Story Institute Imagine, Enhance, & Grow Your Stories

Contributions from writers in our poetry and short story contests…and, writers who just want to share their stories…

Holocaust
© 2009 – Hannah Ruth Steadman

The bluebird chirps of love tonight
As two form one in close embrace.
Love’s power strains beyond all might
To ease the ache of life’s hard race.
Vain words of hope he breathes this hour;
She sobs the more as daybreak comes.
A tyrant grasps them in his power,
And death will make them all succumb.
Hadassah wept, so Haman dies—
A consequence of God-heard prayer.
Yet no redeemer will arise
To save the sons of Isaac’s heir.
The couple clings for one last time.
Cold Auschwitz’s darkness lurks in sight
As now approach death’s gas and lime.
The bird’s song dies with dawn’s first light.

Dour Girl
© 2009 – Lianna Albrizio

Every morning she arises to a routine feeling of despair. She picks up a pen to begin to write, attempting to cleanse her mind of self-deprecating thoughts that bite. She puts on a black t-shirt to match her mood, and applies mascara called “blackout” to accent her mysterious eyes through which she regularly broods. She goes to drink a cup of black coffee to experience a euphoric high, but crashes to a hampering low, as the day goes by.

She gets a cigarette to add to the blackening of her lungs.

When she arrives at school and talks to someone new, her hazel eyes become eclipsed by dilation, comparable to her first drug experimentation. After inevitable rejection, she resigns to a dark place when she feels like nobody cares. She always feels in the dark when confused about her affairs– mostly because she refuses to see the bigger picture, or perhaps is just hindered by daunting bouts of depression that cloud up her mind like a pre-storm sky in winter.

When she steps outside to view a magnificent sky, the earth is splendidly bright, but she can’t seem to relish and take flight. The sunset is breathtakingly beautiful, yet all her somber mind allows her to sight is the subsidence of light, and an array of fading colors against a horizon that she will never reach. This sense of emptiness runs deep– day-in and day-out through which she stares down the abyss in her yearning heart that pleads, “let me out!”

When night falls into a starry evening and she falls back asleep, she closes her eyes and still can’t see. Black is dismal like me.

Who Are You?
© 2009 – Damien Livingston

Sometimes I question myself
When I begin to do things, I never done before
Is this maturity, am I bettering myself
Or is this post teen peer pressure where I following a flock
Who are you?
Sometimes you have to ask
Because people have motives
What are yours?
Is it to close every door left open by our ancestors?
Or, is it to break the frame
So that more people can have the opportunity to break free
From self arresting chains
Don’t confuse it, if you don’t use it you definitely lose it
So when will you change
From using words for gossip to creating beautiful stories
Filled with your soul and provide it
To other people as a real life object or testament
Of fall down, get back up, keep trying
Now tell me, who are you?
Are you the pen that continue to poison our history
With ignorance, disloyalty and murder
Or were you just the instrument of crime to put us down further
Well, now is the your time to stand for something
Other then your own selfish needs of fulfillment
You can become the pen that will one day write our future
Therefore, today I ask who are you?

My Lover, My Friend
© 2009 Crystal Robin Rose

Butterflies, goose bumps, even chills,
When I’m with you that’s how I feel.
Holding you tight oh so close,
Being a part of your life is what I love the most.
My eyes sparkle, my face glows,
How much you mean to me you’ll never know.
I love being a part of your world,
Everyday I feel like the luckiest girl.
You’re my man, my best friend,
The bond we have is impossible to end.
Deep thoughts, secrets told,
Sharing these feelings will never get old.
Being apart for a day feels like years,
You have helped me overcome my fears.
I love you like there’s no tomorrow,
Where ever you go I’ll follow.
You’re my soul mate, my better half,
You always know how to make me laugh.
Each fight made us who we are today,
The bond is stronger now nothing can stand in our way.
Thank you for loving me and everything you do,
But mostly thank you for being you.

The Machine: Time Driven
© 2009 Cathy P. Staley

Metal pieces,
The ocean breeze,
An open door,
As if to say, “Hello.”
The blood of man.
Stood up there,
And through his lips spoke to the world,
But throught the world is where his words now lay scatered.
Time passes by,
An old man died,
But not soon to be forgotten.
For in this man,
There was no fear,
To take a stand and to be heard.

Sickness
© 2009 Jamie Lynn Waters

Sickness is a sad thing,
Watching the color fade from your face,
Wondering how your yesterdays are,
Did you live it to the fullest,
Or was it just a mistake, regret, or nothing at all,
It could be today,
It could be tomorrow,
I’m not looking for the sorrow,
But if there never comes a tomorrow,
I want you to be satisfied with the life you lived,
Even though you still hold so much life,
It’s slowly slipping from you,
Somewhere out there, there is more to life for you,
Even though I prepare myself,
I’ll never be ready,
I got one brother and preparation will never be enough for that day,
Although words go unspoken amongst us,
I hope you know that there is a plan for you,
And if it be that you go before you want to,
You’ll forever hold a place in my heart,
The memories left will keep us connected,
And the life you left here will know your legacy.

Waver
© 2009 Heather Jo Besley

To move without effort
Elegance, ease
Wind tossed and light
Sweet spray of the sea
Perfect or poor
To wait? To leave?
Decide; abide
With a quivering lip
As the blue ocean sighs

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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Thoughts
© 2009 – Jamie Lynn Waters

Sitting here glancing out the window,
I see a cow in the field.
I watch the lonely cow grazing in the meadow,
Chomping away at the freshly grown grass.
It is not quite a gloomy day, yet not sunny either.
I wonder what that cow’s thinking and what her life story would be like.
Would it be a story of sorrow, survival of the fittest, bliss, a memory, or nothing at all?
As the cow wanders off, my mind drifts again.
All these thoughts keep running through my mind endlessly, unexplainable.
What is out there in this world for me?
I’ve seen so much wrong that I don’t know what’s right.
Unanswered questions.
Does life have no purpose, or is there a meaning to all these thoughts?
There is now an empty grazing field, no more lonely cows.
Just trees and no sunlight, now a gloomy day.
Does this mean something?
The thoughts are slipping away like the clouds and now I see a light.
I shall follow the road untaken and make my life my memories.
It won’t pass me by.

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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