he was lying in the partial shade of a spindly palm tree, pushed up against a large twist of wood and surrounded by low-growing sea-grape and bushes. She straightened the boy’s legs and arranged his arms over his chest in what she thought would be a more comfortable position.

The boy stirred, and, startled, Feyli leapt back. She watched as his eyes flickered open and then squinted closed against the light. He moved to get up; with a groan he sank back to the sand. It was a terrible sound, and Feyli decided he must be in a great amount of pain to make it. Nei, she thought. I need to find Nei.

She turned and took off running down the beach, leaping over driftwood and the larger heaps of seaweed. Her bare feet sank into the soft sand, but it wasn’t long before she reached the shore grasses and picked up speed again.

The morning sun spilled over the track, soon sifted by dense palms and twisted trees as tangled as fishing nets. Feyli ducked under low-lying branches and within moments she arrived at her mother’s cookfire, her hair loose of its twine, her heart racketing with excitement.

She tried to explain what she had seen to her mother, how the boy was brought by the storm but not a fish person, and how terribly he must be hurt. But the more she spoke, the more confused her mother grew. Nei was adamant that her daughter stay and eat and leave the beach alone until Lanu had had time to scavenge. But at last Feyli convinced her mother to at least come look.

The journey back to the beach was a slower one, for Nei was not one to be hurried. It did not matter; they found the boy exactly where Feyli had left him. He was draped over the driftwood, his eyes closed. Nei knelt by his side and checked over his limbs.

“He is hurt. You should not have touched him, Feyli.”

The boy groaned again, and Feyli winced. “Can you mend him?”

“We will bring him back home.” As Nei lifted the boy into her arms she told Feyli how they would make extra space for him in their hut and how Dai would catch a few more fish than usual to give the boy new strength. She carried him away from the beach and told her daughter that she must help her cook the meals from now on. Lanu would keep a quick watch on the ocean so that when the boy’s family came for him, they would find him again.

“Will Boy wake up?”

“Boy? He may have his own name, little one.”

“But I can call him—I found him,” said Feyli. “That means he’s mine.”

Boy stayed with them. The days washed into weeks and soon, months. Nei wrapped up his arm so that it stopped hurting him and came as straight as Feyli’s. Lanu taught him how to climb a palm with a bit of rope and a knife and how to come down again with enough fruit for everyone to drink. Dai showed him the best places for fishing, where the catch was sleek and fat and slow with heavy sunlight. But everyone knew that Feyli had found him, and he was Feyli’s.

He joined her on her morning scrambles to the seashore, and inch by inch he learned to keep his head above the waves and laugh when they tumbled him over. He learned how to say a’morning and a’night and water, hot and rain. Feyli led him to all her favourite places. They sat in the huge shell of the old whale and Feyli told him stories about her mother and father, and how Dai had brought Nei to their little home when she was lots younger and her fiery hair was lots longer, all woven through with shells and twine and fish scales that glinted like chips of sunlight. How Nei had only come because Dai had caught a hundred fish for her in one afternoon, and she knew that she would never go hungry. And she told the boy how one day Lanu would paddle away in his own boat and bring back his own wife and Feyli would have a sister again, and maybe one day, little people (five or six or even seven) to bring to the whalebones, and then Feyli would tell them all her stories.

Boy always listened with wide eyes even though he did not understand all that Feyli said. But whenever she finished a story and lay back in the sand and asked about his own Nei and Dai, he only shook his head.

“Tell again,” he would say.

So she would tell him about her mother’s brother, who had been lost in a terrible storm when her mother was only a young girl, and how they brought him back limp and broken, bruised by the waves. Now her uncle fished in the far reaches of the sky where the lost always go, where the catch is brighter than the moon and there are no storms. And she would tell him how her uncle carried about her little sister on a sling on his back, because she had been lost very young and he was taking care of her until Nei was an old, old woman and could travel to the sky and look for her daughter herself.

There would be tears on the boy’s face and Feyli would ask if he had a lost sister too. But he would shake his head no and refuse to tell her.

“No good thing in old story of Boy. New is story now. Tell me. Tell again.”

And the months washed into years. Dai helped the boy build his own hut when he grew too tall to share Nei and Feyli’s. Lanu stopped watching the ocean for Boy’s family and wrestled with him in the shallows instead. Nei showed him which fish were good to eat and which would send sharp pains down your leg if you stepped on them. But no matter what he learned to do, it was Feyli who had found him, and he was still Feyli’s.

They scavenged the beaches together after storms when Lanu had left in his boat to find a wife. The boy collected good strong grasses to help with Feyli’s weaving, and she made him a new sleeping-mat. And they still found time to rest in the slanted shade of the whalebones and share stories, most of Feyli’s making, and some spun by the boy in simple words.

Feyli told of how Lanu would find a strong, skilled woman with quick hands and green eyes and dark freckled shoulders that had seen many afternoons of sun. Lanu himself would have a smile as wide as the ocean and even (they laughed) a great tangled beard like Dai’s as he led her ashore. Feyli would weave her new sister her own sleeping-mat in all the colours of the shore grasses, nearly as beautiful as the woman herself.

“And what about you,” the boy would ask her, “will the one who comes for you have a beard like Dai’s? I think he will have a spear taller than his head and a long, long boat filled with many fish, more than you can eat in twenty-seven days. He will bring you a new cooking pot and a fishskin dress, and when Lanu challenges him at wrestling, he will win so easily that you will want to leave with him at once. What do you think, Feyli? Tell me.”

But she did not tell him that the man in her stories did not have a fierce beard like Dai, or that his face was as white as the whalebones of their shelter. She did not tell him that the man in her stories would never win against Lanu when it came to wrestling. She only shook her head at him and laughed.

“No, you tell me. Tell me again.”

The wind was wet with the ocean and as soon as Feyli woke she knew it would be the day Lanu returned. Quietly she rolled up her sleeping-mat, tied her hair into its twine, dressed and slipped from the hut without waking her mother. She threw a handful of dried grass on the cookfire to bring it back to life and gently coaxed it into full flame. It wasn’t long before she had a simple soup of dried fish and onions simmering and filling the air with a tempting smell.

Dai’s hut was empty, as were the two beside it. He must be out gathering water, Feyli guessed, and Boy—well, she knew where Boy would be at sunrise.

In her own hut she heard her mother stirring. Confident that she could leave the meal in her mother’s capable hands, Feyli stirred the soup one last time and took off running to the shoreline.

It was always the same, and yet it was never the same. The rising sun caught the clouds off guard, lighting up their bellies with fire and extinguishing the thinner ones with its heat. The waves rolled golden toward her, gentle today, perfect for the day of Lanu’s return. His boat would look so proud, skimming over the bright water, with his spear set firmly in the prow and his new wife sitting behind him, eager for her new home. Feyli shaded her eyes against the light and laughed with pure happiness.

That was when she saw them.

They had landed on the little wooded sandbank east of where she stood. How many there were she could not see, but she knew she did not have enough fingers to tell Nei how many. There were three little boats and when she squinted into the sunrise she could see a larger boat, like a great floating bird with huge white wings, further into the distance.

They were not like Lanu at all. Most of them wore strange coloured things on their heads, but from those that did not, Feyli could tell that their hair was short and dark. Like Boy’s. One turned toward her, and she saw his face, as pale as bleached whalebone.

They must be his people, she thought. They had come to find the boy they lost, and they would take him home.

One man shouted. He pointed in her direction, and at once several of the men rushed for a boat. Feyli did not wait for them to find their seats and shove off from the shore. She ran.

She knew where she would find Boy. It was not too far a distance around the curve of the shore to the old whale but every step she ran felt like a hundred. She must find him before the others did. She must hide him, never let them see him, never let them take him away.

Feyli ducked under a broken palm branch and dodged a slew of driftwood. The tide never quite reached the sand here, which was why the whale had stayed so long. Finally she crested a grass-knotted dune and came in sight of it.

She froze.

There were strips of fishskin tied to every weathered rib of the skeleton, fluttering in the breeze and catching the rising sunlight. Strung scales flashed between them. For a moment the long-dead whale nearly seemed alive again, as if water were flowing around it, dipping it down into the depths of the ocean and back again to the sunlit surface. It was alive with the skins of dozens of fish—hundreds of fish. She didn’t know how long she stood there frozen, watching. Months of hunting and skinning and drying had gone into this perfect moment—and Boy stood in the centre of it all.

She ran to him and flung herself into his arms, but the tears that landed on his neck were not from joy or from wonder at the great many fish he had caught—fish he had caught for her. “You would never go hungry,” he was saying, whispering past the tangle of her hair. Feyli could only think of the men behind her, the men like him who had come back for him at last and he did not yet know it. Even now she thought she could hear their voices, cresting the last dune, following her footprints. Why had she led them to him? Why had she not run and hidden herself in the palm forest where footprints cannot be seen?

“Feyli,” he asked, “I know I don’t have a boat―”

It was too late to hide him now. There was nowhere to go.

“I will never be as strong as Lanu, but I still―”

Nei had always told her not to touch anything the ocean left them after a storm.

“Feyli―” He stiffened and his arms tightened around her.

He had seen them.

Deleted user

All of you
are such good writers
because I could never write
Something like that.
I wanna be like you guys when I grow up.
Wait I should write something so I can prove
myself on here.
Crap, I've actually never written a short story.

@Sugar-Lover

This is a story I had to write for school so it sounds sorta stupid but it’s the only complete story I have written recently

Why would you do that?

As the ambulance doors slam shut the teacher whips around to face her ashamed students.

"What happened? I expected you to make more sophisticated choices while I was gone." She sternly questions, staring lasers into each of her students heads.

Meekly one student steps toward the angered teacher whispering, "If you're wondering what happened, James put a enormous, hairy spider on Mary's chair."

James looks up from his shoes surprised and confused shouting out. "Me? It wasn't me. We all know it was Sally, always quite and probably plotting." He stomps his foot out of frustration of being blamed. "She pushed Mary over a desk, in to a chair, onto the floor. Why would I put a spider on her chair? Besides Mary has an insect collection."

"Why are you blaming me? Why would I push her in to a desk?" Sally counters louder than the first time she spoke.

"Well first of all you two were arguing about which Harry Potter house is the best. Second of, there is no spider in the classroom. Don't believe me? Go look." The class adventurous up to the class room to find no spider anywhere in sight. "See I told you Sally was lying. There is no spider."

The stern teacher studies the two students looking to see which shows any signs of lying before deciding who to send to the office. "Sally, why would you lie? And why would you do that? Go to the office now, we will talk later." She orders anger crawling out of her voice.

@Lavy-the-Nerdy-Sci-Fi-Birdy

Here's my first one from a couple of months ago. It's not very good ._.

Zahena looked up as Yundar entered the medical bay, looking worried. " Vouk-Yundar. What can I do for you?" she asked the Maintenance worker.
"Doctor, do the Humans have molting seasons?" Yundar queried.
"Not that I'm aware of." she said, puzzled. "Why?"
"Human-Tobias peeled out a layer of his eyeballs."
Zahena blinked, wondering if her translator had malfunctioned.
"Did I hear you right? His Eyeballs?"
"Yes, we were in the mess hall, and we were sitting, having lunch, and then he says something about his contacks, and I say, 'what?' AND HE SHOVES HIS FINGER INTO HIS EYE AND PEELS A LAYER OFF!"
"Vouk-Yundar, calm down. Did Human-Tobias give an explanation as to why this happened?"
Yundar shifted from foot to foot.
"Erm, I panicked and left to get you."
"So you didn't even check to see if this was completely normal for him?"
"…No."
Zahena sighed."I will speak with Human-Tobias. Thank you for your concern Vouk-Yundar."
——-
Zahena walked down the hall of crew quarters and found the one Tobias shared with his wife, Tahlia.
She pressed the doorbell icon on the side of the wall next to the door. As the door gave an alerting chirp, Tahlia opened the door, pushing her glasses onto her face.
"Zahena! Hi! What can I do for you?"
Zahena smiled, "Hello, Tahlia. Is Tobias here?"
Tahlia nodded, "Yes. I'll go get him."
Tahlia returned with Tobias. "Hey, Zahena. What can I do for you?" He asked.
"Yundar has expressed some concern and I was wondering if you could answer some questions."
Tobias nodded, looking a bit puzzled. "Okay. Why don't you come in? Might be a bit tight fit for you, but I think we can manage." He stood aside to let her pass. Zahena squeezed past him, crouching so she wouldn't hit her head.
After they had all sat down, Zahena addressed Tobias.
"Is it common for Humans to molt?"
Tobias and Tahlia exchanged puzzled looks. "What?"
"Yundar came into my office telling me that you had said something about contacks and that he had witnessed you shove your finger into your eyeball and peel off a layer."
Comprehension dawned on Tobias's face. Tahlia started to chortle quietly.
"Oh! Oh, I see!" He said, smiling. "I'm sorry I alarmed Yundar. See, I have these things called contacts, so that I can see." He reached up to his eye and peeled out a dome shaped object, handing it to Zahena. As she scrutinized the small plastic thing, Tobias continued to explain, "They have the same purpose as Tahlia's glasses, but I wear them like that so I don't have to worry about losing them or breaking them."
Zahena nodded. "So why are there some who wear glasses and other who wear contacts? Contacts appear to be more practical than glasses."
Tahlia spoke up. "Some people, like me, don't wear contacts because they irritate or infect our eyes. So, we have to stick to glasses."
"Ah, I see what your saying." Zahena stood as best she could. "Thank you for taking the time to explain this to me."
Tobias and Tahlia followed her to the door. "Glad to be of help." Tahlia said and closing the door.

@Natasha

(Here, this is a thing I wrote for an RP, Sarah knows it)

It was Veda. Veda took a deep breath, already feeling the poison coursing through her body. She turned to the others. "…..I lived my life. I learned so much, I knew so many, I lost so many. Do not take my death as a tragedy, but as a blessing. I have been suffering for years." She revealed the envelope she had been holding.

"This will tell you about my past, if you wish to know. Stay strong. Find a way out of this place. And please, find a little girl named Sophia Granger. She's the one of the last people who needed me. She's twelve." She said softly, revealing her hidden secret, the only reason she hadn't wanted to die. "Take care of her for me. Tell her………..tell her that her Guardian Angel loved her." Then finally, she turned to Paige, and with her last shuddering breath she said, "And my real name isn't Veda. Goodbye Kitty." She whispered, then collapsed.

The name triggered a flood of memories for Paige. Sitting on the floor of the small, two bedroomed apartment with her sister at five years old, playing with blocks and laughing as her sister made silly faces and made the little puppet on her hand talk. Their family didn't have much, but they made it work. Paige remembered all the times that her sister had given up her food for Paige, and all the games her sister had made up to pass the time.
Then at six, her parents abandoning her and her sister at an orphanage, leaving them as if they had been burdens. Paige's sister had held Paige in her arms, reassuring her every day that they hadn't been burdens, and that their parents just hadn't been ready for the two. Paige also remembered all the games her sister had made up at the orphanage, all the imaginary adventures they had been on in their tiny room at the orphanage.
Then at seven, when her sister had been literally dragged away, kicking and screaming, trying to get back to Paige. Paige hadn't even realized…………….

She fell to her knees, scrambling to Veda's side. In a heart-breaking and shaky voice she whispered, "Odette?"