The Heat is On

It is hot.  Working in the heat and humidity has been draining me much more than usual.  I'm not using the usual summer weather as an excuse for being lazy and late with my post, but I have been exhausted lately.

With all of that in mind, here is a story I wrote with the prompt of, "A battle between some of your world's mages and their armies."

Flags flutter from the tops of tall poles. Tents line each side of a field. A field that was once covered in beautiful flowers. Now it is full of craters and stains. The grass is trampled and contains marks where bodies have been dragged away. As the sun rises over the camps, a single figure stands before the largest tent on each side.

The figures begin chanting in an ancient language. While their tones are similar, the words themselves are different. They gesture and move their arms in similar yet varying fashions. The chanted words begin to shape alter reality. Air shimmers and shifts. Wispy clouds overhead start building and becoming looming storms. The ground itself moves underfoot as tremendous powers are flexed and released.

The ground in one camp rises more and more. Small bumps become mounds. The mounds form new, unnatural shapes. Arms develop and muddy bases split into legs. The humanoid piles of solid and grass begin to line up in ranks between their camp and the field. Branches and twigs gather themselves into piles. The piles become laid out in skeletal shapes. Smaller pieces of wood form hands and fingers. They grip wooden bows that form themselves in the palms of the developing archers.

The magic being wielded on the other side has a different effect. Instead of rising up, here the ground splits open. Skeletal hands of true bone reach out of the chasms and grasp the ground above. With a grip as strong as Death itself, the multitude of hands grab the dirt and pull. Arms of bone begin to emerge from the holes. The arms are followed by torsos and heads as skeletal warriors of every type and size emerge ready to do battle. Some have swords strapped to their thin waists. Others have bows slung over their bare shoulder blades. A few are dragging studded clubs on the ground as they lurch towards battle.

Silence echoes across the land as the wizards each complete their summoning spells. Two unnatural armies face each other. The minions of each side advance towards the field. The commanding wizards stand and watch. Looks of concentration on their respective faces. Eyes darting from inhuman soldier to soldier. Slow advances become rushing charges as each army fills the field of battle.

Suddenly, the one sound that could bring the entire conflict to a halt booms across the entire realm.

"Sam, honey. It's time for dinner. Come inside and clean up."

A child stands up, multiple figurines and toys at their feet. "But Mom, I just started having fun."

"Dinner time is now. You need to clean up and wash your hands. If there is some light left, you can play more after you eat."

Now I will go back to a bit of a project I hope to have ready for my next post, maybe.

Cereal Killer

Getting ready for this year's National Novel Writing Month kind of threw my timing off.  Starting a new novel caused me to forget that yesterday was due for a new blog post.  With that in mind, I have snagged a recent Reddit writing prompt I responded to.  I hope you enjoy it.

The familiar crinkle of plastic inside cardboard. The shuffle of crispy O's sliding against each other. The signature clink as those hearty circles impact the glass bowl. The tone changing as the bowl fills with round pieces of cereal. The wonderful music that is the start of my day.

Suddenly, the morning symphony is struck by a sour note. A heavier impact into the gathered collection of loops. I suddenly look down and discover an odd red form mixed in with the light brown regular shapes. As I watched, more of them fall from the box into my bowl. The thin slices mixing in with the puffed circles. Their coloring and shape causing me to suddenly realize what I was seeing. Strawberries. Preserved pieces of real strawberries in my morning breakfast.

I am not sure what to think as I pour the creamy white milk into the dry mixture. The liquid slosh signaling the final movement by the orchestra in my bowl. The final note being the metallic ring of my metal spoon hitting the bottom of the bowl. With a small degree of anticipation and some nervousness, I lifted the spoon full of the mixture to my mouth.

The expected flavors hit my tongue. Only now, a new sweetness and texture is present. A softness amid the usual gentle crunch. A fruity hint to the milky smoothness. All told, a pleasant addition to the start of the day.

For the rest of November I will be working on a new novel.  Future blog posts will probably excerpts of the work in progress.  Wish me luck.

Just Go Away

Reality has been particularly insistent lately.  My time to write and work out ideas has been at a minimum.  Reddit has been a periodic escape and source for stories.  This is one writing prompt that caught my eye and sparked a creative fire.

I had been given many pieces of advice. Different methods and techniques for taking care of my problem. No two of them the same, but many of them similar. Simple words for an issue that was anything but simple. Not a single one of them actually worth my time to try them. Partially because none of those offering advice had truly had the experiences I had. None of them had been experiencing my difficulties for as long as I had, despite each of them pretending to be “experts.”

It all started when I was quite young. My parents both came from money. They were constantly going to charity events, visiting other towns and countries for holiday. I saw my nannies and tutors more than my parents. It was only during my late teen years that I learned the term “trophy child” and how well it applied to me. I had everything a kid could want, except other kids to play with. I had every expensive toy and all of the latest electronic equipment. It was all mine. I didn't have anyone to share any of it with, even if I wanted to.

Then one day Edward appeared. Not Eddie or Ed. It was always to be Edward. He would help me decide what to play with in the mornings after breakfast and early lessons. The two of us would high-five when achieving an accomplishment in one of my video games. We ohhed and ahhhed when we found my father's hidden stash of naked women magazines. Edward helped me fill the silence of the large, empty house when my parents were away and I had outgrown the need for nannies. He knew all my secrets and I had all of his stored away. We were inseparable. He was my best friend and the only person that would listen to me.

He was the only kid I knew from the day he appeared until I was in my late teens. I was at home working on a project with my science tutor when the call came in. My parents were returning from a ski trip in Aspen. A freak weather front knocked their plane out of the sky. I was now a very rich orphan.

Edward was standing behind my chair, supporting me during their funeral. He helped me fill the silence of the He sat patiently in the waiting room while I attended a seemingly endless string of appointments with counselors trying to help me. He comforted me as I hurled endlessly in the toilet after getting into my parents' liquor cabinet. Edward and I discussed it first and we both realized they couldn't punish me for breaking their rules any more.

The two of us kept each other going until I had to start interacting with other people in the outside world. I was nearly 25 before I decided to seek out more people. My tutors had all completed their contracts. The nannies were long gone. Without my parents, there was only Edward and me. Two people were not enough to make a life.

I hit a few nightclubs. I went to a number of youth centers. Indoor rock climbing, miniature golfing, movie release parties. Over time, I started to form a core group of friends. Some of them had known each other their entire lives, but this was all new to me. Edward had started to tell me that this was a mistake. With more than one person, he was correct. For the most part, socializing had improved my life.

There was only one thing I had to do. It was finally time. I had to remove Edward from my life. With friends now, they were doing all of the things that Edward used to do with me. He no longer had a role. It was now the time to take everyone's advice, even if I had to choose my own method to do it.

I stood up and looked Edward right in the eyes. In my strongest voice I said these simple words to him, “You don't exist. Go away.”

With that, Edward was a memory. Just a past figment of my imagination.

Who was your childhood imaginary friend?  Did they just fade out one day or were you forced to banish them?

Fidgeting and Spinning

Fidget spinners are the latest fad to invade practically every aspect of everyday life.  They have even reached into the realm of Reddit writing prompts.  Of course, more can be done with fictional fidget spinners than just giving them a whirl.

I wrote a short tale for one particular prompt that caught my eye.  If you don't want to open a new browser window or follow the link, the tale is below.

I've had many subscription boxes over the years. Random comics, toys, movie props, all kinds of things. My favorite box each month, the subscription I've maintained the longest, is from Fantastic Spintastic. Two or three fidget spinners each month. Metal ones, plastic, even a wood one now and then. All of them in different colors and more shapes than I would have originally imagined. I have spun them all. A few flashy ones, most of them average, but none of them particularly special in any way.

One month the box felt heavier than normal. My first thought was, “Bonus. Extra spinners this month.”

I tore off the outer packaging and slowly opened the inner box. There was just one spinner inside. After taking a good look at it, I could see why. It laid on a form fitted felt cushion inside the hard metallic box The middle grip was solid black and shined like metal but felt like soft rubber. It had four arms that appeared to be made of smooth gray stone. The entire thing had the feel of a brand new granite counter-top. Strange characters ran the length of each arm. They looked a little bit like runes shown in the fantasy novels I read and DnD games I like to play. I lifted the spinner out and noticed a symbol engraved on each tip. A clock, a drop, a lightning bolt, and a skull.

As I walked up my driveway from my mailbox to my front door, I gave the new spinner some slow experimental turns. It was a lot smoother and lighter to turn than its appearance suggested. Reaching out for the doorknob, I gave it a good spin to test its speed and duration.

The arms became a blur and the runes started glowing. There seemed to be a breeze growing and coming from between my fingers. A single note, like an opera singer holding an extended note, started to rise from my fingers. A sensation of low voltage electricity flowing from my hand and up my arm made me both excited and a little scared. This new spinner was getting better by the second.

I stopped the spinner as I opened my front door. The drop symbol faced away from me as it flashed. The next thing I knew, I was being washed off my porch and onto my front lawn by a cold tidal wave of water. I looked around from my unexpected position on my back in muddy grass. Everything in my yard was soaked. What I could see of my living room through the open door looked to be dry as a bone.

Of all the thoughts that ran through my head as I got up off the wet grass, two stood out the most. Picking up the spinner, I wondered what the lightning bolt and clock symbols might cause to happen. The other thought was a strong desire to not find out what happened if I stopped the spinner on the skull.

Is there a current or old fad that was guilty pleasure?

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?