Passion for Orestes
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 170
Julian chuckled. He was hot stuff. Just a week (a week? It seemed like 24,601 years!) ago, he had been sure that he would never fall in love, that he would resist the taunts of his friends and remain virginal for the Republic. Any passion he felt was directed towards his mission impossible: to lead the people of France into revolution and thereby annoy his parents. One week, and he felt like he had a second chance at life.
He turned his sultry eyes toward the love of his life, Danielle: that surprisingly strong yet beautiful girl he had once tried to forbid from joining the Amis de l'ABC.
“Want to start a revolution?” he murmured softly. “Even that annoying artillery sergeant could not keep me from you. A love like ours is stronger than both of us.”
He smiled, hoping the stains would wash out of his vest
Short Stories, Flash Fiction, Poetry, Books non-fiction reference, music, art, photography, gardening, cooking, Self Help, architecture, design, biographies and roleplay games, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Historical Romance, Paranormal Romance, Horror, Crime, Thriller, Comedy, Western. We also publish Author Interviews, Paintings, Art Work, Art Work by Susie Wilson, and non-fiction articles.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Bath Cotillion
Bath Cotillion
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 157
Waiting alone in the now-familiar confines of the drawing room, with the shouts of the street hawkers wafting in from outside, Belinda, even lovelier - if possible - in her grief, thought once more of tall Captain Wentworth, the man who had taught her how to feel. He was now, according to Countess Genevieve, studying medicine in Zurich with Dr. Frankenstein.
Then came a knock at the door, and she leapt to her feet with hope - and alarm - in her eyes. He was here!
"Come to me, my darling!" he said quietly, dropping her lost jewel into her outstretched palm.
As he once again began to woo her with the sensual voice of his Stradivarius, she wondered if this would be a good time to remind him about the bailiffs waiting in the alley.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 157
Waiting alone in the now-familiar confines of the drawing room, with the shouts of the street hawkers wafting in from outside, Belinda, even lovelier - if possible - in her grief, thought once more of tall Captain Wentworth, the man who had taught her how to feel. He was now, according to Countess Genevieve, studying medicine in Zurich with Dr. Frankenstein.
Then came a knock at the door, and she leapt to her feet with hope - and alarm - in her eyes. He was here!
"Come to me, my darling!" he said quietly, dropping her lost jewel into her outstretched palm.
As he once again began to woo her with the sensual voice of his Stradivarius, she wondered if this would be a good time to remind him about the bailiffs waiting in the alley.
Charity Begins at Home
Charity Begins at Home
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 79
Volunteering to collect donations for a charity called. ‘Homeless Christmas Goblins’, you vow only to eat food that you can farm; meaning Christmas dinner is hamsters and marijuana. Due to the mistake of revealing your holiday plans to relatives, they plot to destroy your genes.
Because of this, you are fired at the end of a holiday text message and a powerful Deity decides to smite you with poor E-bay feedback and a creepy dating rating.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 79
Volunteering to collect donations for a charity called. ‘Homeless Christmas Goblins’, you vow only to eat food that you can farm; meaning Christmas dinner is hamsters and marijuana. Due to the mistake of revealing your holiday plans to relatives, they plot to destroy your genes.
Because of this, you are fired at the end of a holiday text message and a powerful Deity decides to smite you with poor E-bay feedback and a creepy dating rating.
Juju Logi and the Three Snarfleblasts
Juju Logi and the Three Snarfleblasts
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 388
Once upon a time, there were three Snarfleblasts; the mother Snarfleblasts, the father Snarfleblasts and the baby Snarfleblasts who lived in a house in the backwoods of Venus. One morning the mother Snarfleblasts made liquefied man juice for breakfast. When the three Snarfleblasts sat at the table to eat, they found that the liquefied man juice was too hot.
"Let's go for a walk to red iced polar caps," the mother Snarfleblasts said. "The liquefied man juice will be cool enough to eat when we return." So off they went.
Nearby, Juju Logi was walking in the backwoods of Venus.
"I've been walking such a long time, and I'm tired and hungry," Juju Logi said. Just then, Juju Logi saw the three Snarfleblasts's house. "Maybe there is something to eat in there," Juju Logi said, and went inside.
Juju Logi saw the food on the table, and decided to try it. First Juju Logi tried the father Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice but it was too hot. Then Juju Logi tried the mother Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice but it was too cold. But the baby Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice was just right, and Juju Logi ate it all up.
"My goodness I'm sleepy," Juju Logi, said entering the bedroom. Juju Logi sat on the father Snarfleblasts's bed, but it was too hard. Juju Logi then sat on the mother Snarfleblasts's bed, but it was too soft. The baby Snarfleblasts's bed was just right, and Juju Logi fell asleep there.
In a short while, the three Snarfleblasts returned from red iced polar caps. "Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice!" said the father Snarfleblast.
"Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice too!" said the mother Snarfleblasts."
Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice, and they at it all up!" cried the baby Snarfleblasts. They looked around the house to find who had done this. When they looked in the bedroom, they saw Juju Logi asleep on baby Snarfleblasts's bed. Just then, Juju Logi woke up, saw the three Snarfleblasts and screamed. The three Snarfleblasts tried to catch Juju Logi, but Juju Logi ran out of the backwoods of Venus and all the way home.
The End.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 388
Once upon a time, there were three Snarfleblasts; the mother Snarfleblasts, the father Snarfleblasts and the baby Snarfleblasts who lived in a house in the backwoods of Venus. One morning the mother Snarfleblasts made liquefied man juice for breakfast. When the three Snarfleblasts sat at the table to eat, they found that the liquefied man juice was too hot.
"Let's go for a walk to red iced polar caps," the mother Snarfleblasts said. "The liquefied man juice will be cool enough to eat when we return." So off they went.
Nearby, Juju Logi was walking in the backwoods of Venus.
"I've been walking such a long time, and I'm tired and hungry," Juju Logi said. Just then, Juju Logi saw the three Snarfleblasts's house. "Maybe there is something to eat in there," Juju Logi said, and went inside.
Juju Logi saw the food on the table, and decided to try it. First Juju Logi tried the father Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice but it was too hot. Then Juju Logi tried the mother Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice but it was too cold. But the baby Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice was just right, and Juju Logi ate it all up.
"My goodness I'm sleepy," Juju Logi, said entering the bedroom. Juju Logi sat on the father Snarfleblasts's bed, but it was too hard. Juju Logi then sat on the mother Snarfleblasts's bed, but it was too soft. The baby Snarfleblasts's bed was just right, and Juju Logi fell asleep there.
In a short while, the three Snarfleblasts returned from red iced polar caps. "Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice!" said the father Snarfleblast.
"Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice too!" said the mother Snarfleblasts."
Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice, and they at it all up!" cried the baby Snarfleblasts. They looked around the house to find who had done this. When they looked in the bedroom, they saw Juju Logi asleep on baby Snarfleblasts's bed. Just then, Juju Logi woke up, saw the three Snarfleblasts and screamed. The three Snarfleblasts tried to catch Juju Logi, but Juju Logi ran out of the backwoods of Venus and all the way home.
The End.
My Story
My Story
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 210
You won't believe it, but about a month ago in the woods behind my house. I was out for a walk when I realized that I wasn't wearing any clothes. You have probably had that experience before. I felt like a million dollars, and I knew that soon I would have to do something about it. My friend Emily had called me the previous day, and told me all about Michelle's problem with that stranger in town, and I was a little worried about what would happen. Then, all of a sudden, I saw in a blinding flash what I realized was the awful truth, and right then I broke wind! I remembered what Emily had told me about a situation like this. It was very important that I not forget my manners. Very calmly, I bent over and threw up and waved my arms in the air. Before I knew it, several people were watching me, and I knew I really liked being naked. So you see, I really was thankful that I acted sensibly, and I decided I had to tell you all about it.
Signed:
N.D Clothes
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 210
You won't believe it, but about a month ago in the woods behind my house. I was out for a walk when I realized that I wasn't wearing any clothes. You have probably had that experience before. I felt like a million dollars, and I knew that soon I would have to do something about it. My friend Emily had called me the previous day, and told me all about Michelle's problem with that stranger in town, and I was a little worried about what would happen. Then, all of a sudden, I saw in a blinding flash what I realized was the awful truth, and right then I broke wind! I remembered what Emily had told me about a situation like this. It was very important that I not forget my manners. Very calmly, I bent over and threw up and waved my arms in the air. Before I knew it, several people were watching me, and I knew I really liked being naked. So you see, I really was thankful that I acted sensibly, and I decided I had to tell you all about it.
Signed:
N.D Clothes
A Good Night Out
A Good Night Out
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 139
On a moonlit night, Arnold and Betty were walking home when Betty said, “Let's take a shortcut through the graveyard!”
The two friends jumped the fence and started making their way through the spooky tombstones when Arnold noticed that Betty was no longer there.
“Betty where are you?” Arnold whispered.
Suddenly everything seemed scarier, every noise every shadow... Arnold's pulse was racing... then a shadowy specter came quickly out of the shadow screaming “What the...!” Arnold yelled and cringed in fear.
When the moon lit up the creature, Arnold saw it was not a ghost but Betty laughing hard.
Arnold joined in the laughter and the two friends ran off home while eyes watched from the shadows.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 139
On a moonlit night, Arnold and Betty were walking home when Betty said, “Let's take a shortcut through the graveyard!”
The two friends jumped the fence and started making their way through the spooky tombstones when Arnold noticed that Betty was no longer there.
“Betty where are you?” Arnold whispered.
Suddenly everything seemed scarier, every noise every shadow... Arnold's pulse was racing... then a shadowy specter came quickly out of the shadow screaming “What the...!” Arnold yelled and cringed in fear.
When the moon lit up the creature, Arnold saw it was not a ghost but Betty laughing hard.
Arnold joined in the laughter and the two friends ran off home while eyes watched from the shadows.
Flight From Hell
Flight from Hell
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 145
Tasmanian passengers told of their horrific terror aboard a Brisbane bound Virgin Blue flight, which was advised it was in the best interests of the plane to return to Adelaide yesterday due to running out of Everybody Loves Raymond episodes.
Some passengers were vexed that the 943 passengers were told few details of the kerfuffle.
They said the plane “Flew slowly with the engines screaming like Shannon Noll trying to sing” before turning around.
As a precaution, fire trucks were on standby when the Boeing 747 landed.
Passenger ... we can”t show you his name, but he was a very scared man last night ... was still recovering from the ordeal.
“It”s a good thing I was wearing the brown underwear”, the passenger said.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 145
Tasmanian passengers told of their horrific terror aboard a Brisbane bound Virgin Blue flight, which was advised it was in the best interests of the plane to return to Adelaide yesterday due to running out of Everybody Loves Raymond episodes.
Some passengers were vexed that the 943 passengers were told few details of the kerfuffle.
They said the plane “Flew slowly with the engines screaming like Shannon Noll trying to sing” before turning around.
As a precaution, fire trucks were on standby when the Boeing 747 landed.
Passenger ... we can”t show you his name, but he was a very scared man last night ... was still recovering from the ordeal.
“It”s a good thing I was wearing the brown underwear”, the passenger said.
“OOZE AND AAAAHH’s”
“OOZE AND AAAAHH’s”
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 504
I will never forget the night it happened. It was a chilly night, and I was relaxing upstairs with my mp3 player, a good book and my faithful gerbil, Oscar. Suddenly there was a loud fart. I sprang to my feet and crept downstairs, trying to be as quiet as I could. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Suddenly I heard the fart again, but this time it was much more wet sounding and I knew it was coming from the basement. Summoning my courage, I grabbed a flashlight and strode carefully down the stairs. I might have met my end right there, if not for Oscar, who let out a loud “clang!” Startled, I jumped quickly to the side just in time to avoid a long gooey appendage. I turned my flashlight on the intruder and gasped in horror. Lurking there in my basement, bathed in the slovenly glow of my light, was a huge, quivering, shapeless blob of ooze! The hideous thing was as bright red as a toaster and as big as a Tom Clancy novel.
“Struth!” I cried.
I fled upstairs, but the thing chased me with lightning speed. I was trapped, and knew I had to fight if I wanted to survive. First, I tried to chop it with a sharp carving knife from the kitchen, and then I shot it with my grandpa’s shotgun that hangs over the fireplace. In desperation, I even tried throwing milk on it, but all to no avail. It just kept coming. I thought I was dead for sure, when suddenly a strange figure crashed through my window and leapt between us! He was tall and rambunctious, with fierce yet lifeless eyes and broad shoulders. He was dressed entirely in black, except for his dull purple mini-skirt.
“Stone the crows!” the figure cried, and quick as a minx he jumped in and stunned the ooze creature with a powerful kick.
Without pause he scooped the thing into a cylinder and tied it shut with a long tank.
“How did you do that?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
“Their only weakness is their testicles,” he replied. “One good kick and the things are helpless.”
“But how do you find it?” I asked, staring at the shapeless mass.
“That is easy,” said the stranger. “It is right next to their buttocks.”
I thanked him for saving my life and asked him his name. “I am Ixney, and I have been hunting the ooze creatures all my life. Join me in my quest and we will make the world safe from their aggressively evil ways!”
Now that I knew the truth, how could I say no? I joined Ixney that night and my life has never been the same. I learned how to spot their testicles in less than twenty seconds, and together we have defeated over sixteen of the ooze creatures. I even got my own dull purple mini-skirt.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 504
I will never forget the night it happened. It was a chilly night, and I was relaxing upstairs with my mp3 player, a good book and my faithful gerbil, Oscar. Suddenly there was a loud fart. I sprang to my feet and crept downstairs, trying to be as quiet as I could. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Suddenly I heard the fart again, but this time it was much more wet sounding and I knew it was coming from the basement. Summoning my courage, I grabbed a flashlight and strode carefully down the stairs. I might have met my end right there, if not for Oscar, who let out a loud “clang!” Startled, I jumped quickly to the side just in time to avoid a long gooey appendage. I turned my flashlight on the intruder and gasped in horror. Lurking there in my basement, bathed in the slovenly glow of my light, was a huge, quivering, shapeless blob of ooze! The hideous thing was as bright red as a toaster and as big as a Tom Clancy novel.
“Struth!” I cried.
I fled upstairs, but the thing chased me with lightning speed. I was trapped, and knew I had to fight if I wanted to survive. First, I tried to chop it with a sharp carving knife from the kitchen, and then I shot it with my grandpa’s shotgun that hangs over the fireplace. In desperation, I even tried throwing milk on it, but all to no avail. It just kept coming. I thought I was dead for sure, when suddenly a strange figure crashed through my window and leapt between us! He was tall and rambunctious, with fierce yet lifeless eyes and broad shoulders. He was dressed entirely in black, except for his dull purple mini-skirt.
“Stone the crows!” the figure cried, and quick as a minx he jumped in and stunned the ooze creature with a powerful kick.
Without pause he scooped the thing into a cylinder and tied it shut with a long tank.
“How did you do that?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
“Their only weakness is their testicles,” he replied. “One good kick and the things are helpless.”
“But how do you find it?” I asked, staring at the shapeless mass.
“That is easy,” said the stranger. “It is right next to their buttocks.”
I thanked him for saving my life and asked him his name. “I am Ixney, and I have been hunting the ooze creatures all my life. Join me in my quest and we will make the world safe from their aggressively evil ways!”
Now that I knew the truth, how could I say no? I joined Ixney that night and my life has never been the same. I learned how to spot their testicles in less than twenty seconds, and together we have defeated over sixteen of the ooze creatures. I even got my own dull purple mini-skirt.
Randy and the Giant Pink Possum
Randy and the Giant Pink Possum
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 681
Once upon a time, there was a young boy named Randy. Randy was seventy-three years old and lived in Hemmant, Queensland. While walking home from school one day, a giant, rabid pink possum jumped out from behind a wheelie bin and tackled Randy to the ground. Just when he was about to let out a scream for help, Randy realized that the giant, rabid pink possum was only licking his face, not trying to bite it off. At that moment, Randy decided to keep the giant, rabid pink possum as a pet. On the way home, he decided to name his pet giant, rabid pink possum “Trish.” When Randy and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing on the front porch? That's right; it was Randy's mother, Ruth. Boy was she surprised to see a giant, rabid pink possum following Randy into the yard!
“What in world is that?” shouted Ruth.
“It's a giant, rabid pink possum,” answered Randy.
“Dah, I can see that, Randy, but what on earth is it doing here?” said Ruth.
“It's my new pet!” answered Randy.
“Oh you think so do you?” remarked Ruth. “I wouldn't get your hopes up. You know how your father hates giant, rabid pink possums. But, well, I suppose you can keep him until your father comes home.”
With that, Randy grabbed Trish by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house--even though he knew his father was probably going to disapprove. Once in the house, Randy and Trish played and played, that is until Randy's favorite television show, “Lost,” started. At that point, Randy forgot all about Trish having an unsupervised run of the house. That is until half way through “Lost,” when Randy was brought back to reality when he heard his father shout.
“Holy Cow! Randy! Get your caboose in the dungeon...NOW!”
With that, Randy rushed into the dungeon to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the dungeon, there stood his father, Brenton, pointing toward the Queen Sized Bed.
“Will someone please explain that?” asked his father.
Then, as Randy followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he instantly knew what his father was so upset about. There, smack dab in the middle of the Queen Sized Bed, was the biggest pile of possum doo-doo he had ever seen!
“I don't EVEN want to know how that got there,” said Brenton. “But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have done such a thing!”
Well, knowing his father as well as he did, Randy knew there was no sense even asking his father if he could keep Trish for a pet. So without hesitation, Randy set out to find where Trish was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Randy discovered Trish crouched beneath the table that Randy did his Kiwi Bashing on.
“Come on, Trish, it's time to find you a new home. And hey, don't look at me that way, I'm not the one who did the dirty deed on the Queen Sized Bed!” scolded Randy.
“Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet possum!”
With that, Randy led Trish out of the house and down to the local Daily Planet Comics Store. They had a pet section and Randy knew the owner would find Trish a good home. So after saying good-bye to Trish, and thanking the owner of Daily Planet, Randy walked backed home and attempted to drown his sorrows by slamming down a half dozen Kirks Creaming Sodas. However, Randy's pity party came to an abrupt end when his father reminded him about the mess he had neglected to clean up. Low and behold, midway through the clean up, Randy suddenly became thankful that someone else was going to have to do it from now on.
The End.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 681
Once upon a time, there was a young boy named Randy. Randy was seventy-three years old and lived in Hemmant, Queensland. While walking home from school one day, a giant, rabid pink possum jumped out from behind a wheelie bin and tackled Randy to the ground. Just when he was about to let out a scream for help, Randy realized that the giant, rabid pink possum was only licking his face, not trying to bite it off. At that moment, Randy decided to keep the giant, rabid pink possum as a pet. On the way home, he decided to name his pet giant, rabid pink possum “Trish.” When Randy and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing on the front porch? That's right; it was Randy's mother, Ruth. Boy was she surprised to see a giant, rabid pink possum following Randy into the yard!
“What in world is that?” shouted Ruth.
“It's a giant, rabid pink possum,” answered Randy.
“Dah, I can see that, Randy, but what on earth is it doing here?” said Ruth.
“It's my new pet!” answered Randy.
“Oh you think so do you?” remarked Ruth. “I wouldn't get your hopes up. You know how your father hates giant, rabid pink possums. But, well, I suppose you can keep him until your father comes home.”
With that, Randy grabbed Trish by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house--even though he knew his father was probably going to disapprove. Once in the house, Randy and Trish played and played, that is until Randy's favorite television show, “Lost,” started. At that point, Randy forgot all about Trish having an unsupervised run of the house. That is until half way through “Lost,” when Randy was brought back to reality when he heard his father shout.
“Holy Cow! Randy! Get your caboose in the dungeon...NOW!”
With that, Randy rushed into the dungeon to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the dungeon, there stood his father, Brenton, pointing toward the Queen Sized Bed.
“Will someone please explain that?” asked his father.
Then, as Randy followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he instantly knew what his father was so upset about. There, smack dab in the middle of the Queen Sized Bed, was the biggest pile of possum doo-doo he had ever seen!
“I don't EVEN want to know how that got there,” said Brenton. “But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have done such a thing!”
Well, knowing his father as well as he did, Randy knew there was no sense even asking his father if he could keep Trish for a pet. So without hesitation, Randy set out to find where Trish was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Randy discovered Trish crouched beneath the table that Randy did his Kiwi Bashing on.
“Come on, Trish, it's time to find you a new home. And hey, don't look at me that way, I'm not the one who did the dirty deed on the Queen Sized Bed!” scolded Randy.
“Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet possum!”
With that, Randy led Trish out of the house and down to the local Daily Planet Comics Store. They had a pet section and Randy knew the owner would find Trish a good home. So after saying good-bye to Trish, and thanking the owner of Daily Planet, Randy walked backed home and attempted to drown his sorrows by slamming down a half dozen Kirks Creaming Sodas. However, Randy's pity party came to an abrupt end when his father reminded him about the mess he had neglected to clean up. Low and behold, midway through the clean up, Randy suddenly became thankful that someone else was going to have to do it from now on.
The End.
Bad Imitation Hemingway
Bad Imitation Hemingway.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 140
It was midnight. So this is how it is, this is how it always happens in the midnight. Obscenity your midnight. With my last 50 Euro, I purchased some true and honest Rum; I took a pull from the bottle. It was good. It burned my mouth and felt good and warm going down my esophagus and into my stomach. From there it went to my kidneys and my bladder, and was good. I remembered then when I last saw Stephen King who was still a damn fine writer. It was in Paris and we looked out the windows at the rolling hills and drank Rum in the midnight. It was midnight and had been midnight for some time.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 140
It was midnight. So this is how it is, this is how it always happens in the midnight. Obscenity your midnight. With my last 50 Euro, I purchased some true and honest Rum; I took a pull from the bottle. It was good. It burned my mouth and felt good and warm going down my esophagus and into my stomach. From there it went to my kidneys and my bladder, and was good. I remembered then when I last saw Stephen King who was still a damn fine writer. It was in Paris and we looked out the windows at the rolling hills and drank Rum in the midnight. It was midnight and had been midnight for some time.
The Cork of Sealing
The Cork of Sealing
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 1154
It all started when our over-heralded star, Flatulence Man, woke up in a lemur-infested moor. It was the second time it had happened. Feeling very concerned, Flatulence Man groped a ripened avocado, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). Just as zero people expected she realized that her beloved Cork of Sealing was missing! Immediately she called her fundamentalist, guilt-dispensing friend, Bling Girl. Flatulence Man had known Bling Girl for (plus or minus) 2,000 years, the majority of which were electric ones. Bling Girl was unique. He was easygoing though sometimes a little... clueless. Flatulence Man called him anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Bling Girl picked up to a very unctuous Flatulence Man. Bling Girl calmly assured her that most spotted wolf hamsters panic before mating, yet man-eating capybaras usually indiscriminately sneeze *after* mating. He had no idea what that meant; he was only concerned with distracting Flatulence Man. Why was Bling Girl trying to distract Flatulence Man? Because he had snuck out from Flatulence Man's with the Cork of Sealing only eleven days prior. It was an eccentric little Cork of Sealing... how could he resist?
It didn't take long before Flatulence Man got back to the subject at hand: her Cork of Sealing. Bling Girl belched. Reluctantly, Bling Girl invited her over; assuring her, they would find the Cork of Sealing. Flatulence Man grabbed her hammock and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Bling Girl realized that he was in trouble. He had to find a place to hide the Cork of Sealing and he had to do it skillfully. He figured that if Flatulence Man took the spaceship, he had taken at least three minutes before Flatulence Man would get there. However, if she took the Cloud of Gaseous Filth? Then Bling Girl would be abundantly screwed.
Before he could come up with any reasonable ideas, ten selfish Drop Bears that were lured by his Cork of Sealing interrupted Bling Girl. Bling Girl panicked; 'Not again', he thought. Feeling displeased, he carefully reached for his carrot and aggressively backhanded every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the bush, squealing with discontent. He exhaled with relief. That's when he heard the Cloud of Gaseous Filth rolling up. It was Flatulence Man.
----o0o----
As she pulled up, she felt a sense of urgency. She had had to make an unscheduled stop at Big Lots to pick up a 12-pack of dangerous oil-soaked rags, so she knew she was running late. With a mighty leap, Flatulence Man was out of the Cloud of Gaseous Filth and went earnestly jaunting toward Bling Girl's front door. Meanwhile inside, Bling Girl was panicking. Not thinking, he tossed the Cork of Sealing into a box of ninja stars and then slid the box behind his refrigerator. Bling Girl was pleased but at least the Cork of Sealing was concealed. The doorbell rang.
'Come in,' Bling Girl earnestly purred. With a heroic push, Flatulence Man opened the door. 'Sorry for being late, but I was being chased by some oafish flaming idiot in a spaceship,' she lied. 'It's fine,' Bling Girl assured her. Flatulence Man took a seat frighteningly close to where Bling Girl had hidden the Cork of Sealing. Bling Girl grimaced trying unsuccessfully to hide his nervousness. 'Uhh, can I get you anything?' he blurted. But Flatulence Man was distracted. Just as zero people expected Bling Girl noticed an oafish look on Flatulence Man's face. Flatulence Man slowly opened her mouth to speak.
'...What's that smell?'
Bling Girl felt a stabbing pain in his ear when Flatulence Man asked this. In a moment of disbelief, he realized that he had hidden the Cork of Sealing right by his oscillating fan. 'Wh-what? I don't smell anything...!' A lie. An insensitive look started to form on Flatulence Man's face. She turned to notice a box that seemed clearly out of place. 'Th-th-those are just my grandma's ripened avocados from when she used to have pet long-haired sea monkeys. She, uh...dropped 'em by here earlier'. Flatulence Man nodded with fake acknowledgement...then, before Bling Girl could react; Flatulence Man skillfully lunged toward the box and opened it. The Cork of Sealing was plainly in view.
Flatulence Man stared at Bling Girl for what must have been four days. A few unfulfilled decades later, Bling Girl groped flamboyantly in Flatulence Man's direction, clearly desperate. Flatulence Man grabbed the Cork of Sealing and bolted for the door. It was locked. Bling Girl let out a saucy chuckle. 'If only you hadn't been so protective of that thing, none of this would have happened, Flatulence Man,' he rebuked. Bling Girl always had been a little pestering, so Flatulence Man knew that reconciliation was not an option; she needed to escape before Bling Girl did something crazy, like... start chucking wolverines at him or something. Happy as a frickin' monkey, she gripped her Cork of Sealing tightly and made a dash toward the window, diving headlong through the glass panels.
Bling Girl looked on, blankly. 'What the hell? That seemed excessive. The other door was open, you know.' Silence from Flatulence Man. 'And to think, I varnished that window frame two days ago...it never ends!' Suddenly he felt a tinge of concern for Flatulence Man. 'Oh. You ...okay?' Still silence. Bling Girl walked over to the window and looked down. Flatulence Man was gone.
----o0o----
Just yonder, Flatulence Man was struggling to make her way through the bush behind Bling Girl's place. Flatulence Man had severely hurt her fingernail during the window incident, and was starting to lose strength. Another pack of feral Drop Bears suddenly appeared, having caught wind of the Cork of Sealing. One by one, they latched on to Flatulence Man. Already weakened from her injury, Flatulence Man yielded to the furry onslaught and collapsed. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was a buzzing horde of Drop Bears running off with her Cork of Sealing.
But then The King of Randomness and Great Silly Things came down with His charismatic smile and restored Flatulence Man's Cork of Sealing. Feeling relieved, The King of Randomness and Great Silly Things smote the Drop Bears for their injustice. Then He got in His time machine and darted away with the fortitude of sixty-one albino cats running from a huge pack of spotted wolf hamsters. Flatulence Man flipped with joy when she saw this. Her Cork of Sealing was safe. It was a good thing, too, because in three minutes her favorite TV show, Dancing with the Stars, was going to come on (followed immediately by 'When disease-carrying chipmunks meet contraceptive'). Flatulence Man was contented. And so, everyone except Bling Girl and a few unborn fetus-toting South American hissing sloths lived blissfully happy, forever after.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 1154
It all started when our over-heralded star, Flatulence Man, woke up in a lemur-infested moor. It was the second time it had happened. Feeling very concerned, Flatulence Man groped a ripened avocado, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). Just as zero people expected she realized that her beloved Cork of Sealing was missing! Immediately she called her fundamentalist, guilt-dispensing friend, Bling Girl. Flatulence Man had known Bling Girl for (plus or minus) 2,000 years, the majority of which were electric ones. Bling Girl was unique. He was easygoing though sometimes a little... clueless. Flatulence Man called him anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Bling Girl picked up to a very unctuous Flatulence Man. Bling Girl calmly assured her that most spotted wolf hamsters panic before mating, yet man-eating capybaras usually indiscriminately sneeze *after* mating. He had no idea what that meant; he was only concerned with distracting Flatulence Man. Why was Bling Girl trying to distract Flatulence Man? Because he had snuck out from Flatulence Man's with the Cork of Sealing only eleven days prior. It was an eccentric little Cork of Sealing... how could he resist?
It didn't take long before Flatulence Man got back to the subject at hand: her Cork of Sealing. Bling Girl belched. Reluctantly, Bling Girl invited her over; assuring her, they would find the Cork of Sealing. Flatulence Man grabbed her hammock and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Bling Girl realized that he was in trouble. He had to find a place to hide the Cork of Sealing and he had to do it skillfully. He figured that if Flatulence Man took the spaceship, he had taken at least three minutes before Flatulence Man would get there. However, if she took the Cloud of Gaseous Filth? Then Bling Girl would be abundantly screwed.
Before he could come up with any reasonable ideas, ten selfish Drop Bears that were lured by his Cork of Sealing interrupted Bling Girl. Bling Girl panicked; 'Not again', he thought. Feeling displeased, he carefully reached for his carrot and aggressively backhanded every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the bush, squealing with discontent. He exhaled with relief. That's when he heard the Cloud of Gaseous Filth rolling up. It was Flatulence Man.
----o0o----
As she pulled up, she felt a sense of urgency. She had had to make an unscheduled stop at Big Lots to pick up a 12-pack of dangerous oil-soaked rags, so she knew she was running late. With a mighty leap, Flatulence Man was out of the Cloud of Gaseous Filth and went earnestly jaunting toward Bling Girl's front door. Meanwhile inside, Bling Girl was panicking. Not thinking, he tossed the Cork of Sealing into a box of ninja stars and then slid the box behind his refrigerator. Bling Girl was pleased but at least the Cork of Sealing was concealed. The doorbell rang.
'Come in,' Bling Girl earnestly purred. With a heroic push, Flatulence Man opened the door. 'Sorry for being late, but I was being chased by some oafish flaming idiot in a spaceship,' she lied. 'It's fine,' Bling Girl assured her. Flatulence Man took a seat frighteningly close to where Bling Girl had hidden the Cork of Sealing. Bling Girl grimaced trying unsuccessfully to hide his nervousness. 'Uhh, can I get you anything?' he blurted. But Flatulence Man was distracted. Just as zero people expected Bling Girl noticed an oafish look on Flatulence Man's face. Flatulence Man slowly opened her mouth to speak.
'...What's that smell?'
Bling Girl felt a stabbing pain in his ear when Flatulence Man asked this. In a moment of disbelief, he realized that he had hidden the Cork of Sealing right by his oscillating fan. 'Wh-what? I don't smell anything...!' A lie. An insensitive look started to form on Flatulence Man's face. She turned to notice a box that seemed clearly out of place. 'Th-th-those are just my grandma's ripened avocados from when she used to have pet long-haired sea monkeys. She, uh...dropped 'em by here earlier'. Flatulence Man nodded with fake acknowledgement...then, before Bling Girl could react; Flatulence Man skillfully lunged toward the box and opened it. The Cork of Sealing was plainly in view.
Flatulence Man stared at Bling Girl for what must have been four days. A few unfulfilled decades later, Bling Girl groped flamboyantly in Flatulence Man's direction, clearly desperate. Flatulence Man grabbed the Cork of Sealing and bolted for the door. It was locked. Bling Girl let out a saucy chuckle. 'If only you hadn't been so protective of that thing, none of this would have happened, Flatulence Man,' he rebuked. Bling Girl always had been a little pestering, so Flatulence Man knew that reconciliation was not an option; she needed to escape before Bling Girl did something crazy, like... start chucking wolverines at him or something. Happy as a frickin' monkey, she gripped her Cork of Sealing tightly and made a dash toward the window, diving headlong through the glass panels.
Bling Girl looked on, blankly. 'What the hell? That seemed excessive. The other door was open, you know.' Silence from Flatulence Man. 'And to think, I varnished that window frame two days ago...it never ends!' Suddenly he felt a tinge of concern for Flatulence Man. 'Oh. You ...okay?' Still silence. Bling Girl walked over to the window and looked down. Flatulence Man was gone.
----o0o----
Just yonder, Flatulence Man was struggling to make her way through the bush behind Bling Girl's place. Flatulence Man had severely hurt her fingernail during the window incident, and was starting to lose strength. Another pack of feral Drop Bears suddenly appeared, having caught wind of the Cork of Sealing. One by one, they latched on to Flatulence Man. Already weakened from her injury, Flatulence Man yielded to the furry onslaught and collapsed. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was a buzzing horde of Drop Bears running off with her Cork of Sealing.
But then The King of Randomness and Great Silly Things came down with His charismatic smile and restored Flatulence Man's Cork of Sealing. Feeling relieved, The King of Randomness and Great Silly Things smote the Drop Bears for their injustice. Then He got in His time machine and darted away with the fortitude of sixty-one albino cats running from a huge pack of spotted wolf hamsters. Flatulence Man flipped with joy when she saw this. Her Cork of Sealing was safe. It was a good thing, too, because in three minutes her favorite TV show, Dancing with the Stars, was going to come on (followed immediately by 'When disease-carrying chipmunks meet contraceptive'). Flatulence Man was contented. And so, everyone except Bling Girl and a few unborn fetus-toting South American hissing sloths lived blissfully happy, forever after.
Lizzie's Drama
Lizzie’s Drama
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 400
It all started when our uber geek, Lizzie, woke up in a secret vineyard. It was the sixth time it had happened. Feeling very frustrated, Lizzie groped a dangerous oil-soaked rag, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). In a blinding moment of misguided bravado, she realized that her beloved Staff of Randomness was missing! Immediately she called her former cellmate, Smurf Boy. Lizzie had known Smurf Boy for (plus or minus) 11,000 years, the majority of which were flamboyant ones. Smurf Boy was unique. He was clever though sometimes a little... annoying. Lizzie called him anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Smurf Boy picked up to a very mad Lizzie. Smurf Boy calmly assured her that most albino cats panic before mating, yet South American hissing sloths usually flamboyantly cringe *after* mating. He had no idea what that meant; he was only concerned with distracting Lizzie. Why was Smurf Boy trying to distract Lizzie? Because he had snuck out from Lizzie's with the Staff of Randomness only nine days prior. It was a sassy little Staff of Randomness... how could he resist?
It didn't take long before Lizzie got back to the subject at hand: her Staff of Randomness. Smurf Boy belched. Reluctantly, Smurf Boy invited her over; assuring her, they would find the Staff of Randomness. Lizzie grabbed her refrigerator and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Smurf Boy realized that he was in trouble. He had to find a place to hide the Staff of Randomness and he had to do it aimlessly. He figured that if Lizzie took the curb-jumping ghetto sled (Impala), he had taken at least four minutes before Lizzie would get there. However, if she took the Invisible Plane? Then Smurf Boy would be abnormally screwed.
Before he could come up with any reasonable ideas, five pestering Thundercats that were lured by his Staff of Randomness interrupted Smurf Boy. Smurf Boy turned red; 'Not again', he thought. Feeling relieved, he carefully reached for his banana and skillfully punched every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the lemur-infested moor, squealing with discontent. He exhaled with relief. That is when he heard the Invisible Plane rolling up. It was Lizzie.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 400
It all started when our uber geek, Lizzie, woke up in a secret vineyard. It was the sixth time it had happened. Feeling very frustrated, Lizzie groped a dangerous oil-soaked rag, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). In a blinding moment of misguided bravado, she realized that her beloved Staff of Randomness was missing! Immediately she called her former cellmate, Smurf Boy. Lizzie had known Smurf Boy for (plus or minus) 11,000 years, the majority of which were flamboyant ones. Smurf Boy was unique. He was clever though sometimes a little... annoying. Lizzie called him anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Smurf Boy picked up to a very mad Lizzie. Smurf Boy calmly assured her that most albino cats panic before mating, yet South American hissing sloths usually flamboyantly cringe *after* mating. He had no idea what that meant; he was only concerned with distracting Lizzie. Why was Smurf Boy trying to distract Lizzie? Because he had snuck out from Lizzie's with the Staff of Randomness only nine days prior. It was a sassy little Staff of Randomness... how could he resist?
It didn't take long before Lizzie got back to the subject at hand: her Staff of Randomness. Smurf Boy belched. Reluctantly, Smurf Boy invited her over; assuring her, they would find the Staff of Randomness. Lizzie grabbed her refrigerator and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Smurf Boy realized that he was in trouble. He had to find a place to hide the Staff of Randomness and he had to do it aimlessly. He figured that if Lizzie took the curb-jumping ghetto sled (Impala), he had taken at least four minutes before Lizzie would get there. However, if she took the Invisible Plane? Then Smurf Boy would be abnormally screwed.
Before he could come up with any reasonable ideas, five pestering Thundercats that were lured by his Staff of Randomness interrupted Smurf Boy. Smurf Boy turned red; 'Not again', he thought. Feeling relieved, he carefully reached for his banana and skillfully punched every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the lemur-infested moor, squealing with discontent. He exhaled with relief. That is when he heard the Invisible Plane rolling up. It was Lizzie.
Fallout Boy
Fallout Boy
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 400
It all started when our cliché, protagonist figure, Radioactive Man, woke up in a bush. It was the fourth time it had happened. Feeling very frustrated, Radioactive Man hit a live hand grenade, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). A few unfulfilled decades later, she realized that her beloved diary was missing! Immediately she called her fundamentalist, guilt-dispensing friend, Fallout Boy. Radioactive Man had known Fallout Boy for (plus or minus) 153 years, the majority of which were eccentric ones. Fallout Boy was unique. She was attractive though sometimes a little... stupid. Radioactive Man called her anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Fallout Boy picked up to a very nervous Radioactive Man. Fallout Boy calmly assured her that most disease-carrying chipmunks belch before mating, yet legless puppies usually sassily sneeze *after* mating. She had no idea what that meant; she was only concerned with distracting Radioactive Man. Why was Fallout Boy trying to distract Radioactive Man? Because she had snuck out from Radioactive Man's with the diary only two days prior. It was a sassy little diary... how could she resist?
It didn't take long before Radioactive Man got back to the subject at hand: her diary. Fallout Boy sneezed. Reluctantly, Fallout Boy invited her over; assuring her, they would find the diary. Radioactive Man grabbed her refrigerator and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Fallout Boy realized that she was in trouble. She had to find a place to hide the diary and she had to do it aptly. She figured that if Radioactive Man took the 'modded' Civic, she had taken at least four minutes before Radioactive Man would get there. However, if she took the time machine? Then Fallout Boy would be very screwed.
Before she could come up with any reasonable ideas, eleven annoying Care Bears that were lured by her diary interrupted Fallout Boy. Fallout Boy cringed; 'Not again', she thought. Feeling relieved, she carefully reached for her dangerous oil-soaked rag and fearlessly hit every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the imaginary desert, squealing with discontent. She exhaled with relief. That's when she heard the time machine rolling up. It was Radioactive Man.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 400
It all started when our cliché, protagonist figure, Radioactive Man, woke up in a bush. It was the fourth time it had happened. Feeling very frustrated, Radioactive Man hit a live hand grenade, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). A few unfulfilled decades later, she realized that her beloved diary was missing! Immediately she called her fundamentalist, guilt-dispensing friend, Fallout Boy. Radioactive Man had known Fallout Boy for (plus or minus) 153 years, the majority of which were eccentric ones. Fallout Boy was unique. She was attractive though sometimes a little... stupid. Radioactive Man called her anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Fallout Boy picked up to a very nervous Radioactive Man. Fallout Boy calmly assured her that most disease-carrying chipmunks belch before mating, yet legless puppies usually sassily sneeze *after* mating. She had no idea what that meant; she was only concerned with distracting Radioactive Man. Why was Fallout Boy trying to distract Radioactive Man? Because she had snuck out from Radioactive Man's with the diary only two days prior. It was a sassy little diary... how could she resist?
It didn't take long before Radioactive Man got back to the subject at hand: her diary. Fallout Boy sneezed. Reluctantly, Fallout Boy invited her over; assuring her, they would find the diary. Radioactive Man grabbed her refrigerator and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Fallout Boy realized that she was in trouble. She had to find a place to hide the diary and she had to do it aptly. She figured that if Radioactive Man took the 'modded' Civic, she had taken at least four minutes before Radioactive Man would get there. However, if she took the time machine? Then Fallout Boy would be very screwed.
Before she could come up with any reasonable ideas, eleven annoying Care Bears that were lured by her diary interrupted Fallout Boy. Fallout Boy cringed; 'Not again', she thought. Feeling relieved, she carefully reached for her dangerous oil-soaked rag and fearlessly hit every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the imaginary desert, squealing with discontent. She exhaled with relief. That's when she heard the time machine rolling up. It was Radioactive Man.
Scent of the Valley
Scent of the Valley
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 1372
In the bowels of the valleys where I live, the smell of anger comes in bouts. The smell rides down from the mountainsides on great horses wearing heavy armor and large blades; the smell drives at us with the sound of hooves pounding on soft valley soil. My father could scent this smell twenty-four hours before it came, but when he was hungry for something angry, to him the smell of war was everywhere. The day he left to find the source of the scent was the day he left me all alone.
Something inside told me never to venture farther than the fog allowed because I could never smell danger like my father could.
That sweltering afternoon day I opened the trunk my grandmother forbade me to open. Inside was a pair of leather-bottomed shoes, a cap, and an empty canvas bag.
A child playing in the dirt asked me, "Where did you get your shoes?"
"I can go anywhere I want to with a turn of this ring," I boasted to the group of asinine compatriots.
The man smelled my skin and laughed. "You smell like fresh meat," he said. "You smell like you expect to be killed and eaten alive. What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?"
I gave him my satchel and shoes as he asked me, then I shed my clothes as he advised me to do. "Wear this," he said, and he shed his own skin. It fell off in a pile on the soil floor looking like a tablecloth used in my home. When I clothed myself in his skin, I no longer smelled like my home or the valley. Instead, I became like the men on the mountain. I smelled distinctly foreign. I thanked the man and watched as he dressed himself in my own clothes. He said he would wear them until new skin grew on his back.
The girl knelt down at my feet, pressing her furry costume against my skin. "Please help me," she said, and kissed one foot. She kissed the other. Moreover, when I looked down, I found both the leather-bottomed shoes gone and bare toes remaining. They froze in the mountain wind. At my feet a white wolf with childlike eyes stared up at me, grinned, and ran off with two shoes in her jaws.
Inside my head lived a frightened little boy who nibbled at his nails whenever a strange man glanced at him. I could not leave that fright alone.
My mother bade me to return home twice to comfort her hunger. Nevertheless, on the third time the hunger sunk such a pit in her stomach that it fell into the ground and would not move.
"Let me go then," I said.
There was nothing to pack into my satchel but a stale crust of bread, which I grabbed and ate on my way out of the door. I was finally leaving our old wooden house, the house in which my father had breathed his last, the house I shared with my empty shell of a mother, the house where my only joy was my friendship with the fat gray pigeon that visited our home’s single window daily.
I saw the devilish look in the serpent's eye as his spiny tongue wrapped around my body. My legs felt as if they were being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles.
After I took the needle from its place, I pried my father's bones from the floor and put them in my satchel.
The fairy placed a single seed in my palm, which I immediately planted and tended to for months. For days, I watered the seed, showered it with words of encouragement as it grew into a young sprout, and gave it proper space and care as it blossomed fully into a magnificent red rose that granted any wish that I whispered lovingly into its soft petals.
The mists grew heavy. When I stretched my arm out I could not see past my hand, but it did not matter. When I closed my eyes, my feet moved along with the rhythm of the mountain and its soils. Faster and faster, I could almost feel myself fly.
Then, as I was about to reach the top of the mountain, a giant form appeared before me in the shape of soil. As I came closer to it, I realized that it was not a giant form but composed of hundreds of small people from the earth. The mountain had come alive, and it did not want me to pass its presence.
The blade struck me against my face and left a blood spot in the shape of a star.
Through the blind frenzy of earth and shadows, I plunged my dagger into the creature's heart and watched as it melted into rain.
With no one to block me from my path, I continued to follow my needle to the topmost peak of the mountain. There lay the lady of white hair and dragon scales bleeding with a wolf-girl licking her wounds. I reached inside her cut to take the strength she possessed in her creature form.
So I began my journey home.
In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. However, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.
As I felt the creature take me into her jaws, I saw my father come, from behind a tree. From thirty feet away he shot the creature and the jaws fell lose, emptying me onto the floor. The skin on my chest had impressions of teeth marks, but no blood appeared.
Before I entered the foreign kingdom, a general dressed in black and red wearing white paint asked me who I was and how I came. I told him about my shoes, about my needle, and about the creature, I had slain. His eyes opened in delight, and he scribbled down my boasts on a parchment of yellow paper.
My brother hit me on my head, and while I lay in a half-awake state, I felt him dig through my pockets and saddlebag. "Look mother, look what I have for you," he shouted.
"As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him. Prove this to me now,"
Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
The man in heavy robes looked at the man beside me and asked, "So now I ask that you take the same truth by needle test that this man took."
Everyone then stared through the guise of the false man beside me. The person, who acted as a substitute for my accomplishments, began to bite his nails in a rampant manner.
Mother licked her fingers and placed them to my face, wiping the thick layer of dirt away. Then I truly began to look like my father's son, in form, face, and color.
My lying brothers cried when they were forced to walk on the ground without their leather-bottomed shoes. I watched as they, as my father had once, were swallowed by the ground and mouths hungry for stinking flesh.
As the soil on me continued to turn into gold, the ground of our garden sprouted trees, fruits, and vegetables. My family and I stared in a daze as we watched our land grow rich and the people of the soil draw away.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 1372
In the bowels of the valleys where I live, the smell of anger comes in bouts. The smell rides down from the mountainsides on great horses wearing heavy armor and large blades; the smell drives at us with the sound of hooves pounding on soft valley soil. My father could scent this smell twenty-four hours before it came, but when he was hungry for something angry, to him the smell of war was everywhere. The day he left to find the source of the scent was the day he left me all alone.
Something inside told me never to venture farther than the fog allowed because I could never smell danger like my father could.
That sweltering afternoon day I opened the trunk my grandmother forbade me to open. Inside was a pair of leather-bottomed shoes, a cap, and an empty canvas bag.
A child playing in the dirt asked me, "Where did you get your shoes?"
"I can go anywhere I want to with a turn of this ring," I boasted to the group of asinine compatriots.
The man smelled my skin and laughed. "You smell like fresh meat," he said. "You smell like you expect to be killed and eaten alive. What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?"
I gave him my satchel and shoes as he asked me, then I shed my clothes as he advised me to do. "Wear this," he said, and he shed his own skin. It fell off in a pile on the soil floor looking like a tablecloth used in my home. When I clothed myself in his skin, I no longer smelled like my home or the valley. Instead, I became like the men on the mountain. I smelled distinctly foreign. I thanked the man and watched as he dressed himself in my own clothes. He said he would wear them until new skin grew on his back.
The girl knelt down at my feet, pressing her furry costume against my skin. "Please help me," she said, and kissed one foot. She kissed the other. Moreover, when I looked down, I found both the leather-bottomed shoes gone and bare toes remaining. They froze in the mountain wind. At my feet a white wolf with childlike eyes stared up at me, grinned, and ran off with two shoes in her jaws.
Inside my head lived a frightened little boy who nibbled at his nails whenever a strange man glanced at him. I could not leave that fright alone.
My mother bade me to return home twice to comfort her hunger. Nevertheless, on the third time the hunger sunk such a pit in her stomach that it fell into the ground and would not move.
"Let me go then," I said.
There was nothing to pack into my satchel but a stale crust of bread, which I grabbed and ate on my way out of the door. I was finally leaving our old wooden house, the house in which my father had breathed his last, the house I shared with my empty shell of a mother, the house where my only joy was my friendship with the fat gray pigeon that visited our home’s single window daily.
I saw the devilish look in the serpent's eye as his spiny tongue wrapped around my body. My legs felt as if they were being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles.
After I took the needle from its place, I pried my father's bones from the floor and put them in my satchel.
The fairy placed a single seed in my palm, which I immediately planted and tended to for months. For days, I watered the seed, showered it with words of encouragement as it grew into a young sprout, and gave it proper space and care as it blossomed fully into a magnificent red rose that granted any wish that I whispered lovingly into its soft petals.
The mists grew heavy. When I stretched my arm out I could not see past my hand, but it did not matter. When I closed my eyes, my feet moved along with the rhythm of the mountain and its soils. Faster and faster, I could almost feel myself fly.
Then, as I was about to reach the top of the mountain, a giant form appeared before me in the shape of soil. As I came closer to it, I realized that it was not a giant form but composed of hundreds of small people from the earth. The mountain had come alive, and it did not want me to pass its presence.
The blade struck me against my face and left a blood spot in the shape of a star.
Through the blind frenzy of earth and shadows, I plunged my dagger into the creature's heart and watched as it melted into rain.
With no one to block me from my path, I continued to follow my needle to the topmost peak of the mountain. There lay the lady of white hair and dragon scales bleeding with a wolf-girl licking her wounds. I reached inside her cut to take the strength she possessed in her creature form.
So I began my journey home.
In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. However, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.
As I felt the creature take me into her jaws, I saw my father come, from behind a tree. From thirty feet away he shot the creature and the jaws fell lose, emptying me onto the floor. The skin on my chest had impressions of teeth marks, but no blood appeared.
Before I entered the foreign kingdom, a general dressed in black and red wearing white paint asked me who I was and how I came. I told him about my shoes, about my needle, and about the creature, I had slain. His eyes opened in delight, and he scribbled down my boasts on a parchment of yellow paper.
My brother hit me on my head, and while I lay in a half-awake state, I felt him dig through my pockets and saddlebag. "Look mother, look what I have for you," he shouted.
"As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him. Prove this to me now,"
Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
The man in heavy robes looked at the man beside me and asked, "So now I ask that you take the same truth by needle test that this man took."
Everyone then stared through the guise of the false man beside me. The person, who acted as a substitute for my accomplishments, began to bite his nails in a rampant manner.
Mother licked her fingers and placed them to my face, wiping the thick layer of dirt away. Then I truly began to look like my father's son, in form, face, and color.
My lying brothers cried when they were forced to walk on the ground without their leather-bottomed shoes. I watched as they, as my father had once, were swallowed by the ground and mouths hungry for stinking flesh.
As the soil on me continued to turn into gold, the ground of our garden sprouted trees, fruits, and vegetables. My family and I stared in a daze as we watched our land grow rich and the people of the soil draw away.
Everville
Everville
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 1438
Whenever the earth tremors or shakes, the old women in our village say that the souls of the dead buried beneath our feet are at war. "Our ancestors died with sins in their hearts and grudges on their souls," the old women claim. "They were not at peace with the world when they entered the ground. They shiver and shake in their graves, wanting to rid their souls of life’s filth." The old women spoke to us children, and I believed their words, I believed that when the ground rumbled, the dead were struggling to clean their souls. After my mother died and was placed in the earth, I learned to step lightly, to move without making a sound. I wanted my mother to rest, not to be awakened by the weight of and crushed by the weight of this world.
One last pear hung precariously from a tree growing on the other side of the fence. It glowed as if it was golden, and I could close my eyes and imagine the succulent juices falling down the back of my throat. Pear juice. An extravagance I could only dream about. But the more I dreamt of this luxury the louder I heard my husband's voice cry out "No, No," and I would fall in the misery of my discontent.
I forget sometimes what people tell me to do or not do. What they tell me slips away into the backwaters of my memory where it drowns in all other memories forgotten.
A child playing in the dirt asked me, "Where did you get your shoes?"
I told him I got them from my father.
One of them who came forward looked nothing like the others. She was dressed in white fluff and smelled clean. Her eyes were like a child's. "I'm in need of assistance," she said softly. "I need some help and I think you can help me."
"What weighs you down will make you drown," he said with a loud crescent shaped grin. I believed him. I may have been a fool but with my head thrown asunder by the crashing tides of water I took off my shoes and bag and threw them across the stream on the other bank.
The girl knelt down at my feet, pressing her furry costume against my skin. "Please help me," she said, and kissed one foot. She kissed the other. In addition, when I looked down, I found both the leather-bottomed shoes gone and bare toes remaining. They froze in the mountain wind. At my feet a white wolf with childlike eyes stared up at me, grinned, and ran off with two shoes in her jaws.
Inside my head lived a frightened little boy who nibbled at his nails whenever a strange man glanced at him. I could not leave that fright alone.
From the mountainside, I watched a giant crane fly down beside me and place two of its feathers onto my feet for flight.
"Let me go then," I said.
I left my home and family to find and entered the woods. I walked deeper and deeper into the world of trees that reached the sky and damp earth that smelled of life, into a world I had always been warned not to enter. The day I left my home, I could sense the adventure that lay ahead. Armed with nothing but courage in my chest and good sense on my shoulders, I let my feet lead me into the great unknown.
A woman with childlike eyes appeared before me. She looked very much like a girl I had seen before but older, and instead of crow black hair, she had white hair like snow. "You there, come here. Please help me." I shied away from her calls. "No, please, you don't understand. My sister is caught in a huntsman's trap and I need someone to help release her." I looked at where she pointed and indeed, there was the girl in wolf form hanging dangerously under a poisoned needle.
Holding my father's blade I cut what kept me from moving. I did not care to look whether it was a serpent's tongue or the branch of a tree.
Then the bird came down beside me, and thanked me graciously for my good work. In return, she left two feathers attached to my heels to replace the leather-bottomed shoes I lost. "They will take you where you want to go, and you no longer will fear the people the live in the ground."
As I closed my eyes, I could hear my father's voice guide me along the hidden pathways of the mountain unbeknownst to boys who sit and watch the sunrise and fall in their beds.
A foreigner stopped me on my rise toward the mountaintop. He had one eye and loose skin that folded around his body like paper cloth. Laid before him was a set of colored tablets and sticks. "Stay for a game," he said to me. "After you win your game with me I'll let you go on your way."
The blade struck me against my face and left a blood spot in the shape of a star.
But since I had been given my gift I did not fear what stood in front of me. As his body touched mine if fell to the floor covered in a carpet of needles.
With no one to block me from my path, I continued to follow my needle to the topmost peak of the mountain. There lay the lady of white hair and dragon scales bleeding with a wolf-girl licking her wounds. I reached inside her cut to take the strength she possessed in her creature form.
After all this time away, it seemed a mirage in a desert of hopelessness. My disbelief vanished when I saw my mother appear at the door of our small, cramped home of decaying wood. Home, I was finally home.
In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. However, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.
In an attempt to lose, my pursuer I took hold of the tall silver needle in my pocket and threw it to the ground, watching it form a wall of iron thread and knots.
When I reached a house, I knocked to ask for a cup of water to cool my senses. The lady, upon seeing my shoes, let me in.
My brother hit me on my head, and while I lay in a half-awake state, I felt him dig through my pockets and saddlebag. "Look mother, look what I have for you," he shouted.
"As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him. Prove this to me now,"
Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
The man in heavy robes looked at the man beside me and asked, "So now I ask that you take the same truth by needle test that this man took."
Everyone then stared through the guise of the false man beside me. The person, who acted as a substitute for my accomplishments, began to bite his nails in a rampant manner.
Mother licked her fingers and placed them to my face, wiping the thick layer of dirt away. Then I truly began to look like my father's son, in form, face, and color.
The earth rumbled and the trees shook, and before the old hag could spit another curse at me, the ground beneath her split in two, swallowing her rickety bones and hollow heart.
I was offered a place in the palace, but I could not accept. I wanted to be with the mountain; I felt it move under my skin, as I knew part of me was in the mountain too.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 1438
Whenever the earth tremors or shakes, the old women in our village say that the souls of the dead buried beneath our feet are at war. "Our ancestors died with sins in their hearts and grudges on their souls," the old women claim. "They were not at peace with the world when they entered the ground. They shiver and shake in their graves, wanting to rid their souls of life’s filth." The old women spoke to us children, and I believed their words, I believed that when the ground rumbled, the dead were struggling to clean their souls. After my mother died and was placed in the earth, I learned to step lightly, to move without making a sound. I wanted my mother to rest, not to be awakened by the weight of and crushed by the weight of this world.
One last pear hung precariously from a tree growing on the other side of the fence. It glowed as if it was golden, and I could close my eyes and imagine the succulent juices falling down the back of my throat. Pear juice. An extravagance I could only dream about. But the more I dreamt of this luxury the louder I heard my husband's voice cry out "No, No," and I would fall in the misery of my discontent.
I forget sometimes what people tell me to do or not do. What they tell me slips away into the backwaters of my memory where it drowns in all other memories forgotten.
A child playing in the dirt asked me, "Where did you get your shoes?"
I told him I got them from my father.
One of them who came forward looked nothing like the others. She was dressed in white fluff and smelled clean. Her eyes were like a child's. "I'm in need of assistance," she said softly. "I need some help and I think you can help me."
"What weighs you down will make you drown," he said with a loud crescent shaped grin. I believed him. I may have been a fool but with my head thrown asunder by the crashing tides of water I took off my shoes and bag and threw them across the stream on the other bank.
The girl knelt down at my feet, pressing her furry costume against my skin. "Please help me," she said, and kissed one foot. She kissed the other. In addition, when I looked down, I found both the leather-bottomed shoes gone and bare toes remaining. They froze in the mountain wind. At my feet a white wolf with childlike eyes stared up at me, grinned, and ran off with two shoes in her jaws.
Inside my head lived a frightened little boy who nibbled at his nails whenever a strange man glanced at him. I could not leave that fright alone.
From the mountainside, I watched a giant crane fly down beside me and place two of its feathers onto my feet for flight.
"Let me go then," I said.
I left my home and family to find and entered the woods. I walked deeper and deeper into the world of trees that reached the sky and damp earth that smelled of life, into a world I had always been warned not to enter. The day I left my home, I could sense the adventure that lay ahead. Armed with nothing but courage in my chest and good sense on my shoulders, I let my feet lead me into the great unknown.
A woman with childlike eyes appeared before me. She looked very much like a girl I had seen before but older, and instead of crow black hair, she had white hair like snow. "You there, come here. Please help me." I shied away from her calls. "No, please, you don't understand. My sister is caught in a huntsman's trap and I need someone to help release her." I looked at where she pointed and indeed, there was the girl in wolf form hanging dangerously under a poisoned needle.
Holding my father's blade I cut what kept me from moving. I did not care to look whether it was a serpent's tongue or the branch of a tree.
Then the bird came down beside me, and thanked me graciously for my good work. In return, she left two feathers attached to my heels to replace the leather-bottomed shoes I lost. "They will take you where you want to go, and you no longer will fear the people the live in the ground."
As I closed my eyes, I could hear my father's voice guide me along the hidden pathways of the mountain unbeknownst to boys who sit and watch the sunrise and fall in their beds.
A foreigner stopped me on my rise toward the mountaintop. He had one eye and loose skin that folded around his body like paper cloth. Laid before him was a set of colored tablets and sticks. "Stay for a game," he said to me. "After you win your game with me I'll let you go on your way."
The blade struck me against my face and left a blood spot in the shape of a star.
But since I had been given my gift I did not fear what stood in front of me. As his body touched mine if fell to the floor covered in a carpet of needles.
With no one to block me from my path, I continued to follow my needle to the topmost peak of the mountain. There lay the lady of white hair and dragon scales bleeding with a wolf-girl licking her wounds. I reached inside her cut to take the strength she possessed in her creature form.
After all this time away, it seemed a mirage in a desert of hopelessness. My disbelief vanished when I saw my mother appear at the door of our small, cramped home of decaying wood. Home, I was finally home.
In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. However, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.
In an attempt to lose, my pursuer I took hold of the tall silver needle in my pocket and threw it to the ground, watching it form a wall of iron thread and knots.
When I reached a house, I knocked to ask for a cup of water to cool my senses. The lady, upon seeing my shoes, let me in.
My brother hit me on my head, and while I lay in a half-awake state, I felt him dig through my pockets and saddlebag. "Look mother, look what I have for you," he shouted.
"As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him. Prove this to me now,"
Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
The man in heavy robes looked at the man beside me and asked, "So now I ask that you take the same truth by needle test that this man took."
Everyone then stared through the guise of the false man beside me. The person, who acted as a substitute for my accomplishments, began to bite his nails in a rampant manner.
Mother licked her fingers and placed them to my face, wiping the thick layer of dirt away. Then I truly began to look like my father's son, in form, face, and color.
The earth rumbled and the trees shook, and before the old hag could spit another curse at me, the ground beneath her split in two, swallowing her rickety bones and hollow heart.
I was offered a place in the palace, but I could not accept. I wanted to be with the mountain; I felt it move under my skin, as I knew part of me was in the mountain too.
That's A Nice Ring
That’s a Nice Ring
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 491
"I can go anywhere I want to with a turn of this ring," I boasted to the group of asinine compatriots.
The man smelled my skin and laughed. "You smell like fresh meat," he said. "You smell like you expect to be killed and eaten alive. What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?"
All of the people's voices came prying into me, digging through the hairs of my scalp to find answers to their questions. They sifted through my body as water sifts through rice. I felt their presence probing through the deep recesses of my head until they discovered what they longed to know. I told them how I was searching for my father. I told them that his shoes brought me here. I told them about his satchel and the magic that was inside. That magic would take me back home whenever I needed to leave.
My ring and shoes vanished under the guise of morning.
After I took the needle from its place, I pried my father's bones from the floor and put them in my satchel.
However, since I had been given my gift I did not fear what stood in front of me. As his body touched mine if fell to the floor covered in a carpet of needles.
In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. Nevertheless, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.
When I reached a house, I knocked to ask for a cup of water to cool my senses. The woman, upon seeing my shoes, let me in.
Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
Suddenly a swarm of angry vultures swooped upon the ogre and began to peck at every pore and crevice of his body. Together, a mass of flapping and buzzing around a core of struggling flesh, they danced a violent dance. His pitiful screams were drowned in a sea of hundreds of angry screeches and the sounds of countless beaks piercing flesh. I ran from this bloody scene as quickly as I could.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 491
"I can go anywhere I want to with a turn of this ring," I boasted to the group of asinine compatriots.
The man smelled my skin and laughed. "You smell like fresh meat," he said. "You smell like you expect to be killed and eaten alive. What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?"
All of the people's voices came prying into me, digging through the hairs of my scalp to find answers to their questions. They sifted through my body as water sifts through rice. I felt their presence probing through the deep recesses of my head until they discovered what they longed to know. I told them how I was searching for my father. I told them that his shoes brought me here. I told them about his satchel and the magic that was inside. That magic would take me back home whenever I needed to leave.
My ring and shoes vanished under the guise of morning.
After I took the needle from its place, I pried my father's bones from the floor and put them in my satchel.
However, since I had been given my gift I did not fear what stood in front of me. As his body touched mine if fell to the floor covered in a carpet of needles.
In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. Nevertheless, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.
When I reached a house, I knocked to ask for a cup of water to cool my senses. The woman, upon seeing my shoes, let me in.
Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
Suddenly a swarm of angry vultures swooped upon the ogre and began to peck at every pore and crevice of his body. Together, a mass of flapping and buzzing around a core of struggling flesh, they danced a violent dance. His pitiful screams were drowned in a sea of hundreds of angry screeches and the sounds of countless beaks piercing flesh. I ran from this bloody scene as quickly as I could.
Little Lost Josh
Little Lost Josh
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 695
Once upon a time, there was a young man named Josh. Josh was 30 years old and lived in Toowoomba, Queensland. While walking home from school one day, a purple tiger jumped out from behind a statue and knocked Josh to the ground. But just when he was about to let out a cry for help, Josh realised that the purple tiger was only trying to be friendly, and was actually quite cute. At that moment, Josh decided to keep the purple tiger as a pet, and on the way home, he decided to name his pet purple tiger 'Wendy'.
When Josh and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing at the front door? That's right; it was Josh's mother, Rose. She was quite surprised to see a purple tiger following Josh into the front garden!
'What on earth is that?' shouted Rose.
'It's a purple tiger,' answered Josh.
'Yes, I can see that, Josh, but whatever is it doing here?' asked Rose.
'It's my new pet!' answered Josh.
'Oh you think so, do you?' said Rose. 'I wouldn't get your hopes up, if I were you. You know how your father is afraid of purple tigers.'
She paused, noticing the disappointment on Josh's face. 'OK - I suppose you can keep it until your father comes home.'
With that, Josh grabbed Wendy by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house - even though he knew his father would probably disapprove.
Once in the house, Josh and Wendy played and played, until Josh's favourite television show, 'Who's Line Is It Anyway', started. At that point, Josh forgot all about Wendy running riot in the house. However, halfway through 'Who's Line Is It Anyway', Josh was suddenly brought back to reality when he heard his father calling 'Josh! Josh! Come into the garage... right now!'
Josh legged it into the garage to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the garage, there stood his father, Drew, pointing towards the bed.
'Will somebody please explain this?' asked his father.
'I spend all day working hard in the fields digging eggplants and this is how you repay me? With elaborate murals?'
Then, as Josh followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he saw straight away, what his father was so upset about. The tiger had somehow painted an amazingly colourful mural on the bed.
'I don't even want to know how that got there,' said Drew.
'But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have painted such a monstrosity!'
Well, knowing his father to be a lover of fine art, Josh knew there was no point in even asking him whether he could keep Wendy for a pet. Without further ado, Josh set out to find where Wendy was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Josh discovered Wendy sitting underneath the table that Josh did his making love on.
'Come on, Wendy, it's time to find you a new home. Don't look at me like that - I'm not the one who painted the mural on the bed!' scolded Josh.
'Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet tiger.'
With that, Josh led Wendy out of the house and down to the local Naughty But Nice. They had just opened a new pet department and Josh knew the owner would find Wendy a good home. So after saying a fond farewell to Wendy, and thanking the owner of Naughty But Nice, Josh walked home.
He tried to take his mind off his sad loss by eating a whole box of jam doughnuts and four king-size Mars bars, washed down by several large glasses of Irish Breakfast Tea.
But Josh couldn't mope around for long because his father reminded him about the amazing mural which he still hadn't cleaned up! 'Oh well,' thought Josh, philosophically. 'At least there won't be any more murals. I guess I'll just have to make sure that my next pet doesn't harbour an artistic streak.'
The End.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 695
Once upon a time, there was a young man named Josh. Josh was 30 years old and lived in Toowoomba, Queensland. While walking home from school one day, a purple tiger jumped out from behind a statue and knocked Josh to the ground. But just when he was about to let out a cry for help, Josh realised that the purple tiger was only trying to be friendly, and was actually quite cute. At that moment, Josh decided to keep the purple tiger as a pet, and on the way home, he decided to name his pet purple tiger 'Wendy'.
When Josh and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing at the front door? That's right; it was Josh's mother, Rose. She was quite surprised to see a purple tiger following Josh into the front garden!
'What on earth is that?' shouted Rose.
'It's a purple tiger,' answered Josh.
'Yes, I can see that, Josh, but whatever is it doing here?' asked Rose.
'It's my new pet!' answered Josh.
'Oh you think so, do you?' said Rose. 'I wouldn't get your hopes up, if I were you. You know how your father is afraid of purple tigers.'
She paused, noticing the disappointment on Josh's face. 'OK - I suppose you can keep it until your father comes home.'
With that, Josh grabbed Wendy by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house - even though he knew his father would probably disapprove.
Once in the house, Josh and Wendy played and played, until Josh's favourite television show, 'Who's Line Is It Anyway', started. At that point, Josh forgot all about Wendy running riot in the house. However, halfway through 'Who's Line Is It Anyway', Josh was suddenly brought back to reality when he heard his father calling 'Josh! Josh! Come into the garage... right now!'
Josh legged it into the garage to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the garage, there stood his father, Drew, pointing towards the bed.
'Will somebody please explain this?' asked his father.
'I spend all day working hard in the fields digging eggplants and this is how you repay me? With elaborate murals?'
Then, as Josh followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he saw straight away, what his father was so upset about. The tiger had somehow painted an amazingly colourful mural on the bed.
'I don't even want to know how that got there,' said Drew.
'But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have painted such a monstrosity!'
Well, knowing his father to be a lover of fine art, Josh knew there was no point in even asking him whether he could keep Wendy for a pet. Without further ado, Josh set out to find where Wendy was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Josh discovered Wendy sitting underneath the table that Josh did his making love on.
'Come on, Wendy, it's time to find you a new home. Don't look at me like that - I'm not the one who painted the mural on the bed!' scolded Josh.
'Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet tiger.'
With that, Josh led Wendy out of the house and down to the local Naughty But Nice. They had just opened a new pet department and Josh knew the owner would find Wendy a good home. So after saying a fond farewell to Wendy, and thanking the owner of Naughty But Nice, Josh walked home.
He tried to take his mind off his sad loss by eating a whole box of jam doughnuts and four king-size Mars bars, washed down by several large glasses of Irish Breakfast Tea.
But Josh couldn't mope around for long because his father reminded him about the amazing mural which he still hadn't cleaned up! 'Oh well,' thought Josh, philosophically. 'At least there won't be any more murals. I guess I'll just have to make sure that my next pet doesn't harbour an artistic streak.'
The End.
HOORAY - Looks Like, Um, A Wizard To Me
My Short Story, Looks Like, Um, A Wizard to Me has been published at http://www.short-humour.org.uk/3writersshowcase/lookslikeummagictome.htm
Life's a Cliché!
Life's a Cliché!
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 178
Charles: Were you surprised when the Red Socks lost?
Pat: Surprised? You could have knocked me over with a potato.
Charles: I think the weather had a lot to do with it.
Pat: Yes, the field was in terrible shape. It had been raining snakes and cows up until the time the game started.
Charles: What do you think of the catcher?
Pat: He's a problem. He's out of shape. The coach should take the seagull by the toes and fire him!
Charles: We don't see neck to neck on this at all. I think the catcher is in great shape. He's as fit as a harpsichord.
Pat: How can you say that? He got on the team by the skin of his ankles.
Charles: You may be right. But you and I know how it is. That's just the way the meat pie bounces.
Pat: Well, time certainly does eat. I've got to be getting home now.
Charles: See you tomorrow, I hope. It's always fun passing the breeze with you.
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 178
Charles: Were you surprised when the Red Socks lost?
Pat: Surprised? You could have knocked me over with a potato.
Charles: I think the weather had a lot to do with it.
Pat: Yes, the field was in terrible shape. It had been raining snakes and cows up until the time the game started.
Charles: What do you think of the catcher?
Pat: He's a problem. He's out of shape. The coach should take the seagull by the toes and fire him!
Charles: We don't see neck to neck on this at all. I think the catcher is in great shape. He's as fit as a harpsichord.
Pat: How can you say that? He got on the team by the skin of his ankles.
Charles: You may be right. But you and I know how it is. That's just the way the meat pie bounces.
Pat: Well, time certainly does eat. I've got to be getting home now.
Charles: See you tomorrow, I hope. It's always fun passing the breeze with you.
Lessons Aesop Never Taught
Lessons Aesop Never Taught
By Scott Wilson
And the moral of the story is…
Two cats don't make a boat.
Never row with snakes.
eat while you're ahead.
One chunky hat deserves another.
A watery bucket spoils the whole barrel.
The early rabbit catches the tree.
Slow and steady wins the house.
A grasshopper a day keeps Cleopatra away.
crocodiles of a feather swim together.
You can bring an asp to water, but you can't make it sing.
By Scott Wilson
And the moral of the story is…
Two cats don't make a boat.
Never row with snakes.
eat while you're ahead.
One chunky hat deserves another.
A watery bucket spoils the whole barrel.
The early rabbit catches the tree.
Slow and steady wins the house.
A grasshopper a day keeps Cleopatra away.
crocodiles of a feather swim together.
You can bring an asp to water, but you can't make it sing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)