forum Short Story Writing Competition #1

Started April 21, 2018 by @LittleBear group

tune

I've got to actually start writing something

I started something, I'm just hoping that the readers will be able to understand it.

@writelikeyourerunningoutoftime Your punishment is banishment to the dungeons! Lol jk, that's totally fine. The cap is more to make sure the judges don't get flooded with really long works!

Okay good! Another thing, I have to include some translations for a few terms I use (I'm not Spanish/Hispanic but i'm learning and the characters are).

Since I don't wanna forget, I'll post what I have now. For your consideration, capping at 1,044 words, I present to you, Anniversary:

“Mommy, aren’t you gonna open your letter?”

It was unusually pleasant for a mid-summer morning. The children had been begging and pleading to be let outside, so Conarith finally caved in and allowed it. The tutor would not be around for another hour, so it seemed harmless enough. Bokoba, forever the little homemaker, decided to stay behind and help her mother clean around the house.

The morning was going smoothly enough. With Bokoba’s help, Conarith was able to clear the breakfast table and put away the dishes nearly twice as quickly as she normally would have been able to. Deciding to keep the momentum going, she started to gather the household laundry, her third eldest daughter trailing happily behind her with an armful of her sisters’ dirty clothes.

Conarith was arm deep in underwear when Bokoba asked her question, and the shock of it almost caused her to spill the soap.

“It’s from daddy, isn’t it?” Bokoba asked as she stared innocently up at her mother. “Why don’t you open it?”

At the mention of her husband, Conarith’s good eye instantly moistened. She tried to smile at her child, but her lips would not stop trembling. Bokoba’s eyes widened in alarm.

“I’m sorry!” the young girl said quickly. She once again busied herself with her chore. “Forget I said anything!”

But it was too late. The tears had already begun to fall.

“It could be from anyone,” Conarith said quietly.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bokoba agreed. She offered her mother a reassuring smile. “I don’t know. Shall we go to the river, now?” She stood up with her laundry basket and headed towards the door.

Conarith did not move.

“Mommy? Are you coming?” Bokoba called.

Conarith said nothing and only stared at the floor, her hands quivering as she tried with all her might to keep it together.

Bokoba came back inside and hugged her mother as tightly as she could manage. “It’s ok, Mommy. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

At her daughter’s gesture, the dam broke.

“I know you miss him,” said Bokoba as she comforted her mother. “Should I go get Zela?”

“No, don’t do that to your sister,” Conarith spit out between sobs. “I’m sorry. Please go out and play.”

Bokoba held on to her mother. “Not until you’re ok.”

Conarith gently pushed her child out of her arms and wiped her eye. “Please, go be with your sisters. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m just being silly.”

“Mommy, I–” Bokoba began, but Conarith suddenly stood to her feet.

“I’m going to go lay down,” she said. “Go play with your sisters. We can finish the clothes later.” She did not give her daughter time to protest before heading upstairs to her bedroom. She laid down on the cold side of the bed and cried once again, desperately clinging to the covers as if it would change her fate.
After what felt like hours, the teary-eyed woman rolled over and spied the envelope on the nightstand. It was a standard, off-white letter envelope with a non-descript paper seal. As always, there was no return address. Conarith had wondered how her husband was able to get away with that. C.A.P.S. was very strict about how they handled the mail, especially after the fireworks mishap had killed one of their own and sent the land into a moment of panic.

Conarith sighed; she was just delaying the inevitable. Even though she had been dreading this day, there was no use in stalling any longer, so she sat up and grabbed the envelope. She slipped her bony finger underneath the flap, and with one swift motion, easily cut open the seal.

She slowly unfolded the letter, and after a silent prayer for strength, she began to read:

My dearest wife,

I hope that this letter has found you in good health. If all has gone well (the Divine know that I’ve paid those feathered bastards plenty to be on time), today should be the 20th of Dinra.

If you still claim me, Merry Anniversary, my love. Although I am not there to share in this monumental occasion, please know that I have done nothing but keep you and my love for you in my cold, black heart. I pray everyday that you are well in my absence, and I hope you remember that my love for you is true.

It has been 10 years now since we have been married. It should have been 13, and I regret everyday that it took me so long to claim you. I was a fool back then. I always loved you, but I was too blinded by my own pride and foolishness to admit it. In my heart, our union is as old as our first daughters.

After Dinah was born, I realized that I almost lost you two times too many. I pray that the Divine have forgiven me for so blatantly ignoring the gift that They were trying to give me. I don’t deserve you, Conarith. I never deserved you, and yet, there you were.

Do you still love me, dearest? After everything that I have put you through, how could you? Only you, a woman whose heart is bigger than the earth, could have ever loved a wretched soul like me. I know that I do not deserve your love or your forgiveness, but I beg that you know how much I love you, even now. I want nothing more than to hold you, to kiss you, to tell you how much you mean to me. But my bed is as cold and as empty as my hollow heart.

As the woman who bore and raised my children, and devoted her whole self to me, I pray that the same is not true for you. You deserve so much more than I have ever been able to give you. If you were waiting for my permission to move on this entire time, I freely give it. On this day, our 10th anniversary, nothing would please me more than for you to find happiness for yourself, and for our darling girls.

With love,
Your devoted husband.

By the letter’s end, it took everything that Conarith had not to completely shatter.

I'm not gonna have time to write it, but I'll be able to judge! Sorry

I'm almost done with mine!!

Wait, they're due tomorrow, aren't they???

I think they're due tonight

Oh shoot I need to start writing.

Yeah they're due tonight at midnight. which is technically tomorrow I guess.

@writelikeyourerunningoutoftime I need to write cause I am running out of time. XD

Lmaooo good luck!

Thx!

Great job!

I'll post mine now then!

---

“I’m sick and tired of living a life without excitement.”

“Caren, you’re fifty-two, what kind of excitement do you want?”

“More than what I’ve had my whole life!” Caren exclaimed, jumping up from her rocking chair and dropping the cross-stitching she had been working on for what felt like one hundred years.

“Caren!” Her sister Josie said. “Your life’s work! Be careful with it!” Caren stomped on and kicked the ten foot cross-stitch project across the porch, then she put her hands on her hips and nodded triumphantly.

“CAREN!!” Jolie screeched.

“I don’t care. I’ve never cared about that.” Jolie gasped, feeling faint from the fact that her passion in life had literally been trampled over by her own sister and roommate.

“Sorry about that,” Caren said, not sounding sorry in the least. “I’ll finish it someday. When I come back from traveling the world, and if you’re dead by then, I’ll lay it on your grave.”

“But why? Why the sudden change in heart?” Jolie demanded. Caren was silent for a moment. Then she said,

“I found that letter last night. I’ve thought about it all day and now I’m leaving.” Jolie immediately knew the implications of what her sister had just said. She couldn’t say a word as Caren marched back into the house, grabbing an old carpet bag from the closet, shuffling upstairs in her room to gather clothes and other supplies, and then marching back down to pick up her favorite black cane, which happened to double as a sword. Jolie had always disapproved of the cane-sword, but Caren would never have given it up. Jolie thought to herself that she shouldn’t be surprised by all this, after all. The fact that Caren had kept that cane along with her ships in bottles collection, the pocket knives from her late husband Tom, and the adventure novels of her childhood were dead giveaways that Caren would never be the quiet old sister Jolie wanted. Jolie still caught Caren huddled up on the couch devouring those novels on rainy days.

“Where’d you put my passport, Jolie,” Caren demanded, standing before her in a grey trench coat, her husband’s old traveling trousers, and a withered flower hat.

“I…” Jolie stammered, not wanting to admit that she feared this would happen all along. “It’s in the jar full of eggshells that I didn’t want you to touch.”

“What? So you weren’t saving them for Easter?”

“No. I wasn’t even going to compost them. I just know you hate eggs, so I figured you’d never look there.”

“Damn. Well, this will be my first challenge of many that I must overcome.” Caren bagan to troop bravely back into the house, when Jolie added,

“I’m sorry.” Caren stopped in her tracks, silent.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I’m sorry.”

“Yes, yes. And for what?”

“Don’t be mad, Caren!” Jolie started tearing up.

“I’m not mad. Just furious. And don’t start that nonsense,” Caren demanded. “I know you’ve never cried sincerely in your life. Now just explain yourself outright.”

“I just didn’t want you getting any crazy ideas from him. That’s why I hid it.” None of Caren’s relatives had approved of the match. Tom had been in the military when Caren met him when they were eighteen, and it was love at first sight on both sides. Caren was enraptured by his sense of adventure and duty to his country, Tom loved her thirst for excitement, and they both swore to never live in one place for more than a year when the war was over. He died in battle five years later, leaving no children. Caren never wanted to marry anyone else. It was all her uptight family could do to keep her from running off to the war, anyway. Jolie had tasked herself with keeping her sister grounded and in good, civilized society, keeping that last letter hidden like her father had desired. And now she had finally failed.

“It’s been too long. I can’t believe you would do this to me, Jolie,” Caren said softly, her callous nature slowly falling away to reveal her heart. Jolie refused to feel any guilt right now.

Maybe later. I’ve said sorry and that’s the Christian thing to do, she thought, not saying anything back to Caren. Caren walked into the kitchen, dumped the eggshells onto the floor along with her passport (and a shark tooth necklace that Jolie had also stolen from her), picked them up, and left the eggshells for her sister. She marched out the door and down the porch steps, never looking back, tying the necklace around her neck. As she walked down the mile long gravel driveway to hitch a ride at the main road, she read the letter to herself for the hundredth time, smiling like a schoolgirl with a first crush, feeling more free than she ever had.

Hi there Caren.

It looks like I’m dying. I was an idiot and saved a buddy of mine from getting shot, and so got shot myself. No doubt your family will confiscate this letter by the time it reaches you, since they’ll take you back to their place after receiving the telegram of my death. Stupid telegrams travel faster than personal letters. Whenever you find this, since I just have a feeling you will, hang in there. These past five years I’ve been the happiest man alive, I’ve loved every moment we could spend together. I just wanted to tell you that, in case you didn’t know from the other times I’ve said so. Also, please leave that family of yours and travel the world for me. I’d like you to see the following places first:

1. The Grand Canyon. Hike that one trail the traveling fiddle player guy (whatever you’d call him) told us was the best spot to see the sunrise, please.
2. The Amazon River. I don’t care which spot on the river you go to, just tell me when you see me again if there are actually piranhas in it.
3. The top of the Eiffel Tower. Of course. Pretend you’re with me and it’s really romantic. And I dare you to take the stairs.

I’ll see you later, my dear.
Tom

WAIT I DIDN'T KNOW THIS

I might not be able to finish…is it okay if I turn it in tomorrow morning?

I don’t think I’ll have time to turn it in tonight.

@ReiniDays, @LeafyLemur and @DarkWolf, I'm sorry about the confusion about the deadline, that's on me. So I am extending the deadline to tomorrow at midnight and also the results will be ready by midnight Saturday. Those of ya'll who have already posted feel free to continue editing your posts until then if needed. @LeafyLemur I would welcome another judge, but if you want to go back to being a competitor that would be fine too!

Oh! Ok, well, I'm pretty busy tomorrow anyway, so I'll just go ahead and judge! :)

@ReiniDays, @LeafyLemur and @DarkWolf, I'm sorry about the confusion about the deadline, that's on me. So I am extending the deadline to tomorrow at midnight and also the results will be ready by midnight Saturday. Those of ya'll who have already posted feel free to continue editing your posts until then if needed. @LeafyLemur I would welcome another judge, but if you want to go back to being a competitor that would be fine too!

Thank you! If I don’t get my story done, I’m happy to judge. But that’s only if I don’t finish my story.

Thank you so much! I just completely panicked because I have too many quizzes to study for tonight and not enough time.

@ReiniDays yeah, school comes first!

It's short but here it is

I woke up. I heard the clattering of pots and pans from downstairs. For a moment, I panicked. Glancing to the other side of the bed, I realize Lena wasn’t next to me. Begrudgingly, I throw of the sheets and make my way downstairs. I slide my fuzzy, pastel purple socks across the wooden floor at the base of the stairs. Lena looked over her shoulder before turning back to the stove. Her white blonde hair flowed past her shoulder, blending into her pale skin. She has hazel eyes that glimmer under the lights of the kitchen. She has on a hazel cami and loose black shorts.

“Morning Sleepyhead,” she calls, moving bacon onto a plate to cool.

“Morning,” I groan back, sliding onto one of the stools of the breakfast bar.

She pops some toast into the toaster before she turns to look at me, “Mady, you have work in 15 minutes. You’re not even dressed yet.”

“Unfortunately you are correct,” I say as she slides a plate of bacon and toast in front of me before getting herself a plate and taking the seat next to me.

She rolled her eyes before flashing me a smile. “I got the mail,” she said through bites of toast.

“Anything interesting?” I asked, glancing over at the pile of mail on the counter.

“Bills, and something addressed to you,” she responded, reaching for bacon.

“Did you open it?” I ask, reluctant to get up and read it.

“No. Didn’t recognize the sender,” Erin practically inhaled the rest of her plate and started to wash up in the sink.

“Ugh,” I groan as I get up. I rip open the envelope while Erin looks over my shoulder.

I reached in and pulled out a folded slip of worn paper. Opening the paper, I see the words dancing across the page in thin cursive.

Mady? I hope this made it to you. Hi. I’m- no- that’s not important. Is Erin there? Who am I kidding of course she is. Um- ok- right. I hope she doesn’t know this. Please don’t read this to her. The time at Grandmas when you broke that thing. That time when you fell apart. The time you met that girl. Well, you know what to do. I hope. And I hope Erin doesn’t. Well, goodbye and good luck. I hope you do well.

“Mady, do you understand what this means?” Erin asks.

Fudge, no. I wish I didn’t know. “No,” I respond, throwing her off of me.

“What?” she asks, looking quite hurt.

“Sorry, I’m going to be late,” I call as I run down the hall.

I run down the hall in a cold sweat. I don’t want this to keep happening. Why does this always happen. It always finds me. Always. My body slowly starts to go numb. I’m losing control. I start to turn around. I’m back in the kitchen. No. One step closer. I don’t want to be here. Another step. Turn around. Pick up that knife. Not again. One more step. Why. Erin turns around. Why am I trying.

“What are you-” Erin is cut off. Literally.

I’m back in control. Collapse to the floor. Sobbing. Running. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why. Why?