prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,n6djv6,Potion-making,AnneMarie Miles,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/n6djv6/,/short-story/n6djv6/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Sad', 'Contemporary']",36 likes,"
Jayce is sprinting across the yard towards me, waving his arm high, triumphantly. “I found a feather, Mom! Look, it’s blue! It must be from a blue jay.”I squat down to inspect it. “I think you’re right. Excellent job, sweetheart. Let’s put it in the jar.”Jayce wastes no time, uncorking the tiny plastic jar before jamming the feather into it.“Is that our last thing?” Jayce asks, still stuffing the feather with his index finger. Once it’s mostly in, a few stray strands of the feather are popping up out of the mouth of the container, Jayce pushes the cork into the mouth and holds it up to his eyes for a closer look at his collection of things, amazed.I pull out the kit’s instructions. Running a finger across the paper, I read from our list. “We’ve got: a feather, something dry, a blade of grass, a pinch of your shadow, and… Looks like we still need a flower petal.”“Oh, I know!” Jayce bolts across the yard, bee-lining for the bushes. “Come on, Mom, follow me.”I trail behind him, my stride matching at least two of his. We found this potion-making scavenger hunt at the toy store downtown. It is the last thing on our end-of-summer list of activities, but it’s the one Jayce seems the most excited about. I watch him intently, my heart warming at his belief in the magic of nature. At least he still has that.“I got it!” he exclaims, already working his jar open. Jayce plucks a rose bud from the bush, careful around the thorns. He holds it up to me as he peels a single red petal off, then rubs it between his fingers. I can feel its velvety texture just by watching him. I think of the flower shop back home, think of the charges on the bank account statements. A dozen roses I never received. My insides turn.“Now what? It is done?”“Yes! This one is done,” I tell him. “Oh, but don’t forget the most important part.” Jayce is briefly confused, then his face lights up.“The magic star!” He reaches into his basket to retrieve a plastic bag full of tiny yellow plastic stars. As he works it into his jar, he asks, “What does this one do?”I check the instructions again. “This is the….”“ – Dewdrop Potion!”“Right, yes, the Dewdrop Potion… This says it will bring more wildlife to our yard. But first you have to find a sunny patch, spin around three times, and whisper the name of the kind of animal you wish to come here,” I tell him, reading off the description. “What animal do you want to visit us?”Jayce considers for a moment, then darts off towards one of the last remaining sunny patches in our yard. I watch him spin in circles before bringing the tiny jar up to his lips and whispering softly to it. “I can’t tell you my wish or it won’t come true,” he announces.“Ah, smart boy,” I say, patting his head once he returns to my side.“What potion can we make next?” Jayce tucks his jar into his basket and starts bouncing up and down, ready for more magic.“I think we’ve made them all, sweetie.” I review the list. “We’ve made the Sunshine Potion, the Flower Potion, the Rain Potion, the Greener Grass Potion,” – my favorite, because we could certainly use the extra financial fortune – “and the Birdsong Potion. I think that’s all of them, dear. It’s getting pretty late. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. We ought to start thinking about getting ready for dinner and jammies.”Jayce looks close to pouting. “But there’s one more jar!” He pulls out an empty, unlabeled container as proof. “See! Please, can we do one more, Mom? Please!”I study his face, his freckled cheeks, his green eyes, his blonde hair hovering over his eyebrows. He looks so much like his father, something I used to love about him.“OK, fine. One more,” I surrender. I open up the pamphlet to its full length. “It says here that the extra jar is so you can create your own magic potion. You get to pick out your own ingredients and determine what your potion can do. It says, ‘Don’t forget to add your magic star before making your wish.’”Jayce’s eyes light up when I read that to him. It feels like forever since I’ve seen them do that. Since the day before I told him we had to leave. I feel the ache in my chest soften, though my stomach tightens a little.“I know exactly what I need,” he says, grabbing his last jar and running off towards the perimeter of bushes in our yard. I love how sure of himself he is, despite everything. Children really are the most resilient creatures on the planet.I watch him as he collects odd-shaped rocks, twigs, and flower petals and shoves them into his jar. I snap some photos of him catching sunrays, admiring the back drop that is our new landscape, at least for now. We’ve been in the new house for just two weeks, but as for how long we will stay here depends on how soon I can secure a job. And how the school year goes for Jayce. At least tomorrow will offer a glimpse of that, I hope.“I need a strand of your hair, Mom,” Jayce holds his hand out.“What?” I laugh. “My hair? What for?”“It’s for my potion. It won’t work without it, Mom, I need it! Pleeease,” Jayce wiggles his fingers.I don’t have it in me to deny him much of anything anymore, but with the stress of everything recently, my hair’s been coming out in locks. “Go grab my hairbrush from the bathroom,” I relent with a playful sigh. I catch a glint of a smile before he’s gone, darting to the house. When he comes back, he’s sprinting, his potion bottle high above his head.“It’s ready!” he cries, but he doesn’t stop when he gets to me. Instead, he runs past me, towards the large oak tree that marks the end of our property. I snap more pictures of him as he hops on one foot, then another, does one jumping jack, and then spins around in more circles, the sunset splashing orange, red, and yellow through the branches behind him. When I look at the photo I’ve captured, I’m stunned by its beauty. I know I’ll remember this moment as the first time I’ve felt any sense of appreciation for being here in this new town. It’s the first time I feel like we might actually be OK.The thought brings me back to reality. The reason I’ve had to spend so much time worrying we ever wouldn’t be OK again. I open my text messages and prepare to send the photo to Andrew. I promised him I would send him frequent photos and keep him updated on our daily life as long as he didn’t fight for custody. It was part of our deal, the deal that included not telling Jayce just how close his father and his kindergarten teacher really are.I type: Potion-making before dinner. School starts tomorrow. I hate how texting him now feels both familiar and foreign. I hit send, then tuck my phone in my back pocket.Jayce whines the whole two minutes it takes us to get inside from the yard, and barely touches his dinner. I try to ask him how he is feeling about starting his new school tomorrow, but he just shrugs while scooping up his green peas one by one with his spoon and watching them drop back onto his plate.“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” he finally voices once he’s showered and tucked into bed, one story already read.I stroke my hand over his hair. “I know, baby. It’s hard to start a new school. But I’m sure you’ll make new friends in no time. Plus, did I ever tell you that first grade was my favorite grade ever?” I grin, tickling his chin.He giggles because he can’t help it. “Mom, you said that about kindergarten.”I laugh. “But this time, I mean it.”This doesn’t elicit the smile I hope for. Instead, Jayce presses his chin into his chest and wraps his fingers around mine, holding them in place. “I wished for bunnies to visit us,” he says.The sadness looming in his eyes has become normal these days, but it still worries me. I try to redirect. Faking horror, I gasp. “You’re not supposed to tell me!”My joke doesn’t faze him. “It’s the only animal I never got to see back home.” He’s twiddling with my fingers, careful not to look me in the eyes when he continues. “And I wished for you and Daddy to get back together.”Those are the words I’ve known I would hear sooner or later, but the expectation of them does nothing for the pain they unload. I feel like the bowling ball in my chest finally dropped into my stomach. I have to catch my breath.Jayce finally meets my eyes, but this time, I turn my head away. “Is that why you asked for a strand of my hair?”I feel him nodding, scraping his nail slowly against mine. “Dad always said how much he loved your hair,” he whispers.Tears roll past my eyelids, streaming down my cheeks. I close my eyes in an attempt to catch them, but it's a failed attempt. All I see are Andrew’s hands, Ms. Kelly’s red hair clutched between his fingers. I have to bite my lower lip to keep the dam from breaking. Like I teach Jayce, I count to ten and then swallow hard before inhaling.“You’ve got a big day tomorrow, sweetie. Better get some sleep.” I rub his tummy then plant a kiss on his forehead.“I’m sorry for making you sad, Mommy,” Jayce says as I am closing his door. I am too choked up to tell him that he did nothing wrong. I don't make it to my room before I'm pressed against a wall, sliding down it as the tears unleash, wishing there were enough magic in the world to make them stop. In the morning, before the rush of breakfast-making and getting ready for school, Jayce and I watch silently through my bedroom window as squirrels and blue jays and a single cottontail bunny scurry across the yard, thankful that at least one of his potions worked.
","September 06, 2023 02:01","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'ahhhh this is sweet and also sad when the history is revealed. \n\n""Jayce’s eyes light up when I read that to him. It feels like forever since I’ve seen them do that."" I know exactly what you mean. That look. That they lose when they grow up. I miss it too!! \n\nThanks for sharing this!', 'time': '15:11 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""I'm thankful that my daughter still has that look. The story is based on our recent potion making adventure, though, thankfully, the affair is pure fiction. A notorious overwriter, my goal was to say more with less words, and hopefully get the point across. I appreciate your time in reading and commenting! Thank you!"", 'time': '17:54 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""I'm thankful that my daughter still has that look. The story is based on our recent potion making adventure, though, thankfully, the affair is pure fiction. A notorious overwriter, my goal was to say more with less words, and hopefully get the point across. I appreciate your time in reading and commenting! Thank you!"", 'time': '17:54 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amy Bepko': 'I really enjoyed this piece. Somehow you found a way to make the piece both whimsical for the child and heartbreaking for the mother. It felt like a look into the lives of this family and from the beginning to end I could see the story play out in my mind. Really well written.', 'time': '17:09 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you for your kind words! It was experimental for me to write leas and try to say more so it was hard to see if the reader would be able to get enough from it, so thank you for saying that. And for taking the time to read! Appreciate it :)', 'time': '18:47 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you for your kind words! It was experimental for me to write leas and try to say more so it was hard to see if the reader would be able to get enough from it, so thank you for saying that. And for taking the time to read! Appreciate it :)', 'time': '18:47 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jenni Bradshaw': ""You had me at potion making!\n\nWhat a creative way of entertaining a first grader while also instilling the fun/love behind magic! I still remember taking ballet for fun as a child and my teacher would place a golden star on each of our heads and tell us to tip-toe out to our parents every time we got picked up. It was something so simple yet so magical that I still cherish that creative gesture to this day!\n\nI would've loved potion making - and goodness, I feel like kids need to learn the magic of nature now, more than ever! Your story playe..."", 'time': '18:00 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Hey Jenni thanks for your thorough feedback and investment in this piece. I agree, kiddos do need to experience the magic of nature. I got the potion making idea from a kit I used with my daughter. She really loved it. \n\nWow, this is probably my favorite critique/suggestion, and I am kicking myself for naming the father! Anonymity would have been much more powerful here. I didn't think much of this when I wrote it, but it's surprisingly gotten some good feedback so I might submit elsewhere... if I do I am definitely making those edits! Thank..."", 'time': '21:04 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Hey Jenni thanks for your thorough feedback and investment in this piece. I agree, kiddos do need to experience the magic of nature. I got the potion making idea from a kit I used with my daughter. She really loved it. \n\nWow, this is probably my favorite critique/suggestion, and I am kicking myself for naming the father! Anonymity would have been much more powerful here. I didn't think much of this when I wrote it, but it's surprisingly gotten some good feedback so I might submit elsewhere... if I do I am definitely making those edits! Thank..."", 'time': '21:04 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'A heartbreaking story, yet there’s faith in the mother that she will be strong and find the positives and the two will be ok. There’s hope in that hopping bunny.', 'time': '17:46 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Nina, thanks for reading! I definitely think a pinch of hope was exactly what I was going for here. Glad you picked up on that. Thanks for the comment, I appreciate your time!', 'time': '20:38 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Nina, thanks for reading! I definitely think a pinch of hope was exactly what I was going for here. Glad you picked up on that. Thanks for the comment, I appreciate your time!', 'time': '20:38 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rebecca Miles': ""Liking this pared back style my dear! I love ornate finery but the plot and the message is so strong here that the understated prose really helped focus on the central imagery of the potion and the heartache and hope it inspired. Subtle too: how the mother's story played second fiddle to the child's, although of course they were all part of the same song really. This is just so poignant and you have the talent to make it just enough at the close; a little bit of magic is what even we cynical adult readers want. If I could wave my magic wand ..."", 'time': '21:37 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Subtly was my goal this week!! I am honestly wondering what magic helped me pull this one off ✨ perhaps it\'s the ""magic wand"" I sent my daughter to school with to help her be brave 🪄 that and the fact that this was certainly inspired by her! I\'m hoarding those gold stars and keeping them close so I can pull off a monster story as gracefully grim as yours!', 'time': '03:22 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Subtly was my goal this week!! I am honestly wondering what magic helped me pull this one off ✨ perhaps it\'s the ""magic wand"" I sent my daughter to school with to help her be brave 🪄 that and the fact that this was certainly inspired by her! I\'m hoarding those gold stars and keeping them close so I can pull off a monster story as gracefully grim as yours!', 'time': '03:22 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sue Hunter': ""This was a lovely read, though bittersweet. I really tried to comb through your story multiple times, looking for mistakes or things I didn't like. I do this to refine my critiquing skills, but I couldn't really find anything. The sadness and tension were clear from the first couple of lines. Jayce's sunshiney attitude acted as a perfect foil for our mother character. \n\nYou built your story perfectly; as a reader, I was intrigued by the premise and was hooked all the way to the end. Your story showed both the struggles of a single mother str..."", 'time': '21:12 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'By golly, this just made my day! Thank you, Sue! It means so much to me that you invested so much of your time and thought into this piece. I really didn\'t think much of it when I was done. I just wanted to accomplish something short that had some meaning. It sounds like it worked! \n\nAnd I think you found my typo for me. Combed through this myself several times and could have sworn I wrote ""is it done?"" You\'re absolutely right about that sounding awkward. Thanks for being so thorough and detailed!', 'time': '03:04 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'By golly, this just made my day! Thank you, Sue! It means so much to me that you invested so much of your time and thought into this piece. I really didn\'t think much of it when I was done. I just wanted to accomplish something short that had some meaning. It sounds like it worked! \n\nAnd I think you found my typo for me. Combed through this myself several times and could have sworn I wrote ""is it done?"" You\'re absolutely right about that sounding awkward. Thanks for being so thorough and detailed!', 'time': '03:04 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'Beautifully written and poignant. \n\nThe sadness was left hanging in the air, just waiting to be fully revealed at the right moment. It was a moment worth waiting for.', 'time': '12:57 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you, Helen! That means a lot coming from you. :)', 'time': '15:01 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you, Helen! That means a lot coming from you. :)', 'time': '15:01 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Aeris Walker': ""Such a whimsical piece, with a little darkness at the edges. This was sweet and heartwarming, with the details of the parents' split masterfully woven in at just the right places. Well done :)"", 'time': '17:42 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Aeris! This means so much coming from your talent! It was definitely a skill-building exercise for me, dropping small but meaningful details. Thanks for taking the time to read it!', 'time': '18:29 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Aeris! This means so much coming from your talent! It was definitely a skill-building exercise for me, dropping small but meaningful details. Thanks for taking the time to read it!', 'time': '18:29 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Wow, how captivating. I was totally engaged, and rivetted by your prose, that the ending just appeared out of nowhere - I see that as a good thing. Beautiful melancholy displayed here along with both strength of being a parent and the resilience of children. \n\nGreat story, brilliantly told.\n\nThis has potential winner all over it. Good luck!', 'time': '16:17 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Wow, Kevin, thank you for your kindness. I think you captured one of the major themes. Parenting through your own hardships can be so challenging. It makes the longing for childish magic that much stronger. \nI honestly didn't see this as a very strong piece when I published it so your comment shocks me. But it just goes to show we are our harshest critics, and to just share it anyways. Lol! The worst that can happen is an opportunity for growth. \nThanks again for reading, I'll be coming around to your stories soon when I get home. :)"", 'time': '17:01 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""Oh I understand that, outside perspective is sometimes just what's needed. The two stories I had shortlisted were two I was unsure of, guess we never know ha."", 'time': '18:30 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Wow, Kevin, thank you for your kindness. I think you captured one of the major themes. Parenting through your own hardships can be so challenging. It makes the longing for childish magic that much stronger. \nI honestly didn't see this as a very strong piece when I published it so your comment shocks me. But it just goes to show we are our harshest critics, and to just share it anyways. Lol! The worst that can happen is an opportunity for growth. \nThanks again for reading, I'll be coming around to your stories soon when I get home. :)"", 'time': '17:01 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Oh I understand that, outside perspective is sometimes just what's needed. The two stories I had shortlisted were two I was unsure of, guess we never know ha."", 'time': '18:30 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Oh I understand that, outside perspective is sometimes just what's needed. The two stories I had shortlisted were two I was unsure of, guess we never know ha."", 'time': '18:30 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kay Smith': ""I really enjoyed reading this! You capture the fantastical mind and whimsical dreams and hopes of a child so brilliantly. But, sadly, as we know children tend to know more than we think they do. They are very perceptive\nI love his wish that his Mommy and Daddy would get back together! ;(\nAnd I'm glad that they were grateful that at least one of their potions worked! \nThis is a bittersweet, sad story. It's beautiful. Great job!"", 'time': '16:10 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Hey Kay! Thanks for reading and commenting! Whimsical is very much what I envisioned throughout the potion -making. I'll make a point to come around to your story soon, as I'm out and about at the moment. Looking forward to it :)"", 'time': '16:53 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Hey Kay! Thanks for reading and commenting! Whimsical is very much what I envisioned throughout the potion -making. I'll make a point to come around to your story soon, as I'm out and about at the moment. Looking forward to it :)"", 'time': '16:53 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""Good story- I thought the interactions between the Mother and Jayce were spot on.  The potion making sounds super fun, and obviously worked a little, with a cottontail coming by.  \nThat is how magic, works in my experience, you don't  everything you want, just what is needed/\nThanks!"", 'time': '04:03 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Marty, thanks for reading! I agree; we get what we need, and I suppose the magic of it is realizing that, usually in hindsight. The potion making was awesome, I highly recommend it!', 'time': '14:11 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Marty, thanks for reading! I agree; we get what we need, and I suppose the magic of it is realizing that, usually in hindsight. The potion making was awesome, I highly recommend it!', 'time': '14:11 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Charming short story says so much. Brought back memories, too.\n\nThanks for liking my 'Kneaded Touch'.\nIf I forgot to send congrats on your shortlisted story please accept it now."", 'time': '19:53 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you kindly, Mary! Both for reading and commenting, and also the congratulations! You are a talented writer!', 'time': '20:22 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you kindly, Mary! Both for reading and commenting, and also the congratulations! You are a talented writer!', 'time': '20:22 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Wally Schmidt': ""Anne Marie! So glad you're back story telling!!. Wondering where you'd gotten to and was hoping it was just a matter of summer activities keeping you busy. \n\nThis story infused me with sadness, but I could also imagine that unique closeness that some single moms are able to forge with their kids after a breakdown in a marriage. I love how you have gone deep with the emotions that each of the mc's is experiencing and how the reader feels that melancholia too."", 'time': '19:15 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Wally, hello again! I am happy to be back. Thought of this place often, but yes, I usually spend my springs writing poetry, and then summer I had lots of English classes to take as I think I'll actually go back and get that English degree I talked myself out of, ha ha! \n\nThank you for reading this little dingy and for commenting. So looking forward to diving back into one of your masterpieces."", 'time': '20:25 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'AnneMarie Miles': ""Wally, hello again! I am happy to be back. Thought of this place often, but yes, I usually spend my springs writing poetry, and then summer I had lots of English classes to take as I think I'll actually go back and get that English degree I talked myself out of, ha ha! \n\nThank you for reading this little dingy and for commenting. So looking forward to diving back into one of your masterpieces."", 'time': '20:25 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Wally, hello again! I am happy to be back. Thought of this place often, but yes, I usually spend my springs writing poetry, and then summer I had lots of English classes to take as I think I'll actually go back and get that English degree I talked myself out of, ha ha! \n\nThank you for reading this little dingy and for commenting. So looking forward to diving back into one of your masterpieces."", 'time': '20:25 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Wally, hello again! I am happy to be back. Thought of this place often, but yes, I usually spend my springs writing poetry, and then summer I had lots of English classes to take as I think I'll actually go back and get that English degree I talked myself out of, ha ha! \n\nThank you for reading this little dingy and for commenting. So looking forward to diving back into one of your masterpieces."", 'time': '20:25 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': ""Really brilliant pacing in this one. The contrast between the lad's euphoria and the inner sadness of the mum, culminating with them both meeting in the same place, emotionally. The gradual reveal of the break up worked perfectly and it ends sweetly with some hope moving forward. \n\nNice job tying the first day at school in with a new beginning for the mum as well.\n\nGreat work"", 'time': '14:02 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thanks, Tom! This was a bit of an experimental piece. Trying to practice lower word counts, say more with less. It sounds like it worked. Appreciate your time and comments!', 'time': '23:18 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thanks, Tom! This was a bit of an experimental piece. Trying to practice lower word counts, say more with less. It sounds like it worked. Appreciate your time and comments!', 'time': '23:18 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Short and (bitter) sweet. I think Jayce\'s last wish was quite predictable, especially when he asks for her hair, but like she says, ""Those are the words I’ve known I would hear sooner or later, but the expectation of them does nothing for the pain they unload."" We *know* it\'s coming, and that knowledge heightens our dread - but it\'s a pain she must go through, because it\'s a pain he must go through. \n\nHow do you explain divorce to a young child? With difficulty, I imagine, and all the while you\'ve got your own feelings to struggle with. That...', 'time': '20:38 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""This comment means a lot to me, Michal, as this was an experimental piece, trying to squeeze depth into a smaller space. From your extensive and thoughtful analysis it seems I may have succeeded. :) it may not be a winning piece, but it's a growth piece for me. \n\nGlad you picked up on the hopeful note of the bunny. Jayce said his wish wouldn't come true if he told his mom, but this one did. So, perhaps, maybe miracles happen. \n\nThe potion making scavenger hunt is what inspired this whole piece. My daughter still hasn't told me what animal sh..."", 'time': '23:30 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""This comment means a lot to me, Michal, as this was an experimental piece, trying to squeeze depth into a smaller space. From your extensive and thoughtful analysis it seems I may have succeeded. :) it may not be a winning piece, but it's a growth piece for me. \n\nGlad you picked up on the hopeful note of the bunny. Jayce said his wish wouldn't come true if he told his mom, but this one did. So, perhaps, maybe miracles happen. \n\nThe potion making scavenger hunt is what inspired this whole piece. My daughter still hasn't told me what animal sh..."", 'time': '23:30 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Another fine tale from AnneMarie! I loved this coming-of-age tale disguised as a mother's heartache. Wouldn't it be great if our kids could always retain that Jayce-like enthusiasm for magic and goodness and happiness?\n\nAlthough this tale is sad, it's also tinged with hope, rebirth, and growth. The only constant is change, but change is never constant. Parents know this, and we all commiserate with each other as our kids grow up. Jayce is at that golden age when they still believe in magic, when they still love their parents unreservedly. \n\n..."", 'time': '12:56 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Hi Delbert, thanks for taking the time to read this little dingy and leave some really kind words. It means SO much to me. I wanted something short and sweet this week. Working on lowering my word count to build up to micro-fiction. Wasn't sure if this held up enough on its own, but it sounds like you got a lot from it. \n\nIm so grateful my daughter still has this love for potion-making and magic. She inspired this story, though thankfully, the heartache is fiction. And you are right, leaving it unresolved is realistic, and hopefully contrast..."", 'time': '14:16 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Hi Delbert, thanks for taking the time to read this little dingy and leave some really kind words. It means SO much to me. I wanted something short and sweet this week. Working on lowering my word count to build up to micro-fiction. Wasn't sure if this held up enough on its own, but it sounds like you got a lot from it. \n\nIm so grateful my daughter still has this love for potion-making and magic. She inspired this story, though thankfully, the heartache is fiction. And you are right, leaving it unresolved is realistic, and hopefully contrast..."", 'time': '14:16 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Chris Campbell': ""AnneMarie,\n\nA tale of new beginnings, overshadowed by the sadness of a love lost.\n\nDon't we all wish we could maintain that child's level of enthusiasm for life.\n\nI liked the potion-making scavenger hunt, so went and found some on Amazon.\n\nNicely told."", 'time': '08:48 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Chris! Thanks so much for taking the time here and leaving a comment. Absolutely believe the world would be a better place with a little more childish enthusiasm from the big people. Enjoy that potion-making hunt! We had a lot of fun with it over here. :) \n\nBest, \nAnneMarie', 'time': '14:18 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Chris! Thanks so much for taking the time here and leaving a comment. Absolutely believe the world would be a better place with a little more childish enthusiasm from the big people. Enjoy that potion-making hunt! We had a lot of fun with it over here. :) \n\nBest, \nAnneMarie', 'time': '14:18 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Lei King': ""Hey AnneMarie! been too long for comfort! This was such a sweet story but so disconsolate when the previous life has been divulged. I wish I had this relationship between my mother and I when I was younger, I feel like life would be so much easier. I'm glad to see you're back in the writing mojo!\n\nYour friend, Lei L."", 'time': '21:00 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Lei! It has been awhile, but I am happy to be writing again. Thanks so much for reading this little puffball of a story. I wanted something short and sweet this week, and my daughter happened to spark a little inspiration with our potion-making adventures!\nHope you are reading something exciting this week and writing more, too!', 'time': '03:42 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hey Lei! It has been awhile, but I am happy to be writing again. Thanks so much for reading this little puffball of a story. I wanted something short and sweet this week, and my daughter happened to spark a little inspiration with our potion-making adventures!\nHope you are reading something exciting this week and writing more, too!', 'time': '03:42 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,f1t1se,School Refusal,Michelle Oliver,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f1t1se/,/short-story/f1t1se/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Funny']",27 likes,"
“Ellie, come out from under there.”“No, I’m fine right here.”“Come on Ellie, it’s getting late.”“I’m staying here.”“In a pillow fort?”“Yep.”“All night?”“Yep.”“Don’t you think that’s a little… I don’t know… immature?”“Nope.”“Come on Ellie, your bed is much more comfortable.”“I’m perfectly fine here, thank you very much.”“How about I get you a nice tub of Ben and Jerry’s and you crawl up here next to me and we will talk about it? Come on. I’ve got Chunky Monkey.”“Good try, but I think I’ll pass.”“Pass on Ben and Jerry’s? It’s Chunky Monkey! Your favourite!”“I’m good. I’m staying right here.”“Ellie, I’m serious. You can’t stay there all night.”“Yes, I can.”“No, it’s not right. Come on now, out you get.”“Uh-uh! You can’t make me.”“I’m not leaving you here all night. Come on, enough is enough, already.”“I’m perfectly fine here, so you can just go to bed without me.”“Look, this is silly. I’m not going to just leave you like this. Talk to me. Come on, sweetheart.”“No, thank you.”“Is it about school tomorrow?”“Maybe.”“Are you worried?”“Maybe.”“Talk to me, what is worrying you?”“I’m scared that the kids won’t like me?”“Sweetheart, they will love you.”“No, they won’t, they’re mean.”“Mean?”“Yeah, they make people cry. And then they laugh and think it’s funny.”“Look, kids can be mean, I get that, but you have to stand up for yourself. You have to be confident.”“They will laugh at me, and I will cry.”“Listen to me honey, you have to take deep breaths and remember that you are every bit as good as everyone else there. Be confident, smile. Kids like it when you smile.”“But they will say nasty things. I can’t keep smiling when they say mean things about me.”“Why would they say mean things about you?”“Because they’re kids. That’s what they do.”“You don’t know that.”“Yes, I do!”“Ok, some kids are mean, but not all kids. There will be nice kids, I’m sure of it.”“How do you know? Have you met them?”“Well, no. Not the kids in your class tomorrow, but it’s like anywhere. There are good people and bad people everywhere. You just have to look for the good ones. Do you remember what I told you once before? When you see the bad things happen on the news, like the Twin Towers falling, or countries being devastated by war.”“Ah-ha.”“What is it that I say? Do you remember?”“Um, that there are bad things happening, but look for the helpers.”“That’s right, look for the helpers. There are bad things everywhere and you don’t have to look too hard to see them. They’re big and scary and horrible and people get hurt.”“I don’t want to get hurt.”“You won’t.”“How do you know?”“Honey, you need to look beyond the scary situations and see that there are good people, too. They might not be so obvious, but they’re there. Quietly getting on with the job, caring for others, doing good and helping out. Just because the bad is so big, and loud and nasty, doesn’t mean that there is no goodness. It will be like that tomorrow, I promise. There will be the bad kids, the scary kids, the loud kids. But you have to look beyond them. There will be the good kids too. They might be quieter, they might not be so obvious, but if you look for them, they will be there.”“But what do I do if they’re all scary? They will all look at me like I have two heads.”“You’re over dramatising the situation. They will be curious, I’m sure. I mean, you’re new. They’ve never met you before. They will all want to get to know you.”“What if they don’t like me though?”“What’s not to like? You’re smart, funny, pretty and tell great jokes.”“You never laugh at my jokes.”“Well, I’ve heard them all before, but the kids tomorrow will not have heard them. Tell a joke, make them smile.”“But then they will laugh at me!”“No, they will be laughing with you, there’s a difference.”“But what if they don’t laugh? What if they think it’s a lame joke?”“Then tell another one. Kids like lame jokes.”“I can’t do it. I’m not going!”“Ellie, I am going to take this fort apart one pillow at a time.”“No! This is my fort. Leave it alone!”“That’s it! I’ve had enough. It’s tough love time. Look at me, Ellie.”“No!”“I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Turn your head and look at me.”“You’re so mean.”“Listen closely. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. You are my everything, the best part of me. I think you are wonderful, strong, capable and clever. I am so proud of everything that you have accomplished. You know all this, don’t you?”“I do.”“You also know that you are being silly right now. You have to go to school tomorrow. You don’t have any choice.”“There’s always a choice and I choose not to go. I don’t want to do it. The kids will be mean and I just can’t deal with it. I’m not going.”“Those kids are not going to be mean to you. I won’t let them.”“You won’t be able to stop them. You won’t be there.”“There will be others there to help. I told you. Look for the helpers.”“What if I can’t see any?”“Then find them.”“I’m scared. I can’t keep starting again. Every year starting from scratch. Learning new kids, trying to fit in. It’s too hard, and I don’t want to do it!”“You’re good at fitting in. You will get to know the kids very quickly. Just focus on one or two new faces each day, and by the end of the week, you will know them all!”“It’s still too hard. I’m not going to go.”“You have to go, those kids need you.”“Why?”“Because you’re their class teacher!”
","September 02, 2023 07:32","[[{'Delbert Griffith': ""LOL Great twist at the end. I was sure that we were dealing with teenage angst at a new school. At the end, after the reveal, I was hoping that the teacher's kid was the one doing the cajoling part. I suppose it was the spouse?\n\nThis was a great dialogue-only tale, Michelle. You MUST be a teacher. I recognize the symptoms, my friend. I taught foe decades, and that excited/anxious feeling happens every year. I take it that this is a new teacher, so it's even worse. I remember my first day of teaching. Now I want to drink heavily and forget it..."", 'time': '13:39 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. Yep, I’m a teacher. There’s that moment of fear the night before you have to face a new cohort of kids, when you think that perhaps lion taming or snake handling are much more appealing career choices.\nAs for who the significant other is in the story, I was thinking spouse but child would be even more amusing.', 'time': '13:47 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. Yep, I’m a teacher. There’s that moment of fear the night before you have to face a new cohort of kids, when you think that perhaps lion taming or snake handling are much more appealing career choices.\nAs for who the significant other is in the story, I was thinking spouse but child would be even more amusing.', 'time': '13:47 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Michelle,\nHA! Funny, did not even see that punchline coming. \nA teacher with beginning of school year PTSD.\nWell done!', 'time': '08:55 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'This is me every year!', 'time': '09:47 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'This is me every year!', 'time': '09:47 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Charles Corkery': 'Great convo.\nClever angle and twist\nWell done', 'time': '06:10 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '09:52 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading.', 'time': '09:52 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Oskar Reiss': 'Ha ha very funny. My parents were both teachers, and I’m sure they would both attest to the fact that there is nothing worse than the summer ending!', 'time': '19:57 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I think so many teachers feel the same. Just some light hearted fun this week', 'time': '22:34 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I think so many teachers feel the same. Just some light hearted fun this week', 'time': '22:34 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rebecca Miles': ""Teachers of the world, build that fort and unite! At heart, we have the same fears, it's just the profession calls us to hide them. I hope you've found the helpers behind the scary ones. I dismantled my pillow fort last Tuesday; I'll always be thinking of back to school with this metaphor in mind now! Just curious, are you part time like me? I couldn't find time to write otherwise."", 'time': '06:09 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. Im glad you can relate. Yes we are the master actors, and the Oscar for best performance in a real life drama goes to … all the teachers out there. I’m full time so if I don’t get my story written over the weekend, it doesn’t get written.', 'time': '08:57 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Rebecca Miles': 'Wow, you deserve a double Oscar for full time drama/ teaching and then scribbling so successfully at the weekend 🤗', 'time': '09:48 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. Im glad you can relate. Yes we are the master actors, and the Oscar for best performance in a real life drama goes to … all the teachers out there. I’m full time so if I don’t get my story written over the weekend, it doesn’t get written.', 'time': '08:57 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Rebecca Miles': 'Wow, you deserve a double Oscar for full time drama/ teaching and then scribbling so successfully at the weekend 🤗', 'time': '09:48 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Rebecca Miles': 'Wow, you deserve a double Oscar for full time drama/ teaching and then scribbling so successfully at the weekend 🤗', 'time': '09:48 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Lol! I think all the teachers/school crowd (🙋🏼\u200d♀️) knew where this was going because it happens every year!! Love it!', 'time': '21:46 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Yep, the dread of each new year. If only we could build a pillow fort and hide away until it was over! Thank you for reading.', 'time': '22:32 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Yep, the dread of each new year. If only we could build a pillow fort and hide away until it was over! Thank you for reading.', 'time': '22:32 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Ah you got me good, ha! Thought this was a wonderful mother daughter situation to the very end, well done. Had to reread for that factor and it went from caring to comical, that's just a stroke of genius right there.\n\nYou get an A* from me! 👍"", 'time': '06:49 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Kevin, something light hearted and fun this week.', 'time': '07:00 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Kevin, something light hearted and fun this week.', 'time': '07:00 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': ""Haha, that twist!  Your bio says you're a teacher. I really truly hope this story is non-fiction ;)\n\nAnother brilliant job Michelle. A very funny read!"", 'time': '20:27 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks, just some light hearted fun this week.', 'time': '00:53 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks, just some light hearted fun this week.', 'time': '00:53 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Audrey Knox': 'This is a really fun, fast read. I also like the punchline at the end because it speaks to a painful truth: kids are mean and cruel and terrifying no matter how old you are. I do think I would have taken more away from the story if the main lesson the ""cajoler"" was trying to say was something more original than the ""look for the helpers"" Mr. Rogers line I have seen before on the internet many times. Also, the twist at the end would be even more satisfying if there were hints in the story so that if we were to look back and read it, it sudden...', 'time': '18:02 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading it. I do agree with you about the message.', 'time': '01:04 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading it. I do agree with you about the message.', 'time': '01:04 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Heh :) I had a hunch :) \n\nThe pillow fort seemed childish, but something about Ellie's language seemed too mature. Teenager was a possibility too. \n\nNevertheless, very funny - and a little sad. I've never been a teacher, but I *have* been a student, and I definitely see this as a recurring battle at the start of each school year. \n\nThanks for sharing!"", 'time': '21:39 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'I’m a teacher, and although I love my job and the kids I teach, starting again from the beginning every year is exhausting, so those first weeks fill me with both excitement and dread.', 'time': '09:49 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'I’m a teacher, and although I love my job and the kids I teach, starting again from the beginning every year is exhausting, so those first weeks fill me with both excitement and dread.', 'time': '09:49 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'This is brilliant and so funny. My sister is a teacher, and this is what she goes through every year. Great story, Michelle!', 'time': '13:33 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Ty, the beginning of the school year finds me quietly rocking in a corner too! Haha', 'time': '13:37 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Ty, the beginning of the school year finds me quietly rocking in a corner too! Haha', 'time': '13:37 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Michelle, this is hilarious. The teacher fever that begins every year at this time runs high. Great suspense and reveal. \nI had a suspicion that it was a teacher. LF6', 'time': '15:43 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Lily. A bit of a lighthearted story this week.', 'time': '22:42 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Lily. A bit of a lighthearted story this week.', 'time': '22:42 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Had a suspicion it was the teacher's first day back. Thought maybe even the husband?\nGod bless on this year's adventure."", 'time': '18:34 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Mary. I’m a teacher in Australia so we are halfway through our adventure here. It’s been a long term, and finally drawing to a close.', 'time': '23:47 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Stay the course 📚', 'time': '01:15 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Mary. I’m a teacher in Australia so we are halfway through our adventure here. It’s been a long term, and finally drawing to a close.', 'time': '23:47 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Stay the course 📚', 'time': '01:15 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Stay the course 📚', 'time': '01:15 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Thats a great twist at the end.   The dialogue rang so true for a parent child conversation i could totally picture it, so i really fell for the ending. Well done!', 'time': '15:08 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Scott. I’m a teacher and I can tell you sometimes the dialogue rings true for me too. Haha.', 'time': '15:16 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks Scott. I’m a teacher and I can tell you sometimes the dialogue rings true for me too. Haha.', 'time': '15:16 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': 'That was funny 😂. Great story.\n\nHow did you get it out so fast?', 'time': '08:13 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks. I’m a teacher. This is me at the beginning of every school year, haha!', 'time': '08:20 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks. I’m a teacher. This is me at the beginning of every school year, haha!', 'time': '08:20 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Kay Smith': ""LOL!!! \nThroughout this entire story I'm sitting here wishing that the mother was my mother! The mother gave such wonderful and sound advice to the child!\nThe twist at the end cracked me up! I laughed out loud for real. Fabulous story!"", 'time': '16:18 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading and I’m glad it made you laugh. Just a bit of light hearted fun this week.', 'time': '23:46 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading and I’m glad it made you laugh. Just a bit of light hearted fun this week.', 'time': '23:46 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Had a suspicion it was the teacher's first day back. Thought maybe even the husband?\nGod bless on this year's adventure."", 'time': '18:34 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Had a suspicion it was the teacher's first day back. Thought maybe even the husband?\nGod bless on this year's adventure."", 'time': '18:34 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Had a suspicion it was the teacher's first day back. Thought maybe even the husband?\nGod bless on this year's adventure."", 'time': '18:33 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,t4d77z,First Day Back,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/t4d77z/,/short-story/t4d77z/,Kids,0,"['Kids', 'Coming of Age', 'Friendship']",22 likes,"
The rush of air smashed into John’s face as he balanced on the handlebars of the camp counselor’s bicycle, and with each bump on the hot asphalt, John’s bottom bounced into the air and lost contact with the thin handlebar that he clung to for dear life. Jim, the camp counselor, laughed. “Serves you right for not having a bike of your own—just one day of camp left—it isn’t too late to take a spill, weirdo.”John was looking forward to his first day of middle school the next day. It would be his first day at a new school, and his first day in a new grade. Anything had to be better than summer camp in Medford Lakes. When they did front crawl swim drills between the docks, John dove deep and swam underwater. While the other kids traded Garbage Pail Kids cards and listened to “Parents Just Don’t Understand” by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, John was engrossed in Marvel Comics. The cover of the comics would burn all hot and sticky in the fierce August sun.  The other kids were naturals at canoeing and archery (with real arrows), but John was scared to fall out of the canoe or shoot himself with the stupid arrow. To say that John didn’t fit in would be the understatement of the century. These kids grew up on a lake engaging in every possible variety of athletic competition like Spartan warriors reared on combat. John had grown up on a sleepy farm and had just moved to town at the beginning of the summer. Where John was from, the summers were full of driving around on tractors, running through the tomato fields, enjoying fresh salads and cookouts, and lounging around in the shade.* * *“Johnny, look what I’ve got for your first day of school!” It was a BMX Revolt freestyle bike in red and smoked chrome. It was a beauty. This was the bike he’d been looking at all summer. It would have really come in handy during summer camp.“Thanks Mom! What is this for?” Johnny asked.“You’re going to need a bike to ride yourself to school,” she said.Arriving at Neeta Middle School, John left his new bike on the bike rack and ran into homeroom with Mr. Moore. “Welcome to 6th grade,” Jessica Pat said.“It’s gonna be a blast,” John said. John had heard about how Jessica Pat didn’t have a father and how her mother and her used to live in a trailer park before coming to town. His parents had called her mother a “stoner.” But Jessica was one of the only kids that ever paid any attention to him.“I guess the two of us are the new kids, huh,” Jessica Pat said.“More like the outcasts,” John said. “If we were Garbage Pail Kids, I’d be Nat Nerd and you’d be Fran Fran.”Jessica giggled and shook her head, “It’s going to be a great year. You’ll see.”Mrs. Smith came to the front of the classroom and began explaining about “Spirit Week” and how the 6th graders would be divided up between Yearbook Committee, Cheer Group, and Sports Rally Team. She also put in a plug for cross-country, which was the sport she coached.“What did you get?” Jessica Pat whispered.“I got Yearbook Committee. What about you?” John asked.“Cheer Group,” Jessica Pat said with a shrug. “I guess I’m going to have to play nice-nice with the cheerleaders, lucky me.”Mrs. Smith said, “Before we start a new school year, I want all of us to go outside and have a moment of silence for Jennifer Young. For those of you who don’t know, Jennifer lost her life to a terrible fire on the lake over the summer. She will be deeply missed—our little school will never be the same, and no one can ever replace the special way she touched us all.”The whole classroom walked out onto the playground, stood in a circle, hung their heads, and remembered Jennifer Young. John thought of how Jennifer had always given up her spot for him at the water fountain and how she had been the only kid with a summer birthday to invite him to her party. How she had gone out of her way to include him in all of the games and everything. She was really the only kid in the school who had been nice to John since he got there. Neeta Elementary School was a mean place. It was just John’s luck that the one nice kid who made the place bearable would be the one this happened to.As they walked back inside, Mrs. Smith took John aside and said, “Hey, I want to give you a special assignment because I think it will help you get to know the other kids better. I’m going to put you in charge of writing a memorial section of the Yearbook for Jennifer Young, a section of memories, clippings, and anything you can come up with to honor Jen’s memory.”“Woah. That’s a big assignment,” John said.“I have a lot of faith in you,” she said, and winked, pinching his cheeks, below his raft of fuzzy hair like an Italian afro.John’s mind went back to when his parents woke him up in the middle of the night, clearly upset.“Johnny,” his mom said, “there was a fire at your friend Jen’s house, the one whose swim party you attended on the lake last week.”“—And this is going to be hard to understand, son, but the smoke got to her and by the time the firefighters got to the house, she was gone,” his father said.“Gone,” Johnny said, confused.“She died—she passed on—but she went away peacefully in her sleep and didn’t feel any pain,” Johnny’s Mom said. It was very confusing. Even though John’s grandfather had died and he’d even been to funerals for his grandfather and great-grandmother, it was hard to understand someone his age dying.After his parents left the room, John had called Stephanie and said, “Did you hear about Jen?” And he called Nicole next. Stephanie and Nicole were the cheerleaders and the cool girls at school. They would talk to John on the telephone after school but ignored him completely at school and at parties. But they both said they had dreamt of Jen coming to them in their dreams and telling them that everything was going to be ok—which was weird—that they both dreamt that the night she died. John didn’t know Jen that well and couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming, but he told them he dreamt it too, not wanting to be left out.* * *After the vigil for Jen, was science class with Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson had a diagram of a cell on the blackboard with the nucleus, cell membrane, ribosomes, mitochondria, and all of the other parts of the cell. Mr. Wilson pointed to the periodic table hanging on the wall and said that the focus for the semester was Life Science, but life and everything on earth is made up of elements, and these elements combine to form compounds. It was just the same, he explained, as how people work together in groups. While learning about life, the laboratory component of the class would deal with the elements that make up life.Mr. Wilson then divided the class into groups, and just John’s luck, he was teamed up with Jason Perry, his own personal nemesis. Mr. Wilson put seven mason jars on the laboratory table and handed out Bunsen burners, plastic fire-retardant gloves, and safety goggles. Mr. Wilson demonstrated how calcium chloride burned bright red under the blue flame of the Bunsen burner. Then he demonstrated how copper chloride made a blue-green flame, just like the green smoke in the Witches of Eastwick that turned all the diners into mice. All the kids gasped at this one. Mr. Wilson directed the students to test out potassium chloride as their first lab assignment.While John was dipping the wire loop in the potassium chloride solution, Jason leaned in and said, “Make sure you lean in real close so you can get a good look.”John leaned in and flicked on the Bunsen burner, holding the wire loop just above the flame. A pink flame shot up.“Go ahead, get a little closer,” Jason said.When John was close enough to feel the warmth of the flame on his forehead, Jason grabbed his head so he couldn’t pull away—laughing. “Stop, stop,” John said. “I’m gonna get burnt.” But Jason held his head even harder.“What’s the matter wimp, you afraid of a little fire?” Jason said.The flame caught a tiny bit of John’s curly hair. A smell like wet sulfur caught in John’s nose. He felt the flame on his hair. John started frantically smacking his forehead to put it out.All the kids were laughing as Mr. Wilson yelled, “That’s enough, enough!”While Mr. Wilson was yelling at Jason in the hallway, John overheard Jason say, “I just meant to scare him… I didn’t mean for his hair to catch fire,” and Mr. Wilson said in response, “I don’t want to have to bring your father down here—he’s tough on you as it is, and I know about your problems at home—but I’m not going to put up with you terrorizing the other students either.”John walked down the hall. He sat elbows-to-knees outside the boy’s bathroom and cried into his sweatshirt. Jessica Pat sat next to him and put her arm on his shoulder.“It’s ok, buddy boy. He’s always doing things like this—picking on everyone—” “—I don’t understand why he picked me out of everyone to always pick on.”“He thinks just because he’s some big shot BMX Bike Champ that he’s special or something,” Jessica shrugged.“Specially gifted at tormenting me,” John said.“Marissa told me that his father—who everyone in town knows is a drunk—beats him. I heard it is really bad. I heard he shows up to practice with bruises. He says its from falling on the bike. But I think he gets the bruises at home,” Jessica said.“I just feel like such an idiot—no one will ever forget this or stop making fun of me,” John said.“Come with me after school today, I want you to do cross-country with me.”“Cross country, really?”“It’s the easiest sport. All we do is run a mile after school and then get snacks. It’s the easiest thing in the world. And your parents have to buy you cool sneaks for doing it, it’s a rule” Jessica said, pointing at her new Asics sneakers.“You know that I came in last in running and pull-ups in gym class—I really don’t think I’d be any good at it,” John said.“Silly boy. It isn’t about being good. You get a uniform. You go to meets on the bus. We have pizza parties. That’s what it is about. The running isn’t the point at all,” Jessica Pat said.“Haha, I never thought of that. Ok, that doesn’t sound so bad. So I just meet you at Mrs. Smith’s room after class,” John asked.“Yup. Be there or be square,” Jessica Pat said, skipping away down the hall.* * *After the 5th period was recess. John was out on the football field playing catch with Rod, Joey, and Ernie.Jason rode up to the side of the field on John’s new bike, and said, “Nice bike runt. You don’t mind if I take it for a ride, do you?”“Hey, give that back,” John said. He tried to grab the handlebars.But Jason popped up in a wheelie and lurched the bike forward like he was going to slam the front wheel into John’s head. John stepped back and fell down flat on his back. All the kids on the football field were laughing.Jason said, “Get up fatso—before you get me in trouble again.”Then he brought the bike down, dismounted, and helped John up. But John had had enough and pushed Jason so that the bike fell to the ground.“You want a piece of me,” Jason said.“You are always picking on me,” John said.“So, what are you gonna do about it?”“After school, today, we settle this at Wilson’s Field. If I win, you never pick on me again. If you win, you can keep the bike,” John said. All the other kids were in shock. Jessica Pat ran up and grabbed John’s arm, saying, “What are you doing?”“I have no idea,” he said.* * *After the closing bell, all the kids ran outside, grabbed their bikes, and rode off in pairs. All of them were headed to Wilson’s Field to see the fight—the whole school would be there, practically. Jason rode his big, fancy 10-speed BMX racing bike up beside John and said, “Let’s go runt.” The two of them rode off together in silence.“You get past Bald Bull in Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out yet?” Jason asked.“What?” John said, confused.“Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out. Did you beat Bald Bull or not?” Jason asked.“No, I’m stuck on King Hippo,” John said.“Up-Up, Down-Down, Left-Right, Left-Right, B A Start—or input 007-373-5963. The first code gives you extra life and the second code skips you straight to Mike Tyson,” Jason said.“Why are you telling me this?” John asked.“I don’t know. Just making conversation. You seem pretty dead set on beating my ass and all, so I thought I’d try to take your mind off it,” Jason said.“You are the one that’s always picking on me,” John said.“It’s not personal, I’m just taking out my frustrations on life. I like you, that’s all.”“You like me?”“Yeah runt, you’re fun to fool around with,” Jason said.“It isn’t fun for me, dude! I was crying earlier. It’s hard enough as it is without your crap.”“What do you say we go to my house and have some cookies and milk,” Jason said.“What? Everyone is waiting at Wilson’s Field for us to pommel each other.”“Let ‘em wait. We’ll make up some story later,” Jason said.“You don’t want to fight me,” John said.“Don’t tell anybody ok, you’ll screw up my rep,” Jason said. It made sense in a weird way. John had been fighting all his life, so maybe Jason didn’t like his chances.The two laughed and rode to Jason’s house. When they went inside there were linoleum floors and a little wooden table in the kitchen. Jason ran and grabbed some Oreos and a half gallon of milk and a bowl and came over to the table.“Here you go dweeb,” he said.The two of them dipped the cookies and then started playing Punch-Out, and Jason showed John the codes. By the time they’d polished off an entire sleeve of Oreo cookies and run through all the enemies in Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out except Big Mike, Jason was getting antsy.“Let’s go punk,” and Jason pulled out a Black and White Marble Composition Notebook. “Let’s get working on that assignment to memorialize Jen.”“What should we do?” John asked.“You are good with words. Let’s write a poem—you can call it ‘The One Who Went Ahead.’” he said.They talked as they worked on the poem, and John talked about how all he wanted was to fit in and get along and be a part of the cliques all the kids were a part of.“Are you loco?” Jason said. “I’ve been a part of the in-group since we were all kids. Let me tell you something. You don’t want to be a part of that group.”“What do you mean?” John said.“Look at me, my father is a drunk. He beats the shit out of me for sport. Pick any one of them. None of their lives are so great,” Jason said.“But they all are friends and I’m always the odd man out,” John said.“You aren’t odd man anything. They are all jealous of you. You're smart. Your family is probably messed up too, but not as bad as some of them,” Jason said.“So, you think I should be happy being friendless,” John said.“Come off it, you have friends. You just need to be yourself. Stop trying to be like everyone else. There’s a reason you are doing this memorial project. Jen really took a liking to you—everyone hated that she took such a shine to you. But it made sense.”“Made sense how?” John asked.“Because jerk face. You are different. That’s your superpower. Jen was like the glue right, she bound everyone together. No one fits in. It’s not a real thing. Everyone feels weird. But Jen was the glue, see. And now she’s passed that baton on to you.”“Passed it to me?” John said.“It’s gonna take you a while to figure it all out, and I’m still going to ride you hard at school. But you’ll get it,” Jason said. “You’ll really get it eventually.”
","September 03, 2023 03:28","[[{'Martin Ross': 'Pardon, but I really kinda fucking HATED camp — in my case, 4-H camp. You really captured the ordeal of it — great opening grabber! The bike is such a seminal metaphor for coming of age — used it in one recent story, too — and it plays such a great role here. Uncompromising Page story — nicely done as always. And I like that for all the bullying, John was ahead of the Marvel coolness trend.', 'time': '14:15 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks, Martin!', 'time': '14:56 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks, Martin!', 'time': '14:56 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'I was hooked by the camp counselor calling John a weirdo. I’ve never been to camp, so I don’t know if camp counselors should be throwing insults like that. I enjoyed the opener, though. \n\nI also liked the introduction on several characters. Even though a lot of the names mentioned have no character development, they made the world you established in the story feel more expansive, which I dig.\n\nGarbage Pail Kids? DJ Jazzy Jeff?? Mike Tyson’s Punch Out??? Cheat codes???? I don’t know why, but I LOVED these references. I guess they’re a great w...', 'time': '13:15 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Jarrell!  John didn\'t steal the bike, he had to get toted around on the handlebars cause he didn\'t have one of his own.  As for the fight thing -- was trying to insinuate that the fact John got bullied all his life made him a thick-skinned target Jason might think twice about and maybe show a pluck of pride to explain why he\'d stand up and face the bully in the end.  Yeah, I\'m not picturing John as a loaner, but definitely one that is picked up.  Maybe I should have clarified that Rod, Joey, and Ernie also weren\'t part of the ""in crow...', 'time': '14:58 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Jarrell!  John didn\'t steal the bike, he had to get toted around on the handlebars cause he didn\'t have one of his own.  As for the fight thing -- was trying to insinuate that the fact John got bullied all his life made him a thick-skinned target Jason might think twice about and maybe show a pluck of pride to explain why he\'d stand up and face the bully in the end.  Yeah, I\'m not picturing John as a loaner, but definitely one that is picked up.  Maybe I should have clarified that Rod, Joey, and Ernie also weren\'t part of the ""in crow...', 'time': '14:58 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""All your references really took me back. Is the Punch Out cheats real, I can't remember?\n\nThe setting was very strong. What you done with the role reversal at the end was a nice touch, the popular bully is the one that doesn't fit in, and the unpopular kid is new glue with real friends (even if they don't speak to him in public). You've captured school politics to a T.\n\nEnjoyable read."", 'time': '07:08 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Kevin.  Punch-Out cheats are real.  Thanks for reading!', 'time': '15:44 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Kevin.  Punch-Out cheats are real.  Thanks for reading!', 'time': '15:44 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔭𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔯': 'Hello, Jonathan. \n\n[The rush of air smashed into John’s face as he balanced on the handlebars of the Camp Counselor’s bicycle, and with each bump on the hot asphalt, John’s bottom bounced into the air and lost contact with the thin handlebar that he clung to for dear life.]\nVery nice opening! I can see and feel this so vividly. \n\n[on the handlebars of the Camp Counselor’s bicycle]\nI don’t think you need to capitalize [Camp Counselor’s]. I know it’s a title, but here the camp counselor is being referred to as one of several, so it can be lowe...', 'time': '01:46 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': ""Thanks Guadalupe!  I really appreciate the edit.  That is actually really helpful.  I agree with all those edits.  I usually don't edit my drafts, but just do my best to get it as clean as possible first time through.  I see that I have a bunch of things you caught that I am doing repeatedly.  This will definitely help me a lot in cleaning up the prose some more.  Thank you so much!"", 'time': '03:40 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Jonathan Page': 'Guadalupe -- Thanks again for the edits!  I made your changes. Now, I just have to see if I can perhaps come up with a better idea for a name for this piece!', 'time': '04:41 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔭𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔯': 'I really enjoy picking titles for my stories—they can add so much, besides convincing a reader to read the whole story. I think your current title is a fine one.', 'time': '14:07 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': ""Thanks Guadalupe!  I really appreciate the edit.  That is actually really helpful.  I agree with all those edits.  I usually don't edit my drafts, but just do my best to get it as clean as possible first time through.  I see that I have a bunch of things you caught that I am doing repeatedly.  This will definitely help me a lot in cleaning up the prose some more.  Thank you so much!"", 'time': '03:40 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Guadalupe -- Thanks again for the edits!  I made your changes. Now, I just have to see if I can perhaps come up with a better idea for a name for this piece!', 'time': '04:41 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔭𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔯': 'I really enjoy picking titles for my stories—they can add so much, besides convincing a reader to read the whole story. I think your current title is a fine one.', 'time': '14:07 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔭𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔯': 'I really enjoy picking titles for my stories—they can add so much, besides convincing a reader to read the whole story. I think your current title is a fine one.', 'time': '14:07 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Belladona Vulpa': ""You're really good at writing school/classroom settings. I like how the troubled kid, Jason, eventually wants to become friends with John. That's a new turn because at school not all bullies are this honest (at least how I remember it from a long time ago😅). Jessica Pat was also alright. Sad also that their classmate died, it must be super weird for a kid's point of view to have to experience that. \nOverall, nice story!"", 'time': '05:37 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank Belladona!', 'time': '05:11 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank Belladona!', 'time': '05:11 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Different twist. Best of luck, 🤞 John.', 'time': '21:30 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '22:13 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '22:13 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,ot5k44,The Mentor,Murray Burns,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ot5k44/,/short-story/ot5k44/,Kids,0,['Funny'],17 likes,"
The MentorOff-key crooning…“The green leaves of summer are starting to fall, and those…’’“Enough with all the melancholy end-of-summer stuff, Sawyer!”“How about something a little more upbeat like a little ‘Summer Nights’ from Grease, Jesse?”“Oh my God, no. If I hear about Sandy and Danny one more time I’m going to toss my cookies. You need to move on. Summer’s over. We had a good run, but school starts tomorrow.”“Yeah, I know, but I sure am going to miss those lazy, laid-back days of summer, sleepin’ in, sittin’ on the porch sipping my lemonade and checking out all the cars that go by, video games, watching Paw Patrol until my eyes hurt, trips to the park …”“Snap out of it, Sawyer, life isn’t all fun and games. It’s high time you got a little serious about your future.”“To be honest, I’m scared about my first day of school tomorrow. I don’t think I want to go. Maybe I’ll just stay home.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Sawyer. You can’t stay home. And there’s nothing to be scared about. Sit down, I’ll tell you everything you need to know about how to be a good student.”Huck strolled into the room. The kid is so cool he makes the Fonz look like Napoleon Dynamite.“What’s up, bros?”“Sawyer’s got his undies in a bundle over school starting tomorrow, Huck.”“School starts tomorrow? Huh, I didn’t know that.”“Gees, Huck, how could you possibly not know school starts tomorrow?”“School, shmool, who cares? The Huckster’s got more on his mind than getting packed into a classroom like a bunch of sardines listening to some boring teachers try to teach us a bunch of crap.”“Watch your language, Huck!”“Crap, crap, crap, crap. Sawyer, relax. School’s no big deal. Just don’t let your goodie-two-shoes brother Jesse get in your head about it. You listen to him, and you’re going to hate school.”“You’re going to like school, Sawyer, but you have to take it seriously. Learning new things is exciting, fun, and rewarding. Knowledge and hard work are the keys to a successful life.”“You listen to Jesse, and you’re going to have a permanent seat at the nerd table at lunch. Lighten up on the kid, Jesse. Sawyer, all work and no play and you’ll turn into a super-geek like Jesse.”First days of school can be worrisome for a kid. First first days of school can be downright scary. Sawyer was making the big move, from kindergarten to first grade, real school. Jesse, having polished off his first two years in a breeze and now entering third grade, would be there for his little brother. Huck would also be there to…well, that was the problem. Huck would be there. Having miraculously made it through grades one through four without one documented minute of study, Huck was not likely going to be a good influence on his youngest brother as he embarked on his academic journey. But Jesse ranked high on the responsibility scale, too high for an eight-year-old kid, and he wanted Sawyer to get off on the right foot.“You got your pencil box packed?”“I think so, Jesse.”“Think so doesn’t cut it in the first grade. You’re not in kindergarten anymore, Sawyer. Let’s go through the list.”“ Six #2 pencils?”“Check.”“Ruler?”“Check”“Glue stick?”“Check.”“Remote control fart machine?”“Shut up, Huck. That’s not funny.”“Funny? Are you kidding me? That’s the funniest thing in the world. Sawyer, you make it sound like Miss Finn is rippin’ off a few thunder-busters, and you’ll be the most popular kid in the class.”“Stop it, Huck! Sawyer, don’t listen to him. He’s just going to get you in trouble. Fiskars kid scissors?”“Check.”And so it went, Jesse the force of good, and Huck, the force of not-so-good, exerting competing influences over their little brother.“Jesse, is Miss Finn a good teacher?”“She’s great, Sawyer. She’s very patient, explains everything really well, and cares about her students. You’re going to love her.”“B.S. She’s a witch, Sawyer. You can’t chew gum in class, she wants you to pay attention all the time, no throwing things, and she won’t let you go to the bathroom all day long. And I heard she killed a kid once.”“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Huck, Miss Finn never killed anyone.”“It’s what I heard. Just watch yourself, Sawyer.”“Is first grade hard, Jesse?”“Not if you stay focused and work hard. It’s pretty tough stuff, Sawyer, letters, words, numbers. If you pay attention in class and do your homework on time, you’ll be fine. Focus is the key. You’ve got to stay focused.”“Yeah, and here’s what you focus on, Sawyer- lunch, recess, and three o’clock. That’s when school lets out.”“Huck, don’t tell him that…”“Get in the lunch line early. Here’s where their stupid rules will work to your advantage. There’s no running in the hallways, but you do it anyway. That puts you at the front of the line every day. That way your hot lunch will actually be hot. And always look for some stupid, nerdy kid who might be willing to swap his dessert for your fruit or vegetable. It’s hard to believe, but they’re out there.”“Sawyer, you cannot run in the hallway! That’s a very important rule. Principal Carson is quite strict about that.”“Sawyer, I do it all the time. You don’t have to worry about Clueless Carson. His head’s up his butt most of the time anyway.”“Keep it up, Huck, and I’m telling Mom.”“Oh, that’s a surprise.”“Sawyer, Principal Carson does not have his head, well you know, what Huck said.”“Are you kidding me? You’d think after finding a fake puke on his desk five days in a row he’d catch on. Sawyer, the guy ran out of his office every time. Once he even barfed himself.”“That’s so disrespectful, Huck. He’s a very nice, smart man.”“Smart? One day I put a ‘School Closed’ sign at the entrance. When he saw it, Sawyer, he turned around and went home. Ha, ha, ha.”“He did not go home. You just told everyone he did.”“Well, he thought about it.”“How would you know if he thought about it?!”“And how about all the fire alarms I set off? The whole school knew I did it, and he never caught on.”“Stop it, Huck. Sawyer, if you listen to Huck you’ll spend a lot of time in detention.”“That’s where you want to be, Sawyer- detention. You don’t have to do a thing there. You just sit. And that’s where you’ll find all the cool kids. Hell, you and I can be in there together.”“That’s sounds pretty cool.”“Sawyer! No, you do not want to be in detention. Stop it, Huck!”“I’m just trying to help the kid out.”“ And, Sawyer, you want to look good for school. How you dress sets the tone for the day.”“No one cares what you look like Sawyer. Just try not to smell. In fact, it helps if you look a little rough, torn dirty jeans, your shirt hanging out, hair a mess. It boosts your cool-factor, gives you some street cred. Now, back to what matters. Recess. Stay away from the nerd games like 4-Square, Red Rover, Kick-ball, and Simon Says. And stay off the playground equipment. The cool kids are never caught on the swings or merry-go-round.”  “Don’t listen to him, Sawyer. The playground equipment is fun. You’ll love the climbing ladders and the big slide.”“They’re death traps, Sawyer. I heard half the stuff was paid for by the school nurse and some bone doctor in town to keep their business up. You can shoot some hoops or toss a football around, but what you really want to do is play marbles or dice for money. Just make damn sure you get good at marbles before you play, and most of the kids won’t know the rules for dice so they’ll be easy pickins. You can make some pretty good dough at recess if you play your cards right. Oh yeah, and cards, Texas Holdem so you can get a lot of hands in.”“Will you teach me dice and Texas Holdem, Huck.?”“Of course, Sawyer. That’s what brothers do.”“Huck! Don’t teach him that stuff! Sawyer, that’s not what you want to learn or what you want to do. You go to school to learn, not to gamble, pull foolish pranks, or get in trouble.”“Sawyer, look how much stuff you know already, and you’ve never been to school! Life is short, enjoy yourself. Do you think they would have invented the remote control fart machine if they didn’t want someone to use it? You gotta have a sense of humor, Sawyer. You listen to your nerd-bag brother Jesse and someday you’ll be putting starch in your underpants.”“I don’t put starch in my underpants!… I do ask Mom to iron them though.”“Oh, my God. I can’t believe we’re related. Ok, little buddy, let’s move on. Three o’clock. Once your school day starts, that’s the only thing that matters, the moment you walk out of the joint.”“Eight to three, that’s a long day, Huck.”“You bet your sweet bippy it is, Sawyer. That’s why you need to be able to entertain yourself while all the teaching crap is going on.”‘Huck! The language…oh, never mind.”“Game Boy was always my go-to device. Then I got busted, and now they watch for that stuff. Same with the little radios and the earbuds. The best you can do now is a comic book slipped inside one of their humongous textbooks. And of course, you can always doodle.”Sawyer was taking notes.“Comic book and doodle…”“Sawyer! Don’t write that stuff down. You don’t want to remember anything he’s telling you.”“And there’s always the sweet element of distraction. My buddy’s brother is in college, and he calls it ‘defensive booking’. Rather than study yourself, you keep the other guy from studying to lower the curve. It’s brilliant, and you can have a lot of fun doing it. There’s all kinds of things you can do.”“Lower the curve, that sounds interesting, Huck.”Jesse couldn’t stand it. He put his hands to his forehead.“Oh, my God.”“Like what kind of things, Huck?”“Spitballs, funny faces, fart sounds, whatever strikes your fancy. It’s a good chance to show a little creativity. They should give grades for it, but the tyrants that run the place don’t understand.”“Sawyer, as Principal Carson always tells us, ‘Your business here is learning.’ Your future starts now. Education will be the foundation of your life. You fall behind, and the Chinese will eat your lunch.”“Huck, you didn’t say anything about Chinese people in the lunch room.”“Sawyer, Sawyer, Sawyer, you’ve got so much to learn. That’s why you’re lucky to have big bro Huck to take you under his wing.”“Big bro Huck is going to get you in a lot of trouble, Sawyer. You need to listen to big-bro Jesse. You’re at a crossroads of your life, Sawyer. You can either try to make something of yourself, accomplish great things, and live a meaningful life, or idle away your time like a goofball clown…like your brother Huck.”  The meeting of the brothers was interrupted as Mom and Dad entered the room.“Well, Sawyer, have the boys been filling you in on what first grade will be like?”“Yes, Mom.”Dad understood the forces at work. He could imagine the good and bad angels perched on Sawyer's shoulders.“Let’s hope you take your cue from Jesse and not from Huck.“Yes, for sure, Dad. Jesse really helped me a lot. The main thing is I will need to focus. It’s important to pay attention, follow the rules, and do my homework on time. I understand my business there will be learning. Oh, and I always want to look sharp.”Jesse smiled proudly; a devilish grin from Huck.---------As the three boys and their Mother stood at the end of their driveway waiting for the school bus, Sawyer gave Huck a questioning look. Huck leaned toward Sawyer, smiled, gave him a quick wink, and whispered.“Don’t worry. It’s all good, Sawyer. I snuck the remote control fart machine into your backpack.”“Thanks, Huck. I think I’m going to like school.”
","September 07, 2023 15:24","[[{'Nina Herbst': 'You hit all the ups and downs on the day before school! I have a feeling Sawyer is going to do just fine, with big brother Huck looking out for him/stirring up mischief in equal doses 😂', 'time': '15:50 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""No-o-o-o. Don't listen to the devil-made-me-do-it Huck. Be a good kid."", 'time': '21:29 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""LOL Shades of Mark Twain characters in the modern world. I reckon that Jesse is more like Becky, and, of course, Huck is Huck. (Tom) Sawyer taking advice from Huck? Great turn of events, IMO. I'd love to see what happens after the first day of school. Sounds like Huck, the devil on one shoulder, is winning - for now.\n\nGreat tale, lots of fun, and hits the prompt perfectly. Nicely done, Murray.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '14:37 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Aw, this was silly and cute! A little angel and devil on little brother Sawyer's shoulders! I think we can all agree if Sawyer listens to BOTH of his brothers, he'll be on a great path. Balance is key 👌 thanks for sharing, Murray!"", 'time': '04:48 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,qr7uz9,Loretta in Flight: Fly Like an Eagle in a World Full of Chickens,Indee Anna Prosé,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qr7uz9/,/short-story/qr7uz9/,Kids,0,"['Inspirational', 'Funny', 'Contemporary']",15 likes,"
Loretta Young squished her plump figure into the tiny confessional in St. John the Evangelist’s Catholic Church. Her knee length jean shorts squeezed her thick thighs as she struggled to kneel down on the step. When she finally knelt down, the step groaned loudly beneath her. She smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on her pink tee-shirt and pulled it taut over her ample bosom and pouchy stomach. 
 
Dishwater blonde hair hung on each side of her round face and past her shoulders in stick-straight strands, like dry spaghetti. Laugh lines creased each side of her periwinkle eyes which looked larger than life through the oversized thick-lensed glasses she wore. Her glasses slowly slid down her nose. She pushed them back up with her middle finger and quickly drew the cross sign on her body.
 
“Bless me, father, for I am about to sin. It has been three years since my last confession.”
 
“Bless you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” said Father Shively. “Lord Jesus Christ, we thank you for your presence. Please guide our hearts and minds.
 
“Now, you say you are about to sin, dear one?”
 
“Yes, father.”
 
“Tell me more.”
 
“I was fired from my job as a cafeteria worker at Bensonhurst Elementary last school year.”
 
“Oh?”
 
“Yeah. There was a diarrhea outbreak among the kiddos during lunch one day and they blamed me.”
 
“How could that be?” Father Shively inquired.
 
“Well, Mr. Lindley, the assistant cafeteria manager, always said that the kids we served had snotty attitudes and sticks up their butts. That really concerned me. Snot noses, well, you can’t do much about that if it’s a common cold. You’ve just gotta let it blow over. But sticks up their butts? That’s a different story.
 
“I asked Mr. Lindley over and over again if we shouldn’t get word to the kids’ parents. You know, get the kids some relief. But he never took action. 
 
“So, I took matters into my own hands. I talked it over with my best friend, Kaos, and he found the perfect remedy. He told me to mix a laxative into that day’s batch of chili cheese supreme. I did just that and 15 minutes later the floodgates opened. Man, those kids let ‘er rip and experienced instant relief like never before. I should have been thanked. Not fired.”
 
Father Shively frowned in puzzlement. “Well, that’s quite a story. I certainly hope no child was harmed. Children are a blessing from God, you know. It’s our job to love and protect them.”
 
Loretta shifted on the step. Her knees began to hurt and the walls closed in around her. “I agree one hundred percent, father. That’s why I did what I did. I just want to be of service, you know? Like Jesus. I’m always looking for ways to lighten someone else’s load. Go the extra mile, you know?”
 
Father Shively smiled a closed lipped smile. “That’s a good thing to do. But we must be mindful of how we minister to others. Your motive seems pure, but it seems your method was…misaligned, to say the least.”
 
“Well, it got the job done,” affirmed Loretta. “Anything lodged in those kids that day was absolutely dislodged. And I’m proud of that.”
 
Father Shively scratched his head.
 
“Ok, but you mentioned that you are about to sin. What did you mean by that?”
 
Loretta turned around and sat down on the step to give her knees a break. “Oh, well, tomorrow is my first day of school at Trappy’s School of Circus Arts!” A gleeful squeal burst from Loretta as she clapped her hands excitedly.
 
“I’m going to be a trapeze artist! I had difficulty finding a new gig,” Loretta continued. “But everything changed for me when my friend, Kaos, suggested I apply for a hostess job at the Kitty Kat Lounge.”
 
Father Shively shifted in his chair.
 
“The club on H street?” He inquired.
 
“Yes! You’ve heard of it?”
 
Father Shively cleared his throat. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. Please continue.”
 
“Well, I went down there to interview for the hostess job. I walked in and I could barely see—the room was so dark. The music blasted loudly and I saw not one cat. Not one!  I asked Hank, the manager, where all the cats had gone. I had my heart set on playing with those little fur babies.”
 
Father Shively bit his lower lip before asking, “So…you expected to see felines?”
 
“Of course! Why call it the Kitty Kat Lounge if there are no kitties? It’s false advertising if you ask me.”
 
“Ok, so how did you end up in the trapeze school?” Father Shively shook his head and prayed a silent prayer for guidance as he awaited her answer.
 
“Well, Hank told me that I’m not what he’s looking for. He said I’d have a better chance of joining the circus than working for him. Suited me just fine because who’d want to be a hostess at a cat club where there’s no cats?
 
“So, I left there and headed toward the bus stop when God gave me a sign. Right before my very eyes, a large red and yellow sign posted on the side of a brick building said, ‘Stop Clowning Around and Join the Circus! Trappy’s School of Circus Arts—There’s A Place for You Here.’
 
“Could God have been any clearer? I think not! I walked in to Trappy’s, talked to the owner, Trappy McTrapperson, paid my tuition, and I start school tomorrow!” Loretta pumped her fist in the air victoriously.
 
A headache started to brew within Father Shively’s cranium. He breathed deeply, bent forward, and slowly massaged his temples.
 
“Ok. It’s good that you’ve found your place. We all have gifts and talents to use to glorify God and to serve others, but the sin that you’re planning to commit—what are you about to do?
 
Loretta moved off the step and sat on the floor of the confessional. She tried to cross her legs, but there wasn’t enough room, so she propped her feet up on the step.
 
“Tomorrow, after school, me and Kaos are going to—
 
WEEooo! WEEooo! WEEooo!
 
A firetruck’s piercing siren combined with the sudden commotion outside of the confessional drowned out Loretta’s confession.
 
“Father Shively! Father Shively! I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but there’s an emergency,” cried the parish administrator. “A fire is ablaze at Bensonhurst Elementary. School is set to begin tomorrow, but there’s no way it can open. It’s burning to the ground as we speak. The school’s principal is in your office seeking counsel. The education of 333 kids is at stake.”
 
Father Shively, a wisp of a man, sprung out of his seat with a jolt to run toward his office. “Oh, dear one,” he said to Loretta through the partition’s latticed opening, “I am sorry to leave you so abruptly. An unexpected need has arisen that I must tend to. Concerning your soon-to-be-sin, whatever it is, don’t do it. Simply repent—turn around and go the other way. And keep good company. You can’t hang out with chickens and expect to soar with eagles.
 
“Read Proverbs 13:20!” Yelled Father Shively as he scurried down the corridor.
 
Loretta pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and Googled the Bible verse. It read: “Whoever walks with the wise becomes wise, but he who mingles with fools will suffer harm.”
 
A different version of the verse popped up on her phone that spoke directly to her spirit: “Keep company with the wise and you will become wise. If you make friends with stupid people, you will be ruined.”
 
Loretta chuckled. “Now, we’re talkin’.”
 
She stuffed her cell phone back into her pocket, got up off of the floor, and exited the confessional. She left St. John’s and walked in the direction of her home, a few short blocks away from the church. She passed the smoldering embers of Bensonhurst Elementary on her way. To her amazement, the school’s cafeteria still stood tall in the midst of the rubble. The banner painted on the wall over the kitchen stood resolutely and legibly in the thick of the destruction. The bold, blue block letters read: “BENSONHURST: HOME OF THE EAGLES.”
 
“No way,” she mumbled to herself as a wide grin slowly spread across her face. “No freakin’ way.”
 
Loretta’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered.
 
“Did you see it? Did you see it?” Boomed an excited baritone voice over the phone. “Rettie, did you see it?”
 
Loretta immediately recognized the voice of her friend, Kaos.
 
“Burn, baby, burn!” He laughed. “They fired you. So, I fired them. Literally.”
 
“Kaos, you did this? You burned down Bensonhurst?” Asked Loretta.
 
“You know it!” He boasted proudly.
 
The smile that brightened Loretta’s face a moment ago diminished. “But I thought you said that tomorrow night, we’d call Principal Rodgers’ home and tell him that the school was on fire…as a joke. You said nothing about actually burning the school down.”
 
“Oh, the old prank call? That’s lame, Rettie. A joke doesn’t get any cornier than that,” remarked Kaos. “And doesn’t your God say, ‘Thou shalt not lie?’ You tore yourself to pieces over the idea of telling a little white lie. Well, now, you don’t have to lie. The truth is all soot, shambles, and ashes now, Rettie. It is finished!” Kaos erupted into a fit of laughter over the phone. 
 
“Dude, no way,” he continued full of shock and awe. “I think we made the news! Let me call you back, Rettie. We’re headed to prime time, baby! Woo-hoooooo!”
 
Loretta ended the call and looked back at the remains of Bensonhurst. An overwhelming sadness washed over her as she remembered the students she fed in the cafeteria. Benny, a scrawny little boy who ate like a whale. Sharon, who barely ate at all, but merely pushed food around on her tray while chatting with her friends. The twins, Bruno and Buster, who always tried to muscle students out of their lunch money. Where would they eat lunch tomorrow, she thought?
 
Don’t worry about the children, Loretta. Whispered a voice within her. I will take care of them. They belong to me. It’s time now for you to fly. You have the heart of a child—humble, trusting, innocent. And that’s good. But to really soar, you need to leave some childish ways…and people…behind. There’s a difference between one who is childlike and one who is childish. Follow me. I’ll lead you to the right flock.
 
Loretta’s mind shifted to Trappy’s School of Circus Arts.
 
Ah, you think I’m telling you not to join the circus. The gentle voice continued. On the contrary. Trappy’s School of Circus Arts is exactly what you need right now to learn how to fly—literally and figuratively. I’ve got some people there that will lift you up and fly with you. They’re eagles, like you, not chickens. Some people will work to pull you down. The people at Trappy's will lift you up and you will lift them up too.
 
A smile returned to Loretta’s face. “You’re awesome, God!” She exclaimed. “I knew I could count on you.” She put her hand to her forehead and gave a hearty salute to the remnants of Bensonhurst.
 
“Good-bye Bensonhurst!” She shouted. “I’m off to write a new chapter. Thanks for the memories!” Eager to start school the next day, she danced all the way home, belting an offkey rendition of Steve Miller Band’s “Fly Like an Eagle” on the way.
","September 05, 2023 00:21","[[{'Amy Bepko': 'I really enjoyed reading this story. It was different from so many…such a creative way to write about a first day. I loved learning some about Loretta. She didn’t change in the story, but still somehow grew. Loved the way that you write in this piece.', 'time': '17:20 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hello from critique circle! \n\nThis was such a fun read! Loretta is an incredible character and I could see her going on many more adventures in the future. I would love to see more of her. \n\nI love the setting, of being at a confessional in a church, of confessing before the sin. That gives us so much information about this character, and it makes her quite loveable. Her naivete is very charming! \n\nHer friend, Kaos, is a great contrast for her. Sure, they are friends and therefore share some similar personality traits, but a distinction is m...', 'time': '13:07 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Audrey Knox': ""Poor Father Shively! lol. I loved the use of dramatic irony in this without you feeling the need to overexplain any of it.\n\nThe only thing I wished I'd seen was a sense of transformation in Loretta. She is in the exact same place practically and emotionally at the end of the story as she was in the beginning. Perhaps that was your intention with it, but I think you have the opportunity here to have fun with the lesson that she learns through her experience, especially if it's the exact wrong lesson."", 'time': '22:59 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'David Sweet': 'Very inventive and funny. I enjoyed this very much. So glad that no children were harmed and that everything worked out well for Rettie!', 'time': '16:24 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,zhdh18,Fried Chicken,Jarrel Jefferson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zhdh18/,/short-story/zhdh18/,Kids,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Friendship', 'Speculative']",13 likes,"
The sun does not love you. If it did it would stay. It wouldn’t abandon you after three months. Three months of joy and freedom isn’t long enough for anyone. A person needs at least a lifetime of adventure and play and exploration to achieve self-actualization. Trapped in a prison camp, forced to study minerals and long division, who am I supposed to be beyond a statistic in a messed-up system I don’t fully understand.It's 7PM and I’m in the backyard behind my treehouse so no one can easily see me dig a grave for myself. My dog, Buddy, lies by the base of the treehouse, watching me swing my shovel up and down, up and down. Usually he’s playful and energetic, but tonight his melancholic eyes watch me carve a hole in the earth that’s just my size. I hate that he sees me like this.As I dig, my happy self lies next to the gravesite. He’s engulfed in a giant trash bag with a bunch of duct tape over it to bind his ankles together and his arms to his torso. He shouldn’t be able to breathe, yet he still talks. “We should try that new burger joint across town. I hear it has this burger with a patty made entirely of bacon. We HAVE to try it,” he says to himself, yet he recites conversations he’s had with Baxter, back when leaves dressed in lush green and white clouds sail under blue backdrops and friendship was forever. “No, I’m not making that up. I know how much you like bacon…What?...Why would you do something like that just for bacon?...You should get tested for diseases or something.”Baxter never got tested. Instead, we shoplifted from the toy section of our local convenient store. It was one of the latest action figures from the Robo Warrior set with remote controller functioning; the Storm Soldier model that can do a hurricane kick, according to the back of the packaging. Our parents would have never brought it for us. We graduated elementary school, which meant emerging adulthood according to them. We could not accept this. Bax carried the Robo Warrior by his hip with me on the other side of it, both our heads lowered. As soon as we reached the registers, we bolted out of there before anyone could do anything to stop us. We forgot to steal batteries for the remote controller. We were too afraid of getting caught to steal again, and we couldn’t come up with a feasible lie to get our parents to purchase batteries for us.The grave is deep enough. I squat near my happy self to roll him in. “Stop! That tickles, Bax,” he laughs. I can see the outline of his smile from under the plastic. His laughter is cringe—how could I ever sound like that? I roll him into the grave. He drops with a thud, but he’s still talking, still smiling, still laughing. I hurry to shovel the dirt back onto him to muffle his voice.It’s 9PM when I shovel the last scoop of dirt onto my happy self’s body. My arms haven’t been this tired since I played volleyball against Franky on the beach a month earlier. All the kids used to call her a boy because she played sports better than the boys did. It took every ounce of my energy to keep up with her and still she demolished me. I wanted to call her a boy after the game, to really drive the point home how she’s bad at her gender, but the sun’s glorious rays made her more visible than classroom fluorescent lights ever did. I’ve never seen a girl my age in a bikini before that day.I’ve had a hard time talking to girls since then.There is an owl that sometimes comes out at night. He has a nest on top of the treehouse. We named him Jedidiah. I can tell Jedidiah is here because of his familiar hooting, but they’re very sad sounding hoots this time. Larry the deer leaps over the fence into the backyard. Then Shifty the raccoon makes an appearance, along with Jayquan the rabbit, Fernando the rat, and the Turner family, which is a colony of ants 1000 strong. Finally, the aardvark arrives, whom I generally do not acknowledge because Mom says it looks like me, which has tainted our relationship. I appreciate him showing up, however. They all looked dejected, but this is a funeral, after all.We bow our heads. “We are gathered here today to remember my happy self,” I begin, “who was pure of heart and full of joy. Who laughed and played and enjoyed life as life was intended to be enjoyed. Who was never corrupted by chores or homework or vegetables. Who lived among people in comradery and not rivalry. Whose cheeks had cute dimples when he smiled, dimples that will never bless this world again. Merciful God, please make the consumption of his flesh by maggots a painless process. Let his soul ascend to heaven on a dirt bike like he always dreamed. May he spend his afterlife the same way he spent his life: carefree. Amen.”Everybody cries from the eulogy. They console Buddy and me with tender embraces. I’d rather not make physical contact with Fernando, the Turners or the aardvark, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to admit it at this time. “ARTHURRRR! DINNERRRR!” my dad calls. That means Mom’s working late.“IN A MINUTEEEE!” I call back. I brush the dirt from my clothes as best I can and say goodbye to the wild animals.Dad always looks tired after work. And stressed. When he’s stressed, he picks up KFC chicken, his comfort food. No one talks. I listen to him and Buddy chewing while I let the chicken breast sitting on my paper plate get cold.“Nervous about middle school tomorrow?” he finally asks. It’s not that simple, I want to say. I want to explain to him how my life will never be simple again. Tomorrow I’ll start seventh grade in a school I still haven’t learned the name of, surrounded by strangers short and tall, old and young. The day after that I’ll grow hair on by back and my knees, and I’ll have to get a job and pay taxes, The day after that I’ll have to get married and have kids and watch the news and always be tired. The worst part is that I’ll never see Baxter or Franky or any of my other friends again. None of this is fair. Why can’t everything stay the same?I want to say all those things, but my fate is sealed no matter what I say. So instead, I ask: “Is there anything fun about being an adult?”He sits in silence, until finally he says, “Sure. As an adult, you can by KFC as much as you want.”
","September 08, 2023 05:31","[[{'S. Thomson': 'Fab! Such a strong sense of voice in this story. The childish hyperbole comes through in the best way. ""The Turner Family"" being an ant colony made me laugh out loud.', 'time': '16:43 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Thanks, S.', 'time': '03:15 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Thanks, S.', 'time': '03:15 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tommy Goround': ""Solid. \n\nThis one is a blend of voice and theme. You don't burry the heartstrings with clever intentions. It's all there like a poem with a face. \n\nYou have captured the human condition."", 'time': '00:41 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Thanks, Tommy.', 'time': '06:51 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Thanks, Tommy.', 'time': '06:51 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Great depiction of summer ending. I am grown up (maybe for many years, now) and still feel the same way.\nNit-picking: Dad's 'by' should be 'buy'.\nThanks for liking my 'All in a Name'.\nStrange how mistakes find their way in there.😏"", 'time': '17:31 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Funny enough, I proofread everything but the last line. I wrote it at 1am and submitting the story right after. Thanks for the nitpick.', 'time': '06:50 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Funny enough, I proofread everything but the last line. I wrote it at 1am and submitting the story right after. Thanks for the nitpick.', 'time': '06:50 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Jarrel, this is incredible. Incredibly original and uniquely creative. Loved all the names you put forth for those animals, every single one. And the idea of happiness leaving when summer is over is absolutely on point, at least for me. And especially for kids who still use summer to separate the time from school to not school. This says a lot about the worst parts of being a kid, while his dad\'s final answer, though just one line, speaks volumes about how being an adult is just as hard. ""Summer"" never really comes when you\'re a grown up, do...', 'time': '13:15 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'AnneMarie, you made my day. Thank you for enjoying my story.', 'time': '04:29 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you for sharing it!', 'time': '04:55 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'AnneMarie, you made my day. Thank you for enjoying my story.', 'time': '04:29 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you for sharing it!', 'time': '04:55 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Thank you for sharing it!', 'time': '04:55 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,uvczez,A bang-Up Vacation,Barry Starcher,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uvczez/,/short-story/uvczez/,Kids,0,"['Funny', 'Crime']",12 likes,"
 
 
 
	He stood, frozen in time, staring out the plate-glass window. It was raining with such intensity that Don Bryant could barely make out his car parked in the driveway. 
	Carol came up beside him and gently put a hand on his arm. She spoke in a low, commanding voice. ""I don't like it, Donny love. Will we be able to complete the contract in time?""
	""Don't worry, dear. The car is packed and the gear is oiled and ready."" He smiled, reached over and patted her hand with authority.
	""We have never done a double job before and it worries me,"" she responded. ""You have no experience as far as I know using electrical devices. Let's get the hell out of here.""
	Kailani Ang entered the living room and clapped her hands to get their attention. ""Dinner is ready. Akeno has prepared his famous tempura shrimp with sweet potatoes, mushrooms, and special treats. Please eat while it is hot."" 
	Don turned, smiled and nodded to Carol. ""We can't wait,"" and followed Kailai into the dining room. The Ang's house was not large, but was artistically decorated with an oriental flavor. Akeno was smiling his usual broad smile as he brandished the bottle of wine Don had brought for him. ""Château de Sancerre. I have never tasted this wine but I'm sure it will go splendidly with the dinner. Please be seated."" He poured the wine as they took their seats. ""Dig right in. We don't bother with grace in this household. Tell us where you folks are off to this time. With my job at the high school and Kailani working at the zoo, we have limited vacation days. Seems like you guys are going somewhere intriguing every month.""
	Don nodded his head in agreement. ""We do like to travel, but it's not strictly vacation. A lot of my time is devoted to my online business. Sometimes our travels take us to exotic places like Thailand, the Greek Islands and one of our favorites, Costa Rica. We have to be more careful now days since some of the South American countries have become quite dangerous. He looked at Carol and chuckled. This is a domestic trip. We are traveling to the mountains of North Carolina. We are taking videos wherever we go and Kailani is putting together a travelog. When it's completed, we'll get together with you folks and view it. Akeno, the meal was delicious.  We regret to have to run, but with weather like it is, we will have to take it slow. I have an appointment to make and can't be late.""
	""Oh, that's too bad,"" Kailani said. ""There is a great game on tonight. Green Bay plays Minnesota. Carol said you were a Packer fan. We hoped we could watch it together. We have a big screen television in the game room.""
	Carol gave each a hug. ""I'm terribly sorry. That would have been fun. Thank you again for looking in on our dog. We have a dog door and a fenced-in backyard. All you need to do is check his food and water. Here is the key to the back door. We should be home in three days, four at the most. Thank you guys again.""
	Don started the car and headed for US 23 south to Toledo and then 24 west to For Wayne. ""We should be there in less than three hours, even with this inclement weather."" He reached over and gave Carol a reassuring pat on her knee. ""You realize this judge is as crooked as a snake? The cops planted drugs on the wrong fellow this time. Judge Dixon was in on it. I'm not saying the victim was a saint. Far from it. The thing is, the kid they set up was the son of a high-ranking mob boss in Detroit. He ran an auto repair shop in Fort Wayne which laundered his dad's money. Our mark will be returning from a legal conference in Chicago. The plan is to shoot  him when he stops at his daughter's place to pick up his wife. My information says there is good lighting on the porch. The storm should have passed by then. When he steps onto the porch, I'll take him out. If we park less than a block away, I’ll have a clear shot. Sound good to you?""
	""I suppose,"" Carol responded. It's the second job that worries me. Tell me again how much we get for each job? 
	""Twenty-five K for the first one and forty for the second one. Seems fair to me. The second one is a bit tricky. Here's the scenario. After we get the judge, we skedaddle south to the small town of Markle. I made reservations at Hotel Z. It doesn’t have a five-star rating, but it’s the best I could do. We don't want to be on the road when the cops are on the lookout for the shooter. The next morning, we should have a nice, relaxed drive through the back country to Richmond. We can eat lunch there. Then head on to the small town of Madison, Indiana, that borders the Ohio River. I booked us at the Clifty Inn. Looks like a nice place overlooking the river. We get an early start the next morning and make our way to Louisville, Kentucky. The man we are looking for this time is a degenerate. He oversees a smuggling ring that imports young girls into the US from Europe and South East Asia. The bastard has made billions off the suffering of innocents. He lives in an exclusive development on the northeast side of Louisville. There are bodyguards that travel with him, so he’s difficult to approach. He is a high-end car enthusiast and has a large garage behind the house. He parks there and enters his house via the back door. Like clockwork, every morning, he drives to his favorite restaurant for breakfast and returns by ten. I just have to climb the low brick backyard wall surrounding the backyard and plant the bomb under the porch. It's a rather fancy back step, built with a roman style arch. Plenty of space to plant the bomb. You can see through the bricks in the wall the way they are constructed. I’ll wait until he grabs the handle on the back door and press the activator button. Doesn't matter how many bodyguards he has with him, they all go up in smoke. We hit the major highways home and count our dough.
	Carol fell asleep on the trip to Fort Wayne. The sun was up when Don nudged her awake. The rainstorm, as he predicted, had blown over. They arrived at the Judge's daughter's house and sat in silence, waiting for the judge to pick up his wife. They had almost given up hope when they saw the judge's car pull into the driveway. Carol moved over to the driver’s seat. Don moved to the back seat and rested the bolt action sniper rifle on the open window. The judge hurried up the steps and reached for the doorknob. Don pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He cursed and opened the chamber. There was no cartridge. ""Holy hell. I forgot to load the gun after I cleaned it. Don't panic. I'll catch him as he walks through the door."" He reloaded the rifle and sighted back on the front door. The door opened, and the judge appeared. He caught his foot on the threshold and fell just as Don pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the judge's wife, who was a step behind him in the chest, knocking her back into the hall.
	Carol stepped on the gas and headed out of town. “Jesus Donny. What do we do now? You killed the judge’s wife!” 
	Don climbed into the front seat, a pained expression on his face. ""Tell the truth, I guess. The clumsy bastard fell just as I shot. How was I to know? We won't get paid for this one, but maybe they will want me to try again sometime down the road.""
	They spent an apprehensive night worrying that any minute the cops would burst through the door. They skipped breakfast and hit the road. The drive was a pleasant one through farmland and scenic, small old towns. Their room at the Clift Inn was marvelous. Their spirits were uplifted and after spending an enjoyable evening, they had an early breakfast and took to the road again. They arrived at the mobster's house with time to spare. They watched him depart for the restaurant in the morning, accompanied by two bodyguards. Don handed Carol the control box, along with the set of emergency instructions. He scaled the wall and carried his package under the porch archway. Carefully placing the bomb on the ground, he inspected it to see if the wires were all still secured. A red wire and black wire were dangling loose. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he wondered what to do. He waved to carol. ""Bring me the instructions."" 
	Carol scaled the wall and ran across the yard, carrying the instructions and control box. ""What is the problem?""
	Don pointed his forefinger at the loose wires. ""Let me see the diagram. I have to be sure I connect the wires to the correct poles."" He studied the diagram. ""Okay. The black one goes here and the red one is right here. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stepped back. Carol was looking over his shoulder and he stepped on her left foot. She stumbled backwards. The control panel flew from her hand and bounced off the archway. Don made a magnificent leap sideways and caught the box before it hit the ground. The only fault in his otherwise super acrobatic catch was the middle finger of his hand pressing down on the red button.
	Kailani was sitting on the back steps, petting Carol and Don’s dog. Akeno came out of the house and sat beside her. “I looked around the house and can find nothing that suggests where they went on their vacation. I found one phone number on the desk with a Chicago area code. I called and some gruff sounding fellow answered. I asked if he knew Don Bryant and he hung up. Guess it was a wrong number. It has only been a week. Let's give it a few more days before we notify missing persons.”
	""I suppose you're right. If we go to the police and make some big fuss, and I know Don. He seems quite sensitive about anything involving the police and might blow up.""
	The End
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","September 04, 2023 17:56","[[{'Nick Rogers': 'wow this was very good and very detail', 'time': '17:18 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,09u6nc,Violet's Second Chance,Gillian Corsiatto,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/09u6nc/,/short-story/09u6nc/,Kids,0,"['Bedtime', 'Coming of Age', 'Middle School']",12 likes,"
Grade five had ended on a sour note for young Violet. On one of the very last days of elementary school, she had been caught stealing an eraser from a grade-five-only book fair set up in the hallways. She was humiliated in front of her teacher and her entire class when a parent volunteer walked in with the school principal and pointed her out specifically as the thief. She was then forced to publicly return the eraser that she had taken and the shame she felt was all consuming. Summer vacation couldn’t come fast enough after that. Maybe after two whole months of no school, her classmates from grade five would forget all about the ordeal and she could sneak subtly into middle school without catching anyone’s attention. It was much safer to fit in quietly than to stand out.
 
The summer break had been rejuvenating, relaxing, and refreshing. The eldest of six kids in the family with a single mom, Violet spent a lot of her time around home babysitting her siblings. However, she was old enough now that she could take them on short adventures to the playground or for walks around the block. If money allowed, she could even walk them down to a nearby convenience store where they could pick out an ice cream treat or a cool drink. Though she was often in charge of looking after the kids while mom was busy or working, she still found enough free time to contently sit down and read a book. Reading was one of her absolute favourite things to do. She could read the same book five times over again before she got tired of it. It didn’t matter what she was reading. All that mattered was that she was reading at all.
 
Now, on the night before a new school year would start, Violet sat crossed-legged in the soft grass of the backyard. Around her, the bugs of the evening started to sing and the sunset painted the sky a deliciously golden colour. The clouds were like smears of white paint. As an eleven year old going ready to step into her first day of middle school, she figured it was time for some introspective reflection. Being the oldest of her five younger siblings, Violet was used to the prospect of having to grow up and mature quickly so wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable with how she was feeling on this eve of the first day back at school.
 
A mosquito buzzed irritatingly around her ear. When it landed on her cheek, she swatted at it and it left a dismal display of blood and bug guts on her skin. “Yuck,” she said, using her shirt sleeve to wipe it off.
 
The back door opened. Mom stepped outside onto the deck and closed the door behind her. Violet looked up at her from where she was sitting on the grass.
 
“How are you feeling?” asked mom.
 
Violet picked a dandelion up from out of the ground and gently blew on it, sending fluffy wisps of seeds wherever the air decided to take them. One wispy seed clump landed on her cheek just opposite to where the mosquito had landed. Looking up at her mom, she smiled.
 
“I’m feeling good,” she replied.
 
“Ready for tomorrow? First day of middle school!”
 
“I’m ready!”
 
Mom walked down the deck stairs and joined her eldest daughter in sitting on the ground. She then put her arm around her and pulled her in for a one-arm hug.
 
“You know I’m always proud of you, right?” asked mom.
 
The truth is, Violet didn’t always know this. She spent so much time being the second mom figure to all her younger siblings that sometimes she couldn’t tell at all if her mom was proud and thankful for her or if mom simply saw Violet as an equal. Another mom. Another adult in the house ran wild with little kids. As an answer to mom’s question, Violet shrugged, but the corners of her lips curled upwards.
 
Together they sat silently in the grass for some time, just taking in the heavenly summer evening, before Violet broke the silence.
 
“I wonder if I’ll make some new friends this year,” she said.
 
“Of course you will!” mom replied in a way that was uncharacteristically enthusiastic for her, “all your old classmates will be there but a bunch of kids from other schools will be there too.”
 
At the mention of the word ‘kids,” Violet felt her neck and shoulders relax. She had been unaware up until that point that she was unintentionally holding stress in her upper body. It felt good to relax and she realized her body hadn’t felt relaxed like that all summer, despite the summer vacation feeling serene and fairly stress-free. Mom then spoke again.
 
“Maybe you’ll find a new friend who loves reading just as much as you do.”
 
Mom rarely took an interest in Violet’s reading. She was too busy feeding babies, wrangling toddlers, and putting the older kids in timeout to stop and ask about a book she may have been reading.  
 
“You know, when I was a kid, I loved reading too.”
 
“Really?” asked Violet, feeling suddenly inquisitive.
 
“Yep! Back then, it felt like I had all the time in the world for reading!”
 
Violet wanted to know more. “What did you like to read?” she pressed on.
 
“Anything and everything,” mom replied, “encyclopedias, poetry, magazine articles, mysteries, romances, dramas, anything.”
 
“Do you still have any of your old books?” Violet inquired further.
 
“Hmm, no,” mom said with a hint of sadness in her tone, “most of the books I read were from the library. The few books that I did own to myself were sold in a garage sale to raise money for me to go to college.”
 
Violet didn’t know her mom had ever gone to college. Almost as if reading her daughter’s mind, mom continued to explain.
 
“I didn’t make it all the way through college, but I did get a decent start at it.”
 
“Why not?” Violet asked. She was as captivated by her mom’s story as she was by any of the most interesting books she had ever read.
 
“Because I had you!”
 
Violet felt suddenly guilty but mom pulled her in again for a tight hug, indicating there was no sourness to be felt about the disruption of college caused by the birth of a baby. Violet felt comforted by her mom and got the sense that there were no hard feelings arising from the conversation which had gotten promptly more serious in nature.
 
“I hope I get to go to college, too,” said Violet.
 
“I hope that for you, too, dear,” said mom.
 
“But we probably won’t be able to afford it,” said Violet, now sounding dejected.
 
“We’ve got time. We can save up.”
 
An idea struck Violet’s mind like a bolt of lightning.
 
“I could sell some of my books,” she said, “just like you did.”
 
“You sure could,” said mom, “but you’re only eleven. I think you should keep them for a while yet.”
 
A dragonfly flew towards the pair and landed gently on mom’s foot. Violet reached out to it and the dainty insect crawled onto her hand. It stayed perched there while the mom and daughter examined and appreciated its intricate beauty, and then, just as fast as it came, it flew off into the calm summer evening, and left the mom and daughter duo to taste the sweet air for a little while longer in their own retrospective silence.
 
","September 04, 2023 22:18",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,ytj2hk,BRIGHT STAR,Charles Corkery,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ytj2hk/,/short-story/ytj2hk/,Kids,0,['Sad'],12 likes,"
BRIGHT STAR I can hear her, my sister. She has dressed up in her new uniform so that mother can have a look at her before she starts school tomorrow. She obviously looks good, judging by my mother’s hushed tones of awe. They are only next door, for God’s sake. Do they think I have lost my sense of hearing on top of everything else? There’s no sense in keeping all this from me for Caroline, my twin, will come in to say goodbye in the morning and I’ll see her in uniform anyway. I’m not envious, after all. Okay, maybe I am, just a little bit. It should be me and her starting the new term together but, now, I will never get to wear that same uniform, never get to attend another school. She’s my sister and I love her unreservedly and we’ve always been so close, shared every confidence, until...until you. Now, she no longer shares this room with me. It’s too awkward, what with everything. She has moved in next door, the spare bedroom. I want only the best for her. That is the total truth. How could I not? But, a part of me can’t help resenting her careful, responsible ways that have allowed her to have a future while I, with my wilful, vivacious approach to life have none. We are chalk and cheese, always have been, but, despite the differences in our character, we were always there for each other. I should have listened to her when she warned me about you. So many times, My God, how many cautions does a person need before they actually listen? Obviously, I never did and, now, I pay the price.Here they come to say goodnight. I can almost discern mother’s every whispered word: don’t tire her. Keep it brief. No need to mention school.Caroline, of course, will have removed her new uniform, thinking I’ll be too upset at the sight of it; a reminder of something stolen from me.Just as I thought. So predictable. They mean well and I know that but...there they go, couldn’t wait to get out of my room and shut the door, getting on with their lives while I remain behind, a prisoner, alone in my misery.The drugs help, especially at night.I can find solace in dreams; at least for a while. But, inevitably, somehow, you always manage to squirm your way back into my life. Dreams should be inviolable, shouldn’t they? How is it that you can infiltrate mine so easily? Why can’t you just leave me alone? You’ve done your worst for pity’s sake. What more do you want from me?I should hate you...but I don’t. I do resent, even detest you but, for so long, I adored you, worshipped you; habits too hard to break. Like a junkie, I was addicted to you, yearned for you, couldn’t live without you and the way you made me feel. What a fool I have been. It’s all, finally, so clear to me now but, when you are caught up in the highs of something, it’s almost impossible to rationalise one’s thoughts and it’s like being swept along in a strong, gusty wind with no power to escape, hurtling headlong into oblivion.“What do you think, Di?”“Oh, Caroline, you look so smart. You’ll have all the boys after you”.I have no idea how I summoned those words from some place deep inside of me. I’d rehearsed them in my mind over and over but, even still, I came close to choking on them. But I did it; I managed it but...I should be going with you in my own smart, school uniform.“Is there anything I can get you before I head off?”“Just one thing, could you please draw the curtains tighter? Mother never does it properly”?She did. Closing that one small chink that mother always seemed to forget. Deliberately? Who knows.Caroline kissed me awkwardly. She smelt lovely, showered, hair washed; determined to make a good impression on her first day at the new school.“Love you, Di”.“Love you more”.The words almost stick in my throat, yet I do love her; just, it’s not fair how things have turned out. Now, she is on her way; her time to shine.I, of course, in contrast to my sister, probably stink, at best, smell pretty putrid. Mother or a nurse will, eventually, come as usual and bathe me and I’ll just continue to have to reek until then. It’s the drugs that cause the smell, I think. Or, maybe, it’s just because of the fact that I am rotting from within.At least, she has kept you out, for a while at least, by her closing of the curtains.Why me? I’ve asked myself that question so many times without coming up with an acceptable answer. I mean why, out of so many followers, did you choose me? Why was I so susceptible to your charms? Father Evans, a well meaning but misguided man, tells me not to dwell on the what might have beens of life; it serves no good purpose. But, I can’t seem to focus on anything else. It’s like an obsession.I know, absolutely, no question, that I was the type that went too far, pushed the envelope, so to speak but what harm did I do? I looked good. Damn, I looked great! Everybody loved to be in my company; even those that, in all honesty, really resented my popularity, envied my healthy glow, little did they know what was actually going on inside. Yet, I treated them all as equals; never projecting favouritism. It was they that wanted to be a part of my special luminescence and all were welcome. In the background, always, was Caroline, keeping an eye out for my own security, yet never coming close enough to be a part of my circle. How wise she was, as I look back in hindsight.Where are they now, those acolytes? Vanished from sight, all of them. I can picture Caroline at the new school with those girls from St. Catherine’s who grew up with us both, asking: where’s Di? And my sister breaking the news. The shock, the horror. Sympathy? Not much, I imagine. Oh, it might be expressed but not genuinely meant. I was a level above them, soaring high, while they looked on bemusedly from below, unable to match my brilliance. How they envied me and, now, as Caroline reveals my situation, I am sure that most, if not all, will feel some kind of relief and, yes, vindication, for their jealousy. Who knows? Who, indeed, cares?Ah, here she comes. My bath is about to happen. My one, brief, highly anticipated pleasure in the dreary days that are my lot now until...until...“Oh please, don’t open the curtains. Plea...”‘Nonsense dear. You need cheering up. This room is not good for you. Far too depressing lying alone in the darkness”.She doesn’t understand, of course. Who could? She treats the physical ailments, not the distresses of the mind and, inadvertently, she has allowed you back into my life. I see you and I cannot ignore you. As much as I detest you, I am still drawn to you, still long for your embrace, the warmth of your touch as you caress my skin. God help me. I still love you, adore you, worship you. Oh giver of life. Oh bringer of doom. There you are in all your glory, looking in at my hideous form. See what you have made of me. How does it make you feel? You don’t care, do you? Never did. You will go on...and on, seducing others in your wake.I should have listened to Caroline. Di, use more protection. Di, enough is enough. But I didn’t listen, did I? I couldn’t! I loved my deep, deep tan. I glowed all summer, radiated beauty and health. I searched you out every day and gave myself to you wantonly. I revelled in my looks; the life and soul of every gathering.I see you now in your many guises, Soleil, Solaris, Helio, Estelle, too late, my doom sealed; my one, brief, shining moment upon this earth all but over. Like Icarus, I exulted in being in your orbit but flew too close for far too long. The wax in my own wings melted and my downfall began, the reward for my adoration: my grim, terrible fate, my curse, my melanoma. 
","September 03, 2023 00:54","[[{'Tom Skye': 'Beautifully written. The resentment was dripping from the page.', 'time': '15:11 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rabab Zaidi': 'Sad.', 'time': '14:04 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': '🌞Too much of a good thing.', 'time': '21:15 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,apcbn3,"Togetherness, Bound by Love",Evelina Charles,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/apcbn3/,/short-story/apcbn3/,Kids,0,"['Kids', 'Happy']",12 likes,"
The sun had just begun its descent below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow across the small suburban neighborhood. It was a serene evening, the kind that hinted at the approaching change of seasons. A soft, cool breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the streets, carrying with it the sweet scent of blooming flowers. For most, it was a typical late summer evening, a prelude to the inevitable return to routine.
 
In the Thompson household, however, the eve of the first day back at school was anything but routine. The Thompsons were a family of five, comprising parents Tom and Lisa, as well as their three children: Emily, Noah, and Mia. The family had spent the entire summer anticipating this moment – the moment when the kids would head back to school after a long and chaotic break.
 
Lisa, a schoolteacher herself, had been preparing for the upcoming school year for weeks. She had spent her summer days attending workshops, refining her lesson plans, and eagerly counting down the days until she could be back in her classroom. As she sat at the kitchen table, sipping her chamomile tea, she couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension about what the new school year would bring.
 
Meanwhile, Tom, an architect, was in the living room, surrounded by piles of paperwork and blueprints. His summer had been filled with meetings, deadlines, and a never-ending stream of client demands. He was determined to wrap up his current project before the kids started school to ensure he could spend more time with them in the evenings. He glanced at the clock and let out a sigh of relief. Only a few more emails to send, and he could call it a night.
 
In their bedrooms, Emily, Noah, and Mia were each preparing in their own unique ways for the first day back at school. Emily, the eldest at sixteen, had long, chestnut hair and hazel eyes that exuded intelligence. Freckles adorned her nose, imparting a youthful charm. Her athletic physique, shaped by her passion for swimming and consistent visits to the gym, was quite apparent. At this moment, she meticulously selected her outfit for the next day of school. She'd spent hours earlier in the day deciding on the perfect balance between looking fashionable and staying comfortable. Her wardrobe, scattered across her bed, resembled a colorful battlefield.
 
Noah, the middle child at thirteen, was sprawled on his bedroom floor, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks. He was determined to get a head start on his homework, hoping to impress his teachers with his newfound enthusiasm for academics. His glasses, with thin, rectangular frames, constantly slipped down his nose as he furiously scribbled notes, looking up only to check the time every few minutes. His sandy-brown hair was ruffled from hours of intense study, and he had a perpetual air of curiosity that shone through his bright blue eyes. On the walls of his room, posters of famous scientists and environmental activists served as his daily inspiration, a testament to his passion for making a positive impact on the world through his studies. Noah was known not only for his impressive intellect but also for his gentle and compassionate nature, always willing to lend a hand to his siblings when they needed help.
 
Mia, the youngest member of the Thompson family at seven, had a cherubic appearance with a cascade of chestnut curls framing her innocent face, and her sparkling hazel eyes radiated boundless curiosity. She was draped in pink pajamas adorned with tiny stars. Mia is having a much simpler approach to the evening compared to Emily and Noah, she nestled in her bed, cuddling her cherished stuffed animal, Mr. Fluffy, a fluffy white bunny with floppy ears. As her mother, Lisa, read bedtime stories with animated enthusiasm, Mia's wide eyes filled with wonder and excitement, her anticipation for the upcoming second grade school year filling her heart with pure joy.
 
As the evening wore on, Lisa called out from the kitchen, ""Alright, kids, it's time to wrap things up and get a good night's sleep! First day back tomorrow!""
 
Emily groaned, still not sure with her outfit choices. ""Mom, what should I wear for tomorrow? Er… mom, should I wear this black t-shirt with jeans or that blue sweater? Or… maybe that red one?""
 
Lisa chuckled. ""Sweetie, you look fabulous in anything you wear. Now, get some rest. You'll need your energy for school.""
 
Noah closed his textbook with a sigh of relief, feeling accomplished. ""I'm done with my homework for the first week,"" he declared proudly.
 
Tom looked up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. ""First week? You do know it's just the first day tomorrow, right?""
 
Noah grinned. ""I know, Dad, but I want to start the year off early.""
 
Tom exchanged a glance with Lisa and shrugged. ""Alright, as long as you don't burn out too quickly.""
 
Mia yawned and stretched, cuddling Mr. Fluffy tighter. ""I'm ready for school, Mommy,"" she mumbled sleepily.
 
Lisa leaned down to kiss her daughter's forehead. ""That's my girl. Now, off to sleep, all of you.""
 
The family went through their nighttime routines – brushing teeth, changing into pajamas, and exchanging stories from their summer adventures. Eventually, the house settled into a quiet rhythm, the only sound being the occasional hoot of an owl outside.
 
As Lisa and Tom climbed into bed, they couldn't help but reflect on the approaching school year. They had always been a tight-knit family, but the summer had been particularly challenging with their busy work schedules. Lisa sighed and turned to Tom.
 
""I hope we can find more balance this year, Tom,"" she said softly. ""The kids are growing up so quickly, and I don't want to miss out on their lives.""
 
Tom nodded, his face reflecting the same concern. ""I know what you mean. I've been working late too often lately. Let's make a pact to prioritize family time this school year.""
 
Lisa smiled and kissed him. ""Agreed. And I'm looking forward to seeing your project finished so you can have more evenings at home.""
 
With a renewed sense of purpose, they drifted off to sleep, unaware of the adventures and challenges that awaited them in the coming weeks.
 
 
The sun rose on the first day back at school, casting a warm and inviting light into the Thompson household. The three children were up bright and early, filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Emily had finally settled on an outfit she deemed suitable, Noah had his backpack packed to the brim with books, and Mia was bouncing around the kitchen, eagerly gobbling down her breakfast.
 
Lisa was the first to head out the door, leaving her husband and children with quick goodbyes and promises to catch up later in the day. As she walked to her car, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The start of a new school year always brought a sense of renewal and the promise of new beginnings.
 
At school, Emily navigated the crowded hallways, reuniting with her friends after what felt like an eternity. She was a junior now, and this year would be crucial for college applications. The pressure was on, but for now, she focused on reconnecting with familiar faces and trading summer stories.
 
Noah, on the other hand, was determined to make a fresh start. He had always been an introverted student, preferring books to socializing, but he decided that this year would be different. He joined a club focused on environmental conservation, hoping to make friends who shared the same passion as him.
 
As for Mia, she was having a blast in her second-grade classroom. Her teacher, Mrs. Johnson, had a warm and inviting presence that instantly put Mia at ease. The classroom was filled with colorful posters, books, and a cozy reading nook. Mia knew she was going to love this year.
 
Back at home, Tom finally completed his project and submitted it to his clients. With a sigh of relief, he shut down his computer and headed out the door. He was determined to surprise the kids by picking them up after school on their first day. As he walked toward the school, he couldn't help but reflect on how quickly his children were growing up. Time seemed to be slipping through his fingers.
 
The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and students flooded out of the building. Emily, Noah, and Mia spotted their father waiting near the entrance, and their faces lit up with surprise and joy.
 
""Dad!"" Emily exclaimed, rushing over to give him a hug.
 
Noah and Mia followed suit, and Tom beamed at his children. ""I thought I'd pick you up today to celebrate the start of the school year.""
 
The kids chatted eagerly about their first day as they walked back home. Emily shared her excitement about seeing her friends again, Noah talked about his new club, and Mia couldn't stop talking about how nice her teacher, Mrs. Johnson, was! Tom listened intently, savoring every moment with his kids.
 
When they arrived home, Lisa was already there, preparing a special dinner to mark the occasion. The family gathered around the table, sharing stories and laughter. It was a simple meal, but it felt like a feast of togetherness.
 
As the days turned into weeks, the Thompsons settled into their school-year routine. Emily juggled her coursework and extracurricular activities, while Noah became increasingly passionate about his environmental club. Mia's love for learning continued to grow, and she often came home with tales of exciting adventures in her second-grade world.
 
Tom and Lisa did their best to balance their work commitments with family time. They made a point of having a weekly family game night, where laughter and competition filled the air. On weekends, they explored local parks and museums, cherishing the moments they had together.
 
One chilly autumn evening, as the family sat around the fireplace, sipping hot cocoa, Emily brought up a topic that had been on her mind.
 
""Mom, Dad,"" she began tentatively, ""I've been thinking about college.""
 
Tom and Lisa exchanged a knowing glance. They had expected this conversation would come up sooner or later.
 
Emily continued, ""I know it's still a year away, but I want to start preparing. I've been researching universities and scholarship opportunities.""
 
Lisa smiled proudly. ""That's wonderful, Emily. We'll support you in any way we can. Just remember to enjoy your senior year as well. It's a special time.""
 
Noah, who had been engrossed in a book, looked up and said, ""I've been thinking about college too, you know. Maybe something related to environmental science.""
 
Tom chuckled. ""Well, you both have a bit of time before you need to make those decisions, but it's great to see you thinking ahead.""
 
Mia, always eager to be part of the conversation, piped up, ""I want to go to college too, like Emily and Noah.""
 
The Thompsons spent the rest of the evening talking about their dreams and aspirations. It was a bittersweet moment, as Tom and Lisa realized how quickly their children were growing up. They were no longer little kids, but young adults with their own hopes and plans for the future.
 
The school year continued, and winter arrived, bringing with it snow and chilly temperatures. The Thompsons embraced the season, spending weekends building snowmen, going sledding, and cozying up with hot chocolate by the fire. It was during this time that they received unexpected news – Tom's project had won an award for its innovative design. The recognition came with a bonus, allowing Tom to take some time off from work.
 
With this newfound freedom, Tom decided to use the opportunity to reconnect with his family in a profound way. He planned a surprise weekend getaway to a cozy cabin in the woods, far away from the hustle and bustle of their suburban life.
 
As the family arrived at the cabin, surrounded by snow-covered trees and a pristine white landscape, they were greeted by the breathtaking beauty of nature. It was a stark contrast to their busy lives, and they embraced the serenity it offered.
 
Over the weekend, they went on hikes, played board games by the fireplace, and even built an igloo together. Each moment was filled with laughter and love, a reminder of the importance of family bonds. Tom and Lisa cherished the time they had with their children, knowing that these moments were becoming increasingly precious.
 
On the final evening of their getaway, they gathered around the cabin's dining table for a special family dinner. Tom raised his glass and said, ""To family, togetherness, and making the most of every moment.""
 
The family clinked their glasses together, and their hearts were filled with gratitude for the simple yet profound experiences they had shared.
 
Spring arrived, bringing with it a sense of renewal and growth. The days grew longer, and the Thompsons began planning their summer vacation. Emily had received acceptance letters from several universities, each offering different opportunities. Noah had continued to be an active member of his environmental club, even leading a successful tree-planting initiative at school. Mia was excited to move up to the third grade and couldn't wait to share her stories with her older siblings.
 
As the school year came to a close, the Thompsons couldn't help but reflect on the journey they had undertaken over the past year. It had been filled with challenges, triumphs, and, most importantly, a deepening of their family bonds. They had learned the value of time and the importance of cherishing every moment together.
 
On the last day of school, the kids burst through the front door, excited about the summer ahead. Lisa and Tom greeted them with smiles, knowing that their family was stronger than ever. They had weathered the challenges of the past year and had emerged closer and more connected than ever before.
 
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow across the small suburban neighborhood once again, the Thompsons sat together on their front porch. They watched as fireflies danced in the twilight, illuminating the summer night. It was a simple, yet magical moment – a moment of togetherness and love.
 
In that moment, as they looked at each other with smiles that spoke of shared experiences and unspoken affection, the Thompsons knew that, no matter what the future held, they were a family bound by love, and that was all that truly mattered.
 
","September 03, 2023 14:35",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,ux202r,It Was the Last Night,John Steckley,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ux202r/,/short-story/ux202r/,Kids,0,"['Coming of Age', 'High School', 'Teens & Young Adult']",11 likes,"
 It Was the Night Before
	It was the night before the first day of school – always a time of high emotion for me. When I was in elementary school, it was a time of great excitement, as it would provide an opportunity to see friends that I hadn’t seen during the summer. I could catch up with their lives, and I could tell them about the highlights of my summer. But this year is much different from that. I am entering high school now, not returning to the elementary school of my earlier years, and I will not know anyone in my class. 
	My family had moved in July. My parents had wanted to move to a larger town, where their flower shop would hopefully be more prosperous than the previous one had been over the last few years. My sister and I had no choice in the matter. Our protests fell on deaf ears as the expression goes. We had to be moved from friends and the familiar, to strangers and the unfamiliar, not an easy situation to endure for a teenager.
	This is particularly so as I was born in the wrong generation. That is what my parents say, and they are right. I have long hair that reaches my shoulders. I would never succumb to having the currently popular buzz cut on the sides of the head. It seems to me to be an act of hair follicular violence.  And I have sideburns that reach down to the my chin bones. 
	Then there is my dress sense.  I have never worn my baseball cap backwards. It takes some self control for me not to turn such a guy’s cap around when I approach him. I have never seen a girl wear a cap that way, and I hope that I never do. But I suppose it happens, or will in the near future. I often wear tattered old jeans, but they are not fashionably ripped, a style that seems to me recently to have be extended to a few males as well as females. I have had to several times resist saying ‘you dress like a girl’ to such a male.
	The music I listened to is either sixties or seventies, nothing  that even has the slightest hint of rap. My musical heroes are rockers such as the Rolling Stones, Steppenwolf, Pink Floyd and the Eagles, and I have the t-shirts to prove it.
Meeting Your Schoolmates
	On this night there is what the school administration calls ‘Meeting Your Schoolmates,’ It is kind of cutey pie name, but I still plan to attend it. This meeting was probably thought to be useful for students like me that did not come from the junior school that was side-by-side with the high school. The students from that schoool were said in the local paper to make up a little more than two thirds of the students in the first year of high school. Almost all of the others would be coming from the much smaller junior school on the other side of town. At least they had allies that would attend with them, those who they had gone to school with for years.
He Enters the School
	As I approached the school, I had visions of the Stephen King movie ‘Carrie’ dancing inside my mind, only this one had me as the male lead. In the picture in my mind, I was standing on the stage, all dressed up, and with a girl by my side, who had been coerced into being my date. My mind’s eye looked up and saw the pail of pig’s blood overhead that was destined to pour all over me. I wished I hadn’t seen the remake of the movie last week on the television.            What had I been thinking? 
	Without really thinking about it, I was wearing my Mick Jagger t-shirt. That would set me up as different from the others right away – an easy target for possible verbal abuse, pointing and staring. But I still wore it. I wasn’t going to back down from my music.
	As I walked into the school building, I saw that most people were clustered in groups I imagined reflected the local juniot school that they had gone to before this day. Things didn’t look good for me. I felt like an alien on this planet. “Take me to your principal.”
	There was a stage in the room. It had instruments, microphones, and amps all set up for playing. So there was going to be music. I walked up to the stage to have a closer look. It would give me something to do, so I might not stand out as a loner.
	As I stood there, I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I saw that it was a guy that I had met at an ‘oldies concert’ a few weeks back. As two of the few younger people at the concert, we had easily found something to talk about on that occasion. The first thing he said to me was, “You’re going to like these guys. I’ve heard them play before.” Then he pointed to the girl standing beside him and said, “This is my sister, Sandra. She’s a fan of their kind of music too” 
	As I nodded my head at her, I saw that she was wearing an Eagles ‘t-shirt’. My first words to her were, “I’ve got a t-shirt just like that.” She smiled. I wished that I had worn it tonight.
	A few minutes later the musicians walked onto the stage. The singer and the lead guitarist were obviously significantly older than the others, who were more my age. The singer announced the band as ‘Generations’. Then he said a strange thing.
	“Our first number is going to surprise you, given that the lead guitarist and I are both teachers here at this school. Our bass player and drummer are students. We’re going to change the words to this well-known song a bit to tell you about this school.”
	Then they started to play, beginning the song with “You will get an education.” They changed the words to Pink Floyd’s 1979 hit, “Another Brick in the Wall” in several places. It began with:
	You will get an education.
	But you won’t get any thought control
	There’ll be no sarcasm in the classroom.
	Teachers, give those kids a home. 
	There was general laughter from the audience, and I was fist-bumped by some guys who stood beside me. 
	The next song was an oldie as well: “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”. I asked Sandra to dance with me. She gave me a smiling ‘yes’, and told me that she liked my Mick Jagger t-shirt. I think I’m going to like it here.
 
 
","September 05, 2023 16:32",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,0b77ao,Do Fireflies Go to School?,Katie Moon,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0b77ao/,/short-story/0b77ao/,Kids,0,"['Kids', 'Friendship', 'Bedtime']",11 likes,"
	Usually I love fireflies. Not tonight, though.
 
	Usually, when I see the world light up around me with tiny suns, it means the next chapter of today’ fun is beginning. For two months, it meant grabbing that old jar Dad gave me and stuffing my toes into my already-tied sneakers. Mom hates when I do that. She says I’m going to ruin my shoes, and that I already grow out of my shoes too fast as it is. But I still do it because I know she’ll still laugh as I run out the door, swinging and grabbing at every firefly in sight. Most bugs are hard to catch, but not fireflies. It’s like they’re in on the game, wanting to give me a chance to catch them. They don’t get scared away, either. Even when they see a giant hand flying up to capture them, still they wait there for me. By the end of the night, my jar looks like a little Christmas tree, minus the tree part. Just a bunch of twinkling lights floating around, waiting patiently until, as the last sign of real sunlight disappears, I unscrew the punctured cap and watch them disappear back into the night. They don’t mind, though. For two whole months, they’ve always come again to play the next day.
	Not tonight, though. Tonight, the fireflies coming out is like an alarm bell going off, telling everyone who sees them that another day is ending soon, and tomorrow is almost here. And today’s tomorrow is the worst tomorrow there is. Because today is summer, but tomorrow is school.
	I try to hurry outside without Mom or Dad seeing and wave the fireflies away. I beg them to please, please, please not come to play tonight. If Mom sees them, she’s going to know that the day is almost over, which means going to sleep, which means waking up, which means going to school, which means saying goodbye to summer. For a whole school year. That means no summer until I’m seven, and I just barely turned six. Maybe if I can get the fireflies to hide for tonight, I can figure out another way for us to play tomorrow without Mom and Dad seeing. Normally, I like that the fireflies just hang in the air, not running away. Tonight I’m annoyed, though. No matter how much I try to shoo them away, they just float there, waiting to be caught.
	And now it’s too late, because Mom is calling me back inside. She says I can’t catch fireflies tonight because I need to go to bed early. I try to ask her for just five more minutes, but she said I already got five more minutes. Even when I ask for just one more minute, she says no.
	Upstairs, I try to do everything as slowly as possible. I don’t really like brushing my teeth, but tonight I brush each tooth an extra two times to make sure it’s clean. I don’t really like washing my hair, but tonight I make sure to scrub every hair on my head until it stings a little. Mom says I’m dragging my feet, so she stays to make sure I get everything else done more quickly.
	My stomach is starting to not feel so good now. It feels a little bit like when I ate too much cake at Alex’s party. It was chocolate cake, my favorite, so I took the biggest piece Alex’s mom cut. It had been the best cake in the whole wide world, with so much chocolate icing and even crushed chocolate cookies sprinkled on the whole thing. After everyone had gone back to playing, I snuck back to the leftover cake to have another piece. And then another one. My belly felt ready to explode that day, so Dad drove me home and talked about listening to my body when it tells me I’ve had enough. My stomach still had a little case of the gurgles by the time the sun said goodbye that night, so Dad carried me on his back while I grabbed little fireflies from the air. When I looked up at the red and purple sky, I pretended I had my own wings like my fireflies. Closing my eyes so tight they hurt, I asked Dad if I was glowing. He laughed his big laugh and said he saw my glow every time I smiled.
	Well, Dad, unlike with that chocolate cake, I’m listening to my body now. It sounds to me like it’s saying that I’ve had enough school and not enough summer. Maybe if I just get a little more summer, my stomach will feel better. I might need to stay home for a few more weeks, or months. Mom doesn’t agree, though. She says I’m just feeling nervous, but it’ll be better once I’ve made friends in my new class and met my new teacher.
	As Dad tucks my pink blanket in around me, I can see little dots of light flashing outside my window. The fireflies. They’re still waiting for me. Every single night, when the sun dropped behind the tall trees in our backyard, they’ve appeared, one by one, ready for me. I wonder where they go during the day. Are they sleeping in the trees? Maybe they sleep in that big, dark hole in the oak tree. Brandon dared me one time to climb up the branches and stick my hand in. Suddenly that tree seemed as tall as a mountain. But I didn’t tell Brandon that because big brothers make fun of you when you’re scared. I had been halfway up the trunk when I felt a cracking underneath my feet. A lot of crying and one fast car ride later, I had fourteen new stitches in my knee. Brandon held my hand the whole time. When we got home, he even helped me climb down from the car. That night, when the little specks of light appeared in the bushes, he held the jar for me as I limped around after my shining friends.
	Dad is reading my favorite book tonight, but something’s wrong. Is he reading faster than usual? It doesn’t sound like it, but then how are they already to Foxy Loxy’s cave? I stare at the illustration of a little chicken and duck peeking inside a black cave as a red fox grins behind them. The cave looks so dark in the book, like a big, scary mouth waiting to swallow them up. It’s a good thing that chicken decides to run away. I wouldn’t want to go in there, either. That’s why I sleep with a little mermaid nightlight by my bed. Darkness means I can’t see Mom or Dad or my teddy bear or even my own hand. Brandon told me that darkness lets monsters that are usually trapped in shadows go wherever they want to eat little sisters.
	Mom said monsters aren’t real, but one almost got me once. One night as I sat among the fireflies, I found a bright green rock I had never seen before. It felt smooth like water and looked like the pictures I’ve seen of the ocean. I wondered if maybe it actually was from the ocean and imagined what fun stories it had to tell me about living in the underwater world. I got so caught up in dreams of mermaids and pirates that I didn’t notice the fireflies say goodbye, or the sun going to sleep behind the trees. When I looked up, all the green leaves had turned black, and all the bushes around me had combined to make one big, dark wall. The blanket of dark lawn between the back door and me felt like a whole football field. I was alone, and darkness was inviting out the night monsters.
	Would the shadow monsters eat me before I can get to the door? Just as I jumped to my feet to run inside, leaves nearby rustled softly. Monsters! Tears were threatening to fall down my cheeks, and my voice cracked as I yelled for Dad. I had dropped to my knees and hugged them close when the dark was chased away by a bright light in front of my face. Right in front of my face, blinking slowly bright yellow, hung one of my wonderful fireflies. It must have heard me crying, because it stood like a knight in one of Brandon’s books, guarding me from any shadow monsters waiting in the dark. Finally, with a shuffle of branches, Dad pushed aside the bushes where I hid and scooped me up. As he carried me to the safety of the kitchen lights, I waved one last goodbye to the firefly who had protected me.
	Dad closes the book and says it’s time to sleep. I ask Dad to read another story since that one went way too fast, but that doesn’t work. As he gives me a kiss on the forehead, I look back at the flashing lights outside my window. Tonight is the first night all summer that I haven’t stayed to play with them. They’ll be wondering where I’ve gone. Do fireflies go to school? I bet they don’t even know what school is. They might not know that tomorrow is different. They might keep coming back, waiting for me to come play. But I won’t be there. Each night, they’ll keep coming, and I’ll still be missing. Until one day maybe they don’t come. And one by one, they all disappear. And maybe I’ll become just a memory for them, until even that goes away.
	I thought Dad was going to turn off the lights, but instead I feel his warm, rough hand wrap around mine. He brushes my hair off my forehead softly and asks why I’m crying. I feel my chest start to shake up and down faster and faster as loud sniffles slip out my nose. I ask Dad if the fireflies forget their friends when summer ends.
	Dad is quiet for a moment as he continues to stroke my hair. Then he asks me something funny: do I think my mouth forgets my hand when it’s not eating? What does that mean? Mouths don’t have memories, do they? Maybe they do. Maybe that’s why mine is always asking for ice cream. Dad laughs at that. Then he takes my hand, looking so little in between his, and holds it up for me to see. Without my hand, he says, my mouth would never be fed. Every day, every bite, my mouth trusts my hand to return when it needs food. And, he says, without the mouth feeding my body each day, my hand would become tired and weak. They work together, forever partners, and even when the mouth is finished eating each meal, still the hand will come when it’s called. Together, along with every other part of my body, they make one, whole, beautiful me.
	Dad says that’s the truth of the entire universe, everything tied together, like a beautiful spider web. I never thought that spider webs could be beautiful. But he says this one is. He says with every memory I’ve made with my fireflies, with every touch of their little legs in my hands, they’ve become a part of me, and me a part of them.  Even when I’m not here, my little fireflies carry me with them.
	I ask Dad if the fireflies will come every night to see me for the rest of my life. Maybe I could show them what it looks like when the leaves turn orange and red and fall like snowflakes to the ground. Or I could even show them how real snowflakes turn to blankets of snow over the grass. And maybe they could stay forever with me. Squeezing my hand softly, Dad shakes his head. He says there will be days where it’s cold and dark and even when I look for them, I won’t see those glowing lights out my window. He says every person I meet will have days where they can’t see the fireflies. On those days, he says, I should remember them in my head and feel them in my heart, and there I will find them again.
	As Dad closes the door to my room after a kiss goodnight and whispered goodbye, I look out the window as the last of the glittering dots disappear. My eyes feel scratchy and heavy now. I guess there was no fighting off tomorrow forever. Right before I let sleep take me, I put my hand on my chest and feel the gentle thud of my heart, and I promise my fireflies to take them with me wherever I go.
 
	***
 
	My hands feel sweaty, but somehow my fingertips still feel cold. My shoes smack loudly against the tile floor as I follow behind Mom’s long legs. I hear shouts and laughter from each door we pass as other kids see old friends and greet soon-to-be new ones. Outside each door, a teacher smiles and waits, waving in other girls and boys who hide behind their parents.
	Mom says first grade will be so much fun for me. She says each class has its own special name for the school year. She points to each door as we pass. A bright poster hangs on each one, decorated with cartoon pictures of that class’s theme and a message from the teacher:
 Welcome Ladybug Class! Come find your “spots”!
 Hello Bumblebee Class! I’m “buzzzzing” with excitement to meet you!
 Come on in Grasshopper Class! Time to “hop” into fun!
	Mom gives my hand a tight squeeze as we stop in front of the last doorway. She says this is my class. With a deep breath, I look up at the door that seems to tower over me. And I gasp. I press my hand to my heart, and for a second I’m certain I can feel it glowing.
 Welcome Firefly Class! I’m de“light”ed to meet you!
","September 08, 2023 05:15",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,hz325d,The Bike Thief,Viola Schultz,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hz325d/,/short-story/hz325d/,Kids,0,['Kids'],11 likes,"
We were riding our bikes. Tomorrow we would have to go back to school, but today we were riding our bikes down Park Heights, around the field and woods near Towanda Rec Center, back up Reisterstown Road, and in and out of all the little side streets around our houses where the big fans outside the Chinese places blew out fried food smell and the trash was heaped up high and sometimes you could see two people hiding out doing stuff with each other that they probably should be doing inside.
 
It was two in the afternoon. The sun was super-hot. In Baltimore at least, September is just as bad as August and we all knew we were going to sweat our butts off at school the same amount we sweated them off standing around at the Rec, or walking down the alley behind Torro’s house – the one where, a couple of days after the Fourth of July, we saw a guy who looked like he was dead and we ran away – or sitting in Zion’s backyard drinking Capri Suns. When it’s hot, Capri Suns just make you need something else to drink.
 
“I’m so thirsty,” Torro said to nobody in particular. Then he looked at William and said, “Miss Terry got any soda?”
 
“Maybe,” William said.
 
We rode down St. Charles Avenue to William’s house, which was one of those little two-story brick rowhouses that are all over Park Heights. Some of them look okay, some of them are falling down on themselves, or have no steps, or the roof is gone and you can see sky through the front windows, which are also usually gone. William’s house was one of the okay ones and was also one of the few houses on the block that had a tree in front of it – a big old pine tree or something that was even taller than the house.
 
We dropped our bikes and banged up the steps and into the house so loud that even before we got past the door, I heard Miss Terry’s voice say, “I know I didn’t raise no elephant. Comin in here like that, gotta be an emergency.” She wasn’t in the living room. Her voice carried down the staircase. She was probably taking one of her “siestas” as she called them.
 
“Sorry, Miss Terry,” William called immediately. “Just gettin some soda.”
 
“Well, get it quick and get it quiet,” Miss Terry said. “Lord Jesus, it’s too hot to be runnin around like that.”
 
We guzzled plastic cups of Sprite and poked around in some chips that Miss Terry had on the counter, then crept out of the house.
As we came down the steps, William said, “Where’s my bike?”
We all looked. He was right. When we went in his house, he had put it next to the pine tree. Now it was gone. There was mine, Torro’s, Zion’s – all right where we had left them – but William’s wasn’t there.
 
William looked stressed. “Where’s my bike?” he moaned. “Miss Terry’s gonna kill me!”
 
Zion got on his bike and circled around a little. “Ooo, you in trouuuu-ble.”
 
“Shut up!” William yelled.
 
“OK, OK,” Torro said. He was the one of us always who wanted to calm people down. He did yoga at school. “We were only in the house a couple minutes. Whoever took it gotta be close. Get on Isaiah’s bike and we’ll go look for it.”
 
William held my shoulder and stood up on my pegs. I didn’t mind; my bike was bigger than theirs and could easily take two.
 
We rode up Belvedere toward Sinai. When we passed the chop shop on Queensberry, we saw Mack out front wiping his hands.
 
“Ask Mack, Will!” Zion said. “He always knows where to find stuff.”
 
We turned around and pulled over to the shop.
 
“Sup, boys?” Mack said. He was wiping his face now. He had sweat and black grease on his cheeks.
 
“Mack, did you see anybody riding around on a bike looked like this one?” William said. He pointed to Torro’s bike because their bikes looked near the same.
 
Mack pointed across the street at the fence around the racetrack. There was a white sign strapped to one of the fencepoles that said PIMLICO RACE COURSE – PRIVATE PROPERTY – NO TRESPASSING. “There’s a young basehead works in a stable over there likes to steal stuff. He might know where your bike is.”
 
“But how do we get in?” I said.
 
“Go knock on the door!” Mack’s face split wide in a laugh. “I’m just playin with you, young. Here, wait a minute.” Mack walked back into his shop. He tossed his rag on a mess of car parts in the corner, leaned down, picked something up, and walked back to us. In his hands was a crowbar that had seen better days.
 
“You can push up the bottom of the fence with this and hold it for each other. I’ll watch your bikes.” Zion looked wary. “Jesus, boy, what I’m gonna do with three kids’ bikes?” Mack waved his hands. “You do what you want.”
 
“Thanks, Mack,” William said, taking the crowbar.
 
“That’s all right. Listen, that junkie give you any mouth, you wave that crowbar at him and run off, you hear?”
 
Torro used the crowbar to push up the bottom links of the fence and William went under, then Zion, then me. Then Torro handed the crowbar to Zion and Zion held up the fence so Torro could go under. This was hard because Torro is big.
 
“Man, if this guy is crazy, I’m out,” Zion said. “He probably sold it already.”
 
“Shut up,” William said. “We don’t even know.”
 
“If he doesn’t have it—” I said, and then I stopped. “What if he doesn’t have it?”
 
“I don’t know,” William said. He sounded like he was talking behind a wall.
 
We walked through grass and lots of broken bottles to a wood building. It was long and low and we could hear horses.
 
“You think this is it?” whispered William.
 
“Only one way to tell,” Torro said. “Come on.”
 
We went around front of the building, which was open. Inside, it was dark and smelled like poop and grass and dust. A man stood with his back to us, smoking. His clothes were dusty and looked worn out, and he had little bits of stuff like lint in his hair. In front of him, there were two brown, shiny horses. They saw us and neighed. The man turned around and saw us. Off to the side, leaning on a long table covered with brushes and combs and leather and metal things, was a bike.
 
“What’s good?” the man said in a whispery voice. His eyes were red and wet, like he had been up all night blowing his nose.
 
“You took my bike,” William said. His voice was all trembly, but I thought I might sound the same way if I was him. “I want it back.”
 
The man looked over at the bike. “This my bike.”
 
“Bullshit.” This came from Zion, who was holding the crowbar tighter now. He looked really mad, and when Zion looks mad, you have to watch out.
 
“That’s our boy’s bike, man,” said Torro.
 
The man was holding the cigarette near his mouth. It just sat there between his fingers, smoking. He stood looking at Zion, then at the rest of us. His mouth twitched. “Well, take it then.”
 
Keeping his back to the horses, Zion went around the man one way and Torro went the other way. The man watched them with his wide, red eyes as they came together by the bike, then kept on watching them as Torro wheeled it to the front of the stable.
 
“Better be more careful with your bike,” the man said softly. The cigarette had almost burned down to his fingers.
 
“Don’t take nothing don’t belong to you,” Zion said as he backed away.
 
As soon as we had all backed out of the stable, we ran as fast as we could to the fence. It took about two seconds to get there. Zion held the fence up while we shoved the bike under. We scrambled underneath, too, and then Zion scrambled up the fence and threw himself over on the other side. We all sat on the sidewalk, breathing hard, sweating, scratched up.
 
Mack came out of the shop and a big, proud smile broke across his face. “Goddamn, you got it!”
 
William was holding the bike and patted it, looking like he had built it himself. “Yeah,” he said. Then he looked closer at the seat. He leaned in real close.
 
“What is it?” I asked.
William put his finger on the seat. There was a rip there and some of the stuffing was bulging out.
 
Zion said, “Aw, man – he tore the seat.”
 
“No…” William looked at the frame. The thin green stripe that should have been by the pedals was a fat gold one.
 
“What—?” Torro began.
 
Nervously, William said, “This isn’t my bike.”
 
                                *						*						*
 
It was almost four o’clock. We rode down Belvedere. William looked uncomfortable on the bike that wasn’t his. He looked around as he pedaled as if maybe he thought that somebody would knock him down and take this bike, too. The sun seemed like it was even hotter now than in the middle of the afternoon and it glinted off cars and store windows and all the little pieces of glass all over and embedded in the street.
 
“I’m hungry,” Torro said. “Think Miss Terry would mind if we ate some more of her chips?”
 
William didn’t say anything.
 
“He can’t ask Miss Terry for nothin now,” Zion muttered.
 
A cop car raced out of Cuthbert and tore down toward Reisterstown, its siren and lights going.
 
Torro made us stop at M’s Super Mart so he could get a bag of Takis and we sat in the grass in the vacant lot next to the store and watched the cars race by and smelled the sour spice of the Takis and the weird bitter pepper smell of the weeds we were sitting on and the smell of the gas additives from the guys with their dirt bikes up on kickstands clinking and clanking them with tools. The sun blasted down on us and we sat still, basking in it, feeling sweat creep down into the small of our backs and through bands of our underwear. We sat and waited and sat.
 
Back on St. Charles, we pedaled slowly. When we passed by the alley just before William’s block, I peered down and saw something shining that made me yell, “Look!”
 
We all stopped and looked down the alley. William jumped off the bike that wasn’t his bike and let it drop to the ground with springy boink. He ran down the alley and grabbed the silvery thing and picked it up. He stood there for a few minutes. When he turned around, he was wheeling a bike on its back wheel toward us. The front wheel was bent almost in half.
 
“Oh snap,” said Zion, “is that your bike?”
 
William wheeled his bike around the corner and onto the sidewalk. He passed us and kept going toward his house.
 
“What about this one, Will?” called Torro. “You want it?”
 
William paused at the bottom of the steps. “No,” he said, “it ain’t mine.”
 
He wheeled his bike up the steps onto the porch, opened the door, and went into the house.
","September 08, 2023 23:24","[[{'Michael Martin': 'Greetings!  We received each other for critique circle this week.  I’m going to type out my thoughts in real time as I’m reading so you get my impressions as I go!\nOpening line feels a bit weak; there’s a lot more you can do with “we were riding our bikes”… reading a bit further, you get into a great groove in the first paragraph.  I might suggest just starting with “We were riding our bikes in and out of all the little side streets around our houses where the big fans outside the Chinese places blew out…”.  That provides much more sensory s...', 'time': '04:09 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Viola Schultz': ""Hi there! Thanks for all your astute comments about my story - I appreciate them.\n\nAlso, what the critique circle? I'm a noob, so just learning about a lot of things."", 'time': '00:30 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Michael Martin': ""Its something we get in our emails on weeks where we submit a story to the contest.  Its two stories that they send which are stories you could provide feedback on (they also received your story as well to provide feedback on).  You don't have to, of course, but i find its nice to get critical feedback to help improve :)"", 'time': '05:37 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Viola Schultz': ""Hi there! Thanks for all your astute comments about my story - I appreciate them.\n\nAlso, what the critique circle? I'm a noob, so just learning about a lot of things."", 'time': '00:30 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michael Martin': ""Its something we get in our emails on weeks where we submit a story to the contest.  Its two stories that they send which are stories you could provide feedback on (they also received your story as well to provide feedback on).  You don't have to, of course, but i find its nice to get critical feedback to help improve :)"", 'time': '05:37 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': ""Its something we get in our emails on weeks where we submit a story to the contest.  Its two stories that they send which are stories you could provide feedback on (they also received your story as well to provide feedback on).  You don't have to, of course, but i find its nice to get critical feedback to help improve :)"", 'time': '05:37 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'S. Thomson': ""There is such an amazing sense of voice in this story it's incredible. I feel as if I was hearing it from the narrator's own mouth. Dialogue is great. \n\nThere is also some excellent setting description here too. There must be so many neighbourhoods in the world where a tree in the front yard would be commonplace, but in this place it IS a distinctive feature. It's a small detail but the fact that it is mentioned tells us a lot about the larger setting.\n\nI really enjoyed reading this story, thank you for sharing :)"", 'time': '17:48 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Viola Schultz': 'Thank you for your kind words!', 'time': '13:55 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Viola Schultz': 'Thank you for your kind words!', 'time': '13:55 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,my1j7x,First Day Jitters,Amy Bepko,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/my1j7x/,/short-story/my1j7x/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Inspirational', 'Middle School']",10 likes,"
First Day Jitters
 
	The noise was intense. Between the constant ticking of her clock and the thumping of her heart, Addy could not fall asleep. She rolled over and peeked out from under her covers. 2:25 A.M. The moonlight cascading in through her blinds. 
	Excitement and nerves overwhelmed her senses. How would the first day of ninth grade go? A new school. All new teachers. No friends. So many fears. 
	Bile rises up in her throat. Addy leaps out of her bed, rushing through the bedroom door. Fuzzy socks sliding along the newly steamed hardwoods in the hallway. Bracing herself along the wall, avoiding a fall that would humiliate. No crutches to begin the new year.
	Regaining her balance, Addy rushes through the bathroom, crouches down to the cold, hard toilet seat. Shaky fingers clutch the sides. A coiled curl plops out of her headband onto the toilet. Addy lurches forward and vomits up her late night dinner. Exhausted. Heaving. Drained. Stressed.
	“Addy, get your shit together,” she says, wiping a cool washcloth over her cheeks.
	On wobbly knees, she pushes herself up and off of the floor. Her eyes meet the ones looking back at her in the mirror. Dark circles forming under her lids. Flushed cheeks. Not the face of confidence. 
	Addy lingers in the bathroom for a few moments. She contemplates returning to the incessant ticking of her clock or heading downstairs for a quick snack. Which one will help to ease the worries of tomorrow? Realizing heading to bed at this moment will not help her sleep, she wanders down the stairwell into the dark kitchen. 
	Addy rummages through three cupboards before she finds a hidden stash of chocolates. Probably not the smartest decision. She pulls four miniature candies from the bag, and rips open the orange wrapper. The first bite oozes chocolate and peanut butter. Bliss, at least for this moment. The next two don’t go down as smoothly. Leaving a knot in her throat.
	“Bad idea,” Addy says as she tosses the fourth piece back into the cabinet.
	Slowly, she walks over to her laptop bag. Slides out the hard black computer and opens it up. She signs in to her new school email address, and scrolls through her daily schedule. 6 classes and 2 study halls. Not too bad. She can handle this. She reads through the schedule one last time, slides her finger down the monitor, and closes the laptop. Shaking, she places it back into the bag and sighs.
	“Another first day at a new school,” Addy sobs. “My last first day at a new school. I can feel it. This place will be my place.”
	Addy walks through the first floor rooms checking that lights are turned off, throwing away all of her wrappers. Hoping to leave no evidence of her late night panic. 
	Heavy legs climb the single flight of stairs. Feelings of exhaustion and fear hit her as soon as she reaches her bedroom door. Slowing as she nears her bed. Climbing in quietly, she raises her bedspread up to her neck. Her body molds into the cool satin sheets. She breathes in deep. Anxiety slowly washing away. Calmness finally taking over. She closes her eyes. Relaxes her body. And drifts off to sleep.
	***********
	A ringing sound startles Addy. She jumps straight up, blinking her eyes open. Sunlight flickers through her blinds. She shakes the fog from her brain and focuses on finding her phone. She shuts down her alarm. A yawn escapes. 5:30 AM. It feels as though she hasn’t slept at all.  Probably because she hasn’t.
	Addy begins her new morning routine. The new school this year has an earlier arrival time. First class begins at 7:15. Addy quickly showers and changes into her first day outfit. The outfit she spent hours contemplating yesterday. The minute she places her shoes on her feet, indecision strikes. Is this the perfect outfit to show everyone she is ready for a new year? Should she wear the yellow skirt instead? So many thoughts. Addy shakes out her worries and looks into the mirror. “No, this is it. No more stress,” she huffs as she blows an unruly curl out of her eyes.
	Addy wanders down the quiet stairway and into the kitchen. Nobody else is here. A note is visible on the refrigerator. She reads it aloud,
Addy,
I hope you have a great first day. No more jitters! Go do great things and show everyone the extremely awesome person you are. You got this! Conquer your moment.
Love M
	Addy sighs and smiles. Knowing that she has someone in her corner rooting her on today eases some of her anxiety. Anxiety that can sometimes control her thoughts, moods and actions. Anxiety that overwhelmed her at her last school. Anxiety that sometimes causes her to withdraw from the world around her. But, NOT today. Today she will take deep breaths and find a path to calm. Today she will overcome her obstacles. Today she will show everyone that this is her year, this will be her place. This is her time. 
	Addy unhooks the note from the fridge and folds it three times into a small square. She slides it into her front pocket, a reminder that she can do this. Addy continues on with her routine, eating a small bowl of yogurt, her stomach rumbling. She grabs a granola bar for her first break of the day, hoping her appetite will be there later.
	Addy checks her laptop bag one last time, making sure it is packed fully with her needs. She grabs her packed lunch from the refrigerator. All set for the day. Time to go.
 
*********
	Addy reaches the front of her new school early. She exhales, excited and exhausted. She begins to climb the daunting staircase to the brick building. This school is much larger than her last. She opens the large metal door and searches for her lanyard. She slides it over the security monitor and listens for the click. She opens the large doors and walks through. She steps lightly to the main office.
	“Addy! Welcome. Come in. Principal Myers would like to speak with you,” Mrs. Morris, the secretary says.
	“Oh, hi. Yes, ok. Is she in her office?” Addy asks.
	“Go right in. She is waiting.”
	Addy walks through the open door. “Ms. Myers, you asked to see me?” 
	“Aww, yes Addy. Come in. Come in. Good morning!” Ms. Myers sing-songs.
	“Morning.”
	“I just wanted to have a quick check in with you. See how you are feeling. I know first day jitters can sometimes get even the most seasoned of us. Are you doing well this morning?”
	“Yes, I am good. A little wobbly at first. Now, I am ready.” Addy says, confidence increasing with each word.
	“Good, good I’m glad. You have some tough ones today. Some that will need guidance and support. They also will need to know they are not alone. Sometimes just a reminder that everyone has struggles to overcome helps. Do you understand that?”
	“Yes, Ms. Myers. I get that very well.”
	“I thought you might. Well go have a great day Addy. I think you will shine this year as the new ninth grade science teacher. A bright light for all of our students. Yes, I think you will fit into the ninth grade group quite well.”
	“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Addy says, smiling. She wipes a small tear from her eye. “I definitely think this will be my year.”
	Addy turns and walks out of the office. She confidently finds her way to her classroom. Her name placard hangs on the door. Mrs. Grimes. She touches the lettering. Turns the knob and walks into her classroom. Her phone rings as she unpacks her laptop. “M” shows on the screen.
	“Mark, hey babe,” she says into the receiver.
	“Addy, sorry I had to leave early today to make the flight. I’m through security now though. I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”
	Addy frowns, knowing Mark worries too much about her and her anxiety. “I’m good. Just got to my new room. And I don’t know. Something feels different. This will be a good year.”
	“I know it will be Addy. This school fits you. You are a great teacher. Just remember that! I bet half of your students spent their night stressing as much as you did last night. Maybe that’s something to remember. Kids and teachers. All of you get first day jitters.”
	“Thank you Mark. See you Saturday when you get home.”
	“Love you. Go do great things!”
	Addy ends the call. All of you get first day jitters. A connection. A simple statement that means so much. An opening to begin a new school year. She walks up to her white board and records, 
	“Welcome to Mrs. Grimes class. If you have a worry about school, share it here and we can talk about it as a team. Remember, everybody gets first day jitters.”
 	Then Addy sits at her new desk and waits for the first bell to ring.
 
","September 06, 2023 13:28","[[{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Hello from critique circle!\n\nI was so delighted to discover this was about a teacher. I teach early childhood music classes, and while my students are probably too young for first day jitters, I know I definitely get them!\n\nYour writing is smooth and easy to follow, and the voice is consistent throughout. I loved that you tried to fool us with the initial ""M"". Most moms would just write ""mom"" so it definitely piqued my interest to see that, but the way you played it out with the reveal being her partner, Mark, actually worked nicely. It felt...', 'time': '05:11 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Amy Bepko': 'Thank you so much for writing...and I actually have always struggled with dialogue pieces so I can understand that! I also taught for ten years and never got over the first day jitters (so that part was easy to write)! \nI am glad you enjoyed the piece!', 'time': '16:13 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Amy Bepko': 'Thank you so much for writing...and I actually have always struggled with dialogue pieces so I can understand that! I also taught for ten years and never got over the first day jitters (so that part was easy to write)! \nI am glad you enjoyed the piece!', 'time': '16:13 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOL Loved that the first-day jitters described turned out to be those of a teacher. Having been a teacher for decades, I know the feeling. Every year! LOL\n\nNice, heartwarming, real. Good job.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:48 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Amy Bepko': 'Aww thank you for the kind words. I also was a teacher many years ago-and I always felt the first day jitters, no matter what!', 'time': '01:00 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Amy Bepko': 'Aww thank you for the kind words. I also was a teacher many years ago-and I always felt the first day jitters, no matter what!', 'time': '01:00 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,oaus0k,New Kid,John Ernst,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/oaus0k/,/short-story/oaus0k/,Kids,0,"['Kids', 'Fiction']",10 likes,"
Mom and Dad didn't ask us how we felt about it. We didn't get to vote on it, because we're just kids. So here we are now, in the middle of nowhere, away from our friends, in a new unfamiliar place. There is this knot in the pit of my stomach that just won't go away, like I swallowed a rock. That rock, it just lives there in my tummy, all day, and all night. I sense its hardness inside me when I go to bed, and when I wake up, it is still there, cold and unfriendly. I imagine the rock, looking like a little angry face emoji, pouting and complaining, saying naughty words to me. He decided to make my body his home, permanently. All I want to do is play video games, I just don't want to think about anything, don’t want to FEEL anything.
 
Mom says I am an “introvert."" It took me years to find a best friend, and just as soon as I did, my parents decided to force me to leave him. My friend, Trey, was like me, he didn’t have a lot of friends. He was shy and withdrawn. Together, we were a good pair. We ate lunch side-by-side and we chatted surreptitiously on the playground, making up our own private games. We shared our secrets and made all sorts of crazy plans of what we would do together, some day. I felt this joy bubble up inside me whenever we were together. Now, suddenly, he was gone from my life and it hurt. The adults were always talking about being fair, but this was NOT fair. Why do I have to start all over again? Mommy says her job is going to really help our family out and that we had to take this opportunity, but I don’t care. I just don’t care.
 
My sister has disappeared into her room. I haven’t seen her for days. We used to play together when we were younger, but not since she became what my mom calls a “tween.” I hear her music blaring in there, and her laughing at something on YouTube. Her laughter somehow doesn’t sound real, like she is trying too hard to laugh, just to hear herself laugh, to hopefully be convinced by the sounds that she is ACTUALLY happy. It hurt my feelings that she ignored me now, like I was some kind of ghost boy. ""Ghost boy, ghost boy, wandering the halls…,” I sang in my head.
 
 
""James, James, ... JAMES!"", my dad crescendos. I hear it coming from far off, like a train bearing down on me. I stare blankly back at the figure towering over me. ""It's time to put devices away.. why don't you go outside for a while and play?"" I grunt and moan, splaying myself on the floor in protest, “No thanks.” I had been playing my games for hours now. ”It's not really a question,"" he says firmly. I hobble my way reluctantly to the door, feeling an urge to argue but also knowing its pointlessness. I stuff the anger back down inside, down to that hard spot in my tummy. I imagined the little angry rock in my tummy smily smugly at me and cackling.
 
Outside, it is blazingly hot, the sun is attacking me, trying to HURT me. I hear shouting behind me inside the house. A familiar feeling of dread creeps up my spine: my parents have found something new to fight about. My mom always is trying to tell my dad how he should do things, and my dad is always yelling at her to stop telling him what to do. They do this on repeat, like some machine that can’t be stopped. I walk quickly away from my house to mute the angry sounds and stand on an empty street. The lawns are pristinely mowed and edged, and not a soul is in sight. A small dog yips incessantly at me through the neighbor's fence, confidently shouting in ""Dog"" that I do NOT belong here. I creep cautiously closer and slowly poke a finger through a crack in the fence. Will he bite it? The diminutive animal licks at my fingertip with a wet tongue and nervously wiggles about. ""Does anyone live in your house puppy?"" I ask, observing all the tightly drawn blinds behind numerous window panes. The house felt foreboding and strange in some way. I sure hadn't seen anyone stir there, let alone any other kids. Why do I feel like I'm exploring another planet, like I'm marooned in space?  “Are you a space doggie?” I ask. The dog yipped at me as if in response.
 
Apparently there ARE children here, school starts tomorrow. In my mind's eye, I see myself dropped off at an empty school, with empty halls echoing back my footsteps. Somehow, I cannot imagine other kids being there, no matter how hard I try to force myself to visualize this. We went to the store last night to get all the supplies needed; markers, notebooks, pencils... everything was picked over and strewn about as if a tornado had come through and gobbled it up, leaving a trail of office supply wreckage in its wake; I imaged people looking like vultures, circling over and swooping in to greedily grab the supplies. I began to run in wide arcs around the yard and then in tighter and tighter circles within circles within circles within circles... the world began to spin out of control. I flopped down hard on my back in the yard, sweating and panting. I looked up to see a face, spinning in my vertigo, above me. A pair of blue eyes framed by some shaggy brown hair. A tee-shirt “Eat, Play, Sleep, Repeat.” 
 
“What are you DOING?!,” he asked. I laughed, feeling embarrassed at my absurdity. “Oh, just stuff,” I responded. “Stuff? Looks like crazy stuff!” he said back. And then he pantomimed me, running in his own wild circles while hooting and hollering and leaping about until he collapsed in a panting heap next to me. “How was that?,” he asked me. “Not bad, 4 out of 5 stars!” I said. “Are you the new kid in the neighborhood?” he asked. “Yep, that’s me, the new kid!”  
","September 06, 2023 17:24",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,jgmx49,SUMMER MEMORIES,Melinda Madrigal,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jgmx49/,/short-story/jgmx49/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship']",10 likes,"
ELIZABELLA
I can't believe the summer is over. Tomorrow is the first day of senior year. I waited so long for this time and now that's it's here I'm nervous. Butterflies are swarming in my stomach not only for tomorrow but also about what happened to me this summer. I met a boy. His name is Austin.
 
As I sit in my room thinking about tomorrow, I look back on the memories of this past summer. This summer was just like any other summer in Holly Hills. 90 degree weather almost every day. The lake was filled with so many people, families with their kids. I love the Holly Hills summers. Everyone is out and about. No one is hiding in their homes. Smiles and laughter were everywhere. That's Holly Hills for you.
 
Holly Hills has everything you will ever need. That's the reason why my family doesn't go on summer vacations. Holly Hills is a dream for me and anyone who visits. Almost every day you will see me at the lake.
 
In a small town you know everybody. Neighbors are like family. So, when new people arrive in Holly Hills everyone is curious including me. The new family was moving in right across the street from my home.
 
On the day the new family were moving in I was in the front porch reading a book. I looked up when I heard the moving trucks. This was new to us. No one has ever moved into Holly Hills.
 
Holly Hills is a generational town. Families like my own have lived in Holly Hills for generations. The house the new family is moving into once belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Carson. Sadly, they passed away. I guess their kids Andrew and Dani couldn't live in the house with all the memories.
 
As I watched the new family moving in, I couldn't help but stare at the boy who I assume is the couple's son. To me he didn't look happy to be in Holly Hills. As usual my mother can't help herself. She dragged me to meet the new family. My mother is a very nosey person.
 
The new family Hank and Eva Grey and their son Austin. My mother is nosey but she knows how to make friends very quickly. Eva was just as outgoing as my mother. She fit right in. Hank wasn't outgoing as Eva but he was friendly. He fit right in too. Austin on the other hand was very moody. He was very angry and rarely talked. It took time, a lot of time for Austin to open up.
 
Every day me and Austin hanged out. I showed Austin what kind of town Holly Hills is. Austin never showed any interested in getting to know Holly Hills. That didn't mean I gave up. No, I kept trying. I made a vow to myself to get Austin to open up and show him Holly Hills is a wonderful place to live.
 
Every morning I picked Austin up from his house and took him to the lake. I dragged him  into the water every chance I got. I also took Austin to the dock. I jumped off but Austin wouldn't. One time I sneaked up on him and pushed him off. I laughed and for a moment I saw Austin smiling.
 
July 4th was the annual fireworks spectacular. The entire town goes to the lake to watch the most beautiful fireworks. I took Austin with me. We sat together and watched the fireworks together. It was so beautiful. From the corner of my eye, I saw Austin smiling. I was captivated by his smile. I told Austin he should smile more. He just looked at me. My mission to get Austin to like Holly Hills continued.
 
The rest of the summer, I gave Austin a tour of Holly Hills. We went to the movies, the ice cream shop, the park and camping. We went with friends I introduced him too. It was at the camp ground where Austin finally opened up to me. He told me he didn't want to move to Holly Hills. He wanted to stay in the city and that he misses his friends. I felt bad for him. I can't imagine leaving my friends and my home. Austin grabbed my hand and thanked me for being the first friend he made.
 
The camping trip was amazing. Austin had fun so did I. After the camping trip me and Austin were inseparable. We hung out every day, talked every day. I found out Austin plays football. I told him our school has a great football team. Austin flashed me his smile, I love.
 
For the rest of the summer, I got to know Austin more and he got to know me. I found out we had a lot of things in common, we like the same foods, the same movies and so much more. I like talking to Austin, for a city boy he wasn't rude. The more I talk to Austin the more I liked him. It was never easy for me to take to boys until I met Austin. He's super easy to talk too. 
 
A night under the stars is the towns annual last day of summer dance. Me and Austin went together. We danced and hung out with my friends. I saw Austin coming out of his shell. I did it. After the dance Austin walked me home. We kissed. It was earth shattering. We said goodnight. 
 
Now I'm in my room thinking about Austin and tomorrow. I can't wait to see Austin and begin our senior year together. What I summer I had.
 
AUSTIN
Tomorrow is my first day at Holly Hills high, my new school in a new town. This summer my parents uprooted my life in the city. I was angry at them. I didn't want to leave my home, my friends and my school and move to a small town called Holly Hills.
 
My parents told me the decision to move was hard for them but they needed work and Holly Hills offered them what they needed. At the end of June, we were unpacking in our new home.
 
From the moment we stepped into Holly Hills, I didn't like it. The people were so nosey, my new neighbors included. As I was unloading, I looked across the street and saw a beautiful girl. I looked away when she saw me. A couple minutes later, I saw her and her mother walking towards us.
 
Their names Jessica St. John and her daughter ElizaBella. I thought what a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. My mom and ElizaBella's mom got along really well. I said to myself that I wasn't going to get close to anyone but that's easier said than done. 
 
ElizaBella was a force of nature. No matter how much I tried to avoid her she never let me be. She was always there. I never knew what she was doing. I never talked to ElizaBella but she never gave up. She took me to the lake. I didn't go swimming but that didn't stop her from dragging me to the water. 
 
ElizaBella took me to the dock where she jumped off. I didn't, that didn't stop her. She snuck up on me and pushed me off. ElizaBella began laughing at me and it was beautiful. For the first time since I arrived in Holly Hills I smiled.
 
July 4th came and with that the fireworks show. Me and ElizaBella went together. We sat together. I stared at her profile and she was even more beautiful. The fireworks were amazing. I loved it. I finally began to feel like I belonged and I wasn't missing the city as much as I thought I would. This was all because of ElizaBella.
 
Like I said before ElizaBella is a force of nature with that said ElizaBella didn't stop in trying to make me like Holly Hills. She took me to the movies, the ice cream shop, the park and camping. While we were camping, I finally opened up to her. I told her I was angry at my parents for making me move to Holly Hills. Then I grabbed ElizaBella's hand and thanked her for being the first real friend I made.
 
As the summer continued me and ElizaBella continued to get to know each other. I told her I play football and she told me the high school has a good football team. I was excited. It was easy to talk to ElizaBella and the more I talked to her the more I liked her. She wasn't like the girls I knew from the city.
 
A Night under the stars is the towns annual last day of summer dance. I went with ElizaBella and boy did she look beautiful in her dress. We danced and hung out with her friends who were easily becoming my friends. I had so much fun.
 
After the dance I walked ElizaBella to her house. I kissed her. Let me tell you this it was amazing. I wanted to kiss her more. My mother taught me to be a gentleman and that's how I was going to treat ElizaBella. I said goodnight to her and walked to my house.
 
I'm looking out the window at ElizaBella's house and for the first time I can't wait until tomorrow. ElizaBella made the move worth it and while I miss my friends, I also made new friends and brought into my life a very special someone, ElizaBella. This summer was filled with a lot of memories I won't ever forget.
","September 06, 2023 21:41",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,zvdm45,Promise of Summer,Philip Umbrino,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zvdm45/,/short-story/zvdm45/,Kids,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Gay', 'High School']",10 likes,"
	Ethan’s summer was boring because he was a wimp. Tomorrow was the first day of his senior year, and he was spending his last free day at Mimi’s, a local coffee shop downtown. Like he did every time he was there, he pretended to work on his summer assignments. It was his cover, considering he didn’t even like coffee. In truth he finished his work weeks ago. Most of July and August were spent at his grandfather’s home, making sure his grandpa got up, ate something, used the bathroom instead of his La-Z-Boy to urinate, and went to bed all without burning the place down. When the school work was done he read books, watched TV, and texted friends who were on family vacations in exotic places like Delaware or Maine. He always looked at summer as a time when everything was new, when there were no expectations. A person could reinvent themselves, set a new course. It seemed so impossible to do in the autumn and winter, with everything dying all around you, the air stinging your face, reminding you to stay inside. 
 	Only at the end did he realize the summer oozed away from him, soggy egg yolks down a drain. 
 	Being a wimp, Ethan used his few precious hours when he sister could fill in for him to go sit and pretend to enjoy overpriced coffee and read a book he’d already read to get a better view of the town square, where Dylan and his friends spent most of their time.
	The square was more of an oval shaped grassy yard. It was ringed with shops and a parking lot, while several World War II memorials dotted the lawns. Dylan and his three buddies sat on the short steps of one honoring local veterans. It was a tall bronze statue of a soldier, Private Stevens, apparently based on a real citizen who owned a shoe store in the 1940s. The man was depicted with a rifle at his side, hand shielding his eyes from the sun, staring out at an apparently bright horizon. Everyone in town treated it with respect, and his once-bronze colored boots were now a dull silver from everyone rubbing his feet for good luck. 
	Dylan and his pals Joe, Matt, and Chris, often sat under Private Stevens and smoked. No matter how warm it would be they invariably wore black, with metal bracelets on their wrists and flat brimmed trucker hats. Matt would sometimes bring a skateboard to skate around, doing half jumps and falling on his ass. Joe and Chris often sat around playing music on one of their phones, bopping to a beat Ethan couldn’t make out across the yard. The four of them would play chess, or laugh at dumb TikToks on their phones, or eat an entire pizza while giggling. A few times Ethan even saw them sipping from brown bags when the evenings rolled in, their speech growing louder as the minutes ticked by. 
	They were punk, teenage lowlifes, just a little dangerous to be sexy, and Ethan loved their style.
	Specifically, he loved watching Dylan. The boy was tall and thin, with dark hair to his shoulders that always looked clean and slicked back even when the heat of the summer crept up into the 90s. He wore tight t-shirts with bands Ethan didn’t really like, like Korn or Rage Against the Machine, and if he was in shorts they were always a little above the knee, showing off his calves, sculpted from riding his bike to the square instead of driving a car. In school he was always nice to everyone, answering teachers with a quiet, husky voice. Dylan didn’t play sports or do band, but when Ethan overheard others talking about it Dylan never had any discouraging words like his pals did. When Ethan was outed at school by Brock Johnson (who stole his journal out of his bag during lunch), Dylan was one of the few who didn’t seem phased by it, or give him any side eye. He seemed to smile even wider at him when he saw him in class. Even asked to borrow a pencil once last year, all while - Ethan swore - he batted his lashes at him. 
	The other boys were easy on the eyes as well, but Ethan had a soft spot for pretty boys who looked too cool and acted that way, even for the kids they hung out with, and Dylan looked too cool for the entire town.
	Even if there was even a chance Dylan felt the same way, Ethan was too chickenshit to ask. Those few afternoons he sat under a yellow umbrella on the sidewalk outside, finishing some iced mocha frazzled cappuccino thing he couldn’t stand, always ended with him slinking away without saying anything to Dylan. He always hoped the boys didn’t see him. 
 	On the Fourth of July he came closest. That day the boys were obviously high out of their minds, sitting half asleep against Private Stevens’ pedestal. He was a little lit himself, having taken his mother’s bottle of peach vodka and taken several swigs for courage. The entire bicycle ride over he planned what he was going to say: a casual “hey,” maybe even a “what’s up?” then a deep, long stare at Dylan. Something masculine and sexy, a cross between James Bond and Don Draper. When he arrived at the square, he took a few deep breaths then strutted past, determined to make an impression. The vodka and his nerves made his stomach ache like it was full of angry bees in a steel drum, while his feet felt heavy. Instead of looking cool and strutting confidently, he was sure he walked by like he had a load in his pants. When he reached the other side of the square he promptly puked into a garbage pail.
	“Wasn’t that kid in your Chem class last year?” was all he heard before he was out of earshot. 
	Now Dylan and the crew were sitting under Private Stevens eating sandwiches with sodas, people watching. The weather was cool, much cooler than the beginning of September normally was, which meant when they were back in class they would probably get hit with a heatwave as some cosmic cruel joke. Ethan burned through the menu at Mimi’s, and was now on frozen lemonade drinks. He kept his book on the table open to the same page in the middle, hoping it looked like he at least made some progress rather than just sitting there wondering what it’d be like to kiss Dylan’s pouty lips. 
	The square was crowded. People walked slowly, taking in the idea of summer’s end, shopping for last minute nick knacks from the thrift store or just soaking up a little sun before school started. Moms walked with baby strollers, old couples held hands while they shuffled, little kids blew bubbles and chased after them. Everyone got in the way of Ethan’s view. After reading the same passage from Ethan Frome for the six thousandth time, trying to get a few good peeks at the boys, he checked his phone and answered a text from his mother wondering what on Earth he was doing. 
 Be home soon, he wrote. There was no point torturing himself anymore. By tomorrow he and Dylan and the rest would be back in school, back in their own little cliques, Dylan with the punk stoners and Ethan with the quiet geeks, the ones who blended into the background. He would find some other straight boy to crush on for the final year of high school, and Dylan would probably get with one of the girls that always found themselves by the boys’ side. The girls with the tube tops and the tall black boots and stockings in various shades of black.
	The promise of a new, exciting summer would finally be over and he could go on living his cowardly life as usual.
	He sucked down dregs of his blackberry lemonade and stood up, giving one last glance towards the statue. But the boys were gone. 
	“Are you Ethan?” a girl asked.
	She approached from the side, a short blonde girl, in middle school maybe, with a white yipping dog at her feet. It circled Ethan’s legs a few times, letting its pink leash wrap around his ankles. 
	“Yeah,” he said. The girl looked unperturbed by the dog’s corralling of him. She stuck out her hand, thrusting a piece of paper at him.
	“The boy told me to give you this.”
	“What boy?”
	“One of the ones over there,” she said. She pointed toward Private Stevens. “Oh. Well, one of them.”
	Ethan clutched the table, both to steady himself from the dog trying to untangle itself below him, and from what the note said.
 Saw you staring all summer. Grow a pair and say hi next time, I don’t bite.
 There was no name. No initial. 
 	“Did he have dark hair?” he asked.
	The girl’s dog finally untangled itself, and she scooped it up. She made a face with her mouth scrunched up as though she’d eaten a lemon.
	“Um, I think so.”
 	Ethan wanted the girl to say more, enough for a policeman’s sketch, but she was already moving away from him, holding the dog tight to prevent it from leaping at a mom and her baby stroller. 
	The handwriting was sloppy, with short strokes in black pen like it was written in a hurry. Ethan’s heart started to race, and he looked frantically around to see where the boys went, not that he had any idea what to do if he saw them. There was no sign of them, or any indication they’d even been there. If they were smoking up or eating, they didn’t even leave a crumb.
	He sat on the curb in front of Mimi’s, staring at the note. Maybe they’d be back. But as the sun set and the sky above turned orange, then purple, and the messages from his mother kept coming, Ethan finally turned away from the statue one last time, glimpsing a young couple walking by it enjoying ice cream cones. On the ride home he kept thinking of the note in his pocket. He thought about sticking it in his dresser drawer beside his socks and the condoms he never used. Summer was over, after all. But the promise of some excitement wasn’t gone, but renewed. Dylan - someone - wanted to talk to him. He just had to not be a wimp. 
 	The thought of Dylan’s lips crossed his mind again. Ethan almost rode off the sidewalk into the street. 
 	No reason you couldn’t be brave in the fall, he thought.
 
","September 07, 2023 19:33","[[{'Sarah Parker': ""This was a really good story! I honestly think this could use a second part. :) I can't wait for you to write more!"", 'time': '20:07 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,z0y62n,Pew-Pew Shoes,Michael Martin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/z0y62n/,/short-story/z0y62n/,Kids,0,['Fiction'],9 likes,"
The scraping of the whisk against the sides of the mixing bowl was almost loud enough to mask the thud of a package being dumped at the front door. Not even the apathy of online retail deliveries could shake Brian’s excitement – and relief – when he realized that the sneakers he’d bought for Olivia had arrived in time for her first day of first grade. It was one of the very few benefits of his wife Casey being out of town for work: Brian could get away with buying Olivia the shoes she really wanted, the ones with the light-up soles. His wife would never have approved, being that mom who checked product reviews and parenting blogs to find the best shoes for proper gait development. Brian outwardly agreed that such things were important, but he loved seeing unbridled joy in his daughter’s eyes.  He'd deal with the fallout of his frivolous purchase when the time came; until then, he’d enjoy Olivia’s reaction when she saw his now double-surprise: her favorite shoes and her favorite breakfast of Princess Pancakes.They may have just been regular pancakes with drops of syrup strategically placed on the plate to form a sort-of-face, but she was still young enough to allow her imagination to fill in what his lack of artistic abilities left out. He knew that one day, she’d be too old to find happiness in a couple of splotches of syrup or in red lights flickering with each step.  He dreaded that day.“O-liiiv-ia,” he shouted, tilting his ear in the direction of her door. “I’ve got a sur-priiiise for you!”When he didn’t hear anything after a few seconds, he shrugged - she was most likely still asleep - and turned back to a counter already covered in readymade pancake mix and globs of batter from previous batches. Brian had never been the cook of the house; that honor had and would always belong to Casey.  He was more than happy with his usual role of Head Syrup-Squirter and Juice-Pourer. With Casey away, though, he was learning to cook on the fly. He’d been mixing the third batch when the shoes arrived, actually following the instructions on the “Just Add Water!” complete pancake mix for once. Since his wife never had to measure, Brian's hubris led him to believe that he too had the ability to feel how much water was necessary. Two bowls full of watery, runny humility later…well, maybe this time the batter would actually be usable. As butter melted on the square griddle pan, his mind drifted back to Olivia and her reaction when she learned that Daddy got her new light-up shoes - or as she so adorably referred to them last year, pew-pew shoes. She’d start bouncing, her excitement bursting out in the form of repeated jumps for joy before she'd plop down to put them on. Watch how fast I can make them pew-pew, Daddy, she'd shout as she'd take off across the dining room. Casey would've told her to slow down if she were home, and Brian would've agreed if for no other reason than to put up a united front... but, Casey wasn't here, and Olivia had just one more day before the monotony of school would suck the fun out of life. Might as well let her enjoy one last day of freedom.The melted butter began to sizzle; time to pour the first pancake from this batch. It dawned on Brian that he wasn’t sure what Olivia would wear with her new pew-pews tomorrow. He knew how big of a deal her First Day of School outfit was - Casey had fretted over it for weeks leading to kindergarten. This year, though, Casey wouldn't make it home before the first day of school; thus, the task of getting Olivia ready in the morning, picking out her outfit, getting her hair done, taking pictures... it all fell on him.  He'd never had to pick out Olivia's outfit before, though; even on occasions when Casey had to travel, she'd planned each day's outfit in advance. She hadn't thought to do that before she left.  He'd be on his own in the morning.Ok, so what could she wear, he pondered as bubbles rose to the surface of the batter in the pan. Sliding the spatula underneath to flip the pancake, he mostly brushed the question off... she could just wear one of the new outfits that Casey had bought her for school.  He'd dig through the clothes with tags on them after breakfast to figure out what went together...A flash in his mind interrupted his thoughts, there and gone in the same instant. The thought... no, not a thought. A vision? Memory? He couldn’t tell, it was already long gone.He shook his head to clear it and...Wait.  Had they even gotten Olivia new school clothes? He couldn’t recall doing so. Thinking back over the summer months, he tried to recall if maybe Casey and Olivia had gone shopping without him at some point. The summer flew by so quickly, he could hardly remember anything – especially over the past month since Casey left. He’d been so busy, time just seemed to fly. He hadn’t even thought of going shopping with Olivia; he just assumed his wife would have taken care of it.He'd have to check with her – which would be an admission that he hadn't done anything about it before now. That he hadn't even remembered before today.Brian sighed as he slid the spatula under the finished pancake, the bottom a shade darker than the top with a bit of a crust. That’s not how Mommy makes it, Olivia would say. And she’d be right… because Mommy never made Princess Pancakes.  And also because hers would've come out much better.  He dropped another small knob of butter in the pan followed by a circle of batter. While he waited for the pancake to bubble, he called Casey’s cell which went straight to voicemail. Instead of the automated operator reciting the phone number and voicemail recording instructions, though, the robotic voice informed him that her voice mailbox was full.  That’s odd, he thought before hanging up and sending a text instead.Hey, apparently your voicemails are full? Anywho, call me when you have a minute, I need to ask about Olivia’s school clothes tomorrow.He almost closed his texts after sending the message, but just before doing so, he noticed something else odd: the only messages between him and his wife were the messages he'd been sending.I love you, sent yesterday - no response.Hey, hope your trip's going well, sent two days ago - no response.He wondered if there was something wrong with her phone...There! There it was again. A flash, nothing more; this time, though, he retained that whatever the memory was, it happened in the bright, midday sun. But that was all he could hold on to before it vanished again. What the hell…?The smell of smoke jerked him out of his thoughts. He jumped into action, trying to salvage the pancake by hurriedly flipping it, but instead of a dark brown crust that he would’ve been willing to eat, the underside was solid black. He walked to the trash can, pressing the button with his foot to discard yet another pancake onto the pile that had formed on top of the other trash. As a dad, it was his duty to eat any and all burnt pancakes, - but eating charred ones, even that was further than he was willing to go.  Pouring another attempt, his mind returned to prepping Olivia for her first day. He began going through a mental To Do list, emulating his wife’s neuroticism from last year as best he could. She’d been meticulous in her preparation; the packing of Olivia’s kindergarten backpack in particular was like structured poetry in motion. Pencils, crayons, glue sticks, and notebooks laid in a perfect circle around Casey who sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor with a printout of the kindergarten supply list. Each item was checked off then packed away before everything was double-checked. She had to be certain that her baby girl would have everything she’d need to succeed. Brian would never be able to achieve that level of detail - he simply didn't have the patience - but he'd do his best to ensure Olivia was ready.Another thought hit him: did they actually do school supply shopping? His heart began beating faster as he mentally backtracked through weeks of Amazon packages. Even with Casey out of town, surely she would’ve ordered the supplies online, getting everything ready weeks in advance. Then, his stomach dropped: had she asked him to do the shopping? He had a long history of agreeing to requests while watching TV only to forget even being asked later when Casey checked to see if he'd followed through.After setting the pancake on the plate of passables and pouring another, he checked his texts again to see if he'd gotten a response - which he hadn't. Aware that he'd likely not get a response for a while, he nonetheless sent a text asking if Casey had done the school supply shopping. Then, he scrolled up to check all of her previous messages. Maybe she’d asked him over text?He scrolled through weeks of messages, all from him; none had received a response. Was his phone deleting her messages? Was he somehow deleting them?He scrolled until he finally found a message from Casey that hadn't been deleted, back the day before she left on her trip a month ago on July 31st: I’m taking Olivia to the park, we’ll be back later. Love you! That didn’t help him in his search for answers on school supplies, and with no messages afterwards from Casey, he was no closer to figuring out the school supply situation. He dialed her number again to check: still straight to voicemail, still a full inbox.He stared at his phone a moment, trying to figure out what could be wrong with hers, when it hit him again - this time like a sharp jolt. A moment, a brief moment, of clarity. Middle of the day, sun shining. Was that… another man? He reached, grasped at the thought - the memory? - but it vanished again, banished again to the distant recesses of his mind. He tried to pull it back out, like struggling to recall a question or comment he'd planned to say when it was just on the tip of his tongue, but couldn't.  He had a sickening feeling that something might be wrong, that something might’ve happened to Casey, but he didn’t have a way of getting in contact to check on her. Plus, he didn’t know how to contact anyone from her company, and he knew the office would be closed on a Sunday. He took a deep breath and calmed himself with the thought that she was most likely fine and that it was probably just an issue with her phone. If he didn’t hear from her that by that evening, he would call her office in the morning to check in.For now, though, he needed to finish with the pancakes; the school supplies and Casey’s phone would have to wait.  After scooping up the last pancake and setting it on the pile of passables, he set out two plates. He picked out the darkest and most malformed discs to toss on his plate. For her plate, he took the largest pancake and layered it at the bottom, then layered each successively smaller disc centered on top of the pile. He opened the bottle of table syrup and squeezed the syrup onto specific places on the plate to form the closest approximation to a face that he could muster. Satisfied, he grinned and set the plate in front of Olivia’s seat, wiping away a thin layer of dust that he attributed to not doing a good job of maintaining family dinnertime in Casey’s absence.He grabbed the pew-pew shoes and bounded to his daughter’s door, knocking in a rhythmic pattern. “O-liiiv-ia! I have a sur-priiiise!” He expected to hear shouts of ‘yay!’ and exclamations glee. He loved those shouts, lived for them and their accompanying giggles.Silence. He knocked again, more forcefully and without rhythm. “Alright honey, time to get up. It’s almost 10 o’clock.”Silence. It was highly unlike Olivia to not respond at all. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand.He turned the copper knob and pushed the door open. He expected to find Olivia either on her bed sleeping or on the floor, playing with her dolls and lost in her own world – her room messy as only the absence of a parent who enforced cleanliness rules would allow.But his daughter was nowhere to be seen.Her twin bed, complete with its Elsa and Anna bedset, was made as if Casey had done it herself. No toys littered the floor; instead, there were a variety of papers scattered about, some printed documents, others newspaper clippings.  But no Olivia.Again, his mind jolted, the sensation akin to an electric shock directly to his brain. Images flashed in the forefront of his consciousness, but this time he paid no mind to the uniformed man in the sun. He shoved the thought out of his mind, focusing the totality of his mental acuity on the whereabouts of his baby girl. “Olivia!? Baby! Where are you!?”  He dropped the shoes and sprinted to the closet, hoping she was playing a trick on him. Tearing the door open, he prayed to find her giggling in the back corner - but the closet contained nothing save for her neatly hung clothes. He whipped his head around, frantically checking every possible place a 6-year-old could hide. He’d been up since 7:00 AM and knew she hadn’t come out of her room yet.He dropped to his knees next to the bed, checking to see if she’d somehow squeezed into the tight space underneath. Again, he saw nothing except a few of the papers that littered the floor. His focus on finding his daughter, he wouldn’t have paid the papers any mind - except for the pictures on the front of a trifolded piece of paper that caught his attention.  Casey and Olivia, both smiling on the front.  The words “In Loving Memory” across the top. He stopped and picked up the pamphlet, his eyes seeing the words but his brain not comprehending - or accepting - what his eyes told him. It made no sense; he’d just spoken to Casey, right? He’d been taking care of Olivia since Casey left on her……on her…On her what? He tried to reach back for a memory that he couldn’t quite grasp. Where did she say she was going? When did she say…Did she even leave? He didn’t know anymore. And what about Olivia? He’d been caring for her, right? Sure, she’d been standoffish with her mother gone, but who was he buying pew-pew shoes for if Olivia wasn’t here? Who was he cooking Princess Pancakes for?This time, the feeling wasn’t a jolt - it was a bludgeon, as if the weight of the world itself slammed into his mind. The memory was no longer fleeting; it no longer scurried to the dark recesses of his subconscious. It remained steadfast at the forefront of his attention, unmoving and refusing to yield. Another man, yes. An officer, badge reflecting the blue and red lights of emergency response vehicles.  A crumpled white Honda Accord.Park swings swaying in the breeze behind paramedics who wheeled a covered gurney to the back of an ambulance. Their faces solemn; their actions devoid of any sense of urgency.He looked around in a daze, vision blurred by the tears welling in his eyes. His eyes went to the various papers on the ground, the newspaper clippings with headlines about a crash and stapled papers with CAR ACCIDENT REPORT printed across the top. He reached for the report as if he were reaching for hope itself, scouring the text in desperation that it didn’t say what he knew it would.He was still trying to reach back for memories he couldn’t quite grasp, memories of Casey telling him she was heading on a trip - ones that he slowly began to understand never existed. As he grasped at fleeting, phantom memories lost in the fog of his shattered mind, he was able to locate ones grounded in reality. Ones buried by a devastated mind to preserve what little sanity it had left. Bits and pieces of the past month flooded his conscious awareness. In a single moment, the pieces coalesced, confronting him with a reality he’d been denying for weeks.  A teenager running a red light while texting.  Body identification.Funeral arrangements.Arriving home after the funeral and flinging paperwork into Olivia’s room.  And then, nothing. He couldn't recall anything after shutting her door a month back, as if time had simply skipped from the moment he'd closed Olivia’s door that day to now. Even the grief felt as fresh as that day, sharper still because of its abrupt reappearance.Brian collapsed to the floor of his daughter’s room and curled into a ball, his head lying next to the pew-pew shoes he realized Olivia would never get to wear. 
","September 09, 2023 01:15",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,civp5d,God's two Fingers,Hosea Guy,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/civp5d/,/short-story/civp5d/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Teens & Young Adult', 'Drama']",9 likes,"
	A place to be alone; that is what he values most. He has found it here in the woods, deep and far away from home, and he will stay in this lonely place until the sun burns away and the sky is left blank. They will come then, the only ones he wants to see, and they will be together here in the concrete fortress that overlooks the cold, shimmering pool of impersonality that is Callander Bay.
	He loves the darkness because it is his; it belongs to him on the nights when everyone else in the world has fallen asleep, and those nights have become a common occurrence. 
	Nothing is real in the sun’s absence, and this is why he spends most of his days in a drug-fuelled stupor, letting the hours drag by and fall away, making way for the shadows.
	Some nights, when he’s lucky, adventure will befall him. 
	“Like last night,” he says. “Remember that?”
	He strokes the fur between the ears of his German shepherd, and even in the scant, withering light of evening, you can tell she’s a beautiful thing. Her fur is black and gold and her eyes are deep; her teeth are gleaming like diamonds, and her ears are as sharp as knives. She is slim and lean and dangerous, and he admires her.
	“Remember, Rosie?”
	She licks her lips and sniffs his face, so he laughs and pushes her away. 
	“Yeah, you remember.”
	He was laughing when he stumbled through the front door last night, dropping his phone down the wooden steps—he nearly fell himself trying to pick it up, and the driver was shaking her head. 
	“Watch your step,” she said. 
	“Hah. Thanks.” 
	He had been curious when he saw her face through the windshield, and now that he had heard her voice he was sure: he’d had this driver before. Her name is Chantelle, and she listened to his music in the car one time. 
	“Have you heard this guy before?”
	“Uh, no,” he lied. 
	“My son started listening to him a few days ago; apparently he’s only fourteen.”
	He’s fifteen, actually, but of course he didn’t tell her that; he only said, “Hmm. That’s pretty cool.”
	Rosie followed him out of the cab and Chantelle waved, beaming. She’s the only taxi driver in the city who allows a dog in the car, but she’s also the only driver who listens to his music. She’s different, this Chantelle, in ways he can’t explain. She smells nice, like flowers and gentle winds, and he often wishes she could pick him up every day, every time. She doesn’t talk too much and her voice is soft like her skin, and maybe if things were different… maybe if he weren’t so young and maybe if she knew—
	“Hey! Wait up!”
	His arms were above his head and Rosie was trotting along behind him, panting quietly as her tongue lolled around. The brake lights burned like coals, and Chantelle rolled her window down. 
	“Hey. Sorry. Um… listen. Can I get in for a sec?”
 
 
	Everything is so quiet as he sits here on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling as his breath comes softly through the mask that conceals the lower half of his face, but he can hear them. It is happening soon. 
	The love they have for him is stronger than a lion and he can hardly feel the phone vibrating in his pocket. 
	“Mom?”
	She is furious, of course. They were supposed to have dinner with his grandparents tonight, and here he is, his skin like milk in the moonlight as he takes in the new, much fancier Terrace Suites in the field below, where windows burn and the pond shimmers. 
	“It is 11:30! Are you kidding me right now? It’s the first day of school tomorrow and I need you home!”
	“You don’t need me home, Mom.”
	“Excuse me?”
	“I’ll be there in a bit.”
	He sets his phone on the gravel surface of the roof because no, she does not need him home. She will be perfectly fine without him, and besides, he has better things to do. 
	“We’re almost rich, Rosie.”
	It makes him sad sometimes, the way she thinks he’s neglecting her. He doesn’t know how to make her understand that what he’s doing is for her, for them. 
	“You’re wasting your life,” she always says, standing outside his bedroom door while he sits at his desk, headphones around his neck, listening. He never talks back, would never dare, for he respects her. He just sits in his chair and listens, his lips a grim line, until she leaves and he can get back to work. 
	“I made an album,” he told her three nights ago. “It’s finished.”
	She wouldn’t even reply. 
 
 
	Below, the parking lot is overgrown, littered with fallen trees and furniture that has been tossed through the shattered windows. Crumbs of drywall and shards of glass crunch beneath his feet as he paces before one of these windows; pool tables lie askew in the billiard room and the carpets are soggy from all the rain that gets blown in. There are porcelain bathtubs and sinks and smashed apart toilets and mirrors, electrical panels with their wires stripped out and light fixtures that dangle, bulbless, from the ceiling, which is ripe with mold. 
	His finger is trailing on the rough, rotting walls as he takes the stairs that have no railings and are surrounded by torn drywall, so the building’s wires and pipes are all revealed. The only piece that remains untouched, except for some dust and mud, is the carpet. It muffles his steps as he creeps through the obscurity, and isn’t it striking? How suddenly silence dies. 
	Rosie’s ears perk up and he turns round, grinning like a madman because silence has died in a chorus of voices tonight, echoing from down the old access road. 
	He makes it the rest of the way up the stairs, his feet pounding now, and he is breathing fast because he knows this is it, the beginning of everything he’s waited for, a hand of five fingers and two rings reaching from clouds of gold, offering it all to him. 
	He clambers through a window that once opened onto the roof, back in the days when there was still glass to be opened, and he pauses at the edge. There are four of them down there in the parking lot, lugging a generator to the front door. Chris, positioned at the rear, lifts his eyes and finds him among the stars. Then, they are both gone. 
 
 
	It takes them over an hour to get everything set up, and he watches them the whole time. They know exactly what to do, and the price of their labor is not cheap, so he can afford to sit with Rosie and supervise. 
	“Ulysses,” one of them says, and his head snaps up. “Uh, sorry. So, do you want the lights all around like this, or…”
	The sound of his real name startled him; he isn’t used to hearing it when he’s behind the mask like this. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah. Immaculate.”
	It is never any less of a shame when something, someone, brings him forcefully out of his thoughts, scraping his knees and making them bleed, and dumps him back in real, terrible time. It’s cold here; the world doesn’t look like a painting anymore, and is the air as sweet as it was a few seconds ago?
	“All right,” they tell him when the lights are right. “We’re ready.”
	He rises to inspect their work, nodding as he goes, and then the rain begins to fall. 
	“This is perfect.”
	“Huh?”
	“The rain. The show. All of it.”
	“Getting what you wanted?”
	He removes the baby blue hood from his head, his golden hair like silk, and closes his eyes as the clouds make them wet. “I just want something to take my breath away.”
 
 
	The stage is splattered with neon paint and the heavens are alive with spotlights that sway from side to side, dancing with the stars. The lights and the paint are of every shade, blues and reds and orange and green, and he loves this moment. He’s seen it a thousand times, the moment his music begins to transform the environment, filling the atmosphere with its curated detail, inviting bodies to move and mouths to sing, to laugh, to scream.
	The roof of the abandoned hotel is quaking beneath his feet as he performs, for he didn’t dare dream that this many people would attend his show. The post on his Instagram story must have been shared a thousand times and you should see him here onstage, sharing his art with an audience of people he has never met, people he knows well, people he hasn’t seen in a very long time, people he has met but doesn’t know—
	None of that matters. Right now, they only know the half of himself he has chosen to share with them. Right now, beneath his blue hood and behind the silver mask encrusted with jewels that sparkle and shine, he is absorbed with the spectacular demonstration of his talent that is unfolding before his very eyes and, at the same time, excited for it to be over so he can escape to that special place, the place where no one can see or hear or know him at all.
	The mystery is the most fascinating part of his work. He is small enough that people suspect he’s a kid, but no one is certain because no one has ever seen him take off the mask before. No one knows who this early superstar really is, and they love him for that. 
	“Hey!” someone shouts when the sixth song has ended. “How much for you to take off the mask?”
	“It cost me two grand to put it on,” he says, his voice enchanted with autotune. “If you can give me the same price, I’ll take it off again.”
	But the guy doesn’t respond. 
	Amidst the crowd, he spots four girls in matching pink bikinis. Their faces are decorated with the same neon paint that has been splashed across the roof and the walls of the hotel, and they are launching paintballs at people from homemade slingshots. One of the metal orbs soars right past his face, and he drops to his knees as one of the girls comes past at his feet. He grabs her arm and she shrieks as he hauls her up into the eye of fame and glory.
	“You almost hit me with one of those,” he says, and her eyes are like frosted glass up close, her skin as soft and tempting as butter. 
	“Sorry,” she blurts, nervous and drunk. She’s older than him, he thinks; she’s slightly taller and those eyes of hers are alive with sex. 
	“Let me play that last song one more time,” he says, and he is supporting her as she teeters on her bare feet. She is the type of woman his mother warns him about, he can tell by the way she wants him, but he wouldn’t trade this for the world. “You know the words, right?”
 
 
	“Wow…” she whispers once they’re alone. “You’re him.”
	There is still a party going on outside of the room with the door, and he knows this as the room with the door because it is the only door in the whole building that has not been ripped from its hinges and smashed into nothing. The door is closed and they are lying on her hoodie, and she is lovelier than the stars above, lovelier than the feeling he gets from looking down at a crowd of people who know his songs as she lies with him on the floor in her bikini. 
	He lets her remove his hood, strands of blonde hair falling in his eyes, and soon he is shirtless. Her hands are in his jeans and the bottom of her swimsuit falls to her ankles, like a comet from heaven. She is loud and he is strong and he doesn’t even mind when his mask comes loose and begins to slip. 
	She is staring into his eyes as it happens, as his anonymity disappears, and just like that the want in her turns to disgust. 
	“You’re a kid?”
	She is kicking him and screaming, calling him names, and he stumbles back, falling into the remains of a white bathtub. He scrambles to get the mask back on, wishing it weren’t this girl but Chantelle, wishing it weren’t this musty place but the backseat of a taxi, wishing so desperately for something as small and comforting as a familiar face. 
	She doesn’t bother pulling her bikini up before she bolts from the room, a drunken animal of ugly hatred, and begins screaming that she has been raped.
	He doesn’t know where she is, but he knows he has to find her. Either that, or get the hell out of this place.
	He staggers through the dark halls, dodging all the people who want him to give them his autograph and take photos with them, searching for a pink bikini. 
	And there she is, over at the other—
	But then everything is red, and his face has hit the ground. Some guy stomps on his back when he tries to get back up, then kicks him in the stomach. 
	“Is it true? Are you just a kid under there?”
	The girl in the bikini is standing off to the side, a hand over her mouth, her feet still bare on the filthy carpet. She finds his eyes as her boyfriend kneels with one knee against his neck, making it impossible to breathe. 
	“Get… off.”
	There are hands prying at the mask on his face, poking him in the eyes and clawing at his cheeks. He can feel the world beginning to fade, can hear his mother’s voice in his distant head, can—
	And then there is life, rushing forth like a river. The weight has been removed from his neck and he scrambles to his feet, tripping over himself and landing against the wall. His breaths are coming raggedly now, the sort of breaths you take when you’re battered and bruised and still fighting. The room is an open eye and its irises are of a thousand shades as it blinks, bringing shutters of pink cherries and showers of hot magma. He squints against the strobe lights and, through this conscious effort, perceives two—no, there are three figures on the floor, thrashing in a fierce struggle. 
	“Rosie,” he cries, tackling the magnificent creature. “Rosie, get off!”
	The girl in the pink bikini is screaming something, pointing fervently at one of the gaping windows, and then the world is alive in a whole new way, a way of alarm and sirens as a conflagration of blue and red closes in on the scene. 
	“Shit. Cops!”
	The room of sporadic lights becomes a hurricane of motion, people stumbling and trampling over each other as they flee, but he keeps his eyes on Chris, for it was Chris who tackled the boy to the ground and rescued him, and it is Chris who clambers through the broken window and onto the roof, which is black and sticky and tarlike. 
	“Come on!”
	He steps into Chris’s cupped hands and is hoisted up, over the edge of the stage. Chris helps Rosie up, too, and then they are running. They are on the highest part of the roof now, heading for the old fire escape. Their feet are hammers and their hearts, their lungs, they are machines. 
	But then Chris is no longer beside him, and he knows they are not getting out of this. Rosie wheels back, snarling, but something knocks her down hard. There is a tremendous presence bearing down on him; he doesn’t stop, barreling toward the fire escape, and the whole structure lurches and sways beneath his feet. 
	“Oh, shit,” he exlaims, seizing the rust-coated railing. “Oh, shit, shit, shit.”
	His eyes flicker up in time to see the boy who knocked him to the ground flying through the air, his left leg raised. The kick hits him in the chest and launches him into the railing; the corroded bolts that support the escape give way with one final squeal, a ghastly rending of metal as it tears free.
	There is a certain sound to death. A certain melody; a blaring silence that never lasts as long as you’d like it to. Everything… everything is quiet, the kind of quiet you hear when you wake in the middle of the night and lay still, sensing the presence of things that aren’t there while your family sleeps all around you. And then there is chaos; screaming, crying, the sounds of earth rushing back to life. Gravity takin hold, the flow of air, the pounding of hearts. There is fear screeching inside, an organ’s pipes clogged with blood. Suffocating. To witness death is to drown, to choke and gasp and to crave a voice that fails you. Even as the world comes to life, you are still. You are choking on this fear, this blood that is darker than roses, and how does the air taste? You wish, in vain, that someone would remind you. 
	“Holy shit,” says a voice, one of the first sounds of earth rushing back to life. 
	“He’s… dead.”
	“You… Jesus. You killed him.”
	“Mom…” is the only word that escapes his lips. His legs are pinned beneath the metal staircase, crushed and bleeding, and her eyes are all he sees, her voice is all he hears. He would do anything in this moment, would give it all up—the lights, the crowds, the money, the complete satisfaction at his own artistry—just to feel her embrace and listen to her as she murmurs in his ear, “It’s all okay.”
 
","September 09, 2023 02:40","[[{'Andrea Corwin': ""Awww, I didn't want it to end like that!    And what happened to Chris and Rosie? Did they make it out (I hope)?  Great descriptions."", 'time': '02:52 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,nhj6hg,Fly Birdie Fly,Jon Bosa,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nhj6hg/,/short-story/nhj6hg/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Funny']",9 likes,"
   “The crickets are chirping, but the sun is still out?It’s too early. It’s happening again! NOOO!!! NOT SCHO- Wait Squirrel! Oh right, NOT SCHOOL!!!!”
	 The shafts of light drifted and darted into the open spaces of the tree tops. The last remaining fireflies of the summer had just begun their final flights. Sam could smell the pervasive scent of smoke and the intoxicating aroma of cooked meat from the house down the block. It almost took his mind away from this cyclical tragedy that played out every summer. But not even the heavenly perfume of a cooked burger could calm Sam now.
	His anxiety first started last week with the grass during their walks. Gone was the round the clock humidity that kept the air sticky but the grass dry. Instead, Sam felt a much cooler and crisp air on his nose, and the grass was wet with dew. Next were the squirrels, he thought he heard them talking about beginning to “stock up.” Sam tried to chalk this comment up to a mishearing on his part. But his simmering anxiety reached its boiling point when “it” came, The Bag. 
 The Bag wasn’t just one but rather a dozen of the same bag that came every time summer was almost over. Now, normally the picture of a tennis ball inside of a hollow frisbee would have been a welcome treat for Sam. But this particular pairing on a shopping bag only meant one thing. School was beginning and Sara was leaving.   
	 A deep disappointment set in Sam’s chest as he laid his head down on the backyard deck. In front of him the crickets, hidden from view, were chirping the last notes of their summer tour.  Out of the corner of his eye Sam could see Sara's head laying on his soft golden shoulder. She was curled up and asleep, with a warm twilight blanket of heat to keep her warm. Looking at the 12 year old’s long, wild, and wavy hair reminded him of the way it would whip along the shore line during the many days of fetch at the beach. He thought of how she would tie it back in a big bushy bun, prior to chasing fireflies together in this very backyard. Or the way it would cover his face every morning when she hugged him in bed right before going down for a slow and  relaxed breakfast together. Sam laid his head even further into the deck, almost merging with the wood planks.
	“Hmmmm. I don’t like this. Why does she have to go!? No one taught me to fetch or the proper way to sniff butts. I just did it. These animals are odd, it’s like they were born without knowing anything.”
	Sam put his paws over his eyes, as he remembered the last school year.
	“Is she going to be okay? I hope the girls from last year leave her alone.”
	The countless bedroom conversations began playing through his head. The “mean” girls at school, the lonely lunches, the anxious walks down the hall, and the tears of confusion that came with each telling. Sam couldn’t do much to help, but he would always stay with her no matter what. At the end he would make sure to lick the tears away; her beautiful teeth would appear and her rosy cheeks would rise up every time, no matter how tough the day had been.
 “HMMPPHH?!”
	Sam raised his nose a little higher, moving it closer to the source, like a metal detector, till he found the source of the scent. Across the yard were a small family of birds. Resting on the tree tops. 
	“Wow, those hatchlings grew so fast! I remember when they were chirping for the first time this summer. Wait, STOPPPP!!”
	The younger birds began to jump off and glide through the air, diving into the canopy of grass below and flapping upwards soon after with a freshly caught worm.
	“Woah, the little guys finally learned to fly! It’s funny how the parents just let them fall. Aren’t they scared they’ll get hurt?”
	The youngling birds returned to the branch chirping proudly to their parents. Not soon after, they were back at it again, rising and falling through the air chirping with joy and excitement. Sam watched this and then turned his head towards Sara. She laid still, at peace.
	“The birds aren’t the only ones that grew this summer.” 
	Aside from Sara, the work of the invisible yet ever present hand of time and change was seen throughout the yard. By the rose bush, the once small baby rabbit, now fully grown, hopped with precision and speed that would fluster even the fastest hawks.  In the garden, the tiny buds of spring had grown into massive tomato vines. Above, Sam had seen with his own eyes the construction and growth of the beehive in the upper reaches of the pine tree. All over life was growing around him. He also knew that within a short time it would begin to collapse. The now strong and fertile trees would shed their green armor. The tomato vines would wilt. The industrious bees would rest their weary bodies. Such was life. Sam could stop the turning of time as much as he could stop the tides of the ocean. But that isn’t the point. Life is change, life is motion. To stop it would be no different then preventing Sam from chasing frisbees, burying bones, or barking at cats. It is the essence of who he is. 
	Sam glanced again at Sara. The weight in his chest didn’t subside, but he was okay with it now. He laid his head closer to hers, nestling it near his ear. 
	“There was only one way those birds were going to learn to fly and same with this one here. I’ll be here waiting tomorrow and all the days after. Ready to jump and lick you. And if you fall I’ll make sure to catch your tears every time. Go fly Sara, I’ll be watching.”  
 
 
","September 08, 2023 02:45",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,gp69kr,Midnight Countdown,Jane Sefc,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gp69kr/,/short-story/gp69kr/,Kids,0,"['Kids', 'Funny']",9 likes,"
	Sixteen-year-old Dylan stirred in his sleep, burying his head under his pillow. He wanted to sleep, but a relentless noise kept creeping into his dreams and disrupting them. Suddenly, a burst of laughter woke him with a start. He sat up and looked around. His room was dark, and his two younger brothers were fast asleep in their beds.
	Confused, he blinked in the darkness, unsure if the laughter was part of his dream. Another burst of laughter reached his ears, sounding remarkably like his parents were having a party. He picked up his alarm clock and pressed Batman’s head to turn on the light, casting a soft glow that revealed the time: one minute to midnight.
	Rubbing his eyes, he climbed out of bed and crept out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible.
	“Ten!” his parents shouted in unison from the living room.
	Intrigued, Dylan hurried down the hallway, past his younger sisters’ bedroom, and descended the staircase to a chorus of “Nine! Eight!” As he reached the bottom of the staircase, he stopped and frowned.
	Balloons that read “Happy New Year” lay scattered on the floor with confetti strewn everywhere, candles were lit on several surfaces, at least six empty champagne bottles were on or under the table, and his parents wore “Happy New Year” hats on their heads.
	“Seven! Six! Five!” they shouted in unison, watching the clock on the wall as the second hand inched closer to the number twelve.
	Dylan blinked several times as he struggled to make sense of the scene before him. It simply could not be New Year’s Eve! For one thing, they usually celebrated it together, even the youngest, Lucy, who was in her first year at school.
	“Four! Three! Two!”
	And it wasn’t December! It was not even September! There was no way Dylan could have slept for four months without anyone waking him up. This had to be a dream.
	“One!” his parents shouted, and then his father blew a party horn. They clinked their glasses and gulped down the contents.
	Dylan pinched himself. He had expected the pinch not to hurt, this being a dream, but the sharp sting that followed hurt like hell. He winced, rubbed his arm, and stepped forward with a sigh. The fact that he could feel the pinch could only mean one thing: he was not dreaming after all.
	Frustration and disbelief surged through him. “What’s going on?” he shouted, glaring at his parents.
	They spun around. He had expected his parents to freeze, their wide smiles to disappear, and their faces to fall in embarrassment when they saw him watching them. Instead, they beamed at him and raised their now-empty glasses as if to toast him.
	“Happy New Year!” they chanted in unison.
	“It’s August!” he shouted back in frustration.
	“No, it’s September,” his father said, looking at the clock. “For the last thirty-five—no, six, seven, eight—""
	“Happy new school year!” his mother shouted, raising her glass again.
	Dylan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you seriously celebrating us going to school?”
	His parents frowned at each other, as if considering this for the first time. Then their smiles broadened.
	“Why not?” his father asked. He raised the empty glass to his lips and tilted his head back. The last drop of champagne fell onto his eager tongue, and he looked at Dylan with a grin.
	Dylan could only stare at him, unable to believe his own eyes. “Why not?” he asked. “Why not? I’ll tell you why not! First of all, you might wake everyone up. It’s a school night, so we all need our sleep! And we are your children! Why are you celebrating us going away—”
	“Second of all,” his mother chimed in.
	Dylan blinked, momentarily taken by surprise. “What?”
	“You left out ‘second of all’,” his mother pointed out. “You began with a ‘first of all’, so you should continue with a ‘second of all’.”
	Dylan sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “How much did you drink?” he asked, exasperated. His parents exchanged glances before shrugging their shoulders in non-response.
	“Maybe it’s time for you to go to bed and get some rest,” Dylan suggested. “Don’t you think?”
	His father burst out laughing as if he had been told the best joke ever. He wiped a mock tear from his eye and turned to Dylan’s mother. “Hey! Do we still have the leftover fireworks from the last New Year’s Eve?”
	“Yes!” she exclaimed, brightening up.
	“Don’t! Just … don’t,” Dylan said with a sigh.
	“Let’s get them!” his father shouted, completely ignoring Dylan’s feeble protests, and they hurried out of the house and into the garden.
	Dylan could only watch in disbelief. Defeated, he turned to go back to bed when he saw his four siblings standing on the stairs, watching in amazement after their parents.
	“Well,” Dylan said with a sigh, “maybe we should try and be better next summer. If we had behaved, they wouldn’t be so happy about us going to school.”
	“On the contrary,” his eleven-year-old brother, Mike, responded with a mischievous grin. “Next summer, we should have a party every single night! And well past midnight!”
	“What? No! You shouldn’t—”
	“Why wait till summer?” his fourteen-year-old sister, Susan, interjected, folding her arms. “Let’s have a party this Friday! And Saturday! And Sunday!”
	“Yeah!” Mike shouted in support, and the others nodded.
	“Sunday is school night!” Dylan snapped, frustrated with his siblings. They all stared at him, momentarily taken aback. He sighed and shook his head. “Have you ever considered that maybe—just maybe—having five kids, three of whom are constantly in trouble, might be difficult for our parents?”
	“No,” said the youngest, Lucy, looking at Dylan like he was crazy. Then she turned to the others with a big smile. “Can I choose the music?”
	With a heavy heart, Dylan left them to plan the worst possible party and returned to his bed. As he lay in bed, watching the fireworks outside, he let out a weary sigh. His siblings were a handful, but so were his parents. Sometimes he felt like the only sane person in the family.
	“Two more years and then it’s off to college,” he whispered to himself. Another burst of laughter erupted from the living room, accompanied by the loud bang of fireworks. “Two … more … years.”
","September 08, 2023 09:55","[[{'Blessed Chileka': 'Poor Dylan. Who did he take after then?😅This story just reminded of the excitement of some parents when kids were going back to school. \nLess drama but maybe not in this case.🤣 This is so lovely Jane.', 'time': '21:52 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,nkzyul,Danny's Thoughts,Sammy Courtney,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nkzyul/,/short-story/nkzyul/,Kids,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Teens & Young Adult']",9 likes,"
“I’m older now,” Danny thought, lying in bed. It is 3 in the morning, and Danny can’t sleep. He is up, thinking about this past summer. He was a sleep-away camp head counselor for 14-year-old boys. He had been their counselor for the past two summers, and this summer was the best. The boys had reached their final age of being campers, and with that came natural maturity, and a lot more fun. Later nights, hooking up with girls, a lot more overall perks. This was also Danny’s best summer, or favorite. Danny was the head counselor for these boys, for the whole age group, actually. Thinking about it, Danny loved those boys dearly. Spending two months with them every year, six months total over the last three years, creates a special bond. The boys loved Danny, as well. They looked up to him, wanted to be just like him, and Danny knew it. The kids were Danny’s little entourage, his posse. What Danny loved most about these kids was being able to give them incredible summers, just like those he experienced at this same sleep-away camp when he was their age. Watching his kids cry about having to go home about camp being over, about their great time concluding, always fulfilled his “why do I do this every summer” question. Those kids were all his little brothers, and that was something truly special.
 
Danny found love at camp this summer. He hooked up with a girl he was friends with from years prior; a pretty, young lady who happened to have gotten prettier over the past year. It started off as a casual fling, but over time it progressed. Danny lived in his own quarters since he was the head counselor of an age group. So, many sleepovers and hangouts progressed their relationship. The two spent significant time together every single day. And towards the end of the summer, he started to realize that he was in love with this girl – and she was in love with him. When the day came where the two had to say goodbye, Danny said this whole wonderful complimentary speech to her, one that was genuine and sentimental, but he left out the most important part. He didn’t tell her he loved her. This is a regret Danny has, thinking in his bed. He wishes he just told her how much he did. She was smart, funny, kind and a joy to be around. She was the best. And they were great together. She would be going on a gap year program the coming year, so a relationship after camp wasn’t really possible. They both knew this. Just like that, two and a half months later, their relationship was over. Pure love, ended by a date. He thinks about her all the time, especially on a night like this.  Maybe she is the one, maybe they will get back together in the future somehow, he likes to think. He misses her dearly, and they still text here and there, but he will never forget that regret.
 
A fantastic summer it was.
 
What will come in the following school year – Danny’s second year at university – is partying, drugs and alcohol, and maybe some learning. Danny’s in a popular fraternity, and he does quite well in that environment. Doing well in that environment means exactly what you think it means, doing well at a college fraternity in America. He doesn’t truly love it, but he understands the situation he’s in, and knows how to have fun with it. Completely juxtaposing what he really wanted out of his college experience, a liberal arts setting where he can learn and grow as a person. Danny wants to be a prolific writer after school, and he wanted a school that would accel him in that aspect, and mature him as an individual. As he lies in bed, he thinks how every step forward for him coincides with two steps backwards. He does not want to just get with girls and drink alcohol and hang with the boys and mess up all the time and feel bad about it after and have ultimately no consequences for his actions. He is really worried that’s all he is going to do, though. Danny is a fish out of water that can breathe and walk and talk on land.
 
Danny wants to write, he wants to express his emotions artistically, and he is in an environment where that type of want is not put on a pedestal. Although he is very excited to go back to school, he is worried, too. He wants to experience life, experience adulthood. He is ready for real life. But he is stuck, in a beautiful, sought out after situation. The grass is always greener for Danny. He wants to find love. Real love. Someone he can pour his whole heart into. Someone he can trust and love to be around. Someone that he feels similar to the girl from this past summer. But he doubts he will find that. His girl’s not there. Maybe he’s too nitpicky, he thinks. Maybe if he would just relax, go with the flow, he would enjoy his time more. It’s weird though. It isn’t like he didn’t enjoy his time last school year because he did. Maybe he focuses too much on the negative. Or maybe he’s a spoiled brat that has no appreciation for how great of a situation he’s in, he thinks.
 
He comes to a conclusion as he feels his eye lids get heavier. Yes, he is going to party and hook up with girls and have fun this year, but he is also going to prioritize being a good person. He isn’t going to be a scumbag guy that is so highly respected in his school culture – he is going to be a good person, by his standards. He won’t seek out these trivial, short term solutions to his void of meaning. He is going to think big picture. Cool, calm, and collected. He is going to prioritize writing, even though that is something he will find a lack of support in in his environment, he will focus on it regardless, alone. He wants to be great, and he wants to have a great year. He caps off his thought filled night with the idea that if finds the perfect medium between these two extremes, then he will have his perfect year. So that is what he will shoot for, a perfect year.
 
Danny isn’t sure if he deserves love, or a great year, or to become a great writer. Anyway, it is time for bed. Danny went to sleep today, unsure if he’s ready for moving in to the frat house, tomorrow.
","September 08, 2023 17:12",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,nkxiio,First days.,Lara Deppe,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nkxiio/,/short-story/nkxiio/,Kids,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Friendship', 'Kids']",9 likes,"
First Days. 
Tyler stood staring at the pile of clothes on her bed, floor and whicker papasan chair. She was still undecided about what to wear. She ran her hands through her hair wondering if she should have had it cut again. She was spiraling. School started again tomorrow. Her summer had been nonexistent and now it was over. She had waited too long to make all of these decisions. She wasn’t worried about her first day until her best friend Sarah had told her they were moving. With that on top of everything else that had happened, she felt like the last thing holding her together had collapsed. She lost the person who was going to face the dragon with her. She paced her room with a new fervor. The anxiety was tightening around her heart. On the edge of the chaotic mess that was now everything she owned out of the closet and on her floor, she saw something white near her door. She made her way over to it and picked it up. Her name was scrawled on the front in her mom’s handwriting – she would know that handwriting anywhere. Her handwriting had the flow of a flower petal on a breeze. The envelope was tucked in, not sealed. She pulled out the letter. 
To My Beautiful Daughter on her first day of high school:
I don’t know where the time has gone. I can still remember standing in the hallway of our first tiny apartment when I had just discovered that you were coming. Life as I knew it was over – it was never going to be the same again. And at first I thought I would miss my life before you with just your Dad and I on our perpetual honeymoon. The same way I thought I would miss my single life when I told your Dad that I would marry him. But I would never go back to my life without either of you in it. It was if I had always been waiting for both of you to come. And even though he had to leave us earlier than we wanted him to, Dad is never too far to talk to about anything. He’s just a breath away from you. 
I was terrified you were coming.  I was suddenly holding you in my arms and you were more beautiful than I had ever imagined. I was exhausted from eighteen hours of labor but I couldn’t stop looking at you. You cried and I cried because I had no idea what to do next. A little like you may feel now as you get ready for your first day of high school. Parenthood is a lot like that. You spend all of your time being either terrified or grateful, overwhelmed and anxious, blessed and furious with yourself because you know how important it is to do your best because someone is relying on you. 
There’s a few things I want you to know. I know you are probably rolling your eyes but I’m going to tell you anyway. 
Tyler chuckled. Her mom always loved a letter because she was never really good at the face-to-face thing. She always did her best talking and best advice in the car when she didn’t have to look at you when she said things. Tyler had a whole box of her mom’s letters and although she would never tell her, it was one of her favorite things. She hid it in the bottom drawer behind her socks. Tyler swept the pile of clothes from her chair and curled up in her chair to keep reading. 
You know I love you. I thank God he brought you into my life. You’ve taught me so much. In some ways it felt like you were always older than me. Thank you for being patient with me as I learned to be a Mom. I will always be here to listen if you need to tell me something. Anything. We’ll work things out. Whatever you are going through matters to your Dad and me and God. You can talk to us anytime. 
Don’t listen to stupid people who don’t recognize how incredible you are. 
Courage is doing the things that scare you. Never worry about getting it right the first time. 
Don’t put up with men who don’t listen to you. Never play dumb for them. The right one will absolutely love how brilliant you are.  
There are always people who will be better at something than you are. Try not to worry about them. There are always people who will be worse at something than you are. Be patient with them. 
Try not to listen to those who say things to hurt you. Those people never go away. Try to surround yourself with good people and good books. It always pays to have both around you in a tough spot. 
You don’t always need to know what happens next. Sometimes getting lost is an amazing adventure. And the unexpected helps you realize how strong you are.  
The things you say about others always get back to them. Try and make them good things so you are never embarrassed when someone shares something you’ve said with the person you said it about. 
Bumper sticker time: don’t do drugs.  They screw up your mind, your body, and your life. They will push you off this cool path you are on. Alcohol makes you do stupid things. Don’t do stupid things. 
Everyone is worth knowing. Find the reason that they came into your life. And if you need to, let them go right back out again. You don’t need to keep everyone. 
There is joy in things. You can even find joy in calculus. Keep laughing. I love your laugh. 
I think you are beautiful because you always find the best in others. It’s my favorite thing about you. Keep that up. 
It’s possible things won’t work out as you expect them to. But trust God. Everything doesn’t happen for a reason but God will help you find reason for everything that happens. 
Sing. Dance. Laugh. Cry. Travel. Share. Be kinder than you want to be. Forgive. Yourself too. Pray. 
Love your Mom even when she embarrasses you.  Like this letter. 
Good luck tomorrow.
Me 
Tyler carefully folded the letter and slid it back in its envelope and opened her sock drawer to add it to the other treasures. It was her first day of school tomorrow. Her first year without her Dad. She wouldn’t have him to talk to over dinner at the end of the first day. He had only been gone for fifty-two days. She knew how her Mom was hiding how hard it was for her now that everything about her life was different. But Tyler was proud of her for making the hard decisions. She sat down at her desk and pushed her I-pad aside and pulled a piece of paper in front of her and began a letter to her Mom:
To my Fabulous Mom on her first day of her new job…
Tyler felt terrified. And blessed. Overwhelmed and anxious. Grateful. Just like her mom said she would. She would tell her Mom and Dad and God all about it. 
","September 08, 2023 22:05","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Sad but hopeful and inspiring. Very well wry,flows beautifully. Thanks for sharing Lara', 'time': '20:35 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lara Deppe': 'Thank you Derrick! I appreciate your taking the time to read and comment. It means a lot to me.', 'time': '04:15 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lara Deppe': 'Thank you Derrick! I appreciate your taking the time to read and comment. It means a lot to me.', 'time': '04:15 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lara Deppe': 'Thanks for reading Z!', 'time': '01:22 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Z. E. Manley': 'Very sound advice! Thanks for sharing your wisdom.', 'time': '05:21 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,dtjca3,Pirate School,Tanya Humphreys,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dtjca3/,/short-story/dtjca3/,Kids,0,"['Bedtime', 'Fiction', 'Friendship']",7 likes,"
Matilda watched the boys in the yard as they practiced their chosen skill. Usually, it was one passed down from their fathers and in the academy, they would hone that skill as well as learn the others and the history of their ancestors. Billy Blackbeard clashed swords with Randolf the Ripper. Wee Willy (he would later change the moniker to Big Bill) Watkins was waterboarding Eli the Eel, who himself was attempting to escape his ropey bonds at the same time. Razorblade Bob threw razorsharp knives with lightning speed at a series of straw dummies hung from ropes that Vinnie the Vile pulled, making them swing.
This was the day before school started…the school for pirates.
The Silverkill Academy was on a hundred and twenty-foot-long ship with two masts. It had belonged to Billy’s father, one of the most famous of all pirates, and would belong to Billy after he completed the academy.
It was a boys’ only academy. Matilda had cut off her long golden braids and carried herself with a swagger in boys’ dungarees. She’d completed the disguise with plenty of dirt. Pirates were a soiled and stinking lot and to fit in, she’d even rolled in horse manure because her female body exuded too delicate an odor when she sweated. She had asked the horse if it wouldn’t mind defecating for her and the stunned animal practically shat itself on the spot, shocked that a human could communicate with it.
That was her power. She could talk to animals.
The boys made fun of her because she couldn’t practice her skills in the yard. To them she was Matt. Just Plain Matt, though the mice had told her they called her Mumbling Matt behind her back. At swords, knives, torture, guns, she was okay and strived to do better. But it was hard being a nerd pirate; no one wanted to practice with her.
Wicked Pete, who at twelve, was already impressably sprouting red lip hairs stopped throwing knives at Inky the Squid whose chosen specialty was thievery, but all the boys knew it was his wicked-deadly, and silent, flatulation that named him. Pete (the mice called him Mustache Pete) pointed to the dock.
The instructors were boarding the ship and excitement hung in the air like fattening rainclouds preparing to unleash a deluge of refreshing, life giving rain upon a thirsty land. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stood in a line as the professors came on board. If they were impressed by the discipline the boys showed, they gave no indication. The three of them were bearded and grey and dressed in black robes. They wore rings on every finger of gold and gemstones that caught the afternoon sunlight and flashed tiny sparks like flint on steel. Chains of gold and platinum hung about their necks like mule’s collars that daintily tinkled. Matilda knew they wore the finery against the somber professor’s robes as a way of indicating what could be had- taken- from the world, if one desired it so.
“Well! Looks like a fine crew we have this year,” the tallest man in the middle of the three spoke when they stopped before the line of boys. He had a red macaw on his shoulder that bobbed in agreement. The line of seventeen boys (and one girl in disguise) puffed at the compliment and stood like soldiers, eager to be obedient and excited to be taught from such masters as these three retired pirates. The dorm room below was adorned with the wanted posters of all three. The tall middleman said to the first in line, Billy, “I remember your father, we dined together and shared whores on many occasions when I was just a greenie learning the ropes. It is a pleasure to have you aboard. I am Professor Silverkill and delight in training all of you.” His assessing gaze fell across the line of students and stopped at Matilda. A crease speared his forehead, but he snapped out of it a second later and began his assessment of that year’s students. “This is Paloma, she can answer any questions you have about sailing a ship such as this and questions are not only welcome… they are encouraged.”
Paloma nodded again and said, “Hello boys,” in a voice that sounded like a little girl’s. The boys giggled and Silverkill frowned.
Paloma laughed like a big fat villain. Silverkill ignored her and the boys laughed…until the pedagogue on Silverkill’s left struck the wooden deck with his staff and glared at the young pirates one by one. The gnarled staff had a silver fox’s skull at the top with a hinged jaw that snapped open and shut. The boys’ eyes grew large. This was all so terribly awe-inspiring.
The third professor took notes in a leather-bound journal, as the headmaster made his way down the line.
Silverkill stopped at Matilda. The rest of the boys were watching and no longer at military-like attention. Silverkill said, “And how is it someone as delicate as you should be here? What is your skill, boy?”
Matilda shivered on the inside and hoped it didn’t show outwards. Before she could answer, Pete said, “He’s crap at everything. He’s special cuz he talks to animals.” He’d made airquotes at the word special.
Billy said, “Yeah. Totally useless. Can’t fight worth shit…”
Just then an albatross flew over the deck of the ship. Matilda froze and followed the bird’s circling with her eyes. At last, she said, “Oh no…they’re here.”
The boys scoffed and snickered. The teachers shook their heads slowly. The headmaster looked around and said, “Who, my dear boy, are they?”
Matilda heard the rat cowering by the bunkhouse shriek a warning, so she ran off and ducked out of sight below deck where her rucksack was stashed. She put the dress on and donned her old bonnet, the one she’d sewn her old golden braids onto and raced back to the deck. 
She slipped and slid a few feet. It was slick with blood. A coast guard was aiming a pistol at the crow’s nest, Matilda slammed into his legs and his shot went wild. Paloma flew off with an indignant caw. The man whirled to her. “What the bloody ‘ell?!” Then calmed when he saw she was just a girl.
The slashed-up body parts of the old pirates decorated the deck like bloody easter eggs. The boys were being herded towards the deck plank. The Spanish coast guards were searching the entire ship and picking the jewelry off the body parts.
A captain came running and knelt before her. “Are you okay? You hurt?”
Matilda had apparently another skill, she brought forth tears worthy of an Oscar, “They held me prisoner…they were going to ransom me…”
“Now now…” the captain said as he patted her back. “You’re safe now sweetheart. Come along…”
The last boys had halted to watch the exchange and Inky muttered, “Mat…?”
 Bob elbowed him hard in the ribs.
Matilda left with the coast guards in their carriage as the boys were herded and guided onto cart pulled by two piebald mares. Razorblade Bob winked at her as they parted ways and Matilda blushed. 
 
***
 
Matilda was taken to farmhouse on an island far from the Spanish coast where the elderly couple cared for girls while the authorities attempted to contact their parents. The girls were put to work on the farm and housed in the barn.
Matilda was out feeding the piglets on her second day there when she spotted an albatross on a fencepost by the field that led to the ocean.
She said to it, “Please don’t be frightened. Please help me.”
The enormous sea gull at first looked alarmed, it shook its head as if to dislodge the human words and fluffed its wings as if preparing to fly. However, curiosity replaced the bird’s anxiety and as it tilted its head towards her. It said, “You are interesting and unique…and quite pure of heart. How can I assist you?”
“Oh please…where am I?”
“Ibiza, a small---”
“Yes,” Matilda interjected, waving her small hands like pale frustrated birds. “I know my maps. I need to get back to Spain. And I apologize for being so rude.”
The albatross scoffed. “Hmf. Quite a human trait for sure.”
Matilda reached in her pocket and pulled out a dried sardine. The bird’s eyes lit up. “I have a whole sack of these fishies, I need that boat down there…” she pointed to a rowboat at the little dock off the beach beyond the field, “To make it to Denia.” Denia was the most eastern town in Spain on the coast.
The big sea bird’s eyes lit up like a miser eying golden treasure. He called out to his flock, and they flew in magically from all over the compass to help.
 
***
 
 
Matilda waved goodbye to the flock of albatross who’d pulled the little boat across the Balearic Sea and headed to the center of town. She had changed back into her boy outfit, carried her burlap satchel on her back, and found a tavern bustling with activity. Taverns were hubs where much information could be gathered. Her luck was with her as the day turned to night…she recognized the horses outside the tavern, they had been the ones who’d carried the boys away to their prison and were still tethered to the same wooden cart.
She approached them. They tried hard to ignore her. She pulled a couple of carrots fresh from the farm from her pocket and said, “Hi pretty ones.”
The mares’ eyes grew huge. The one closest said, “You can speak to us? Woah. Trippy…”
“Yes, and I need your help.” She gave them each a carrot as she told them of her search for the boys and how they could help.
 
***
 
 
June and Josie, the piebald mares, arrived at the workhouse the boys were imprisoned in. It was 2:30 am when Matilda peaked into the warehouse-like building through barred windows and saw It was a kitchen. It was spotless and clean… and empty.
She moved on and climbed up the building like a spider, like she’d been learning how to do in the school for pirates, wrenching her little fingers into crevasses and finding footholds in the old bricks. She peaked in a window on the third floor and saw bunks with bodies in them.
Matilda whipped out her slingshot, and though never really good at it, she focused, and sent a pebble to the head of the first boy. He awoke. “Wha th---?”
She went, “Shhhhh!!!”
The boy was Eli the Eel. 
She detected a strain of his wicked scent as it wafted past.
He said, “Matt?”
“Yes. I’ve come to rescue you all.” 
Eli started to speak but she cut him off. She said, “Now. It’s your only chance. You need to all get down to the bottom floor…to the kitchen. I have a cart and horses waiting. The noise will wake the guards, so we have to be fast and ready.”
“But…”
“No buts…just go!”
Matilda watched as Eli went from cot to cot, awaking the boys, and gesturing as wildly as a referee at a headball game. She saw them glancing at the window, then leaping from their thin and dingy covers.
She climbed back down to the bottom floor where the mares were waiting outside the kitchen door, thick hemp ropes were tied to the bars in the window.
A light came on in the kitchen.
Matilda cursed the boys for being so dumb…and then realized a guard had come into the kitchen. The fat man was scratching his greasy leather tunic and looking into cupboards. Any second now, the boys would come upon him. He had a pistol in his belt but no sword. A rat popped up in the window before her. She stifled a shriek as foot thumps sounded from inside. Oh no, she thought. The guard turned and pulled the flintlock from his belt.
Matilda said to the rat, “Please help. I’ll take you away from here to where you’ll live fat and happy.”
The rat said, “and my family?”
“Of course.”
The rat shrugged. It seemed used to humans that could talk to animals, as most rats, in Matilda’s experience, had seemed. He said, “okay.”
The rat, quick as a shadow, sped to the pistol-wielding guard, climbed up his boot and sank his teeth into the flesh behind the man’s knee, severing a tendon. The man’s gun went off, the sound was deafening and echoed off the kitchen’s steel cabinets and ice boxes.
Lights came on in the upper floors.
The first boys entering the kitchen subdued the guard who was howling in pain and rolling on the floor by shoving a kitchen rag into his mouth, wrapping it tight with another towel and binding his feet and arms together with kitchen twine like a trussed pig. The rest of the boys ran to the window as Matilda told the mares, “Now!”
The horses strained a bit, but the building was old and the mortar crumbly…the window bars came out with a ‘SCARUNCH!’ The boys tumbled out the window and dove into the cart. The last six remaining in the kitchen turned to face the guards who’d entered. Razorblade Bob held them off by his frighteningly accurate throws- kitchen knives flew with deadly accuracy. Bob threw not to kill but to maim and make bleed, shocking a person to roll into a pillbug shape and quit the onslaught. The last three remaining guards looked at each other and shrugged. They obviously weren’t paid enough to risk a blade to the eye…not even realizing that Bob had run out of knives and was now ready to throw spatulas.
The boys whooped and cheered in the back of the wagon as Matilda led the horses back to the academy ship.
 
 
 
At the ship six hours later, light was entering the sky. There were heavy purply-pink clouds and the wonderfully thick scent of salty water in the air. They boarded the ship and stood on the deck looking out at the horizon. Then at last they turned to Matilda. Inky said, “You’re a girl.”
Wee Willy said, “and pretty freakin awesome! Right guys?”
A cheer went up and the boys rushed Matilda. It was the best she’d ever felt in her life. Only Razorblade Bob held back. 
Billy Blackbeard said, “So what now? They’ll be after us. We can’t sail this ship…”
“Yes, we can,” said Matilda. She looked to the crow’s nest and said, “Paloma! Got a question or two for you!”
The brilliant red parrot swooped down and landed upon the wheel. She said in a smooth, reassuring female voice, “Yes, we can sail…” She proceeded to give directions to all the boys. And one girl.
Razorblade Bob came to Matilda and said, “I’m sorry the guys were so mean before.” He put an arm around her and pulled her to him.
Matilda was heated by the exchange and longed to kiss this boy pirate who had flirted with her when her secret had been revealed. She was at that age when young people started thinking of that sort of thing.
Razorblade Bob bent slightly at the waist and kissed Matilda. It was light but passionate. Both pirates broke away from each other and grinned. Then Bob pulled her hat off, and a tumble of red curls fell about her shoulders, revealing she was also female.
 
 
 
 
 
","September 09, 2023 01:47",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,ox8j49,My Better Life,John-Paul Cote,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ox8j49/,/short-story/ox8j49/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",7 likes,"
    This has taken me months. Since the first day of summer break.The plan had been forming since grade nine science.It all made sense.I felt like a fool for not thinking of it before.Slowly over the summer, I gathered part after part.Circuits.Transistors.Wires.Diodes.Microcontrollers.Resistors.Connectors.Power sources.It took the chips from eight smartphones to make the neural network operate properly.The planning.The blue prints.The soldering.It tried escaped the first time I turned it on, like it already understood what I was planning for it.The programming involved was beyond even my capacity. In the end I started it on a small learning routine which I allowed to grow on its own as I also added additional code and components to it. The brain learned slowly at first but then exponentially. By week three we were into language arts. Week four moved into social norms. Mathematics. Physics. Chemistry. The Arts. Huey II’s learning was impressive. It peaked much earlier than I expected which allowed me to focus on other areas such as physical activities. Huey II had to be good but not that good. It could get better, develop skills , but at first its skill level must be the equivalent of mine as to not draw suspicion.Soon Huey II and I were conversing at an equivalent intellect.“Huey, it’s supper time! Have you been in there all day?” My parents would continue to call out throughout the nine weeks. A ham radio took time to perfect, I told them. Assembling the components. Fine tuning them. Decoding the, at times, archaic manuals.The one day I walked into my laboratory and there he was, Huey II, working on himself.“I figured the best and fastest results would come if I worked during your down time.”“I agree. The time of the new school year draws close. You need to be ready in time for the first day to take my place.”Grade school was boring. High school was boring. University was boring. There was nothing out there to challenge my supra-intelligent eleven year old brain but myself. In order to do that, though, I required an avatar to take my place day-to-day so that I could work on real challenges and projects.Huey II would allow me to do this. I had specifically removed the boredom sensor in his matrix so that he would not be tormented as I was by the banality of day-to-day existence.It was the second week of August. Huey II and I agreed we had reach the inward potential we sought. The problem now became the outer shell. We needed to create a skin-like substance that would be undetectable from the real thing. Plastics were out of the question as Huey II’s skeletal form was already showing. He would he near indestructible but not human. Any type of rubber as well. I had read of a synthetic being developed by a biotech lab for burn victims that was so lifelike, the human flesh itself would incorporate it into the body without rejection. Masterful. Perfect. Now, we just needed it.Huey II and I agreed an EMP machine implanted in him would be the most effective way to enter the facility. Small enough to localize the effect while powerful enough to knock out a mile radius. We reinforced Huey II against the blast. The EMP took out not only the electronics but the personnel as well. I was nearly knocked out myself but the helmet we designed held at such close range. After that, it was in and out like a duck mating.Twenty minutest through the facility and we had found out synthetic. It was only a Petri dish of the material but it would be enough for me to grow what we needed. Once I added my special touches, it would be as indestructible as the rest of my creation.Returning home, our spirits were high. As I began the growth synthetic skin process, I understood what I was and had created. Neo-homo sapien sapien. The next step in humankind. I was God and Huey II was my Adam.It took valuable weeks to grow the synth over the endoskeleton of his body. As it did, I understood more and more the responsibility I had taken on creating New Man. Huey II understood it as well.  Our final step was to touch our palms together. All of my hopes, dreams, experiences, all of it transferred into the greatest creation by man ever. By anything including God.I sat back and rested, amazed at my work.When the first day of school came, the final step was here, sending Huey II out into the world. He was no longer just Huey II but was now Huey Blake. I watched as my mother kissed him on the forehead and he stepped onto the bus. I waved through the small window in my basement laboratory. Huey waved back.I was free.Ten years later, I watch Huey Blake from my array of monitors in my lab. Over the years, our secret survived several accidental exposures. My mother and father seeing me in two places at once. A visit to the doctor. But all of it passed the test. Huey grew in as he aged. I had planned on a growth spurt that would make him unto a Greek god. Tall, power build, beautiful features. Charm and confidence. Everything but arrogance. As I work on my experiments, he graduated from MIT by the age of fourteen. By twenty, he had his second PhD and a Nobel prize in Physics. In four years, the company he built was trading for billions on the stock market. And all the time I watched. The glory. The money. The money. The women. Huey Blake was truly Neo-Homo Sapien Sapien. Of all my work since then, he was my greatest creation. Yet I could tell no one. And Huey had taken my life. What was I but a shadow living in the dark. Huey Blake needed to be stopped. He needed to be exposed.It was up to me, Dr. Hugo Nemesis to do this.I built him.I could destroy him.And I would.
","September 07, 2023 11:53",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,kddbte,Southam-on-Sea: A Town You Can Never Leave,S. Thomson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/kddbte/,/short-story/kddbte/,Kids,0,"['High School', 'Coming of Age', 'Friendship']",7 likes,"
ㅤWhen I was young, people would tell me that no one ever leaves Southam-on-Sea. I didn’t know they meant it literally.ㅤIt was the town where Ricky and I grew up together. A town where the sun always shines. Ricky was fat, kind, and full of wisdom. He was never given a second glance at school. His mum couldn’t afford him glasses, which meant he had a constant squint. At the back of the classroom, I would read the textbook aloud to him and he would make notes in thick pen. After lessons, we would walk down to the beach and buy a can of coke to share, then sit on the pier and laugh at the tourists getting harassed by roving gangs of seagulls.ㅤOn the last day of the summer holidays, the eve of the first day of our final year of school, Ricky and I decided to watch the sun set over the ocean from one of the hills behind the town. He raided his mum’s kitchen for a six-pack of beer and I drove round to pick him up. Speakers blasting, we sped past the abandoned quarry that marked the town’s limits and buildings gave way to open fields and unbroken horizons. Ricky and I discussed Southam Rovers’ victory over Ilminster Town in the first game of the season. The late afternoon heat soothed us and the rumble of the engine faded under the sound of air rushing past open windows. ㅤThen in a sudden moment we were driving past the quarry again, this time on the passenger side. A cheery sign broadcasted the words ‘Welcome to Southam-on-Sea!’ I was unable to tear my eyes away from the sign getting smaller in the rear-view mirror. Behind the jolly greeting, the back of the sign was covered in a webbed metal framework, hidden from approaching cars.ㅤDragging my eyes from the mirror, a quick U-turn had us heading in the right direction again and the mistake was quickly forgotten. Assuming I had made a wrong turn, I focused on every sign we passed, making sure to keep the car heading towards the motorway. Ricky hadn’t noticed. He cranked the radio up and rolled the window down, hollering the words to his favourite Buzzcocks song through the chain link fence that marked where the new estate was to be built. Under construction. Trespassers will be prosecuted. I drove on.ㅤAnd yet, there it was again, still small in the distance. The welcome sign. I jolted the car around and leaned on the accelerator. I knew already that it was impossible, and my knuckles, white on the steering wheel, would make no difference. Behind me and in front of me, all roads lead back home. The third time we reached the quarry I hit the brakes, bringing the car to a standstill in front of the sign, unable to bring myself to drive any further into the stagnant crowd of familiar buildings. Please drive carefully through our town. The words mocked me. ㅤIn the end we watched the sunset from the beach, drinking and reminiscing on old times. I found it difficult to enjoy myself. Ricky seemed unfazed by the day’s events, but they weighed on my mind. ㅤ“Ricky… you ever want to be somewhere?”ㅤ“Huh?” Ricky looked up from where he had been picking at the paper label on his beer can.ㅤ“You ever want to be somewhere?”ㅤ“Where?”ㅤ“I don’t know, just… somewhere.”ㅤ“Like down by the chippy?”ㅤ“No, I mean really somewhere. Somewhere other than here.” I gestured at the beach.ㅤ“Huh… dunno really.” ㅤ“We can’t live in Southam forever, can we?” Ricky shrugged.ㅤ“I guess I always thought I would move to London one day, like near where Dad grew up y’know?” He was back to picking at the label.ㅤ“You should visit. Your gran still lives there doesn’t she?” I asked. Ricky nodded. “You should visit, she’d like that.”ㅤ“Yeah.”ㅤ“So you’ll visit her soon?”ㅤ“I dunno. I’ll go one day.”ㅤ“What’s stopping you?” Ricky thought for a few seconds. ㅤ“Train’s a bit rubbish.”ㅤ“You could get the bus.”ㅤ“Nah.”ㅤ“Why not?”ㅤ“Nah,” Ricky said, shaking his head. I sighed. The glowing lights from the ferris wheel at the end of the pier rippled in the gentle waves. Like a black hole of souvenir shops and penny arcades, Southam-on-Sea was a picturesque pit of despair.ㅤㅤTwenty years later I would attempt the journey to the town’s limits again, this time on foot and fuelled by half a bottle of whiskey. Stumbling along the grassy verge in the midnight darkness, I was lucky not to be hit by one of the cars speeding down the road. In the darkness, the only points of reference that showed I was making any progress at all were two street lights which stood like night watchmen, marking the entrance to the new estate. A banner showed a smiling family under the name Maple Orchards. A ten-foot wall surrounded 84 homes. The wall was made from that famous Southam Limestone that had been cut from the quarry all those years ago. I thought of Ricky’s dad and the chalky dust that coated his overalls and filled his lungs. Ricky told me once that he could remember his dad’s cough more clearly than his voice.ㅤBrambles snagged at my clothes as I left the well-maintained grass in front of the estate and back onto the overgrown verge. I saw flashes of the sign illuminated by headlights as I walked towards it. Welcome to Southam-on-Sea. Please drive carefully. Having attached a mystical air to the object all my life, I was surprised to find that I could touch my hands to the cool metal. Someone had even drawn a crude anatomical diagram in the space between the words.ㅤThe sudden insignificance of the moment could only be saved by a grand, violent act, so I hurled the only object to hand as far as I could over the tree line into the quarry. The sound of the glass bottle against the floor of the stone basin was so comically delicate that I was still laughing as I turned the front door key in its lock.  
","September 07, 2023 20:51","[[{'Melissa Van Rensburg': 'I loved your story! It beautifully captures the nostalgia of growing up in a small town and the feeling of being stuck in one place. Your writing style is very engaging and descriptive.', 'time': '23:49 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,o0f27v,Tatenda,Blessed Chileka,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o0f27v/,/short-story/o0f27v/,Kids,0,['Kids'],7 likes,"
The sun is slowly flitting away. Tatenda is exuberant and is enjoying the noise around her. This is the last time they will be assembling to play ball on a weekday, until the next holiday.
The ball charges in her direction. It whizzes past her ear as she ducks. Her team members cheer, “Maflawu-wu-wu!!. Maflawu-wu!!”
There is no place like playing ball on a dusty road without parents hollering at them. It is like their own world, run by them for them.
""Tatenda, is that your mom?""
She stops abruptly midday and is half-dazed when the ball strikes the back of her head. She squints her eyes hard as she can only see the silhouette of the woman. The woman was purposefully striding towards them with a plastic bag in one hand and a handbag in another. Just then, the fading light shines on the horn-rimmed glasses she is wearing...
Tatenda feels her throat dry up, ""Tanaka, hande kumba. (Let us go home) MAMA!""
Her little sister drops the plastic ball amidst murmurs from the other team members. Tatenda ignores this and starts sprinting towards home. She untucks her dress. She can hear Tanaka's footfalls as she follows behind breathing heavily.
 
Tatenda bursts through the gate and lets it swing back dangerously. But Tanaka, knowing the drill ducks in the nick of time. The two sisters fumble with the keys underneath the mat. Tanaka swaps them out of Tatenda’s hands and unlocks the door. The door bangs on the wall with a thud which echoes in the passage of the empty house. The two scramble to switch on the lights and then branch off. One to the kitchen, the other to the lounge room.
 
Tatenda pushes all dirty plates and cups into a dish. She is careful not to hurt herself or break any glass. She rushes out with the dish to the outside sink. In the lounge room, Tanaka starts to pull down the blankets and sofa cushions they had used to make a makeshift tent. Outside, Tatenda starts furiously scrubbing the plates. She is oblivion to the creaking gate.
 
Mother smiles as she watches Tatenda. She was much aware that the house was in disarray when she saw those two tearing off from their friends. Whenever all is in order, they would usually run towards her. Whenever all was not well, they would run away from her.
“Maswerasei (how was your day) mama.”
“It was great Tatenda. Where is your sister?”
Tatenda rubs a soapy hand over her forehead, “She is inside ma.”
Mama’s fine eye looks over the plates, “Do rewash all these dishes. And make sure they are clean. Do not break my glasses. Utilise the light. It’s getting dark. Once you are done, wash your legs and come inside.”
“But mama…” starts to protest Tatenda.
Mother waves her hand and proceeds inside. Tanaka bolts out of the bedroom grinning, “Maswerasei mama.”
Mother takes one look at her and tries hard to hide the smile, “Ah Tanaka mwanangu (my child) …”
She is covered in dust from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. Her complexion is completely coated and only her eyes are visible.
 
********************************
Tatenda sulkily dries the dishes and places them back in the cupboard. She shuffles between the drying rack and the cupboard and her stomach growls. It is because the whole kitchen is waffling mouth-watery scents. Mother is cooking sadza rezViyo (thickened porridge) with beef hifiridzi (beef short ribs mixed with leafy greens). A piece of the beef slips out of the pot while Mother is stirring. Tatenda eyes it with so much intent and swaps out her hand. Mother’s cooking stick meets her hand halfway with a smack!
“Ouch, Mama!”
“I have taught you better Tatenda. Are you done with the dishes?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Have you checked on your sister?”
“Yes, mama. She is finishing her holiday homework.”
“Ah Tatenda, this should have been done ages ago. I told you to help her during the day when I am not around. All you enjoy is playing, eh? Ko iwe (how about you)? Did you finish yours?”
Tatenda looks down and shuffles uncomfortably on her feet.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Did you cover all the books?”
“Yes, mama. My friends helped me.”
“Good girl!”
Mother refocuses on her pots while Tatenda remains shuffling uncomfortably. She intertwines her arms and clears her throat, “Mama,” she whispers.
Mother does not hear her or pretends not to… “Mama,” she says a little louder.
“Yes, mwanangu?”
“C-can I try my uniform again?”
Mother smiles and releases a peal of laughter. She reduces the heat of the stove and looks at her daughter, “Of course Tatenda. Wanonokerwa?”
Tatenda nods her head enthusiastically.
“Tanaka?” calls out Mother.
“Mama?”
 “Please come to the bedroom.”
 
********************
Mother removes the new starched uniforms from the wardrobe. The two sisters squeal with excitement while tapping their new shoes. Mother smiles and helps the girls dress up in the new uniforms. Tatenda and Tanaka take turns to swirl in front of the mirror. Big smiles on their faces echo the happiness in their souls. Mother lovingly looks at them.
“Oh, I am gonna show them. I have a new uniform. They mocked me last term. This time, I am gonna be shining!” exclaims Tanaka as she bows, “Thank you, Mama,” she says with gratitude shining in her eyes. Tatenda chimes in shyly while she flexes her shoulders.
Unfortunately, the mirror can only show forth the beauty of one girl at a time. They start shoving and shouting at one another to get a glimpse of themselves in the mirror, “HEY! Thula wena! (Be quiet)” rebukes Mother.
“She started it!” shrieks Tatenda pushing her sister away.
“TATENDA! Can’t you see she is a child? Tanaka, respect your sister! How many times have I said that? Now Tanaka, apologise to your sister.”
Tanaka fumes, huffs, snorts, and folds her arms. She mutters a sorry underneath her breath. Mother snorts and rises up to take the belt that hangs on the wardrobe.
“I am so sorry Sister Tatenda,” blurts out Tanaka then sincerely apologises.
“Was it that hard? Please take off your uniforms and shoes. Tatenda, I will do your hair. Tanaka, please pack all the books in your satchels. In fact, bring them here first. I would have to check if you covered them properly. Last time, you did it upside down.”
 
*************************
Tatenda sits between Mother’s feet while Mother plaits her hair.
“Tatenda mwanangu, are you excited to go back to school?”
Tatenda shrugs her shoulders, “Yes mama. I have a new uniform, new shoes, new bag, and new books.”
“Aren’t excited to meet your friends?” asks Mother. She knows that she is now wading into deep waters. Getting information from Tatenda is like trying to hold oily iron balls. She can hear Tatenda taking a deep breath.
“I don’t have many friends.”
Mother sighs. It was a sacrifice to make, “What did you enjoy about this summer holiday?”
“Playing. The cakes you were baking for us. The time Daddy took us to Lunar Park. Mama, is Daddy coming back?”
Mother sighs again, “Yes mwanangu. He is coming. Probably this weekend. Who are your friends at school? Aren’t you excited to meet them after such a long break?”
Tatenda pulls her knees to her chin, “I am short Mama. They make fun of me and my height and call me names And they do make fun of me because of my shoe size.”
Mother lovingly pats Tatenda, “Oh baby, you are not short. Abba Father sees you as a giant. And your shoe size is for unique girls. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you, Mama,”.
“I am now done with your hair. Please get Tanaka so that we can pray. You both need to have an early light out. Tomorrow is school.”
 
                     ******************************
Tatenda lies awake after Mama turns off the lights. Tomorrow is school. She is going to meet her friend Nomatter and show off her new uniform and new shoes. After that, Nomatter will probably tell her about the amazing holiday they had in Victoria Falls. She will probably show her some new stuff her parents brought her. Will she let her borrow her glitter pen again? Anyway, she has to think of what to write this time again. The Teacher always has that essay both in Shona and English: Zvandakaita pazororo/ What I did during the holidays?
She can no longer write about going to the rural areas to see her grandmother. She cannot write about playing with her pet – she did not get a dog. Well, she will probably write about fighting with Tanaka. After all, they fought, every day and made up. Yes, she will write about her talkative little sweet sister. 
 
She hopes that she will be able to sleep. She just wants to wear a uniform…...
 
                        **********************************
 
 
 
 
","September 08, 2023 06:54",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,40y0fi,Night Before Kindergarten ,Chelsey B,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/40y0fi/,/short-story/40y0fi/,Kids,0,['Fiction'],7 likes,"
 
Millie pushed her comforter down to her ankles and sat up. Mom had just tucked her in, but she wasn’t ready to sleep yet. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed and slid to the floor, slowly, so her feet wouldn’t thump. Then she tiptoed over to her window and peek through the blinds. It was still light out, and Millie could see the neighbor boys playing basketball in their driveway.
 
If it had been any other night this summer, she would have been out there riding her scooter up and down the sidewalk cheering them on. Millie was forced to come in early tonight because she was starting kindergarten in the morning. 
 
“You need to start getting to bed earlier on school nights because you have to wake up earlier. I don’t want you to be grumpy in the morning,” her mom had said.
 
All the adults in her life were so excited about kindergarten, and that made Millie suspicious. Anything that required her to give up fun every day didn’t sound like something she wanted any part of. If Mom didn’t want her to be grumpy, Millie thought the least she could do was let her play outside with her friends until she was ready to come in. 
 
Millie didn’t understand why she had to go to kindergarten just because she was five. She was ONLY five. She hadn’t yet run out of things to explore and ideas to test. She didn’t need some teacher telling her what to do all day.
 
One of the basketball playing kids looked up and saw Millie watching. He waved to her and she snapped the blinds shut, afraid he’d come and tell her mom that she was out of bed. Millie held her breath and froze like a statue, anxiously listening for her mom’s footsteps. 
 
She studied the dark pink dress that was draped over the rocking chair next to the window. The sight of the outfit reminded her of the disagreement she’d had earlier, with her mom. She was supposed to wear that dress tomorrow with light pink tights, instead of the black and gold leggings she preferred.
 
“You need to wear school clothes to school. Those leggings are play clothes. You can wear them after school,” her mom had insisted.
 
Millie didn’t understand why she had to wear special clothes to school. The more she learned about kindergarten, the more it sounded like a place she didn’t want to be.
Millie felt that all her clothes should be play clothes. She didn’t like to wear things that were itchy, or that she wasn’t allowed to get dirty. 
 
She was a kid. Kids were supposed to play, and most of the time, playing was messy. She was usually too busy digging in the dirt, jumping in puddles, mixing smashed chalk and water, or riding her scooter as fast as she could to worry about keeping her clothes clean.
 
After what felt like hours, Millie let out her breath. She shuffled across the carpet to her bedroom door. Millie turned the knob slowly, and cautiously pulled the door open. She peered down the hall.The lights were off in the kitchen, but she could hear noise coming from the living room just beyond. Her mom must be watching tv.
 
Millie glanced at her new backpack that was hooked to the back of a dining room chair. It was stuffed so full of all her new school supplies, it looked like the seams might burst. Millie liked the unicorn and rainbow printed fabric of the pack, but she didn’t like that she’d have to take it to school. She wanted to bring the backpack on adventures, instead of using it to haul worksheets home. Her friend Martha, who lived across the street, went to kindergarten last year. One day Martha had shown Millie all the worksheets that were stuffed in her backpack. They looked boring, with lots of pencil tracing. Millie preferred to write and draw with bright and bold colors, and she didn’t care a thing about staying in the lines. She loved to scribble wildly, layering colors on top of each other. The thought of all those worksheets made Millie want to punch her new backpack.
 
After standing in the doorway for a few seconds to make sure the coast was clear, Millie felt brave enough to creep down the hall. Carpet muffled her footsteps, so there was little risk of Mom hearing her. When she reached the dining room, Millie got down in all fours and crawled to the corner where her dog, George, was sleeping. He opened one eye to look at her as she scooted towards him. Millie placed a hand on his back and patted him gently. George lifted his head, gave her a lick, and went back to sleep.
 
Millie curled up on the floor next to George, breathing in his Frito scent. She kept a hand on his back, giving him occasional scratches. If George was in charge, kids wouldn’t have to go to kindergarten. If George was the boss, they would play all day. Millie’s eyes teared up as she thought about spending so much time  away from him, everyday. He was her best friend, and had been since they day she’d come home from the hospital.
 
George rolled onto his back and stared at Millie. This was his way of asking for belly rubs. Millie petted his tummy until her arm grew tired.​
 
“You’re a good boy, George. All done,” she whispered.
 
George flopped back over and began to snore softly. Millie felt her eyes growing heavy. She yawned, rubbed her eyes, then crawled back to the hallway. After checking to make sure that her mom couldn’t see her, Millie tiptoe-ran back to her room. She closed the door, slowly, so it wouldn’t make a sound.
 
Millie paused to look at the book on her nightstand. It was the one Mom had read to her before tucking her in. It was a book about the first day of kindergarten. Millie grabbed the book and threw it to the ground, as hard as she could. She didn’t have a choice about going to kindergarten, and that frustrated her. Millie knew that lots of things in life weren’t fair, but she still had to get through them. Kindergarten was one of those things. Millie climbed into bed, pulled her comforter up to her chin, closed her eyes, and fell fast asleep.
","September 08, 2023 19:11","[[{'Joe Smallwood': 'Millie had to grow up. What we give up along the way to become the people who can write charming stories like this. Thanks for reading ""Natal Day.""', 'time': '12:42 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,twzi5m,The First Last Day ,Kiyana Marie,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/twzi5m/,/short-story/twzi5m/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Drama', 'Teens & Young Adult']",7 likes,"
	My anxiety was starting to get worse than it had been for the last week. The last day of summer vacation has arrived. Every summer I was filled with hope that the next year of school would be better than the last, I would finally show up to school and shock everyone with my two-month transformation, and maybe next year I would have gained the confidence to talk to my peers, lose weight, get a boyfriend, be popular, next school will be the year I am noticed, I will finally be someone. 
  The truth of the matter was, that was never going to happen for me. Tomorrow was my first day of senior year, it was my last chance to show up as a new person. I sat on my bedroom floor coming face to face with the mirror hanging on my door, as I stared into my own eyes it hit me that nothing had changed once again. I am still the same loser I was last year, another year that I will throw on sweatpants and baggy t-shirts to cover my fat rolls and sit at the same lunch tables with all the other rejects that no one wanted anything to do with. 
  I snap out of my negative mindset, stand up, walk over to my closet, and start trying on the new outfits I had bought for the new school year. It was possible that if I had the right outfit maybe the confidence would hit me when it was time for me to get on the bus in the morning. Each shirt I had put on I observed in the mirror how it looks on me when I am standing normally, sucking in my stomach, and of course, I had to test how it would look when I would sit down. Most of the outfits looked alright when I was standing but the second I sat my fat rolls would go over my pants and my legs looked like two sumo wrestlers. That was it, I tore off my last choice only to whip the shirt and pants across the room in anger.
  I throw my baggy black t-shirt on and step back into my blue soft shorts. I jump on my bed with my face smooshed in my pillow, I let out a scream. Why? Why couldn't I be one of the girls that had the it factor? Why couldn't I be the one to eat whatever I wanted never to gain a pound? I just wanted to be that girl who walks into the room and everyone is happy she showed up to class just to have her near, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with no matter what, the girl who would have a huge prom proposal in the middle of the school for everyone to see and be jealous that such a good looking guy would do that for me. 
  The thought runs through my mind. I bet Katie Matthews never feels this anxiety and stress that I feel before school, I am sure she never gets nervous about anything. She is sitting at home right now excited to go back to school so she can return to the spotlight and get all the attention from everyone once again. There was nothing wrong with Katie, she was perfect. Everyone just loved her. I hated her, and for the last eleven years, she has helped make my life a living hell with her passive-aggressive comments, stealing my friends, and being a straight-up bully to me. Did this stop me from still wanting to be her best friend? Nope. I was never sure if I wanted to be her friend to gain some of her popularity or if I just thought she was cool, maybe a little of both. All I know is that if people saw me hanging out with Katie my days of being a loser would be over. 
  Although I knew tomorrow wouldn't be the grand entrance I had hoped for walking into the school as a senior. I grabbed my notebook and a pen to make a list of everything I wanted this upcoming school year. Just because I wasn't going to be at my full potential on the first day doesn't mean the whole year would be a repeat of the many previous school years, right?
Eleanor's Senior Year Goals: 
*Lose 20 pounds 
*Become friends with Katie Matthews 
*Get asked to a school dance/prom
*Talk to Garret Smith
*Get better grades 
*DATE Garret Smith 
*Dye hair blonde
  I figured the list would be easy to follow, if I just stopped eating and only drank water for a month I could easily be skinny, and lose those twenty pounds possibly even more! Could you imagine? If I, Eleanor Roberts was skinny the rest would come easy. Of course, bleaching my hair blonde would gain me extra points from my classmates as well. To be skinny and blonde meant I could wear cuter clothes, resulting in my confidence boost, leading me to become friends with Katie Matthews then when I became friends with her that would land me a chance closer to Garret Smith, we would become friends, he would fall for me and ask me to prom with balloons and a huge poster that reads ""Will you go to prom with me?"" After prom, he would ask me out, and we would be in love forever, get married, and have two kids named Justin and Emily. As for the better grades I am sure that would just fall into place, maybe I would be able to focus on my school work if my social life was going perfect. 
	...8 years later 
		This morning my husband and I received the best news, we finally landed a home, our very first house. Naturally, we were so overjoyed that we did not hesitate to start packing our things into brown boxes. We knew we still had to wait a couple of months to close on the house but we wanted to be ready. As I was going through my junk drawer attached to my desk I found an old notebook of mine. I opened the notebook and started flipping through the pages, I was curious to see what my younger self had written. On one of the pages, I find a list that is titled, ""Eleanor's Senior Year Goals,"" I start laughing to myself. How ridiculous was I? 
  I sit there staring at the page, look up at my husband as he is packing all his video games into a box and I smile. No, I did not become friends with Katie Matthews, I never dated Garrett Smith, and I certainly never got asked to prom, I didn't even attend the prom. In the end, none of that mattered. High school ended, and we all moved on. Everything that happened brought me to where I am now. Garett Smith could not compare to my husband Ryan and turns out Katie Matthews still hasn't won an Oscar for her well-played performance back in high school.  
  I close the notebook, laugh, throw it in the trash, and keep moving forward. 
","September 08, 2023 21:48","[[{'Chelsey B': 'I can definitely relate to Eleanor in a lot of ways. I’m glad things turned out even better than she could have dreamed in the end.', 'time': '12:31 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,en7kar,"""Galactic Protectors""",Holly Lindamood,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/en7kar/,/short-story/en7kar/,Kids,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Adventure', 'Teens & Young Adult']",6 likes,"
	Amelia Langton was supposed to be starting her senior year the following morning morning. She was not looking forward to it. Her friends were already excitedly talking about where they would be applying for college next year. Higher education was ok, Amelia supposed, for some anyways. But she had bigger dreams, plans that couldn’t be achieved through a bunch of boring old classes with some droning professor more interested in retirement than teaching. She yearned to travel, to see the world, to have adventures, to make a difference. At eighteen, her life seemed to be going by so slowly. She was champing at the bit to get started this second, not eons from now. If she had known what was coming for her, though, she might not have been quite so quick to scoff at a pedestrian life.***	What the heck is that, Amelia thought groggily as she was pulled rather unwillingly from a dream involving flying over a scorched, barren tundra with a flamboyantly dressed, blond woman. A loud rumbling was coming from outside her bedroom window. At first, she thought she was imagining it. Perhaps I’m not really awake, but still dreaming. Like those dreams I have where every time I think I wake up, I find I’m still in a dream. She tried to wake herself, but the rumbling just got louder. It sounded like the dull crash of waves endlessly cresting over sand before receding. Since she couldn’t escape it, she accepted that she must be awake and opened her eyes to investigate.             Amelia blinked twice at the strange person standing in her bedroom, unable to believe her eyes. She pinched herself, hard, sure that she was in fact still dreaming. Ow! Ok, that hurt. So does that mean there really is a stranger in my bedroom? She glanced at the clock. And at 3:00am. What is going on? Is this an elaborate back to school prank? Should I scream or just let this play out?            At the foot of her bed stood a short woman, maybe all of five feet, with messy blond hair cascading to her waist. She was oddly dressed, in tight leather leggings in a brilliant purple shade, shimmering in the dim light as though they had been dipped in a glitter bath. Her flowing orange tunic, the color of a ripe peach, was belted tightly at the waist with a neon green belt. Perched on her head was an old-fashioned pirate hat, with brightly colored plumes sticking out all over at odd angles. It was a disastrous combination, truly painful to gaze upon without getting an instant headache from the dizzying array. Kind of like brain freeze.            Her sleepy brain still trying to process what was going on, Amelia looked towards the window, where something was still making an awful racket. She felt her eyes going wide and her breath backing up in her chest. Was that a freaking pirate ship? Torn between jumping out of bed to run over to the window for a closer look and wanting to close her eyes out of concern for the state of her mental health, Amelia looked back at the woman, still standing in the middle of the room, an enigmatic smile playing about her lips. The last few moments of her dream replayed in her head as she realized that the woman looked exactly like the woman in her dream. Clearly, I’ve lost my mind, Amelia thought, as she opened her mouth to yell for her parents. She was officially freaked out now.            “Amelia. You must come with me now. There isn’t much time.”            What the fuck?             “I don’t know who you are, but I’m not going anywhere with you. If you don’t leave immediately, I’m screaming. And calling the cops,” Amelia responded, thankful her voice didn’t quaver. Never show fear.            The woman looked confused. “Of course you know me. I’ve been calling out to you across the universe for some time now.”            It was at that moment that the recurring dream she had been having all year came flooding back to her. Traveling from planet to planet on a gigantic flying ship. Battling strange forces of beings, many who looked like they were half human, half robot. Fantastic weapons that shot out rays instead of bullets. And through it all, she stood side by side with this woman.             Recognition coursed through her body, causing her to leap excitedly out of bed. She didn’t know where this woman wanted to take her, but at the moment, it sounded like a much better option that the drudgery of school waiting for her the next day. Without giving it too much thought, Amelia said, “Ok, let me change and pack, and I’ll come with you.”            “There’s no time for that,” the woman replied. “We have to leave now before the winds change direction. I have plenty of supplies on the ship, just come as you are.”            Amelia hesitated for the briefest of moments, then straightened her shoulders and strode towards the window. “All right, let’s do this.” And without a backward glance, Amelia boarded the pirate ship hovering outside her window and shot off into the unknown.***             It had been almost a full year since Amelia had left with Shira. In that time, she had seen all sorts of mindboggling things. So many planets, so many new species. Technology that was the stuff of science fiction. What she had thought was a pirate ship was in reality an air ship, complete with a cloaking device and a powerful warp engine. On her utility belt, she had two ray guns and a selection of bombs that could do everything from immobilizing all living creatures within a ten-foot radius to creating a thick, grey smoke screen. Her wristwatch not only told her the time and date, but it also told her where she was located at any given time and served as a communicator and transport device. It also acted as a form of handcuffs, preventing her from leaving Shira.             It turned out that Shira was part of a group of people, the Protectors, from a distant planet who tasked themselves with maintaining peace throughout the worlds. Whenever there was a threat to that peace, the Protectors would mobilize and rush off to wherever they were needed. But the Protectors did not serve the people. Maintaining peace at any cost was their only purpose. The Protector’s mandate had been passed down for over one hundred years, after an intergalactic war had left the galaxy broken and bleeding. In that time, the galaxy had rebuilt itself into an oligarchy, with small powerful alliances controlling the economic system, the flow of wealth, and intergalactic politics. And in the name of peace, the Protectors were always there, propping up this unjust, repressive system time after time.             Amelia was miserable. When she first went with Shira, she was so excited, thinking this was the answer to her prayer. Once onboard the airship, Shira explained the history of the Protectors and why she had come for Amelia.             “Let me tell you a story,” Shira began. “One hundred and fifty years ago, the galaxy was at peace. We were a bright, happy society, thriving, until a group of malcontents initiated a series of terrorist attacks. They sought to destroy our way of life and establish a new world order in its place. My group, the Protectors, formed in opposition to this threat. We eventually suppressed the uprisings, but not without a vast amount of destruction and loss of life.”            “Now, we continue our mission to protect what we saved, so that something so terrible will never happen again. That’s why I’ve come for you. During the early days of the war, we sent your great grandfather to another galaxy, to protect our most important invention—the power source for our most powerful weapons. But he never returned. We’ve been searching for him for decades and just recently stumbled across his trail. We found out that he enclosed the power source in a piece of jewelry that was passed down to his children. That bracelet you’re wearing, in fact.”            Amelia looked down at her wrist dubiously. The family heirloom, given to her by her mother when she turned sixteen, looked like an ordinary piece of jewelry, with five light green stones that she thought were peridot linked together on a thin silver chain. The whole story seemed a little far-fetched, but as she was at this moment on an airship, she supposed she should accept it.            “Wow,” Amelia responded. “That’s a lot to take in. But why do you need me? Couldn’t you have just taken the bracelet?”            “No,” Shira replied as she pointed at Amelia. “It only works in conjunction with your DNA. Making you essential to our mission. And we need those weapons more than ever. Our enemies are gaining strength every day and we don’t know how much longer we will be able to protect the peace.”            This filled Amelia with a sense of purpose. To think, I could have been going to boring old school tomorrow. This is way more awesome. And it looks like I’m the only one who can save the galaxy.            But, as she found out in the past year, the story Shira told her wasn’t entirely true. Laros, her great grandfather, had actually been a member of the rebel group, which had stolen the power source. He had absconded with it to keep it out of the hands of the Protectors, who weren’t quite as altruistic as Shira had led Amelia to believe. The world they had been protecting was one of repression, violence, and little freedom—the same type of world they were still trying to sustain. When Amelia had learned this, she had asked Shira to take her back to Earth. But Shira wouldn’t let her go and she became a prisoner of the Protectors. They would bring her out only in times of battle, ensuring that her watch was tethered to Shira to prevent her from escaping. The rest of the time they kept her locked up on the airship.	One week ago, the Protectors had received an alert that a group of workers had started rebelling. Shira and Amelia had been on Clotius, a small planet in the Vontas system, for more than a week. Clotius, a mostly barren world with a few heavily populated urban centers, was a key member of the Transgalactic Industrial Alliance, or TIA, that produced over fifty percent of the Alliance’s weapons. The TIA had significant influence in this sector of the galaxy. For the wealthiest and most powerful people, it was a godsend, allowing them to maintain their important positions with minimal effort. 	The population of Clotius was greatly distorted. Most of the people who lived there worked in the weapons factories, toiling away day after day in oppressive heat. Their pay was minimal, as most of it went to the outrageous room and board fees charged by ElectroTech, the conglomerate that in practice owned Clotius. The workers, given only enough food and water to maintain their stamina, had little in their lives except endless work. They worked fourteen-hour days, leaving little time for entertainment, should entertainment ever be provided. It was a bleak existence. Older workers, workers with injuries or disabilities, or those who caused problems, were shipped off. Ostensibly to a care facility, but they were never seen or heard from again. 	Now, Amelia and Shira were right smack in the middle of a battle for their lives, dodging rebel laser beams and bombs. They stood back-to-back, swords out, the sunlight glinting off golden blades. These weren’t just any swords, however. Not only did they slash and cut, but they also shot out electromagnetic pulses that incapacitate anyone and everything in a two-mile radius. Each one had a taser-like setting that could be used to shock someone up to twenty feet away. At the press of a concealed button, poison tipped spikes could be discharged from the sword and slam into an enemy with unerring accuracy. This realm was technologically superior to earth in every way.	The intense heat of Clotius caused sweat to drip into Amelia’s eyes as she fought halfheartedly, not even sure if she wanted to stay alive. What was the point? I’m exhausted and I’m never getting home. I hate these people and what they’re doing in the name of peace.	As thoughts of death and the relief it would bring swirled in Amelia’s mind, she heard the loud whistling of another bomb. She stared dumbfounded as it landed two feet away from her, before exploding in a nova of blinding white light. Knocked off her feet, she could only stare at the people who were moving toward her before everything went dark.***	Amelia slowly opened her eyes, finding herself lying on a cot in a dim room full of people talking in whispers. Confused, she took in her surroundings. Noticing Amelia was awake, a middle aged purple haired woman in a tight black jumpsuit riddled with tears, came over to check her pulse, her pupils. As she did so, Amelia began to recall what had happened. She sat up quickly, smacking her head on a low hanging light, as she pushed the woman’s hands away and scrambled back.	“Who are you? What is going on? Why am I here?” Amelia squeaked out, rubbing her sore head while her eyes darted around in fear.	“It’s ok,” the woman responded soothingly. “We’re here to save you. Just stay calm and still. The bomb we set off doesn’t cause permanent damage, but it can still give you a bad case of temporary side effects. Let me check you out and I’ll explain.”	“My name is Camella. We are part of a galactic resistance network, trying to stop the Protectors and bring freedom to the galaxy. One of our agents found out about you after he infiltrated the Protectors. We’ve been trying to rescue you for six months. That’s one of the reasons we started bombing the weapons factories. We knew it would draw Shira out, and with her, you.” 	“And actually, I’m your cousin,” Camella said, turning her wrist to show off a bracelet identical to Amelia’s. “Shira lied to you. There were two power sources, your great grandfather took one and his brother, my grandfather, took the other.”	Amelia just gaped at her for a moment. It was more than her tired and injured mind could handle. Was it true? Was she finally free of Shira? And to find family, out here in the distant galaxy. Could her life get any stranger?	“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Camella continued. “Just rest now. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll get you home, if that’s what you want.”	“I want to go home more than anything. I thought I wanted adventure, to see the world, but the last year has been just awful. But won’t Shira just turn around and come back for me?” Amelia shivered at the thought.	“No, we’ve got a plan in place to conceal you. The Protectors will never be able to find you.”	“Then yes, send me home. Right now, please. I feel fine.” As if to prove the truth in her statement, both to herself and Camella, Amelia sat up and hopped off the table. Her head swam for a minute before the world righted itself and she became steadier. 	“See,” she said to Camella, “I’m fine.”	“Well, all your vitals check out, so I guess we can go ahead and send you now. Come with me.”	Camella led Amelia over to a sphere large enough for a human to enter. “Just a few more things. First, if you ever need to contact us, use this sword,” Camella said, as she handed the golden sword over to Amelia. “We can also use this to contact you. And you know, if you ever want to come back for a visit, learn more about your family history, just reach out to me. You just need to tap the sword’s hilt three times with your right hand and say my name.”	“I wish I could stay and get to know you,” Amelia responded. “But right now, I just want to go home and go to school.” Laughing a bit, she continued, “Wow, that’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say.”	“Alright then, just step into the sphere. Take care of yourself, cousin. I’m sure we’ll meet again someday.”	With that, Camella activated the device. Amelia closed her eyes to block out the neon blue light pulsing from the sides.***Amelia was surprised when she opened her eyes. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think that was going to work. But as she looked slowly around her room, she could see that nothing had changed. It was as if she’d never been gone. Glancing down at her watch, the old normal one she had worn before being kidnapped by Shira, she saw that the date was September 1, 2023. Wait, what? That’s the day I left. It should say 2024, not 2023. Did any of that even happen? Or was it all just an incredibly realistic dream.It was then that she noticed the golden sword laying on top of her desk. As she stared at it, it began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter. She trembled as a tinny voice came out of it. “Amelia. Amelia, are you there? We need your help.”***
","September 08, 2023 14:29",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,re84k2,"The Eve of the First Day, back to School ",Breda Kingston,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/re84k2/,/short-story/re84k2/,Kids,0,"['Kids', 'Creative Nonfiction', 'Holiday']",6 likes,"
The Eve of the First Day, back at School 
 
by 
 
Breda Kingston 
 
“So, you two, let’s do the list and let’s make it good!’’ I announced, on the eve of the first day of summer. 
‘’Mom?’’ asked Julian.
 ‘’Yes,’’ I replied, slightly distracted while choosing the colour of markers we would use.
 ‘’We should add as many things as possible to the list that were not allowed during the scary time’’. I pause to gather myself, jolted by the memory deeply imprinted on my young son’s mind. 
‘’Yes,’’ I managed. ‘’You are right, a great idea! Let’s go big! We have making up to do!’’ 
‘’Museums,’’ said Julian. 
‘’Yes,’’ I replied. 
‘’All Museums!’’
 ‘’Sure.’’ 
‘’Trampoline Park,’’ said Alice excitedly. Walks, long walks without having to avoid other people, or being avoided, were added. Train journeys, bus journeys, and boat trips without masks. 
‘’Mom?’’
 ‘’Yes?’’ 
‘’ Remember when I couldn’t breathe? Remember when I couldn’t see a child’s smile and they couldn’t see mine?”
‘’Yes, I remember Alice. I remember your courage.’’
 ‘’ The Cinema,’’ exclaimed Julian, full of glee, at the suggestion of an outing, to a theatre full of smiling children! ‘’Done,’’ I say.
Coastlines, river walks, bird watching, cloudspotting, and playdates including visits to our Tree Friends to thank them for being there when nothing made sense. Hug and touch all those we love. 
‘’Mom,’’ said Alice.  ‘’Do you remember when you had to leave for a long time? When Nana became ill? 
 I paused, again to gather. ‘’Yes, I remember it. I remember your kindness.’’
 ‘’Pizza! Don’t forget about pizza,’’ exclaimed Julian with a wry smile ‘’When it’s dark, at nighttime, maybe even past bedtime!’’ 
‘’Yes,’’ I say. 
‘’Can I taste wine?’’ 
‘’No.’’ 
‘’But it’s made from grapes!’’ 
‘’No!’’ 
‘’A dog?’’ said Alice. 
‘’No’’. 
‘’A cat?’’ 
‘’No Chance,’’ bellowed their dad through the office door. 
‘’A guinea pig?’’ 
‘’OK…. bedtime.’’ 
 
The summer passed, unrushed and unshackled, with no need for clocks, time fluid, warm and friendly. Then five days, four, three, two and we arrive finally, at the last day of summer, our last day of freedom.  We wade through the house, quietly. In the kitchen, I hear a faint rustling of cereal boxes and the fridge door opening and closing. No chatter, not even an argument.
‘’Mom?’’
 ‘’Yes.’’ 
‘’I didn’t sleep well,’’ sighed Julian. ‘’I’m scared’’. I brush the side of his face with my hand. 
‘’I know. Me too a little’’.
 ‘’We did a great job on our list, Thanks Mom’’.
 ‘’We did. I enjoyed every single day with you both, thank you.’’ I watch their eyes glaze over, teary and defeated. If eyes were words, they would say:
 
‘’Please don’t send us away. Keep us here with you. We don’t want to be rushed. I find it hard to sit still for so many hours, my uniform scratches and irritates me. I’m overwhelmed in my big classroom, even though I like school and my friends. I feel full up yet keep smiling. I keep trying. Sometimes, I’m homesick. Teachers are busy. Rushed. Some kids don’t understand me. Everyone moves so fast, galloping ahead, I fall off. I’m excited too. I’m anxious. Can I feel those two things at the same time? Can I just stay here?’’ 
 
My eyes reply with heavy, full tears. I pause. I think. Wait. 
 
Let’s not take out the schoolbags just yet, label the books, try on the uniforms. Let’s not put the lunch boxes on the countertop in full view and line up the shoes. I can do overtime tonight while they sleep. Mute all notifications, block out all attempts at ending this, before it’s over. This is the last day, but it’s still ours. Let’s keep going…our list is not yet finished. 
 
It seems we may have saved the best for last. ‘’Jules, Alice…. get your jackets on.’’ I shout upstairs, disrupting their melancholy teeth brushing. ‘’I’ll pack the bag’’. Water, snacks, a small towel, binoculars, sunscreen (in case), the bird book. 
‘’Are we going out, Mom?’’ in chorus. 
‘’Today? But….’’
 ‘’Yes, it’s still summer! We have a whole, long, full day ahead. Can you believe it! How lucky is that? Let’s go!’’ They stare in disbelief at this new development. We hold hands and head towards the train station. The sun is shining. Bright. Warm. We feel something. Joy. Excitement. Nervous. All mixed up together at the same time. It’s no longer an ending, it’s a beginning. 
 
We pass by the coastline, shores and islands of our summer. As the train bobs from side to side, soothing and familiar, we spot waders feeding in the mud banks. We guess the names and consult the book. Herons know nothing of what looms ahead, so let’s focus on them for now. It’s our stop. We stroll slowly. Unrushed. 
‘’Mom?’’ 
‘’Yes?’’ 
‘’Where are we going? Or do you even know?’’ says Alice suspiciously referring to all the days we hopped on the train, not fully knowing where we were going until we got there. 
‘’Yes. I do know where we are going, actually.’’ I smiled back at her. It’s the last item on the list. 
‘’No way!'' 
 First, we’ll skim stones, dip our feet in the sea, and breathe. Ice cream, two scoops. Of course. 
 
They run ahead, through the doors of the aquarium. I hurriedly buy the tickets and we head straight towards them. It’s almost like they are waiting for us, smiling, knowing.  As tiny hands are placed up against the glass…they are spellbound. It’s immediate. I notice their shoulders dropping, brows soften, and hands unclench. We sit and watch the stingrays glide by us, for hours, as if in slow motion. They seem strangely unreal today. Surreal. Not of the world we inhabit, a world of their own. Like the one we have created for ourselves. At times they seem to come closer, to touch the tiny hands, as if saying ‘’Don’t Worry. It's going to be OK.’’ 
‘’Mom?’’ 
‘’Yes?’’ 
‘’They look like they are flying, not swimming’’. Light beams down through the water, making it shimmer as the majestic stingrays flap their ‘wings’ like creatures of the sky, not sea. The aquarium is busy, yet we don’t hear a thing. It’s as if we are listening with our eyes.
 
I nestle in close beside them now, unclench my own hand and place it on the glass. ‘’Let’s remember this, OK. Remember how you feel right now. In the moments when you feel trapped or homesick, think of them, come back here in your mind, I’ll be sitting here, right beside you.’’ 
 
 
 
","September 08, 2023 18:03","[[{'Justine Carbery': 'Breda captures a lovely moment in her story, one we can all relate to.', 'time': '15:14 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,p7f73k,School.....I had serious reservations,David Nutt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p7f73k/,/short-story/p7f73k/,Kids,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Teens & Young Adult']",5 likes,"
School…..I have serious reservations
 
School, school I even dislike the word. As for the meaning, it was for me the nearest thing to a prison, full of rules and regulations. Endless lectures spouted out by boring teachers. Lunches that I am sure have a life long effect on your health. Now my parents were sending me to a boarding school.
All the glorious, free summer days were in the past. Today was my last before being shipped out to boarding school. The day was full of dark angry clouds. I use the words shipped out with the saddening thought I was being treated like an unwanted piece of merchandise. I deeply felt my parents were too occupied with their careers and had little time or for that matter desire to worry about the education of their son. Leave it to the professionals I once heard my father say.
The summer had ended with a series of memories worthy of photographs to jot the memory when many years in the future you sit in front of a fire with gray hair and stiff bones. It had been a delightful period of freedom shared with my two best friends. A period when one could lie in the heather and look up at the billowing white clouds and dream. My dreams were mostly about being able to fly and examining our world from above, searching for the place I would find happiness. A place I could be me. Not a person molded by the rules and discipline of the educational system. To think independently, free from the confines of what is dictated to us. Tomorrow I was being sent to boarding school. I wasn’t sure what that actually meant but one thing was sure about it. I would no longer sleep and spend time in my room at home. My room, my domain, my space. Filled with the things I loved and treasured. It was where I felt safe, myself, and above all at peace. In the last three years I had spent many hours in its protective walls as my parents were never at home when I got back from the local day school. It became my refuse, containing my desires and dreams. Occasionally I invited my two best friends who had never experienced having your own space like mine. The summer had seen my tenth birthday with a family gathering and numerous presents for the birthday boy. Remarks falling like a hammer on a nail about what a young man you have grown to be. Now you are going off to boarding school. The birthday boy felt smothered in insincere love and affection. I was 10 and an only child.
In the early evening on my last day of being shipped out I sat under my favorite tree and thought about the past and what the future might have in store for me. I must admit the first five years of my life was a bit of a blur. I was told later that in my first year of existence my mother stayed at home to cater for all my needs. Then came a series of au pairs and nannies. At three I started nursery school, full of games, bright colors and smiling staff. At four the serious commencement of climbing the education ladder began. Write, reading, numbers and be given a series of exercise books. It is at this stage of my life I made firm friends with two boys coming from very different backgrounds.
 
Peter was a year older than me, taller, stronger, blessed with light blue eyes and an engaging smile supported by attractive dimples. His home life was a living hell with a drunken and abusive father and a mother that was in a wheelchair due to an accident caused by her drunken husband. Peter spends hours of his spare time trying to find a way of escaping this hell.
My other friend was Ian. Ian had been adopted by a couple that had obviously made a mistake in pleading to Social Securities to adopt a child. They had not yet admitted their mistake to the authorities as they felt very embarrassed. Meanwhile Ian suffered from a total disregard of his person, he live at their home in total silence as though he did not exist, coupled with the fear that he would soon be fostered on to another family. He was a shy boy with a very athletic figure and hair that he always had cut in a crew cut style. He had the charming habit of throwing his arms around his friend each time we met.
I felt enormous sympathy for them. Maybe that is what bound our friendship so tightly. I knew what loneliness meant in their family circle. I experienced it with my parents that never seemed to be there. Although I was fortunate to have my own room and parents that showed lukewarm attention to me when they were home. But so very often I sensed their attention was really somewhere else. I had become an occasional distraction. Now I was being shipped of to boarding school. This boarding school idea was very disturbing. I would lose an important daily contact with Peter and Ian. I would be thrust into a world I had no idea of what to expect. Forced to sleep in a dormitory surrounded by other boys. My world was being turned upside down. I would no longer have my room, my space in which I felt safe.
Three days ago the three of us had gone on a day trip to explore the old quarry. The place was strictly forbidden with police notices warning that this was private property no admittance allowed. We thought these notices gave the opposite intention of their purpose and signified that there was something to explore. So, armed with a luncheon box we climbed the fencing and found ourselves in the forbidden quarry. We spent an exciting morning exploring all the various paths left by the big truck's wheels as they carried stones away to building sites. There were a few tunnels which intrigued us but had an odd feeling that they were not to be explored. After having a few races up and down ramps we collapsed against a rock and opened our lunch boxes.
“Harold, Ian and I have some good news. Two days ago my father’s brother came to visit our hell hole. He is a captain on a merchant ship and has spent most of his life at sea. He was shocked at what he saw. When he heard my mothers story about our situation he said he felt deeply saddened and worried for me. His brother was at work when he arrived. My mother had asked him to stay for dinner so that he could see his brother. My father came back late drunk and in an abusive mood. He was not even pleased to see his brother and called him the wandering seaman. Was this visit to spy on his brother? The evening ended in a shouting match. Many regrettable and wounding words were said. I was sent to bed. The last thing I heard was the front door slamming.
The captain returned the next day while my father was at work.
He made the following proposition to my mother. On the day, Harold, you are leaving for boarding school his ship leaves at the crack of dawn for Cape Town. There he knows a very respectable family that is prepared to look after me in consideration that I work around their farm when I am not at school. My mother immediately agreed saying that her husband would certainly make no objection if he remained sober enough to contemplate her decision.
I came back early from a day out with you that day. My mother immediately told me what had taken place between her and the Captain. I was delighted, it solved all my problems. Somewhere inside my brain there was a nagging feeling something was missing.
“What about my dear friends?”My mother's immediate reply was that Harold was going off to boarding school. Ian would no doubt be fostered off to another family. My question to my mother was do you think the Captain would also take Ian it would mean so much to me. “I would have a companion for this daunting adventure.”
 
At this point my mother looked at me, extended her arms to give me a gigantic hug.
“I will ask him.”
It was arranged that both boys were to be picked up in front of the post office building in two days time at four in the morning with their bags or suitcases. I was warned not to say a word to your father that goes for Ian. My mother was certain his foster parents would not report a child missing for days.
I sat there stunned. My best friends that made my life bearable …..gone. My immediate reaction was to ask if I could come with them. Peter thought that was impossible as the Captain was already doing one great favor when he heard Ian’s story. The day turned into the saddest day of my life. I saw the future as one immense blank, devoid of any hope.
As the light turned to dusk I shed a tear for the past and had a deep feeling I would never find friends again like Peter and Ian. I was grateful they had found a solution to their misery but so resentful they were going without me. I was fearful of the future. My only hope was that this great friendship would be everlasting with regular correspondence. Promises were made. The next morning my parents waved me off in a taxi armed with my belongings as dictated by the school. Rules and regulations had begun.
 
Over the years as promised the correspondence between the three friends kept up a satisfactory pace. It must have been in my 28th year that I qualified as a barrister and my parents as a congratulatory gift gave me a return ticket to Cap Town. On my arrival at the airport we fell into one another's arms. At dinner that night my two greatest friends were keen to know how my first year of boarding school went. They told me on their voyage to South Africa they felt devastated you were not with them. My reply was that I found the teaching staff entirely to my satisfaction with a student body of bright attractive boys. School had become interesting
 
 
 
","September 08, 2023 14:41",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,xxhro4,Premature Puberty,Tyler Leavitt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xxhro4/,/short-story/xxhro4/,Kids,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Fantasy', 'Middle School']",5 likes,"
           Hector contorted his face as he pulled his nose to the side, flattening out his nostril. He carefully studied the line that ran along the base of his nose, connecting it to the rest of his face. With surgical steady hands, he dragged a cotton swab, soaked in rubbing alcohol, along the smooth valley, gathering up even the most infinitesimal speak of dirt and oil. Exchanging the cotton swab into his right hand he pulled his nose once again, this time to the right, and repeated the methodic cleansing. Upon completion, the swab landed upon a pile of fifteen similar swabs, each one soaked in alcohol, each one assigned to a different area of his young face.
           Prior to the beginning of the ritual, he had never anticipated the growing pile of cotton swabs, but upon the conclusion of his first stroke, a swab that rode along the bottom of his jaw on the right side: the true filthiness of his face was revealed. A shade appeared on the soft white cotto, causing him to set down the single swab and retrieve the rest of the pack. He couldn’t risk cross-contamination, not tonight.
           Thew next swab’s lofty location was across the hairline. Hector held back his dark black hair, and instead of rubbing, decided to dab the cotton at the very conjunction of the face and scalp. Pulling back the smooth hair proved slightly more difficult than he could have expected. The hour-long shower, which consisted of a thirty-minute hair conditioning soak, proved effective, softening his hair to where it held little resistance to the light pull of his fingers. The momentary setback caused him not even the slightest bit of frustration, but rather a slight smile, indicating his realization of the success of his immaculate grooming.
           As he reached the left temple he paused. It was at this spot, on his older brothers face where the event occurred. An event that directly contributed to this evening’s ritual. Five years ago, as his older brother, Miguel, stepped into Karlew Middle School for the first time, beginning his sixth-grade year; a small red bump pushed through his coffee-colored skin. The newly formed pimple had beaten through the creams, exfoliators, and preparation. Unfortunately, the blemish went undetected, by Miguel. If it had, he surely could have hidden the blemish behind a sticker, as pre-teens often do, as in the least combed his hair forward, obstructing the view to others. But no, Miguel didn’t notice, and if anyone else had it went unmentioned until lunch time when an uninspiring fellow adolescent shouted out, “Hey Cano”, a lazy version of ‘volcano.’  Edven thought the pimple only lasted a single day, thanks to an old home remedy involving a paste containing, baking powder, honey, and garlic; the nickname followed him throughout his life. Through creativity, a little fortune, and the short goldfish like attention span of middle-schoolers, he was successful at convincing everyone that the name came from his explosive speed in P.E. Yet Hector knew the truth, and would on occasion, find his brother, alone, his head buried in his hands, melodically repeating over and over, “Cano can’t yo…. Cano can’t yo.” Hector had no idea what he meant by the depressing mantra and dismissed it as a hormonal imbalance. Yet he swore to himself that he would not allow puberty to cause him even the most similar of fates. 
           His sister, Olivia had had a very different experience with middle-school puberty. Her skin was flawless, the envy of both friend and frenemy. Not one picture existed of her face being less than perfect. Even after posting an exhaustive catalogue of the week, she had the flue during her fifth-grade year, her face remained unchanged. On social media she was constantly being accused of using filters, and despite her most noble attempts at proving the naysayers wrong, the comment section continued to fill with scandalous accusations. From the safety of online separation and even visual distance she was both desired and despised, yet upon closer approach her pubescent initiation was made potently and pungently clear. She stunk. Her armpits exuded a smell that can only be described as undead. A putrid mix of damp decay with floral notes of relentless rot. No over-the-counter deodorant could mask the unforgiving odor. Eventually a secret concoction from Romania was discovered to contradict the stench. Hector had always assumed that the creator of the miracle potion had received the Nobel Prize for chemistry or for some other humanitarian centered category. Fortunately for Olivia, the moment of her ‘flowering’ occurred as she and some of her friends were hanging out behind the cafeteria next to the dumpster. The smell was easily explained and upon discovering that the fungal fragrance was exuding from her own body, she quickly made and excuse to leave. She then had to suddenly, “take care of her ailing aunt” for the next several months and only had contact with her friends through social media. To help sell the lie, Hector had to dress up on several occasion, impersonating different cousins and enduring the olfactory onslaught as he posed in several staged pictures.
           Despite the odds being stacked against him, he was determined that he would beat puberty, with both its subtle and blatant attacks. The hour shower not only prepared his hair, but his body as well. He had scrubbed places he had never scrubbed before, using both luffas and exfoliators. With the last dab of the cotton swab upon his hairline he was finished. Never had their existed, in the history of the world, a cleaner, unblemished young man. A proud grim slowly formed. “I don’t know how you did it?” he charmingly questioned his reflection, “but somehow… you did.” He ended the exchange with a finger point, wink, and an even larger grin. The rising confidence exposed his teeth in an overly positive smile. 
           He immediately leaned forward. Pulling down his lower lip while jutting out his jaw, he inspected his lower teeth. Not one speck of plaque or discoloration. His gums were a deep rea, contrasting the whiteness of his teeth. Next, he raised his upper lip to inspect those teeth as well. Dental perfection. Raising his hand as a cup in front of his mouth, he let out a quick exhale. Breathing in he could only detect the subtle fragrance of mint. “Not going to happen.” he slowly stated, leaning unusually close to the mirror, “You did it.” Another over-confident smile exposed his teeth, which for a moment looked slightly yellow.
           “What the….” he quickly let out as he leaned even closer to himself. He smiled again. They were slightly yellow. To his shock as he closed his mouth to confront his own stare, his skin too began to take on a slight yellow hue. Quickly he closed his eyes. Titling his head down he turned on the faucet. Catching some water in his hands he splashed it onto his face. He looked up again. The yellow hue continued to grow. Another splash of water revealed that even his hands appeared to have a yellow hue, yet when he looked down upon them, his hands appeared perfectly normal. Once again, he held up his hand to the mirror. The reflected hand was turning yellow, yet the back of his hand continued to have the same complexion. Even his exposed chest was slowly becoming yellow. In a frenzy he continued looking back and forth from no mirror to reflection. Comparing the two there was a difference. The mirror was turning his whole-body yellow, and oddly enough a yellow that seemed familiar.
In a fit of frustration, he turned away from the torturing glass, and then he saw it. The wall opposite the mirror was yellow, and not just any yellow, the exact shade his body was morphing into. In horror he turned back to face his jaundice counterpart, realizing instantly that he wasn’t turning yellow but instead his reflection was vanishing. “No… not today,” he screamed as he placed both hands upon the mirror, each holding their fading twin. “Please,” he quietly pleaded, placing his forehead upon the cool glass, “I was supposed to have a few more years.” He looked up once again and stared into his own eye; eyes he would never see in reflection again. 
           As his phantom body slowly disappeared, he stepped back to take one last look. “I guess I’ll… see ya around,” he slowly let out. He smiled one last time, not an overly confident smile from moments before, but a large smile, big enough for him to be sure. And there amongst the fading yellow teeth, he saw them, two extending fangs.  
 
","September 08, 2023 22:48",[]
prompt_0010,Set your story on the eve of the first day back at school.,eb32jh,School Again,Lily Chao,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/eb32jh/,/short-story/eb32jh/,Kids,0,"['Drama', 'American', 'Coming of Age']",3 likes,"
Last day of Summer
	I wake up and it’s the morning before my first day of school. No, it’s not my first time and it’s not my last. I’ve always wondered why it’s called “first day of school” when it is just a recurring thing until you graduate. Maybe, in a sense it signifies a new year and a new grade. But, does it all really ever change? I walk to my closet to pick out my clothes. People who live in the present call it the “last day of summer”, and people who live for the future call it “first day eve.” I take out my phone and go over my to-do lists before school starts. 
 
 

Pack supplies in backpack
Pick first day outfit
Go to the lake with Reese and Luca for one last time
Have dinner with friends and family
One last bonfire of the summer and treehouse hangout

 
 
	Reese and Luca are my best friends and we have grown up with each other since their parents moved to the house next to ours when we were toddlers. This year was different though. Reese and Luca are going to be seniors but they won’t be home. Instead, their last year of high school will be on a sponsored trip to New York, where they got scholarships to their dream schools. Meaning, they are leaving me all alone in our small town Leavenworth, Washington. I am in my junior year which means I have to be alone for two years. Things won’t be the same with them going to NYC and me being alone. I am transitioning from girlhood to womanhood, and I have noticed that the boys have grown too. In fact, I have a painful crush on Reese. The worst part is he doesn't see me as a pretty girl, he sees me as a little sister. They love to tease me and ruffle my feathers.
 
 My mother walks in and smiles softly,
“My darling girl, you have grown up so much! Breakfast is done, it’s your favorite sausages, eggs, and fluffy pancakes. Go eat before you run along with the boys.” She says as she leads me to the kitchen island that has been through many years. Sitting down, I gladly accept the plate of food as I thank her and dig in. My dad walks in from the living room and kisses the side of my head as he walks behind my mom and embraces her. They have this loving relationship that has set my standards above the roof. He turns around and says, 
“Good morning, Willow. You woke up quite early considering it’s your last day. What is on today’s agenda, duckling?” I swallow my food and answer, 
“Preparing for school, hanging with the boys, and the bonfire dinner.” I ate the last bite and went to clean my dish. I look over my shoulder and say,
“Thanks Mama, it was delicious.” She replies,
“Of course, baby. Enjoy your day.” I threw out a thanks before running out the house and onto the lake. Sitting by the rocks I close my eyes and listen to music. The pleasant tune and cool breeze that perfectly contrasted the warm sun and the sound of waves.
 
	“You know you should be more careful, you don’t know who could come up behind you.” I jolt and turn around giving my best glare.
“I will have you know that I am very careful, Reece.” He shrugs and Luca throws his arm over my shoulder and says,
“Now Willy, we know you weren’t. No need for hostility.” I elbow him and throw my phone into my towel and kick off my sandals. 
“Last to the spot has to help cook!” I slip out of my cover up and dive inside the crisp waters. They exclaim,
“Hey! That’s not fair!!!” They dive after me as I have a head start.
I take a deep breath and plunge into the darkness of the lake. Swimming down towards the opening I see the light that just barely shines through and climb out of the pool of water.
Seconds later big splashes are made when they swim from under the cave entrance. 
“You are a cheater, Willy.” Luka says as he sits next to me as Reese emerges from the water.
“Wow, a classic move, Siren.” Reese sighs and leans on my shoulder. The nickname gives me butterflies. I can’t help but start to reminisce, knowing that once we leave here it could be our very last time. I start to sniffle and they both glance at me and Reece asks,
“What's got you crying? Aw, we love you too pre-...pre-schooler.” I breathe out and respond,
“This could be our last time here together.” They exchange a glance as Luka speaks up,
“Of course, it’s the last day of summer. We will have next year though.” I mutter a small,
“Yeah.” Tears start to gather and I abruptly get up and say, 
“I am going to go read my book. Are you guys going to the bonfire dinner later tonight?” I pause as they say, 
“Uh, we should be. Have to pack a few more things for the early flight tomorrow.” I hum and walk toward my spot. Odd, they would usually agree instantly but I guess they are super excited.  We spend a couple of hours there before I go home to finish my list. 
 
 

Pack supplies in backpack
Pick first day outfit
Go to the lake with Reese and Luca for one last time
Have dinner with friends and family
One last bonfire of the summer and treehouse hangout

 
	The day has gone by super quick and I can’t seem to comprehend that my summer is almost over. In just a mere two hours it becomes the next day, and marks the end of summer. It is the end of a chapter and the start of a new one. I sit down on the log by the fire while I wait for everyone to come settle. I glance at my watch and I can’t help but feel upset by each second that passes. The boys said they would make it to the last dinner and bonfire but once we do some smores the night is over. I wanted to hangout by the treehouse but they aren’t here. My mom comes and sits down besides me and says, 
“Looking for the boys? Try checking their house. They might’ve gone to bed early.” I get up and walk over to their house and I knock for about five seconds before it gets answered. I glance up and Reese is staring down at me in surprise. I cross my arms and ask, 
“What’s up with you guys? I thought you said you were gonna come. I texted you guys and you didn’t respond.” He sighs and responds,
“The truth is, we are leaving now. We don’t have time for some silly bonfire and hangout. We are almost adults now, so we should act like it. Our flight is in five hours. The closest airport is about two hours away.” Tears start to gather in the corners of my eyes as I turn and choked a sob,
“You didn’t think to tell me? I would’ve understood! You had me looking like a fool staring at my phone waiting on you guys.” 
“No one asked you to!!! Stop making this about you, we just wanted to leave quickly and forgot to tell you.” 
“Fine. Forget it! Hope you enjoy your time in New York City. Sorry I wasn’t important enough for you to tell me the truth.” I turn and he calls out, 
“Wait! I’m sorry Willow. Come back I am just stressed. Please don’t leave us like this!” I scoff and continue my walk and yelled out, 
“No, don’t blame this on me. It was you who wanted to leave first.” Tears start to stream down my face as I try to quiet my weeping. I ran to my room and shut the door and stuffed my face into my pillow. Was the whole time we have been friends fake? God, I must’ve looked like a desperate fool. For years? This is what I put so much time into? I sent a quick text to my mom saying I am going to bed early and goodnight. I turn my phone on sleep mode and set my alarms for tomorrow. 
 
The News
	I wake up the next day and get ready for school by myself. Today is Friday, meaning the weekend is coming. My parents are still asleep as I sneak out quietly. I put on my headphones and play my playlist for my feels. I take my time walking to school and stop by a nearby local shop and buy some sweet candies. I check my phone and see a text from Reese and Luca. 
 
	Thing 1
	We arrived in New York.
 
												Me
												Okay.
	Thing 2
	We miss you <3 
 
	I leave them on delivered and walk inside my school.  I head to my first period and the day goes by slowly. When I walk inside the house I am tired more than ever. I curl up into a ball and blast sad music before falling asleep. I wake up in a frantic sweat and despite my grogginess I grab my previously discarded phone and check the time. My phone reads ‘7:00’, thankfully it is the weekend and I don’t need to wake up early. I can’t help but think of the boys when I look at my lockscreen. I greet my parents before going on a run for 30 minutes. My dad ushers me inside as I am met with my mom and Suvi on the couch. Suvi is Reece and Luca’s mom. I stand awkwardly as Suvi bursts into tears, and by the looks of it, this isn’t the first time. I open my arms and she embraces me tight, she was always a second mother to me. Which makes the truth hurt all the more, they left both of us broken. I sigh,
“Suvi, I missed you. What brings you here?” She sniffles and says, 
 
“My little tree, I am so sorry about how Reese behaved the other day. He is sorry and is worried since you haven’t answered the phone all day. I can’t fix what he broke but all I hope is that you let him explain. I love you guys and it hurts me to see you guys without each other.” 
I can’t help as tears begin flooding my eyes and I tremble. 
 
	“Was it ever real? Did I waste my time on a one-sided friendship? They were my best friends and they couldn’t even tell me the truth. They were going to leave without saying a final goodbye! I have every right to be angry. I can’t talk to him now, and I don’t know when.” We sob into each other as my mother joins and comforts us both.
 
	 I wipe my tears and spend time in the shower thinking. How could he do that to us? I loved him. And, God I am a fool but I miss him so much. The scorching heat of the water snaps me out of my trance. I turn the faucet off and dry myself. I dress myself before I start finishing my art piece that I will be submitting to a contest. The prompt is to make an art piece about evolving. The contest prizes for first place was a $50,000 scholarship to Partum. It’s my dream art school and I am doing everything in my power to go there. 
 
	Weeks go by, and I submitted my piece a week ago. I wait for the mail to arrive, pacing back and forth on my porch. It’s midday and the mail should be here anytime. The mailman, Jake, arrives with a huge grin on his face and yells, 
 
	“Willow! It is here, the letter from Partum!” Our neighbors peek their heads out as I call for my parents and we gather in a small group as I open the letter. 
 
	Dear Ms. Willow Kitts,
 
On behalf of Partum School’s, I am pleased to offer you congratulations for winning first place in the Grade 11-12 School Scholarship. Our directors of the performing arts program have selected you as our number one candidate! We offer a generous scholarship of $50,000 as promised. In order to receive the full scholarship, the requirement is for you to attend a month-long trial of the school which will also have a grand showcase of the previous winners of this contest and yours. This year's runner-ups will be attending and you must explain your piece to the directors of Partum. The expenses of travel, housing, and meals will be completely taken care of by our program. The trial will be in two months after confirmation. To confirm this process, email the school @PartumSchoolofPerformingArts_Official or call (xxx)-xxx-xxxx. 
 
	Sincerely,
Dahlia Wrights Head of Grants and Scholarships of Partum School of Performing Arts
I scream in joy as I read the letter aloud and my neighbors celebrate and embrace each other. I did it! I did it! I run up to my room and confirm the process as I freak out on my bed. My phone lights up and I immediately call the group chat with Reese and Luca. It rings 3 times before I realize what I was doing and before I could end it, Reese and Luca answer simultaneously in confusion, worry, and surprise. I gape before I regain my composure and tell them the news. 
 
“Willy, that’s amazing! We are so happy for you. We haven’t spoken in forever.” I chuckle awkwardly and reply,
“Thanks guys, I forgot we weren’t speaking. Sorry about the sudden call, it must be night time for you guys. I will leave you guys to it.” As I begin to hang up Reese calls out,
“Wait. Willow, please listen to me. I need to speak to you alone. I know I was a jerk before we left but please let me explain.” I sigh and say,
“It’s fine, you don’t need to explain to me. I don’t matter to you anyways.” Pain flashes through his eyes and he shuts them as Luca makes a rushed goodbye before leaving. Reese says,
“Please, when you come to New York, meet me in Time Square at 12:00am. I will be there waiting. If you don’t go, it’s up to you but I will wait for you until the next day comes.” I exhale and nod. Hanging up, I sat down on my bed with my grip tight on my phone. I needed to think, what did I just do? Am I being a fool? 
 
For You
I walk to the center of Time Square, and look around. I was thirty minutes late, partially because I was dreading it and partially because I got off at the wrong stop on the subway and had to walk the last 15 minutes. Where was this man who had my heart in his hands? I pull out my phone when-
 
“Hey! I was looking for you. It’s been a while, Siren, how have you been?” I inhale sharply and say,
“Cut to the chase, Reece. Why did you not tell me?” Reese grabs my hands and walks me to the bench nearby. I look at him expectantly, 
 
“Look, I am sorry about how I reacted and I am sorry that I hurt you. I know I can’t give excuses to make you forgive me but here is my side of the story. I was super stressed, our flight changed last minute and we had to pack before we could go out and then one thing led to another and we were going to be late to the airport. I didn’t mean to take my stress out on you and I know I hurt you. The truth is I really-”
 
“I loved you, ever since I was 13, when you jumped into the water right after I fell in. Then when my mom started to scold me for not being careful, you defended me and when I would cry you held me.” I let out my unshed tears and stared in shock that I let that out. He starts sniffling,
 
“You know you are the love of my life? I love you so much. I spent these past months waiting for your call, hoping you would answer my calls and texts. I couldn’t be more thankful that you let me explain. I don’t see you as a little sister, I see you as you, Willow. Can I be your boyfriend?”  I hug him and reply,
“Only because I forgive you.”
 
	The month I spent in New York was the best month of my life. I reconnected with my best friend and finally confessed. I fell in love with the school all over again, and I will be living with the boys in New York once I graduate High School. I nervously wait my turn as I hear,
 
“Willow Kitts!” I walk up the stage and smile as I hear my family and friends cheer me on. I grab my diploma and shake the hands of my teachers and principal. I can’t believe it. I graduated, and this is the end of my high school chapter. Yet, I couldn’t be more excited for the start of my new chapter, adulthood.
 
The End.
","September 09, 2023 02:40",[]