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Short Story contest entries are shared here…Enjoy

Alive
© 2009 Cacy Ann Minter

I didn’t know where I was when I woke up. I was aware of a pressing sensation on my chest, but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I tried to look around and realized my field of vision was limited to the area directly in front of me. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, or even swivel my head from side to side. I heard voices speaking frantically, but it was as if they were off at a long distance, as if they were at least a football field away. Other than the slight pressure on my upper body, I had no sensation or feeling whatsoever, other than a kind of heaviness I figured was just my brain coping with the paralysis I seemed to be experiencing.

I could see an open expanse of sky so I assumed I was lying prone outside of my car. I thought back as far as I could remember, but for the moment was just drawing a blank. Suddenly, the hazy form of a woman flashed into my view, moving just as quickly out of my range of sight as she had entered. Waiting patiently, I saw her hover in my line of vision once more, flashing a penlight into both of my eyes. At the time I didn’t think about why that bright flash of light didn’t blind me or cause me to blink, but I would later come to know why.
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Kaylee’s Quarter
© 2009 – Rebecca Laskowitz

Kaylee grasped her mother’s hand as they made their way up the icy stone walkway. Snow covered the edge of the path where flowers usually blossomed during the spring. She watched her step so as not to fall and ruin her new pink puffy coat. It was her first Christmas present of the year from her parents. Even though Christmas Eve wasn’t until tomorrow night, the frigid weather allowed for Kaylee to receive her coat a few days early.

While one gloved hand clung desperately to her mother, the other held just as tightly onto Bunny. Bunny went everywhere with Kaylee since she was two. The stuffed rabbit’s ears were tattered from months of teething, and his yellow coloring faded from hundreds of journeys through the washing machine. Kaylee held him by the ears and raised her arm just high enough to keep his fluffy bottom from dragging on the cold, wet ground.

After making her way up the front steps, Kaylee turned around to watch her father carry their bags. Her Hello Kitty duffle bag stood out against her parents’ gray luggage. She wondered why grownups chose such boring colors.

Kaylee spun around at the sound of the front door opening. Her grandmother’s face had her usual smile stretching from ear to ear. Kaylee loved her grandmother’s smile. It was always sincere and her teeth were the brightest shade of white.

“Hi, dearies,” she exclaimed as she stepped aside to let her children enter the warm house. The smell of apple pie and sweet potatoes filled Kaylee’s nostrils the instant she crossed the threshold. Holiday spirit was palpable in her grandparents’ house.

As her grandmother leaned down to take off her coat, Kaylee’s grip on Bunny remained firm.
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The Final Fortress
© 2009 – Rebecca Laskowitz

There wasn’t much time left. Philip knew this. The entire village knew as well. What did they have? Hours? Very unlikely. More like minutes. Minutes that flew by with increasing speed as the enemy drew closer.

Philip looked at all they had accomplished. The walls were high and foreboding, but size was not enough to prevent annihilation. Strength was the key factor to guard against the great enemy, and Philip prayed to the gods that the fortress held strength.

The villages that had once stood here obviously lacked the strength needed to keep the enemy out. How many fortresses—great fortresses built with the blood and sweat of great men—had stood here before today only to be wiped away by one pass of the great enemy? There must have been hundreds, maybe even thousands, of towns that have been destroyed. Completely and utterly erased from the map.

There was no way for anyone to ever know the number of villages that had once stood here. The great enemy never left any traces of the civilizations it destroyed. There were no artifacts to be uncovered or histories to be remembered. It was as if they never existed and the great enemy was all there ever was.

But Philip knew better. He understood his village was not the first to face the great enemy, yet he prayed it would be the last. If he could defeat the great enemy, all other nations would bow down to him. They would come to him for protection, for wisdom, and for alliance. He would gain the respect of all the world’s leaders. If he ever needed anything from anyone from anywhere, he would have no questions to answer. The thought was enough to make his chest puff up and his lips to form a triumphant grin.
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The Snake’s Slither
© 2009 – Christopher Brancato

To most people it was just another Monday, but this wasn’t the case for a selected few. The day started like any other for Mike Johnson. Mike would wake up, organize his attire for the day on his bed in a very civil manner, jump in the shower, get dressed, and head downstairs to read the paper over an oversized cup of coffee. Mike was glancing through the pages before approaching an article that seemed oddly familiar. The caption read “Five Car Pileup Leads to the Death of a Police Officer.” The reason why this article seemed so familiar to Mike was because Mike happened to pass by this ghastly scene as it occurred the night prior on the way home from the office, but was stricken with fear, that he impulsively continued en route.

Mike had noticed that the accident was pretty severe from his rearview mirror. At the bottom of the article it stated, any witnesses please make yourself present at the Mulberry Courthouse on Monday, May 31st at 3:30 P.M. Mike was frightened at first, but felt that it was necessary for him to attend. Mike went into the office like usual at 8:30, and informed his boss that he would have to leave early to attend a court case. Mike’s boss asked him “Did you know anyone in the accident?” And Mike replied “Yeah, something like that.” The day dragged on, and Mike grew anxiously nervous to appear at the courtroom. By the time 3:00 hit, he bolted for the door and made his way to the Mulberry courthouse. Upon entering the large stony building, in the waiting room he noticed a few people sitting. Judge Dibiase walked by and gave a solemn “hello” to Mike, in which Mike replied “hiya” nervously. Mike somewhat knew Judge Dibiase because Mike happened to be an attorney that had dealt with him in the past. A real stickler Mike viewed Judge Dibiase as being. Mike then introduced himself to the few people who were seated outside of the courtroom. The group of people held a mix of occupations. There was a physician, a teacher, a professor, and a nurse. Mike had asked why they were all present, and they all stated that they were involved in the accident. The physician then decided to ask Mike “Why are you here? You weren’t involved in the accident?” This question caught Mike completely off guard, in which he awkwardly responded, “I knew the police officer he had died at the scene.” The physician then immediately apologized.
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The Lady of the Fountain
© 2009 – Amy Priddy

George woke up that morning with a splitting headache and found himself in a whirlwind of confusion. He rubbed his eyes and seemed to glare back at the sunlight pouring through the shutters. George hated the sunlight and almost everything else that morning entailed. He flopped out of bed, put on a worn out blue robe and tied it around his sagging midsection. After his wife died he had promised himself that he would work on his appearance, but the thought of actual work made him queasy. He went to the mirror and frowned at the wrinkles around his eyes and meticulously tried to rub them away with his finger. It didn’t work, of course, and his face continued to hang there lifelessly.

The chirping of the morning birds woke him from his trance and his bottled up anger started to boil within his body. Those damn birds, he thought. I hate them. Not everyone in the world likes to hear the sweet chirping of birds in the morning. His face reddened in anger at the sound of their perfect melodies and he turned to throw a shoe at the open window. George’s hand quickly fell toward the ground, his eyes opening wide in fear as he caught the glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of his eye. The shadows quickly gathered in the room, pushing the older man to a corner where he shook in fear. He remembered his walk by the park the night before and the fun he had throwing pennies into a fountain with a little boy. The boy told him to make a wish, but the man didn’t listen and upset the woman spirit that lived within the statue of the fountain. The boy grew very upset with him and viciously pointed his finger at the old man, threatening him.

“You didn’t make a wish? Why would you do that?” the boy questioned.

“Son, it’s just pretend. This isn’t real and she isn’t real,” George said as he pointed to the lifeless statue.
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Too Low For Dinner
© 2009 – Bryan Kaminsky

Dark clouds spanned the early afternoon sky as Edward walked out of the back door of the storage room of a florist. Edward was wearing a black cloak, ripped black jeans, and a black shirt. Edward liked the color black because it absorbed every spectrum of light, and he liked to absorb any information he could obtain or observe.

He was carrying a rare plant which most people do not think of owning, growing, or planting. It was a carnivorous plant. Its appearance is similar to the ones people think of being located in jungles. It had a stem, a big mouth with teeth which could snap, and thorns. It was small though, smaller than the pictures seen of them in a jungle habitat.

Edward approached his car, a black sedan with lightly tinted windows. He owned a black car for the same reason he wore black clothes. He got behind the wheel and placed the plant on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Edward thought to himself as he did each step, “put key in ignition, start engine, move stick, pull out, and drive.” He drove seven miles to his apartment in a neighboring town.

Upon arrival he parked the car, got out, hid the plant under his cloak, and walked to his room. Along the way someone asked what he was hiding under that cloak of his. He grunted and responded, “An artist does not reveal his work.”
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The Adventures of LaBertha Johnson
© 2009 Akilah C. McDaniel

The Beginning
Imagine a nice neighborhood with somewhat quiet streets and nice neat little houses with nice, manicured little yards. Now we will zoom in on one house in particular. This house is a small red-brick one with a dark red door. As we look through the kitchen window, we will see a black woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, drinking a cup of tea while waiting for her toast to toast in the toaster. Just as she turned to get a jar of jelly from the refrigerator the toast began to burn and smoke began to float up from the faulty appliance. By the time that she finally turned back around with the jar in hand, the smoke was pouring from the malfunctioning toaster. She gasped and ran to the dishrack to grab something that would pull the burning bread from the toaster. She grabbed a fork and used it to pry the now charcoal out. But as soon as the wet metal touched the still plugged in toaster…ZZZZZZZ. LaBertha Johnson got a jolt that would forever change her life.

It was her luck that Mrs. Snooker, her neighbor, walked in the back door.
“Oh dear,” She whispered and immediately unplugged the toaster. Now that LaBertha was free of the electricity, her body slumped to the floor. “Honey, are you alright?” she asked her obviously unconscious neighbor. She bent down and checked the young woman’s pulse and found that she could barely feel it. Mrs. Snooker shuffled to the phone and dialed 911.
Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance pulled into the driveway and two paramedics rushed a gurney through the door that Mrs. Snooker held open. Within five, the ambulance pulled away from the little brick house.
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In the Blink of an Eye
© 2009 Cacy Ann Minter

Franky couldn’t pinpoint the exact day he first saw the creature. He guessed he’d always had a feeling that something in his existence wasn’t quite right, but he never could put his finger on it. And so he went about his usual boring daily routines, battling the endless flow of commuters to his dead-end job. Franky had become so proficient at purchasing the minuscule parts for his company’s printed circuit boards that he usually only contributed about twenty to thirty minutes of actual work before surfing the web for the remainder of the day. Following another uneventful day perched in front of a hypnotizing monitor inside of his tiny green cubicle, Franky would once more fight his way through traffic, only to return to an empty, sad little studio apartment. His only company was a rat (whom he dubbed Mr. Squeakers) that occasionally shuffled about inside the walls of the tenement, much to his landlord’s chagrin.

It was only after numerous months of this ho-hum life that Franky realized something special was happening to him. He had gotten up at a woefully early hour (as usual), showered and shaved (yawn), then was turning to head towards his closet when he got the distinct impression that he was not alone in the apartment. He halted in his steps at the threshold of the bathroom, swiveling his head from side to side, scanning the tiny abode for any minute disturbance. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he took a single step into the combined kitchenette/bedroom and was shocked to see a tiny red “man” balanced on the edge of the cracked formica countertop. Gasping audibly, he blinked long and slow, and the apparition disappeared. Unnerved by the ethereal presence, he covered his heart with his right hand, and strode over to the counter. He gingerly swiped his hand across the surface, and noted that the countertop felt unusually warm where the apparition has appeared, as if a hot pan had just been removed from the countertop.

“Don’t loose it now, Franky-boy”, he muttered to himself. Then he turned back towards his closet and proceeded to dress for another unremarkable day at the office. Unknown to him, Franky would never have another unremarkable day for the rest of his life.
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The Darkeness of Past
© 2009 Courtney Lyn Blystone

The streets of Kyoto were dark and not a single lamp nor house was lit. It seemed rather strange that there would be not a single soul in the town. Kat Myamouto was on her way home in the southern corner, when a solid black figure moved passed her. It created such a presence it nearly pushed her off her own two feet. Kat was startled feeling her red hair rise up and swish against her back. The figure crept its way up to what appeared to be a stone tower or maybe a castle. This tower had many windows, and like most of the town no light resonated from it. Her jade eyes gleamed with fear as she saw another young girl her age on top of the tower. It caused a sensation of chills to creep and crawl up her spine and down her arms. She had the feeling, either this was the wrong night to be lost in a familiar city or she was being watched.

“Such a pretty girl..” The figure said. Its ice blue eyes gazed down at Kat. It had a plan for this newcomer.

Kat kept on walking down the street in nervous. Her heart pounding fast like she had just ran a mile in a jog or marathon. Her red hair became damp as sweat dripped down her face past her green eyes. She could taste the sweat as it moved down her cheek, following it down to her red lips. She was feeling more and more discomfort, walking, faster, faster still, and faster yet. The figure glares more, chuckling to herself lightly as she sharpened the knife within her hands. When all of a sudden, Kat had made it to the tower. ‘This is not an illusion…’ she thought, as the figure came down from the tower and transformed again, into a dog. It looked so innocent as it grabbed Kat’s attention and lead her through the threshold into the tower. The dog-like persona lead Kat to a staircase where she sat with it. It looked at her and began to speak, “Hello young girl.” Kat looked at it like it was another illusion to lure her elsewhere rather on the path to the safe part of town. She shook her head, pretending she heard nothing, because this was becoming a weird nightmare. The dog spoke again, this time very stern, “Hello girl, you know you are one with your own sixth sense.” Thunder began to rumble and echo throughout the tower as it did so outside. Kat’s eyes widened at what she wanted to believe was a dog, but still refrained from saying nothing. There was a loud crash followed by a bright blue light. It had just now gotten worse, it had began to storm.

“Um, I guess I could be. Where has everyone gone in this town?” Kat stated as firm as she could without showing signs of nervousness.
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The Slope of War
© 2009 Yael K. Miller

He was a scout.

He could have been an officer but he made his choice years ago. He had no interest in being an officer and his job as a scout kept him as far away from officers as possible and for a majority of the time. He had been in this business for a great many years as evident from the braid and stripes on the underarms of his Blue uniform.

Years ago, long before his birth, it was decided that ranking should not be so visible. It could be seen now only if a person stood right in front of another person and even then you could still prevent people from seeing the ranking. It was a good system and he enjoyed the rare occasions when he got to flash his underarms. This was one of those times.

He had been called to the Blue command tent. As he entered the camp he saw how few of them had survived. He could see the aftermath of a very recent battle. A defeat no doubt. He, of course, had been somewhere else scouting. He followed the discreet signs to the command tent – an old code that had never been broken. Or so he assumed as he had never heard otherwise and never heard about a command tent being specifically attacked.

He flashed his rank markings and gave his name to the guard outside the command tent. The guard had just passed the enthusiasm of youth and had not yet settled into the comfort of veteranhood.
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Honesty Is
© 2009 Aaron Eugene Lee

Frosted Flakes, or Wheaties. Cheerios are all gone: only two little o’s remain. The boxes are full of words like “Best” and “Brightest”. “Be all you can be”, that’s our army’s slogan. Tiger Woods ate the Wheaties, I wanna be like him. The tiger says his are “Grrrrrrreat!” I gotta be the best, brightest and fastest. And I wanna have my breakfast with some toast. The toaster is on the other side of the table. A real problem. I groan, and then come to my senses. I grab the small card table and wrench it sideways, knocking some silverware and the salt shaker on the floor. I made a mess, but I get the toaster.

Since my wife can’t help me, I help myself to the bread cooking machine. It takes too long to heat up so I pop it early and just stuff my face with cold rye. It is cold and it is rye. It is also dry. My mouth is full of this dry rye bread – I chew it loudly and my wife just scoffs.

I think she lied to me last night. I think she lied for me last night. Last night in bed I dreamed of rye bread. This morning has fulfilled my wild dreams of the night before. Have you ever woken up from a dream just to have the dream fulfilled?

I had to.
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NO SCHOOL FOR MY KIDS
© 2009 Nan E. Fagan

Twenty minutes later, after finishing breakfast on a warm and sunny Friday morning in mid-April, Kathy DiScala was getting her kids ready for homeschool, when she suddenly heard a knock on her door. “I wonda who that is this early in the mornin!” Kathy asked in her heavy Brooklyn accent as she went to answer the door. She was wearing a bright yellow bathrobe with a matching towel over her head, as she called out to her two kids, “Jake, Kelly, get started on your schoolwork right now!”

“Mrs. DiScala?” a huge burly bald man had asked.

“Yeah! Whatta ya want!” Kathy responded sarcastically.

““I’m Joseph Green, the attendance officer for the Santa Monica School District. I’d like to come in and talk to you.”

“What about? I’m busy right now!” Kathy once again responded sarcastically.”

“I want to talk to you a bout your kids. They’ve not been in school for the last month. Why aren’t you sending them to school?”

“Because me and my husband don’t wanna. We’re homeschoolin our kids. We did it in Noo Yawk and now we’re doin here in California. Here, why doncha come in and I’ll tell ya!” Kathy responded as she let Mr. Green in to her modest Spanish-style house.
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