Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Short Story Contest
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Rules:
1. Type up a short story of 500 words or less (I probably won't count unless it's really long).
2. It must be original (NO PLAGARIZING!).
3. It must be written for this contest, not one you wrote up earlier.
4. It must fit the contest theme within a reasonable degree of interpretation.
5. It must be submitted at or before 11:59pm AGtime on the deadline date.
6. One official submission per user per round. If you make more than one, denote which is the official entry.
7. The same user can't win twice in a row, but can enter for fun.
8. Nothing too gory/obscene.
9. No excessive foul language.
10. Have fun!
General Notes:
Make sure it's structured the way you want it to be before submitting to avoid repeats.
!!!Tab doesn't indent in the text box and can lead to accidental submissions!!!
Please indent paragraphs by starting a new line with enter, then spacebar 3-10 times (whatever you want, but be consistant)
Greater than and less than symbols can sometimes cut off your post.
Some characters/fonts are not recognized/accepted by the text box.
Theme and Due Date:
I (or future co-judges) will choose the theme and due date every week or two, depending on how popular this gets. If you're interested in being a co-judge, message me.
The current theme is: Sliver of Silver
Due: in one week - Mar 3
- 74 Replies
And because I didn't feel like adding more to one of my other writings, I took a break and wrote this up. 815 words, is that okay?
My house is small. It's nothing much more than a door, three walls, and a roof wedged up against a cliff on a mountain. It's windy here. Anya's always afraid that the house will blow away, but I get to reassure her that it won't. However, it's cold as well. The roof sags with the snow, and flakes drift in on the wintry wind through the cracks around the floor and around the warped glass of the windows.
Today it snowed even more, small flecks drifting from the ceiling. Neither of us wants to go out today, but what has to be done gets done.
We need more food. No question about it. The hole we dug in the ground, packed the fruit and honey in with snow, is just about empty. We're talking a few grapes and a rotten-looking pear no one wants to touch.
I rolled over and woke up Anya. Anya's small, but is exiteable. She has silvery hair, long, to her waist, and a strange passion for the theft that keeps us alive. I just prefer a quick job, in and out and done.
But on the inside, I want to learn. I can read; I'm not uneducated. But we're far away, and whenever a scrap of newprint falls into my hands, I devour it. Anya looks down on me for this.
But back to the point. Food.
Anya grabed a ragged jacket and we piled onto the long board and sledded down the mountainside. The board cut the snow, spraying frothy whiteness into our faces. Anya let out a shriek of delight.
Then, inevitably, the ride had to end. I rolled off, tugging Anya with me, and the board continues barreling down the slope.
The village bustles with uncharacteristic activity. We slid into the crowd. A young man, a trader by the looks, selling paper information, was the cause.
My heart raced at the thought of all the words to be read, and before I know it Anya'd left me behind, heading for a fruit vendor. Anya's good at stealing. People take one glance at her innocent face and trust her.
Their mistake.
I drifted towards the man. He casted me and my rags a glance, and assumed I had no money. This time, though, I do.
A week ago, a caravan bustled through town. I slipped up next to a rich woman, dug my hand into her pocket, and pulled out a relic; a leathery band and a crystal disk.
Anya disapproved of me taking the risk, but she always takes risks, so why shouldn't I?
"What do you want?" asked the man without looking up. "And don't think I won't notice you stealing."
Offended, I proffered the device and pointed at several newsprints that caught my eye. I wanted to know more about the world, but we were secluded here, in the mountains. No news passed through to us.
The man was goggling at the device, and after a stunned silence, ripped it from my palm. "I know you," he whispered to the crystal surface.
I waited patiently, organizing the papers I wanted into a pile. Anya would doubtless be cross about me 'wasting my time on the learned men's kuld.' But I wanted, no, needed, to know. It was a hunger, more real than the physical one gnawing my gut.
The man twisted a knob and the crystal surface lit up, revealing a little hologram of a young woman. I gasped. I'd never seen such tech. Another sign of my ignorance. "Averakade," whispered the young man, and such was the emotion in his eyes that I felt as if I were trespassing. The people waiting behind me grumbled about the delay.
He snapped the watch shut and asked me in rough tones, "Where did you get this?"
I lifted one shoulder. That's a secret. If he knew I was a theif, he'd probably drag me off to the jail. And then Anya would starve without me, because she always goes for the wrong targets when she steals.
But the man grabbed my shoulders and shook me to punctuate his words. "Where...did....you...get...this?"
I cleared my little-used voice and said, "A lady and her group came through town last week."
His face softened. "She's so close..." Then he shut off the machine. "Here. Take them. Take them all." He shoved the papers in my direction, and I gathered them up with glee. "And," he murmured, "so you understand me..." He pressed another paper into my palm, and then collapsed his vendor, leapt on a sure-footed horse, and sped away.
People grumbled more, but I was flying inside.
Finally, words, after the longest period in which I had nothing to read, and all the scraps were memorized. Here were ample answers to all my questions. Forgetting everything, the flow of people around me, the freezing weather, even Anya with the food, I sat down and began to read.
Cave
Just dead bones walking now. Just a bit of withered flesh suspened on an animated frame. Not too long now, and I'll join the others.
Don't know where anyone else is. Don't know where anything else is. Hell, I don't even know where I am... Which is funny, because I swear I used to know. It was me and Mark and Paulina and we had all decided to...
I don't know. But I didn't want to. They wanted to and made me and yelled at me and hurt my feelings. Now they've gone and left me here in this cave and I've only got enough supplies in poor enough condition.
The supplie's condition? Sh!t, what about my condition?
Poor me...
---
just me now. the darkness is starting to come in and my lamps are failing and i don't know what to do. ink in my pen is running out too so i'll keep it brief. i can hear something moving around out there, probably just some bats or some dumb animal.
yeah... bats...
but mark and... and... mark hasn't shown up and i'm still waiting and still hating him for dragging poor me to this hell hole.
shhhh! shhhhh! gotta be quiet, gotta stop writing because they can hear me scratching on the paper with my pen.
---
poor me poor me poor me why did he drag poor me here and leave me and join them and leave poor me here now im hurt and poor me and poor me and i can hear them coming and fluttering and whispering and talking and it hurts my head and the darkness is quiet and so quiet and it hurts to hear and shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhh i can hear them and they know im snitching and they dont like it but its too late mow and the cave knows too
---
gotz ta b queit so i kan heer them wizper to mee wat i want to heer bcuz i lik it and the darknis is nise and luvlee and preshis and the muzic wants me to leeve and go deeper and i think i wil so i will and poor me and poor me and deer god it hurts it hurts... It hurts... IT HURTS!
Sorry, I was out of town all day Saturday. But this week is my Spring Break, so the judging should be up in a few days.
815 words, is that okay?
I'm keeping strict on the new limit, so no.
Judge this version. Fixed some grammatical and spelling errors in a few parts where they aren't intended.
Cave
Just dead bones walking now. Just a bit of withered flesh suspended on an animated frame. Not too long now, and I'll join the others.
Don't know where anyone else is. Don't know where anything else is. Hell, I don't even know where I am... Which is funny, because I swear I used to know. It was me and Mark and Paulina and we had all decided to...
I don't know. But I didn't want to. But they wanted to and made me and yelled at me and hurt my feelings. Now they've gone and left me here in this cave and I've only got enough supplies to last a few days, and they're in poor enough condition.
The supplies' condition? Sh!t, what about my condition?
Poor me...
---
just me now. the darkness is starting to come in and my lamps are failing and i don't know what to do. ink in my pen is running out too so i'll keep it brief. i can hear something moving around out there, probably just some bats or some dumb animal.
yeah... bats...
but mark and... and... mark hasn't shown up and i'm still waiting and still hating him for dragging poor me to this hell hole.
shhhh! shhhhh! gotta be quiet, gotta stop writing because they can hear me scratching on the paper with my pen.
---
poor me poor me poor me why did he drag poor me here and leave me and join them and leave poor me here now im hurt and poor me and poor me and i can hear them coming and fluttering and whispering and talking and it hurts my head and the darkness is quiet and so quiet and it hurts to hear and shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhh i can hear them and they know im snitching and they dont like it but its too late now and the cave knows too and shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
---
gotz ta b queit so i kan heer them wizper to mee wat i want to heer bcuz i lik it and the darknis is nise and luvlee and preshis and the muzic wants me to leeve and go deeper and i think i wil so i will and poor me and poor me and deer god it hurts it hurts... It hurts... IT HURTS!
I'm keeping strict on the new limit, so no.
Dangit. *removes 15 words from random places* This makes it so much harder, and the story flows less well.
My house is small. It's nothing much more than a door, three walls, and a roof wedged up against a cliff on the mountain. It's windy here. Anya's afraid that the house will blow away, but I always reassure her that it won't. However, it's cold as well. The roof sags with the snow, and flakes drift in on the wintry wind through the cracks around the floor and around the warped glass of the windows.
Today it snowed even more, small flecks drifting from the ceiling. Neither of us wants to go out today, but what has to be done gets done.
We need more food. No question about it. The hole we dug in the ground, packed the fruit and honey in with snow, is just about empty. We're talking a few grapes and a rotten-looking pear no one wants to touch.
I rolled over and woke up Anya. Anya's small, but is excitable. She has silvery hair to her waist, and a strange passion for the theft that keeps us alive. I just prefer a quick job, in and out and done.
But on the inside, I want to learn. I can read; I'm not uneducated. But we're far away, and whenever a scrap of newsprint falls into my hands, I devour it. Anya looks down on me for this.
But back to the point. Food.
Anya grabbed a ragged jacket and we piled onto the long board, sledding down the mountainside. The board cut the snow, spraying frothy whiteness into our faces. Anya let out a shriek of delight.
Then, inevitably, the ride ended. I rolled off, tugging Anya with me, and the board continued barreling down the slope.
The village bustled with uncharacteristic activity. We slid into the crowd, seeing a young man, a trader by the looks, selling information.
My heart raced at the thought of all the words to be read, and before I know it Anya'd left me behind, heading for a fruit vendor. Anya's good at stealing. People take one glance at her innocent face and trust her.
Their mistake.
I drifted towards the man. He casted me and my rags a glance and assumed I had no trade. This time, I did.
A week ago, a caravan bustled through town. I slipped up next to a woman, dug my hand into her pocket, and pulled out a mek; a leathery band and a crystal disk.
Anya disapproved of me taking the risk, but she always takes risks, so why shouldn't I?
"What do you want?" asked the man without looking up. "And don't think I won't notice you stealing."
Offended, I proffered the device and pointed at several newsprints that caught my eye. I wanted to know more about the world, but we were secluded in the mountains. No news passed to us.
The man was goggling at the device, and after a stunned silence, ripped it from my palm. "I know you," he whispered to the machine.
I waited patiently, organizing the papers I wanted into a pile. Anya would doubtless be cross about me 'wasting my time on the learned men's kuld.' But I wanted, no, needed, to know. It was hunger, more real than the physical one gnawing my gut.
The man twisted a knob and the crystal surface lit up, revealing a little hologram of a young woman. I gasped. I'd never seen such tech. Another sign of my ignorance. "Averakade," whispered the young man, and such was the emotion in his eyes that I felt as if I were trespassing. The people behind me grumbled about the delay.
He snapped the watch shut and asked me in rough tones, "Where did you get this?"
I lifted one shoulder. That's a secret. If he knew I was a thief, he'd probably throw me in jail. And then Anya would starve without me. She always goes for the wrong targets when she steals.
But the man grabbed my shoulders and shook me to punctuate his words. "Where...did....you...get...this?"
I cleared my throat and said, "A lady and her group came through town last week."
His face softened. "She's so close..." Then he closed the machine. "Here. Take them. Take them all." He shoved the papers in my direction, and I gathered them up with glee. "And," he murmured, "so you understand me..." He pressed another paper into my palm, and then collapsed his vendor, leapt on a sure-footed horse, and sped away.
People grumbled more, but I was flying inside.
Finally, words, after the longest period in which I had nothing to read, and all the scraps were memorized. Here were ample answers to all my questions. Forgetting everything, the people around me, the freezing weather, even Anya with the food, I sat down and began to read.
That is such a great story, you are an excellent writer.
Nice job=)
Too bad I am not a judge....
Sometimes I wonder if I should've become a police officer instead of a private investigator. It'd pay better. My uncle'd have a reason to brag. Also, I wouldn't be up at o'dark thirty skulking about strange neighborhoods like a common sneak thief. Still, money's money and being related to your landlord can only help so much.
It's cold out here and hard to see. I'm seriously starting to wish my car wasn't still in the shop. A flashlight would be helpful, too, but neighborhood watch might report me to the police for shining a light in people's backyards. They might do that anyway, though. Yeah, I'm trying to find out why your pets are going missing, thanks a lot.
There's a sound by someone's garage or shed. I tense up. Circling around to get a better look, I see a pair of eyes shining in the dim light. Movement triggers a set of automatic floodlights and I can see it better. A dog, and a big one at that. I back away, but the way it's growling suggests I've been spotted. The way I back into something solid suggests I may be in trouble.
Wait, this is a person, not a wall. Someone's left hand is on my my right shoulder with a knife in their right. I am honestly scared right now. That fear mixes with confusion when he speaks.
"Move, please."
He shoves me hard to the pavement. I push myself up to catch sight of him lunging at the dog, which is growing bigger and less doglike by the second. The noise of the fight is mostly snarling and... oh, good god. He's laughing while he fights. I dive behind a dumpster as they move my way.
I don't have a gun or any other way of defending myself. That thing's going to kill me after it gets done with that nutjob. My uncle always said this job might kill me. I just never thought he'd be right.
I need to run. Now.
Moving out from behind the dumpster, a scream catches my attention. The nutjob is dancing around the... werewolf, I suppose, dodging its attacks. His knife catches the light every so often. As the fight continues, the blade grows bloody. I can't bring myself to look away from the spectacle.
Nutjob is winning the fight.
I finally remember myself and run for it, not stopping until I reach a bus stop several blocks away. Collapsing on the bench, I fumble with my mobile. Adrenaline's left me shaky, but I manage to dial for a taxi. I consider calling the police, but the thought of trying to pick that man out from a lineup gives me second thoughts.
I didn't see him well enough to remember his face, but I'm gonna be dreaming about that knife of his for days.
(Oops, how'd I miss that first indent? Reposting without any other alterations.)
~~~~~
Sometimes I wonder if I should've become a police officer instead of a private investigator. It'd pay better. My uncle'd have a reason to brag. Also, I wouldn't be up at o'dark thirty skulking about strange neighborhoods like a common sneakthief. Still, money's money and being related to your landlord can only help so much.
It's cold out here and hard to see. I'm seriously starting to wish my car wasn't still in the shop. A flashlight would be helpful, too, but neighborhood watch might report me to the police for shining a light in people's backyards. They might do that anyway, though. Yeah, I'm trying to find out why your pets are going missing, thanks a lot.
There's a sound by someone's garage or shed. I tense up. Circling around to get a better look, I see a pair of eyes shining in the dim light. Movement triggers a set of automatic floodlights and I can see it better. A dog, and a big one at that. I back away, but the way it's growling suggests I've been spotted. The way I back into something solid suggests I may be in trouble.
Wait, this is a person, not a wall. Someone's left hand is on my my right shoulder with a knife in their right. I am honestly scared right now. That fear mixes with confusion when he speaks.
"Move, please."
He shoves me hard to the pavement. I push myself up to catch sight of him lunging at the dog, which is growing bigger and less doglike by the second. The noise of the fight is mostly snarling and... oh, good god. He's laughing while he fights. I dive behind a dumpster as they move my way.
I don't have a gun or any other way of defending myself. That thing's going to kill me after it gets done with that nutjob. My uncle always said this job might kill me. I just never thought he'd be right.
I need to run. Now.
Moving out from behind the dumpster, a scream catches my attention. The nutjob is dancing around the... werewolf, I suppose, dodging its attacks. His knife catches the light every so often. As the fight continues, the blade grows bloody. I can't bring myself to look away from the spectacle.
Nutjob is winning the fight.
I finally remember myself and run for it, not stopping until I reach a bus stop several blocks away. Collapsing on the bench, I fumble with my mobile. Adrenaline's left me shaky, but I manage to dial for a taxi. I consider calling the police, but the thought of trying to pick that man out from a lineup gives me second thoughts.
I didn't see him well enough to remember his face, but I'm gonna be dreaming about that knife of his for days.
Any estimate when the short stories for "sliver of silver" will be evaluated?
Along with a bunch of other recent projects, I've gotta write a speech due in 9hrs. I've got a good chunk of the judging done, so maybe this weekend.
Okay, just glad that the thread hasn't gone forgotten :]
Along with a bunch of other recent projects, I've gotta write a speech due in 9hrs.
I feel your pain on this, I've done quite a few last second projects and speeches lol. Good luck with it all an such!
Hello friends, this entry is for [b]Ample of Answers/b]. Feel free to let me know what you think of the story on my profile. Read and think!
Sometimes I pretend I am a leaf. Slowly floating about in a cool summer breeze. My friends the trees wave lightly, with their yellow-blue leaves. I want to touch them, yet Iâll leave the leaves to leading a quiet life. Just like yestertime, when it was the past. Ah well, the past has passed, and I pretend the present has presented itself to me. Juxtaposed. Such a fine word, such a lovely sound. Such a mellow literary wind with which to leave the whiteness of my cloudy mind alone.
My grande garden is spacious and the pluckings are plenty. Ample saturation for such a sorrow stomach. The apple of my thoughts is ripe yet it must fall from the trees by itself, not by demand of some pulling force. Reality must awake my philosophy, not necessity. The grass is yellow-blue, the oranges are yellow-red. All by the hard labor of my broken body.
I lie in the miniature trees, for that is what grass is, next to my wheelchair. The hottest time of the day is slowly reaching its climax. Slowly scorching the soil, the sun stands atop the skies, so suffer I must. No climate control in the Garden of Eden. No air-conditioning in clouded heavens. I would like some water, but my hands canât reach the plastic bottle. Or some fruit, but the trees are tall towers. I spilled the glass, silly me.
It does not hurt, but neither is it comfortable: my awkward self-invoked position. I reached too high, disregarding my own limits, and paid the consequence. I should have been a little closer to the tree, then to lean forward and enjoy that nice refreshment which they call healthy.
The flares of light are stinging their way through me.
I see a man walking towards me, he walks barefoot. Even though I know he touches the grasses, he seems to float. He stops moving just out of my reach. I try to touch his hands, I cannot grab them. Too far. He begins to speak: âAt this moment of hardship, you must persist.â.
This man is giving me the strength to endure the solar rays which punish my weary skin.
âWho are you, to help me in my time of need?â, I ask. The barefoot man replies: -âIt is for you to decide. You only receive that which you gave long ago in a garden more infested. Nor time, nor place will make your deeds forgotten; good or bad.â
âThen give me what I deserve"
I'll give it a shot. What the hell. This is for Ample Answers.
---
Without any regard for society I smashed through the front door and blurred to the couch. The pounding of pain radiated from my entire body; my tools were without any form of remorse, and my answering machine shrieked with annoyance. Eventually I decided to end that unrelenting scream of the machine.
The answering machine greeted me with a cheery, yet hypocritical, beep. Contrasting to the norm, I somehow had a cumulative of 6 new messages, though 4 of them were from pass days. I had been very irresponsible with checking her and she was irresponsible with giving me any type of rest. The darn speaker was broken from some Michelob that I had spilled on it a few weeks earlier, so I had to hold the goddang handset to my ear.
At that exact moment, time absolutely froze. The very first decibel of sound emanating from the unrelenting machine caused all life to go to hell. Suddenly, everything in the room melted. The normal smell of rotten food and moldy clothing vanished. Nothing mattered at that exact moment, because I finally had the message I was waiting for.
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