Friday Fictioneers: “Growing Pains”

 

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Wow, I actually have inspiration to write something coherent this time? AND I have a new idea for Lorequest? Amazing.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Luther Siler

Image Copyright: Luther Siler

 

Title: Growing Pains

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

 

If mom says I’m having growing pains (or did she say I was the ‘growing pain’?), this duck is going to redefine the term. My little brother shouldn’t be playing with stuffed animals anymore anyway. An old remote-control robot of mine will wear this duck’s skin just as good.

I send my Frankenstein (which squeaks like a dog in pain) into Ronnie’s room, to scare the prissy girliness right out of him.

He squeals. I run to see, to laugh in his blubbering, snotty face.

But Ronnie’s hugging the stupid thing like it just gave him a kitten for Christmas.

 

 

 


 

 

Beeble dee bee, it’s off to bed with me!

Because I stayed up too late. Again. Too much to do on these stupid stupid Fridays.

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Miniature Narrative Project 2015: Part 1

 

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Because it was such a good idea last time, I’ve decided that I’ll be doing another Miniature Narrative Project for December. This time, though, I’m going to be using The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt. I’ll do an entry at least once every three days but probably not a whole lot more than that. And each entry will be related to the last AND be related to the Daily Prompt entry.

As for word count, I’ll keep it flexible but I’ll try to keep it under 800 or something. That way I don’t just lurch into a full narrative at the last second like I did last time.

So, I guess we’ll just see where this goes.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Prompt: “What is your favorite sweet thing to eat? Bread pudding? Chocolate chip oatmeal cookies? A smooth and creamy piece of cheesecake? Tell us all about the anticipation and delight of eating your favorite dessert. Not into sweets? Tell us all about your weakness for that certain salty snack.”

Title: Bright Like a New Day

Word Count: 743

 

If I shined my buttons any more, I’d steal the sun’s thunder right from under it. My silly mother and father just don’t understand. There’s only three people’s approval that I need. Mine, that devilishly handsome man in the mirror looking back at me, and the Duke of the Great Chamber. Or just the Duke. He and I are on a first-name basis, of course.

Perhaps today I’ll finally make him aware of that. After I come back from my royal mission. For the Duke is hungry and his sweet tooth must be satiated.

“We can’t just move a whole town,” the foreman whines. “And there are people who live here. What about them?”

“There’s plenty of room in the capital,” I say. “They can all live closer to their beloved Duke.”

A moment of silence creeps by us. The foreman pulls his collar (which is very official— brass buttons and the noble crest and everything) away from his throat, never minding the winter chill. He must think it a noose. With a heavy sigh, he hefts his axe.

Deep below, still in the quite of the early morning snow, the town lies unaware that is destiny is about to be realized. The Duke will have his nation and he will eat so he may build that land for another day. I kick the flanks of my horse; I shall be the first to tell those in the sleepy valley of the change to their lives. Perhaps my buttons will be like a beacon to them and turn them from townsfolk to pilgrims on a quest for a better, purer home.

The town was emptied, its people, whether they were crying or smiling, were sent south to the capital, and each building was turned to splinters and gravel. Yet still I saw doubt in the foreman’s eyes. Even as we brought the caravan carrying those remnants of schools, churches, and homes back to the capital, his eyes were downcast. Perhaps he did not so fervently believe yet? Or maybe it was the thought of bandits that troubled him. I could not say but troubled with it no more. If all went well, I would never work with the disagreeable man and his unshaven face ever again.

For all the next day, the Great Chamber churched and belched black smoke into the snowy sky. Sugar was mixed with wood and stone and brick. Honey, water, flour, and whatever else the Duke had a hunger for were poured in and reshaped into a great red-brown tar-like lake. It almost looked like pudding from where I stood (at one of the many balconies scattered about the room. I was summoned, you see, to observe the conception of this newest batch). Our Duke has a sweet tooth indeed.

A tremendous glass room, rimmed with iron and casting light like a lantern suspended from heaven, hangs high above the pool and machinery of the Great Chamber. Up there, shadows and form are ideas, ideals, always shifting as if part of some spectacular fire. Only the Duke lives up there and only he determines what does or does not shape.

“My hunger,” the Duke thunders (though I think this is still but a whisper from him) in his thousand voices, “is the cement of our nation. The town of Huntsman’s Valley has brought one-hundred and thirty six new residents to our growing capital. And with this newest batch, the largest of its kind to ever be wrought, our nation shall grow evermore.”

There’s a pause without silence. The Duke’s words echo and bounce around all the shined steel walls.

“Purdon,” he says to me. Me. “I would like you to watch as I take the first bite. Note that with all of these balconies, none of my ministers nor officials are here. You alone have been summoned to watch this new age be ushered in.”

For just a moment, the swirling light in the heavenly glass room seem to all focus on me. I wish I could smile. But I’m far too overwhelmed, the strength of my body leaving my skin but empowering me soul. I can’t turn my eyes away as the globe comes down from the ceiling on chains and pulleys and the glass opens up like a blossom in spring. If only those simple folk of Huntsman’s Valley could see what their sacrifice has created.

They would probably weep as I did then. And still do.

 

 

THE OTHER DAILY PROMPT ENTRIES

 


 

 

PINGBACK:

<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pour-some-sugar-on-me/">Pour Some Sugar on Me</a>

 

So that was weird. Similar to the last one (link way at the top of the entry), this story might end up being somewhere in-between an over-detailed children’s tale and one of those childish-seeming tales that actually has bizarre, dark undertones. Like Adventure Time or something. Except for the whole nuclear war things…

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Friday Fictioneers: Access Denied

 

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It would help if I knew what day it was so I could get these done on time.

As it stands, here’s another more formless “soundless fury” that I spun to try to explain my state of mind, rather than craft a new narrative.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Roger Bultot

Image Copyright: Roger Bultot

 

Title: Access Denied

Word Count: 100

 

Draw sword, wake the horde, batter down this door.

My hatred of slant rhymes stalls my fury. Futility picks up whatever slack left behind. This door is wood, brick, or steel, whatever I can’t break down. Eden is more of a man, a door attendant, than a garden (though he’s standing in one, smiling sagely). I cannot bribe him for he has all that he wants and I can’t ask for time before he’s locked it all away in glass.

Eden IS timeless, like all great art, existing before the first clock clicked.

The crack in the door glows golden.

 

 

 


 

 

I don’t even know how to interpret these. They’re just my head piecing together its own distaste for time slipping away from me yet again. Maybe one day, sooner than later, I can remember how to be proud of my mind just being itself again.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Flash! Friday: “In the Dragon’s Shadow”

 

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Looks like this is going to be one of the last Flash! Friday’s. Like, period I guess. So this’ll be one of the last times I scramble incoherently to scribble out something that looks good as of right now that I’m sure I’ll cringe at later.

But hey, it’s still fun!

 

Speaking of which, have fun~

 


 

 

Guidelines: Must include a dragon and use photo prompt (on page)

 

Title: In the Dragon’s Shadow

Word Count: 160

 

The Dragon’s still there, lying atop my city’s skyscrapers like it’s His mound of gold. And also like we’re his food, part of a scurrying platter. History would make it hard to disagree with that.

But I took it upon myself, to continue the fight. Yet I’m no dragon-slayer. I fight against the march of nature blessing the strong and forgetting the weak. My sword is chalk, my armour is darkness, my foe-slaying arrows are memories. My battlefields are the front doors of homes made empty by His hunger, where I inscribe lonely epitaphs.

Tonight, I fight the hardest battle and inscribe the most painful epitaph of my life, through a labyrinth of smoke and ash and back to the house where I sat on the porch all night with someone I had wanted to live my life with since the day I saw her eyes that blazed with heaven’s fire throughout history.

“A beautiful girl lived here,” I write.

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

I was thinking the story would almost be like Reign of Fire with the dragons in the modern world. Except, you know, not as cripplingly stupid. Really, the first 20 minutes of that movie was fine. It was everything else that was wrong!

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Flash! Friday: “Land of the Lost”

 

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I think, in honour of my first Flash! Friday entry, I should coincide similar satanic themes with this penultimate entry. It was going to be creepier at first, but I had too much fun randomly capitalizing words to make them seem important. Which automatically makes it biblical, I guess.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Prompt: Photo Prompt and Character (Hunter)

Title: Land of the Lost

Word Count: 160

 

Sometimes they come to us from darkened forests, their eyes wide and deer-like. Others fall down from the burning sky, flailing as if they were trapped in fog. Some are young, some are old. Most go mad when they see our welcoming smiles. The rest are worth all the Kingdom’s gold.

I see myself as a connoisseur of sorts, a hunter of the forlorn and lost; when they show up in our town, it falls to me to shepherd them. The most spirited and fiercest of fighters are the best catches; my butcher-eyed friends see them as a challenge. After all, the stronger the wall, the more spectacular the fall. And the greater the faith, the stronger the convert.

It’s ironic that when our Great Enemy finds His precious ‘lost children,’ He won’t like what He finds.

I should write a letter to the Boss: ‘Curiosity should become the eighth deadly sin.’ He’d get a hellish laugh out of that.

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

I think I laid this on a bit thick this time around but hey, if Mr. Stan can be the subtle master of lies, he can also ham-fisted and brimstoning. Death by Satan, now called “brimstoning.”

Hilarious!

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Flash! Friday: “May-Born”

 

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Well, with the announcement that this is going to be Flash! Friday’s last entry, I figured I’d make something a little referential to that fact. I’m sad to see it go, even though I’ve only been writing for it for a few months. It was a very unique (if a bit stressful) challenge. Ah well, here’s to an ending.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: May-Born

Character: Twins Fated to Die at the Same Instant

Theme: Magical Realism

Word Count: 200

 

Inspiration had a cold. He has such a poor immune system. Ambition can’t sit still, and she certainly can’t see to her twin brother’s needs.

Outside their windows, Chicago lays sleeping with its eyes open. The snow’s falling is just a ploy; a pale attempt to smother the city.

“Come on,” Ambition said, sitting at her computer. “This story won’t write itself.”

Inspiration rolls over on the sofa. He covers his greening body in a thick white blanket. He coughs, exhaustingly. “Do we have to?” he whines.

“Yes,” Ambition says. Her hair is tangled— Medusa’s defanged. “We’re running out of time. Look outside. This can only mean the end is coming.”

Inspiration wraps himself up further, like he’s spinning a cocoon. His form is beautiful, like a winter bay-blue with moonlight.

Ambition stands up, in a huff. Fleet-footed Mercury runs through her as she walks and fumes, a curse of her May-time birth.

“This is our rambling end, huh?” she cries, slowly stopping and her hand on the cold windowsill.

“Looks like it,” I said. I add a bit of self-insertion at the end, just for completion’s sake, and walk away to stare out my window at the falling snow.

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

And yes, it IS snowing outside right now. Quite a lot, actually. It’s freaking beautiful. And I actually live outside of Chicago, right where suburbia meets the country (typical of me, May-born Gemini that I am).

 

Yes, the Ambition and Inspiration from above are actually mine. And yes they both suck.

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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Flash! Friday: “Refuge in Audacity”

 

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I really am bad at naming things aren’t I? I tried to come up with some other “A” word that was more appropriate but then the reference might not have come across.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Refuge in Audacity

Theme: Salvation

Setting: A palace guarded by lions

Word Count: 101

 

A great sound in the underground, my father and the dragon fight for the fate of the princess. But I don’t need stinking Prince Charmless to rescue me. The front door’s unlocked and the world’s ahead. Behind me, the swords and fire disappear as I fade into the forest.

The gravel crunches helloes at me and the trees are gnarled like my favourite grandparent (wish you were still here, grandma). At the end of the path, a crypt I think it’s called, has brave golden lions guarding it.

It’s not much of a castle, all alone out here, but it’s mine.

 

 

THE OTHERS

 


 

 

Man I’m tired. Like, tired all over at all points. As if I’m tired/exhausted at all points in time and space at once.

And it kind of sucks.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

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