Writing Prompt: Soldier

With the coming of the new year, I will be trying to spend more of my time writing.  Even if the results aren't posted here or published in a new book.  Like a runner training for a marathon or a wood carver whittling to hone their craft, I will dedicate a portion of each day to increasing my creative talent.  There are so many more stories to be told.

After the drain of the holiday season, my creative juices are running a little dry.  For today's blog post, I decided to reach out to another source for story ideas.  Reddit has an expansive number of writing prompts in various subreddits.  One such prompt is simply titled "Get Up Soldier, You're Not Dead Yet..."

Around me I can only sense complete darkness.  Along with the lack of any light there was only total silence.  I couldn't sense anyone else in the emptiness.  As near as I can tell, I'm the only one here.  There are no sounds of anyone breathing.  No whispers of others moving in their bunks.  I am utterly alone in the resounding silence of the dark depths.

It is only after I become aware of how alone I am do I notice that I'm not in pain.  The last thing I remember, I had just finished a long hike with a heavy pack.  My entire body ached.  My stomach was grumbling loudly for some nourishment.  I dropped my pack by my bunk and headed to get something to eat.  Then only darkness.

Could I be dead?  Could this be what death feels like?  Did I die of starvation before getting food?  Did I get a meal but there was something wrong with it?  Is this Heaven or Hell?  Where am I?  Where is everybody and everything else?

As I start to truly ponder my situation, a new sound reaches me.  It is the distinctive noises of a door opening.  A dim light shines through the opening.  My eyes try to adjust to the new illumination while I try to figure out where I am.  Then the figure speaks in an authoritative tone.

"Get up soldier.  You're not dead yet.  Although you did give it a good effort.  Now, get your ass back to training.  They need these infirmary beds for real fighters that are really injured.  Not some fool that lets his insulin get out of whack on a simple hike."

I will definitely be exploring reddit more for writing prompts.  Have you any other ideas for short story starters?  Is there a story idea you'd like me to write?

The Adventure Has Been Chosen

One of my favorite celebrities is Wil Wheaton.  He's had his career highlights.  Movies, regular on a television show, guest star on another show, host of his own clip series, host of his own YouTube series.  His face has graced more than a couple teen magazines.  Fans are able to easily follow him as he has grasped the advantages of social media.  Above all, he has remained humbly human, sharing things he enjoys as well as personal struggles.

On Monday Wil took to Twitch.tv for a rare broadcast.  Live to Internet viewers, he read a Choose Your Own Adventure book from the 80s.  He let the viewers direct the story by voting in the chat room when it came time to make a decision.  He would then read as the story continued and laugh at many of the jokes made in the chat room.  It was was a joy to both watch and take part in.

In the second story he read, we were a race car driver.  The decision was made to participate in an off-road race.  The route followed took us and our mechanic through a poor refugee camp.  Ultimately, we finished the race in fourth place after promising ourselves we would return to the refugee camp to help.  

Wil Wheaton then suggested someone should write up what happened after the race.  How some of the characters celebrated.  So here, today, is my wrap up to "The Race Forever."

You and Eduardo whoop it up as you climb out of your Land Rover.  Fourth place was no major win, but you had survived.  The two of you even managed to avoid damaging the hastily repaired axle any further.  The prize money, even for fourth, was still enough for a month-long party in whatever port you may want to visit.  First, you had a promise to keep.  It was a promise to yourself, but still one very important to follow through with.

You locate the nearest bazaar and start putting in orders.  Fortunately, you found a friendly caravan leader who agreed to transport your purchases.  This way, you wouldn't be damaging any more vehicles on large rocks.  Before long you are standing outside the bazaar, looking down a line of camels loaded with food, blankets, tents, and other items.

The caravan moves as a single line to the refugee camp.  Just like during the race, the worn out souls soon crowd around you, making movement nearly impossible.  However, this time you have more to offer them than the exhaust from your Land Rover.

At a barked command, the camels kneel down on the ground and workers start unloading wrapped packages.  You help others nudge the refugees out of the way and start setting up improvised tables.  The weak individuals finally make room and just watch, dumbfounded, as trays of food are placed on the tables.

You stand on the rock that damaged your axle earlier and look out on the tired faces of the refugees.  Your voice carries out over their heads, "Times for you have been rough.  You are a people without a home.  Still, you come together and help each other as much as you can, giving what little you have of your own."

Looking at the faces now staring up at you, you recognize the family you encountered earlier.  The man that had disappeared after diving in front of your Land Rover, the child he had been carrying, and the woman he handed the child to.  They are huddled together at the edge of the crowd.  Locking eyes with the man, you continue speaking.

"Had I won First Place, the prize money would have been enough for more permanent housing.  As it is, enjoy this feast and may these tents provide enough shelter for the time being."

The man nods at you.  You nod back and step off he rock.  You walk over to the improvised tables and sit down next to Eduardo.  As you grab a small loaf of bread, the refugees begin sitting down and filling their plates.  You smile inside and out as you realize how a few critical choices led you to this feast for those that had so little hope left.

Wil Wheaton's recording can be found here.  It includes a log of the chat so you can see how the votes go and enjoy the conversation as much as he does.  If you enjoy it, go ahead and subscribe to his channel.  I am truly hoping more videos like this are made.  There are a lot more Choose Your Own Adventure books to share. 

If you watch the video, what decisions would you have made differently?  How would you tell the story of what happened afterwards?

Story Time

I have had children of my own for almost a decade and a half.  I was a child myself for a large number of years.  Ask my wife, and she'd say I'm still rather childish.  Knowing all of this, it's surprising that I haven't written a children's story until now.  Honestly, the thought of attempting one has never entered my mind.

During a chilly morning walk to school with my sons, one of them started singing a silly song he had recently learned.  There were no specific lyrics, just a list of animals and matching hand gestures.  The end of the song is punctuated by a slightly unexpected animal.  Now, how to turn this in to a story.....?

Word had spread.  All the animals of the forest had heard.  There was to be a large party.  There would be good food.  There would be dancing.  There would be fun with friends.  It would be a good night for all the animals invited.

Mr. and Mrs. Raccoon had decorated the glade with ribbons.  Lights of all colors hang from the branches.  Mr. Rabbit had cooked his favorite vegetables.  Mrs. Bear made a salad mixed with bright berries.  Mr. Cat caught enough fish for everyone to enjoy.  There would be a lot to eat.

The Beaver family brought their drums.  The Canary sisters had been practicing new songs for a week.  The Duck brothers had their trumpets and Fred Frog was an expert with the guitar.  Music would flow like a breeze between the leaves.

The party started and all the animals started having fun.  There was dancing.  There was good music.  There was beautiful singing and laughter.  Every animal at the party was enjoying the night.

It suddenly went silent.  The singing stopped.  The drummers stopped drumming and the horn players stopped blowing.  Everyone looked in the same direction.  They all stared at one animal that just arrived.  Nobody expected him to be at the party.  Nobody expected him to bring snacks.  Nobody ever expected Squirrel.

Who would you invite to an animal party?  What do you think they would bring?

Huh? What now?

Stories can come from anywhere at any time.  The same could be said about superheroes.

My youngest son once asked me to write a blog post about a character he was to create.  I told him I would do it under one condition.  He had to come up with a character with a decent backstory.  Then I would write the rest.

So here it is, How The Heck Did I Become A Superhero Man.

It is an average day in an average city.  Average men and women walk up and down the sidewalks going to and from work and home.  Nothing in particular causes this day to stand out from any other day.  That is, if an observer ignores the open door standing in the middle of the sidewalk.  The flow of people part around it like a stream separates around a bridge support.  A view from above would see the foot traffic around the door appears like a cat's eye with the door being the vertical slit of a pupil.

Everyone seems to do it unconciously.  They don't slow down or stop and change direction.  Conversations and cell phone calls continue on uninterrupted.  Nobody seems to notice the open door standing by itself as they pass it by.

This continues until one of the average, typical office workers walks away from the path of the others.  He crosses the middle of the "eye" and glances up from intently staring at his cell phone as his steps take him through the mysterious doorway.

For a moment, a sensation passes through his body.  From head to toe, his whole body gets a tingle similar to his hand falling asleep.  He stops.  He stands there motionless as the flow of human traffic continues to pass him by.  He moves only to turn around after hearing the door shut behind him.  Without knowing why, he picks up the door and carries it down the sidewalk in the direction of his home.

Weeks have passed.  The man that had passed through the door now spends his days working with the other average employees in the office.  During the nights, he explores his new abilities.  One of which seems to be no longer needing to sleep.  He seems to be able to run long distances without becoming tired.  He can lift extreme weights.  He is even able to hold is breath for extremely long times.  Powers and abilities he uses rarely, only when an incident happens right before him.  He doesn't seek out justice or an end to all crime.  At least, not yet.

All of this from simply walking through the door that now stands alone in the middle of his living room.  A door that hasn't opened since that fateful day so many weeks ago.  The entire time a question lurks in his mind.  A question that is the basis for his "super" identity for the time being.  How-The-Heck-Did-I-Become-A-Superhero-Man.  A clumsy title, he admits.  However, a symbol with a simple question mark had been taken by a comic villain.  He also didn't feel that wearing a suit with a door on his chest carried the right impact.

It always amazes me the things that come from the mind of a child.

Who do you think the archnemesis of this hero would be?  Where would that villain get their powers?

Powers

Once again, the inspiration for a story comes from somewhere unexpected.  I was experiencing the Kansas City Renaissance Festival with my wife and oldest son.  We watched some jousting, sampled a turkey leg, listened to some choirs, and flew through the air on a zip line.

One fun area was an arena in which competitors could battle anyone and everyone with soft foam swords for 15 minutes.  They also had a small field where you could fight a knight with a live blade after a brief yet detailed lesson in swordsmanship.

One vendor carried a range of mock-up weapons of different materials.  There were scimitars, bastard swords, great swords, hand axes, and hammers.  Plastic versions sat embedded in bales of hay.  Wooden samples were grouped in barrels.  All of this combined to spark a new story in my mind.

For most people, toy stores are filled with play things and items of childish joy.  For me, they are so much more.  Inside are tools, comrades, and, most importantly, weapons.  In my hands, anything intended for fun can become a real version of itself.  A plastic chainsaw becomes a roaring tool for felling trees.  A toy pistol turns into a full-fledged deadly firearm.

My personal favorite is foam swords.  I get a special feeling each time a lightweight handle shifts in my hand and becomes a leather wrapped grip.  The sword becomes heavier as the blade extends and shifts from a dull gray to the shine of steel.  I have to keep myself from giggling with glee as what was once a plaything is now a deadly weapon in my hand.

Now, don't misunderstand me.  It doesn't matter what the toy is made of, my touch has the ability to turn it into a real weapon.  A wooden sword becomes just as metallic as one made of plastic or foam.  Firearms are just as lethal whether originally plastic, aluminum, or even soap.  They will be loaded with a single magazine.

My ability does have its limits.  After the rounds are exhausted in a gun, it becomes a toy again, but broken and useless to anyone now.  Swords also have their limits.  After wielding one

All of this started when I was a toddler.  It only took my parents a short amount of time to figure out why my stuffed dogs kept disappearing and real puppies appeared in my room.  Back then, the transformations seemed to happen at random.  My parents learned to give me generic toys that didn't represent anything in reality.  Until I was 12 or so and learned how to control my ability.  Then things got real fun.

These days I have become particularly popular at the toy stores and imitation weapons vendors at the local Ren Fest.  Some of the sword guys actually make custom blades for me without knowing what I actually use them for.  Just that I buy lots of their products.

I have also become a degree of infamous in the back alleys at night.  I'm not fighting super villains in flashy battles up and down the streets.  I am stopping muggers and watching out for innocent people walking the streets.  I wonder what the toughs and macho jerks that I beat down would say if they knew they were getting knocked around by a toy.

What is a super power you wish you had?  Is it one that exists in the comics or a completely new one?What would you do with such a power?  Let everyone know in the comments.

Combat

We have spent weeks in the trenches.  So much longer than headquarters told us we would be here.  The people we are fighting were supposed to be pushovers.  The plan was to march into town and set ourselves up in the middle of town.  There our captain had a prepared speech he would give.  His words would inform everyone in the small town that they were now under our jurisdiction and control.  Even though they would be subject to our laws and regulations, we would be leaving their current leaders in place.  That's how things were supposed to happen anyway.

We came under fire as we crested the hill outside the town.  It was precise fire from the trees lining the road.  There was incoming from so many different directions, we didn't have any time to locate any of the shooters.  A handful of the newer recruits fired randomly into the trees.  The order to retreat was given and everyone fell back in a disciplined group. We cleared the trees and the attack stopped.  Five bodies lay on the ground.  The soldiers that had fired at the town citizens were all dead.  Their remains would be left there until our mission was completed.  At that time, we all thought it would only be a few hours longer than originally planned.

We could only assume those dead soldiers were still laying out in the open where they had fallen.  It had been impossible for us to get that close to the town again.  During the weeks since we had lost more friends and fellow soldiers.  We never saw the residents themselves.  Just heard shots ring out as soldiers tried to maneuver out of our covered positions.  More often than not, the soldiers that had become uncovered would then fall.  The morale of the entire squad was lower than ever.  Even our rations were running frighteningly low, despite the decrease in hungry stomachs that needed filling.

The captain had tried to communicate with headquarters.  They kept repeating that we had to be mistaken.  Their reports said the residents of the town were all unarmed.  According to the people safe and sound behind their office doors, this mission was a cake walk.  No reinforcements were coming and  we would be extracted once it was confirmed the town was under our control.  At this point it seemed like we would be fighting here to our last man.  An end that was getting closer faster than anyone expected it ever would.

With so few of us left, I now find myself the second in command.  Only the captain himself outranks me.  Should he fall, I have sworn to myself to ignore headquarters.  When the decision is mine, we will surrender and let the residents take us all prisoner.  There's nothing they could do to us that would be worse than sitting here waiting to die.  Is there?

Musical Interlude

There are a number of writing challenges out there.  Some come as suggestions in an email.  Others can be found on websites offering authors the chance to post the results.  Occasionally they seem to come out of nowhere.  

I was having a conversation with my sons about boy bands.  A pun was made that included the names of a couple of popular bands.  This ignited a spark of inspiration.  It came to me that I should try to write a story that included the names of some bands hidden in the tale.  To fit the narrative, I did alter some band names to the way they are pronounced and not the "official" names.

It is a time of war.  The government was giving massive incentives to citizens in order to get them to join the military.  So much so, there was a big time rush to recruitment centers to sign up.  The media was proud to broadcast numerous stories of victories.  The exact nature of the enemy was never announced.  Nobody seemed to want to know who we were fighting as long as we were winning.

It seemed like everyone was willing to fight and risk dying to maintain the upper hand over an enemy they didn't know.  The people came from all walks of like.  Hard workers from the backstreet.  Boys from rich neighborhoods.  Girls who had only been competitive on the pageant runway.  All for one purpose, signing up and getting their incentive.  It seemed like you only had to point a finger.  Bang, you had a new recruit.

Regardless of their background, all of these raw recruits were sent to train at boot camp.  As soon as the fresh arrivals, the new kids on the block as it were, got a quick lesson in military discipline.  In order to field the best fighting force, they would all be equally transformed from boys to men.  After a few months of intense training and combat practice, everyone would be shipped out.  Once at the battlefield, they would be given only one direction.  Win at any cost.

It would be only after a day's hard combat and numerous losses that the true enemy would be revealed.  There was no real enemy.  The troops were being commanded to fight each other.  Survivors would be sent back to the battlefield again the next day.  Regardless of who won, victory could be claimed by the leaders that kept sending recruits in to fight themselves.

Did you see the names for all 7 bands?  Can you write a sentence or phrase with another musical group's name?  Let me know what you think in the comments.