posted
Story # 1 -- Come Down Here Where You Ought To Be
Sometimes they throw rocks at me, but I don't mind. Can't hit me up here anyway. When they come close, I show them I can move. I flick a wrist at a belt loop, put a hand near my waist -- and I unspool from my rope, go spinning and laughing up, up, up. I can stop when I want to. By now my hands are all callous. I'm in control.
It used to be a kind of game. They'd throw pebbles, and I'd spit at them, or grin, and blast my waterbag at them -- if they were playing truant and the parents were at work. But just as often, I'd pull the rope to guide myself along as they walked to school, and we'd talk in the calamitous but sentimental way of boys. And just as often, on the days I caught them sluffing,
Me and my brother Ben stood in this elevator, listening to the lame music, and not looking at the glowing numbers. We were supposed to go down to the lobby of the hospital, to my neighbor Linda who waited for us with our little sister. We were by ourselves, but I didn’t push the button with the star. The button for the lobby. I didn’t want to see Linda, I mean, no offence to Linda or anything, but I just didn’t want to say the words I’d have to say, you know? Make what happened in that too small hospital room real. Because, Mom would be fine, she had to be. Didn’t matter she had black veins, or puked green goo into the hospitals toilet. She was going to be fine. I just didn’t want to have to say words like radiation, or
Elaine sat in her stiff school uniform and felt invisible, but then, wasn’t that the point of the uniform in the first place, to make sure no one stood out. Except it didn’t work; people still stood out, just not her. Elaine had no friends, now. At her old school, she’d had friends. Her mom had dropped her off at Agatha’s Boarding school for girls a month ago without any explanation. Elaine had gotten letters from her friends, but nothing from her mother. She slouched lower in her seat and quit taking notes. The teacher wouldn’t notice, no one noticed her. She reached in her pocket and brought out the key. It had been laying in the dirt outside. She wouldn’t have picked it up, except it wasn’t the typical ‘found in the dirt type of
“Your problem,” my son said, “is that you don’t have any backbone.” I chose not to respond. I placed the peanut butter jar on the shelf, turning it so the label faced forward. Sam sat at the kitchen table, feet swinging back and forth. The laces of his tennis shoes tapped against the tile floor. “If you’d had any courage,” he said, “you wouldn’t have let Dad take me with him.” He pulled the crust from his sandwich, licking specks of peanut butter from the tips of his fingers. “Do you think that I haven’t gone over and over that in my own mind?” I asked. “I’ve imagined so many ways that the fire didn’t happen. There is no end to the what-ifs.”
A gangway of bamboo and cane stretched fore to aft over the airship's port engine. Strapped into her reefer's basket at the gangway's tip, inches from the spinning prop, Sam always felt precarious. But never more than now. Gusts of wind threatened to toss her into grey storm clouds scudding below. Despite her aching arms and legs, Sam winched, reefing the solar sail, desperate for a break. But she had to match her pace with Jack, in his aft basket, else the sail would snag. The last pair of reefer monkeys who'd jammed their sail had been sent downstairs. "Aft secure." Jack's cry was faint under the wind. Sam locked her winch. "For'ard secure." "Port reefers may stand down," Gorman said in Sam's helmet phones. "Be ready to set sail immediately we clear the storm."
Alaina startled the postman by meeting him at the bottom of the stairs in her pajamas. The package was half open before she remembered to thank him. He smiled. “Registration day is a ridiculous time for the school to start an upgrade.” “My old Kindle stopped working last night.” “They all did,” the postman called as he trudged to the next apartment. “But you’re by far the most anxious student I’ve met so far.” Alaina loved planning her college schedule. Arranging the classes until they were perfect was always a thrill. But this year, she would have to act quickly if she was going to get anything she wanted.
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Story # 7 -- Magic Stinks: A Cautionary Fairytale
There once was a little girl named Cindy who loved her father very much. The man was fond of his daughter, but he tired quickly of her childish games and talk. He longed for the affection and body of a real woman. And so he married again. She claimed to be a widow and brought two daughters with her. One had white skin, a hawknose, and orange tinted hair. The other had dark, nutty-brown skin, wide-set eyes, and black hair that curled erratically. The man didn’t give this much thought. His new wife had a round, luscious body, and she knew how to use it in ways he had only ever heard about third or fourth hand from braver men than he. It took only a few months for him to catch her disease and die from it. Cindy’s new mother took pleasure in ruling her dead husband’s
[This message has been edited by TaleSpinner (edited March 02, 2009).]
Bobby burst into the living room all bright-eyed, beaming, and breathless. His hurried trail was scribbled across the white kitchen floor and the new blue carpet in size five sneaker mud prints. His hair was disheveled and his clothing worn and over-sized in the tradition of third generation hand-me-downs. “Grandpa the stars! The ones you always tell me ‘bout. Look, look!” Bobby said pointing excitedly out the window and tugging on the old man’s arm, as if pulling on the sweater would hurry the white haired man out of the well-worn easy chair. “We’ll see, you’ve pulled my leg about this before young man.” Grandpa’s gestures were tender but his tone was terse. He let Bobby guide him over to the open window while putting on his glasses. The curtains fluttered, dancing with
Jonas watched as two kids, his best friends, put a present on the doorstep of his old house. "He'd have been thirteen," the girl said, her voice distant. The boy next to her nodded, his eyes red with tears. "I-I'm right here!" Jonas said, though he knew they wouldn't hear. Choking back sobs, they walked down the street, and left Jonas alone to the gift; a small wooden carving of an owl. All he wanted this year was his friends acknowledgement. A glance in his direction--a smile--anything. The spirits, he knew, were not so kind. He stuffed the owl in his pocket. His gray, blank eyes stared forward as he walked towards the pub. He hoped it was busy, so that he could drink the
Ben Hurtle pressed his nose to the door and inhaled. Right Guard deodorant, Ivory soap, Sauve shampoo with a coconut conditioner. He threw the door open. A surprised Howard Lumpant stood in the hallway with his fist clenched, ready to knock. Ben pulled the startled man into the confines of his dark apartment and slammed the door shut. “What the hell has gotten into you, Ben?” he shouted. Ben quickly locked the door and latched the series of chains and deadbolts protecting him from the outside. “It’s a conspiracy, Howard,” he said as he stuffed a towel into the crack at the base of the door. The brief exposure to the hallway brought a wave of fresh scents. The man smoking a
I can’t quite recall the first time I could smell someone's imminent death. It’s hard to separate scents when your nostrils are caked with refuse. I spent most of my childhood growing up in the sewers, and it was either get accustomed to the stink or get a beating for wasting a meal when it came back up. I’m proud to say that my Da only had to beat me three times before I learned to stifle my nausea. There were beatings for other things, sure, but when it came to mastering the sewers, I learned faster than any of my brothers. We competed among ourselves relentlessly, and being the youngest, I had to take my victories where I could get them. Wrestling matches ended with me swimming in filth. Foot races ended with me swimming in filth. Heck, even joke telling ended
Lydia shifted in her chair and yawned. "I’m tired Jacob. I want to go to bed." "There’s only a few pages left," her brother told her. "You have to stay awake." He continued reading, glancing up occasionally to be certain that she hadn’t dozed off. When he finished reading, he slammed the book closed, making Lydia start. "I hate it when you do that," she said. "Stop complaining," he said as he slid the book into its place among the hundreds that Mr. Matthias owned. "You can go to bed now." "Good. That book was boring." She rose from her chair and waving her stick from side to side before her, confidently left the
posted
Me first. Let's see if I vote for my own will anyone know...
Story # 1 – Come Down Here Where You Ought To Be
Nice prose. There is a at them echo that is a bit distracting. The writing is good enough that I am hooked but the premise isn’t grabbing me. Let’s see what the rest are like.
Story # 2 – The Distraction
Interesting. I can see where this could have some possibilities. I feel as if the 1st 13 could use some cutting, however. A kids mom really sick is something, but not enough to grab me.
Story # 3 – Behind Locked Doors
I liked this opening. Poor girl a month into a life changing event with no clue why. Makes that key that much more interesting.
Story # 4 – Jasmine
Is mom getting lectured by a child? It isn’t clear but makes it interesting enough for me to keep reading.
Story # 5 – Air Monkeys
A solar sail operating in a atmosphere? A little confused but intrigued.
Story # 6 – Kindle
A good place to start. Writing is grand but its not hooking me at this point.
Story # 7 – Magic Stinks: A Cautionary Tale
Looks like the start to Cinderella. That makes it a bit cliché. Still, it intrigues me enough to keep reading.
Story # 8 – Sacred Trust
I liked this opening paragraph and first 13. You just gotta know the view outside the window is going to be different this time.
Story # 9 – Jonas the Invisible
Not bad. A few changes in the prose would help. Nevertheless, who doesn’t love a good ghost story?
Story # 10 – The One Part Per Million
Ben sounds like a crazy guy. Speech tags could be cut. Interesting but…
Story # 11 – A Breath of Dead Air
A dynamite first sentence! The premise sounds gross though. I hope I can hold my lunch down as I read the rest.
Story # 12 – Receptacle
I think Lydia is blind. If she is it will make the POV confusing. Not bad but the competition is tough.
Now this is tough. A case could be made for all twelve. Let’s see…
First Story # 8 – Sacred Trust
I can feel the excitement in the piece. I can see something extraordinary is about to happen.
Second Story # 3 – Behind Locked Doors
The author made this little girl instantly compelling. Nice work.
Third Story # 1 – Come Down Here Where You Ought To Be
posted
I'm confused. Are we supposed to crit the first thirteen here or separately and only send them in the e-mail?
Posts: 968 | Registered: Jul 2008
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posted
Hmm... the votes were supposed to me e-mailed to me, to preserve the anonymity thing ... oh well, no harm done I suppose ... but, um, could we do it by e-mail going forwards please?
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