Too Soon?

Sometimes I can't control my boundaries. I don't deny that I needed to be in court. One of the first steps in fixing a problem is admitting that there is a problem. At least, that's what they told me the last time I had a mix up with the cops.
I was ready for court. I had done it before, no problem. People will try to say that I was trying to get out of it. The way they say I did it though is so stupid, no one would really do that. Come on.
All I did was try to tell a joke.
The doc's say that I have a condition. Wizteluschuttes or something like that. Anyway, it means that I tell bad jokes at bad times. For example, telling a joke about Ebola in the middle of being asked questions by an, honestly, uptight judge. That man had no sense of humor.
It wasn't my fault. I have a condition. But did the cops see it that way? Hell, no. They treated me like a risk to the public. And because I embarrassed them so much, they said that I said I had Ebola. They're deaf as well as humorless.
Instead of blaming me for something I can't control, maybe you should get me to a doc. I have a condition after all.

Florida Man tries to avoid court appearance by claiming he has Ebola. - Washington Post

Stuck on You

                It’s just a coincidence that today she broke my heart. It has nothing at all to do with me showing up to apologize without any offering.

                Pure coincidence.

                I met Brita my first week at college, and though a lot has changed in the last four years (my major six times, my roommates three), Brita has always been there. We met in the Reitz Union building; she was buying a bag of chocolate chip cookies from a vending machine, and it was love at first sight. Over time, we occasionally argued, and we soon fell into a pattern:

                I would scream, and she would start to cry, then throw a textbook at me (gently, but it always reached me). I would stomp out of the room and she would slam the door behind me. Then, after fifteen minutes, I would knock on her door with a bag of chocolate chip cookies from the vending machine where we first met; the best cookies on campus. We would make up and watch Iron Man 2, and then everything would be back to normal.

                Except today.

                Today, I knocked on her door after the allotted time and tried to open my mouth to explain that I didn’t have cookies because I was down to the very last dollar to my name and the package got stuck on the coil, but she slammed the door in my face before I could say a word. This isn’t how it is supposed to work.

                All my anger at her for intentionally breaking my Taylor Swift vinyl gone, I reflect back on the years we have spent together. I know in my heart that I can’t live without her, and even though I am now flat broke, I will get those cookies for her if it is the very last thing I do.

                I run to the union building, flying past groups of high schoolers on tours and pushing my way through a drum circle. I see them now- the cookies. Really, they’re not so stuck… a gentle push should send them tumbling down to me. Glancing around to make sure nobody is judging too harshly, I sprint to the machine and shove my hand through the slot. The cookies taunt me just millimeters from my fingers. I consider giving up, but thinking of a life without Brita hurt worse than the damage I was doing to my shoulder trying to reach up just a little higher. I decide to stick my head in to give myself more room to reach, and now I have them in my hand- the cookies are mine! Brita will soon be mine! My future is entirely in the palm of my hand!

                My euphoria soon fades as I realize I can’t pull my head back out. I don’t remember how I managed to get this far into the machine, but neither twisting nor pulling is helping me get back out. Students passing by stop to take pictures as I glare. Someone nearby is on the phone with the police describing that everything from my shoulders up is stuck inside a vending machine. I imagine laughter on the other end and dread the headlines that I know will soon be coming to The Independent Florida Alligator:

                Florida Man Rescued from Vending Machine.

Round Up: Week 21

Last Week’s Prompt:

For the group of words, write around them to create a scene, story, or poem:

Bag, Handle, Glass, Date, Black, Walk

Kylie

I finished my story first this week! It's a Christmas miracle!

This week was dark, yeah, but really liked it. Since we had such a specific list of things to include, I wanted to focus pretty heavily on language rather than story, and I wanted to use the list of words in (possibly) unexpected ways. And without the benefit of a chorus of voices telling me whether or not they liked what I wrote, I will hesitantly yet strongly say that I think I did a good job. I really love my language in this one, and I feel like a success.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Amanda

As often happens close to finals week, I was in the midst of an existential crisis when I thought up the idea for the story. I watched Eat, Pray, Love a few weeks ago and decided it was a good enough movie to inspire you to do stupid, spontaneous things. So my character does just that; gets fed up with our society where you work so hard at a job you hate to keep living and working at the job you hate and decided to run off with a disappointingly non-Italian young man.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Korrin

Only one day late! Whoo, this is good.

Going on a date seemed like a normal way to think about the list of words. So that’s what I wrote, except with the twist at the end. I haven’t had the opportunity to write a spy story yet and I was really happy where the story went. For once I actually started the story knowing where it was going. Because I knew what I wanted I was able to be more vague and misleading in the beginning. At least that’s how I think it reads. Maybe I’m predictable.

I also intentionally made sure to not let the reader know who was the good guy. My character murdered a man, but maybe he was a terrible human being. Maybe she was an assassin. It is up to the reader to decide.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Next week’s prompt:

This week, we’re really getting into the spirit of Thanksgiving by writing about something I’m very grateful for: my favorite super being, Florida Man.

Find a news story/headline about the ever-entertaining Florida Man and write the true story behind the headline.

For those who are unaware of Florida Man, simply google the two words “Florida” and “man” next to each other and then read about all the crazy people that get in trouble in Florida. And if you choose a Florida Woman story instead, I won’t be angry.

Little Black Dress

                I was so nervous.  Tonight was a big deal and if I messed up, not only would I be completely embarrassed, but my future would be stalled. Again.

                I had so many chances before now. Austin, Mack, Patrick, all failures. I did not want to go through that again. I had to succeed.

                My heels clicked on the street. I was walking towards the gallery that I was supposed to find my date in. It was one of those standard things “I’ll be the one wearing a blue cravat.” And I am supposed to find him with just that. Who wears a cravat anymore anyway? My brown coat was not enough to keep the wind out. It was late March, and winter clung to the wind, refusing to leave. I could feel my black dress flutter where my coat wasn’t long enough to cover the whole thing. My legs were freezing and I couldn’t even feel the ball of my feet where the thin bottoms of my shoes didn’t quite keep the cold from oozing up through the cement.

                As I continue my walk down the long city block I pass a skyscraper with giant glass windows. I think it was some kind of hotel, I could see a lobby through the dark glass. I could then see my reflection in the windows. I was dressed nicely, for my date. My dark green heels stood out against the dark night. I clutched my purse handle tight. If my bag got stolen, I wouldn’t be able to make it through tonight.  I was in a nice part of the city, but creeps can be anywhere. Just because a place is nice, doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen. I knew that better than most.

                As I climb the stairs to the gallery I start to undo my coat. Someone would end up taking it from me anyway. Which was a shame, I really liked this coat. I give my coat to the staff at the door and move in to find him. I came towards the end of the gallery’s open times. It should close in about 30 minutes. I move through the displays, half glancing at the art, searching the room for the man I came to find. He was the owner of this gallery, so I knew he would be around here. I kept moving, I saw the office door in the back corner. It was strategically placed. All the best, and most expensive art, were in this area, so that anyone who had business with the gallery had to go past the art they wanted most to sell.

                He was standing outside the door talking to the last customer in the building. I slowly moved forward, not wanting to interrupt the conversation, but anxious to be with the man. I held my bag closer.

              When the customer left, I put on my best smile and moved toward the owner.

“Well, hello my dear,” he softly said. Apparently, even though we were the only two people in the gallery, a quiet voice was still necessary. He looked me up and down. I couldn’t blame him, this dress was particularly alluring, just like it was supposed to be. I smiled back at him as I reached my hand into my bag and clutched at the instrument that was my last chance.

                The man moved closer, reaching to put an arm around my waist. No personal space this one.

                “Can I help you?” His voice held what was obviously lust for me.  Prick.

                I smiled at him anyway, I had to keep it together. “You most certainly can.”

                I drew my hand out of my bag quickly and pulled the trigger. The shot was quiet thanks to the silencer on the barrel. He collapsed and I started walking towards the office door. I pulled out my cellphone from my bag as I placed my gun back in it.

                “Target eliminated.” I spoke into the phone. There was a back door out the office that would be my exit.

                “You have finally not disappointed me. Come back and we will discuss the next mission.” The manly voice said in my ear.

                “You owe me a new coat.” I said as I hung up and walked away. My heels click echoing in the alley. 

Eat Pray Love

                My eyes burst open suddenly, and for an instant I wondered what had awakened me. Then I turned over on the couch and saw Trina standing over a broken bowl- the third this month, I swear. I rolled my eyes, turned back over, and tried my best to pretend I was still in a drunken, sleeping stupor as an excuse to let the clumsy excuse for a roommate clean up after herself. I tried to grasp at memories of the night before; I had some feeling that I did something highly important, but grasping at thoughts muffled by a bottle of wine was like trying to find a hipster at a Justin Bieber concert.

                I waited for the booming echo of glass being dragged across the linoleum and the slam of our tiny apartment’s front door before rolling back to my side, still deep in thought. I saw the dvd case sitting on my coffee table, and slowly the memories and my resolve started drifting back, making ripples rage through my brain.

                Eat Pray Love. It was one of those movies I didn’t even think I owned, but being temporarily locked out of Trina’s Netflix account, I went digging through the boxes under my bed, pushing away movies I must have liked enough at some point to blow $20 on each, until I pulled out the hackneyed feel-good movie, shrugged, and sat down with a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream. If I was going to be cliché, I might as well go big.

                The magical combination of strawberry cheesecake ice cream, white wine, and Julia Roberts lit a fuse in my mind, and I remembered spending much of the night plotting, dreaming, and pacing as the movie played on repeat in the background.

                My life was all wrong. Next week I was to turn 26; it was about time to get something right.

                I fumbled on the table in front of me, eventually finding the quickly scribbled list my fingers searched for. There it was, within my grasp. The list of things I dreamed of and exactly how to achieve each one. My courage faltered for a moment and I almost let myself settle back into my dreary existence I maintained for the sake of comfort, but then I looked at my disgustingly blonde hair in the mirror across from the couch, crumpled the paper, and ran to the shower.

                I hesitated with my hand on the shower handle, and then sprinted to my room to grab a pair of scissors. In the olden days, like last week, I would have carefully redressed before leaving the bathroom, but today was the start of a new me. Now I was daring, naked, and comfortable with it all. I took one last look at myself in the mirror before bringing the scissors to my eyes and hacking at the hair I detested so much, maintained by request of my so called boyfriend. If I cut it all now, I had to go to a hairdresser later to fix it. My courage mustn’t falter again.

                A quick shower, and I changed into my best dress; a small black number bought for my sister’s wedding. I ran to the nearest barber shop I knew of and let them make something of the mess I had made. Walking away, I checked a small box next to number 1 I left on my list:

1)      Do something Adam would hate to my hair

I smiled at my progress, then frowned at number two, shoving the list hastily into my bag. I decided to skip it for now, as there was no sense of me going to work on my day off simply to quit in the most dramatic way possible. I turned into a small, greasy restaurant on a corner and smirked as I thought of number three, just moments away from getting crossed off:

3)      Grow out of this stupid vegetarian phase

As I worked on that, I also started into number four:

4)      Start a blog, to freaking inspire people and shiz

As I tried to think of a name for my blog, I noticed a tall, handsome man walk through the door. Something about the way he carried himself caught my eye even more than his beautiful face, and when he noticed me staring, I was pleased to see that he smiled and stared back for a moment or two.

A quick introduction and hasty invitations, and I found myself headed to a park with the man (Piero… my heart melted at the sound) to go for a quick stroll. He complimented my hair, and I told him about Eat Pray Love and my plan to change my life.

“So like, I’m just so tired of working at a job I hate to maintain a life I hate. I mean, when does it end? When does happily ever after come?”

“You know,” Piero whispered in a voice with a surprising and slightly disappointing lack of an Italian accent, “You have a great point. I suffered through two years of college to suffer through four years of Architecture school, just to suffer through an internship and land a job I despise. I always fooled myself into thinking the next step would be better…”

“And it never is!” I practically shouted, so happy to be with someone who seemed to really understand and not just pretend to listen. “Everyone always keeps lists of what they want to do in life, right? Well, those things don’t just happen; you have to DO them.”

He slowly turned to me and asked “So… what’s next on that list of yours? How else are you changing your life today?”

I pulled out the list for good measure, not even scared to share something so personal with a stranger.

5)      Ask a stranger on a date, just on a whim

“Well, that’s easy enough,” he said as I told him “…because I was already planning on saying yes.” Before I fully comprehended what was happening, Piero was kissing me, and I was kissing him back. 

After what felt like an eternity but might have been only a few seconds, Piero pulled away, smiling. After a few blissful moments of silence, I finally whispered “Well…. What’s next on your list?”

He smirked. So Beautiful. I longed to kiss him again.

“I was thinking something along the lines of ‘hop in my car and drive far away with a stunningly beautiful and intuitive woman.’ How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” I smiled. “I think I could help you with that”

As Piero walked me to his car, I considered the possibility that he might rape and/or kill me, but I quickly tossed the thought aside and simply walked blissfully into the unknown future.

I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew it was better than where I had been. 

The Bus

She clutches the handle of her bag even tighter, folding it into herself as the bus jitters through another pothole. The tears rise to the surface again, and she pushes them back in fear. Although she is as transparent and fragile as glass, she will not let the others see her weakness. Another pothole. Another bang. A child cries and she winces. She can feel the energy pulsing in her core, and she curses it, pushing the bag further into herself as though she could replace what is in her now with the bag.

Her teeth grit together in an emotion that she does not know. For so long, she thought she had been numb to the fear that pervaded life in this part of town. Then this happened, and the fear once again tore through her in fresh new waves. It burned her, clawing at her from the inside out, charring her flesh. It had blackened her heart and thrown her into the void, a void she knew she would not escape from. She knows the emotion, now. They have been reacquainted, and while some say one is the loneliest number, she knows that it is three.

Another pothole. Another bang, although this time from outside the bus. She wishes she could walk towards it, walk into it, but she notes that she fears death just as much as she longs for it. The energy writhes in her again, and she cannot keep in the fear and the pain. A sob escapes her and the drunk a seat down from her swivels his head towards her and frowns. Even the drunk cannot abide her. If only he knew where she had been and where she was coming from.

She had come from a home where she had been taught to do better. To be better. She had come from what she had thought was a date. She had come from the side of town that the police lived in more than their own homes. She had come from a run down little government-funded building that had delivered the news, and while they smiled because of her lie, she felt the energy within her constrict in a death sentence. She was supposed to escape. She was supposed to be better. To do better.

The bus pulls to the side. It’s her stop, but her legs have forgotten how to move. The energy is pulsing; it is glowing, reminding her that it is there and that it will not leave, not unless she takes drastic measures. The doors have opened, but she finds that she can only stare at them as if from a great distance. The drunk gets off. Here, the drunk gets off, at the place where she was supposed to be. Her future. Her apartment. Her life.

And the glow reminds her that it was only supposed to be a date.

Round Up: Week Twenty

Last Week’s Prompt:

One word: Creepypasta.

Amanda

Just in time for Halloween, creepypasta stories! My two favorite types of creepypasta stories are medical experiments gone wrong and the sudden appearance of dark creatures. I attempted to write one of the former and I didn’t love it, so I tried my hand at writing from Death’s point of view. I found it sufficiently creepy with a bit of a twist ending, so I was proud of my work.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Korrin

I obviously don’t know what creepypasta is but I like my story all the same. My monster is definitely into hardcore curses. I picked the things that I would rather end up hospitalized for than have to deal with. My default setting is also to name things with Latin if I can’t come up with names. It’s a kinda fun default.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Kylie

I immediately knew as soon as I heard the prompt that I wanted to write about my favorite sassy gay supernatural murderer, Trenderman. The great thing about Trenderman is everything. He doesn't want to kill people, but he will for the greater good of fashion. Name me a more noble cause than that, I dare you. The humor in this piece is kind of meta--because seriously, what are the odds that you walk into Trenderman’s cute little shop and accidentally try to buy Crocs?

MY VOTE: Amanda

Next Week’s Prompt:

For the group of words, write around them to create a scene, story, or poem:

Bag

Handle

Glass

Date

Black

Walk

Protect Yourself

On every New Moon she comes. You will never know when she will get to you, only that eventually she will. New Moons are when the real monsters come out (seriously, what monster would come out when there is the most light at night. Superstitions). 

                I don’t want to worry you, but this is a message of warning. Surdo Fratriodi is not a being to be messed with. She wanders the world seeking victims. Looking into her eyes is enough to cause anyone to go into a state of shock from the terror. When she touches you, you and your children are cursed forever. The curse manifests in different ways, but the ones that I have heard about are never being able to go to school with pants on and hearing Justin Bieber music on a continuous loop. This monster is into some hard core stuff.

                The only way to protect yourself is to spin clockwise half a dozen times, spit on a white cat, sing the national anthem from a roof top, and send this message on. Don’t become one of the fallen, protect yourself and your future posterity. If enough of us fight Surdo Fratriodi will fade out of existence. 

Tacky

You’ve seen the shop before. At least, you think you have. You can’t remember when it opened or when you first noticed it, but looking at it now, your mind understands what your stomach does not. You have seen the shop before. Of course you have. It has been here for… It doesn’t matter. You have seen this shop in this spot before. This swaying, knotted feeling in your stomach means nothing, and you will prove it. You take a few quick steps forward and push open the door.

The shop is lit softly and quiet music plays in the background. It is soothing, you tell your stomach, which has managed to loop itself into an even tighter knot. It is soothing and refreshing, unlike the large department store you usually purchase clothing at. The shop does, in fact, sell clothing. Women’s to the left, delicate pink dresses hanging on the wall, fluttering as the air conditioning brushes along the hem. Men’s to the left, dark blazers mimicking the dresses on the far wall, but with more jagged motions. They are just dresses and blazers, you tell yourself, ignoring the pounding of your heart as you move towards a rack and begin to examine the clothes. There is nothing to be afraid of.

The absence of a sound catches your ear and you turn faster than you intended to, eyes wider than you intended. There is nothing but a few mannequins in the middle of the store and a glassy-eyed woman behind the cash register, an unwavering smile plastered on her face. Your skin prickles and you nod at her before turning back to the shirt you had been examining before you heard the whispering stop. No, not whispering. The song playing over the speakers simply changed. That was the blankness you heard. It certainly wasn’t whispering, and you certainly wish the pace of your heart would follow the music’s suit and pause.

There is a snicker--no, not a snicker. A snick. You must have dragged the hanger across the metal rack a little sharper than you intended. You tell yourself you’ll be more careful, even as you watch your hand begin to shake more violently.

“Finding everything all right?”

You jump away from the shop clerk, startled by her sudden appearance. Her large blue eyes are dull and glassy, despite her apparent youth. Your mother’s voice echoes in your head, urging you to smile and not to stare, but your body does not listen to you. Your head moves up and down in stuttering jerks as you stammer out a yes. She does not move, just stands there. Smiling. You attempt to smile back as your eyes dart towards the door. Perhaps your body was wise to warn you of this place.

She is still standing there, smiling distantly beyond you as you move hangers back and forth in an attempt to separate yourself from her. Your body’s screams have become too loud; logic cannot override the sense of hysterical fear creeping over you. There is no hiding your unease now, no trying to prove to yourself that this shop is harmless. It is a lost cause. But the woman still stands there, and if those dull eyes possessed the power to bore into something, they would be boring into you. If she stopped staring at you, you would be able to think clearly, but for now, all you can think about is leaving without embarrassing yourself.

Without looking, you grab a box from a shelf. You will buy this item so the woman stops staring at you, and then you will leave. It doesn’t matter what is in the box--you will never enter the shop again. You only wish to leave now and forever. Whatever is in the box will have to do.

You turn to the woman, smile, and say “I’ll be purchasing this. That’s all, thanks.”

Her smile does not falter as an enormous sigh seeps throughout the room, making your entire body shake. “Those,” a voice echoes. A voice that does not come from the woman. “Why does everyone choose those?”

Three things happen almost simultaneously. The woman’s eyes grow even wider, almost seeming clear for a second, as though they are screaming run, as her back arches hideously and a sound like a firecracker goes off. The scream that leaves your lips does not come from what the shop clerk has become now, though. The corpse--as you now realize she was the whole time--falls as a mannequin stands. He--he is a “he,” you know, because it sports one of the blazers that are on the wall--is faceless. The blank, white void looks at you, cocks its head, and the sigh echoes through the room again.

“This whole fabulous room, and you choose those,” he says, gliding over the woman’s body and heading straight for you. You are paralyzed as he shakes his head and reaches out a hand. “You’d think you’d all learn by now how tacky those are.”

The last thing you see as you fall is the box as it hits the ground, a single bright green foam shoe bouncing onto the tile.

The Guide

I never knew you existed before, but now you're all I can think about.

From the moment I saw you, something within me said "That's it! That's the one!" I was nervous because I have never been a guide before, but I know I am ready for this moment. The last thing I remember before dying was reading a small card, then looking up and seeing terrible red eyes peering into mine. Since this is my first time, I decided to do what my guide did for me.

You finally step outside your car and walk inside, stumbling a little on the icy sidewalk and peering tentatively at the icicles above. If I was able, I would laugh at the memory of my mother... or perhaps it was my grandmother... so long ago warning me of the deadly danger that icicles pose, but now I know better; that isn't how death works at all. You slam the door behind you, but I glide through confidently, for I know I am still invisible to your eyes.

You turn toward the bathroom, and I blush and choose not to follow. Instead, I explore your house and ponder on what sort of person you must be. I wonder if you will take this gracefully or filled with terror; I wonder if you are ready. I self consciously pull at my long black robe and glance again at the card I hurriedly wrote, making sure my writing is legible. As you exit the bathroom and head to the kitchen, I take my opportunity and lay the card gently on your table, where I know you must sooner or later notice it. Take your time, though, we are in no rush.

You hum "Bohemian Rhapsody" to yourself as you pull a frozen dinner from the freezer and pop it in the microwave. I consider starting a fire to make my first guiding experience more grand, but I think you would prefer it my way. I could almost feel an echo of my long-stilled heart as you turn around and fixate on my note. Peering around anxiously, you bend down to pick it up and read it. I get into place, because I know as soon as you read my name, you will be able to see me, and I must make myself terrifyingly presentable.

This is so exciting!

My name is Death. 
I am not the only Death, but one of many. See, most people think of death as falling asleep and waking up on another side, but that's not right at all. Death is like being pulled by your ankle deep into the depths of the oceans- sudden, inexplicable, and suffocating. I am here to drag you there, for none can achieve death on their own. 

You shudder in confusion, and look up to see me. A guttural and unearthly scream escapes your lips (really, am I that terrible?) as I reach out for your hand and pull you through your dimension into mine. As the mortals see it... to your death.

Round Up: Week Nineteen

Last Week’s Prompt:

Pick a fairy tale and rewrite it by changing one key plot point. What would happen if Sleeping Beauty never fell asleep? What if Beauty never fell in love with the Beast? You get to answer these questions for us.

Amanda

The prompt came to me while I was in the middle of watching Princess and the Frog for the second or third time in a single day, so I thought “Hmm. Frog Prince.” My first thought for a twist was what if the frog only thought he was a prince, but he was really just a frog. Then I thought of something even better: what if he was never even a frog and he only thought he was? Somehow, it didn’t work out quite so fairytale-esque as our frog prince hoped.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Korrin

I had a hard time deciding what to do for this prompt. I’ve been kinda swamped by school and most of my thinking is put towards writing appropriate lesson plans for second graders.  But as I thought about it I kept coming back to Snow White.  It’s truly a classic.  Then I thought of the twist, what if the dwarfs were giants instead.  So naturally my brain jumped to Jack and the Beanstalk and a mashup was born. The prince in this story had never really thrilled me, and Jack seemed like he was in the need for someone good in his life.  Also who is dumb enough to stay in the kingdom an Evil Queen is hunting you in.  No, my Snow White is much smarter than that.  The Queen never found her and she truly did live happily ever after.

MY VOTE: Kylie

Kylie

I love fairy tales. I love them so much. They’re full of magic and happy endings. And on top of that, they’re filled with complete morons. Seriously. “We love each other, so I have to run away.” Gurl, take a chance already. How much worse could your life get? I mean, honestly. You sleep in dirt. So my inspiration was Cinderella making a good choice instead of running off and forcing her soulmate to try to find his solemate.

MY VOTE: Amanda

This Week’s Prompt:

One Word: Creepypasta.

Happy Halloween!

An Escape

Once upon a time there was a beautiful young woman named Snow White.  She was considered fairest in all the land.  Her evil stepmother, the Queen, was jealous of her beauty and grace.  So one day she hired a huntsman to take Snow White into the forest and rip her heart out of her chest.

To lure Snow White away the huntsman pretended to be a soldier, accompanying her on a morning walk.  Once they were deep inside the forest, he took off his helmet and showed his true colors.  Snow White tried to run from him, but gowns are not good for running. She tripped on a branch and slammed into the earth.  She looked up at the huntsman, a knife in his hand and a crazed look in his eye, and all she could do was cry.  No plea came out of her lips, just tears out of her eyes.  Then the huntsman lowered his arm to his side.  He told her to run, the Queen will not stop hunting her, she must hide.  So she ran.

She ran and ran, not paying attention to where she was going.  The tree branches tore at her and the cold night air clung to her.  She ran until she could no longer move.  She collapsed in a nearby meadow and slept.

What she didn't know was that in that meadow was something curious.  A tall plant had grown right in the middle of the area.  When you looked up at it, the plant seemed to grow all the way past the trees.

As Snow White slept at the bottom of the beanstalk, for that is what the plant was, a rumbling shook the ground.  Soon there were seven giants standing all around her! They had come down the beanstalk from their home in the sky to chase a thief.  They expected to find him when they reached the ground, but instead found the beautiful, sleeping, Snow White.

The seven giants huddled around her and decided that chasing the thief could wait until another day.  This young girl needed their help.  So they gently picked her up, and climbed back up the beanstalk.

When she awoke she was in a strange room.  Everything seemed to be much larger than she remembered.  She thought that being chased by the huntsman and running through the forest had been a dream.  So she got out of bed and walked over to where her wardrobe would have been.  As she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes she realized, this was not her room.  Everything really was much larger than it should have been.  Right then a door opened and in walked the biggest man Snow White had ever seen.

He soothed her worries and introduced her to the rest of his family.  They all seemed very nice and soon Snow White had decided to stay with them, living in the clouds was much safer than staying in her stepmothers kingdom.

The days were pleasant among the giants. They worked the clouds, making delicious food and living a happy life.  There was also a large cave, filled with gold and jewels.  The giants loved to make things with this bounty, and their homes were filled with the most beautiful artifacts.

That is why Jack the thief kept trying to take the giants things.  He was from the kingdom, just like Snow White, but he was poor and risking upsetting the giants to help his farm.  About once a week he would sneak up the beanstalk and steal something from the giants.

The giants kept laying traps, but Jack could easily maneuver through them.  Then one day Snow White had an idea.  They would move all the valuables into one place and wait for Jack to come.  She stayed in the makeshift treasure room, to wait for the thief and to raise the alarm when he showed.  But staying awake through the night is hard work, especially for a former princess, and she soon fell into a deep sleep.

Jack, however, had come once again up the beanstalk.  He had found the treasure room and cautiously entered.  He expected to see something resembling a giant mouse trap, but instead saw Snow White, asleep in front of the gold.  He thought her the most beautiful woman in all of time and completely forgot about what he had come to steal, he wanted to steal her heart instead.  He moved closer to see her and brushed a strand of hair off of her face.  Snow White woke to see Jack standing over her, and she quickly backed away.  She was going to run to raise the alarm but Jack just started to tell her all about him and his situation.  The giants hadn't told her that Jack's family was poor and that's why he felt the need to steal.  Being the kind girl she was, she had compassion on Jack.  She convinced him to stay and meet the giants so that they could settle their differences. Jack was thrilled, he did not want to be separated from Snow White.

The giants and Jack agreed that he would return all of their items and in return his mother and him could  live in the clouds.  Jack mended his ways and soon he a Snow White could not be separated. They soon were married and lived carefree lives among the giants.

The End.  

Midnight

                There’s a moment when I look into his eyes where I can see the future. It isn’t this glittering rush of silk gowns and sound, though. That life--this life we are in the midst of now, I suppose--is not a life I desire, nor is it a life I am able to lead. What I see is so much more. It’s a future where I am finally safe. There is more love and security there in his eyes than I have experienced in what feels like an eternity. This life I can see ahead of me is a life of emotional comfort, not temporal enjoyment. It’s my hair in the wind and the sun on my neck. The way I see it, it is far more than I deserve and so much more than I could have ever dreamed for.

                He smiles sheepishly and looks down at his hands for a moment, fidgeting in a way that I know means he wants more than whatever is between us now. I’m not a fool. I may not have been in love before, but I have read many books. In the great romances, love is described as lightning. But I feel as though between he and I, it’s more like a stampede. Lightning is a sudden and brilliant spike across the sky. A stampede is a build-up, something that starts small and is a sudden terrifying roar. I want nothing more than to run, but then he looks at me again and that feeling creeps into my heart again.

                “Do you love me?” The words flee my lips before I know I’m thinking them. His eyes widen along with mine, but he does not shrink away or become timid as I do. “I am sorry,” I say. “That was rather presumptuous--”

                “No,” he says, raising his hand. “Do not feel ashamed. It was a question that had to be answered eventually.”

                He looks down at his hands again, but this time his stare is more intense. “I do not know much about you, princess. That is certainly an indication that I am not in love.” I nod. I expected no less. “Love requires time and effort,” he continues. “It requires patience. It is not an immediate thing.” He glances up at me then, but his look of concentration is gone. Instead, there is wonder. “But it is different with you, princess. I feel as though I already know you somehow. It is as though we have skipped all of the steps, beginning at the end of the climb.” He gently reaches for my hands and I allow him to take them. “I know nothing more than that I wish to marry you.”

                I can feel the tears come before I even have the strength to smile. “And I you,” I whisper, astonished that I could possibly have found someone who feels this way about me. The only people who had ever loved me are gone, and I have been forced to endure life under a hand that was far crueler than I had ever thought a person could be. “I have not lived an easy life,” I say, searching for the words even as I speak them, “but when I see you, I know that no matter what trials life may offer they will be nothing if you are at my side.”

                In a blur, he’s whispering my name and we’re leaning towards one another as I hear the clock begin to strike midnight. Unthinking, I pull away from him as hard as I can, anxiously noting the pain in his eyes as I do so. “I must leave,” I stutter as I attempt to stand, tripping over and around the heeled shoes I still don’t know how to move in. He grabs my arm, and as I hear his voice speak to me, message garbled by the panic that now flows through my veins, a sudden clear thought enters my mind and the world suddenly eases into place. As I move my eyes back to his, I see the worry and the heartache in them, and I know that this decision is possibly the most important decision I may ever make.

                “Come with me,” I whisper as the third bell chimes. “Please, I beg of you, please walk me to my carriage.” And I see in his eyes that although he is confused, he is willing to escort me to what I alone know is our destiny.

                We’re descending the stairs as the eighth bell chimes, and somehow there is no more fear left in me. There is only determination. My footmen and my driver call to me frantically. The driver is practically squawking, a sign that I may have cut it too close. “Please, stop here,” I ask the man on my arm as we reach the final steps. “I have something I need to show you.” Uncertain, he places my hand in the hand of one of the footmen and I wince at the kindness I don’t deserve. As the footman turns towards the carriage, I pat his hand gently and shake my head. “It’s all right,” I whisper. “Thank you for your kindness tonight, but I won’t be needing the carriage again. I’ll walk if need be.” The footman’s eyes dart to the man standing on the stairs and then back to me before he warily drops my hand and scurries back to the others, whispering hurriedly. He’s telling them what I’m about to do as the clock strikes ten and I turn back to face the man I’ve somehow inexplicably fallen in love with.

                “I love you,” I say to him as I grasp his hands, and he smiles, wide eyes falling into warm slits as the smile reaches his eyes. “But you have to know what I am before you can say that you love me. It wouldn’t be fair to you if you didn’t know, and I can’t do that to you.”

                I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Distrust, maybe. Confusion, more likely. I’ve let my accent slip. I no longer care about seeming as though I am noble. What I thought was going to be a distraction from my life, a small slice of justice I had worked hard to earn, had become infinitely more. If he still wishes to wed me, he must know what it is he weds.

                “Did you ever hear tales of fairy godmothers?” I say, my throat constricting in fear and anticipation.

                “Aye. My mother read the old tales to me every night.”

                “I don’t mean to distress you, honest, I don’t. And I don’t expect you to believe my words, but I promise they’re true. I’m not a princess. I’m just incredibly lucky.”

                I hear the last chime, and as I step away from him, I feel bubbly--it could be my dress or it could be my stomach, I don’t suppose I’ll ever know--as the last of the magic fades away in a whisper. All except for my shoes, I notice, which remain a sharp crystal, rainbows refracted in them still. My love’s eyes widen again as they dart behind me at what I know is now a pumpkin surrounded by hosts of mice and lizards.

                “This is the real me,” I say, a calm that I don’t possess easing over my voice and tears. “You deserve to know what I am.” As much as I want to show that I am not ashamed to be standing before him in my rags, I can’t bear to look at him. Instead, I look down at the shoes I thought I was to lose when the rest of the magic faded and wait to lose him, too. I wait to lose him just like I’ve lost everything else I’ve ever loved.

                The length of three more chimes passes as we stand across from one another and I try to keep my tears from spilling onto my face. How could he want this girl standing before him, this girl that is covered in grime and soot? No one else has ever wanted her, so why should he be any different?

                It is then that I feel his hand tilt my chin up towards his eyes, eyes that seem to echo everything I feel. “This may be what you are,” he whispers, “but it is not who you are. And I love who you are.”

                And it is then that he kisses me.

A Frog Prince

Growing up, you always think fairytales are all song and dance and talking animals. But then one day, you wake up as a frog and realize it’s all a lie.

Except the talking animals part; I’m still perfectly articulate.

I don’t remember exactly when or how I changed to my adorably green state, but I remember why. See, I was just getting over a bad break up and was drowning my sorrows in a bottle of whiskey when an old friend came over and told me of a fortune teller he had just met and how she could help me find new love. I remember walking far to find her, almost to Central Park, in a small basement apartment with crystal balls and dusty curtains and exactly what you expect to find in a fortune teller’s shop.

The woman was short and grizzled, but pretty enough with her long, braided hair. She grabbed a few bottles- potions?- from various shelves upon hearing my sad story and quickly mixed a drink. She passed me a cup, then told me a poem or a prophesy or something:

“The path to love is brief; simply win a true love’s kiss from a maiden. For any love that reaches through your altered form is pure enough to change you back.”

I passed out, and woke up as a frog in my apartment. After hopping around a few minutes, I remembered the fortune teller’s words. But where is a frog supposed to find a girl to kiss him? I decided to go the only place people in New York City could see a frog without trying to cook or kill it and set out for a fountain in Central Park.

Along the way I got some strange looks from people passing by. Maybe I’m a strange frog… am I too big? Too green? Jumping too high for my size? Nobody tries to stop or talk to me, so I just keep pressing forward past the stares. When I arrive at my favorite fountain, maybe my favorite place in the world, I hide in some bushes trying to think of a plan to kiss a girl without scaring her.

My first attempt was with a tall, blonde businesswoman who sat by the fountain and pulled out a notebook. I built up all my courage, then slowly hopped toward her. When she noticed me coming, I stopped and smiled (can frogs smile?) and called out “good morning!” but all I got in return was a disgusted look as she stormed away.

A few minutes later, a couple of college girls walked by, but as soon as they saw me coming toward them, they turned and walked the other way. I really must be abnormal if people won’t even look at me! I hopped toward the fountain to try and get a good look at my reflection.

As I sat looking by the water, I barely noticed a pretty girl with dark skin and curly black hair sit near me and pull out her phone. I didn’t even turn around until I heard a plop and suddenly her phone was sinking to the bottom of the fountain as she fruitlessly struggled to reach it.

Excited, I turned to her and said “I’ll get your phone!” and jumped headfirst into the fountain. That’s what frogs are for, right? I grabbed it, then swam over to hand it to her. She looked at me with a curious expression, and I saw my opportunity, so I took it.

I leaned right over and kissed her.

She slapped me back into the water and ran away screaming about lunatics, and that’s when you guys grabbed me and dragged me here.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Officer Kerry looked wearily at the frantic young man in front of him, trying to decide if this was a joke or a dare. They had received a few calls that morning of a crazy man hopping around like a frog and harassing young women, but he didn’t expect a story like this. His head was swimming, and his only thought was to stand and walk out of the room to get a fresh cup of coffee and let off some of the laughter he had fought to keep hidden during the story.

It’s not every day you get to deal with a case of fairytale come true. 

Round Up: Week Eighteen

Last week’s prompt:

If you, the reader, has been paying any attention, you know that all of us authors are in college. That means that stress abounds.

One of the best ways to deal with stress is to visualize a happy place. Happy places can be real or fictional, you just have to be able to see it and relax.  

Write in detail about a happy place.  This place can be yours or a character’s.  This character can be one of your own, or one that someone else made.

What does it feel like? What does it look like? Smells like? Sounds like? How does your body feel being there? What emotions do you have?

Do your best to make the place come alive.  Focus on the details. This way we can get rid of stress and expand our writing too.

Amanda

When I first heard the prompt to write about a paradise, I thought “Oh, easy peasy, I have the best happy place in the world, I can just put that down on e-paper and call it good!” but then I thought… how boring. I decided instead to explore the paradise of someone else, someone quite different from me. A number of factors went into my decision to write from a werewolf point of view- the proximity and my excitement about Halloween, the fact that as I was writing the story there was a blood moon eclipse going on, and the fact that I had recently listened to a podcast about werewolves from Stuff You Should Know (seriously, look them up). The stone circle and multiplying stones refer to an old werewolf legend that they would have to take off their clothes to transform into a beast, and their clothes would change to stone so nobody could mess with them in the meantime.

I like my werewolf character because he’s not outright bloodthirsty or ashamed of his condition like other werewolves seen in books and movies, especially Harry Potter. Instead, he knows he can enjoy his condition if he separates himself from humans so as to not make any grave mistakes. Instead, he just goes for Bambi’s mom.

MY VOTE: Korrin

Korrin

I have had a lot of experience with the visualization technique.  I have taken many classes where it is used to relieve stress and also used to get your mind in a creative place.  Every time someone asks me to see a calm, peaceful place I always go to the same place.  It may be silly but it’s where I am happy and peaceful because I have imagined it so many times for so long in my life.  My place was the grounds of Hogwarts.

No one ever said it had to be a real place.

I have had so little peace in my life that having it is a magical experience for me.  So what better way to get their than with the biggest magical experience in existence.  Most people don’t understand how Harry Potter can be such a big deal to some of us, but those who do can see why that is the place I choose to relax and be happy.  Especially since there are so few opportunities to travel there anymore.  

MY VOTE: Amanda

Kylie

This story is short because A) school, and B) this character is very blunt. She says what she’s thinking and she doesn’t say much more. I’ve written about her before, so good luck finding that story (it actually isn’t that hard to find). She’s actually more sentimental than she seems to be, but she doesn’t like all those “emotion” things so she tries to avoid those things as much as possible.

MY VOTE: Amanda

Next Week’s Prompt:

Pick a fairy tale and rewrite it by changing one key plot point. What would happen if Sleeping Beauty never fell asleep? What if Beauty never fell in love with the Beast? You get to answer these questions for us.

Paradise

Most days, I don’t miss home. I tend to live here in the moment, whether that’s the people in my scope or the tent in the middle of a desert. Lingering on the past doesn’t serve me or the people around me. It only complicates things.

But there are times where all I can remember is the way the sun fell on my face as I helped my father with the plow, or as I sat on the porch with my mother. When the breeze blows just right, I can almost smell the things that grow beneath the ground as their roots dig further into the ground.

And as much as I hate him, sometimes when he turns towards me, my home flashes behind my eyes. The maroon walls and the deep brown roof, the smell of my quilt after it had hung to dry on the line, and the way my father would put his arm around my mother and rest his hand on her hip.

I hate him all the more for that.

It's Almost Like Magic

I am sitting on the soft, cool grass.  The summer breeze makes my hair wisp around my face.  The tree trunk behind me feels rough on my back, but my silky shirt protects my skin from abrasions. The shade over me keeps me cool from the hot sun.  I stretch out my legs and wiggle my toes, finally free from my confining shoes.  This time is just for me. A time to relax after the recent hardships.

I look around and see people walking leisurely.  Most of them are in groups and they have emerged to enjoy the warm summer air, just like me.  Some giggle in gaggles, girls mostly. I can see the breeze blow through the others hair and the branches of the forest in the distance.  I notice some people are swimming in the nearby lake, enjoying the cool water in contrast with the warm air.  The openness makes me feel free.

I close my eyes and take in a large breath.  Nothing is better than the crisp scent of water and warm air blowing over flowers.  I can smell a slight trace of strawberries from the nearby gardens.  The fruit will soon be served for dinner, the first strawberries of the season.

As I tilt my head back I look up to see the sunlight trickle down through the leaves over my head.  The light dances, making life feel carefree.

I look back over towards the forest and see a flock of birds escape from the foliage and sweep towards the clear blue sky.  I can hear splashing from the people and the aquatic life in the lake. It is good to know that every life in the area is in celebration of the coming of summer.

More laughter echoes over the area.  Everyone is happy and I can’t help but crack a smile. School is almost over.  Today is a good day. 

The Stone Circle

Though many might hear of my condition and instantly assume otherwise, I have been very fortunate in my life. See, most people only find a peaceful place, a haven, a paradise, after years of searching and may only return every so often. It remains nothing but a distant daydream called upon to distract from life. But I find myself in my paradise once every twenty eight days.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Sometimes I’m not able to make it to the Woods every month; those months are painful and lonely and force me to confine myself in a sealed room… but most of the time I am able find myself there.

“Here we are!” I mumble under my breath as I pass the all too familiar broken fence to leave my car in the hidden space behind the rock wall. I lock the car, then carefully hide the keys in a small crevice to assure I can find them later on.

The sun is already setting as I start my journey beyond the fence. My well-worn trail leads me faithfully along the path I know so well, winding this way past a tree and that way around a boulder. My nose isn’t as keen as it will be, but I can still delight in the scent of pine and underbrush. Gentle fluttering leaves sing out above my head as small creatures scurry to and fro under foot. The thought of my hunt excites me, and my heart beats in anticipation.

After a while, I finally see it- the small circle marked by six small stones. This is it; I’m at my paradise, my home, my place where I can truly be me, without fear of harming anyone around me. The place where I can freely feast and indulge without the fear of guilt or the embarrassment of retribution.

I step inside my circle and breathe in the pleasant twilight air. Soft wind tickles my neck and moves my hair in a wild dance of delight. I hear silence; the most pleasant sound my ears could ever dream to hear. I see nothing around me but the grass and rocks of the clearing separating my circle from the trees and bushes that push in from all sides. The light grows dimmer and dimmer, until finally it is time.

The familiar tingle starts in my toes and I hastily kick off my shoes and carefully place each between a pair of stones; I rip off my shirt and lay it down in the next open spot, then gently fold my faded jeans in the adjacent slot. My boxers fit between two more, then suddenly eleven stones lay where six once were, and in my naked solitude I grin at the sky with the thrilling anxiety that always comes before much looked-forward-to events.

It happens slowly, then all at once. My toes grow long as my feet stretch flat. Hair springs from my ankles up toward my head as a tail appears and grows. My nails grow out into claws as I remember just at the last second to tear off my watch before risking its annihilation. I see my nose stick out more prominently in front as my teeth grow sharp and fierce. The last things to change are always my thoughts, allowing me a few seconds of blissful joy before I can only focus on one thing; the last piece of my paradise, the thing I secretly and guiltily look forward to every day between my cycles:

The horrendously warm and thrillingly disturbing taste of a fresh kill.