It wasn’t supposed to rain. At least, Julie’s ma hadn’t said anything about it and everyone in town knew Ma could “read the weather” with an accuracy that was almost frightening. They would’ve called her a witch and run her out of town if she wasn’t so useful. But useful she was, and so she stayed, baking her bread while Pa was off at work, at the oil rigs, in the Panhandle. He was away more days than not, and so Julie had grown up wild. Running through blackberry fields barefoot, catching fireflies in mason jars, bandaids over scrapes and bruises. Wild smiles and messy hair, her ma ever-so-carefully brushing iodine over the cuts with a shake of her head and a warning to “please, please, be more careful next time, sweetheart”. And Julie would smile and nod, knowing that she’d be back outside the very next day.
As she grew older, Ma had put her to work outside- if she was to run in the blackberry fields, she might as well pick some to make blackberry cobbler, and if she wanted to play outside, she could bring back water from the well by the McGuire’s property. Julie had chafed at these restrictions, these limits on her own time, at first, but as more and more of her classmates disappeared from school to help their own mothers’ with the household work, she realized just what a blessing Ma had given her. Even now, as she neared adulthood, Ma had begun to fret about her appearance, her wildness that couldn’t be tamed. Julie had been successful in brushing off Ma’s concerns with a carefree laugh, but the thought of when that laugh wouldn’t be enough disquieted her.
Today was another one of those days where she slipped out the door to evade Ma, promising with a charming grin to bring back enough strawberries to make shortcake- Phoebe’s favorite. Phoebe was young, prim, and perfect in all the ways Julie was not. Phoebe was Ma’s favorite, of course, but Julie was Pa’s. It made sense- Julie was everything Pa was, a little wild, a little carefree, a lot irresponsible.
Just like Pa, Julie liked getting a little lost. She liked wandering through the bramble-filled thickets, liked not knowing where she would end up. A rumble of thunder gave her pause. She glanced up, frowning as she noticed the darkening sky, thick with grey, angry clouds. She’d have to hurry, then. Unfortunate, but if she didn’t make it home, Ma would worry up a storm and she didn’t need that these days. Not with the townsfolk’s whispers and sidelong glances at Julie, with their rumors of her being “unmarriable”. Yes, Ma had enough on her plate and Julie would hate to add to that. So she gathered up her skirts, stepping through the undergrowth with purposeful strides, making her way to the strawberry fields.
The skies didn’t clear…but it didn’t look like it would rain either, so, with a basket full of strawberries, Julie returned to exploring. And that was when she saw her, a stark contrast to the rich blues of the bluebonnet field. A girl, with the blondest hair Julie had ever seen, the same blonde Julie’s had been as a kid. She was fast asleep in a cedar tree, the expression on her face…content. Almost…almost happy. Julie hadn’t seen anyone with that expression in a long, long time. Not in this dusty old town, where everybody was too concerned with what the neighbors would think. But this girl…she wasn’t from this town. She didn’t live with the heavy, heavy expectations that had started to follow Julie like a shadow. Her lightness made Julie feel…well, jealous, yes, but also, strangely carefree. If this girl could live like this, whose to say Julie couldn’t either?
And so, she turned and went back home, the basket of strawberries swinging gently. She would help Ma make the shortcake. She would be the best big sister to Phoebe. And then, when it was time, she’d leave and make her own path in life. And she’d be happy.
Tag: short story
The AnDroids
Breakfast these days was a bar of soap. Nothing less, nothing more. Maisie’s grandmother had told her stories of humans and their fragile stomachs couldn’t handle the taste of soap, and honestly, Maisie found that hard to believe. Her kind, the AnDroids as humans liked to call them, had been raised on different meals- the oil of a model car, for example, or the bottom of a letter- the part that contained the x’s and o’s.
She made her way downstairs, where Grandma was just serving breakfast. The radio was on, the AnDroid announcer prattling on about the latest misdeeds of humans. They wanted war with the AnDroids, it seemed, claiming their jobs were being stolen, running amok with no sense of cohesion whatever. Grandma’s snort told Maisie everything she needed to know- it was beneath them.
Breakfast over, Maisie slipped into her room. Grandma would be out for the most of the day, going around, shopping, talking to the neighbors, buying fabrics and funny little buttons that Maisie loved to sort and play with. So, knowing that Grandma would be out, Maisie pried up the loose board in the corner of her room, taking out a CD player. Grandma wasn’t a big fan of human artifact, in fact, saying that she hated them wouldn’t be too far from the truth. But Maisie couldn’t stay away from music. She’d gotten the CDs from a previous classmate- back in elementary school, before the humans decided the AnDroids were too dangerous for their kids to be around.
Maisie knew when Grandma was back, she’d have to pretend to hate humans and all their inventions again. But for now, she swayed to the music, closing her eyes and letting herself pretend peace was the reality.
Selkies and Summer
I wrote this story based off the prompt “Set your story at a party, festival, or local celebration”. I hope you enjoy it!
The party was in full swing. Kids were running around the boardwalk, ice cream cones in hand, dripping over to create sticky fingers. Everywhere you looked were classic carnival games, stocked with balloons and plushies of all shapes and sizes. The sun was shining, bright, and the water was a glistening shade of aquamarine. By all means, it was a perfect day. Ana really did feel content as she strolled through the streets of the idyllic town, clutching a plush of a bunny close to her chest, the other hand holding a camera. The streets were empty, everyone attending the summer festival. Albatross, the city which she had grown up in, faced a major spike in tourism every summer, visitors loving the sunshine-y energy of the town. Ana didn’t mind. Sure, sometimes the tourists were annoying, but it meant more people to photograph, more experiences to capture.
She crouched down at the cove she’d discovered a few yards away from the beach, setting the plush bunny down at the edge of the water cautiously. A few minutes passed, then a seal flopped up onto the shore, nudging the bunny curiously, to which Ana offered an enthusiastic nod. She turned away, and when she’d turned back around, the seal had turned into a human- a human Ana had come to know and care for. Naida’s smile was small, “Hey. Cute plush. You won it?”
Ana nodded, “Mm. Summer festival. Did the hammer bell game-thingy. You like it?”
Naida nodded. She was a selkie, her seal skin now wrapped protectively around her body. Ana studied her, then grinned, slipping a hand inside her bag to grab a big tub of cotton candy.
“Here. You mentioned you wanted to try more sweets last time. I love cotton candy. It just…melts in your mouth.”
Naida furrowed her brow but obediently pulled a small chunk of the pink sweet away from the tub, touching it to the tip of her tongue carefully. Ana’s camera was there to capture the moment her expression lit up, delighted at the rush of sugar. Naida glanced at Ana, eyes sparkling. “It’s…wow.”
Ana grinned, dimples flashing, “Good, right? You can get some year-round, but I think it’s the best during summer. It’s like…infused with joy. Or something.”
A distant shout rang out, in the direction of the cove. Ana glanced out, “Shoot. I should go. Take care. I’ll…I’ll let you know when I can meet again, ok? Take the plush. Think of it as…a replacement me.” Her smile was easy, not betraying the upset roiling underneath. Naida nodded, slipping the seal-skin back on, diving into the waters below. Ana resurfaced, cotton candy back in the bag, a sunny smile on her face, just a girl who was exploring.
But later, around the bonfire, Ana couldn’t help but smile as she admired the photo she’d taken- of Naida, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, the cotton candy melting into sugar. She’d see the selkie again soon. It wasn’t goodbye, it never was.
Winning the Lottery
Recently, I tried out a new writing website! It generates ideas for you to incorporate into your writing. The result, while a little over the place, was very entertaining and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy!
You’d think that when you won the lottery, you’d spend the money on something grand. Something that truly wowed, something magnificent. Maybe you’d do something nice for your parents, maybe you’d treat yourself…Max bought a chicken. Just one. Not even a fancy chicken- to compete in shows or to eat. Just a chicken. And his reasoning? “I wanted a friend!”.
I finally convinced him the chicken wasn’t the best idea and he should buy something else with the money. He bought a cat. A cute one, sure, but a cat. I did not see how this would help us in our investigation. Ms. Emme had hired us to figure out who had been behind the airplane crash that had killed her youngest daughter. And so, I’d advised Max, pretty wisely, I would say, to buy something to help us figure out who did it. Maybe save some money to bribe some corrupt officers, you know what I mean? Instead he bought a cat. And a chicken. I can’t forget the chicken.
He said he’d “try to do right by me” today. I’m hoping he’ll use the money for information, for something that’ll help us take at least one step in the right direction.
…There’s a knock at the door. It better be Max with the information.
I’m back. It was not, in fact, Max with the information. It was Max with a random guy. A cameraman, for heaven’s sake. We don’t need a cameraman. And we definitely don’t need the eggs that the chicken’s been laying all over the place. I walked in this morning and there was one in my hat. My nicest one, too, fit with feathers and fabric.
Some may call it drastic, but Max’s delusions and unorthodox behavior have gone on too long. It’s time for some revenge.
First. I’ll steal the money. There’s still around 10 million left. That’s enough for me to buy a new office, snoop around, and have tons of money left over.
Then, I’ll get this company off the ground. We’ve been a small private investigative company for too long and with this money, anyone would respect us.
Finally, I’ll buy a better fan for this office. Well. I guess that goes with buying a new office. But, seriously. Who rents a space with no fan? Max, that’s who. We’ve been surviving with paper fans. Paper. fans.
Maybe I’d give some money to Max too. He was my best friend, after all. He never really enjoyed being an investigator. He’d probably become a DJ. He’d be good, too. Or maybe a blacksmith, though maybe that job interest was just a passing fascination.
And that’s how much I wrote in 10 minutes! I definitely enjoyed this exercise.
The Classroom
I recently wrote a short story for the prompt “Start or end your story with someone arriving somewhere for the first or last time”. I hope you enjoy!
I remember the first time I walked into that classroom. It was bright, welcoming, almost calling to me. The posters on the wall beckoned me to examine them- those childish drawings of friendly animals, the bubbly lettering a symbol of happiness, of comfort. I met my best friends in that classroom, when we were sitting around a multicolored rug. I remember the teacher- Ms. Miller- reading a ridiculous book. Something about dinosaurs in classrooms. It was all so perfect, so sweet, so innocent.
That’s all I can think about as I step back in the classroom- almost a millenia later. I shouldn’t be here. None of this is right. But the sun’s implosion was unexpected, especially as it shouldn’t have happened. All science predicted a collapse, anticipating the formation of a white dwarf. So, when the implosion happened…it caught everyone off guard. Not everyone survived. It happened so suddenly; a massive shockwave rippled through the streets. Buildings were hit especially hard. Not to mention, everything started working differently. People aged differently, the seasons merged into one, and most schools shut down. The world returned to an almost Pre-Neolithic era; no more complex societies, humans were on their own. In short, the sun’s implosion was an apocalypse of sorts.
And now I’m back. In the place where my first memories began. The classroom was found to have dangerous sources of radiation, set to be destroyed, but…I couldn’t just never see it again. The desks are pushed up against the wall, the very same mat I remember dragged to the center of the room. It’s…painful, in a way, to see this place of life, of vibrancy reduced to a room of ash and rubble. And soon, it’ll be gone. Gone, just like the park I used to play in and the house I called mine. Everything’s gone. Everything will be gone. Forever.
The Meteorite Sample
Meteorite samples weren’t unusual, per say, but this was my first time dealing with one. Exciting for sure, but also nerve-wracking. The bosses were strict about anything from space- even the smallest misstep could lead to your reassignation to a lower, dingier job. So. No pressure or anything. The sample I’d gotten was small, just a speck really, especially compared to what Alice, at desk 9, had. But everyone had to start somewhere, right? So the speck it was.
I’ve worked at the lab for a good 3 years now. 3 years before I finally got to do what I’d always wanted. 3 years to achieve my greatest dreams. I’d spent all morning fiddling with the microscope, knowing that if I messed this up, I’d miss my opportunity. For good. And that…that would be awful.
When the sample was finally delivered to my station, I had to physically hold myself back to not tear open the packaging. Careful…careful. This thing is worth more than your entire life. The meteorite sample I’d gotten was barely a shard, but it was enough. My hands shook as I carefully lifted the sample out of its package and set it on a slide, placing it under the microscope. As I adjusted the lens, twisting it ever so carefully to zoom into the rugged surface of the rock, something that looked almost like words caught my eye. But…surely not. How could there be English words on an outerspace rock? But as the lens panned across the meteorite, it was clear- words carved deep into the rock: “If you see this, call this number. Do not tell anyone”.
My hands shook. But in my mind, there was only one thing for me to do- call the number.
The Spanaritar
This is a short story that I wrote for the Scholastic Art and Writing Competition! It won an honorable mention.
It had been a nice, normal, spring day. Before the man, before his daughter, before…well. It started with cherry blossoms. They were the first thing Aryan noticed as he headed outside, his plan to relax, to take a break. The pink flowers littered the pavement and as Aryan passed the movie theater, the smell of popcorn wafted through the open doors. All around, kids were laughing, couples were talking, and, well, everyone seemed joyful. As Aryan scanned the crowd, a pleasant smile lit up his face. It really was what some would call a perfect day.
As he continued to observe the sights, setting a leisurely pace, he startled at the sight of someone unhappy. A middle-aged man was sitting on a bench, his face buried in his palms. Something drew Aryan to the man, something that he couldn’t quite explain, but couldn’t quite ignore either. Aryan laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, startling him. The man looked up, alarmed, his teary gaze meeting Aryan’s calm, steady one.
“Hey. What’s wrong? Well, obviously, I’m a stranger, but…if you have anything that’s troubling you…you can tell me”.
The man tried in vain to smile, “That’s-that’s nice of you, thanks. I-, well, I guess I sound stupid, but um. My daughter- she, she’s going to kill me, I swear”
Aryan furrowed his brow, “Um, well. I’m sure it’s not that bad, but you can stay with me for now? If you prefer?”
The man shook his head frantically, “No. I must get back to her, I must! I can’t, I have to see her again!” As much as Aryan was put off by the situation, he couldn’t help but pity the man. He must have been having some family problems, maybe a fight had broken out between the two and his daughter had gotten terrifyingly vicious. Though I don’t understand why he’d exaggerate so much…
Aryan sighed, “Fine. But promise me you’ll let me walk back with you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The man’s face collapsed in a relieved grin, “Yes. Yes, thank you so, so much. I’d appreciate that. Just…stay back, ok? If…if it happens again, you should stay safe.”
No matter Aryan’s wariness, he nodded, following the man closely.
Aryan and the man walked together in relative silence, the man occasionally glancing over as if to make sure Aryan didn’t disappear completely. Aryan surveyed the apartment complex they walked up to, satisfied when he saw nothing wrong.
He turned to smile at the man, “There. Is your daught-”. He stopped suddenly, surveying the man’s withdrawn expression, the fear returned to his eyes, “What’s wrong?”
“She-she’s there. Don’t you see her?” He raised a finger, slowly pointing at a figure in the window. Aryan’s eyes narrowed, watching her closely. On first glance, she had blended in with her surroundings- her matted black hair and rumpled clothes matching the darkness of the room behind her.
As Aryan continued to pay attention, the figure turned around, an almost evil gleam in her eye and a manic smile making its way up those red-lined lips. He found himself backing away subconsciously, his overwhelming selfishness and greed to live overpowering his desire to help the man. Even as his legs trembled, he couldn’t look away, eyes locked onto the girl in the window.
She lifted an instrument to her lips, then began to play. Aryan watched in horror as the man seemed to collapse onto himself, clutching his head desperately. As he gazed upon the man’s obvious turmoil, terror bleached his brain.
The instrument….it couldn’t be? Unless… it was what he thought it was. But there’s no way- she shouldn’t have one of those…
If it really was what he thought…well, they were all screwed. It was a device of legends, an instrument said to control the listener, to force them to listen to its twisted tunes, burrowing its way into their brain, until…well, until they were gone.
The last Aryan saw of the man was him getting dragged into the building by some kind of force, his eyes dark and tornmented, his lips barely pushing out the words, “No- please. The Spanaritar, please. Save me.”
I hope you enjoyed!
Kyoho: A short story
Here’s a short story I wrote based on the song “Lost Umbrella” by Inabakumori!
Mayumi held her hands over her head, a makeshift umbrella, as she bobbed and weaved through the throngs of shoppers, her gaze solely on the small black cat in front of her- Kyoho, as she had dubbed it. The cat glanced back, as if to check she was still following, then plodded on determinedly. Mayumi’s breath caught as Kyoho disappeared from her gaze, eyes narrowing as she searched the crowd, before it reappeared, letting out a plaintive mewl. Mayumi exhaled, relieved, increasing her speed.
Kyoho had appeared right when she had lost her umbrella, the wind sweeping away the bright yellow parasol. Mayumi had stared after it despondently, hand reaching out in a futile attempt to grab it. It had been yet another unlucky event on top of a slew of bad days. Just when she was about to step into the protection of an awning and wonder if she should just go home, the sensation of something winding between her legs caught her attention. She had looked down, startled, to see Kyoho, the small creature looking up at her innocently. As she bent to scoop it up, it had taken off, with the occasional backwards glance to see if she was following.
She was. She didn’t know why she was, but she trusted the cat. Call it a soft spot, call it idiocy…but still. Kyoho seemed like a friend. A feline friend who couldn’t quite talk, sure, but a friend all the same.
Kyoho rounded a corner, and Mayumi, nearly out of breath, did the same moments later- only to come face to face with the umbrella, tangled in the branches of a tree. Mayumi sucked in a breath, staring wonderously at the cat, back to winding around her feet. She cautiously made her way over to the tree, reaching up on her tiptoes to try and nudge it back to the ground. It fluttered down, along with a few ginkgo leaves, a young, bright green, hopeful, determined. As if to symbolize that it wasn’t all lost. That there was still hope. Mayumi picked up the umbrella, turning to thank Kyoho, to express some form of gratitude to the cat, but when she turned back…it was gone. Vanished into the sea of people, off to perhaps save another lost soul.
Mayumi took a deep breath, hefted the umbrella back over her shoulder, and set back off on her journey.
I hope you enjoyed!
Maybe In Another Life
I recently saw a writing prompt which was, “Write a story that includes the phrase “Maybe in another life.””. Here’s what I wrote! I hope you enjoy!
A pink umbrella. It was unusual, to say the least. But Elion couldn’t help but follow it, silently tracing its pattern through the rain, watching as it bobbed and weaved its way over to the small alley where Elion was working. She held her breath, hand pausing over the canvas which was just beginning to be drawn on.
“It’s raining.” The owner of the umbrella’s voice was playful, though its melodious lilt wasn’t lost on Elion.
“Yeah. I’m not an idiot.” Elion was sharp in her retaliation, though she couldn’t help but feel strangely…captivated by this stranger- with her pink hair that matched her umbrella and by her hat with its small, but bright pawprint.
The stranger laughed brightly, “Didn’t think you were. Do you not have an umbrella?”
There wasn’t much Elion could say in response. She shook her head, turning back to the painting, studying in it the faint glow of the streetlamps. “No. I like the rain”.
The stranger cocked her head, though her voice was as bright as ever, “You’ll ruin your outfit. And your painting,” She held out the umbrella, an almost dare in her eyes, the water droplets catching the light- and Elion’s eyes- as they fell off the umbrella, “Here. Take it”
Elion furrowed her brow, “…What about you? You’ll be the one ruining your outfit, then.”
The stranger just winked at Elion, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
And with that she was gone. Had turned and walked away, ignoring Elion’s protests of “Wait! I don’t…”
Elion trailed off in frustration, her hand wrapped tightly around the umbrella. She studied it, a small smile on her face. It was pretty. And…and quite thoughtful.
Her thoughts turned back to the pink-haired stranger. How confident she was. How playful. Picking up her canvas, she tucked it back into her bag, thinking to herself as she got up. Maybe…maybe in another life, things would’ve been different. Maybe they could’ve gotten to know each other more. Maybe the only remnant Elion had of her wouldn’t have been the umbrella.
Maybe.
The Summoning
I wrote this short story based on the prompt “Start your story with people arriving at a special ceremony”. I hope you enjoy!
Suspicious glances were thrown around the circle as everyone lined up in order. For a good reason, really. If anyone had caught word that they were here, that the ten people currently holding hands, cloak hoods drawn securely over their faces were traitors to the king, traitors to the country they stood for, well, there was no doubt. They’d surely be dead in a matter of seconds. No matter that the queen had called them there or that each of them were high advisors of the court. No, no matter their status, their heads would be adorning the wall the next day. A warning more than anything, proof that their king was all-mighty and to be respected.
In unison, the ten gathered around the fire, dropping each other’s hands and pulling out their letters. The queen had hand-written each one on the palace’s finest stationery, the cursive loops elegant, fitting of a queen. A quick glance wouldn’t procure anything out of place, no, everything would seem just as it should be. But reading the letter, even holding it, would be the worst form of treachery- conspiring against the king.
The letter was short, to the point: “Meet tomorrow. 11 pm. Summon whatever you must. Rid this city of my husband.” With practiced ease, as ten hands flung the letter into the fire, watching as the flames greedily gobbled up the parchment, the only remnant, ashes.
A figure stepped forward, the unofficial leader of the night. It was understood, without saying a word, that this was the spellcaster. The one who would be doing the summoning. They withdrew a handful of salt, tossing into the fire, chanting the words written oh-so-carefully on the back of the parchment. They were memorized to a T, their ancient words slipping off their tongue in practiced fashion.
Soon enough, a figure began to rise from the center, its body seemingly forming from nothing, the mist coalescing into a ragged shape of a figure. Its voice roared around the open field, more than one person clasping their hands over their ears.
“Who dares summon me to your pitiful excuse of a realm?” Looking around to see cowering figures, the brute smiled- a terrifying, ghastly smile, but a smile all the time, “Ah. I see. What a bunch of cowards.”
With a sweep of its arm, the pasture was set ablaze, the screams of the cloaked figures just white noise to its ears. It didn’t take long for the fire to spread, to burn throughout the town, to run up the buildings. A proclamation of chaos, a foreshadowing of death.
That was the last sight to many- a city on fire, the smoke choking the sky, the fumes thick and stifling. Within a few hours, it was all gone. The city was burnt to ashes. The ritual hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but, well, it had worked. The king was dead. Long live the queen.