prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,mza4ux,Zoof,Sean Packard,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mza4ux/,/short-story/mza4ux/,Fluff,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Friendship', 'Fiction']",32 likes,"
			Two things happened last week: my dog Brodie died and I met a little green alien named Pterodactyl. I called him Terry.
        	 I was sitting on my swing in the backyard, not swinging just sitting, when a trail of smoke zoomed across the sky like a comet. I sat up straight to see what it was. It was getting closer, heading straight towards me. I heard a noise. It started soft then got louder, a high-pitch whistle. Like the letter ‘e’. “Eeeeeeeeee!” A yellow ring around the saucer and flames glowing around the jet engine. And then: BAM! It crashed right in front of me! It didn’t explode though, thank goodness. The porch was only a few feet away.
            The glass of the cockpit whooshed open and out burst a Martian, a tiny thing with scaly skin and two antennas. He had claws for feet, kinda like a rooster. And he made more noise than any rooster I ever heard. There was an extinguisher in his hands. He yanked the black rip cord and fired it at the ship. It exploded. White foam all over the wings and engine. He got blasted backward, tumbling antennae over claws until he landed at the base of the fence on the other side of our yard.
            He sat up and shook his head. When he wasn’t woozy anymore he dashed back to the ship. He waved his hands and hopped around in circles. He dug his palms into his eyes, making I can’t believe this groans. He sounded like my dad when the car quit in the middle of the road and he opened up the hood and out poured a cloud of black smoke. “I can’t believe this!”
            “Igzorp zoot myansk weezcup!” Cried the Martian.
            I stood up. “Hi.” I said.
            “Zeep!” He leaped up and spun three times in the air. He darted behind the ship and took cover. I walked over and poked my head around the metal frame. He was rocking back-and-forth, hands covering his eyes, antennas drooped, vibrating. Softly, he muttered:
            “Meezul zorp. Meezul zorp. Meezul zorp.”
            “It’s okay”, I told him, “I’m not gonna hurt you. You won’t hurt me, will you?”
            “Zoof.”
            I sat down on the ground next to him. He kept rocking. “I don’t know what zoof is.” A minute passed and he finally stopped. He opened his eyes. They were a color I’ve never seen before. I can’t describe them to you because there is no word for the color. We could only have a word for it if you saw it too.
            “Zoof”, he repeated.
            “I don’t know what zoof is.”
            He shook in frustration. His antennas glowed blue. Then, he sprang up, excited. He scurried past the front of the ship and rummaged inside. When he returned he had a little black box.
            “Zoof.”
            “I don’t know zoof.”
            He grabbed a stick and sped to my mom’s garden on the side of the house. “Winzip frygszkey.” He said. He wanted me to follow him. In the dirt he made strange markings with the stick. He looked at me and pointed to the dirt.
            “Zoof.”
            “I don’t know zoof.”
            He put the stick in my hand. He pointed at me. Then he pointed at the dirt.
            I wrote: “My name is Ben.”
            He hopped in the air and spun three times. He pointed his black box at the dirt and pressed a button. A blue light scanned left-to-right, then right-to-left, up-and-down, then down-and-up. Two beeps. The little box rumbled. The screen lit up and shuffled strange markings. The shuffling froze. The alien looked at me and said: “Earth. En. En-glish.”
            “Yes, yes, earth!” I hollered. “English! How did you know that?”
            He held the box to his antenna and replayed my question. It said something back to him. He tapped with his claw. “Trans. Trans-late. Trans-later.”
            “Cool! Does it know Spanish too?” I asked.
            He was confused. He typed something in the screen and then he wrote symbols in the dirt. He scanned them. Blue light. He looked back up at me. “Quest. Quest-chin. Quest-chin mark.” He drew a question mark in the dirt.
            “Here”, I said. “Try this.” I wrote ¿Hola cómo estás?
             He scanned it. “Earth. Span. Span-ish. Moon. Mun-dio. Español. No. No es-toy. No estoy bien.”
            I laughed. A Spanish-speaking alien. Who’da thought? “English,” I said. “I’m Ben.”
            “Ben,” he repeated. “Ben. You. Ben. I. Me. I am …” He made a noise I couldn’t understand. It sounded like a screeching saxophone and an airplane flying overhead. His antennas turned red.
            The ship made a gurgling noise. It shout out orange sparks and powered down. Like a computer – Veeeeuuu. The alien typed symbols into the box. He pressed the button. “Too. Too-owls.” He said.
            “Two owls?” I asked.
            He looked at the screen again and then back up at me. “Too-ools. Tools.”
            “Oh! Tools! You need tools! To fix your ship!”
            “Fix. Fix ship.”
            “You’re a fast learner! Follow me, my dad has tons of tools in the garage.” I led him to the front door. He bounced along next to me, happy that he would have what he needed to be on his way. I pressed the button on the side panel and the door rolled up above us. Saxophone Airplane saw the back wall where dad’s gadgets hung and meeped. He did three spins and danced inside. 
              He snatched a socket wrench, a mini blowtorch, a hammer, a mallet and six screws. He searched through the drawers in the bench and huffed. His antennas drooped down. They turned yellow. He spun around and stared at me.
            “Weezkeep. Weezkeep bing.”
            “English.” I said.
            “Weezkeep bing,” he said into his black box. Pitter-patter. Beep beep. Whoosh. “Band-aid.” He said.
            “Band-aid?”
            He looked at me and then he looked down. He held up his claw– he had only three on each hand. That means I can still teach him middle finger. He was bleeding. His blood was shimmery gold.
            “Oh! You’re bleeding! One second.” I searched the bin with all my sports stuff. “Hockey stick, knee pads, helmet, tennis racket, sneakers, baseball bat. Ah! Here we go. Band-aids. I got these in my stocking last Christmas. Can you believe that? Worse than socks.”
            Saxophone Airplane opened the box neatly. He peeled the paper of the band-aid and slowly wound it around his claw. He inspected it three inches from his eyes. They were another color now. That color doesn’t have a name either but I think it’s the color thank you is made of. Thank you and butterscotch.
            He looked up at me.
            “Bizquip zinzadel”
            “English.”
            “What. What this?” He pointed towards the cartoons on the bandage.
            “Oh! Dinosaurs.” I said. Those are dinosaurs.”
            “Dino. Dino-sores. Dinosaurs.”
            “Yeah those are flying ones, like birds. They’re called pterodactyls.”
            “Tero. Dack. Ptero-dactyls.” He whispered something into his black box. “Where?” Where quest-chin. Where quest-chin mark.” He asked.
            “They’re not around anymore. Long gone. It’s just us people now.”
            “Just people.”
            “Yeah I know, boring. Hey, how do you say your name again?”
            He made the saxophone airplane sound again. The bikes hanging above rustled.
            “In English?”
            He typed in his black box. Buzz. Beep. Whoosh whoosh. Does not compute flashed on the screen. His antennas turned orange. He gathered his tools and cruised back to the ship. He popped the hood and started tinkering around. I sat on the ground and watched him work.
            “You’re the first alien I ever met ya know.”
            Bang. Fwoosh fwoosh. Tack. Thwock.
            “But I can’t pronounce your name.”
            Fwip. Bang. He tossed a screw and a rubber belt over his head. They landed in the yard.    “Maybe I’ll call you Saxophone Airplane.”
            Vwoooooom. An orange glow from the inside of the ship. A shower of yellow sparks.
            “Or maybe Dinosaur.”
            A twist of smoke trailed into the sky. Two more whooshes from the mini torch.
            “Or pterodactyl.”
            The alien poked his head out from the hood.
            “Tero. Tero. Dack. Till.”
            “You like pterodactyl?” I asked
            He muttered into his black box. Blue light.
            “I like. Tero. Tero-Dack-Till. I like pterodactyl.”
            “Great,” I said. “Then your name is pterodactyl. How about Terry for short?”
            “Terry.” He said.
            He ducked back into the ship and started whacking something with the mallet. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! “Izkorp Zeedle.”
            I think that one was a swear.
            “You’re a funny-looking guy.” He held the black box out of the ship and pressed a button. “Repeat.” The box requested. “I said you’re a funny-looking guy. I thought aliens were supposed to be big and scary. But you’re small and kind of like a cartoon.”
            Boom. Bang. Thwack.
            He jumped out and held the black box to his ear. Blue light. He set the box on the grass and took two steps back. A purple light flashed over him from the sensor. It was bright so I closed my eyes.
            I opened them. Terry looked like me. Well, not like me, but like a kid. Dark hair under a corduroy baseball cap. Brown eyes and a round nose. Blue jeans with a rip in the knee. He was kind of chubby. I think aliens have a lot of data on humans.
            “Whoa!” I cried. “How’d you do that?”
            “Zwizzle.” He said.
            “English.”
            “Black. Black box. Trans-more. Trans-more-for. Transmorpher.” He went back to banging away. I sat down.
            “I wish you could stay Terry. We could shoot some hoops in the driveway.”
            “Shoot. Shoot hoops.”
            “We could go fishing in the creek.”
            “Fishing. Creek. Fishing in creek.”
            I’ve got a firework under my bed that mom doesn’t know about. My big brother Josh gave it to me before he left for college. He told me don’t tell mom and don’t blow your hand off.”
             “Fire. Firework.”
            “And my dog, he can’t morph, but he knows a bunch of tricks! I taught him myself! He can sit and shake paw and when you balance a bone on his nose, he won’t snap at it until you say Go! His name’s Brodie and…”
            I stopped. I forgot.
            Terry stopped working. The tools stopped clinking. His head popped from the ship. “Brodie. Brodie and. Brodie and quest-chin mark.”
            “Nothing.” I said. “I forgot. Brodie’s not here anymore. He’s gone.” I looked over to the railing on the back steps. A water bowl and tennis ball. A tied-up chain that gave him free-range of the yard when we were piled in the van somewhere as a family. A teal bandana that he wore around his neck. I walked to the stairs and sat down. I put my elbows on my knees and my hands on my cheeks.
            Terry got out of the ship and walked over.
            “Igthorp zvend?”
            “English.” I said.
            Black box. Blue light. “Gone. Dinosaurs. Gone like dinosaurs?”
            I nodded in my hands. “Yeah, like the dinosaurs.”
            Terry sat down next to me. We both stayed quiet. Then he put his arm on my shoulder and he made a sound like a tea kettle whistling and an elephant trumpeting. He did it again. Then he said: “Gone. Gone too.”
            “He was your friend?”
            Blue light. “Friend. Yes.”
            “Gone?” I asked.
            He was quiet for a moment. “Quest. Quest-chin mark.”
            “You don’t know if he’s gone?”
            He typed on the screen. Blue light. He looked at me. “Looking. Friend. Looking for my friend. Up there.”
            I nodded. His antennas turned blue. They slumped down.
            “Is that why you need to fix your ship?”
            Terry nodded.
            A hummingbird buzzed by. A car honked its horn a block over.       
            “You know,” I said, you don’t have to look like me. It’s okay to just look like yourself. I like you the way you are Terry.”
            He punched commands into the black box. He placed it on the bottom step and hopped back. Purple light. A little green Martian with eyes the color of nothing. Two antennas, baby blue, quivering. Scaly skin. And claws curling into the dirt.
            “Zoof.”
            “Whenever I felt sad, I used to come out here and throw the ball for Brodie.” I picked up the tennis ball and walked ten steps past my new bud. “Do you want to have a catch?”
            “Zorg.”
            “English.”
            Beep beep. Bing! “Try. I try.”
            I tossed him an easy one. It slipped from his grip and bounced away. He retrieved it and tossed it back. “You throw like a girl.” I teased.
            Black box. Blue light. Beep beep. Fwoosh. “And you toss like a moozdorf.”
            He missed a few more, but on the fourth toss he caught it, his claws interlocked like the game at the arcade where everything slips away at the last second. He threw it back and I caught it with one hand. Then he caught it with one hand too.
            “You’re a fast learner Terry.”
            We tossed for ten minutes and then Terry made the sound again. Tea kettle elephant trunk. “Me and him. Zoom. We zoom. Ships. Zoom.” He typed into the black box. Beep. Fwoosh. “We zoom. Fun.”
            I smiled and nodded. “I understand.” I said. We tossed the ball until the sun started to go down.
            Terry hopped over to me. His antennas dropped. They were gray now. “Go,” he said. “I go.”
            “I know. I wish you could stay”
            Black box. Blue light. “Too. Me too.”
            He climbed onto his ship and pressed a button on the side panel. The cockpit opened and he boarded.
            “I’m glad I met you Terry.”
            He nodded. He paused for a second and then started the engine. Yellow light glowed around the saucer.
            “Hey, Terry?”
            He looked at me.
            “What is zoof?”
            His head disappeared and he rummaged on the floor. Then he tossed me the little black box. He made a clicking gesture with his hand.
            “Zoof.”
            He closed the glass window and zipped away. An orange glow and a meteor tail. I watched until the dash disappeared in the sky. The stars were starting to come out. I pressed the button on the black box. “Zoof”.
            Beep. Beep. Fwoosh.
             Zoof. Zingzandzadorn. Zangish.
             I looked up towards the sky. Terry was gone.
             Translation: Earth. English. Friend.
","August 12, 2023 05:21","[[{""Matt O'Brien"": 'Nice work Sean! Great read! Unexpected friendships developing just when we need them is always a treat!', 'time': '20:21 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Zwom zlizzle zmend zeeble !', 'time': '08:55 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""I like the connection to a lost dog friend, Brodie. \n\n These are great lines 'They were another color now. That color doesn’t have a name either but I think it’s the color thank you is made of. Thank you and butterscotch.'\n\nThanks!"", 'time': '23:24 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks Marty!', 'time': '04:24 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks Marty!', 'time': '04:24 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""That was a really fun story, Sean. Brilliant opening line. I soon as I read the first two sentences I knew I wanted to read this story and I'm glad I did. Lots of funny phrases and images. \n\nYou may not believe me when I tell you this, Sean, but every time a woman tosses me something, anything at all... guess what I say. That's right. 'You throw like a girl.' (I only say that to women though, let's be clear on that, not men, or girls.)"", 'time': '02:38 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Trevor Sanchez': 'Sean, \nExciting work you have here. Your story hits close to home reminding me to connect with emotions that often come into our lives unexpectedly such as the loss\nof Brodie or the arrival of our little green alien friend “Terry” . \n\nA great friend of mine and I were just talking during our 4 hour road trip back from a race of mine this weekend about the loss of his dog and how he’s dealing with the absence of his friend. I mentioned that energy is not created nor destroyed, it merely transforms. This beautiful short story serves as a remin...', 'time': '15:22 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'Glad I fit in your universe Trev :)', 'time': '04:25 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'Glad I fit in your universe Trev :)', 'time': '04:25 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Very creative Sean and a lot of fun, though heartbreaking also.\nJust a really nice read.\nthanks for sharing.', 'time': '14:35 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks for the nice words Derrick!', 'time': '04:25 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks for the nice words Derrick!', 'time': '04:25 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kendra Keenan': 'Sounds like Terry\'s friendship came at just the right time. Loved this short read — everything from the playful sounds to the human-alien language barriers.\n\nA special quote that stood out to me: ""...That color doesn’t have a name either but I think it’s the color thank you is made of.""', 'time': '05:09 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Pranav Ramakrishnan': 'Hey man, I really enjoyed the story. I was having a bad day, and your story helped me out. As an animal lover, I could feel the loss of Brodie through the words written, and Terry was a delight. Good Work!', 'time': '14:31 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': ""I'm glad you enjoyed it Pranav, that means a lot to me."", 'time': '15:06 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': ""I'm glad you enjoyed it Pranav, that means a lot to me."", 'time': '15:06 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'M. M.': 'The first line catcher ""A little green alien"" thing caught my attention right off.  Funny, witty (except for Brodie dying) and nicely done.  I might have held off on the name calling him ""Terry"" in the beginning, you mentioned that in the well done back and forth dialogue, allow the readers to grow with the friendship.  JMO, fantasy is tricky but fun.  Nice work', 'time': '14:02 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': ""I think that's a good suggestion reading it back to myself now. Thanks for the thought!"", 'time': '15:05 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': ""I think that's a good suggestion reading it back to myself now. Thanks for the thought!"", 'time': '15:05 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Doug Packard': 'Quirky imaginative alien dialogue. Fun to picture Terry actually talking.', 'time': '14:01 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'Gracias padre!', 'time': '18:34 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'Gracias padre!', 'time': '18:34 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Sean, very creative and funny. I loved all the back-and-forth and alien Dialogue. But of course Brody’s dieing grab my heart, sigh…', 'time': '23:10 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks Judith! Keeping the dialogue interesting was a big goal of mine in a prompt with just two characters interacting. Appreciate you!', 'time': '18:32 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks Judith! Keeping the dialogue interesting was a big goal of mine in a prompt with just two characters interacting. Appreciate you!', 'time': '18:32 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jesse Ignell': 'I hope that Terry Buckets returns someday so that they can shoot hoops in the driveway and trash talk each other in Spanish.', 'time': '18:28 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'An easy 25 and 10 for the extra-terrestrial. Esta es mi casa ahora!', 'time': '18:33 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'An easy 25 and 10 for the extra-terrestrial. Esta es mi casa ahora!', 'time': '18:33 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Meggan Brandt': 'Fun read! I enjoyed the innocence of the child and the descriptions of the sounds.', 'time': '18:07 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks for taking a read Meggan!', 'time': '18:34 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'Thanks for taking a read Meggan!', 'time': '18:34 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kelly Harris': 'A great story of an unlikely friendship!', 'time': '17:40 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'Zoof!', 'time': '15:19 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'Zoof!', 'time': '15:19 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nicki Nance': 'The sounds were brilliant. The characters were delightful.', 'time': '14:18 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean Packard': 'The most sound-heavy piece I’ve ever written :). Thank you Nancy!', 'time': '18:32 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean Packard': 'The most sound-heavy piece I’ve ever written :). Thank you Nancy!', 'time': '18:32 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,kogpo8,Missing Cat: Reward If Found,Nina Herbst,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/kogpo8/,/short-story/kogpo8/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Mystery', 'Happy']",18 likes,"
	My head upside down, legs in the air, I listened without interest to the drone of adults talking. I was in my pajamas, laying upside down in one of the white wicker chairs my dad repainted about every three years or so. Sometimes the paint stuck to my sweating legs when I stood up, and I’d meticulously peel the spots of white. 
	The thermometer on my back porch that summer night read 87F. It hadn’t cooled off at all since the afternoon when I was in the pool. The faint smell of chlorine from my towel, thrown carelessly on the back of a chair, mixed with the humid air trapped inside the enclosed back porch. Nightsongs of crickets echoed from the dark outside, while the frantic flights of a variety of bugs zipped around the deck light shining into the backyard.  
	My neighbors from behind our house, Sam and Dana, had pushed aside the green plastic coated wire fencing that separated our properties to come over.  My father had cut it to easily venture back and forth between our houses. No children of their own, I invited myself over quite often to visit them. I was a delightful child, wasn’t I? I’m sure they loved my unannounced arrivals. In any case, they always greeted me with smiles and snacks, so of course I went back frequently. 
	But that night, they came to visit with my parents and enjoy a peaceful summer night chatting with glasses of iced lemonade. The heat made the glasses sweat giant beads of water that collected in little elf-sized swimming pools on the glass top table. 
	My ears perked up when I heard Sam bring up their neighbors. I knew those neighbor’s kids the way only kids know other neighborhood kids. There were the ones you ride your bike with to the next town in secret, and the ones you avoided. These were the ones you avoided. 
Always in trouble, their teen son John spent his time stealing from the Convenience store on the corner and spray painting swear words on the elementary school in town. His sister Jackie was no better, and enjoyed teasing all the kids who declined to play with her. I was one of them. 
	Just the day before, she had knocked on my door and asked if I saw a cat around that was black, white, and fat. I had told her no, I haven’t seen any cats, and she went on her way. I expected a comment on my hair, or a laugh at my Rainbow Brite tshirt. But no, she just surprisingly left. I shrugged it off and returned to my Barbies. 
	Sam was telling my parents how awful those two kids were to each other and also to their pets. Just recently he saw John taking their chubby little furball of a cat and laughing as he made her slide down their old rusty slide in the backyard. He said he came outside and told him to knock it off, that he could hurt her that way. But John just laughed. He also saw him wrap a belt around the cat’s neck like a leash, and the poor thing hissed and meowed til Sam stepped in that time too.
     Sam’s face had turned crimson as he talked about it. Dana put her hand on his arm, an effort to calm him. 
	“They don’t deserve to have animals,” he said with anger that had turned to sadness. 
I stayed very quiet as the adults talked. I didn’t know if I should tell them John and Jackie’s cat was now missing. 
	As I looked at Sam, and replayed his words in my head about some people not deserving animals, I wondered…could Sam have taken their cat away from them? 
I hadn’t been over to visit in a few days, so if they did have a cat roaming around their house I wouldn’t have known it.
	I looked carefully at Sam, then at Dana. Did they exchange a knowing glance? There was a cat unaccounted for, one that deserved a better home and life than what it had been given. They were such kind people, the kind you never forget when they are in your life. Could they have taken her? 
	And I know my father agreed with them. I saw the cans of cat food he left under the bush by our deck. Their cat was an outdoor cat, always wandering and seemingly looking for food.  My father thought he was sneaky about it, but of course I knew. 
	Could my father be involved too? Or on his own? 
	I had so many thoughts racing around my mind, that I barely heard the scratching at the metal door. My father set down his drink, and got up from his chair. We all sat up straight to see what was going on. 
	My father opened the door, and in walked a much thinner black and white cat. And in her mouth, a tiny gray fuzzball of a kitten, mewing repeatedly. 
	“Oh my goodness! Hannah, go get a blanket and towels!” my mother said excitedly. 
	I ran to the linen closet and brought back an assortment for the mama cat and her baby. She set the kitten down in the blanket, and almost immediately the kitten stopped its mews and nestled itself into the warm softness of the blanket. 
	“So that explains it,” I said with a smile. 
	“Explains what, sweetheart?” Dana asked. 
	“Jackie came by yesterday looking for her cat. She said she hadn’t seen her in awhile and asked if I had,” I told them. They all stared at me, then back at the cat. 
	“What did you tell her?” My mother asked. 
	“I said I haven’t seen any cats around,” I told her. 
	“But this explains why she was so chubby and not around. She was a little busy having this kitten!” my father explained. 
	And at that, the cat started meowing and scratching at the door again. 
	“Should we let her go?” I asked. 
	“Yes. Let’s see what she does,” my mother suggested. 
	My father opened the thin metal door with the window on top, watching as the cat ran off. We sat looking at the tiny gray kitten, when another scratch at the door caught our attention. 
She was back, this time with a tiny black ball of meowing fur. She set him down in the blanket, and was off again. 
	Six kittens in total. Each more adorable and fuzzy and precious than the next. I had suspected Sam was behind the missing cat, even my father. But it turns out she disappeared to have her kittens, then brought them to the safest place she could think of to protect them. 
	We fed her, and she fed her babies, until eventually we found loving homes for each one. Sam and Dana kept the first kitten that arrived, the gray one, and named her Belle. They bought her a little yellow collar to wear. 
	We opened the door to let the mama cat out many times, but she refused to leave. She was happy, well-fed, and very loved. So of course she wanted to stay. 
	What about Jackie? 
	Well, Jackie stopped her bike in front of my house eventually and stared into the large bay window we had in front. And at the black and white cat sunning herself in it. 
	“Your cat looks an awful lot like MY cat you know. Where’d you get her?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the window. 
	I nervously looked up from the sidewalk chalk masterpiece I had been creating. 
	“Oh, you mean Whitney? Nah, she doesn’t look like yours. And we didn’t ‘get’ her. She got us,” I said quietly, going back to my drawing as nonchalantly as I could pretend to be. 
	Jackie looked back at me. We locked eyes, and Jackie gave me a little nod. 
	“She looks…happy,” Jackie said, looking back at the window and Whitney, who rolled over and yawned. We looked at each other one last time. Then Jackie peddled away without another word. 
	I’ll never forget my first pet, and the night she trusted us with her life and her babies. 
 
","August 16, 2023 11:19","[[{'Jonathan Page': 'Really like the descriptions of the chlorine mixed with the towel smell, deck lighting, plastic coated wire fencing, night sounds of crickets, iced lemonade, mews and nestled--all of which were very immersive, and the ending with -she got us-.  You bring the reader into the story very well!  Great story!', 'time': '18:11 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks Jonathan! 😄', 'time': '23:10 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks Jonathan! 😄', 'time': '23:10 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""A very cute tale, Nina. It was written with vivid description and real heartfelt voice. A wonderful depiction of a cat's life, the perils involved, and a happy ending. What I liked most about it, though, was Jackie. Her mini-transformation from bully to acceptance of her cat's better life is, in a way, the real jewel of the tale. Not only does the cat and the cat's litter have a better life, we see hope for Jackie. Nicely done, my friend.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '13:53 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks so much, Del! (Can I call you Del??) The reason I chose the title with “reward if found” is exactly that. The cat was found, and it was a reward for the cat, the narrator, AND Jackie. 😄\nThanks for reading and feeding back!!!', 'time': '14:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'You\'re welcome, and, yes, the title is apt. So often, the titles for tales don\'t quite fit the tale itself. I\'m always pleased to see a writer put some thought into the title.\n\nAlso:\nMy students call me ""Mr. Griffith.""\nFriends, peers, colleagues, and the like call me ""Del.""\nMy foes call me ""that asshole Del,"" or a variation on that theme.\nI would be honored to consider you a writing colleague and a writing friend, so please, call me ""Del.""', 'time': '14:29 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks so much, Del! (Can I call you Del??) The reason I chose the title with “reward if found” is exactly that. The cat was found, and it was a reward for the cat, the narrator, AND Jackie. 😄\nThanks for reading and feeding back!!!', 'time': '14:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'You\'re welcome, and, yes, the title is apt. So often, the titles for tales don\'t quite fit the tale itself. I\'m always pleased to see a writer put some thought into the title.\n\nAlso:\nMy students call me ""Mr. Griffith.""\nFriends, peers, colleagues, and the like call me ""Del.""\nMy foes call me ""that asshole Del,"" or a variation on that theme.\nI would be honored to consider you a writing colleague and a writing friend, so please, call me ""Del.""', 'time': '14:29 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'You\'re welcome, and, yes, the title is apt. So often, the titles for tales don\'t quite fit the tale itself. I\'m always pleased to see a writer put some thought into the title.\n\nAlso:\nMy students call me ""Mr. Griffith.""\nFriends, peers, colleagues, and the like call me ""Del.""\nMy foes call me ""that asshole Del,"" or a variation on that theme.\nI would be honored to consider you a writing colleague and a writing friend, so please, call me ""Del.""', 'time': '14:29 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Wendy M': 'Such a lovely story, so well drawn I wondered if this was non-fiction. You obviously have a fondness for cats!', 'time': '18:06 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks so much Wendy! And guilty as charged - I just love them!  😻', 'time': '22:01 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks so much Wendy! And guilty as charged - I just love them!  😻', 'time': '22:01 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Thom Brodkin': 'Nina, I’m not sure which I enjoyed more. Your story or your profile description. Both show a great talent for writing. You have the ability to find the small details that make a big difference. I wish I could write like that. If I was going to give one bit of advice it would be to change this sentence from this-\n\nSix kittens in total. Each more adorable and fuzzy and precious than the next. \n\nTo this-\n\nSix kittens in total. Each more adorable and fuzzy and precious than the last. \n\nOther than that I thought it was perfect.', 'time': '17:22 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thank you so much for the very kind words and compliment, Thom! And please, give yourself the credit you deserve for your writing. It’s fantastic. We are our own worst critics though, right?? \nI took your suggestion and made that change in my original file! That line felt like petting a cat in the wrong direction, didn’t it?? Lol! I just can’t change it here because it’s been taken in and given a home already amongst the contenders. \nThanks for the help!! :)', 'time': '21:58 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thank you so much for the very kind words and compliment, Thom! And please, give yourself the credit you deserve for your writing. It’s fantastic. We are our own worst critics though, right?? \nI took your suggestion and made that change in my original file! That line felt like petting a cat in the wrong direction, didn’t it?? Lol! I just can’t change it here because it’s been taken in and given a home already amongst the contenders. \nThanks for the help!! :)', 'time': '21:58 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ian Patterson': 'Such a sweet story, best read with a cat in your lap!', 'time': '22:50 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Absolutely, Ian! Though mine aren’t happy unless they crawl right up into my face 😂 they didn’t read the Lap Cat Manual!!', 'time': '15:51 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Absolutely, Ian! Though mine aren’t happy unless they crawl right up into my face 😂 they didn’t read the Lap Cat Manual!!', 'time': '15:51 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Lovely story! So happy the cat picked a nice home for itself! And yes I remember ours when she had kittens, couriering them all one by one behind the TV!', 'time': '09:11 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Aww!! How adorable is that!! I bet she thought it was warm and cozy there! ☺️\nThanks for reading, Derrick! :)', 'time': '11:00 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Aww!! How adorable is that!! I bet she thought it was warm and cozy there! ☺️\nThanks for reading, Derrick! :)', 'time': '11:00 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Quite a sweet story, as others have said, though the ending makes me believe there's more going on. Jackie knows - and she's fine with it. On some level she must both a) like the cat, and b) recognize that the cat wasn't safe at her home. Seems like there's an element of coming of age here.\n\nBeyond that, the backyard setting, and the heat, came across well. Likewise, the voice of the narrator - seemed to fit that age.\n\nThanks for sharing!"", 'time': '01:08 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Michał, that’s exactly it at the end with Jackie! Makes for a happy ending all around with her understanding those things, rather than pressing the issue that it is HER cat. \nThanks for reading and your insightful comments! :)', 'time': '09:34 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Michał, that’s exactly it at the end with Jackie! Makes for a happy ending all around with her understanding those things, rather than pressing the issue that it is HER cat. \nThanks for reading and your insightful comments! :)', 'time': '09:34 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Vid Weeks': 'Great opening, with good detail and the hint of threat made me want to know what happens.', 'time': '21:15 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks for reading and commenting Vid! :)', 'time': '22:50 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks for reading and commenting Vid! :)', 'time': '22:50 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'A very sweet story, Nina.', 'time': '12:17 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thank you, Ty! This was my third attempt at the prompt this week. The others remain unfinished 😂', 'time': '13:55 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thank you, Ty! This was my third attempt at the prompt this week. The others remain unfinished 😂', 'time': '13:55 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Animals know those who are safe and I’m happy for the kitties in this story. So sweet! 😊', 'time': '01:28 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'I absolutely agree, J.D.! Thanks for the read and kind words 😊', 'time': '10:30 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'J. D. Lair': 'Any time!', 'time': '14:58 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'I absolutely agree, J.D.! Thanks for the read and kind words 😊', 'time': '10:30 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'J. D. Lair': 'Any time!', 'time': '14:58 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Any time!', 'time': '14:58 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'An adorable story. Love happy endings.', 'time': '16:32 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks Mary! I’m a sucker for a happy ending as well 😊', 'time': '18:42 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Thanks Mary! I’m a sucker for a happy ending as well 😊', 'time': '18:42 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,4qwiif,First Duck,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4qwiif/,/short-story/4qwiif/,Fluff,0,"['Inspirational', 'Funny', 'Adventure']",17 likes,"
Well, what ah want y'all to know is that ah was the youngest runner in that there race. The next youngest? Well, they were a whoppin eight years old, which is more than four times mah age. Ah know, ah know, ah might be a bit of a prodigy, if ya catch mah drift.They are a strange looking lot. Some have thin tapered ankles comin’ outa there sneaks like a flagpole. Others have thick plump ones, meaty and round, which is the kind Fredi had. I'll own up to it, I've got a little thing for them feet, but don't go passin' judgment.Ah reckon I was also the shortest runner in tha race. Standin' at just 20 inches tall, ain't no basketball in my future, that's for sure. But what I lack in height, I sure make up for in notoriety.Got mah own TikTok channel and all, famous for them ""zoomies"" where I dash back 'n forth like a bat outta hell in front of that there camera, pretendin' I'm that DeLorean from that movie, shootin' for 1.21 Gigawatts. Well, lemme tell ya, mah YouTube channel Se-duck-tive done got a bunch of them videos with over a good ol' million views each! I reckon you could rightly call me a celebrity, if that's what y'all wanna say.Now, Mile 22, that's when the real New York City Marathon seemed to kick off, if y'all ask me. We done reached a water station over at 125th Street, makin' our way past them Harlem Churches and were workin’ our way up that there 5th Avenue comin’ into Manhattan from the Bronx, our sights set on Central Park. By then, we'd been racin' for 'bout eight hours, and the sun was fixin' to set on that course. The crowd had thinned out, not many runners or fans lingerin', but we'd come 'cross groups of folks walkin' along here 'n there. They done handed me them capfulls of water, and I just clucked at 'em with a ""wek wek wek,"" tryin' to give 'em them duck kisses, showin' my seal of approval, you know. I was sorta low key famous, and 'bout every hundred yards or so, someone was hankerin' for a selfie, especially them beat cops keepin' a’watchin’ for the race's security.Anyways, me 'n Justin, we were scootin' right along at a good clip, or a spry waddle in my case, and my head was bobbin' back 'n forth. I had my wings flappin' 'round, and Gatorade cups, goo gels, 'n banana peels, they was all takin' flight behind me as I went. I was in my element, just givin' it my all – full throttle, you might say – goin' all out in ""zoomie mode."" I was pantin' with my little duck croaks, soundin' like a rusty gate, and lettin' out a few ""wek weks"" here 'n there, just to add some spice for the folks watchin' – ya know, gotta put on a bit of a show for the fans, if you catch my drift.And right then and there, that's when I caught a glimpse of Fredilyn, or ""Fredi"" Bangwa, for the very first time. Me 'n my owner Justin, we were just scootin' on by, sportin' them matchin' red booties, that red colorin’ helpin' me keep an eye on him amidst all the hubbub. But I swiveled my head 'round, and I saw Fredi there, tears flowin', hands on her knees, and I could tell her ankles were hurtin' somethin' fierce, the way she was rollin' 'em out. And right at that moment, I come to a dead halt, and Justin, he stops right alongside me, askin' if all's well. I just looked back, fixin' my gaze, then I begun to pivot 'round, focused on what was goin' on with Fredi.Fredi, she had herself a nice, round face and them teeth, they sparkled like them little tic tacs, shinin' bright when she flashed a smile – you know, like them commercials for Orbit gum. Them there smiles were comin’ through clenched teeth now and she had herself some proper grimaces of pain from the throbbin’ in them there ankles. Fredi, she was restin' on a walker her two sisters had fetched for her, bringin' it right over that there tape on the side of the course.“The arthritis is really acting up and my ankles are in so much pain,” she told her sister. She had herself a kindly voice, all gentle 'n pure, nothin' fancy or self-conscious 'bout it, a true top-notch duck voice, if you ask me.“Oh, Fredi. You are doing so great. Just use the walker and take your time,” one of her sisters leaned in and told her. The other one, well, she was givin' her pats on the back and dabbin' her forehead with a damp towel.Another runner, goes by the name of Mario, he was right there by their side, got a beefy arm wrapped 'round Fredi's back. He's a sturdy fella, got a friendly, warm mug, them chubby cheeks and that tapered chin, sportin' a tuft of gray hair that's all salty, like a duck with a tiny mohawk, I reckon. “Sis, I didn’t know if I was gonna make it, but these people are family! And my team, Release Recovery, they are all waiting for us in the Park sis—we can do this—I’ll be with you until the end. It’s just like in the program, you need to lean on someone to get you through sometime.” Mario, he was a solid guy, as I done told ya, but he had a heap of energy to spare. He was hoppin' up 'n down, shakin' out them arms, and stretchin' like he was fixin' to do a triple jump or pole vault right after guzzlin' down a triple espresso.“I don’t know if I can keep going,” Fredi said, gasping as a wave of pain shot up from her ankles, “I just want the pain to stop. I want to finish, but I don’t know if I can.” She looked into Mario’s eyes as if asking for permission to DNF—that’s “Did Not Finish” for y’all non-runner folks. Now, lemme tell ya 'bout the DNF. A genuine runner, a real deal runner, they never throws in the towel. You only DNF if some official's yankin' ya off that course, or you're hauled away in an ambulance. Every true-blue runner's got that tattooed on their heart. I sure as shootin' do. It's like a sacred code, a pledge etched in stone, a military decree. It's like that notion from that 300 Movie, you either come home with your shield or on it – it's somethin' kinda like that, y'see.And right here's where I reckon I let out a wee duck tear from my tiny duck eye. Them two, they were leanin' on each other for the go-ahead or to pull the brakes, caught up in this runner's pact, couldn't make a move without the other's nod – like they had this bond, you see. 'Cause amongst all them 50,000 or so folks gathered 'round to race today, it was just them two who truly understood what the other was wrestlin' with.And neither one of 'em could let the other bust that code. So, neither one of 'em could just throw in the towel. And they both knew it clear as day, you could tell from the glances they swapped between 'em.“Hey Fredi, sis—I found you, you found me—that’s all we need. Forget about finishing, let’s just go another five minutes, then another five—it’ll be an adventure,” Mario let out a roar, a deep belly rumble that seemed to come from the very core of him. Then he went on and did a bit of hoppin', all for that extra touch of emphasis.That’s right when I came up to Fredi, with that wee duck tear hangin’ on my cheek, and gave her a couple pecks on her right ankle, as if to say, “Helloooo.” I raised up my beak and gave her a good ‘ol hooting duck whistle, w-o-o-O-O-I-T. “Let’s go Lady, you can doooo-it!” I let out a bark and a grunt, and I flapped my wings like this here, givin' it a little extra flair. Then I started marchin' in one spot with a plop-plop, plop-plop sound of my little red duck booties landin' on them Gatorade cups scatterin' 'round on the street from warr my wings were flappin’.“Look at this cute little duck,” she said, and Justin picked me up and placed me perched on the edge of the walker. She petted my head, and neck, and my rump feathers, and I snuck a few pecks and duck kisses and gave her a “qwa-bu-bu-bu-bwahaha-qwaaahh,” as if to say “I’m here for you, we’ll do it together.”“What’s his name,” she asked, all cooin' and givin' my beak a little nuzzle.“This is Wrinkle. And this is his second New York City Marathon… didn’t finish last year… but, he’s in it to win it for sure this time.” I truly believe it done just shattered her heart when he told her that.“Well Wrinkle, I wasn’t too sure I’d make it, but you’ve really lifted my spirits kiddo. Whatd’ya say you and me and Mario walk this sucker in together, huh?” I flapped my wings, did a jig with my feet, wekked and quacked, and let out a hoot and a cluck – oh, yessiree! I bopped my head to and fro, gave a twirl, and even took a little leap, just to show my excitement. Then I pecked around her ankle, givin' it a good thorough fussin' – oh, you betcha! ""Let's go for it!"" I cried out, all fired up!More than I ever yearned to cross that finish line first in my age bracket – and let's be fair, those two things were basically the same – I got a brand-new purpose to see this race through. I wanted to run the rest of this here race for my friend Fredi.Justin handed me a bit of water from a Gatorade cup while we was waitin' for Fredi and Mario to pick up the pace, and I let out a little cluck to show I was pleased with it all. “Wek wek wek. Wek wek wek. Wek wek wek.” And so, we commenced trudgin' ahead, makin' our way up that mighty ol' hill.Well now, if y'all ever tackled the NYC Marathon, there's this one thing y'all know, that’s for damn sure – that uphill haul to Central Park, it's like the hill straight outta hell. See, there's this long ol' incline on 5th Avenue, comin' down towards 90th Street. Them twenty blocks stretchin' from 110th down to 90th, they're a real torment, buddy. It's just a measly 2% grade, might not sound like much to ya, but give it a whirl with legs measurin' four inches long and feet paddles two inches long, then come on back 'n tell me how it feels, would ya?Gazin' up that hill, I gotta share somethin' with ya. You spot a light up yonder, and there's a sorta peak at that light, so ya think, ""Just gotta reach that there light and it’s all downhill."" You keep on waddlin', waddle, waddle, waddle, and ten minutes later, there ya are, at that light. Then, yonder in the distance, up another hill is another light twinklin', and the whole cycle starts anew—like Sisyphus and them there rocks. It just keeps on like that, stretchin' for leastways ten to fifteen blocks, each stoplight like one of them desert mirages, and every climb that follows, well, it's like that hangman's noose, squeezin' the very marrow outta yer spirit, right down to yer bones.Mario, he was goin' on 'n on, a true cheerleader, keepin' the spirit alive. As that sun was settlin' down and twilight started blanketin' the path, it kinda brought a sense of peace, if ya ask me. And we sure did need it, 'cause that hill just kept on unfoldin' in front of us, like some never-ending escalator that put the hurtin’ on right proper.“Team Duck! I’ll tell you what Fredi, you can’t make this up. We are team Release Recovery and team Duck, Mario and Fredi, and… WRINKLE… aaannnddd WRINKLE… ain’t nothing’ gonna stop us now…”This here last bit was from that old Starship Song, blarin' outta the headphones of some spry eighty-year-old lady who was power walkin' past us like a bat outta hell, using one of them Freedom HurryCanes with that three-legged contraption at the bottom. We all just let them words sink in and kept on trudgin' forward. This here ol' gal had done pinned a sign on the back of her racin' gear, claimin' ""This is my 50th Marathon and my Birthday! Give me a Happy 86!"" Looked like a real attention-seeker, if ya ask me – all showin' off and seekin' the limelight. But reckon it makes me wonder, ain't I just a wee two-year-old and this here's already my second marathon? Now, ain't that a hoot and a holler? Anyways, the music came blarin’ outa her headphones like so:Standin' here beside you…Want so much to give you…This love in my heart---that I'm feeling for you…Let 'em say we're crazy…I don't care about Thhhaattt…Put your hand in my hand…Baby, don't ever look Baaackkkkk…Let the world around us…Just fall Ah-paaarrrtt…Baby, we can make it…If we're heart to heartttttt…I ain't gonna fib, it sure did give us a good ol' boost and perked up our spirits right proper. And right at that moment, we hit a downhill stretch and rolled on into Central Park. The edges of the park were still lined with folks, cheerin' us on, steppin' onto the course and lettin' out whoops and hollers. And just as we set foot in the Park, the whole Team Release Recovery bunch was there, ready to run us to the finish line. I swear, there must've been a good dozen of 'em, and let me tell ya, they sure lifted our spirits high.But as we got to that last mile, I was downright achin'. My duck feet were stinging and burnin' from that pavement and all them sticky cups diggin' into the webbin' of my toes. My noggin felt like it was ablaze from all the pushin', and my feathers were all damp and clammy, my breath comin' out in these long, raspy wheezes. I was gettin' light-headed, and even after munchin' on a few grapes and my all-time fave, French Fries, I still had a hankerin'. I fluffed and flapped my wings. And I looked over at Fredi, her pushin' that walker, her head hangin' low, and letting out them slow, grunt-like sounds. So I gave her a couple weks and quacks, just to say, ""Keep on goin'! We're almost there!""Ambulance lights were sparklin' up ahead. There was a runner down, collapsed, grimacin' in pain, all bent and crumpled right there on the pavement, with the med folks tendin' to her. There was a whole ruckus goin' on, folks hollerin' and ringin' them cowbells like there was no tomorrow.And as we made that final turn on Columbus Circle, we laid eyes on the finish line up ahead. Not too far behind us, them chaser trucks were tidyin' up the path as we went along. But what captured our attention was that blue finish line, off in the distance, and them arches markin' the end of the race. Up above, there was that big ol' catwalk, and a giant digital screen displayin' videos of folks crossin' that finish line, for all to see. The announcer was screaming out, “Coming in now are our last finishers of the day, Fredi and Mario and Wrrrinnkkkllleee the Duck!”It was somethin' real special for me to be runnin' alongside this bunch, more than a dozen strong. I never had me a proper crew or a flock to stick with in a good ol' paddlin'. Reckon that's why I was always so fleet of foot. My adoptive parents, Justin and Joyce, they hatched me from a batch of eggs they got hold of, and I happened to be egg number five. That's why my race bib read ""Wrinkle #5.""“I’m not gonna lose to a duck, I’m not gonna lose to a duck,” a stocky fella with muscles poppin' out and a belly like a boulder—a proper gym bro—muttered as he stumbled on by us.“Mr. Duck-Duck-Goose comin’ trhough!!” hollered one of them volunteers as I shuffled on past.I glanced back at Fredi, and her face lit right up, seein' that we were just 'bout there.Side-to-side head bobbing and shakin’ my tail feather means I’m happy. I call back and bark to Fredi to catch up, “bup-bah, bup-bup, BAAaahhh… Let’s keep it mooovin’.”We’re really pushing now, come on Fredi, “qwha-qwha-qwha-QWHA-QWHA-qwha-qwha… Let’s goooooo!”I was 'bout to make my dash for that finish line myself, just a couple strides away, when I glanced back and caught sight of Fredi strugglin'. Didn't want to end up DFL – y'know, ""Dead F**king Last,"" for y’all non-runner folks.But I eased off and Fredi and I, we crossed the finish line together, side by side, right along with the whole Release Recovery team, Mario, and Justin, all in tow.As we stepped across that finish line, they handed me my medal, finally! And lookin' back, I spotted Fredi in a tight hug with Mario, tears rollin' down her cheeks onto his shoulder, holdin' their medals high for a snapshot. They waved me over, Justin liftin' me up, the three of us, medals in hand – Finishers.I reckon being First Duck was enough on its own, even if I did come DFL. But more importantly, I made me a friend that day.
","August 16, 2023 04:39","[[{'Nina Herbst': 'Lol! Great duckin’ story, Jonathan! I had to stop a few times and say wait, this is a duck!! \nAn inspirational story, with humor throughout!', 'time': '14:11 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Nina!!', 'time': '18:03 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Nina!!', 'time': '18:03 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'When I can SEE a story playing out in my mind like a movie, that’s great, honest writing, even with or maybe especially because of the fantastic element. Loved the tone and pace and emotions. Nice, nice work!', 'time': '15:24 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Martin!!', 'time': '21:24 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Martin!!', 'time': '21:24 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Just knew it had to be true. So nice Reedsy gave you the perfect prompt to share this with us. Precious and congrats on the running.', 'time': '16:52 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '17:07 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '17:07 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': ""This one is a true story!  More or less, lol.\n\nI run the NYC Marathon every year.  Year before last I'm at about mile 16 or 17 and I look over and I'm running next to a duck!  Later on I hunted down the story of this duck and have been following Wrinkle ever since.\n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUMqL5vx2rQ\n\nhttps://petapixel.com/2021/11/15/duck-runs-the-nyc-marathon-wearing-webbed-running-shoes/\n\nhttps://pavementpieces.com/the-last-runner-of-the-2021-nyc-marathon/\n\nhttps://nypost.com/2021/11/08/i-was-the-last-person-to-cross-the-2021-nyc-..."", 'time': '04:42 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,ddv9qe,Pet Advice,Chris Campbell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ddv9qe/,/short-story/ddv9qe/,Fluff,0,"['Funny', 'Friendship', 'Fiction']",16 likes,"
“Who’s a beautiful boy, then? Yes, you are, yes, yes, yes. Daddy loves you. Yes, he does. Look at those beautiful eyes and pretty little nose. You want Daddy to scratch under your chin? There, you like that, don’t you.”Watching this outpouring of love between animal and human, the two men perched several meters above the watering hole on a short cliff ledge somewhere in the Northern Territory of Australia, stood dumbfounded at the scene taking place below them.“Wotcha make of that, mate?” The bearded of the two asked.“That’s a fuckin’ new one for me,” was the reply from the cleaner-shaven of the two.“Nah, yeah. Me too. We are seeing this right, mate. Right, mate?”“Unless we’re drunk and halucinating.”“It’s ten in the mornin, mate.”“That late, already? You bring any stubbies?”“In the eski, mate.”“I’m gonna need one, coz he’s doin’ my head in, down there.”“They’re all supposed to have moved on at this time of year, aren’t they?”“Nah, yeah, mate. I think this one is his pet.”Cracking open a couple of tins of beer, the two men unfolded their camping chairs and settled in to watch the show, as the man in the water below them continued to lavish praise and love on his pet.“Roll over, Brucie. That’s a good boy. Oh, you are so adorable. You know it, don’t you. Yes, you do.”From their elevated perch, the two accidental voyeurs watched and listened to the frolicking below that made them appreciate their heritage.“You don’t get any more true blue than that, do ya, Bill.”“Yeah, nah, mate,” replied the bearded man. “You got any pets, Bazzer?”“Had a Kelpie once.”“Working dog?”“Yeah, nah. Lazy bugger. I think he was part Pekingese.”“That’s a strange combo, mate.”“Nah, yeah. I think that was on his dad’s side.”“Crikey! That must have been like climbing a mountain for a shag.”“Nah, yeah. I reckon the frisky little bugger waited till the bitch was asleep on the floor and just took advantage.”“I might have also been prone to do that in my younger years.”“Erm, I think that’s called sexual assault, mate.”“I was married at the time.”“Gotta ask permission nowadays.”“What!? To shag your wife?”“Don’t need my permission for that, mate. Just ring her up. I’m sure she’ll give you mates rates.”“Ripper, mate. Text it to me.”“If I didn’t feed him on time, he’d take a shit on my bed – whether I was in it or not.”“Who did?”“The Kelpie, mate. Keep up with the topic, won’t-cha?”“Sorry, just looking at that fella below. He looks like he’s wearin’ Budgie Smugglers.”“Nah, yeah. If he had the squids, it’d be worse.”“Erm… Oh, the dog! Right, sorry, mate. What did you do to stop him shittin’ in your bed?”“I learned to fuckin’ feed him on time, mate.”“You kept him, then?”“Yeah, nah. The ex-missus took him in the divorce, but he ran off one day, chasing some sausage dog across the park and disappeared.”“Well, at least you didn’t have to wake up with dog shit all over you, anymore.”“Nah, yeah. mate. Still, I miss that little poopin’ pooch.”“What do you think that fella down there feeds his pet?”“I reckon he finds his own tucker, mate.”“I bet he doesn’t shit in his owner’s bed.”“Yeah, nah, mate. He don’t really look the cuddly type you’d invite onto your covers, anyway.”“Skin deep, mate.”“Howzat?”“Beauty. It’s all in the way you perceive things. It’s in the beholder. Pets, cars, women. Ever wonder why some men marry ugly women?”“So no-one else will fuck ‘em, mate.”“Fair point.”“I’ve never gone to bed with an ugly woman.”“Yeah?”“Nah, yeah, mate. Woke up with a few, though.”“The beer goggles syndrome.”“Too right, mate. But it’s a fact that they don’t make people prettier to look at. Nah, mate, drinking excessive beer doesn’t make people look more attractive.”“Nah?”“Yeah, nah, mate. It just makes you less selective, and at 2AM in the morning, time is of the essence. I was travellin’ across country one time, when I stopped and checked into a country town hotel with a pub attached to it. At 10 o’clock in the evening, it was packed to the rafters at a ratio of three-to-one. For every woman, there was about three men. Come 2AM, that ratio was up to five-to-one and when everyone got kicked out for the night, it was like watching the footrace for that French car race. You know, where they have to run and jump into their cars, then drive for twenty-four hours.”“Le Mans, mate.”“Yeah, that’s the one. I reckon them country people live life to the fullest. You talk about beer goggles. There was a few of those country girls that would have won first prize in a heifer contest, but that didn’t matter at all to the sheep farmers taking ‘em home on their tractors. There was one sad dejected Ocker, who leapt naked onto the back of a grazing alpaca in a nearby field and went on the ride of his life, until the alpaca threw him off. That was as close to any warm fuzzy contact he got that night.”“I had a pet alpaca once, Bazzer. Bought him from an alpaca farm. Well, I bought him a mate as well, so he wouldn’t get bored. Trouble was that every time I tried to get close to pet him, his mate would charge at me and spit on me.”“Jealous type, was he?”“I named him Pooftah.”“No wonder he spat at ya. What’d you name the other one?”“Bender.”“Is that not a bit bigoted and anti LGBT?”“What’s LGBT, mate?”“Stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans.”“So, if someone asks one of those people their preference, they just answer with a letter instead of the word?”“Yeah, nah, mate. You can’t ask them that, no more.”“Then, they need to have a more diverse selection of dunnies in the pubs, then, mate.”“What, like Mens, Womens, Gays, Lesbians, and all that?”“Nah, yeah, mate.”“Yeah, but which ones get the urinals?”“Did you know, they’ve got ‘em for women, now.”“Git fucked! They can piss standing up, now?”“Nah, yeah, mate. Got ‘em over in Germany. Prevents any contact with the porcelain. More hygienic, they say.”“Whatever next, mate. Thing is, I like a bit of a sit-down in the morning. Keeps the splashes off the floor.”“Ya Sheila.”“You should try it, mate. It’s liberating. Easier on your back, as well.”Suddenly, a huge splash drew their attention back to the watering hole below – where the loving pet owner appeared to be in a bit of distress.“Take a squizz at that, mate,” said Bazzer.“Not so cute and cuddly now, is he.”“Why anyone would want a Croc for a pet, beats me.”“Nah, yeah, mate. He looks as mad as a cut snake.”“Nah, yeah, mate. That croc’s spewin’ as well.”“I was talkin’ about the croc, mate.”“Oh? Nah, yeah, mate. I see what you mean. I reckon he forgot to feed his little precious pet.”“Looks like it’s feeding time now, mate.”“Reckon he’ll be looking for a new owner, then. You know, his next meal ticket?”“Nah, yeah. I see what you did there, mate. Should we do something to help?”“Not unless you want to be dessert.”“Nah, yeah. Good point, mate.”“Looks like the pet owner’s chucking a wobbly and fighting back. Nah, my mistake. That was the croc doing his death roll.”“Who in their right mind would want a croc as a pet?”“Clowns wearing budgie smugglers, I reckon.”“Nah, yeah, mate. Chuck us another stubby, there, would ya?”“Here ya go.”“Good on ya.”“You reckon we should call the park ranger?”“Nah, yeah, mate. Once that croc has shit out his owner, someone will have to identify the remains.”“Let’s hope his budgie smugglers survive the journey, then.”“Why’s that, mate?”“They looked a unique design. Someone will recognise ‘em.”“Too right, mate. Too right. Cheers…! So, getting back to having pets. What’s your best advice on what to get?”“Something furry and cuddly that won’t fuckin’ eat you in your sleep.”“So, no crinkly crocs, then?”“Only on your feet, mate. Only on your feet.”“Cheers, mate.”“No worries, mate. Lovely up here this time of year, ain’t it…”
","August 18, 2023 06:32","[[{'Delbert Griffith': ""Freakin' hilarious, my friend! A cautionary tale about trying to interfere with the natural order of things. From odd swimwear to pet crocs to riding alpacas, we are informed of the dangers of doing things that we were not meant to do. Human, amirite? LOL\n\nThe humor was off the charts, Chris. I've said it before: your comedy writing is the best. Although not an expert on Aussie slang, this all sounded genuine. Your dialogue is fantastic, and your scenarios are terrifically surreal. The modern-day equivalent of watching gladiators in the aren..."", 'time': '09:45 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Delbert,\nThank you so much for the great feedback and wonderful compliments. This was my third piece for the week and it took only two hours to write, so I was hoping the comedy shone through.\nSo glad you liked it.', 'time': '16:40 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Delbert,\nThank you so much for the great feedback and wonderful compliments. This was my third piece for the week and it took only two hours to write, so I was hoping the comedy shone through.\nSo glad you liked it.', 'time': '16:40 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Chris,\nOh what a bunch of well natured fools we are! Of course it’s easy to presume the creatures of the world love us and will only be kind to us, but the reality of nature can be much crueler. As always, your dialogue pieces are thoroughly impressive and the Aussie accent was masterfully done. I loved this story!!', 'time': '22:20 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Amanda.\nThe reality of nature witnessed by two clowns numb to the violence of life. I blame social media. 🤔', 'time': '04:55 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Amanda.\nThe reality of nature witnessed by two clowns numb to the violence of life. I blame social media. 🤔', 'time': '04:55 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Two hours worth of gold. Great comedy.\n\nThanks for liking my donut story.\n\nThis week's will be a thank you letter to Killer Nashville for giving me a medal in the best western category for the Claymore award!!!"", 'time': '03:21 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Mary, and congrats on your medal.', 'time': '04:17 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Mary, and congrats on your medal.', 'time': '04:17 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Haha, yeah nah, love a good Aussie story. Message here, don’t mess with crocs, don’t wear budgie smugglers and never at anytime come between an alpaca and its mate. That’s three very dangerous combos in one story! Great work.', 'time': '08:34 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Michel.\nThis was my third story and my own personal challenge to write three stories this week. Managed to complete this one in two hours. \nThanks for reading it.', 'time': '08:43 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Michel.\nThis was my third story and my own personal challenge to write three stories this week. Managed to complete this one in two hours. \nThanks for reading it.', 'time': '08:43 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,do13aw,My Friend Carmen,Kevin Marlow,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/do13aw/,/short-story/do13aw/,Fluff,0,"['Contemporary', 'Creative Nonfiction', 'Friendship']",15 likes,"
Although because of my age, you can't tell, I'm a chocolate point, not a blue point or orange-ass Abyssinian like those turned-nosed bitches from the east side insist on being ruled by. Being generic isn't always bad. At least the beasts don't expect a lot if you are average. If one can fake normal you can coast through the teen years like a boss even though you are missing your gonads and only means of self-defense.I digress. This lame bipedal monkey fish signed some shit and put a box of gravel next to the toilet and tried to tell me what to do. I tried to ignore him for six weeks. He didn't realize I was ignoring him until I copped a squat on his pillow. Nothing like a straight-up piss to have your nostrils tell you where you stand in the world. I wasn't being a dick, even though they let me keep that part.He finally started talking to me instead of pointing and shouting like a peacock with ADHD. It was interesting how his mouth could move for hours on end yet, nothing of substance seemed to birth itself. He's not a dummy. He just lacked something, something I was confident I could give him.We have a mandate, our kind. Living creatures come into this world lacking a basic empathy for other living things. Even if you are born a jellyfish, you assume it is your right to absorb as many sardines as your metabolism will allow. Have you ever tried to hold a conversation with a jellyfish or anemone? BORING! They float through their world, consuming indiscriminately, dare I say like a Westerner? Again I digress.I hope you are still with me. Anyway, this dude, yes I said dude, fed and watered me. He never kicked my tail and told me to play outside. Thank you, whatever your name was. The only time I went outside, some rough character, missing a piece of an ear, tried to recruit me for some kind of fertility ritual. When I saw the fetish chicks that were hanging around this critter, I had one thought, No Thanks!Which brings me to the current conflict. Not long after my supposed, 'legal adoption' the Prince, I shall call him, met Someone. I'm sorry if this seems snarky. I'm a mellow fellow, with no snark at all. This bipedal human vacuum cleaner sucked up whatever we had.I'm not sure you can imagine this, He and it made two more of themselves. They are such narcissistic megalomaniacs, they thought the world wanted more of them. I befriended the oldest creature spawn. He loved me so much that he decided to pollute his life with feline DNA once he had a studio apartment of his own. Victory!I'm going sideways with this narrative again. Why would a well-intentioned adult adopt a wild prairie king snake? I had to chase the damn thing out an open window when it escaped its enclosure. He never suspected that I ran the serpent off, yet if I hadn't I would have had to eat the damn thing! For the life of me, I have trouble with hotdogs and brats at picnics, if the thing was still moving. ARGH!So, these things the other birthed kept growing. Dear god, the way they fed the things. I tried to stay out of the way. Bipedal humanoids grow like weeds in ditches. I couldn't imagine a Bengal Tiger putting on weight the way that human children do. Yet it is reciprocal, they would eat humans as well. Again, I digress.Honestly, I'm trying to be honest here, I tried to mind my business and age with some grace. One of the 'children' as they were called took a shine to me and often hugged me like a plastic animal. I couldn't bring myself to bite him as I did the rude Grandpa that mistook me for a dog. Children need respect like animals. If you don't understand what we are just fucking IGNORE US!It seems a bit premature to bring up old age, but damn those kids made me seem old. I squealed when they hoisted me from the floor. I never would bite a child though. Adults knew better, I would nail a grown person in a second.The wasting came on gradually. He hadn't taken me to the veterinarian in years, yet I lost weight and started barfing perfectly good kibble onto the concrete. We both knew something was wrong with me. The nice lady mentioned thyroid disease at the Vet and prescribed me a single pill.Dad sticking a finger down your throat isn't exactly a happily ever after, yet it took away the nausea. No one besides him had the stones to do it for me. Felines aren't born with the ability to swallow pills and not many male humans have the compassion to administer medicine to a dependent animal. This is the point when I realized over the last eighteen years that the man loved me. He cared.It was the Christmas Eve of our final year in the country cottage when something hit me. It was midnight and I heard Dad and Mom laying out the toys, so the boys could come running in that Christmas morning and tear into their presents with abandon. I couldn't stop it. I had a stroke. The whole left side of my body went numb It was unbearable. I flopped and kicked, unable to control my body, I howled for hours on the floor of the basement, unable to move one side of my body. He came right away, worry creasing his brow. I hollered and he cried, unable to do anything for me.All Christmas Day I fought death in the basement as they tried to celebrate. I remember the talks about taking me to the vet on Christmas Day. After a day I was able to sit up without falling over. He decided to take me to the Vet and I rode in the pet carrier quietly, worried my pains had ruined Christmas for everyone. The Vet Lady was mad, she asked why he hadn't called.“What do you want to do? You have an 18-year-old cat. Do you want me to give him more medicine? How much more are you willing to watch Carmen suffer?""With that, he gave me one last hug and nodded to the veterinarian.“You made the right choice.” I wasn't sure if I said it, or she did or we both did at the same time.
","August 17, 2023 02:34","[[{'Lily Finch': 'Kevin, such a true rendering of how cats might see adults and human children. \nI enjoyed the use of the first-person narration for this piece. It really hit the message of the story home. Well done. \nSpeaking from a perspective of someone who had an 18+ year old cat that had to be put down, I could relate to the owner of this tale. I held my cat as I put her down. Best for her but sad for me. LF6', 'time': '16:13 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': 'Kudos to you for holding your friend. I was a blubbering mess and excused myself at that point. The Vet was nice and left the room to give me fifteen minutes to say goodbye. An acquaintance had them make a clay claw print of his momma kitty; I thought that was a nice touch.', 'time': '01:29 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Lily Finch': ""I have that too plus her ashes. I'm a sucker for that stuff. D)"", 'time': '01:59 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': 'Kudos to you for holding your friend. I was a blubbering mess and excused myself at that point. The Vet was nice and left the room to give me fifteen minutes to say goodbye. An acquaintance had them make a clay claw print of his momma kitty; I thought that was a nice touch.', 'time': '01:29 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Lily Finch': ""I have that too plus her ashes. I'm a sucker for that stuff. D)"", 'time': '01:59 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Lily Finch': ""I have that too plus her ashes. I'm a sucker for that stuff. D)"", 'time': '01:59 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Really nice story Kevin. I like how the attitude of (Carmen?) changes as time passes and she mellows with age. Very good insights into how cats must see us also!', 'time': '07:51 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'David Sweet': ""A sad,  but touching tale. You captured the essence of a feline's perspective with great accuracy. There is a true difference between CAT and DOG people. I'm sorry for your loss as I saw it was non-fiction."", 'time': '12:56 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': 'Thanks. I hoped to capture the snarky, aloof nature of our feline companions.', 'time': '23:33 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': 'Thanks. I hoped to capture the snarky, aloof nature of our feline companions.', 'time': '23:33 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,5z7k6h,Sandpaper Kisses.,Judith Jerde,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5z7k6h/,/short-story/5z7k6h/,Fluff,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction']",15 likes,"
Language alert- swearing.My favorite dreams are those where I’m flying. They give me a sense of control and are exhilarating but tend to be in short fragments, and before long, the dream’s landscape has shifted, and it moves off in an alternate direction. Let me preface this next part by saying I am only thirty-one, but sadly the older I get, the less I experience them. There’s a message in there somewhere. Could it be that as we age, we feel less freedom from the constraints of life, and with that comes an acceptance that we have little to no control over our journey?  Or is it that we lose our capacity to imagine the impossible?The dream in this tale doesn't fit any of the usual patterns. It’s simultaneously real yet contrarily surreal.  A dreamscape I often revisited in recent weeks, or perhaps it revisited me in the way of a premonition of something to come. Whichever way it was, the sequence of events unfolded similarly and ended as a fluffy orange tail disappeared in the mist. I attributed the haunting nocturnal stirrings to losing my beautiful cat and gold statuette—Oscar. The loss of my little buddy of twenty-one years occurred a short time before their onset. I missed his furry hugs and sandpaper kisses. It was so difficult to accept that Oscar no longer existed in my life when the memories of him were everywhere. There remained after this peculiar dream an inescapable feeling that I was being drawn back again and again to the dark street, where fog came out of nowhere, where I felt mired in quicksand as I tried to catch an elusive tail. It ended in the same way, leaving me wanting to see what was attached to the orange tail fading from view around what looked like the dark corner of a building. When I think about it, what is the dream state but a chemical reaction in the brain’s neurotransmitters that create mysterious, disjointed scenarios? We find ourselves out of nowhere, transported by the unconscious mind and dropped in the middle of a scene already in progress.In this instance, the dreamscape paralleled my reality in many ways. Grieving, even for a pet, leaves one weighted down, lost in brain fog, looking outside oneself for something, a new direction, some hope. Not many people in my circle of friends and acquaintances or even family understood. Close friends would mutter some sort of something about knowing how I felt. Family members expressed the usual obligatory concerns. Others acknowledge the loss by saying, “It was just a cat; you can get another one.” Yeah, right, I thought. It’s just a leg. You can always get another one. But I supposed that might be a little harsh and politically incorrect. Lyrics from a favorite Prince tune conveyed best how I felt; “It’s been so lonely without you here, like a bird without a song.” Losing a beloved presence in our life is one of our most challenging experiences. It makes sense our minds would use the subconscious as a vehicle for working through grief and the ensuing struggle to reach acceptance. On one morning recently, I hurried to dress for work, donned a winter coat, and tucked my blonde bob under a stocking cap. It’s several blocks from my house to the Home and Commercial Architectural Design firm where I work. As I walked, light snow began to fall, and before long, it covered the sidewalk and boulevard. Along the way, colorful lights adorned the small boutiques and shops for the holiday season. I stopped briefly to watch a Christmas train in a shop window circling a snow-covered village. There were horse-drawn carriages carrying holiday shoppers along the cobblestone streets, and I could almost imagine the excitement that filled the air.The owners were likely hoping for more foot traffic this year. The unfortunate truth is that buyers like the convenience of online shopping, and soon, drones will deliver orders to our doorsteps. “Ugh... Drones, nothing says Merry Christmas like a cold piece of technology knocking at the door,” I grumbled. I longed for my childhood when we rushed from store to store with the treasures we’d found. There was the sound of the bell ringers and caroling on every street.The decorations reminded me of happier holidays when my family lived nearby and the laughter as I watched Oscar knocking ornaments off the tree and chasing them around until he lost them under one piece of furniture or the other. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I told myself firmly—Emery Blake, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Save your pity party for later. I was confident tear-sickles hanging from my nose and eyelashes would not demonstrate my professionalism to clients I planned to meet for the first time that morning.It seemed like I had walked for hours and was no nearer to the office. The snow changed to thick fog as my feet grew heavy. Somehow, I found my way to a storefront, and I placed a hand on the brick facade to steady myself. The street was eerily quiet now.  Car lights were no longer visible through the thick fog, nor was there the sound of disgruntled drivers beeping their car horns as they impatiently made their way to work. I felt disoriented and a little afraid, but mostly I worried that I would be late for my day's first appointment with a very wealthy couple. They were valuable clients to my firm. How would I explain the situation to them and my boss? My heart raced as I rifled through the purse I carried for my cell phone to call the office.  Once I found it, the locked screen opened, and I anxiously commanded, “Alexa, call work,” but no matter how I contorted my lips to form the words, it was to no avail.Suddenly, the shop’s burglar alarm ripped through the dead silence that had settled around me. Paralyzed and struggling to move, I reached up to hit the snooze button on my alarm clock, as is my habit. It was then I realized that it was just a dream.  I turned off the persistent squawking of the alarm clock as I recalled arriving at the office on schedule yesterday. The firm’s valued clients were happy with my design ideas for their new home. For my diligence, I expected a nice bonus in my Christmas stocking this year. Nonetheless, I felt disappointed because the dream never reached the point where the orange tail appeared or, more precisely, disappeared. But the whole thing was an odd departure from my usual dreams of late, I thought. “I need a strong cup of coffee,” I said aloud, even though no one was there to hear me. After sliding my feet into fuzzy warm slippers, I went downstairs and walked over to the Keurig on the kitchen counter. Of course, as happened every morning lately, I looked over at Oscar's empty bed, still on the couch where he spent most of his last days. The realization of it struck me again, and the shock felt like it did the first time.My forty-hour work week has turned into a forty-five-hour work week. Most days start with new client meetings or meetings with existing clients who wish to modify previously approved plans because they’ve changed their minds. Soon one blueprint blurred into the next on a wash, rinse, and repeat cycle.  Long before the current ramblings of my subconscious started, I’d begun to experience something similar to what researchers call an episodic dream format. I don't care what experts call them because, in my opinion, a nightmare is a perfect description. They are reminiscent of plot lines in a movie in which someone, namely me, is running for their life from an unknown person or persons pursuing them. They don't, on the face of it, relate to any one thing that occurs during the day. But in any event, I’ve concluded they are disturbing manifestations of daily stress usually associated with my work.Therefore my question is, am I to interpret these particular dreams as meaning deep down, I feel like my job is hunting me down and trying to kill me?Whatever the answer to that question is, I have, on a number of occasions, asked myself if this is what a five-year undergraduate degree in architecture and an additional three years of internship with a busy architectural agency have afforded me. Any modicum of success probably means more hours, not necessarily much more pay.One evening several days before Christmas, I stopped at a neighborhood pub after work with friends to have a glass or two of chardonnay. We sipped wine and talked about our career choices in a dimly lit booth near the bar. Soft ambient renditions of seasonal tunes mixed with the Jazzy Blues blend known as the Chicago Blues wafted over the crowd. I prefer the moody soulfulness of Southern Blues, but the Chicago Blues scene started right here in Chi-Town, and it always provides a pleasant backdrop to an evening with friends. I was anticipating a late night. So I used the Lyft App on my phone to schedule a ride earlier in the day to ensure a safe return home. Feeling a bit tipsy, I unlocked the door and stepped into my empty house, knowing my only greeting would be the echo of tomorrows that would never come, but I hoped the wine and the late hour would aid me in quickly falling asleep. But as it frequently happened since losing Oscar, a terrible feeling of loss flooded over me. I clung to my pillow, waiting for it to pass, determined not to cry.As I started down the familiar dark street as fog rolled in, billowing up from... Well, I wasn’t sure from where. I tried to hurry, but my legs couldn't support my efforts. I needed to find the corner and see what was attached to the tail once and for all. Finally, I saw in the distance a figure. It felt so close and yet unreachable. The fog dissipated, rising upward, dispersing like smoke from a burning cigarette. In doing so, it left a slightly hazy effect around the outline of the red-orange image. As the fog lifted, I could see the street in front of me more clearly. The figure pivoted to face me, and I recognized it as a fluffy reddish-orange cat with the most startlingly Amber eyes staring back at me. A white patch ran from the tip of the nose over one eye to the ear on one side of his face. I tried to call out, hoping to coax him closer, But the dream started to vanish, not all at once but in slow motion, like a puzzle, lifting and floating in midair, as the pieces separate, disseminating in all directions until they’re gone from view. Sometime later, I opened my eyes, and I swear what happened next is true. What felt to me like a tiny spirit animal, a kitten possibly, jumped on the bed. I felt the imprints of its paws pressing the bedding to my flesh as it moved decisively across the bed and pounced on my shoulder. I could feel the weight of it resting there. I wasn’t afraid; however, I held my breath, not wanting to move for fear of scaring it away. At the time, I knew it wasn't Oscar, although I’d caught glimpses of him now and then a few days after he died, and I still feel strongly that his spirit lingers with me and will for a very long time.Christmas Eve this year was like most other work days at the office. Year-end projects required finalizing for building to start after the new year. Following a small celebration in one of the large conference rooms, most of the office was cleared out by noon, except for a few architects who had blueprints to rerun through computer programs for final checks on dimensions, measurements, and design accuracy. By one o’clock, the rest of us wished each other a happy holiday as we exited the building. On my way home, I stopped for a few last-minute gift purchases in the Little boutiques not far from the row house where I’ve lived for the past three years.I didn’t have any plans for the evening, but I planned to have Christmas Day brunch with my parents. They flew in from their retirement home in Taos, New Mexico, that afternoon. They’ve made plans to spend the evening with old friends, celebrating Christmas and the New Year. It was a good time for them to catch up while they were in town. While I pondered my parent’s priorities, I looked out the window at houses up and down the block decorated with festive displays of Christmas lights. I decided, in my somewhat pessimistic frame of mind at the moment, that the infamous Taos Hum, which some of the area’s residents characterize as a constant low buzzing of unknown origin, must have some effect on one’s gray matter.  My mom's and dad’s in particular. Although, to be fair, I always knew the senior Blakes were artists, old hippies at heart, never allowing society’s norms to dictate their lives. “Oh well,”I sighed; my older sister, her husband, and three kids were driving in from Rockford for the gathering tomorrow following a Christmas Eve celebration with her in-laws.After I made a cup of The Good Earth Tea, I snuggled up with a soft red and green throw blanket a friend gave me last year for Christmas. It was the only thing I had that came close to holiday decorations this year. Maybe next Christmas, I will get into the spirit of the season again. Meanwhile, I settled back and watched the Yule Log on TV. This year featured kittens playing in front of the fireplace. It felt good to have four-legged friends close by, even if it was only on the TV. I made a mental list of how I might trim the house for the next Yuletides season.  Undoubtedly, I’d put up the old fake tree I had stored in the attic. For the last few Christmases, I’d promised myself that I would get a live tree next time, but life happens, and things lose their importance as time passes.     Christmas music accompanied by the crackling sounds of the Yule Log was hypnotic, lulling me to sleep. A short time later, the screeching of car brakes jolted me awake, followed by doors slamming and, finally, the car speeding away. “Wow, someone had too much Christmas cheer,” I mumble sleepily. The Yule Log was still burning brightly. The kittens were gone, presumably all tired out and tucked in tight, waiting for Santa Claus. I was finding it hard to keep my eyes open, that is, until there was what I thought sounded like a faint scratching at the window screen outside, followed by a soft meow. It wasn't entirely clear that the sounds came from outside. They might have come from the television. To make sure, I turned to check the Yule Log one more time. Just as I thought, the kittens were nowhere in sight.Curiosity got the better of me, and I went to the window to raise the Roman Shade just as a bitty tail disappeared from the window ledge. At first, I thought it must be another part of my recurring dream; to be sure it wasn’t real or that it was real, I ran to the front door to have a look around. For some reason, I started shivering uncontrollably, probably from the rush of emotions I was experiencing, as I opened the door to find a dark orange fur ball huddled on the porch. He was no more than a few weeks old. Why was he outdoors on a cold night, I wondered. Suddenly, rage flashed through me, stabbing me like a knife in the chest! “The fucking ass-ho… in the car,”I snapped crudely. The little guy eyed me calmly, and I apologized for my language. I leaned forward to kiss the tiny little rosebud of a nose and peered into his Amber eyes, just like the cat in my dream. “Is that a patch of white on the side of your face,” I asked in a squeaky high-pitched voice that sounded somewhat foreign. The kitten licked what remained of the melting snow off the pink pads on the bottom of his paws while I held him in my arms.  After a quick peek, I realized he was a she. “Whoops, my mistake,”I said, placing her on a rug while I went to the kitchen to get one of the last cans of Oscar’s favorite food.Sitting back in my chair, I watched her eat. She looked like a Main Coon, the same breed as Oscar. Only his fur was a mixture of gold tones with touches of white. From across the room, I heard a familiar sneeze. I remembered that sneeze. Oscar suffered from mild allergies from dust or something; I wasn’t sure. “I’m so sorry you’re not here, sweet Oscar. I will never forget you, little buddy,”I whispered as I felt the sting of tears filling my eyes. But my attention was averted by the little kitty’s loud purring as she wattled toward me and climbed on the chair to leap to my shoulder, settling down to wash her face. I had a feeling that it would be her favorite place. It was kismet, meant to be. Her lovely color reminded me of warmer days on this cold Christmas Eve, and I decided to name her Summer.
","August 13, 2023 22:05","[[{'Cliff Pratt': ""I'm not sure what to write about this, as I enjoyed it very much. I did wonder about the 'spirit animal' para, but I guess was meant to show the kitten getting closer. I like a strong timeline, and this one wandered a bit. I suspect that is a personal preference though. But these are minor quibbles. It's a good story."", 'time': '08:17 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Judith Jerde': 'Thank you so much for reading the story. Yes, the spirit animal is kinda of a premonition. The story is a compilation of true events and fiction.', 'time': '04:32 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Thank you so much for reading the story. Yes, the spirit animal is kinda of a premonition. The story is a compilation of true events and fiction.', 'time': '04:32 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""You very well convey that kind of aimless, hopeless frustration, that follows the loss of a pet. To be sure, it comes with any kind of grieving, but like it was pointed out in the story, losing a pet can be extra lonely as not everyone *gets* it.\n\nThe dreams are the other big feature of this story. Partly, they're prophetic. We don't know if that's true or if the kitten was just a coincidence, but they sure seem prophetic. Then there's the musing about no longer dreaming of flying - this story is a coming of age. The cat dying represents the..."", 'time': '22:33 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Judith Jerde': 'Michal, thank you so much. Your take on the story  is very fitting and thoughtful.', 'time': '14:04 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Michal, thank you so much. Your take on the story  is very fitting and thoughtful.', 'time': '14:04 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Your first paragraph pulled me in immediately. I have often wondered why I don't dream of flying anymore, and I've come to the same conclusions you had. It was a terrific way to get into the MC's inner mind and emotional state.\n\nI really liked the arc of the tale. I'm not a cat person, but you wrote this with such skill and understated pathos that my heart felt for the MC, and I was very pleased with the resolution. Not syrupy-sweet, not dark: just right. You showed great skill in writing this story. Nicely done.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '11:21 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Thank you so much.', 'time': '13:53 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': 'This seemed very personal, so pulled me in. Like the other reviewer, I sensed some truth. I loved the way it shows how the sadness associated with a single thing can affect every aspect of your life, and even your personality. \n\nNice timely (and possibly intentional) Sinead O Connor reference.\n\nReally enjoyed this. The tone was very different and was quite an immersive read after just waking up. I also love cats 😂\n\nReally nice work. Thanks', 'time': '07:30 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Judith Jerde': 'Thank you, I really appreciate you taking the time to read the story. Yes, there are some truths in it.', 'time': '13:58 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Thank you, I really appreciate you taking the time to read the story. Yes, there are some truths in it.', 'time': '13:58 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""This doesn't say so but has to be creative nonfiction. Much too real.\nI lost my 21 year-old cat,  Blacktop, on news years day last year so know exactly how you feel. We have another cat and can tell he still misses her. So sorry for your loss. Sounds like the newbie will be fun.\nPs I live the other direction from Rockford\n\nThanks for liking my story 😊"", 'time': '15:19 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Judith Jerde': 'Yes, thank you, it is based on some truth, names have been changed to protect the innocent as they say. I’m so sorry for your loss. Even\n after getting a new Kitty, it isn’t quite the same. We love each one differently and for different aspects of their personality.', 'time': '17:45 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Yes, thank you, it is based on some truth, names have been changed to protect the innocent as they say. I’m so sorry for your loss. Even\n after getting a new Kitty, it isn’t quite the same. We love each one differently and for different aspects of their personality.', 'time': '17:45 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,bptj5i,What an Odd Little Murder,Cecilia Englishby,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bptj5i/,/short-story/bptj5i/,Fluff,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction']",14 likes,"
Ben’Ji sat peacefully in his home, listening to gentle but heavy raindrops pattering against roof tiles and steamed up windows. He was in his library; it was small, only holding a few hundred books. But they were good books, and they were his.The library held a roaring fire, providing enough heat for Ben’Ji and all of his animals. On his right stood a handy cabinet containing his daily provisions; some bread, cheese, apples, dried meats and a couple of small cakes. Above that a steamy cup of coffee waited next to a large pot of more of the stuff. He felt content.Nowhere to be, nothing to do but read... I barely need to leave this room.He reached down with his left hand and rubbed Biggie’s ears. As far as dogs go, he had no pedigree; but he stood taller than a wolf, with dark fur, rounded ears and a tongue that never stopped lolling his amusement. He had looked up at Ben’Ji’s touch with a sleepy gaze, yawned and slumped his head back down. It was safe to say they were the best of friends.“I know Bigs. It’s a resting day, sorry for waking you.” He gave Biggie one more scratch, as he was awake anyway, then rose.The rain was running rivulets down the windows towards waiting gutters leading neatly to water collection points around the cottage. Ben’Ji peered out at his neighbors’ homes. Of the two he could see in the current weather, they appeared to be as drenched as his.To his left lived the Alder family. Rain blurred the neat windows of their stone cottage as rich amber light radiated from within; the burgundy roof tiles black with saturation. To his right lived the Blackfields; their similarly drenched cottage was the smallest in the area, but they were only a young couple and had plenty of room to expand into.Ben’Ji loved his community; it was small, welcoming and everyone looked out for each other. He especially adored how none of them found his connection with animals odd… even encouraging him. They were a gentle people.He smiled at his good fortune, to have such a serene life. He turned from the window, content that all seemed well with his immediate neighbors.His two cats, a tortoise-shell named Happy, and a grey longhair named Muffin had taken his vacated seat. He considered moving them, but they looked so angelic that he dared not wake the demons they actually were.Biggie had been joined by the fawn; she’d cuddled up against his warmth with her back to him. He seemed happy for the company as one leg hung listlessly over her shoulder.Ben’Ji had only recently bonded with her and she had revealed her name to be Dapples. She was a loving thing, full of wide eyed hope and playful antics. No one was spared, not Biggie, Ben’Ji, the cats or even the Parrots in their grand open cage in the back corner; a breeding pair who often left for months at a time, but ultimately always returned to Ben’Ji and the comfort of his home.Thankfully, the rain had lulled Dapples and all her companions into peaceful slumber. Only Ben’Ji remained awake to watch over them all. He knew they were at peace in his company, he could sense it, just like he sensed their names sometimes.If I could just figure out more about my gift… then perhaps one day I could speak with them too! Having liberally topped up his waiting cup of coffee with cream and sugar; he took a long sip, relishing the bitter-sweet magic of caffeine pulsing through his veins.It was as he closed his eyes to linger in the rejuvenating sensation that he heard a tapping coming from one of the windows. He flicked open his eyes and turned his head left, keeping his body still. Ben’Ji couldn’t see anything at all, but knew it had come from that window.Tap Tap Tap. His body finally decided to join the moment and it carried him closer. He peered low and squinted, right on the sill sat two crows, miserably wet and staring right at him.He opened the window carefully and stood back. The bigger one on the left squawked at him menacingly; it stepped in with obvious hesitation, the second one right at his side.“Oh! There are three of you!” Ben’Ji said, surprised he had missed it. A hatchling was bundled between them, no more than a few days old; his eyes still blue and his beak still a pale shade of pink.The big one squawked again, as did the smaller one, still staring at him.Ben’Ji asked in kindly tones. “What do you want of me?”He opened himself to them and waited for their mental barrage of fuzzy feelings, intentions and wants; chaotic little thoughts he’d have to sift through and hope he understood their meaning.“He is yours till he decides he is not.” The bigger one said first...The father.“Till that day… we will be watching.” The mother added.Their words had reached him clearly; they were not spoken, but they were vividly implied via their minds. Before he could ask them how they did it, they had hopped back onto the exposed sill of the window and flown off into the rain.Ben’Ji looked down and the single most adorable set of blue eyes pierced his soul. His new charge made a pitiful caw as he was scooped up.Ben’Ji ran to a shelf and emptied a container holding papers and tat, pulled some straw from his kindling supplies and stuffed it in the box. He placed it under the glow of a tall lamp then placed the delicate chick inside.He knew the hatchling was safe in any room that contained Biggie and ran to the kitchen. He made a quick porridge with oats, nuts and some meat. When he was satisfied it was all soft and digestible, he took a small amount, and a dish of water and a towel back to the library. The hatchling hadn’t moved, but Biggie had; he had dutifully watched over the little crow in Ben’Ji’s absence.As he approached the guardian and his ward, he was already blowing on a small amount of porridge between his fingers; then rolled the soft paste into a tiny worm-like shape. Ben’Ji presented his cooking to the petite ball of downy-black feathers. His head wobbled with mild interest; then he cawed and held his beak open wide. Ben’Ji dropped the morsel in his beak and he gulped it down greedily. They remained there, hanging in suspension as though the chick was considering the quality of his new sustenance, then opened his beak wide and screamed for more.Ben’Ji laughed out loud, surprising even himself. “I am so glad you want to eat!”He rolled up another porridge worm and fed him once more. It was as he served him his fifth morsel that the parrots came to take a closer look; a sense from them told Ben’Ji that he shouldn’t feed the young thing too much... that it should instead be little but often. He put the porridge aside for later and placed the water before the hatchling. He looked at the dish with a wobble; then held his screaming beak aloft once more.“Hmmm. You may need some help on this little crow.” He patted his pockets and pulled out a clean handkerchief. “Yes… that will be your temporary name; Little Crow.”He cut a small strip and dipped it in the dish, then bundled it lightly and held it over the tiny, waiting beak, squeezing the water out gently. It worked, but he didn’t seem to like it much.He looked at the parrots for help… he felt something vague about soaking the hatchling’s food and decided to try it at the next meal.He took one of his hot-rocks from the fire, wrapped it in the towel and placed it in a far corner of the box for warmth. Little Crow’s head lolled contentedly and settled onto his shoulders… Ben’Ji’s heart filled with love.Biggie and the fawn had settled on one side of the box and Ben’Ji pulled a chair up on the other. He took the moment of silence to grab a book detailing the care of young birds from a shelf and sat down at last. The book lay closed in his lap for a moment; his thoughts drifting back to the moment that had started with a Tap Tap Tapping on a window.“They spoke to me!” He exclaimed, causing Biggies ears to twitch. “I heard them with my mind, but they used words… my words in my language.” He chuckled; his voice a little more contained, and flipped to the first page of the waiting book.Twenty minutes later, his new companion stirred and voiced his hunger to the entire room.Within the first month Little Crow had fledged and was finding his wings. He had also started eating on his own, though he still required some hand-feeding. Ben’Ji supplemented his diet with a whole variety of foods; including eggs, bread, all his meat-scraps and plenty of raw fruit and vegetables.Most of summer they spent in the sunshine; The Blackfields had come for lunch a few times, and on one such afternoon they had decided a picnic in the fresh air with all the animals would be the best way to spend the day.Little Crow was hopping along a low branch Ben’Ji had placed him on; dancing a skip-hop-flap rhythm along it, cawing loudly each time his wings caught the wind.Aliana Blackfield was looking up at him with a sweet smile on her young face. “I never considered crows endearing before, but I have to admit, watching him like this is making me reconsider my opinion.”“They are rather remarkable.” Ben’Ji admitted. Biggie’s head lay on his lap, begging sweetly for scraps. “Little Crow’s proven very clever. I was brushing his feathers the other day. When considered the task complete, I put the brush down to continue reading.” The smile on Ben’Ji’s face incited replies in kind from his audience of two. “He obviously didn’t think so though, so he hopped over to the table, grabbed his brush and hopped back to place it in my hand.”They were all laughing at the audacity and brilliance of it all.“That carried on for half an hour!”Little Crow joined their laughter with a long and improvised Croo.“Why is it that you still call him Little Crow?” Aliana asked kindly.“He’s not told me what his name is yet.” He shrugged at his own words. “The parrots are the same. I still call them Lord and Lady… and they rarely respond.” Ben’Ji chortled absently. “I am starting to suspect birds either don’t have names, or they are very private and unwilling to share.”“You speak as though you have a gift… do you hear their thoughts?” Aliana had raised an eyebrow.“Well, it is a gift, but it’s not quite like that. I get a sense of their thoughts. Like distant judgement each time they watch me do something idiotic.” Ben’Ji wasn’t sure how else to explain it, and he didn’t want to tell them about Little Crow’s parents actually talking to him.Danyal Blackfield, a quiet and thoughtful man, ventured his opinion. “There are all sorts of magic in the world. Life Mages are rare, but they can commune with the other species that share our world. I think you perhaps have a small touch of this gift.”Ben’Ji smiled at the thought, his soul glowing from within. It made him feel bigger somehow. “I would love for that to be true.”Danyal continued softly. “My mother always used to tell me that Corvids were akin to Dragons…” He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “She also said their memories were long, and never to cross them.” He shrugged and smiled awkwardly, dropping the air of mystery “Keep loving him as you are, and you may yet learn his name.”“Thank you. “Ben’Ji replied. Rumor had it that the Blackfields were very familiar with Dragons, but he never considered it enough of his business to pry.Something shifted in his peripheral vision and he turned his head. Little Crow had silently descended the tree to take a seat on Danyal’s knee; without being asked he had started stroking Little Crow’s head as though they had always known each other.Ben’Ji took great comfort from the scene, and opened another bottle of wine to share between them all.Three months into life, Little Crow was a solid flyer, eater and drinker; though he still occasionally enjoyed being fed the odd morsel. Despite having many options, he spent most of his time on Ben’Ji’s shoulder. Sometimes he’d fly off for a while, but would always return with gifts; lint, coins and brightly colored leaves were presented with grandiose style on each occasion. Ben’Ji had provided plenty of gifts of his own in return but, had to present them as puzzles for Little Crow to solve. Any gifts simply handed to him usually just ended up in his water bowl.“I think you are old enough for a naming ceremony.” Ben’Ji was looking at his sacred charge; he rattled a long note in reply.They stepped outside; and a warm autumnal day met them in peace. The horizon was dotted with dark green evergreens contrasting brightly against the yellows, oranges and reds of the surrounding deciduous treeline. It was breath-taking and inviting and he felt it was a perfect day to hear another living being’s name for the first time.Ben’Ji referred to what he did as a ceremony, but it was anything quite so fancy. He’d sit down with his subject, and dip away into a trance-like state of awareness. He could never tell if he had gotten it right until he did. They had to return the gesture; they had to want to connect as well.Ben’Ji and Little Crow sat there for hours. The wind rustled dry leaves listlessly between browning grass stems as he hopped about; first collecting them, then clicking in annoyance each time the wind swept them away.Biggie had joined them, as had Happy, Muffin, the Parrots and the now nearly grown Dapples.Ben’Ji could feel their minds and identities drifting within his awareness.Biggie loved being so big, his name fell out of him wherever he went. The cats had been too traumatized to remember their names, and had asked Ben’Ji to choose for them. He’d presented options till he was convinced they were pleased. Dapples had been named by her mother and missed her dearly; when Ben’Ji asked, she had been pleased to share it with him.As for the Parrots…they just mocked his efforts with affection; they had already mated when they found the sanctuary of his home. They shared more with each other than anyone else.He spoke aloud without disturbing his trance. “Are birds nameless?”“No, our names hold meaning… and great power.” It was little Crow!Ben’Ji was delighted. “How is it that I can hear you so clearly?”“Crows know how to find and use human language. Biggie and the others can give you an idea, but I can give you my exact thoughts.” The clarity of his words resonated within Ben’Ji’s awareness.“Can you teach me?” Ben’Ji asked hopefully, feeling a little dismayed by the paltry nature of his gift.“I cannot. Right now, your gift isn’t strong enough. But it is there, and that’s what counts.” Ben’Ji sighed sadly, but smiled anyway. The orange sky turned black as an enormous murder of crows joined them, filling all the branches of the surrounding trees, making them look heavy. Their croaks and guttural coos filled the air with a macabre song.Two of them came down and Ben’Ji recognized them as Little Crow’s parents.“It was hard for us… to give our young to you.” The father spoke first. “We nearly didn’t… but our Patron wanted to be sure.” Ben’Ji had no clue what they were talking about. “Patron?”The mother replied. “Our Dragon… A Grand Life Dragon… instructed us to judge your worth.”“My worth? For what?” Ben’Ji’s confusion was only growing. He refused to permit his mind to create any possibilities.“For the next step in your journey.” Little Crow replied.  His father added. “You have passed… almost as well as a Crow would have.”Ben’Ji chuckled, feeling calmer but no less confused. “What comes next?”Little Crow cawed raucously, as though he was laughing at Ben’Ji. “Good things come to those who wait… so wait.” He oozed mystery and mischief at Ben’Ji subconsciously.“What about your name? May I know that?” Ben’Ji asked; Little Crow froze.“You may.” The collective Murder watching from above exploded into a cacophony of crow-song. Ben’Ji felt a barrage of mixed emotions.Little Crow didn’t provide it instantly; he cooed at his parents and tilted his head back to permit them to groom him.“I am named after the Great Trickster.” He said as they preened his feathers. Ben’Ji’s eyes widened with recognition.“I’m Ingo. And we all thank you for your care, Ben’Ji Kari.” Ben’Ji gasped as the weight of the name bonded Ingo to him… permanently. His spirit overflowed with gratitude at being bestowed such an honor.He considered the looming mystery; a test passed, a next step and a messenger who likes to play games.He looked up at Ingo’s family, a murder of hundreds staring back at him, waiting on his next move.“I suppose you would all enjoy some dried fish and nuts?”They accepted unanimously with the loudest and most haunting of rasp-songs.He felt light as he rose, hoping loudly within his consciousness that they would all choose to nest in his trees.
","August 18, 2023 18:57","[[{'Ronel Steyn': 'From the title I would never have guessed the murder you were referring to. I was most pleasantly surprised. Brilliant construct and development! Full and relatable characters and wonderful scenery. Well done!', 'time': '13:37 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Thank you so much. \nI had a lot of fun writing it, and I think the joy I took from the experience translated to the title as I usually decide that last.\nThe feedback and support is always very much appreciated.', 'time': '14:05 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Thank you so much. \nI had a lot of fun writing it, and I think the joy I took from the experience translated to the title as I usually decide that last.\nThe feedback and support is always very much appreciated.', 'time': '14:05 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Oh this is very very clever and really lovely. I always talk to my dog like this lol\nCaught me off guard with the title too, that was sneaky lol', 'time': '07:47 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Thank you for the great feed back Derrick.😊❤️ It is very much appreciated.\nI am delighted that you liked it, and I confess, I had a giggle to myself when the title dawned on me 🤣\nI honestly had a total blast writing this one. \nThank you again ❤️', 'time': '17:00 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""It's great when a really clever title just materializes like this. I know what you mean,I often have those little excited giggles myself when I think of something!"", 'time': '22:38 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Thank you for the great feed back Derrick.😊❤️ It is very much appreciated.\nI am delighted that you liked it, and I confess, I had a giggle to myself when the title dawned on me 🤣\nI honestly had a total blast writing this one. \nThank you again ❤️', 'time': '17:00 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""It's great when a really clever title just materializes like this. I know what you mean,I often have those little excited giggles myself when I think of something!"", 'time': '22:38 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""It's great when a really clever title just materializes like this. I know what you mean,I often have those little excited giggles myself when I think of something!"", 'time': '22:38 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Sir Enda': ""A very wholesome story and so relatable, I think most people 'talk' to their animals like this, though few would admit it lol. Excellently written."", 'time': '12:42 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Thank you so much for your lovely words, support and for reading it.\nIt is akways very much appreciated X😊😊', 'time': '20:11 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Thank you so much for your lovely words, support and for reading it.\nIt is akways very much appreciated X😊😊', 'time': '20:11 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': ""That's such a nice story! Ingo is so cute! I absolutely love it!\n\nI love the way you used the word Murder in your title, meaning a group of crows but it gives a different impression! 😁\n\nI wish I had Ben'Ji's gift!\n\nBy the way, I love your name! 'Cecilia' is such a beautiful name! It reminds me of Shakespeare, or am I thinking of Cordelia?"", 'time': '08:15 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Cecilia Englishby': ""Thank you for such heartwarming feedback 🤗\n\nIt was honestly a joy to write. My husband actually recommended that I use crows in my story. \nI adore how clever they are. ❤️\n\nAnd thank you. ☺️I don't think it's ever featured in Shakespeare.\nBut it has Latin origins and the overall etymology is pretty cool.😎\nIt means Blind btw. 😂"", 'time': '11:17 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Cecilia Englishby': ""Thank you for such heartwarming feedback 🤗\n\nIt was honestly a joy to write. My husband actually recommended that I use crows in my story. \nI adore how clever they are. ❤️\n\nAnd thank you. ☺️I don't think it's ever featured in Shakespeare.\nBut it has Latin origins and the overall etymology is pretty cool.😎\nIt means Blind btw. 😂"", 'time': '11:17 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,vi63bx,A Friend in the Dark,Paul McDermott,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vi63bx/,/short-story/vi63bx/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Suspense']",13 likes,"
 A Friend in the Dark
 
	When all was said and done, he couldn’t blame her for walking out on him. . After three months the pain was starting to ease, but that didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.
	He had no appetite, evidenced by half-finished remnants of meals bought from several fast food outlets within walking distance, all abandoned as the food turned to ashes. He thought most of the people still living in the area either couldn’t cook, or wouldn’t: what else would explain the high ratio of chippies-to-households on a council estate which was falling apart, and over half the properties were unoccupied?
	 Walking through the rubble-strewn streets of the Boot Estate at any time was about as safe as going for a stroll in one of the more hotly-contested districts of Beirut, but at this time of night he wasn’t likely to be mugged for the few coins a local wino needed to satisfy his craving for strong cider.
	It had once been an attractive part of Liverpool. When the council had offered him a tenancy on the estate, he’d thought of the neat, pleasant semis with well kept gardens he had known as a child, and thought it too good to be true.
	Sadly, ‘too good to be true’ was exactly what it had turned out to be. Seeds of jealousy, he thought to himself as he checked the security of the lock on the door and rambled aimlessly towards one of the few working streetlamps at the end of the cul-de-sac.
	“What makes you think it’s all your fault?”
	He stopped dead in his tracks. Amazingly, there were working streetlamps on both sides of the road and relatively good visibility all round, but no sign of anyone else on the street. His heart hammered a brief double-time tattoo: he felt the thunder of blood coursing more swiftly through his temples and ears as the adrenaline jolt kicked in, preparing his body for fight or flight. 
	“Relax! I’m not your enemy!”
	A shadow silently detached itself from the remnants of a hedge and coiled at his feet. He had barely had time to recognise the shape as feline before it lifted its head and speared him with a pair of eyes which were nearer to purple than blue. It was impossible to look away, even if he'd wanted to. 
	“You're too hard on yourself.”
	This thought appeared fully-formed in Phil's mind, though he sensed it hadn't arrived there by the usual route. The timbre was smooth, almost creamy: not entirely human, perhaps, but he'd never concerned himself over what a cat imbued with human speech might sound like, and had little to work with.
	“I can sense your feelings, I hear many questions. I can help, but you must trust me.”
	Go with this, Phil. It can't be happening - but it is … 
	“We agree on that! Now, I have your attention. Do I have your trust?”
	Phil parted his lips and drew a short breath, though he had no idea what to say.
	“You still need to relax – Phil.”
	His breath became a gasp of disbelief. This extraordinary feline could apparently sense or ‘read’ his personal details …
	“You don’t need to ‘voice’ what you’re thinking” the silky voice purred from some unmapped zone inside his skull “ … but if you try to relax, it will be a lot easier for both of us.”
	“How …?”
	“ … is it done? That I can’t say: for us it’s as natural as breathing. For my part, I’ve never really understood how you and your kind manage to balance on two legs without falling over!”
	This sounded so incongruous, Phil had to smile in spite of himself. He'd had few occasions to smile recently, that was certain: somehow, he sensed that was about to change.
	“That's a start! You need to lighten up: you've been far too hard on yourself the last few months.”
	“And you know this, because ...?”
	The cat raised its head sharply. Phil sensed an almost-audible throb of power as the deep purple eyes bored into his and locked there.
	“Because I am Cat. I need no better reasons.”
	Phil sensed there was much more behind this cryptic statement, but decided to file it for later study.
	“I have walked at your side for many cycles” Cat continued, “ ... and you have needed no more than a gentle nudge in the right direction from time to time. Do you know your true birth sign?”
	This apparent side-sally caught Phil wrong-footed. He opened his mouth to admit his summer birth in the sign of Cancer, but realised he was being tested. .
	“Panther” he heard himself respond. It was just as clear as if he had spoken the word aloud. “I was born under the fifth full moon of the Year of the Tiger” he added, and knew he had answered wiselyly when Cat purred full approval.
	“Strength and agility are yours, and endurance. When you chose your life-mate I was convinced you had chosen well: another cat, a kitten born in the Year of the Monkey. Like-minded, willing to run beside you, one who would follow your lead, not contest it. It seems we both erred in our judgement ... no matter! You are once again He Who Walks Alone. Will you listen this time, I wonder? And will you have the courage to understand what you must do?”
	“There’s only one way to answer that, I think.”
	“You trust me, then.”
	Not a question, nor a victory shout, but a quiet statement of fact from one who was satisfied with the answer given. Phil nodded.
	“You may continue – Cat. Though you have the advantage of me there, for you have my name, while I can only call you …”
	 “ … exactly what I am! You are not yet ready for the Learning of True Names. Few of your kind ever reach that stage, but you have come close, much closer than you realise.”
	The incongruity of the situation suddenly struck Phil. He was standing at the corner of a street on a semi-derelict estate, arguing philosophy in the middle of the night with an opinionated cat. It was enough to make him doubt his sanity.
	“Don’t! Believe me, your sanity is not to be questioned, and what is happening is very real. Trust me, follow me … or not, as you please! There are times when even One Who Walks Alone may find his path shared by another, if only for a while.”
	“It seems I have no choice – I can’t even shield my private thoughts from you!” 
	“Shielding is no great trick, but you are not ready to learn it – yet.” 
	Phil decided he had no grounds to feel insulted by Cat’s calm, measured statement. There was no intention to wound or even criticise: Cat was right. Phil considered himself reasonably intelligent, but his new companion obviously had a number of skills which were beyond any he had ever learnt. 
	“I can heal your hurt.”
	Not a boast, but another simple statement of fact. Phil straightened up, squared his shoulders and offered a formal half-bow of submission.
	“May I offer you what comforts I have in my home?”
	Cat said nothing, but nodded as gracefully as any cultured, experienced diplomat and produced a purr of clear approval which seemed alarmingly loud in the silence of the suburban estate. He stood, his jet black tail quivering, and positioned himself close to Phil’s right flank. It was apparent they were to make the short journey back to his empty house as equals, not man and beast, not Master and Servant. He supposed he ought to consider himself honoured.
	“Why do you think of your home as ‘empty’?”
	Phil had accepted for the moment the inside-your-head conversation with his unique feline interrogator, but this question was one he hadn’t anticipated. He paused in the act of taking a tin of tuna and a few other midnight snack items out of the fridge.
	""Too many memories, and nobody to share them with,"" he admitted. ""This house isn't massive, but it's too big, now I'm on my own.""
	""I can help you with that."" Cat purred.
	Phil almost dropped the tin.
	""I'm grateful, but how … ?""
	""Allow me food and shelter for a while. Trust, believe … and we shall see.""
 
	***
 
	Phil went to bed with a light heart that night, and slept soundly. When he woke, Cat was curled between his feet and the bedclothes were more or less in place.
	 ""You pass the first test: you sleep like a cat!""
	Phil stretched, arching his spine, arms above his head. As he did, he noticed Cat performing a similar wake-up routine.
	""Your first meal is the most important one of the day.""
	Phil stiffened. Breakfast, for as long as he cared to remember, had always been a cup of coffee – two, if he had time. The thought of being dictated to in this manner had the hair on his forearms rising: a heartbeat later, he realised his reaction was precisely that of a cat, raising its hackles to intimidate an adversary.
	Cat paused from his morning grooming: did he actually nod approval?
	""Remember: Trust, Believe! I can help, Phil, but you must also help yourself.""
	""I don't remember telling you my name …""
	""Your mind is open, your name in every breath you take! Now, let us eat. I promise, I will not prove difficult to please, or provide for … ""
	Cat was true to his word, or so it seemed. The remainder of the day flowed seamlessly: several times Phil felt almost as if he stood observing the interplay between Himself and his feline Mentor. In truth, the 'day' could easily have been an indeterminate number of periods of activity, separated by rest as and when required. In one period of sharp lucidity he was aware that the house had been deep-cleansed of every scrap of litter, takeaway boxes, styrofoam cups and other detritus, though he had no memory of performing the chores.
	""Inner Peace will come when you achieve a natural balance of the things in your life which really matter. Trust and believe: these are always yours to control, and never as numerous as you may think!""
	As Phil sat willing his body to relax he felt an unfamiliar euphoria of wellness suffusing his tired, aching muscles. He became aware of Cat's wordless approval as his conscious efforts began to show positive results.
	""The First step on the road is the most difficult one.""
	'Hearing' Cat's thoughts was no longer a novel experience. Phil nodded agreement, but wasn't absolutely certain if this involved actual, physical movement.
	""Do you still feel this house is empty?""
	Phil's new-found equilibrium was rocked by the unexpected question, but to his own surprise he found he could answer immediately and without a doubt.
	""No"" 
	""Then you know what the Second step on the road must be.""
	""Forgiving, but not Forgetting.""
	Had he murmured the words aloud, or was the thought so potent it had taken on an independence, a vitality of its own? The answer, he realised, was of no consequence. It was true, and the Second step on his personal road to recovery was crystal clear.
	""Forgive the hurt: but do not Forget the Good Times.""
	Cat purred intensely, louder and longer than Phil had yet heard, He stood and stretched, seeming to double in size before dissolving slowly, beginning from the tip of his upright tail. When only the mask of his muzzle and powerful, purple gaze remained, the phrase ""Trust: Believe"" floated once more across Phil's consciousness as the final vestiges of Cat's features coalesced into impossibly bright pinpricks, eyes which held steady until they winked out of existence.
	""Cat: my thanks!""
	This time Phil was certain he uttered the words aloud, though he had no audience. It didn't matter. For the first time in months, he was content to be Alone. Alone, but not Lonely. 
 
	 WordCount:  2011
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 11, 2023 17:57","[[{'Treasure Chisom-Nwosu': 'This is such an interesting story concept. I feel like you did a good job with adding a sense of normalcy to something that is definitely not normal. I loved the tone of humour as well.\n\nThe existence and essence of ‘Cat’ was done really well. By the end of the story, we’re left with many unanswered questions about how such a being came to be, but it almost doesn’t matter, because we’re satisfied with the knowledge that Cat served his purpose', 'time': '09:51 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Paul McDermott': 'My thanks for your comment. Cat is and will always be ""he who walks Alone [but is never Lonely] according to Kipling - even if you\'ve never Kippled!', 'time': '22:22 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Paul McDermott': 'My thanks for your comment. Cat is and will always be ""he who walks Alone [but is never Lonely] according to Kipling - even if you\'ve never Kippled!', 'time': '22:22 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,jzjiqm,What Happens in the Woods...,Michael Martin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jzjiqm/,/short-story/jzjiqm/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Speculative']",13 likes,"
--------------------What do you want me to do then, tell my boss to fuck off when he tells me to stay late???Damien2:37 PM --------------------You told me you were getting out of work early today. Now all of a sudden you need to stay until God knows when?!Jess2:37 PM --------------------You've GOT to be shitting me right now. Seriously, Jess? Still??Damien2:38 PM--------------------Damien noticed the swaying blonde hair approaching in his rearview mirror and wondered if Valentina would actually be as gorgeous as her profile pics suggested - or if Instagram's filters had catfished him once again. There was also the off chance that the hair belonged to some other blonde, but with only a handful of cars in the nature trail’s small gravel lot, how many of them could there feasibly be wandering near his Tesla?--------------------You know what? I don’t have time for this shit. I have to work. I’m turning off my damn phone, we’ll talk about this tonight when I get done putting food on our family’s fucking table.2:39 PMDamien --------------------As he tapped out the last few letters and hit send, Valentina’s shadow moved into the Sun’s path, dimming the car's interior. She leaned in, tapping on the window.""Hey there, Damien."" She'd told him that her family immigrated from Russia before she was born. He expected at least a hint of an accent, but there wasn't one. “I take it that’s your wife?”Any other date asking him that question would send Damien into a fit of denials and practiced lies to obfuscate the obvious. Instead, he just smiled, a bit embarrassed out of habit and somewhat unsure of how to respond. Her dating profile literally stated that she wanted discrete relationships with married men, the idea of taking what wasn’t hers a turn-on to the college beauty, so her openness shouldn't have come as a surprise. She’d even specified that she wasn’t interested in single men, telling him that she'd delete connections if she realized they were single. It all seemed too good to be true, but here she was at his driver-side door, waiting for him to get out and take her.He held his finger up, telling her to hold on a second as he shut down his phone and placed it in the glovebox. There was a reason Jess was suspicious of him, and he didn’t want to replicate it by leaving his phone on in his pocket.Stepping out of the car, he began, “yes, that was my…” before getting cut off by the sight of a large rabbit in his face, sniffing him as if Damien was cocaine and the bunny was possessed by 80's era Ozzy Osborne. “Oh, shit… I didn’t realize it was ‘bring a friend to your date’ day, or I would’ve brought my pet turtle.” He tried to reach up to pet the rabbit’s head, but it was more intent on sniffing him than allowing him to stroke the top of its head, following the path of his hand with its snout. “You have a pet turtle?? I don't remember seeing that on your profile.”“Well, I didn’t see ‘huge bunny’ on yours either, Miss Valentina.”She shrugged and laughed before adding, ""you never answered my question, by the way.”“Answered what, exactly?”“I asked if that was your wife... or are you still swiping, looking for that next discrete hookup?” He saw a glint of playfulness in her eyes, a stark difference to how Jess would look asking similar probing questions.“Getting attached already, are we? You have to at least have gone on one date before you get to become a jealous lover.”Valentina grinned. “Oh please, it’s nothing like that at all. I just prefer knowing that my date isn’t going to be interrupted by some crazy wife looking to murder me.” She sauntered, as sexily as she could muster with the rabbit in her arms, nearer to Damien before whispering in his ear, “Besides, today you’re all mine.”One corner of Damien’s lips curled upward to match her grin. “Well, if you must know, that was her. And I was just telling her I would be ‘stuck at work’ for the next couple of hours.”“Oh no, how unfortunate,” she responded with mock empathy. “Hopefully there’s something I can do to alleviate the stress from such a long day at work.” “I think we can come up with something that'll help.”“Well, let’s get out of this parking lot then you can tell me all about it.” She turned, the oversized bunny still cradled in her arms looking like a toddler carrying around her favorite oversized teddy bear. She walked towards one of the many trails that departed from the parking lot. Her walk was a bit unnatural, each step carrying her foot across the path of the opposite foot before swinging the other foot around the first. He found it endearing, that this stunning woman would be going the extra mile to turn him on. Still, her gait was clumsy and uncoordinated, the extra weight of the bunny swaying her hips further than she intended with each step. She didn’t need to do any of that, he thought. He was more than content to stare at the hips and ass she’d somehow managed to squeeze in those jeans. He wondered how long it would take to peel them back off.By the time they made it to the trail, nothing more than a small path created by hikers’ footsteps over the years, she’d given up on her exaggerated gait. He was glad; she looked sexier walking normal. He trailed behind her a few feet, content to let her lead down the small path. He’d hoped they could meet at her place, as she’d told him that she was living alone since she could never seem to keep a roommate for very long. Still, she insisted on meeting in public first, adamant that they meet at the nature trail. She said that it combined two of her biggest loves in life: nature and wilderness hikes.Damien just assumed she had a voyeurism fetish she didn't want to admit to yet and enjoyed having fun where it was possible to get caught. Her lack of actual hiking gear or attire was consistent with that hypothesis. He wondered if she’d ever actually gone on a real hike before.As they rounded the first turn that took them out of eyesight of the parking lot, Damien picked up his pace until he pulled even with Valentina. He reached over and wrapped his hand around her right hip, intending to pull her close for a kiss. When he leaned forward to bring his face to hers, he was instead met by the wet snout of the bunny. He recoiled, pulling his head back and out of reach of the rabbit and letting go of her hip.“Sorry, Obzhora doesn’t know the ‘one date minimum before getting jealous’ rule.” For the first time, Damien picked up a hint of a Russian accent as she pronounced Obzhora.“I can see that…”Damien slowed his pace to allow for her to get ahead a few feet again – and allowing him some separation from Obzhora the rabbit. He knew from his college frat days that he’d need to initiate some physical contact soon if this was going to lead to anything other than a set of sweaty work clothes and more questions than he had answers to when he got home. He'd never encountered a rabbit-wingman before, though, and was having trouble figuring out a way around the massive, furry roadblock.As he pondered his next move, her voice broke the silence. “Did you just come from work?”“Yeah,” he said as he looked down at his now-dusty loafers on the thin trail, the dust gradually accumulating on his pressed slacks the further they went. ""What gave it away?"" “I only ask because it’s still pretty early in the day. Are you going to have to go back to work?”“Oh, no, not at all. They think I’ve already gone home, that the kids had a recital or some shit.”Valentina stopped in her tracks and turned, her face was a few shades paler. “You never mentioned kids; it wasn’t on your profile either.”“Is it important? I don’t add a lot of things to my profile, it’s part of the discrete mystique you found so appealing.” Feeling like his line was a perfect setup, he leaned in again for another attempt, once again rebuffed by Obzhora’s probing snout. He sighed, considering how quickly he could - and would - ring this thing’s neck if it kept this up.“Fuck… I don’t mess around with guys who've got kids. I should’ve asked sooner.”“Whoa, whoa… that’s where you draw the line? Fucking a married man is fine, but if he’s a father, now it's a morality issue?”Valentina was shaking her head as her breaths came quicker. This was actually bothering her... but why, he wondered. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. It wasn’t because I was trying to hide it, I just didn’t realize it mattered.”Her gaze was focused ahead on nothing in particular, her mind a million miles away. She didn’t respond; in fact, she barely breathed. He was just about to ask if she was ok, but then, as quickly as it came, the storm passed from her face.“Well, what’s done is done. We can’t really go back now, can we?”Relief flooded his senses, his opportunity not lost after all. “No, I guess we can’t…” It seemed like the perfect moment for that kiss, but the bunny still hadn't received the memo. “Ok, what’s the deal with your damn bunny? Seriously... I don’t mean to be rude, but I wasn’t expecting to have a third wheel on our little nature trail date.”Valentina kept walking, not breaking stride. “I don’t go anywhere without him; we’ve been attached at the hip since I found him dying on the side of the road. You know, I nursed this little guy back to health; well, tried to anyway.”Fuck. This was not the direction he envisioned the date going; he'd now have to deal with some sob story about the damn rabbit unless he got them back on track. “Well, he seems fine now, and I think we should…”“Oh yeah, he’s much better now,” she cut in. “Can you believe that, when I found him, there were cuts all over him and a steak knife sticking out of his back? Someone actually tried to kill this cutie!”Damien rolled his eyes and wondered if it was one of its previous owner’s dates who’d finally had enough. “That’s so sad.” He was glad she was in front of him and couldn't see his expression.“I know, right? I spent weeks trying to nurse him back to health, but he wouldn’t eat anything and was fading away. It wasn’t until my brother went missing that Mr. Obzie here started getting better. When I needed someone to lean on, he was there for me.”“What happened?”“Oh, with Tim? We don’t know… one day, we woke up and he was just gone. No signs of him leaving, no one saw anyone come to our house. He just… disappeared. My parents and I were devastated. But that’s when little Obzie here became my hero. He seemed to get stronger, even though he still hadn’t eaten, and he never left my side. We went out looking for Tim every day, for hours, and Obzie here kept up and gave me a shoulder to cry on.” Her head shook side-to-side. “We never found him. We looked for years, but I've come to realize he's never coming back.”“Sounds like Obzie's a great friend to have. Hey, how about we…”“Yeah, he’s great,” she continued. “He was there when Dad left too, right after Tim went missing. Just up and left my mom and me, we never found out why. Never heard from him again. It seemed everything was falling apart in my life, but Obzie was always there for me. The more things seemed to go wrong, the more he seemed to grow stronger, as if he knew I needed him.”Damien’s interest began to wane as he started getting the feeling that she only wanted him to come out to the woods to chat. That she was nothing more than a cock tease, which made sense given that he couldn’t believe someone as gorgeous as her would even consider going out with a middle-aged guy with a bald spot and a dad bod. He realized he needed to make a move fast before he was permanently exiled to the friend zone.“He sure sounds like a great pet... but doesn't he get you all the time? Surely, I can get some of your time today. He’s a big boy, he could walk on his own for a bit.”“There’s no need to rush; we're almost there. There’s a clearing just up ahead where we’ll have some privacy and where Obzie can let loose without getting into any trouble. Come on!”Valentine turned off onto a side trail, one much smaller than the even the main trail was - just a line where the dead leaves were crunched down more than the surrounding leaves. It seemed this path was traveled just enough for the path to not get lose to time. The side trail was much more difficult to traverse than the main trail. On the main trail, they could walk without having to worry about branches smacking them in the face or underbrush tripping them, but this path was basically like walking through the dense woods with only footprints in the leaves to guide you.As Damien picked his way around a large briar patch, Valentina paused.“Did you hear something? Up ahead?”Damien shook his head, he hadn’t heard anything but the sound of his breathing, and his attention had been purely on her ass as she walked in front of him.“I could’ve sworn I heard something.”“Do you want to turn back,” he asked? “No, no… I want to get some time with you, babe. Can you go in front though? I’m nervous.”Damien puffed his chest out a bit further. “Sure thing, babe, where am I going?”“This trail doesn’t split; it’ll end up ahead in that clearing I talked about; we'll be all alone and Obzie can do some eating. That should keep him occupied.”Damien grinned, the date not soiled by the furball after all. He picked up his step, pantomiming that he was listening for the sound that she’d mentioned earlier. His mind was too preoccupied to worry about random animals out here; he remained focused on finding the clearing as fast as possible, navigating brambles and trees with renewed vigor and purpose.“I really wish you’d mentioned that you had kids, Damien.” Her voice sound somber, sorrowful even.“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Damien responded, panting slightly as he prepared to jump over another briar patch.“I really hate doing this to guys who have kids; well, I hate it for the kids.”“What… what difference does it…”Damien’s voice was cut short as his body began free-falling through the bottom of the trail, the bed of leaves giving way to a chasm underneath. He fell for a few seconds that felt like an eternity until his left foot found the ground before the rest of his body did. The totality of his weight pushed on the outside of his ankle until his tibia reached its maximum load capacity. The bone gave off a distinct crack sound as it snapped in half, with the upper half puncturing the muscles and skin of his lower leg, leaving Damien’s leg a mangled mess at the bottom of the ten-foot pit.Damien screamed, surprise giving way to terror from both the sight of, and pain from, his new compound tibial fracture. “Shit! Ow, fuck! What the… ahh! Help me, please! Oh my God!”Valentina peaked over the edge of the deep shaft. “I’m sorry, I truly am; I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”“Wait, what? What the fuck are you talking about?! Help me get the fuck out of here!”“I wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could. I’m so sorry, Damien.”“Why? Wait, why are you sorry?!”Her eyes red, lips quivering, Valentina responded, “that you have to be alive for this."" She turned to Obzhora, her voice cracking. “He's trapped, no one knows he's here, and he doesn’t have his phone; please wait until I’m far enough away this time.”  Valentina was talking about him being alive as if the alternative was not only an option but preferred, Damien realized. The pain radiated from his leg, clouding his thoughts; surely she couldn't be insinuating...As the sound of leaves crunching under Valentina's steps grew fainter and fainter and his shouts continued to go unanswered, the pain in his leg intensified until he could no longer spare the mental energy necessary to consider what she'd just said. He knew he needed to get out, to get help. He slid until his back was pressed to the wall of soil, his mangled leg dragged the agonizing foot and a half to the edge as he wailed. He expected to hear Valentina rush back at the sound of his cries of anguish; his heart soared for a moment when he heard the leaves crunching just over the edge of the pit.""Thank God, please, please, you've got to...""Damien's words would forever remain in his throat, held there by the sight of Obzhora peering down at him. His face, cute as a normal rabbit just moments earlier, was now a contorted collage of horrors. His eyes were sunken in deeper, darkened by the shadows formed, but Damien could still make out the faint red glow emanating Obzhora's sockets. His ears, floppy and playful just minutes earlier, now stood erect and seemed to be closer to horns than ears. His head appeared to be at least three times its original size.But it was the mouth that stole Damien's breath. Obzhora's mouth appeared pulled back, as if someone attached hooks at the corners, revealing an mouth full of jagged teeth in a mouth that seemed impossibly large for the rabbit he'd just been face-to-face with. The interlocked teeth grew in size as they approached the front of his mouth until reaching the two incisors, each resembling a serrated knife. Drool dripped from his lower lip, and the terrifying rabbit actually smiled at Damien.When Obzhora finally lunged into the pit, Damien didn't have time to scream. Even if he managed to get one out, no one would have been able to save him from the gaping maw of the hell-beast that engulfed his head.
","August 19, 2023 03:43","[[{'Karen Corr': 'Wow is right. I can’t believe I didn’t see that coming! Thanks Michael.', 'time': '22:14 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': ""Great!  I was hoping for that effect. I'm glad you enjoyed it, thank you so much for reading!"", 'time': '22:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': ""Great!  I was hoping for that effect. I'm glad you enjoyed it, thank you so much for reading!"", 'time': '22:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Wow. Just wow. Highly engaging and truly frightening.', 'time': '12:32 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': ""Thanks!  I almost didn't finish this one this week, barely limped over the finish line lol.  I'm glad you enjoyed it :)"", 'time': '17:19 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': ""Thanks!  I almost didn't finish this one this week, barely limped over the finish line lol.  I'm glad you enjoyed it :)"", 'time': '17:19 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,z5lpiz,Mother Fox,Caite Elia,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/z5lpiz/,/short-story/z5lpiz/,Fluff,0,"['Fantasy', 'Adventure', 'Friendship']",12 likes,"
Amidst the tapestry of the forest, the fox's amber-flecked eyes caught the girl mesmerizingly. Tufted, alert ears seemed to hold secrets of ancient bonds, unspoken companionship woven in the very threads of nature itself. 
 
At least, that was how she felt in dreams where the fox visited. Within daylight hours, her hand sought her pendant concealed beneath layers of shawl, shift, and kirtle. Could it be? No, just wishful thinking. 
 
In wakefulness, traversing these woodlands, she sensed that unblinking eyes were there, inside the fog cloaking the tree trunks. A pestering sense of dread settled in her navel, breaths in uncertain crests and falls. She was raised in servitude, but as children do, heard the stories of ghosts and demons who claimed the forest, creeping amongst shadows of dense trees. Some were known to drain virginal blood or drag wanderers into wild streams. 
 
Bound by gnarly rope, she endured the pain of overstretched arms secured about the horse’s neck. One of her captors, Tors, a red-bearded man who smelt heartily of mead and copper, cupped her rear with thighs as they rode. The other man, Caeldan, rode a gray mare, and was just as gray himself. Rounding out their company was an obsidian-haired woman with an upturned nose and haughty demeanor. A gemmed circlet adorned her and sapphires showered from delicate chains on her ears.
 
Resigned to riding in this horrid position, the girl sighed and glared at Tors. His lip twitched, bemused. As she whipped back to face forth, she heard his chortle. They traveled some hoofpaces after she first noted the eyes, leaking forth a moon-like luminescence. Now, they appeared to follow, still watching her. No, not like the moon. They glowed like the sentinel of the night sky but these ever-vigilant eyes held only pale, frigid observance. 
 
Reflexively, she caressed the pendant hidden inside her kirtle. As she grew, she heard less of the childhood stories of whimsy and caution, and their lessons faded into fond memories. Maidens of the forest lie at the roots of trees and claw their way to the surface to punish those with evil intent. She sometimes reminisced about morsels of such tales, casting a pensive gaze back at the echoes of her innocence. Amidst her meager compensation as a servant, any aspirations she once held unraveled with the passage of time, replaced by a sober recognition of her true place in the world. 
 
Haunting as the pair of ghostly orbs were, their owners  had yet to approach. Soon it would be nightfall. She would again forcefully help assemble camp. Tonight would be the fourth away from her cramped familiar floor pallet, alongside other maids on a dusty floor. 
 
She was soon stirring wild mushroom pottage and remnants of the captors’ provisions over a campfire. Caeldan, content in solitude, whittled at a chunk of knotty cedar, absorbed by the deft transformation. Evara, the woman, was disarmingly jovial during these hours of respite. It took less than a day's ride to unveil Evara's true nature as a sorceress, her arcane abilities veering from aiding those she deemed beneath her. She was content for the weary girl to prepare a meal for four rather than using her own conjurations. 
 
In the encroaching dusk, Evara alluded to the past, mentioning how she took coins from a village and left them with a decoy poppet imbued without enchantment to protect them from the entity claiming its occupants.
 
“Inspires much confidence” muttered gray Caeldan, spitting the titular phrase.
 
Tors spoke, “Ah, we’re no worse off than before, whatever happens.” He eagerly scraped up his pottage, firing occasional quips at the others. As the last morsel vanished from his plate, his voice carried a surprising note of gentleness. ""You possess a rare beauty, you know,"" he spoke softly, his words a mere breath beside the crackling timber. ""It's a cruel twist of fate that has brought us together for these purposes."" 
 
The girl had released all sense of care during her servitude, and now, she was too physically worn to muster inquisitiveness about why she had been taken by the strangers. Inhaling the aromas of camp, she turned her gaze to the nearest copse, at the edge of the cozy glade where they tarried. She tousled back walnut hair and adjusted her shawl snugly about her shoulders to ward off creeping chill. Tors’ eyes blazed beside the firelight. She knew this kind of man, though a coarser sort than those who confronted her in noble houses. Nobles - she scoffed at the word - would corner unsuspecting serving girls, drowning in ale. 
 
Now, her hand crept to the safe nook near her breasts, stroking the pendant for comfort. Offering no retort, she reclined to her side, gazing into the fire until exhaustion took her. 
 
The world within her dreams was cocooned in a serpentine haze of purple-gray that undulated, filling vast expanses and intimate spaces. Vaguely aware of her own form, she felt as incorporeal as the mist shrouding the landscape. 
 
Then, before her, the swirling vapors drifted apart, minutely opening up further to reveal footprints. The earth before her bore the elusive imprints of the fox's passage, stamped into the terrain, whispering an invitation on an odyssey. 
 
What could she do but follow? All seemed lost in the waking world. 
Come, the voice whispered in her mind, carrying on secret winds. Follow my tracks. What else could you lose?
 
The maids of the forest can shift to animals, a memory warned her. The kindly old cook whom she spent early years with warned all children she managed of the dangers of slipping outside the country manor to wander alone. 
 
“Where are you? Could you not just come out on your own?” she called, shunning away childhood trepidation and superstition. 
 
No response came. 
 
Exhaling slowly into this slumbering realm, she then followed the tracks. They led over a trickling rivulet, teeming with vibrant fish. The prints curved through a meadow rich with wildflowers and amidst a glen of frolicking deer. The fog rolled away as she continued, this world of dreams cautiously unveiling itself. Soon, an immense valley opened up, home to a lofty cliff face, towering up into a swirling sky. 
 
Nestled snugly and unassuming against the cliff stood a cottage, its chimney exhaling a cozy blaze. Windows radiated a golden glow and fragrant bellflowers swayed along the path that wound towards the oaken door.
 
Her feet carried her through the cottage door without hesitation.  
 
A caress of hearthfire embraced her, dispelling the persistent bone-deep cold that had plagued her waking hours. ""You've arrived,"" a voice weaved through the heart of the flames. Tongues of fire soared outwards as though to greet the tall bedraggled girl, their forms mimicking graceful fingers unfurling like blossoms. 
 
Looking about the cottage to search for a speaking figure, she confirmed no such person existed. Again, the flames spoke, tendrils dancing as recognition began to unfurl, tugging at the edges of her memory. 
 
“You’ve grown so much,” were its next words. 
 
Years of heartache poured forth, tears tracing loss and toil upon her cheeks. 
In response, the glowing fire within the hearth emitted embers whirling about her, as she fell to her knees a few paces away, overcome. As embers landed upon her skin and hair, they did not burn but warmed her as an enveloping hug. 
 
Finally, after the sobs subsided, she lifted her gaze, “Mother?” 
 
Embers danced as the melodious tone responded, “I am here,” then, “Now, wish as I might that we visit, there is no time.” 
 
“Mother- my captors- they have evil plans for me, I know they do”. 
 
“Quiet, now,” came the affectionate timbre, “This is why you found me. I have a gift for you.”
 
The flame in the hearth crackled more audibly than before. A globe of flame shot from the hearthfire, launching to the floor. The orb took form and unfurled itself, first a bushy tail then four paws stretching outward from within the spherical shape. 
 
The fox that curled before her yawned, showing gleaming teeth and a delicate rose tongue. Her ears flattened then pricked up, alert and welcoming. Amber-flecked eyes leveled with the girl’s. 
 
Drawn to the creature through an overwhelming sense of comfort, the girl rocked forward on her knees. Reaching out, the captivating animal lifted its pointed muzzle to meet her. 
 
“Take her with you” spoke her mother’s long-ago voice from within the crackling flames. “She will know what to do. But don’t forget- rules are different here. When you reach the end of the path, open your pendant so she can awaken with you.”
 
“I don’t want to leave you again. My life since those monsters burnt you–” 
 
“There is no time. Remember, touch your pendant and whisper ‘Mother Fox’ when danger seems utmost. She will come.” As suddenly as the powerful hearthfire had greeted her, it dwindled inside its stone alcove. 
 
Pushing past grief, she slowly scuffed her boots and rose to face the door. The fox awaited her, auburn tail kissed with frost. Those amber eyes calculated her but the tail flicked, an expression of companionship. 
“Thank you for your guidance. I’m coming.” The exquisite animal tilted her head at these words, attentive. With emboldened strides to the door and another swish of the fox’s tail, they moved back the way she came. 
 
Outside, the night was deepened and the moon spilled beams upon the ethereal dreamscape. Following the cliff’s slate cathedral, they curved back toward the path which led to the cottage. Tawny-hided deer dozed in their glen, fawns suckling bountifully from the does, whereas before they had cavorted when the girl meandered through. Now, the rivulet was calm with only sounds of serene trickles. 
 
The fox plotted onward, marking the treeline with her bewhiskered face then proceeding through an archway that the girl had not noticed before. Between two magnificent oaks the fox led her. Just as they passed beneath the oaks’ enmeshed crowns, within the branches facing the forest’s heart, the fox’s trot haltered. She turned her delicate snout to face the girl. ‘Mother Fox,’ remember to touch your pendant, came the mellifluous voice. 
 
Before the girl could form an utterance, she found her fingers tapping open the pendant’s secret compartment, and the fox’s form flashed before dissipating into gleaming fractals. Sparkling with the glow of hearthfire, the embers soared toward her chest and vanished upon contact with the silver pendant.
 
With a start, she awakened beside the campfire. She laid on her side, her bound hands a pillow beneath the tangle of hair. A scuffling sound came from the direction of her feet. Blinking hazy sleep from her eyes, she saw the sorceress Evara kneeling before the fire, chanting to it in a lilt, pouring an indecipherable substance into the flames from a metal chalice. She smirked and turned her head slightly to stare at the girl. Returning the chalice to her cloak, the sorceress wiped hands on skirts then stood up. “Tomorrow eve” she said, “That’s when your fate will restore what the world owes us. Thank you.” 
 
In response, she felt a rising courage that was not present before she fell asleep. Instead of the silence she gave her captors thus far, she shot back, “Perhaps it is you who does not know what awaits you in these woods.”
 
Evara scoffed, tossing inky hair over one shoulder, as Tors emerged from the shadows of a tree cloaked in night. He kept watch from a hideout where he could not be observed by the others. Placing his hand on the witch’s elbow, he announced, “It’s getting closer. Time to ride.”
He added, “I hope you’ll remember your promise, for we are the ones who did the drudgery work. Taking the girl from servants’ quarters of a well-guarded home. We put ourselves at peril guiding you through these woods.” 
 
The witch scoffed, “I’ve nothing to fear in these woods. Even if the forest maids dwell here, as legends say.” She sauntered off to prepare her horse for the day’s ride. 
 
This day, their course was through barren lands, far less green than their previous envelopment by the forest. When evening fell again, they found themselves entering another woodland. Shadows of the trees created a dappling effect on the moss-covered carpet of the forest as the sun lowered further. 
 
Only one of the four travelers did not cheer upon arrival to an altar of sorts. Although it consisted of slabs of stone resting at the edge of a tranquil pool, lily pads drifting along its surface and a small waterfall set further back into the crystalline precipice, that was when a sense of dread stabbed into the girl’s gut. Kicking at the horse, she thrashed feet and her bound hands about the creature’s neck. 
 
“Oh, it’s not so bad, love. At least it will be done with” smirked Tors.
Evara quickly swung down from her horse then stormed toward the captive girl, “No more need for platitudes and pretending.” She effortlessly conjured a sleek-edged blade  and cut the girl free. 
 
Before she could think of scrambling from horseback, Caeldan snatched her about the waist. “Would it do us good to let you get away now?” The men pressed in on either side, settling upon the ground to guard her though she knew it was not for protection. She was to discover how they intended to harm her. Her eyes roved over the pool and its altar-no clues awaited there. Barely imperceptibly came a soft unearthly hum from the woods around them. Craning her neck, the girl thought a pair of orbs emitting white light watched from the tree depths. 
 
Evara, on her knees beside the pool, reverently arranged items for ritual. She sang in low tones as she sprinkled various powders in her chalice then tossed them in flourishing patterns on the water’s surface. She brandished an ornate dagger, drawn from the pouch secured to her belt. 
 
Voice surging prominently now, the witch called, “Come now, and bring her.”
The men obeyed, Caeldan providing a guiding arm across her back, but Tors shoving her shoulders roughly. Exhausted and wrapped in her shawl, she sprawled at the edge of the pool next to Evara, the men hulking over them.
 
The witch met blade’s edge with the alabaster palm of her hand then sharply flung outward to scatter crimson blood into the pool’s still waters. Without halt, the men offered each of their hands, eagerly, as though having rehearsed. 
Once their palms had dispensed of blood, issuing to the waters beneath, the witch lifted her head to level with the girl’s eyes. 
 
Evara’s eyes were a startling shade of cornflower, but hardened, reflecting the cruelty she had treated her prisoner with thus far. “My beauty, your sacrifice will provide us with the power we seek.” Tors hooped and shoved the girl closer to the sorceress. Though her heart thundered painfully in her ears and simultaneously seemed to stop, the girl owned knowledge her would-be executioners did not. 
 
As she had tumbled to the ground, she reached down to grasp her long-cherished pendant, the only gift she managed to hide away all these years from cruel highborns and thieves. The pendant was the shape of a fox, beset with amber-inlaid eyes. She recalled the warmth of her mother’s voice in her dreams and the vixen who had shown her the way. Beneath her shawl, face on the forest floor, she uttered, “‘Mother Fox.’”
 
Vibrations akin to the pulse of an ancestral heartbeat resonated from the land itself. Gusts blew forth, stirring a conversation between rustling leaves swirling from the depths of the towering ashes and oaks. 
 
Before their moonlight-filled eyes could be seen, the forest maidens heralded their own spectral arrival with hair-raising melodies intended for haunting and hunting. 
 
One could not tell how many of the specters approached. They came into view, as if pouring from the roots of the woodland itself. Claws were used to drag their ghostly forms across the forest floor with fury, upon the group beside the calm pool. Spidery tresses made entirely of shadow flowed about them in their wake. 
 
It was not the sorceress who had summoned them with her possessive, selfish magic. Leading the charge of the phantoms was a small fox. Her head aloft and proud, she darted from the underbrush and made a direct line for the girl, whose captors had ceased securing her. A fear arose in them unlike any they anticipated. 
 
Tors was the first to lose his composure. “I didn’t- this wasn’t my-” were his final words as he was struck by an onslaught of spectral gales pouring forth with the forest maidens. A scream burst forth as their host engulfed him. 
Evara, her bloodied dagger slipping into the lagoon at the initial moment of terror, lost balance and plunged into the water. Her limbs waved wildly, luxurious cloak and gown shrouding her. Then, the maidens shrouded her too. 
 
The girl, receiving a tender touch of the fox’s snout to her cheek, did not wait to see what the maidens had in store for the Caeldan. Instead, she spurred off in the direction from which the fox made her path, toward the trees from which the phantoms spilled forth. 
 
In a rush of frosted tail and rumpled skirts, they trampled over mossy chasms of twisted tree roots, which appeared as though powerful claws ascended from the dewy soil. The girl, staying on the fox's heels, had little opportunity to reflect on the truth of the forest maiden's resting places beneath the ancient tree roots. She had found the truest friend,  and they were making their way to freedom and a life beyond her imagination. 
","August 19, 2023 02:39","[[{'Tanya Humphreys': 'Reedsy critiquer here...\nBrilliant story. Well written and has all the qualities of a great short. Nice way to hook the reader from the get-go and establish the old-timey era.\nI rarely give likes, this gets one.\nWelcome to Reedsy.', 'time': '02:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Caite Elia': 'Thank you so much! This means the world to me.', 'time': '19:33 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Caite Elia': 'Thank you so much! This means the world to me.', 'time': '19:33 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,nm7tvg,Meeting  Witch Little. ,Julie Grenness,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nm7tvg/,/short-story/nm7tvg/,Fluff,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Kids']",12 likes,"
Super duper Saturday had dawned. Jennifer Louise lived in a land far south of Witchelina. She came from the Blessing family, from a long line of strong women. Although Jennifer Louise was quite short, she was a local star at their Tae-Kwon Do classes, claiming many trophies and belts.
Her best friend was Darya. Together they had planned their weekend with a sleepover, and a day of fun. Near the Blessing family homestead there was an open meadow. Beyond that, there was an entrance to a magical world in a singing forest. 
""No, Jennifer Louise, you are not walking through that forest!"" her mum looked annoyed. 
""But, mum, you just never understand. We're going bird watching."" 
""I haven't got time to take you today. It is my witch forum hour! Children who enter the singing forest disappear, completely!""
""Mum,  I'll take my phone. Darya and I are trained in self-defense. We won't get lost, promise!""
""Well, you can take this ball of white string. Tie it to the first bridge, and follow it when you want to return. Take this first aid kit, and the insect spray. There's mini beasts in that forest. You should be starting your spiritual training, not doing martial arts.""
""Oh, mum!"" Jennifer Louise moaned, as her mother loaded up the backpack. Darya rolled her eyes, and tried not to giggle. Her mum was even worse, a real nervous Nellie.
But Saturday sunlight was beaming, soft breezes blew in their hair, as the two brave twelve year old girls set off. ""This is a great idea,"" Darya said, as Jennifer Louise tied the white string to the first bridge. Unrolling the twine as they walked, Jennifer Louise and Darya started to cross the bridge. 
""Bit of a swinging bridge,"" Jennifer Louise said, as the bridge swayed over the little stream below. The singing forest suddenly began to croon, ""Like a bridge over troubled waters, I will ease your mind.""
""No troubles for us today,"" Jennifer Louise remarked, ""We'll cross these bridges with grace,"" she was from the Blessing family after all. The girls walked along a path winding deeper between the trees, growing taller. Soon, the giant trees blocked the pretty sunshine. But the birds were chirping in the branches. Jennifer Louise and Darya took photos with their  digital camera and phones. They were trying to name as many kinds of birds as they could, for their science projects at school.
Then Jennifer Louise nearly tripped over. A creeper had wound itself around her feet. Darya was captured too. ""Kick back!' she yelled. So the girls took up their martial arts stance, and kicked apart the tangles at their feet. They broke free, as the singing forest launched into a verse of ""Mother knows best!' It was sort of funny, trees having a sense of humor.
Still unrolling the string, Jennifer Louise and Darya walked further into this magical world of enchantment. ""Let's stop for our picnic,"" Darya suggested, as they came to a clearing. Here there was some grass to sit on, no creepers, and a beautiful bluebird sitting on a low branch above them nearby. ""There'll be blue birds all over, the white cliffs of Dover...."" It seemed the singing forest was into old time music.
The pair of little chicks giggled, as Jennifer Louise sketched the beautiful bluebird in her drawing book. They ate their picnic lunch of ham sandwiches, and some tuna salad, which Jennifer Louise's mum had prepared. The girls drank their juice, and sat back to nibble on cupcakes, enjoying sitting under the shady trees. But not for long.
""Yes, mother does know best!"" the singing forest sang. A nasty swarm of wasps hovered over the girls, aiming to stings them. These were some of the mini beasts living in the forest, buzzing and dive bombing Jennifer Louise. Darya quickly used the insect spray, but the wasps became very hostile, angry even. 
""Let's run for it!"" The forest could not stop singing its tunes. ""Wasps on the run."" ""Da do run run, da do run RUN!!"" Jennifer Louise did not notice that she had dropped her string, as she and Darya went racing along the path ahead. The very cross wasps chased after them, making a dreadful noise, trying to land their stings.
The path through this magical singing forest wound on, the two girls were getting breathless, dodging and weaving, panting a bit. But at least they were both fit. Branches of the trees seemed to fold back to let them through. Would they ever escape the angry wasps, and how?
Jennifer Louise ran right up to a platform, high over a deep canyon. Far below were jagged rocks, and a silvery river, with a waterfall. Here there were some ropes to swing over, left there by other explorers. 
""Quick, grab a rope!"" Jennifer Louise told Darya, ""Don't look back!"" So the two girls shut their eyes and swung across the through the tree tops, leaving the very cross wasps behind them.
""How will we ever find our way back now?"" Darya asked, landing on the other side. ""Love will find a way!"" the singing forest still had a tune every occasion. It was like a miracle. Ahead of them, the little chicks could see their bluebird of happiness, leading them hopefully home, as it flitted between tall tree in front of them.
So, Jennifer Louise and Darya followed this little blue blessing. They did not have a clue where they were now. ""Listen!"" Jennifer Louise said, ""What's that noise?""
""Sounds like a kitten!"" Darya answered, looking round the trees. Soon, the girls tracked down the mystery cat a hollow tree log. There sat a little jet black kitten, with gleaming blue eyes. ""Oh...."" Jennifer Louise was in love. ""What's the matter, little one?"" She started to pick up the tiny kitten, but it held up its paws, all scraped and red. 
Jennifer Louise reached into the backpack and found the salve her mother made, using her charms she learnt on the witches' forum online. She was one of the Blessing family after all. The singing forest sang along. ""Pussy cat, Pussy cat, I love you!"" Darya smiled, as she found the kitten's collar, which said, ""Witch Little.""
 
""So cute and little,"" Jennifer Louise said, ""I'm taking you home with me."" She popped Witch Little into a space in the backpack. ""But how do we get home?"" Darya asked, getting a bit anxious. ""We'll follow our blue bird, he's just over there,"" Jennifer told her. 
""Okay, we left the string way back in the forest. What's your mum going to say about the kitten?""
Jennifer Louise was not worried about that. ""She'll say we needed a companion for witch training. Look, if we head down that hill, there is the stream again. If we follow that, we shall be back at the first bridge.""
'Well, you can say we did have fun, except for the wasps."" Darya said, looking forward, not back.
The singing forest had to have the last chorus. ""Girls just wanna have fun!""
Home at last, Jennifer Louise's mum loved Witch Little, soon feeding the kitten yet more tuna. ""Witch Little is a sign that your spiritual training is about to commence. Here is some macaroni and cheese for your dinner. Tomorrow, you can both start on studying spells and charms. I've got my big pot ready. Darya can join in too.""
""But I'm still going to do martial arts!""
""Yes,"" said Darya, ""Girls just wanna have fun."" The two little chicks laughed, they had enjoyed their trip and meeting Witch Little. 
","August 12, 2023 20:30","[[{'David Partington': 'An unusual story that went in unexpected directions.', 'time': '23:01 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ilya Tuliakov 6 GA': 'chill', 'time': '12:13 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ilya Tuliakov 6 GA': 'very good book', 'time': '12:13 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Bewitching! I have some Blessings in my family.☺️', 'time': '13:39 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,x8rp85,"In the eyes of Mingxia and Chun Hua, nature's beauty shines bright",EJEMEN OKODUWA,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x8rp85/,/short-story/x8rp85/,Fluff,0,"['Adventure', 'Creative Nonfiction', 'Friendship']",11 likes,"
 
Chapter 1
         Once upon a time, there was a village in the middle of a bamboo forest in China. This village was named after the Great Wall of China which gave it, the name Jingzhu. The reason for this name is that the Great Wall of China was built over many cities that had bamboo forests.
         This bamboo forest got a nickname called the red panda forest this was because this forest was once inhabited by billions of red pandas but China was now developing and people had come to destroy the middle of the bamboo forest after it had been cut down thousands of red pandas died because they got their energy from the middle part of the forest.
 
Chapter 2
          The pandas got angry and decided to talk to the people to stop destroying the forest but they ignored the pandas and calamity fell, the pandas constructed a temple to their honour using their power and then placed a curse that whoever stepped foot close to the forbidden gate without a clean heart would die and if the two friends do not save the bamboo forest and the red pandas in twenty years the pandas would release their wrath and let all the red pandas out in the whole of china. Therefore people died and it became a wasteland until the Jingzhu village started to grow and brought it to life again.
 
Chapter 3
          In the depths of the bamboo forest lies a forbidden gate, where the red panda spirit and its descendant live. Legends speak of two friends with pure hearts who will face many challenges and even be separated, but their love for nature will save the forest. When they finally realize their duty, a golden light will shine over the bamboo forest like never before.
           In Jingzhu village there was an ancient temple named the panda temple because of the love the locals had for the pandas and beside it were two huts. In these huts there lived the Jinxiu family and the Rosemallow family, the Jinxiu family had a daughter named Mingxia, and the Rosemallows had a daughter named Chun Hua. 
 
Chapter 4
             The parents of Mingxia and Chun Hua were formal friends but when they both got the title of Chiefs they wanted to prove to each other that they were superior, which is why they wanted to become the king's adviser, therefore, the hatred which drove them to be rivals was because they were high chiefs in the village which is why their huts are built beside the temple and this anger made the families separated their children.
           Though, the families were rivals the girls were still friends and this friendship was kindled by their undying love for the bamboo forest and the animals in it. Their love for nature was so strong that every day the girls secretly went to the forest to listen to the rustling of the bamboo leaves, they loved to hear the stream and the birds sing early in the morning, they also loved twittering, tweetings and chirps of the wild birds and also loved to see the moist on the bright green leaves of the bamboo. They loved to get the fresh greeny, grassy straw-like scent spread by the wind. The girl's favourite animals in the forest are pandas.
 
Chapter 5
               Though they both loved nature they had very different personalities Mingxia was a girl of culture and her language, she loved to study their myths and legends, while Chun Hua was a smart curious girl who loved the outdoors and exploring the forests she was never interested in her culture or her language. This caused lots of confusion and argument between the girls and made them almost end their friendship.
               This continued for years but when Mingxia's parents found out about their daughter being friends with Chun Hua, they got furious and waited for Chun Hua's eighth birthday. It was their way of getting back at Chun Hua's family. They planned to get rid of Chun Hua by sending her to the thickest part of the forest where the legendary red panda spirit and its descendant lived. 
 
Chapter 6
             This part of the bamboo forest was forbidden for the villagers cause of the legend of the forbidden gate, only the two friends with the purest hearts would be able to pass the forbidden gate without being killed or quit their journey.
               Unknowingly for Mingxia's parents Chun Hua and Mingxia were the two friends with pure hearts. On Chun Hua's way to the forbidden gate, she encountered a devastating situation where she saw people cutting down the bamboo trees, she was so angry but she saw the type of tools they had and she taught she could not defeat them but her love for nature was too strong therefore she could not bear to see the forest in pain luckily her curiosity helped her out and she was able to communicate with the animals in the forest they helped her by creating a song completely out of harmony.
 
Chapter 7
          This angered the forest cutters and they left.
She continued her journey to the forbidden gate on her way she was attacked by a bunch of unknown animals that made strange noises she tried to fight against these animals that looked like legendary creatures, for example, the Bashe a python-like snake that ate elephants, Bixi, a dragon with the shell of a turtle, Black Tortoise, a turtle that represents the cardinal point North and Winter and Baku a tapir-like creature that lives by eating people's dreams. 
           She then understood what she had to do to get rid of these horrifying creatures and was successful, she then learned that to survive out in this unknown part of the forest she had to use her knowledge and understanding she will also have to be one with nature. 
 
Chapter 8
           Back in Jingzhu village her friend Mingxia was worried about not seeing her friend for a long time she then decided to ask her parents but on her way, she heard her parents discussing how they had sent her friend to the forbidden gate with the intention of her getting killed, she cried as she heard that just then her parents saw her crying and immediately knew she had heard them but before they could stop her she had run away into the bamboo forest talking to herself how despicable her parents were. 
           She was so busy sobbing to herself that she got lost in the thick bamboo forest, after some time she got seriously tired and decided to take a nap while taking a nap a baby red panda suddenly came beside her rubbing itself against her leg startling her and making her jump back to her feet when she saw the baby red panda she was shocked cause only when the legend is fulfilled can the red pandas come out through the forbidden gate.
 
Chapter 9
             She pushes her thoughts aside and decides to take the baby panda with her and names it Red and continues the journey.          Meanwhile, Chun Hua has been able to defeat the strange animals she also learned that the only way to defeat the animals and overcome the trials she will have to adapt to the situation and learn more about her culture and legends, putting this knowledge together, therefore, she continued her journey looking for shelter, she finally found her way to a cave, where she decided to take a rest but when she entered the cave she found a red panda in the cave that had been sleeping and named it Dozer she decided to take the panda with her so that it could sleep in her warmth.
 
Chapter 10
             After waking up, Mingxia found out that she had overslept. She saw Red chewing a bamboo stem and picked up the small panda and keeps on going forward without knowing what lay ahead of her. Suddenly she hears a tiny voice saying hi, she tried looking for where it came from but is not able to find who said it. She suddenly hears the voice again saying ''Hi it's me red'' The little voice said, she was so startled she nearly dropped the baby panda to the ground.
           In shock, she asked the baby panda what it was doing outside the forbidden gate, the little panda told her that it had been sent by the legendary panda spirit to help the forest saviours out with their trials, she was surprised and asked the baby panda if it could tell her who the saviours were, the little creature refuses and says she will know when it is time.
 
Chapter 11
           Though she did not understand what the panda meant by that her thoughts were soon interrupted by the panda telling her that he will guide her to safety, he then started to tell her how he got lost cause it was his first time out of the forbidden gate and he is still new to the bamboo forest and its wide and dense surroundings making it hard to move in the forest. 
             She followed the creature's advice until they were in the middle of the bamboo forest she was so surprised she was able to get to the middle of the bamboo forest without getting injured, suddenly she hears sets of strange noises coming from behind her that she had never heard before these noises included noises resembling screams and roars echoing through the forest, she was so afraid that she tried to run away but the noises kept on coming closer and closer so she decided to face these creatures.
 
Chapter 12
              She quickly put her knowledge to use and observed these animals made the same noises as some legendary creatures and look like these legendary creatures, for example, the Bashe a python-like snake that ate elephants, Bixi, a dragon with the shell of a turtle, Black Tortoise, a turtle that represents the cardinal point North and Winter and Baku a tapir-like creature that lives by eating people's dreams, seeing all these she still wanted to test these creatures to see if they are from the legends but before she could act little red gave her some advice ''look closely the truth can be covered but their deceit is strong''.
 
Chapter 13
               She kept thinking of what little red had said and decided to study each of their weaknesses and relate it to each of the legendary creatures they look like and find out how similar they are to each legendary creature, she started with Bashe and as they continued to fight she discovered his weakness was self-content, Bixi's weakness was acting weak cause of his sympathy, Black Tortoise was said to be a warrior and a symbol of eternity and Baku's weakness is not having hope's or dreams.
               After a while, she puts it all together and finds a way to defeat these beasts. After lots of fighting little red secretly channels strength to her to keep fighting, after hours of fighting, she was able to defeat all the legendary creatures of China. Just then the advice little red gave her came rushing to her back making her happy. She then said to herself now I know that teamwork, observation, patience and advice is the key to survival. 
 
Chapter 14
           Meanwhile, in Jingzhu village, Mingzia's parents had confessed their bad deed but because of the rumours of the death of people without pure hearts the villagers refused to help the families which made the two families cry, they then decided that they would set their differences apart and go to the bamboo forest together in search of their daughters, but before they could step foot in the bamboo forest there was a sudden golden shinning dome surrounding the forest and keeping the village in the middle.
              The parents were so sad cause their kids were stuck in the bamboo forest filled with legendary creatures. Meanwhile, Chun Hua was looking for her way to the forbidden gate with dozer, suddenly dozer started talking to her and she was surprised she asked him how he escaped the forbidden gate but the little dozer told her that he would take her to the forbidden gate and she obeyed the little one's advice. 
 
Chapter 15
             Chun Hua and Mingxia had now met in the Middle of the forest where there is said to be a forbidden gate to the red panda spirit world. When they both saw each other they cried tears of joy and happiness, but their happiness was cut short by Red and Dozer.
                They suddenly realized they were in the middle of the bamboo forest, they both looked at each other curiously wandering where the forbidden gate was but when they asked their baby red pandas the pandas echoed ''the saviours will have to say the magic word together for the gate to be revealed''.
 
Chapter 16
               The girls looked at each other as if silently wondering what the magic word could be. Suddenly both girls said harmony and friendship between humans and nature and the forbidden gate was revealed. It opened with a burst of wind sweeping the fragrance of the bamboo forest with it and millions of red pandas were released into the bamboo forest.
              Just then a gust of wind lifted the girls into the air they all of a sudden could talk to the red pandas as if they had been the ones to create these beautiful creatures and for once in a long time they felt very happy. Meanwhile, in Jingzhu the wind was felt and everyone was surprised cause they had never felt such a strong wind before, some villagers even assumed that the two girls and her parents had angered the legendary red panda spirit and were even persisting on killing the parents.
 
Chapter 17
                The next day the two friends wanted to go back home but were immediately stopped by Red and Dozer saying they wanted to come with them, the friends agreed and the little red pandas followed on their way home the girls asked why the red pandas did not tell them they were the saviours the red pandas told her them that it was forbidden and it would cause havoc and their duties as their guardian red pandas. When they got to Jigzhu village the villagers were surprised to see the girls back from the forbidden gate but were even more surprised when they brought back home red pandas.
 
Chapter 18
              The girls excitedly shared their encounters with red pandas, how they became legendary saviours, and how the red panda spirit made peace with humans to break the curse. They also educated the villagers about the bamboo forest's importance and inhabitants.
          The girl's parents were proud and a story about their happiness continued for years.
 
 

","August 18, 2023 19:49","[[{'Austin Ose': ""Wow! What an awesome story.  Keep it up dear.. it's a lovely one"", 'time': '19:07 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': 'Thank you I love that you enjoyed it', 'time': '20:30 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': 'Thank you I love that you enjoyed it', 'time': '20:30 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'OSELENE OFEIMU': 'Wow!\nI was engrossed with the write up. \nI found it very interesting and educative.\nTeam work, observation, patience and advice is actually the key to survival🔥', 'time': '18:32 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': 'Thank you I love that you found it engrossing', 'time': '20:31 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': 'Thank you I love that you found it engrossing', 'time': '20:31 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'UYINMWEN Charity': 'Nice one👍', 'time': '20:18 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'STEPHEN E. OKODUWA': 'Wow! What an awesome story. Keep it up dear.. I wish you best of luck in your project work', 'time': '16:44 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Gloria Esemi': 'fascinating!  I really enjoyed reading your story looking forward to another interesting    one', 'time': '18:14 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'REAL HOMES': 'Wow captivating story, will want to read more of your work', 'time': '17:43 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': ""Thank you very much. I can't help but write"", 'time': '17:53 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': ""Thank you very much. I can't help but write"", 'time': '17:53 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': 'Wow your story is nice', 'time': '18:20 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': 'I enjoy writing', 'time': '20:31 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'EJEMEN OKODUWA': 'I enjoy writing', 'time': '20:31 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,g2h2e0,Chickened Out,Valerie Monckton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/g2h2e0/,/short-story/g2h2e0/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Happy']",9 likes,"
	Sam—short for Samhain, not Samuel, the irony of which was not lost on himself or his family—worked as a software engineer in the suburbs. His position was uniquely suited to him for two reasons: he enjoyed the clarity of numbers and the complexity of problem solving, and he preferred to avoid all human contact, which was exponentially easier to do when he rarely left home. 
	Though his parents had raised him to be a risk-taker, Sam favored a quieter life glimpsed through the all-seeing window of his computer screen. It didn’t bother him that he couldn’t remember the name of his neighbors of ten years, that his last relationship was over a dozen years ago, or that he’d never been abroad in his adult life. Despite his fears, Sam was content, and had stopped trying to address his plethora of phobias.
	Because it would have been one thing if his fears ended at social anxiety, but Sam collected phobias like mosquitoes drawn to an abandoned pond. Amaxophobia, arachnophobia, entomophobia, nyctophobia, telephonophobia… the list went on. 
	To cope with his exhaustive list of fears, Sam became a creature of routine. He worked from nine-to-five, then ordered takeout or whipped something up in his kitchen from delivered groceries. In the evening, he watched TV or read before falling asleep in a room bejeweled with nightlights. Occasionally, he woke at 5 AM to go for a jog or, more rarely, ride his bike in sweet, silent solitude. 
	A blissful bike ride was exactly what he sought when he woke at 4 AM on an exceptionally eventful Saturday. Sam hadn’t intended to be the unwilling victim of any events and had risen earlier than usual to avoid the weekend’s activities.
	As usual, it took him 20 minutes to dress in protective clothing for his ride: a helmet, a sturdy jacket and pants, elbow pads, knee pads, and a pair of heavy steel-toed boots.
	On his way out, the sight of his long-neglected car reminded him to call the mobile mechanic—he didn’t want to be caught in a bind without a working car, even if he rarely used it—but the thought of inviting someone to his home for more than a delivery made sweat bead along his neck. Or perhaps it was all the clothing he was wearing in the burgeoning August heat? 
	Sam’s usual bike safety check took him another 15 minutes before he slid his two liter water bottle into the custom bottle holder and placed his emergency kit in the basket. Then, gathering his courage, he set out onto the black expanse of pavement, dimly lit by the first hints of sun gilding the navy sky in peach and pink hues.
	There were no cars on the road this early in the morning, and Sam fell into a peaceful rhythm. A faint, sweat-slicked smile came to his lips as he took in the fragrance of spruce and pine that hedged the path, the petrichor wafting from the grass beneath them, and the acrid smell of left-out garbage. He didn’t enjoy the latter, but it was familiar. To Sam, familiarity was the blanket that insulated him from the blizzard raging outside. He didn’t care if it smelled.
	Like every other time he took this path, a putrid stench interrupted this string of mostly pleasant smells. That miasma of old compost and fresh sewage overwhelmed his senses, causing his eyes to water and his stomach to heave. He was a creature of routine, and would never veer from his chosen path, no matter its flaws. Instead, as he always did, Sam clamped his mouth shut and tried not to breathe for the Stretch of Stench. Sometimes he succeeded in this, but in the heat of this day, he failed. He was so focused on trying not to hurl up his breakfast that he nearly ran her over.
	Instead, he veered around her at the last minute, nearly falling from his bike. He was just about ready to yell at someone (or glare, given his fear of conflict) when he realized he was alone. Well, not alone. The delicate, broken creature he’d almost flattened gazed up at him with half-closed eyes.
	She—he was fairly certain that she was a she—had a clearly broken wing and an angry wound in her side that painted red streaks into her brown and white feathers. She was panting, her peach-colored beak open as her throat pulsed, lifting and lowering pale pink wattles.
	Sam had never met a chicken before, and though he had a mild case of ornithophobia, he felt only a growing sense of unease at her distress.
	“Hello,” he said, unsure how to introduce himself to a chicken.
	When she didn’t reply, he continued, “You don’t look very well. Who’s responsible for you?” 
	Again, she didn’t reply. Sam scanned their surroundings in search of her owners, but the streets were empty. How long would she last out here on her own, bleeding and broken? A sickening feeling roiled his gut: he might be her only hope. Taking a deep breath that he swiftly regretted—they were still in the Stretch of Stench—he took out his phone and searched for the nearest vet. His hand trembled and sweat dripped from his forehead to blur his vision as he scrolled through to the emergency vet… and hesitated. The vet’s office was too far away to bike. He would have to drive. His car. That hadn’t been serviced in over two years and had been sitting in all manner of weather, unattended and unsheltered. His airways shriveled at the idea of driving that Death-mobile. He scanned the list again, hopeful for a vet’s office that was open at this early hour and within biking distance. 
	Nothing.
	He looked at the chicken. Her eyes were closed now, her breathing still labored.
	With a resolve he hadn’t felt since the last time he phoned a restaurant to correct a wrong delivery, he clicked CALL.
	“Fuzzy Friends 24-hour Veterinary Services. How can I help you?” said the receptionist on the phone.
	“Yes. Hello. I have a fuzzy friend here. Well,”—he side-stepped to get a better look at her—“her bottom is, at least. Does that qualify her?""
	“That’s not—what kind of animal do you have?""
	“A chicken, do you service chickens?”
	“No, I'm afraid we don't treat chickens—”
	“Of course. Treat. Sorry,” he exhaled. “Stupid mistake,” he admonished himself, looking abashedly at the chicken.
	“That’s okay.”
	“Oh no, I was talking to the chicken,” he corrected. “Don't suppose there are any chicken vets around?”
	“You’ll have to contact Extraordinary Exotics Vet Hospital. We don’t—”
	Sam hung up, too eager to get off the phone. The chicken was deteriorating quickly, and his nerves were so jumbled that, for once, they spurred him into action. He pulled out the emergency kit from his bike’s basket and rifled through its contents. He’d never taken chicken first aid, and the sheer quantity of items in the kit overwhelmed him. Instead, he wrapped her up in the emergency blanket and placed her in the basket. She was too weak to protest, and his heart wrenched before pumping adrenaline into his veins. He got back on his bike, took one last look around, and peddled home like he’d forgotten to turn off the stove and his home could blow up any second.
	He arrived back frantic. The chicken—Henrietta—was not doing well. She was breathing, but not much else. His bike clattered to the ground as he picked up Henrietta and placed her in the passenger seat of his hatchback, then slid into the driver’s seat himself. He turned on the car, cringing at the engine’s strain, typed in “Extraordinary Exotics Vet Hospital” in the GPS, and set off, wheels squealing. 
	His knuckles were white, his palms slippery with sweat as he navigated unknown streets, grateful that the hour was still too early for most people to be on the road. Whether it was the sense of urgency or the numbing fear of driving that blanked his mind, he arrived at the vet hospital sooner than expected. He parked the car at an odd angle, scooped Henrietta into his arms, and ran inside. It was only when he explained the situation and they took her into emergency that he realized he was still wearing his helmet, along with all the other bike gear. Sweating, panting and shaking, he unclipped his helmet, slid off the elbow and knee pads, and shed his jacket. He collapsed into a chair and let his head fall into trembling hands, wondering how he avoided dying of a heart attack while driving the Death-mobile.
 
	Hours later, the vet emerged to explain Henrietta’s extensive injuries. They included a broken wing, abrasions along her side, bumblefoot, and a case of egg yolk peritonitis that nearly went undetected amidst all her other ailments. The vet bill presented to Sam made his eyes water, but he paid it without complaint once he remembered to close his mouth.
	“She’ll need to stay with us for a bit longer to recover from surgery, but you should be able to take her home with you tomorrow,” the vet explained. 
	“Take her home? I don’t know where she lives,” Sam said.
	“Presumably, she lives with you now?” the vet offered.
	“You want me to take her to my home? I don’t have room—I mean, I’m not set up to care for a chicken.”
	“Well, she’s over a year old, so most farmers won’t be interested in taking her. Honestly, Sam, most people wouldn’t have spent a fraction of the money you did. There aren’t many folks that will take her if you won’t.”
 
	Sam was reluctant to set foot in his car at 11 o’clock on a busy Saturday and he stopped several times on the way back to re-thread his frayed nerves. Each time he stopped, his thoughts drifted back to Henrietta. To her soft feathers, the sad little clucking sounds she made, and the whimsical way her head moved like it needed to catch up with her body. He fretted over the idea of caring for such a fragile creature. How could he when he could barely care for himself?
		His head fell onto the steering wheel, pressed the horn, and he straightened in surprise. In this moment, as in many others, he felt ill-equipped for life. But… he had done it. Sam might have appeared deranged when he dropped her off at the vet, but Henrietta was alive. He had rescued her. And that word, “rescued”, sounded almost… brave.
 
	Despite his attempts to soothe his galloping heart and trembling limbs, Sam’s knees gave out three steps from his car. He laid beside his driveway, mercifully resting on cool grass, and threw his forearm over his eyes to shield them from the midday sun.
	“You alright, Sam?” a feminine voice inquired above him.
	Sam froze.
	“Sam?”
	It was, undoubtedly, his neighbor’s voice. What was her name? Sally? Susan? Sandra?
	“Hi,” he replied, unmoving. “I’m alright. How are you?”
	“Doing better than you.”
	At that, Sam opened his eyes and was swiftly blinded by the sun. He groaned and stood up. “I’ve had a very long day.”
	“I believe that. Do you, uh, need me to call someone?”
	The mere thought of crowding his day and lawn with more people sent a bead of sweat tumbling down Sam’s spine. “No, I’m fine, thanks,” he said, waving her off and trying to look anywhere but her eyes.
	“You sure?”
	“Unless you know anyone that can take in an injured chicken, no.” Sam turned to leave, eager to claim sanctuary in his home.
	“Well, that’s… I guess I could call Zoe.”
	Sam turned on his heel so quickly that he nearly toppled back onto the turf. “Who?”
	“My friend. She takes care of chickens. Pampers them better than any pets I’ve seen. You have a chicken that needs a home?”
 
	Sareeta. Her name was Sareeta. He repeated that name to himself for the next half hour as she drove him to Zoe’s house, and again while she parked.
	Zoe’s house was a stout thing with a stone facing barely discernible through climbing vines and a menagerie of bushes and shrubs. Sareeta didn’t bother wading through the greenery to the front door, and instead led them into the backyard.
	Zoe’s backyard dwarfed her house, but more impressive than the array of trees and carefully curated garden beds was the massive coop. Chickens of every color and size pecked and scratched their way along the coop’s floor, perched from high beams, and dozed lazily in the sun. It took Sam a long minute for him to notice Zoe sitting beneath a massive walnut tree, cradling a large rooster painted in shades of autumn. 
	“Zoe!” Sareeta called, and a smattering of hitherto unseen chickens emerged from the brush to cluck and cluster around them.
	Zoe smiled and waved, but made no move to disturb the gentleman on her lap. Sareeta, Sam, and their avian entourage joined her, the humans settling into Muskoka chairs painted every color of the rainbow while the chickens scrutinized the greenery for bugs and seeds.
	Sareeta introduced Sam and relayed his story with more clarity than Sam would have managed. When Sareeta finished speaking, Zoe turned to Sam with a warm smile.
	“I’m so glad Sareeta brought you to me, Sam. I would hug you if it weren’t for Herbert,” she explained, directing a wry smile to the rooster. This close, Sam could discern a multitude of shades reflected in Herbert’s glossy feathers.
	“That’s alright, I’m not much of a hugger,” he said just as a hen, this one brilliant white with a beet-red comb that drooped over one eye, made herself at home in his lap. He startled, but didn’t jump.
	“Oh, Lucy’s a real snuggle-bug,” Zoe cooed. “She’d be in my lap if it weren’t for Herbert.”
	Sam brushed his fingertips over Lucy’s back, and a small smile slipped across his lips. She was softer than anything he’d ever touched. The wind blew the subtle scent of spruce into his face. Chickens clucked quietly amidst distant birdsong, and all of Sam’s attention distilled to the warmth and softness of Lucy in his lap. Then she purred.
	Sam looked at Zoe in wonder. Her smile grew. “She likes you.”
	“I didn’t know chickens could purr,” he whispered.
	“Chickens are far more than we give them credit for,” she whispered back. Then, “How can I help you, Sam?”
	Sam took a deep breath and broke away an ounce of his focus on Lucy. “I’m looking for a home for Henrietta. She’s very injured right now, but the vet thinks she’ll recover. I’ve never cared for a chicken—or any animal—before and I want her to go to a good home.”
	“Of course. I would gladly take her, but we’re at capacity here, I’m afraid.”
	“Oh.”
	Zoe looked from Sam to Lucy and back again. “Is there any reason you couldn’t care for Henrietta?”
	“I’m afraid of everything.”
	“Are you?”
	Sam nodded vigorously. “I barely leave the house. I spend all my time alone. And I know absolutely nothing about chickens. I’d do a terrible job of caring for her,” he reasoned.
	Zoe gazed down at Herbert as she mulled over his response. “You barely leave the house, so she could always count on your presence. You spend all you time alone, so she’d never be overwhelmed by loud strangers. And you have no prejudices about what chickens should or shouldn’t be. I think you’d take wonderful care of her.”
	Sam blinked. When she put it like that…
	“I’m terrified of driving though. It was a miracle I looked at my car twice today, let alone drove it. A-and animals are always covered in bugs, and I hate bugs. They make me itchy. And —”
	Zoe lifted her hand to silence him. Herbert’s eyes drifted open lazily, then closed as she resumed stroking him. “But you did drive. You cared enough that you faced your fears for her. And that shows more than just bravery, it shows the goodness of your heart.”
	Sam swallowed and regarded Lucy once more. Zoe’s belief in him caused an unsettling sense of purpose to bloom in his chest. The prospect of taking Henrietta home both terrified and called to him.
	“Also,” Zoe added nonchalantly, “chickens eat bugs.”
	That shouldn’t have sold him. But Sam was an engineer—a logical man, if a fearful one. And although having a small, soft friend to warm and purr in his lap thawed his heart, having a friend to dispose of the bugs in and around his home ultimately swayed his mind.
	Zoe seemed to notice the resolve in his expression. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll teach you how to care for your Henrietta.”
 
	Sam sat in his backyard, Henrietta in his lap, and watched the other ladies puttering about in the yard, whittling down the population of insects, arachnids and other creepy-crawlies.
	Much had changed in the last month. Zoe and Sareeta helped him build an insulated coop for Henrietta. Sam insisted that the coop be directly outside his bedroom window so that he could hear her at night when he opened it. The clucking and shuffling of his feathered friend eased his nerves, and he’d slept peacefully in inky blackness each night since.
	The weekend after he found Henrietta, he went biking again and came across another chicken, this one in a divot on the side of the road. He named her Peep. The next weekend, he spotted two chickens on the side of the road: Jessie and Stacey. With each rescue and drive to the vet, his hands dampened the wheel a little less.
	His phone rang, breaking his reminiscing. Sam read the caller ID, smiled, and clicked ACCEPT without hesitation.
	“Zoe! Coming to visit the ladies and I?”
","August 18, 2023 19:41","[[{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY\n\nplease come in I beg you', 'time': '20:56 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Beautiful little story.\nChicken therapy for the cautious soul.\nThank you for writing.', 'time': '21:07 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,2vdko7,The Duck Stops Here,Ben Kirkby,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2vdko7/,/short-story/2vdko7/,Fluff,0,"['Bedtime', 'Speculative', 'Urban Fantasy']",9 likes,"
I was driving my small truck full of storage pick-ups along the quiet country road on my usual weekly run. I owned a warehouse out beyond the forest that people would pay to discretely store things. Often it was odd stuff that they wanted kept hidden and incognito, with some of it being very peculiar or even spooky. 
           Is this thing a part off of an alien ship? I might often speculate at an item. Is this some ancient, cursed tribal totem? Does this locked chest contain the ghost of a pirate?
           But it wasn’t my place to ask questions. People paid me to keep this stuff secret and where no one would find it, and out here in the middle of nowhere was perfect. 
           Today’s delivery was a fairly unassuming one compared to some of the stuff I’d previously transported. The back of my truck was full of mannequins all dressed in suits of armor. 
           These might be priceless pieces from the Middle Ages that someone wants hidden until they can find a buyer, perhaps? I thought. It was often a fun way to pass the time on these trips, imagining what the stories were that went with these objects.
           Suddenly, upon coming over a small hill, I found the road ahead blocked as I got to the bottom of the slope. In the middle of the road there stood a duck. It just stood there, unmoving, and completely unfazed by my moving vehicle. It wasn’t going to get out of the way. 
           Breaking, I pulled up. I didn’t want to run it over. I’d always liked ducks, and I found the creature’s bravery admirable, or its stupidity amusing. Despite my having stopped, the duck refused to budge. I honked my horn, but it still wasn’t going anywhere. It just stared at me defiantly. 
           I switched off the engine and got out of my truck. Walking around to the front, I first just stared down at the duck, hands on hips with a humoured look, wondering how I might coax it off of the road. Knowing I was just thinking out loud I said “Look little fella, do you mind? I’ve kind of got to pass.” 
           How silly, I thought to myself. As if trying to reason with the duck will do anything.
           “No! You shall not pass!” snapped the Duck. “Not you, nor anyone else!”
           My eyes went wide with shock. The duck just spoke. Am I going mad? I thought to myself.
           “Um… Okay,” I finally said in a tentative voice. “So… why are you not letting anyone pass, Mr Duck?”
           “Excuse me, my name is not Mr Duck,” he responded, still snappy. “And it really annoys me how you humans always jump to that assumption. You wouldn’t expect me to call you Mr Human, now would you?”
           “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, meekly. “What should I call you then?”
           “My name is Wellington.”
           “Okay… so, why are you blocking the road then, Wellington?” 
           “Because I’m trying to have the river re-routed this way, human,” he said. “But I can’t do that with this road being here and still in use. So long as people keep thinking that they can come this way, my works won’t get completed, So I must make it a point to stand here and say no more. The duck stops here!”
           I grinned with disbelief. “You do realize that what you’re doing is going to upset a lot of people, right?” I replied.
           “That may be so, but I see no alternative,” said Wellington.
           “To what?” I asked. “Why is it so important to re-route the river?”
           “Because human, at present the river runs past the old Queen Victoria House, and everyone who’s ever gone near that place knows that it is haunted. My family and I live along that river and we travel up and down it every day. Every time we come to the bend that that old house overlooks, our day is ruined right there and then by the ghostly screaming that makes us fear for our lives. My wife and I are not taking our ducklings passed there anymore.”
           I scratched my head now as I thought about the Wellington’s troubles. As much as I sympathized with him, it would be very problematic for me to have this road replaced by a river, and besides, surely such an undertaking would be impossible for one duck.”
           “Look Wellington, surly it’s a bit impractical for you to divert the course of a river?” I stated. “What if I were to help you do something about the house? If it weren’t there to cause you trouble anymore then surely you wouldn’t need to re-rout the river, right?”
           Wellington was silent for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I thank you for the offer, and yes, you do make a good point. Unfortunately, I don’t think simply demolishing the house would be a good idea. Whatever its reason, the ghost that haunts the place is already very agitated, and I dare not think about what it might do should its house be destroyed.”
           “I’m not saying we should demolish the house, not yet anyway,” I replied. “I suggest we do something about the ghost itself.”
           Wellington looked perplexed. “And how would you propose we do that?”
           “I deal a lot in spooky stuff like this,” I answered, confidently. “Let’s just say my work has taught me a bit that might be handy in this situation.” 
* * *
I arrived and parked just short of the Queen Victoria House’s one-kilometer-long driveway. Even from this distance, the intermittent screaming could still be heard, which gave me an unnerving feeling even before I’d started. Finally, I set off toward the house on foot. 
           The closer I got, the more I felt my muscles stiffening and the hair on the back of my neck raising.
           As I came to the front door, the screams now louder, I discovered a large padlock on it and a sign that read: Dare ye not enter lest your screams join those doth can be heard coming from within these here halls.
           How old-timey, I thought. So that’s ghost-speak for ‘No Soliciting’. Almost sound like a pirate wrote it or something.
           Fortunately, I’d come prepared for a locked door. I took the bolt cutters I’d brought and, after straining to cut it for a while, I eventually got the lock to come off. 
           I flung the doors open and entered. Almost immediately another scream rang out, after one of a number of silent intervals. Only having one foot in the door, the muscles of my other leg had locked tight preventing me from moving. Eventually, as the noise again subsided, I stepped fully inside. 
           Then there was another scream, which seemed to come from the northern end of the house. This meant going left, so I began tentatively tiptoeing that way. 
           I tried to move in a way that seemed determined rather than terrified. As I moved through the dark and dusty old rooms of the house I noticed as I shone my torch into the corners of each of the rooms that the whole building was crawling with bugs. Aside from this, the rooms themselves were surprisingly empty, and all of them seemed to be an eerily similar shape. It almost felt as though I was walking through the same room over and over again.
           With the next scream, it now sounded like the ghost was behind me and over on the west side of the house. 
           After reaching the rough area of it, I decided to head up a floor, thinking it to be above me. With the staircase leading into the room on the opposite end of the house to where I was looking to be, I had to loop back around. 
           I then came to the estimated spot. My goosebumps were like hedgehog spikes at this point. I trembled in anticipation of the next scream, expecting it to come from right in front of me, but there was nothing.
           The room felt colder that the others, but it was silent. Eventually, I forced my shaking hands to move the torch about the corners of the ceiling. The first one was completely bare, not even any of the multitude of bugs that had been in the other rooms. The next corner was the same.
           Then, as I was running my beam across to the next corner, it passed something in the blink of an eye. My immediate reaction was to flick the beam back, and then, in that moment, what looked like a mix between a cloud of dust and a silk curtain in the vague shape of a figure became caught in the beam, unmoving. 
            My muscles all clenched tight. It made a sound, but this was not a scream but a sad whimpering wail.  
           “It’s okay. I just wanted to talk to you,” I said, stepping forward. “Can you understand me?” 
           The entity only moaned in response, not being at all intelligible. It then appeared to wave it’s arms in a gesturing motion toward one corner of the room. Turning my torch in that direction I noticed something small and reflective. Forcing my legs to move again, I went over and picked it up, discovering it to be a zippo lighter. 
           “Oh, thank goodness,” then came a voice from the figure’s direction.
           Shocked, I lurched back in its direction. “Who’s that?” I said in a panic.
           “Finally. Someone’s actually touching it and I can talk to them,” said the being. “You have no idea how frustrating it’s been all this time.”
           “What’s going on?” I asked, only just realising that touching the lighter allowed me to understand the ghost. 
           “I’m so glad someone actually had the nerve to try and seek me out and not go running in terror for once,” said the ghost. “Trying to get someone’s attention enough so that they’d come in here and find that lighter hasn’t been easy. All my attempts have seemed to just make the situation worse.”
           “Well, you’ve made contact now,” I said. “What is it you want?”
           “I’m bored,” said the ghost. “I want to leave this place and be free, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving that lighter here. It’s my… attachment to the physical world, my only way of communicating with anyone. I wanted someone to find it who’d be willing to hold onto it for me and keep it secret. Someone I can count on.”
           Suddenly a thought came to mind. “I might well be the perfect contact for you,” I said. “See, I’m kind of in the business of keeping secrets and discretely holding onto items for people. I own a property hidden away out here away from poking noses.”
           “My goodness, you’re a life saver… metaphorically speaking,” said the ghost. “But why are you being so generous? I hadn’t even gotten to trying to bargain with you yet.”
           “Let’s just say that you continuing to haunt this house is troubling for some people, and I need to solve that problem for them, so they don’t create more problems for me,” I answered. 
           “Then we have a deal,” said the ghost. “Just be sure to keep that lighter safe, and if you ever need to speak with me, just light it.”
           “Thanks. Will do,” I answered.
           With that the ghost vanished.
           “Well, that was… easier than expected,” I said to myself. 
* * *
On my way home I drove back along the road where I’d previously been stopped by the duck, coming from the opposite direction, I could see that he was still there guarding his post. Pulling over, I got out of the vehicle once again.
           “Hello again, Wellington,” I said. “Your problem is solved. The Queen Victoria House has been un-haunted, and the ghost has left on good terms.”
           He gave a small but exuberant jump on the spot. “Oh. Well, my sincerest thanks to you, human,” he said. “Apologies for any rudeness or inconvenience I’ve caused you. You’ve done me and many others a tremendous service, especially now that I’ll not be needing to reroute the river. I will return to my family now, but before I go, I’ll give you my promise to make it know that you are a friend to all the wildlife in this region.” With that, Wellington flew off toward the forest.
 
","August 15, 2023 10:58","[[{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': 'Hi Ben. So glad that the problem got solved. Otherwise I could see poor Wellington getting run over. It worried me. Added suspense. Cute story.\n\nI missed the name of the main character - you. Ben, maybe? At the point where Wellington says his name you could have inserted a brief dialogue naming yourself. Or did I miss it?\n\nA few other points. \'incognito\', A person can be incognito, but an object is disguised. \'disguised and hidden\' - proper order.\n\n""I might often speculate at an item."" \'at\' maybe should be \'over\'?. Better still, \'at an item\'...', 'time': '04:24 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Gregory Scott': 'Excellent story. Can’t wait to read some more of your work.', 'time': '17:49 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Sweeney': 'This is a fun and interesting story. I really enjoyed it.', 'time': '02:27 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,0qvtlb,Creature Comfort,Jakob Bierbaum,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0qvtlb/,/short-story/0qvtlb/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Sad', 'Funny']",8 likes,"
He’s crazy, but he’s mine. 
He lives in my house. He’s kind of cute in his own dysfunctional kind of way. He moves frequently in the hallways and is always sitting on my furniture. He is captivated by screens. 
He is quite hairy for a person. I’ve decided to keep him. 
After all, he fills my food dish and comes to cater to me when I call, perhaps he’s a bit slow on the take, but he is generous with my treats, so I can forgive his lethargy in the mornings. He drinks an abundance of black liquid with a bitter stench. He occasionally shares his food with me, though not nearly often enough. 
He serves as an adequate pillow and when I feel like it, and only when I feel like it, his legs provide enough support for a short two to three hour nap. 
He can get quite confused and I secretly think he forgets my name. He calls me buddy and bugs and champ and kitty and stinky. The last one he thinks is a joke though I’ve followed him to the bathroom and he has no right to complain. I’ve told him so many times through the door. 
He doesn’t appreciate my need to protect him in his weakened state. He is lucky for the walls that surround us. I do not think he’d survive for long on the streets. He does not even know how to call to the flying creatures outside. 
Lately, things have changed. 
It all happened after she left. 
He no longer dances in the hallway like a fool, his arms and legs shaking with a profound lack of grace. He no longer laughs.
My house is quieter than it used to be. I do my best to fill the air with my own singing. He does not seem to understand this gift. I’d bring him many gifts if he’d let me out into the great wilderness, small, tasty gifts of all sizes for I am a great hunter. 
To his credit, he recognizes this skill as I track and destroy the bed monsters that plague his sheets. Those too have appeared less frequently, which I believe is a testament to my abilities. They must be afraid of my terrible claws. 
It has been many nights since she left. 
I wake him to fill my dish as only one side remains full and I require fresh sustenance. The large bright ball in the sky has been up for ages and ages before he finally rises from the room I have allowed him to use. I managed to walk from the tower I use to keep watch of the outside world to the door to his room several times before I finally heard movement on the other side of the door. I do not know what he would do if I wasn’t here to alert him to the start of the day. Most likely, he would not leave his chamber. He spends even more time there now. 
He looks disheveled, so I do my best to reassure him, though we both know his cleaning ritual needs a lot of work. He does not bathe himself the appropriate six times each day and is hardly grateful when I remind him of it. 
There are large half circles under his eyes. I do not know how he can spend so much time in his room and still not get enough sleep. I will have to remind him to nap with me after my first meal and perhaps twice after that. 
He bends down to pick me up and I allow him to hold me for a time. He strokes my chin and cheeks and I am appeased for a moment. Alas, I wriggle in his arms to remind him of who is in charge. He struggles for a moment, but I land on the ground with a perfect leap. 
He follows me to the food room appropriately filling my dish before he moves on to his own. 
The food is adequate. I lick the gravy first, savoring the sweetness it provides and leaving the meat for last. I look up to make sure he does not think of leaving before I am done. I rub my back against each of his legs and hurry out of his reach as he bends over to feel the sleek softness of my fur. 
I finish my meal as he pours water from the hot machine that I despise. He does not like when I rub against it even though it rests on my countertop. I give audible praise for the meal.
He says “I know” repeatedly, but I am not certain that he really does. 
It is time to stretch my legs, so I sit at his feet and stare at him until he gets the right string. At first, he waves it around with little force. The feathers at the end provide no challenge as I am simply too fast. 
Then he moves with it. He knows how much I love the chase. I allow him the appropriate head start. I crouch in wait, hidden perfectly behind the pile of shoes littered across the floor. I blend in with the surroundings so well that he cannot see me, then I launch myself forward. The strength of my paws propell me across the slick, tiled surface over the side of one couch and swiftly under the table where I pause to catch my breath. The hunt has just begun, no use ending it too early even if I absolutely can. The feathered creature shifts nervously on the footrest as is expected. My tail flickers in anticipation and then I strike. I’m on top of it in moments. My jaw clenches around its length. I run my razor-sharp teeth down its spine careful not to destroy it completely. 
He becomes restless, so I release the creature and restart the chase. It is good that he can watch me hunt. Maybe he will gain more confidence knowing that he belongs to me. 
He gives up too soon even though I could do this for hours. He takes his place on the couch and the large screen comes alive. 
I know that he will be staring at it until I require him to serve me again, so I sit near him on the couch avoiding the bunched fabric he sets down, not too close to be touched, but close enough to remind him I’m here. 
I spin in a circle and find the most comfortable spot to begin my nap. I catch him staring at his small screen. His fingers tap against it and her image appears. 
His mouth trembles. Perhaps he did not get enough to eat. 
I kindly request that he stop moving so much as it disrupts my sleep, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 
One medium nap later and he is still staring at the screen; his eyes are wet. He must have licked from the water machine in the food room. It can be tricky to use and has often covered my fur and required an extensive cleaning. 
I scan the room for any other looming threats, but I have done my job and it is safe from invaders. I nap again. 
Blinking my eyes open with a giant yet still intimidating yawn, I sense something is wrong. My human is not in the room. 
I call his name.
There is no response. I grow worried, so I shout louder. I check the food room. He is often in the food room though he doesn’t make the food anymore, just pulls it out of boxes and bags. I try to show him other uses for these toys, but he usually just shoves me away. 
But, he is not there. 
My heart starts to beat faster. The hallway is clear and so is the potty room for visitors. I push open the door just to be sure and dart out before it can close on me. 
He is not tending to my sand hill, which he continues to do despite my incessant pleas for him to stop. I even pounced on his back one time to strengthen my point. He did indeed stop, but he bucked in terror and when I attempted to hang on with the agile use of my claws, he got quite irritated even though I was the aggrieved party to begin with. 
I find him in bed though the ball of light remains in the distance. The covers have been pulled up to his shoulder. My nose twitches and every fabric of my being says to attack. 
The slight movement under the blanket is mesmerizing bliss. I silently stalk forward, a perfect killing machine. I reach the edge of the bed and I coil myself like a cobra. 
But I stop myself, as my keen hearing picks up a muffled sob. I reach my paws out to get a closer look. There’s a vibration at his shoulders and chest and another deep sob. I pull myself the rest of the way onto the bed and slowly circle him. 
He breathes heavily, but the sobbing stops.I step around his head and rub my side against his fur. 
I can see he is in pain, like the time I had a hairball caught in my throat. 
I tell him it is going to be okay. This time I think he understands because he says “I know”. 
I curl up next to him and let him wrap his arms around me. 
He says he loves me and I whisper it back.
Soon enough, he is asleep. 
I have done my job, but that is to be expected. 
After all, he is mine. 
 
","August 16, 2023 14:53",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,jz8ohi,Mishaps,Aiyana Henderson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jz8ohi/,/short-story/jz8ohi/,Fluff,0,"['African American', 'Adventure', 'Drama']",8 likes,"
Boston, Massachusetts 1980
 
Bri and Sue Lance were happily enjoying each other’s company. The dishes were done, the house was clean, and they were nestled into each other’s arms. Nothing could compare them though for the adventure of Maxine “Max” Trailblazer. An energetic beagle, Max has turned Bri and Sue’s lives upside down. From chewing on their clothes as a puppy to tiring them out at the dog park as an adult, Max has changed these ladies’ lives forever.
“I can’t believe we’ve had Max for five years now.” Bri was playing with Max while wrestling a squeaky duck toy out of her mouth. 
 
“And yet, she still has the energy of a three year old child.”
 
Both women laughed. 
 
“Remember the time when our nephew, Stephen, was playing that obnoxious Bilal Gordon song with the nodding cat, and when it got to the part where Bilal banged the drums, he banged it near Max and she got feisty?”
 
Sue stared at Bri with fondness. “Yeah she was barking as if to say, ‘Back off, jackass. This is my personal space!’”
 
The women’s laughter filled the pristine living room again. Having a dog in their life had brought such peace that they couldn’t even picture having children, for that was a topic neither women could explore.
 
Suddenly, Max started peeing on Bri’s shoe. 
 
“No, Max! Bad dog!”
 
Max started to whimper and walked to the end of the living room and towards the kitchen. 
 
“She’s not always a bad dog.” Sue glanced outside of the kitchen in a distance. 
 
“Sue, she’s a dog! She has to learn discipline or other strangers will be confused by why an owner lets her dog pee on random people’s feet!”
 
Sue frowned. “I understand.”
 
There was an uncomfortable silence. Bri was the first to break it. 
 
“Then again, she reminds me of another rebellious spirit.”
 
That led to a smile and some kissing. Max glanced innocently at them.
 
Sue got out of her seat and went down to Max’s height.
 
“Max, do you want to go to the dog park?”
 
“Woof, woof!”
 
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
 
The ladies walked out of their glorious house. The ladies walked near the Cape Cod beach, the lovely waves calming their spirits. They knew that Max had a spirituality connection with the ocean; a psychic told them that once. Granted, they thought it was a bit odd for the psychic to focus on their non-human companion, but luckily, they were open minded people.
 
It wasn’t long before Bri and Sue saw Max digging in the sand. Unfortunately, the sand went blasting towards a British man’s face. 
 
“What the fuck?!”
 
The two ladies ran towards the disgruntled man. “Hey, ladies, you might want to take control of your dog there. I almost got sand in my sandwich!”
 
As usual, Sue came over and defended Max.
 
“Sir, she’s just a small dog. We’re still learning how to discipline her.”
 
British Man was not amused, nor did he care about dogs.
 
“I don’t care if your dog was balanced on a trapeze artist’s shoulders while walking on a tightrope! Control her or I will have to call Animal Control.”
 
Now it was Bri’s turn to speak up. 
 
“Don’t worry, we’ll be taking our dog now.”
 
After that awkward encounter, the ladies focused on relaxing on the beautiful landscape that was Cape Cod. They laid down on their blankets and stared at the beautiful blue sky.
 
“I swear, Sue, Max has you wrapped around her little finger. She could take a shit on the Taj Mahal and you would still fall for those puppy dog eyes!”
 
“Well, at least I don’t act like a strict dictator who wants to control our canine friend!”
 
“Who said anything about being a dictator?”
 
“Nobody.”
Sue was grumpy and folded her arms.
 
Bri heavily sighed.
 
“Look, all I’m saying is that Max deserves to be handled with love and discipline. Ever since Nicole passed away, it feels like you’ve been overprotective of the current pet that we have.”
 
Sue couldn’t deny that. As silly as it sounded, she went to a therapist last year to handle the grief of losing Nicole to cancer. It wasn’t the fact that Nicole was gone that got to her, but it was the fact that she could never be with her again until after death.
 
“I’m just glad that we have another dog again. It’s good to be man’s best friend.”
 
Bri smiled. “And she will continue to be with us. Let’s play with her.”
 
The energetic, bubbly beagle was so full of life, a notion that the ladies almost were envious to.
 
They spent the whole afternoon playing with Maxine, making wonderful memories of their best friend at their side. Bri took photos with her camera. She would keep those close to her heart forever.
 
When they got home, Bri decided to feed Max bacon bites from the dog food bag.
Max thoroughly enjoyed them. She was such a happy girl. 
 
“I just never knew that having a dog was so much fun.” Sue smiled to herself. She started cooking Eggs Benedict. 
 
Bri was a little confused. “Eggs? For dinner?”
 
Sue smiled. “Why not?”
 
I guess I’ve had stranger things, Bri thought to herself. 
 
The two ladies enjoyed their meal. 
 
“Hey, babe. We should make a dog album.”
 
“What a great idea! We never did that for Nicole when she was alive! Let’s do it!”
 
Bri gathered the pictures from her upstairs bedroom. She glanced at them with bliss. Max may be a stubborn fool, but she was still a sweet, kind dog. 
 
They had such a great relationship. 
 
“Babe, are you coming?”
 
“Yeah, hold on!”
 
Bri rushed downstairs and saw Sue and Max happily gazing at each other. She decided to take another picture.
 
“Bri!”
 
“We got to capture the memories forever!” 
 
Sue shrugged. “Sure, why the hell not?”
 
The two ladies and Maxine got together for one final picture and smiled into the camera. At that moment, they realized that nothing could stop their bond with their adorable dog. 
","August 17, 2023 15:19","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'This is really lovely. Also made me a little sad as we recently lost our doggy. :( And I am dying to get a new one but I need to wait until the appropriate time.\nthank you for this beautiful story of doggy love !', 'time': '23:01 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Aiyana Henderson': 'Aw. I’m so sorry about your loss. I’m glad my story cheered you up.', 'time': '12:41 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Aiyana Henderson': 'Aw. I’m so sorry about your loss. I’m glad my story cheered you up.', 'time': '12:41 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,hkfje6,Catbo ,Gill James,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hkfje6/,/short-story/hkfje6/,Fluff,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Friendship']",8 likes,"
 
Greetings to you. I suspect you've not met anyone quite like me before. I'm a bit of a puzzle even to myself and to those people I work with and who rely on me. One man perhaps understands me. The one who made me. Some people call him the Magician but there's nothing really magic about him. 
	He made me for his daughter. As a companion for her but also as someone to keep an eye on her. She's a feisty thing and often puts herself into dangerous situations. 
	You think of it as some kind of fantasy, Frankenstein's monster, don’t you? But that was actually a scientific experiment. My creator has perfected that method and now he makes lots of machines like me. I look like a plain old domestic cat, don't I? Well, indeed there is a bit of that animal in me. The animus, it's called. I have a vague memory of a cat-like existence. But I am also a highly developed machine that can process data faster than most computers, and that can interact effectively with humans. 
	My first mistress and I got on well. But then I had a reason to leave and she wasn't sad. She was pragmatic. So was my master. He was going to create another machine for her, with the animus of a snow-leopard, I believe. An attractive creature, possibly even more attractive than me.           
	Yes it was all very rosy and cosy. Arabella liked to explore and I was happy to keep her company. The cat part of me enjoyed hunting for mice and rats. Naturally I had to either kill them or let them go because a machine such as I cannot digest biological matter. I usually let them go again; they were part of the ecological balance on that planet. 
	One day we were in the caves that border our town. I could detect something human in there. I could smell whoever it was and all of my other sensors also suggested human activity. It took several days to find her. 
	But what a shock when I did. The poor girl was covered in sores and nasty red patches on her skin. She was also very small. She looked like a Terrestran.    
	""You look unwell, Madam,"" I said to her. ""Can my mistress and I be of any assistance?"" 
	""I don't feel too bad today,"" she said. ""At least it's cool in here. And dark. It's the sunlight that harms me the most.""
	""May I examine you?"" I asked. ""I only need to place a paw on your wrist.""
	She nodded her agreement. 
	What an assault on my robotic senses, though, and even the cat part of me was somewhat overwhelmed. Cellular exzenema and possibly the worst case in the whole universe. This child should have never been allowed to develop. I was able to interpret her thoughts. Her name was Petri and I could see straight away that there was a history of a loving father who had not allowed her embryo to be destroyed even though the disease had been discovered whilst she was still in a petri-dish. 
	""You're all alone here,"" said Arabella. ""What about your friends and family?"" 
	""They come  here every so often and I visit them. But I like being on my own."" 
	""What if I left Catbo with you? He'd be good company and he's very clever. You wouldn't mind, would you, Catbo?""
	I bowed slightly. ""I am here to serve you, Mistress. It is as you wish."" 
	""Please stay with her, Catbo. She shouldn't be on her own.""   
	So I stayed. 
	She was a little wary of me at first. She ignored me. She just got on with whatever she was doing. She even gave me the slip - or tried to - occasionally. I'm really much too wily for her to succeed at that. I kept a discreet distance from her, but watched her carefully.
	She really had made a nice little home for herself in the caves. She had a small kitchen. It had a drawer for delivering readymade meals. Every so often a house droid came and cleaned and tidied for her. She had made one cave into a sitting room and another into a bedroom. She had a small alcove set up as a study. There was running water and electricity. I could charge myself. 
	Whilst she was sleeping I was able to look at her dataserve. She was a good girl. A good daughter, I could see. Her school work was all up to date - which I could definitely not say about my former mistress. And there was so much evidence of her searching for a cure for her terrible disease. If only she would let me help her. I can process information a hundred times as fast as a human and I can communicate directly with dataserves. 
	Very occasionally, when she was tired, she would forget herself and run her fingers through my fur as if I were a real cat. Then I would obligingly purr, run my cheeks against her arm or roll over for my tummy to be tickled. I've even been known to lick my bottom or fart to keep the illusion going. No. Not illusion. There is still a very small part of me that is cat. 
	One day she had to go up to the surface for a school meet or some such. She was in agony when she came back. She'd been very careful about wrapping herself up but even so she was covered in painful blisters and she was burning up. 
	She burst into tears. ""It hurts so much, Catbo. It really does."" 
	I set to immediately. I urged her to use her wands. She was due some medication then anyway and she had a palliative wand but I could see it only took the very edge off her pain. I contacted the medics and ordered them to do something. Within ten minutes there were two powerful wands in the delivery draw. One was to ease the pain and the other was to make her sleep. 
	""You are so good to me, Catbo,"" she said as she snuggled down in bed. I could tell the pain was easing and she was becoming drowsy.
	She slept well and in the morning she seemed quite perky. Most of the blisters and blotches had disappeared. 
	""Thank you so, so much,"" she said. ""You are a clever little cat."" 
	""I am but a machine, Mistress,"" I replied. ""And may I suggest that you allow me to conduct some of your searches? I can find and process the information much more quickly than you can."" 
	""You can?"" She hadn't realised. 
	""Of course. That is one of my main functions."" 
	""Well then, let's do it."" She laughed. She actually laughed. I don't think I'd heard her do that before. 
	""Mistress."" I bowed and started work straight away searching via her dataserve.    
	So from then on she allowed me to help. We searched and searched. We found new things to try. Some worked a little, some not at all. She became better at managing her pain. 
	Then one day it all went away. Her father - not the biological one who rescued her from a petri dish,- sadly he was killed in an accident at work - but her adoptive father, attachment of her step-mother, this adoptive father was a high-ranking diplomat and she began gradually taking over his role as he also became ill. Inhabitants of another planet were able to affect the cure for her. There were tough negotiations but in the end she was cured. Completely. 
	You might think I feel a certain amount of frustration at that but you'd be wrong. I am glad for her, really glad. She now leads a normal life - in some respects anyway. Life can never be completely the same as that of another young girl for her - she has so much responsibility. 
	Anyway, can a machine feel frustration? Can I feel glad for her? And yet I do. 
	I'm always busy helping her. I've been able to look up information for her rapidly. I've advised her on some courses of action and I've been able to alert her to enemy space craft approaching the planet. I have even become her confidant on matters of the heart. Only the other day she said to me, ""What shall I do about Toby?"" 
	""Do you love him?"" I asked ""Or is this just lust?""
	""I adore him. I want him with me always. But will he be too much of a distraction?"" 
	""Mistress, you may be even more distracted if you keep him distant,"" I replied. 
	I now observe they are spending much more time together and she is happier.    
	And naturally from time to time I am just cat. 
	It's puzzling to me that I have become this instinctive creature that can love and hate, despise and respect, and even be sad or happy. 
	Her adoptive father has now died. She needs me less in some ways because she has so many other people around her. And she needs me more in other ways because he was her mentor and friend as well as a father and she misses that. Plus, her step-brother, the biological son of her adoptive parents, is a very difficult child. And he has become more difficult since his father died. He has befriended a droid. Norman. An enemy droid. 
	So, I have been busy. 
	I have managed to preserve the animus of her adoptive father. I am attempting to link it to the droid, Norman. Thus, she will have her mentor still and her step-brother will have his father. The enemy will also stop being the enemy. 
	I understand what you're thinking. Why doesn't he appeal to his own creator? Is this moral what he's doing? Is it safe?
	Well, I have to keep this so secret. It has to happen without anyone noticing. I'm safe talking to you. You are our past. Even if you write this down for future generations it’s so fantastical, isn't it, that people who read it will think it but a fairy tale. 
	Norman is beginning to act like their father. The other day I heard him say to Petri: ""Go girl!"" That was her father's pet phrase whenever she was facing something difficult. 
	I'm not so sure how this will develop. So, I'm warning you. Look at me. A mere cat and a mere machine have developed into something much more ... sentient, intelligent? What may happen if we use a human animus in the first place? Now, I'm working for the general good and so is Norman. But could it swing the other way? Please be careful.    
","August 12, 2023 10:09",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,cp55py,The Barbarian’s Kitty,Pranav Ramakrishnan,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cp55py/,/short-story/cp55py/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Fantasy', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
Early mornings sunrises in the glorious Free-Trade City of Erevanis are considered to be quite the site to behold. The orange sun rises over the sprawling metropolis, accentuating the brightly colored rooftops that showcase a city segmented not by walls, but by a diverse array of colors. The river Suvira, reflecting the rising sun, is itself a bright swirl of orange and purple hues. The colorful backdrop of the sky accentuates the vibrancy of the city, despite the fact that most people usually don’t have the luxury to relax and relish its splendor. Most people who were awake at this time are not milling about, as they are usually getting their businesses ready for the day. 
Shegol the Brewer was one such business owner. As the proprietor of the popular café, ‘The Arcane Bean’, she and her employees were working exceptionally hard and fast, in order to prepare for the morning rush of customers wanting their early fix of artistically crafted coffees and teas. A pure-blooded orc, she stood tall at 6 ft 3 inches, with green skin showing its age, greying black hair that was closely cropped, and a proud set of lower jaw tusks that are indicative of her race. Her bulky and muscular frame, covered by her comfortable clothes and a rainbow-colored apron rather than battle armor, did little to hide the fact that she was a retired adventurer. Though she had been a skilled and experienced barbarian, but she was more famous for her abilities as an alchemist.
It had been nearly three years since she retired and used her life savings to open her café. What had initially been merely a hobby had turned into a burning passion for artisanal coffees. She had managed to get her hands a run down and abandoned two story building that she was barely able to afford, the hefty price tag due to it being located in the Sky District. So called for the sky-blue color of the building roofs in the neighborhood, the Sky District was considered to be one of the most bustling and happening areas of Erevanis. Right next to the Suvira, it was located in a nice and relatively upscale part of town, not too far from both the local University and the Adventurers guild. A popular marketplace was also within walking distance, on the other side of the river. Turning the upper floor into her residence and the lower floor into the café, she spent the next two years rebuilding the place and setting up all of the required equipment. She had difficulty attracting customers initially, as one looking at her weathered and face and gruff expression would be hard pressed to consider her suited for customer service. It had not been an easy start, but she persevered, and soon after she finished her second year as proprietor, started to see an increase in business. Word of the Arcane Bean spread across the neighborhood, and people came to love the selection of coffees, teas and snacks available, the riverside ambience and the customer service, which word of mouth claimed was unparalleled. 
This morning, like most mornings, as her employees were almost done sitting things up for opening, Shegol stood next to the river and absorbed the morning ambiance. From the front of the establishment, she could see the sun rising over the river, creating a very scenic and serene picture that she relished, letting the cool morning breeze emanating from the river flow over her. Taking in her last chance at serenity during the day, before the neighborhood turned into the bustling area it was known to be, she took a deep breath and turned to open her establishment. She flipped the sign on the front from closed to open, and as if on que, her two favorite customers walked up towards the café, arriving at their usual time like clockwork.
One of them, Mantho Beastkiller, was leisurely walking up the river towards her café. As a six foot 8-inch-tall goliath, he was an intimidating sight to behold. A semi-retired barbarian himself, he had the gear and armor to match. Like all goliaths, he was hairless from head to toe, with ashen grey skin adorned with dark contrasting war tattoos across his face and body. He looked every part the stereotypical barbarian, the weathered and savage look on his face, accentuated by the war tattoos, gave away his age and experience as a warrior. Needless to say, most people gave him a wide berth.
The other was perched comfortably on Mantho’s bald head. Fluffy, the ginger tabby cat, was spread out over the goliath’s head, soaking in the morning sun. She was a regular sized cat, but in contrast to her gargantuan best friend, she looked like a small kitten in comparison. Her full name and title, given to her by her favorite person, was Lady Purrina McFluffykins. As they neared the café, Mantho raised a hand in greeting. Fluffy meowed loudly and leaped from his head and landed on Shegol’s shoulder, immediately nuzzling against her neck and purring with excitement.
“Hiiii sweet girl!” she said, almost cooing in a deeper than average voice, as she happily scratched Fluffy behind the ears. “You havin a good morning?”
Fluffy meowed in response, as if trying to have a conversation with her, while Mantho cleared his throat.
“Yes, yes,” she said playfully, smiling from ear to ear, as she always did when she saw her favorite kitty. “Good to see you too Mantho. The usual?”
“Yes please,” he replied in a deeper and courser voice that hers, as he sat down at a veranda table that faced the river and the rising sun reflected in it. 
“And what about you sweetie?” she asked Fluffy. “The usual for you as well?”
Fluffy meowed happily in response, and Shegol walked back into the café and up to the counter.
“Valandrin,” she said, calling out to the raven haired young half-elven man she had manning the counter. “Mantho and Fluffy are here on schedule, please prepare and bring out the regular order.”
“At once Ma’am,” he replied, reaching out to scratch Fluffy behind the ears and talking to her as well. “Don’t worry Ma’am, we will have your usual order ready.”
Fluffy meowed once again in response to Valandrin, as he moved to prepare their order with a grin on his face. Shegol returned outside to the table her goliath friend was at and sat in the chair opposite him. Fluffy leapt off her shoulders, did a few circles of the table, stretched and yawned, and laid down in a position where her tummy was getting a full blast of the morning sun. She began to purr again as Mantho began to absentmindedly pet her and scratch her behind her ears. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere, before Valandrin came out with their orders on a tray, setting each order down in front of their intended recipients. Mantho got a large cappuccino, Shegol got her pour over, and Fluffy got herself a nice large bowl of warm and frothy milk.
Shegol took a sip of her coffee, savoring the complex flavor, strong and slightly nutty, with a hint of wolfberry Today’s pour over was made from ground beans that came from a village in her homeland, not too far from her ancestral village. Mantho took a long slurp of his cappuccino, leaving a foam moustache to form, which rather than licking or wiping it off, he let sit. Fluffy, rather than drinking her milk normally, stuck her upper snout into the milk in an attempt to mimic the goliath’s frothy upper lip decoration. The two of them chuckled as Fluffy proudly meowed, showed off her ‘moustache’ to them, and both gave her scratches behind her ears. She purred again and returned to drinking her milk.
“It’s your turn today,” said Shegol, taking another sip and letting out a content sigh. “Tell me a story.”
“Hmm, let me think” replied Mantho, taking another sip of his coffee. “We’ve told each other most of our stores.”
“Don’t mind if it’s an older one. Tell me a story I haven’t heard in a while,” she said, absentmindedly stroking the tabby. “I know! Tell me again how you met this orange angel.”
“Was about 3 years ago,” he said. “I was a month into my second attempt at retirement, and it wasn’t going so well for me.”
“Ha!” she barked. “You were quite the mess. Drunken brawls, public outburst, anger issues, the works. You were arrested what, 10 times, right?”
“9 times, I’ll have you know, but you’re right, was a huge mess. Anyway, this one night, I was on my way back home from the bar…”
“As usual,” she interrupted, smirking.
“Yes, as usual,” he continued, with an exasperated sigh. “Was on my back from the bar when three dumbasses tried to mug me. Might have been shitfaced out of my mind, but I still beat them up and sent them packing. Though not before one of them broke a bottle over my head and stabbed me in the arm. Decided to cut through an alley when I heard a soft squeak. Took me a couple of looks to find the source, cause again, I was piss drunk. I heard the squeak again and shifted a barrel that was in a corner of the alley. That’s when I saw her, this tiny little creature, covered in dirt and grime, and malnourished as all hell.”
Mantho took another long slurping sip of his coffee, let out a large sigh, and continued his story.
“Now, I’m a scary guy. Not to brag, but I have sent beasts twice my size running for the hills with just a look. I’ve more than lived up to the name ‘Beastkiller’. So, imagine my confusion and surprise when this tiny little thing, smaller than my palm, gives me a once over, squeaks once more, and tries to climb me. No fear in her eyes, just pure curiosity. I must have stared at her for a good few minutes before I decided to pick her up and take her home with me. Cleaned her and fed her and whatnot. All the while, she just wanted to play with me. Again, no fear whatsoever.”
While he took another deep sip of his coffee, Shegol noticed the first set of morning regulars begin to enter the café, each of them wishing her good morning on their in. She took a deep sip of her own coffee and waited for him to continue.
“Where was I?” he asked. “Right, decided to pick her up and take her home with me. The next few weeks were admittedly a little stressful. I’d only ever killed beasts, not raised or nurtured them. Feel I maybe got the hang of it once I noticed her feeling a lot more comfortable around me and trying to follow me whenever I left the room. She wanted to spend every moment with me, which I was happy to oblige, and started taking her everywhere with me. That was around the time I first brought her by this place, though I’m sure you’ll never forget that day. She made retirement bearable. I had something to keep me occupied, to work on, to look forward to. I quit drinking, cold turkey, not long after I took her in. Probably the most challenging thing I’ve ever done, but it was worth it. Didn’t need the booze anymore.”
He took another sip of his coffee, looked at Fluffy happily drinking her milk, and let out a content sigh before continuing.
“She could tell when I was about to lose my temper, or have a panic attack, and she would easily calm me down. Once she started sleeping next to me at night, the nightmares stopped. Daresay she even saved my life. Safe to say I fell in love almost immediately.”
Mantho was interrupted when Fluffy, who had finished her bowl of milk, let out a content meow. He produced a kerchief and wiped the remaining milk off her mouth, as well as the foam moustache coating his upper lip. He then produced a sling that he tied around his chest as Fluffy let out a lazy yawn. He helped her climb into it, and she promptly fell asleep. With a content grin that mirrored his, Shegol downed the last of her pour over.
“How’d ya end up half coming out of retirement for your current job?” she asked.
“Well, some time after I started taking care of Fluffy, I realized that I enjoyed the feeling of being a father. Not only did I enjoy nurturing, I felt I might also be good at it. I remembered that the guild-master had wanted to start a program to teach kids some self-defense. Talked to him, and he agreed to let me give it a try.”
“Wouldn’t most kids be scared of you?”
“Usually are at first. Decided to use that as a lesson in overcoming fear. Teach them that as kids, they aren’t expected to fight scary things like me, but survive long enough to escape with their lives. It certainly helps that Fluffy is always with me. I let the kids play with her after class. Unsurprisingly, a cute kitty is great motivation.”
They sat in a comfortable silence as he finished his coffee, and Shegol began to notice more customers flooding into her popular establishment, as her employees were rushing around to serve them. She took out her pocket watch, checked the time, and moved to get up with him mirroring her.
“Getting to be that time, huh?” he asked.
“Yup,” she replied. “Looks like I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”
“Don’t you always?”, he retorted.
“True, but it’s about that time of the semester where the uni students have their mid-terms. I make bank of sleep deprived students, but it’s a stressful time for us, and I don’t want to leave my team hangin.”
She reached over and stroked Fluffy a few times, who purred sleepily in response. Not wanting to wake her, she let her be, and pushed the chairs back in place and collected the empty cups and bowl.
“See ya later brother,” she said, waving goodbye with full hands.
“You too,” he replied. “Don’t forget, tomorrow’s story is on you.”
“Never do. Have fun teaching the kids today.”
“Always do.”
He waved in return and set out for work, soon crossing the bridge to get to the other side of the Suvira. She let her gaze linger on her friend, carrying her niece, already looking forward to the next day. Deciding to put any distracting thoughts away, she switched her mind to work mode, turned around and reentered the café, ready for the busy day to come. Smiling and greeting every customer on her way in, she took over for Valandrin at the front counter and began to take orders and prepare them for her customers with a professional, but genuine, smile on her face.
","August 18, 2023 16:03","[[{'Cecilia Englishby': 'I really liked this.\nIt was a very sweet story on the therapeutic value of animal companionship. I love that she basically helped him cure his PTSD. \n\nI can tell you put some love into it.\nThank you for writing ❤️', 'time': '18:19 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,rpq3y7,No Pets Allowed,Arlin Dixon,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rpq3y7/,/short-story/rpq3y7/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Funny', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
	Claire was not allowed a pet. The death toll on her watch was far too great for her parents to shill out cash for another belly-up fish or stiff hamster. It wasn’t deliberate, Claire was just clumsy, and forgetful, and…curious. Very curious. 
	Her mother was a veterinarian and her dad worked for a nature conservancy, so the whole thing was more than tragic. It was embarrassing. How could these two pillars of the community, these dedicated vegans, these good parents have a daughter like Claire? Better to smile and say that the poor child has allergies. That’s the reason, the only reason, absolutely no animals were allowed in her vicinity. 
	But Claire was determined. She loved the little beings. She loved how they moved. So different from people. People were slow. Scare them and the best they’ll do is jump, or crumble, or scream. What a waste. Animals snap into action and are halfway across the tank before you can blink. There are no artificial niceties with a rat. They’re just hungry. You don’t have to guess what a rabbit is thinking. They’re scared. A snake won’t make fun of you as soon as you turn your back, they’ll simply attack. How did animals end up so clever, Claire wondered. All she did was have a look. It wasn’t her fault the knife slipped. 
	She tried starting a dog-walking business, but her parents shut it down before she’d clamped on the first leash. They laughed and shakily handed back the dog with its bundle of chew toys and poo bags to its confused owner, never explaining why they were still in their pyjamas. Any notices for lost pets were surreptitiously torn down from telephone poles before Claire even had a chance to see them. They hovered over her shoulder while she examined hardworking ants, letting their coffees go cold when she picked up a stick. They even wrote a note to her school, excusing Claire from the experiment when her teacher sent her home with a butterfly kit. “One day, sweetie,” was the echoing promise. 
	And then, “one day” came. Claire was lying on top of her sheets, staring at the branching of veins beneath her wrist when something landed on her arm. If she wasn’t looking, she would have slapped it away as an itch and accidentally, well…anyway, she didn’t. A fuzzy little spider stood staring at her, a line of silk still dragging from its bottom. Two big eyes at the front of its face clocked hers, and the other three pairs checked out its new surroundings. It stretched one leg out to the side, and then gently placed it down again. 
	“Hello,” Claire whispered. “Where did you come from?”
	The spider waved its two front legs up in the air, then leapt onto Claire’s nose. It was ticklish and soft. She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on the tiny thing clinging to her face. She brought her hand up, slowly, carefully, and the spider crawled over to her finger, down her wrist, and hopped off onto her bed. Claire’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something to capture it. She lunged towards a plastic case her uncle Jerry had given her, and ripped out the rotund baby doll with blinking eyes he thought would be cute. The case was perfect. “Stay there,” she instructed, as she swung open the door and raced out to the backyard in search of a suitable branch. The spider stomped its feet and waited.
	“Claire?” her mother followed behind, still holding the pot she had only half filled with water. They were having spaghetti. Her voice was high. Hesitant. “Whatcha up to?”
	“Nothing,” Claire answered. She grabbed a stick and raced back upstairs, ignoring her mother’s tenuous reminder that dinner was at six. She slammed the door behind her. 
	The spider was still on her bed. It lifted its front legs again, then put them down. A greeting. Claire shifted. Normally, animals ran from her. She assumed it was a scent thing. She crouched down, pointed to her chest, and said very slowly, “I. Am. A. Friend.” She paused, then added, “Don’t believe what you’ve heard.” She turned away from it to quickly organize the stick inside the plastic box. She grabbed a pencil and stabbed a few puncture holes in the case. Satisfied with her efforts, she picked it up, stood it on her bedside table and opened the lid. “Here,” she said, and moved back. 
	Claire held onto her hands, demanding that they not grab her new friend. The spider climbed into the box, using the stick like a set of stairs right to the top, and immediately started building a nest. Claire let herself breathe. Separated by clear plastic, she trusted herself to take a closer look. The spider swung its bottom back and forth and turned in circles as fine strands of silk built up around it. It took breaks every so often to stop and stare at Claire with its dewy eyes. Its fangs clicked together. They emerged from curved green sacs, like a tiny emerald moustache. Its fur stood up on its head, as though it had just come out of the shower, and a light band separated the black of its leg from each foot, so that it looked like it was wearing little shoes. Claire sighed. Her fingers softened and her shoulders relaxed. She was in love. 
	“Knock, knock,” her dad opened the door, failing to actually knock. “Just wanted to uh…” his eyes scanned the room, but he didn’t see the spider. He met Claire’s gaze and smiled. “Just checking to see what you want for dinner.”
	“Aren’t we having spaghetti?”
	“Right, right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “So, everything’s okay up here?”
	“Sure, dad.”
	“Great,” he hesitated. “Your mom said…”
	“What?”
	He smiled. “Nothing. Dinner is at six, okay champ?”
	“Okay. Oh, dad?”
	“Yeah, sweetie?”
	“How hard is it to catch a fly?”
	“A fly?” her dad’s eyebrows scrunched down and lifted back up as he considered the possible ramifications of his daughter’s latest curiosity. People caught flies all the time. They whacked them with rolled up newspaper and hung sticky traps from their beautifully appointed porches. No one would bat an eye. There would be nothing to bury, anyway. He shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty easy, I think.”
	“Good,” Claire smiled. “I’d like to catch some then.”
	“Okay…uh…sure.” Her dad tried to smile, then tapped on the wall instead. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was uncomfortable or scared. “Okay, sweetie. Don’t forget…”
	“I won’t,” Claire interrupted. She glanced at her spider and grinned. “Dinner is at six.”
","August 14, 2023 19:07","[[{'Rudy Greene': 'The writing flows easily. The detailed description of the spider was a nice touch. You also captured the innocence and curiosity of the little girl nicely. Good job!', 'time': '19:54 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,7mv7s3,Charlie,Kaitlyn Wadsworth,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7mv7s3/,/short-story/7mv7s3/,Fluff,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Friendship', 'Coming of Age']",8 likes,"
Warning: mention of cats being put down/killedMy youngest sister Miriam loves animals. One day, she got into huge trouble when my mother innocently opened a box in my sister’s wardrobe, and out jumped . . . a little mouse!Miriam had been given a mouse by one of her school friends and knew my Mum would have a fit if she knew. The little mouse lived secretly in a shoe box in the wardrobe and only came out for playtime after school. My sister gathered food for her mouse surreptitiously. Before the little mouse could eat a way out of its home, it had a chance to escape. Unsuspecting, Mum opened the box and, with an almighty scream of horror, dropped it, and the wee mouse took to its little foot-paws and away.“Hi Miriam. Hope you had a great day at school. Could you please tell me what you have stored in that shoe box in your wardrobe?”“What shoe box?”“The one that smells.”Miriam looked sheepish. “I…I… I’m not sure what you mean. Did you check it?”Mum stared knowingly at my sister, with hands on hips and her lips pursed.“On Mum. I’m so sorry. I’m looking after it for a school friend. I knew you’d say no so I didn’t tell you. I’m really sorry.”“Why would I say ‘no’?”“Coz you’re scared of them?”“I hate vermin! I’m terrified of rats and mice. How do you think I felt when it jumped out at me?” Mum’s tone verged on hysteria.“What did you do? Is it still in the box?” Miriam’s face bore an expression of panic.“When it leapt out, I almost jumped out of my skin. It ran away, or I would have killed it.” Her face expressed revulsion.“And now Bubbles will catch her!” Tears of anguish flowed.“Honestly Miriam. I’m not worried about that. I do not want a mouse loose in the house. I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight. How could you?”“Mum, I want a pet of my own. You have Bubbles. It was just a tiny mouse.”“How can you say that? We went out and collected guppies for your fish tank. You have fish.”“But I want a pet I can cuddle.”“You have Bubbles. You can cuddle her whenever you like.”“But she’s your cat. she’s old, and doesn’t like cuddles. I want one of my own. A kitten.”“We first have to track down this mouse and let it go. Or maybe we should set some traps.”“But Mum, that’s cruel!”“Keeping it in a box in the wardrobe is cruel. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”The mouse possibly heard its fate spelled out or caught a whiff of the resident cat because they never saw sight nor sound of it again. Miriam felt relief.Possession of her own kitten didn’t happen straight away. It took my mother several months to get over the mouse episode. And much wheedling on the part of my sister.Miriam saw a litter of newborn kittens at a friend’s home. She visited them often, fell in love with one of them, and kept Mum updated on their progress.“When they’re six weeks old, my friend said I can have one. I promise I’ll never bring a mouse home again. I promise to clean up after the kitten and look after it. Pleeese let me choose one. There’s a friendly one that looks a lot like Bubbles. A wee boy. He’s so cute. I couldn’t bear anyone else to have him. He already thinks I’m his mother.”Finally, Mum and Dad agreed to let Miriam keep one of the kittens. Charlie came home to my parent’s place. Miriam doted on him, looked after his scratch box fed him, and tried to keep him out of mischief. She rushed home from school each day to see her darling, Charlie.One day, while she was at school, a tragedy occurred.Dad backed his vehicle out of the driveway and round into the road. When he glanced back at the drive before he continued, a small, still mound of what looked like fur lay where he had backed out. It warranted parking up and investigating. Imagine his horror when he recognized Charlie’s crumpled and bloody body. He had driven right over Miriam’s dear wee kitten. He bolted inside.Mum stared at him as he stood in the doorway, with the look of horror still plastered on his face. He looked pale.“Whatever happened?”“I’ve just run over Miriam’s kitten. What can we do?”“Is he dead?”“Yes.”“Well, we will have to replace him before she comes home. You bury him and clean up any mess. I’ll go to some pet shops and try to get one that looks just like him.” Mum, forever practical.***Miriam walked in the door. “Hi, Mum. I hope Charlie has been behaving today.” She kicked off her shoes at the door and tramped into her room. Her eyes widened at two little kittens curled up in Charlie’s basket, fast asleep. One had champagne-pink fur. She rushed out in excitement.“Mum, there are two kittens in the basket. You got a little friend for Charlie. He looks so sweet. Gorgeous color. I can’t believe you got me another.”“We thought they could be good company for each other.”“It’s a fabulous idea. Thank you so much. You’re the best.”Later, the kittens woke up, and Miriam played with them. Within seconds she picked up Charlie and went straight to Mum.“This isn’t Charlie! Look here and here. Different markings. What is going on? Where’s Charlie?”Her mother didn’t know what to say. “Do you like your new kitten?”Miriam frowned. “What new kitten? They’re both new. Where’s Charlie?”“If I tell you what happened, do you promise not to make a fuss?”Miriam looked aghast. “I’m already making a fuss. What happened to him?”“Well . . . he got run over. I didn’t know he snuck outside.”“My baby died?” Miriam started wailing.“We did the best we could. This little Charlie is so sweet. And we brought his brother home as well.”“Who did it?”“Dad. It was an accident.”“Oh, Mum. He’s always backing into things! My poor little Charlie.”“We’re so sorry. We thought you’d be ok if we replaced him, especially as we brought you his little brother as well.”Miriam kept on crying. “So, you’d say to someone who has a child that dies, ‘It’s alright. You can have another one’?”“This is not a child. It’s only a kitten. And now you have two.”The shock end to Charlie number one’s life became less as Miriam came to know Charlie number two. And his little brother, named Thomas, also became dearly loved. The kittens were double trouble and great partners in crime. They often attempted to catch and eat Miriam’s guppies and were hilarious to watch when they played chase and play-fought. Timid Thomas hid when visitors arrived. Charlie stayed to greet the visitors with a nuzzle and allowed strokes and cuddles from others. Everyone loved him, and he knew it. Miriam finally agreed that the outcome of having such an adorable cat, Charlie 2, along with his brother, definitely turned the tragic loss of Charlie 1 into a small blessing.Charlie and Thomas grew up, Miriam still doted on her fur babies and played with them. Her High School years passed, and she found employment in a Pharmacy and later in a Textile and Fabric store. Several years passed while she saved up to do her great O.E.***My mother had been left with the three cats in the family home when Miriam went on her overseas trip. She didn’t return until the fifth year, when she was finally caught working without a permit and deported from England. That’s another story. She had never considered how my mother would care for three cats in a large family home. Only one belonged to Mum. Mum had four mouths to feed. Three cats and herself.Another sister told Mum, “Enough is enough! With the cost of vets and cat-food, the cats must go.” Mum reluctantly agreed.Her goal of finding suitable homes for three cats proved more difficult than anticipated. No one wanted them or knew of anyone who wanted them. The Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals explained that any antisocial cats deemed unsuitable for a family were put down at the owner’s expense. At this time, only the cutest kittens had a chance. They advised euthanasia as the merciful solution.My mother hated the thought of having three healthy cats killed. She had to admit her own cat could be considered first. Bubbles was old, shy, and didn’t like the grandchildren at all. Not a likely candidate for adoption. Thomas would go AWOL when visitors arrived and remain so until they left. Definitely not a candidate for a new owner, let alone a family.Last of all, Charlie, the darling baby of my youngest sister. Such a loving, intelligent cat. He was handsome, too, with his clearly defined light and darker grey stripes and a white tummy. A new family would have to be found for him. My tender-hearted mother couldn’t match my youngest sister's extreme feelings about animals, and she knew Miriam would never forgive the family if Charlie had to be put down. My mother consoled herself that she may be forgiven for the murder of two cats if Charlie could be settled in a new home.My mother mourned for days after my other sister took away two cats and arranged for a friend to put them out of their misery at no cost. She was appalled cat number three remained. The presence of Charlie comforted her, though his eyes accused her. The squinty eyes of affection became a wide-open incriminating stare.He aimlessly crept around as if he sensed all was not well. No longer could he engage with his brother in their daily rough-and-tumble games. He wandered on padded feet through the house, seeming to look for Thomas. Life for him could never be the same. Only one food bowl out. No others for him to lick at their last tasty morsels. He looked up at my mother and mewed pathetically.She convinced herself he was unhappy and he wanted them found.“You miss them, don’t you? You’re wondering where on earth they are. Even if I could tell you what I’ve done, you would never understand why.” She picked him up to cuddle him. He nuzzled her and purred as if offering forgiveness. Such an affectionate feline.***My mother phoned me about the problem. I live far away and though sympathetic, was not in a position to fly there and pick up a cat.“But you have to agree. Aren’t you already a virtual cattery for orphaned cats? You do prefer grown cats to kittens. You only have two cats at the moment. I know you can afford to feed and care for three cats. Charlie is adorable. The only problem is how to get him down to you.”My mother had asked the right family. At one stage, we had indeed cared for nine cats. One friend regularly dropped off her two cats when she went living and sailing on her boyfriend’s boat. Then another two couples, friends, dropped off their cats while they were in between houses. With three of our own, we had nine cats for an extended period. One family who had dropped off three cats refused to pick them up. When word got out to the family about our cat-astrophic situation, we became known as “the Cattery.” It had been derogatory. Now it was touted as something very convenient.While still pondering how to solve the cat transportation problem, my Uncle Eddie arrived to visit my Mum. My Uncle Eddie Groenendyk was a millionaire. I say ‘was’ not because he lost his fortune, but because he died later. This all happened while he lived.Within a week, he wanted to visit his other niece in a distant city, me. He organized their flights and paid for them. My mother loaned a cat cage from the neighbor and arranged to take Charlie with her.“Why on earth do we have to take a cat on holiday with us? Are you crazy?” he demanded as if he thought my mother a complete imbecile. She didn’t try to explain her tight budget, how much pressure another niece and nephew of his were putting on her to become cat free, or her determination to procure a new home for Charlie. He could never understand. He eventually agreed to take the cat along.“Oh, thank you for that. You have saved this cat’s life.”He shook his head in disbelief.Hearing where her pet had gone to live, my sister Miriam said, “Poor Charlie, with all those children!” As if the presence of children alarmed her more than the fact that he could have died. My mother wasn’t in the least concerned. Charlie had always handled the visiting grandchildren admirably.The amazing truth is that on arrival, Charlie walked groggily out of his cat cage, where he had been sedated during the flight. In minutes, he behaved as if he owned the place. Our other two cats immediately accepted him. Our male cat, Smokey, looked nothing like Thomas, Charlie’s brother. Yet the two of them became like brothers and play fought just as Charlie and Thomas had always done. That part seemed stranger than fiction.We concluded that cats know better how to recognize home and family than some humans. Miriam need not have worried. Charlie became doted on, as before. So loving and cuddly, a firm favorite among the children.In his old age, he became deaf, and we tried to persuade him to be an indoor cat. One day, he escaped. Apparently, he crossed the road to explore the park opposite our home and was run over as he returned. A neighbor alerted us. We all cried and cried. We identified with the feelings of my sister, who had grieved over Charlie 1. No one could have predicted that both Charlies would suffer the same demise. Charlie 2 has always been remembered, and his successors have never managed to take his place in our hearts. We still talk about him with fondness.
","August 15, 2023 04:17","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'A lovely tale that tells a lot of family history by way of the various cats. \nThanks for sharing, Kaitlyn', 'time': '12:53 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""Thanks Derrick. I laughed when the prompt was described as 'fluff'. I don't believe the story is fluffy enough. But I enjoyed writing it. A little of this story is part of a bigger story specifically about Uncle Eddie. I built on the story for the prompt this week. However that story was not submitted. Not so many posted and not submitted stories get read.  (Ran out of time to submit it, at the time)"", 'time': '01:25 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""Thanks Derrick. I laughed when the prompt was described as 'fluff'. I don't believe the story is fluffy enough. But I enjoyed writing it. A little of this story is part of a bigger story specifically about Uncle Eddie. I built on the story for the prompt this week. However that story was not submitted. Not so many posted and not submitted stories get read.  (Ran out of time to submit it, at the time)"", 'time': '01:25 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Quite the cat tales. They do have their quirks.', 'time': '06:19 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""Thanks for reading. It was inspired by a part of an earlier story I think you may have read, about the Uncle Eddie mentioned. That story wasn't submitted, only posted in Reedsy because I ran out of time. This one above is a bit of 'fluff'. Not sure what this meant with the prompt. LOL."", 'time': '01:30 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""Thanks for reading. It was inspired by a part of an earlier story I think you may have read, about the Uncle Eddie mentioned. That story wasn't submitted, only posted in Reedsy because I ran out of time. This one above is a bit of 'fluff'. Not sure what this meant with the prompt. LOL."", 'time': '01:30 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,6k1vgd,The Adventures of Stripey the Fish ,Sarah Hinkes,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6k1vgd/,/short-story/6k1vgd/,Fluff,0,"['Adventure', 'Fantasy', 'Friendship']",7 likes,"
​​​    The Adventures of Stripey the Fish!
 
Stripey was a fish that spent his days playing with the other fish in Lewis’s fish tank. More than anything, he loved playing water tag with all of his friends.
One day, however, Stripey began to notice how different he looked from the other fish. This made him feel sad and alone, even though none of the other fish ever made him feel any different.
After a game of water tag, Stripey swam off by himself to think. He found a spot near a sea shell at the bottom of his tank. The sea shell curled up around him.
“Gee,” he thought to himself, “if only I could find one other fish that looked like me. That fish could be my family.”
Starlight, a blue fish that shone bright like the stars, swam over to see what was wrong with her friend Stripey. She listened and agreed that something must be done to help him.
Starlight called all the other fish together for a fish emergency meeting.
Stripey spoke about how sad it made him that all the other fish in the tank had a brother or sister fish that was of their kind. He explained that he was all by himself and we wanted to believe that somewhere out there his family was waiting.
With his fin he pointed to the sky up above the tank that expanded out over a vast, big world.
The meeting was very promising, all the other fish promised to help Stripey find his family.
All through the week the fish saved bits of fish food for Stripey, Starlight helped to make a sack out of seaweed for Stripey to carry things in.
But one very big problem remained. Once Stripey was out of the tank, he couldn’t swim in air, what was he going to do?
Stripey took the matter to the wise, old father fish of the tank. He was called “Fishmonger”. He told Stripey that he had heard stories of animals helping out one another in times of need, but Stripey had to believe with all his heart that this is what he wanted.
Fishmonger told Stripey to go to sleep that night and dream of what it would be like to live outside the tank that he has known his whole life.
That night, Stripey dreamt that he could fly. When he woke, he wished upon a star that twinkled outside his tank window. He wished and wished and wished that he could fly.
In the morning when Stripey woke up, he was sad to see that he was still a fish with fish fins and a fish mouth. He glided over to the other fish. They were holding another fish meeting.
As he approached, Starlight swam over and explained the plan.
That night, after Lewis fed the fish and went to sleep, that other fish would swim around the tank in a lively fish dance to create a swell in the tank.  The hope was that the top of the tank would pop open and Stripey would make his escape.
Stripey was so happy and excited by this plan. But he didn’t feel sure that he could really fly.
Later that afternoon, he sat out from playing water tag with the other fish and continued to wish for a chance to fly.
Fishmonger, who never joined in the activities, swam over to Stripey. Stripey told Fishmonger his fears. Fishmonger, all knowing as he was, told Stripey everything would be alright as long as he believed.
The question was, did Stripey really believe?
That night, Lewis went upstairs to bed as usual, as he fed his fish he said a prayer for them. His mother tucked him in, as always, and read him a story which usually lulled all the fish to sleep. But not this night.
When the lights went out, the fish got to work. They all swam in formation and played a game of follow the leader. Stripeywas their leader. They swam around and around, faster and faster, and then, the top of the tank popped open!
Stripey was hoisted out of the tank, out of the window, into the night sky with is sack of food in his mouth. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them until he felt his fins begin to flap like a bird’s wings.
He opened his eyes and shook with joy as he saw that each fin was a brand new feather with stripes.
Fishmonger had been right! Stripey was so happy. He just knew that his family was waiting for him. And so his journey began.
“Oh boy,” he said to himself out load, “flying sure is hard work!”.  “It sure is,” came a friendly voice. “Hi!, I am Beaker. What kind of bird are your?” Bird, Stripey thought. He had only heard of birds in the stories Lewis’s mother read. “I am not a bird,” said Stripey. “Well actually, I am just borrowing these wings so I can fly and find my family.” Beaker was interested in helping Stripey continue on.” I have a friend who lives on a lily pad on a pond,” said Beaker. “Maybe your family is there!”
“Can you take me to him?” asked Stripey. “ sure, come on, follow me!” and with that, Beaker flew with Stripey straight down to a valley of flowers and trees so brightly colored that Stripey couldn’t believe it.
“Hello? Is anyone home?” Beaker flew on-to a lily pad and dipped his beak into the water looking for his friend, “Gulp”. “Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit.”  Then, a bright green frog jumped out of the pond onto a lily pad and said hello to his friend Beaker and also to Stripey. “Beaker,” he gulped, “who is that with you?” Stripey felt a bit shy in front of the big, green creature that made a noise like Fishmonger would make when clearing his throat. “This is Stripey and I’m helping him find his family.” “HI, Gulp!” said Stripey. “Please help me. I have come a long way to find other fish that look like me.”
Gulp could see how much Stripey wanted to find his family but Gulp lived in a pond and knew all the fish that lived there. He had never seen anything that looked like Stripey, feathers or fins. He did say that he would help Stripey meet other animals in the fields that may be able to help him.
Stripey was getting hungry while Beaker and Gulp talked about a way to help their new friend.  Stripey untied the small sack from his left feather and opened up his sack full of fish food. But the, a strange thing happened, when he took a bite, he made a noise very close the sounds Gulp made. When he caught site of his reflection in the water, he couldn’t believe his fishy eyes. His gills had turned into a gigantic throat that bubbled when he ate. “Look at your!” said Gulp. “You look a bit like me!, If you don’t find your family, you can be part of mine.” This made Stripey smile.
He thanked Gulp and Beaker for their help and flew across the fields until he spotted a pool of mud. “This could be a pond with my family,” he thought. Maybe the water was just a different color. 
With that, Stripey aimed his mouth like Beaker had done for the pool of mud and said “ouch!” as he landed on something soft and leathery. “Hey,” came a voice under him, “What are you doing landing on my back like that?” And out came a very funny sound “oink, oinky, oink” from the strange animal. “My name is Stripey, I am sorry for landing on you like this, I haven’t learned how to fly very well yet. I am a fish and I am looking for my family in there. Can you help me?” “Your family is in my mud bath? I haven’t seen anyone that looks like you! I am Oinky oink. That is my name. I will help you find your family, but first you need a bath!” Oinky oink dove head-first into the mud and rolled carefully around on his back so that he could get Stripey “pig clean.” Both of them giggled. “It tickles!” cried Stripey. When they were done, Stripey was indeed pig clean and then another strange thing happened. His fish behind grew a curly cue of a tail just like his friend Oinky oink’s. “Well,” said Oinky oink, “if you don’t find your family, you can be part of mine. You clean up real swell for a fish with a pig’s tail!” This made Stripey smile. “Thanks Oinky oink, but I have to continue on to find my family. Thanks for the pig bath. I hope to see you again!” Stripey gave Oinky oink a high-five with his feather to Oinky oink’s hoof. 
Once again, Stripey was off. Now he had mud clean feathers, a gulp mouth and a curly cue of a tail but there was still no sign of his family.
He flew along until he came to an opening in a forest. He was tired so he aimed to land on a tree leaf. 
This feels so soft and cuddly and I am tired. I think I will close my eyes and take a nap. What he didn’t know was that the nap he was about to take was on the fur of a caterpillar named Hugs. It had been a long winter and Hugs was asleep.
But tomorrow was the first day of spring and it was time for Hugs to wake up.
 
Through the night Stripey and Hugs slept and in the morning when Stripey woke up his back felt very furry. “Oh no, it happened again!” And so it was Stripey now had feathers, a gulp for a mouth, a curly cue tail and now a furry back like Hugs who he was about to meet.​
As the sun rose over the forest and Stripey yawned, he watched a strange looking insect uncurl himself from a ball. She and Stripey stared at each other for a few minutes before Stripey said the first word. “Hi, thank you for letting me sleep next to you. You are very warm. My name is Stripey and I need your help. I am looking for my family and, as you can see, I am quite strange looking. But I hope that when I meet fish like me, they will accept me for who I am.” 
Hugs took a long look at Stripey. “Hi! My name is Hugs and now you have a furry back like mine. I also hope to find where I belong. My mommy and daddy told me I would turn into a beautiful butterfly but so far as you see, I am still a furry insect.”
“Well then maybe we can help each other,” said Stripey. “I would like that very much,” said Hugs. Will you be my friend? I mean, while you are looking for your family?” “Of course!” said Stripey. And the two furry friends wiggled along the forest in search of the water that hopefully held Stripey’s family.
After wiggling for hours, they came to a large body of water. It was magical. It even had a waterfall. “Oh Hugs, I just know this is where I am supposed to look, but how can I swim if I don’t have any fins?” “I can be of some assistance,” said a very proud, old owl.
“Hoot is my name and I overheard your story and want to help you,” hoot hooted to them. “As for you, my young furry friend, time is on your side. Very soon you will be a beautiful butterfly, but first you must be patient.” Both Stripey and Hugs listened very carefully. Hoot reminded Stripey of Fishmonger back in his tank at Lewis’s home. 
“Now tonight you must go to sleep and dream of all your new friends that have helped you along the way to finding your home. If you believe that, you will find your family. Then, when you wake up, you will have power enough to swim in this water and find what you are searching for,” Hoot hooted. “The question you have to ask yourself is, do you believe?”
“Oh Mr. Hoot, Sir, I do believe! I do. “
“Well then Stripey, sweet dreams. I will keep watch over you and Hugs. See you in the morning when the sun has risen and you will have your answer.” Hoot hooted.
As Hoot flew off across the moonlight and the stars, Stripeytook one last look at the body of water and felt very sleepy. It had been a long trip.
Hugs and Stripey found an empty’s bird’s nest in a willow tree and thought that was a good place to rest.  Stripey, although too nervous to sleep, knew that he once again had to believe. Before he closed his eyes he found a star almost exactly like the one he wished on before. “Please star, help me. I want so much to have a family that looks like me. This is my wish. I am very lucky to have made such great friends and, even though parts of me lookslike theirs, I want all of me to look like who I am meant to be.” 
With that, Stripey, along with his feathers for wings, gulp bubble for a mouth, curly cue for a tail, furry back, and now Hoot had left him two very wide yellow eyes, Stripey closed those eyes and went fast asleep and dreamed. He dreamt that he was an angel fish once again, swimming with other angel fish in a great big body of water.
As the sun rose and all of the forest woke, Stripey opened his eyes. He could not believe what he saw. Hugs was no longer a furry insect, but a beautiful, bold butterfly. Hugs was so happy, but Stripey, alas, was not back to himself.
“Oh Hugs, I am so happy for you. You have become who you are. But maybe I am supposed to stay this way forever.”
Just at that moment the tree they had been resting in shook with laughter.
“Oh Stripey, what a worry fish you are. Don’t you believe? Here! Take my branch and hold on tight, I am going to place you in that great big body of water and, well, we will see!”
Stripey and Hugs said goodbye, Hoot winked at Stripey, and then Willow, the great, big willow tree, took Stripey in its arm and whisked him down to the water. Just as Stripey dipped his first feather in, something wonderful happened. 
His wise yellow eyes turned back to small black ones! His furry back returned to a slick, grey, shiny coat with black stripes! His curly cue tail disappeared, along with his bubble mouth! And finally, the feathers that took him along this journey turned back into fins. 
With a bounce and a flop Stripey dove into the water and swam into the undersea. As he looked around above and said goodbye to all his forest family, he heard someone say, “Hi! My name is Slivers and you look just like me!” All Stripey could do was smile. “Hi! My name is Stripey. And yes, you look like me too!”
 
​​​​        THE END
 
 
","August 15, 2023 21:52","[[{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""So glad he got back to being an angel fish. A happy ending. Great children's story. The illustrations to this would have been out of this world. But maybe not so 'adorable', when showing the creature Stripey had become, before he changed back! Great nature lesson. Relieved he changed back. Shades of Finding Nemo and another children's story about a bird called Beaky. Beaky ended up on the rainforest floor and went about trying to find out who he was. Eventually he climbed into the treetops and his mother found him. A Bird-of-Paradise. Yours ..."", 'time': '04:55 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'Lovely story Sarah. All sorts of great messages here too.', 'time': '09:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mike Rush': 'Hi Sarah,\n\nWith two submissions my greeting is Welcome Back to Reedsy! I hope you\'re finding a writing home here.\n\nI think you have a children\'s book here! It\'s the power of believing, or something like that. I liked that Stripey didn\'t just get what he was wanting because he believed, He also had to go on a quest, get the help of others, and keep believing. \n\nI really liked that in the end, ""but Stripey, alas, was not back to himself.""\n\nThere are great messages for kids here. Believing is important, but so is determined exploration. And too...', 'time': '20:20 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sarah Hinkes': ""Mike-\n\nWow I am so flattered. I currently have this story in a snail's pace for publication. I hope it's finished in time for the Christmas holiday, as I wish to send it as a gift to a list of students, I have read it too these past couple of years."", 'time': '20:43 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mike Rush': ""Perfect! You're a teacher? I was for 32 years. Now I'm old and decrepit. So I do woodworking and take classical guitar at the local state school for free since I'm over 60 and as a student I get to swim in the pool there. I have to keep my girlish figure!"", 'time': '01:27 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sarah Hinkes': ""Mike-\n\nWow I am so flattered. I currently have this story in a snail's pace for publication. I hope it's finished in time for the Christmas holiday, as I wish to send it as a gift to a list of students, I have read it too these past couple of years."", 'time': '20:43 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mike Rush': ""Perfect! You're a teacher? I was for 32 years. Now I'm old and decrepit. So I do woodworking and take classical guitar at the local state school for free since I'm over 60 and as a student I get to swim in the pool there. I have to keep my girlish figure!"", 'time': '01:27 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mike Rush': ""Perfect! You're a teacher? I was for 32 years. Now I'm old and decrepit. So I do woodworking and take classical guitar at the local state school for free since I'm over 60 and as a student I get to swim in the pool there. I have to keep my girlish figure!"", 'time': '01:27 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,h29uud,Crow,Jules Labib,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/h29uud/,/short-story/h29uud/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Sad']",7 likes,"
A crow stood on the branch of a great Oak tree. A slight breeze was blowing in from the south, pleasantly tickling its feathers. His eyes shone bright with contentment as he peered around at the sunny field all about him.
Dewdrops still clung to thin blades of grass, as the whole field seemed to sway gently in the wind. In the distance, the crow could hear the laughter of children playing, and that made him happy. As he slowly melted into the sunny afternoon, he peered into the tiny house that stood a few feet from him, and noticed how it had become itself part of the meadow. Moss was growing on the bottom of its delicate eggshell walls, and its inside was illuminated only by whatever feeble rays of sunshine managed to filter through its tiny windows. Through one of those windows, the crow could observe a beautiful woman, her hair whitened by the passage of time, wrapped in a loosely knit blanket, her hands holding a piece of paper, her wrinkled face still and strained, as she forcibly pursed her mouth to stop her lip from quivering while tears ran from her eyes, all the way down her cheeks, until finally falling onto the letter, leaving a wet mark on the cream colored page.
At the sight of the poor woman, the crow’s heart too was wounded by the sharp blade of mourning. He cawed in pain, and feeling the rough sound grating his throat brought him a twisted sense of comfort. Reluctantly, he flew his body, now heavy with grief, over to the windowsill, and gently pecked at the glass, hoping to get her attention.
 
Suddenly torn away from her correspondence, she started, as she was snapped back to reality by a faint noise coming from the window. As if of its own accord, her body moved towards the source of the sound, her mind too busy to assist it. Upon reaching it, the sight of the bird made her suddenly come to, and she opened the window, like she’d done a million times before. 
 
The crow saw her holding a finger out, and elegantly stepped on it, slowly raising his legs and making a show of his every step, so as to not startle the woman, trusting her completely with his frail body. Once he was gripping the finger extended to him, he looked up at the eyes of its owner and gave a slight nod, letting her know that he was holding on tight. The woman then sweetly and slowly retreated her arm, bringing him into the warmth of the house.
“Crow”, she called him. He liked it. It allowed him to be purely himself, to be Crow, through and through, and nothing more. He called her Human, for the same reason. They both knew the other was special. They granted nobody else the privilege of such a simple, vast name. For them, there was only one Crow, only one Human. “Crow”, she said, “Whatever will I do now?”. It had always been like that between them. Ever since Crow could remember, he’d spent his summers with her. He flew onto a branch of the great Oak growing outside her window, and watched over her, day after day. And she did the same. Throughout the day, she would sit at her table, sipping a hot beverage, her fleeting vision trying its hardest to focus onto the image of him, making sure he was safe. Neither one of them could remember when or how their bond had been consecrated, and yet not a day went by without them honoring it. 
Crow fixed his eyes on hers with intent, and long seconds went by as they stared at each other, until finally Human blinked slowly. “You are right”, she murmured, and she laboriously stood up from her chair, with her aching joints, as she put a kettle onto the warm stove.
They did not understand what had happened in that handful of seconds, and yet they both felt it. They understood each other. Human had no way of knowing it, but that is what Crow felt like with every other animal he’d ever met. Just in the same way, Crow had no way of knowing it, but there was a special reason why he’d never felt anything of the sort with any other person.
The kettle started blowing loudly, startling both of them, as hot steam violently escaped it. Human carefully picked it up, and poured its boiling hot content into her mug. Crow was transfixed, fascinated by the bright red copper moving through the air, and entranced by Human’s expert and graceful motions. He watched her, as she picked up a bunch of leaves and flowers, skillfully bound together by a single blade of grass, and dropped them into the scathing hot water. After a few seconds, she reached her hand into the boiling tea, fishing for the tea bag, and retrieved it without flinching at the heat. She softly smiled at Crow, who had started fidgeting, uneasy at the idea of his Human dipping her hand in scalding hot tea water. Old age had made her skin hard, and throughout her life she’d become acquainted with much greater pains.
 
As she started drinking her tea, Crow waddled closer to her, understanding her need for a shoulder to cry on at once. She started sighing and shaking, as waves of grief washed over her again and again, and Crow felt her pain, took it in, shared and honored it, recognising its value and helping Human carry her burden, as he’d done countless times before. 
“I never thought he’d be gone so soon”. That’s what she said, between one shaking sob and the next, and that’s what Crow understood, though not through her words. Crow delicately nibbled at her right hand, getting her to look at his shiny black eyes, and again stood still, looking deeply into hers. Her breathing slowed, the shaking ceased, and she took a sip of her warm tea. 
 
Human had found him when he was just a chick, lying alone, cold and afraid beneath the Oak, unable to fly. For the first time, then, she reached out her index finger to him, took him in and nursed him back to health, expecting him to fly away any day. What came to be, instead, was a deep bond, a mutual understanding between two equals, equally open to life, and equally fond of each other. Crow eventually did fly away, knowing, in his surprisingly profound wisdom, that he could not abandon what Nature bid him to be, but returned, year after year, on the same day of solstice. She saw him live his whole life, and he saw her slowly heading towards the end of hers, and they shared their sorrows and joys.
That day, once again, they bore a heavy burden together, and neither one of them could have been more thankful for their profound relationship. As they sat at the kitchen table together, however, both of them became aware that this would be the last time they would see each other. They spent the night in the same room, squeezing every last bit of happiness their mutual company would grant them, until finally the time for goodbyes came. She gazed at his deep black feathers as he flew away into the distance, and he directed warm feelings towards her as intensely as he could. 
 
One week from that day, Crow was flying over the hills with a numerous murder, when he suddenly felt something deep inside of him. He swiftly left his winged company and sat, alone, on a fir below, knowing that he had just lost the only friend he’d ever had. He summoned all of his might, and flew as quickly as his body would allow him, until finally arriving at the cottage in the field. Feeling exhausted, Crow landed onto the Oak one last time, looking through the Window to find an assembly of humans dressed in black. He felt tired and heartbroken, and he felt his strength escaping him. As his vision slowly faded to black, all he could think of was the love he’d given and received, and how lucky he was to have found Human and to have bound his life to hers.
 
","August 16, 2023 09:22","[[{'J. D. Lair': 'I always have heard how smart crows are. It’s nice to see they are also kind. :)', 'time': '03:23 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jules Labib': 'i was glad to discover that, too :)', 'time': '15:15 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jules Labib': 'i was glad to discover that, too :)', 'time': '15:15 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'What a touching tale of friendship. Sadness permeates this piece, but it seems peace comes for both friends at the end. Lovely story, Jules!', 'time': '13:49 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jules Labib': 'thank you so much, i’m so glad you feel that way! That’s the way life is, really!!', 'time': '09:52 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jules Labib': 'thank you so much, i’m so glad you feel that way! That’s the way life is, really!!', 'time': '09:52 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,mljnsj,My Very Own Sunshine,Morrene Hauser,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mljnsj/,/short-story/mljnsj/,Fluff,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Friendship', 'Funny']",7 likes,"
Family is not only a blood relative. In fact, they come in many different shapes and sizes. The way I learned about the power of love didn’t come from my family, it came from an unlikely source, a little pony I had as a child named Sunshine. I grew up in an abusive household, and there were a lot of fears in my young life. I was afraid of the adults around me. I was afraid of the kids at school. I was afraid of the dark. I had more fears in my life than I could put a name to. My mom had many relationships when I was a child, some boyfriends, some husbands, almost all of them abusive. We moved often. It was a lonely and terrifying childhood. 
When I was seven years old, my mom married her third husband, and I got my own pony that I named Sunshine. I was a crazy, obsessed horse lover, so this was a dream come true. My mom had a small barn full of horses, so the love of these magnificent animals was ingrained in me from an early age. 
As much as I loved Sunshine, I was also afraid of her. Despite my fears, I rode Sunshine bareback every chance I could at the stables where she was boarded. Sunshine knew I was afraid of her, and that little pony took full advantage. From the moment I got on her, I would start saying silent prayers to her to be a good girl. Sunshine never heard my prayers. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Sunshine bucked me off, she ran away with me, and rarely did she go in the direction I wanted her to. Sometimes in the middle of a ride, Sunshine’s legs would buckle, and down we would go. As soon as I felt her go down, I would hop off because I knew she was going to roll. While Sunshine rolled, I looked at her round stomach and laughed at her little legs kicking vigorously in the air as she moved from side to side scratching her back. When she was done, I got back on, and we continued our ride. Sometimes our rides were long, sometimes they were short.  I never knew where Sunshine would take us, but I was always grateful for the rides she took me on.
Every time I rode Sunshine, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I was head over heels in love with my little pony and failed to see her many flaws. I dreamt about Sunshine at night, and I daydreamed about her during the day. I talked about her incessantly. At that time in my young life, that little pony was my whole world, my Sunshine. I just couldn’t get enough of her. 
Sunshine may have been a devil when I was on her back; but as soon as I got down, she couldn’t have been more loving. That little pony just couldn’t get enough affection, and I was more than happy to oblige. I loved to wrap my arms around Sunshine’s head, rest my cheek against hers and pet her as I inhaled her sweet, horsey scent. I was able to pour out my pent-up love and affection on her, something I desperately craved because of the constant abuse. When I was with Sunshine, the loneliness, confusion, and fears of my daily life disappeared.  
When I was nine years old, my mom married her fourth husband, and we moved to another state. Mom brought her horses, two Arabians named Jazon and Quazar, but Sunshine was sold. I was absolutely devastated when I had to leave my little pony behind. 
After Mom married her fourth husband, any fears I had in my young life were soon turned into outright terror from the daily abuse I suffered at his hands and my mother’s. I badly needed the comfort and solace of my pony. And although the other horses were there, I missed my bright spot, my Sunshine. 
One day, shortly after we moved, I was in Jazon’s stall brushing him, lost in thought. As I looked at him, suddenly I knew, without a doubt, that I could handle this young and spirited horse. 
My fear of horses was gone. 
When I asked Mom if I could ride Jazon, she thought about it for a second, no doubt remembering my escapades with Sunshine. Finally, Mom shrugged her shoulders and saddled Jazon up. From the moment Mom hoisted me onto his back, my world was transformed, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Finally, I was riding again! 
Jazon was a challenge to ride, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Jazon spooked, bolted and bucked. Nothing he did scared me, and I handled him with ease. I had become a fearless daredevil on horseback. Sunshine taught me well. 
Jazon was in my life for many years, and that amazing horse and I rode a lot of miles and had many adventures. As I got older and the abuse in my house worsened, I always knew I could escape to the barn to soothe the aching loneliness and terror that was part of my daily life. 
As I grew into adulthood, I often thought about Sunshine. And every time I did, I smiled. 
When I look back at my life, I realize that Sunshine taught me many important life lessons such as facing my fears and responsibility. But most importantly, Sunshine taught me how to love. I had learned from a young age that being touched meant being hurt, and I trusted no one. Even though Sunshine was a pony, she taught me that being touched didn’t have to hurt and that it was safe to let my guard down. I firmly believe that without Sunshine, I would not have been able to show love and affection to my children since I didn’t receive it at home. I am forever grateful to that little pony.  
I don’t know what became of Sunshine. Only one picture of her survived throughout our many moves. I cherish that picture and smile each time I look at it. She still brings me Sunshine every time I think of her. 
It wasn’t until midlife that I started to face my traumatic childhood.  When I look back at my life, I believe that horses were there to teach me about love and safety, something that I didn’t learn from my family. To me, the horses were my family. Honestly, I am not sure how I would have made it without them.  
And in case you’re wondering, yes, I have a horse. I couldn’t imagine life without one!
","August 16, 2023 13:00",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,b4t8wy,Whispers of the Oak: A Tale of Unlikely Friendship and Mysterious Guardianship,Pat Nwulu,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/b4t8wy/,/short-story/b4t8wy/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Friendship']",7 likes,"
Amidst the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant laughter of children playing, a sense of tranquility settled over the small village of Willowbrook. Nestled at the edge of a lush forest, the village was a haven of serenity, where time seemed to slow down, and the worries of the world faded away in the embrace of nature's beauty. But amidst this idyllic scene, a quiet mystery was about to unfold, one that would cement an unbreakable bond between two unlikely companions.
 
There comes Emily Hartley, a young woman with an infectious smile and a heart full of kindness. Emily had always felt a deep connection with animals, finding solace in their company when the world seemed overwhelming. It was on a cool autumn morning that Emily's life took an unexpected turn. She had ventured into the woods that bordered her village, seeking solace in the gentle embrace of nature. As she wandered deeper into the forest, a soft rustling in the underbrush caught her attention.
 
Drawn by curiosity, Emily followed the sound, her steps cautious but eager. And then, there it was—a pair of bright, curious eyes peering at her from behind a thicket. Emily's heart skipped a beat as a charming, plump squirrel emerged, its fur as soft as a cloud and its tail resembling a luxurious feather boa. It chattered softly, its tiny nose twitching inquisitively.
 
Emily's initial surprise gave way to fascination and a warmth that seemed to radiate from within. Without a second thought, she reached into her bag and retrieved a handful of nuts. She extended her hand, palm open, offering the treats. The squirrel hesitated for a moment before cautiously approaching, its small paws reaching out to accept the offering. And just like that, a friendship was born.
 
Emily named her newfound friend ""Squeaky,"" a name that perfectly captured the cheerful sound of his chattering. From that day forward, Emily and Squeaky became inseparable. Every morning, Emily would venture into the woods, armed with a pocketful of nuts. Squeaky would dart down from his perch in the trees, his excitement palpable as he scurried up her leg. His tiny claws tickled her skin as he found his place in the crook of her arm, ready to enjoy his treats.
 
But their friendship was more than just nuts and chattering. It was a bond that transcended words, an unspoken understanding between two beings who had found solace in each other's presence. Together, they explored the forest, their laughter mingling with the whispers of the leaves. In the winter, Squeaky would leave delicate pawprints in the snow as they ventured deeper into the woods. In the spring, they would watch as the flowers bloomed, their colors a testament to the beauty of new beginnings.
 
As the seasons changed, so did their adventures. In the heart of summer, Emily would find a cool spot beneath a towering oak tree, and Squeaky would curl up beside her, his soft fur a comforting presence against her skin. They would spend hours watching the sunlight filter through the leaves, sharing stories and secrets that only they could understand.
 
The villagers of Willowbrook marveled at their friendship, their smiles a testament to the magic that surrounded Emily and Squeaky. Some would pause on their morning walks, drawn by the enchanting sight of a young woman and her furry companion lost in their world of whispers and laughter. Emily's presence seemed to bring a sense of wonder to the village, a reminder of the simple joys that could be found in unexpected places.
 
But amidst the warmth of their friendship, a sense of mystery lingered. Squeaky's behavior was unlike that of any ordinary squirrel. He seemed to possess an uncanny ability to anticipate danger, often warning Emily with frantic chattering moments before a sudden gust of wind or a falling branch. There were times when he would stare into the distance, his eyes filled with a knowing that went beyond his animal instincts.
 
As the years went by, Emily and Squeaky's bond deepened, their companionship an unbreakable thread woven into the fabric of their lives. And then, one fateful evening, as the sun began its descent beyond the horizon, Squeaky's behavior took an unexpected turn. Emily had nestled herself beneath the oak tree, lost in thought, when Squeaky suddenly became agitated, his chattering urgent and panicked.
 
Confused, Emily scanned the woods, her heart racing as she tried to decipher the source of Squeaky's distress. And then, she saw it—a shadowy figure moving stealthily through the trees. Her instincts kicked in, and she quickly retreated behind the cover of the thicket, her breath catching in her throat. From her hiding place, she watched as the figure approached, its intentions unclear but undoubtedly sinister.
 
Time seemed to slow as Emily's heart pounded in her chest. And then, as if guided by an unseen force, Squeaky leaped into action. With a fierce determination, he darted towards the intruder, his chattering growing louder and more furious. The figure hesitated, clearly taken aback by the tiny creature's unexpected courage.
 
In the midst of the confrontation, a realization dawned upon Emily. Squeaky wasn't just her charming, plump squirrel friend. He was her protector, her guardian spirit in the form of a furry companion. His uncanny ability to sense danger, his unwavering presence by her side—everything fell into place.
 
With Squeaky's fearless display distracting the intruder, Emily seized the opportunity to retreat further into the woods, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. She knew she had to reach the village and seek help, to ensure that the tranquility of Willowbrook remained undisturbed by the darkness that had crept into their midst.
 
As Emily ran, her pulse echoing in her ears, she couldn't help but marvel at the bond she shared with Squeaky. What had started as a simple friendship had blossomed into something extraordinary—a partnership that defied the boundaries of nature and whispered of ancient connections that spanned beyond the realm of understanding.
 
And so, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the village of Willowbrook, a sense of unity and purpose settled over its inhabitants. Emily's story of an unlikely friendship, of courage and protection, would be passed down through generations, a tale that reminded them of the magic that could be found in the midst of simplicity.
 
As the stars twinkled above, Emily and Squeaky's bond remained unbreakable, their whispers of laughter and the rustling of leaves echoing through the night—a testament to the enduring power of friendship, the mysteries of the heart, and the warmth that could be found in the most unexpected of places.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 11, 2023 21:00","[[{'Rabab Zaidi': 'Sweet', 'time': '14:18 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,6vneka,The Inside Job,Chanel Terese,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6vneka/,/short-story/6vneka/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Inspirational']",7 likes,"
'You can sit with him here.' She appeared beside me motioning to the empty seat, as I remained unmoving by the door. The name tag, pinned rather clumsily on the front of her pale blue scrubs read Beatrice. She looked like a Beatrice actually, her hair was so void of colour it appeared almost an ivory white, so fragile I felt even the slightest breeze would leave her completely bare. She was petite too, I thought there was almost not enough space on her body to hold all the features any human should. ‘How old are you?’ My head snapped quickly casting my eyes to the floor, I wasn’t sure why I had blurted this out so carelessly.Beatrice let out a soft giggle, ‘I’m sixty three,’ she sighed ‘but I have been a veterinary nurse for over half my life so I can promise you, I do know what I am doing.’ She moved her frail hand towards my elbow attempting to lead me into the room. ‘I would really like to help you, please.’I faltered slightly then took two small, solid steps. ‘Is he in any pain?’‘No, but I believe he would be tired and would know that it’s time.’ Beatrice breathed through the words so sadly and I realised I felt uneasy in her presence, not due to a lack of kindness or warmth but I thought I felt an urgency to impress her.‘My name is Jack.’ I said.She smiled, ‘Why don’t you tell me about him, Jack? Who he was to you and you to him.’I thought it was an unusual question but I gave her a few moments, delving into a brief story of how Gerald came to be mine. I told her how I had rescued him when he was only six weeks old, after finding a random add on craigslist and driving almost five hours to a beaten down shack that barely qualified as a home. I told her how he was malnourished, underweight and he smelled of urine and mould. I told her how I brought him home, fed him tinned chicken and gave him a warm bath whilst he nestled himself against my arms. I told her how I loved him and how he loved me and that even though I knew the first six weeks of his life were abysmal, I also knew our days would be happier being together, and they were.Beatrice remained quiet as I finished speaking, I thought maybe she felt I had more to say, but I desperately wanted to stop. I think she realised this too, as she moved away from me and took a position closer to Gerald’s feet.‘Okay Jack, it is time now. Do you think you might be ready?’ I nodded allowing her to proceed. Beatrice approached what looked like a medicine cabinet as bodies scattered beside her, preparing various odd instruments and something that looked like a drip. I didn’t want to know the technicalities of how they would do this so I looked away and to Gerald instead, bending down to the platform to meet his eyes. Gerald looked at me the same way I looked at him and although I couldn’t speak, I knew he understood my hand on his soft scrawny paw as something like love. I very gently, kissed the tip of his nose and there I felt, that he definitely did know love.Gerald then closed his eyes and died. ***I couldn’t think of what to do so I remained bent at the platform and just like I could not speak, I also could not cry.Beatrice appeared beside me, her arm softly reaching my shoulder as we walked into an adjacent room leaving the remaining nurses to deal with Gerald’s body. I took a seat on a faded green couch, slightly lumpy and battered, sequestered in a quiet corner of the room. Beatrice took a seat beside me and as I looked around I thought that we might be in her office. It looked of Beatrice, established and solid with noticeable imperfections that felt somewhat like safety.I remained silent. Beatrice adjusted herself, tucking her left ankle behind her right and reached for a teacup resting on a small rounded table.She must have noticed me looking. ‘Would you like some Jack? It’s only camomile, helps with my nerves,’ she said.‘No I’m okay, thank you.’ I smiled softly, all that I could muster.‘I’m sorry you lost Gerald today, I’m sure it can’t be easy on you.’ She adjusted herself to face me.Again I remained silent, and so did she.‘I think you want me to talk about Gerald.’ I said, keeping my gaze at my knees, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.‘Well, you told me a little about him before, I thought there might be more. It might help.’‘Help who?’‘You, Jack.’ She said. I hesitated, ‘I don’t know what I will do without him.’ I said.She was silent as I kept my eyes down preparing to continue.‘Well, the thing is when I rescued Gerald I wasn’t in a good place; it was a very horrible time for me. I remember when I first saw him, I was so excruciatingly resentful that I felt such a strong connection with something so profoundly miserable. Something so lonely and dirty, something that only someone just as miserable as him, would rescue. I don’t know who I was resentful towards, maybe Gerald maybe myself, maybe both. So there you go yes, I was resentful and bitter and I thought that maybe I had made a mistake bringing him home.’ I took a pause, letting the shame run through me.Beatrice leaned back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other.‘As the weeks went on, I guess I was just so lost and I mean I was so desperate to feel anything I couldn’t see in Gerald. I thought, I don’t know I just- I just thought maybe if I made Gerald’s life better maybe it would somehow seep into mine. Well anyway, I decided I would try to look after him as best as I possibly could and that day, I walked down to this thrift store not far from my home and I loaded about seven bags with stuffed toys. They weren’t for animals of course, but at that age he was so small he couldn’t put a dent in anything and really it was all I could afford. He’d obviously never seen toys like that so I purposefully introduced them one at a time; I thought maybe it would be too overwhelming for him or something.' I smiled at myself, resting my elbows on my knees.‘Anyway, one day not long after that I had come home from work and across my living room floor, it was a sea of toys. He must have found the bags I had kept with everything I had bought, and I mean he was playing with all of them and not just one, you see? He was running around like this little energiser bunny, so incredibly content. I don’t think he’d realised I had come home yet, so I just stood by the door watching him.’ I was laughing now, Beatrice joining me.‘Jack, it sounds like you made him very happy.’ Beatrice smiled at me, almost beaming.I nodded, thankful for the reassurance. ‘I think while I was standing there watching him play like that, I realised he was so obnoxiously happy without me even being there. He was just on his own, you know? But he went and found himself a bag full of cheap toys and created that happiness for himself. Anyway I thought, well if I see myself in Gerald and Gerald created that for himself, then maybe I could too.’ I looked to Beatrice suddenly self-conscious. ‘I must sound so silly.’‘Not at all Jack, please continue.' She smiled leaning further into her seat.‘I think after that, things started to change for me. At the time I felt like it was luck, maybe Gerald’s happiness was just contagious and the happier he was, the happier I was. The months and the years went on and we really started exploring life, we would go on all these adventures; hiking, camping, kayaking. I mean I even got one of those backpacks so I could carry him whilst we biked on these huge, epic treks.’ I paused again hoping for encouragement.‘I think I know the exact ones you might be talking about.’ She nodded.‘Then as I got older and Gerald got bigger, everything just took off. I found myself accepting an interstate job, probably the best job offer I had in years. Gerald and I moved and into a bigger house too, and I bought him new toys and the proper kind this time. I even met my husband after a few weeks of being there and it really was like something out of a novel. We were so happy, all three of us, just so nauseatingly happy-’ My voice broke as I leaned further onto my knees, taking a rest. ‘Jack if I may, you do seem to speak of this happiness as if it was a thing of the past. I know Gerald can’t be with you anymore, but it doesn’t mean that this happiness you speak of must go too.’ Beatrice looked to me, pity full in her eyes.‘You don’t understand.’ I felt the frustration building. ‘So explain,’ she said.‘All those years ago and before I brought him home, my mind and my body it wasn’t a very good place to be. I was nothing, and to no one too. He’s gone now and it’s all going to go back to how it was. I will become again who I truly am, before Gerald.’ I turned to face Beatrice willing the sincerity to appear. I felt beyond anything that what I was telling her, was the truest of me.‘Gerald didn’t make you who you are Jack, I would guess that maybe somewhere along the way he did become your inspiration, but he never was and never could be your solution.’ The corners of her thin rosy lips turned slightly downwards and for a moment it appeared that she might be speaking of herself.‘I don’t know what I will do without him.’ I said again.‘Yes, you will.’Before I could speak Beatrice interrupted.‘Tell me Jack, what are you doing after you leave here today?’ She looked to me curiously.‘Well, I guess my husband will come to collect me soon and then we’ll go home. I don’t think I can stomach the idea of anything else at the moment, not without Gerald.’ I said.‘So you will go home to your house, a house that you currently live in?’‘Yes.’‘And you will go home to your husband, your family and your life? The one that you built?’‘Well.. yes.’ I repeated.‘You see then, with Gerald gone only a few moments ago it does appear to me and before my very eyes, that you are still something.’ Beatrice tilted her head teasingly as she grew warm with a smile.‘I can’t really disagree with you on that, can I?’ I smiled back.‘No, you can’t.’ She said.We both remained silent as Beatrice stood, I lifted my eyes to meet hers.‘So Jack, I guess you better be off then.’‘I guess I should.’ I said.
","August 17, 2023 08:00","[[{'Deliliah Smith': 'I really enjoyed your story, it was similar to mine in that the animal saved the human in a sort of way, and from there on they build this friendship and I think that you portrayed this beautifully. Your story made me smile, despite it being sad, I thought of the companionship between the characters and this bought me joy.', 'time': '09:31 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,hhw210,Nim's Dream,Vivacity Rex,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hhw210/,/short-story/hhw210/,Fluff,0,['Friendship'],7 likes,"
I sit, hidden, in the tall wild grasses and flowers, a place no one would think to look for me. In my lap is Nim, the cat that stalks the outskirts of my village. He sits up straight and prim looking me in the eyes. I ruffle up his fluffy black fur with a rough playful rub. His reaction, bending away from my hand and - I swear - glaring back at me, makes me giggle aloud. 
 
I lay back, folded my arms under my head, and sighed longingly toward the vast empty sky. Not a single cloud in the light blue space. I feel the pressure from tiny paws as they progress toward my chest. As I look at Nim, he lies comfortably and glares back at me. 
 
“Nim..” I let out a timid warning. He wants to play his game - but I am not in the mood today, so I lay back and keep my eyes on the sky. I want to enjoy time here with him. If I stay awake - the game won’t start, and if it doesn’t start, I won’t lose it - or Nim. But the pressure of him lying on my chest is comforting, and I drift to sleep. 
 
Nim kneads me awake, his sharp claws digging in and out quickly with each pressured-filled paw press. I roll my eyes as I realize I am now in Nim’s game of tag. I try to refrain from reacting to the pins of pain, but in the end, I shove him to the ground while I sit up. It is my turn to glare at him. He is strolling over to the edge of the flattened area and stands half in the tall grass. He doesn’t turn to look back at me; he knows I will follow. 
 
“Just a short game,” I whine to him. Nim loves to play tag in a nightmare world’s darkest forest. It is fun, but the game’s midpoint always scares me. If I fail at the game, I wake up on the field as if it never happened. Nim gone, and I always feel cold and disappointed after. 
 
I get onto my hands and knees and crawl toward Nim. He senses me and proceeds further, always staying so I can see him. I limp after him for what seems like forever; my clothes always get torn and dirty when we play, but I feel like these games mean something to Nim, so I play them for him. 
 
We finally reach the hole in the ground, and Nim sits on one side and me on the other. Our eyes are locked as we prepare for the game; this ritual works; it makes me feel like we are a team and Nim is the only other soul on Earth. 
 
The hole is odd in a way. It sits like a den, its hood of packed dirt preventing anyone from stumbling in accidentally. But below the ground, the walls are smooth grey stone. 
 
Nim breaks eye contact first and jumps down the hole. Going down is my least favourite part of the game. Even if I have played this game before, the black bottom and the strange nature of the spot make me want to run home. Instead, I push my feet into the hole first, take one last look at the sky and then push the rest of myself to follow. 
 
It is pitch black; there’s no feeling of movement, almost like I shoved myself in and got stuck. I know better. I wait. 
 
“Meow!” Nim announces my arrival at the bottom of the hole. It’s still pitched back, but my head turns towards his sound, and I drop to my knees again to follow him. 
 
It smells of rotting wood and damp fur; the air is so thick that it is hard to breathe. I try to pace my breathing, forget about my lungs, and focus on the quiet sounds Nim makes for me to follow. 
 
I see some dim light bleeding in from ahead of us, and Nims’s body starts to come into focus. We make it toward the cave’s opening, and we stop there. The fresh air that envelops my lungs brings me pure joy. I glance at my clothes, but they don’t seem as dirty this time. I can keep them this way.
 
I step out of the cave, standing and stretching high. We have entered a thick-set forest of large fir trees; the spaces between them are cramped with brush and a few scattered saplings. The sun filters through the tall trees, and feeling its dimpled warmth on my skin after the cave’s darkness is delightful. 
 
Nim trails off into the woods, and I follow. I strain my ears, listening for any sounds out there. As we walk on, my attention is pulled away from Nim as I hear a meow behind us. I stop and look back. Another cat? 
 
In my entire life, the only cat I have ever seen was Nim. What would this other cat look like? My feet almost walk back the way we came, but I stop and pan around for the direction I had last seen Nim. He is gone. Slight panic starts to fill my gut. 
 
“Nim!” I whisper loudly, my eyes darting to every crevice and corner his tiny cat body could have hidden. He is not here; he has never left me before. I push forward, pushing down the panic, trying to take over. No, Nim would not leave me. We are fine. 
 
I walk several feet before a low hiss comes from a berry bush. Nim sits at its side, almost blending into it. Relief washes over me, and I rush to plop down beside him. I pick him up and bury my face into his fluffy neck. He lets me. After I let him go, he stands apart from me with his body low to the ground. 
 
Trying to fill my mind with thoughts other than my almost getting lost, I pluck some berries from the bush and shove them into my mouth. The taste is so sweet. I cringe as if I had just eaten something bitter, but it fades, and I enjoy the sweet berries. 
 
We wait. The sun goes down, and the light is almost completely gone under the trees. Nim lets out a soft singsong sound and walks to me, brushing his sides against my stretched legs. As I start to get up, he darts out into the trees. I scramble, trying to stay on his heels, but he is so fast; I am slow and noisy. 
 
I run, following the odd sounds Nim purposely makes for me. Every time he makes his sound, I need to readjust my direction to his. I am, as usual, incapable of running in a straight line. Finally, we make it to our destination. 
 
It is a hut, someone’s home in the woods. It is made of greying wood and looks like one touch would make it topple over. My heart flutters as I scooped up Nim and slowly walked to the little house. 
 
I hold Nim close, and his front paws turn for my shoulder. I release my grip, and he perches himself on my shoulders. His tail wraps around my neck, his back claws dig into one shoulder, and his front the other. Right beside my ear, I can hear his low growl. 
 
With my heart pounding and Nim’s growls flying around us, I head for the door. Once there, I push it open; it doesn’t resist or make any sounds of protest as I step through. 
 
Inside, I glance around, looking for any signs of life. The hearth bathes the room in an orange glow, and its warmth is almost stifling. No humans are here, but there is a basket in the corner. It is wrapped with a cord, holding its lid on while its contents try to overflow. I feel Nims’s claws dig in, and I know the basket is what we came for. 
 
Walking forward, I pick up the brimming basket; although it looks packed full, it is as light as a feather. I exit the building with Nim on my shoulders and the basket in both hands. His claws dig in deep, making me instantly scan around us. I see nothing but trees in the darkness, so I press forward. His feet don’t release, and with the hairs on my neck standing, I quicken toward the trees. 
 
I can feel my breathing again, my body pulls in each breath, and I have to will it to push it back out. The air changes; I know something is here with us. 
 
“Darling girl.” A raspy female voice coos from behind me. I stiffen but refuse to turn and look. Nim lets out a warning growl. The growl is for me, not the lady who spoke. I have fallen for this trick before; no one will be there if I turn around. My instincts beg me to look, but I fight them. I lean my head to Nims fluff for some confidence before I start for the tree line again. 
 
“How dare you steal from me,” The voice barks the words at my back, making my heart pound and my palms sweat. Don’t look back, don’t look back. I can feel pressure from behind, like a strange wind is trying to pull me back. I keep my pace steady, walking to the trees. Once there, Nim jumps from my shoulder and races onward; I run to follow him. 
 
A loud shriek rattles every branch in the woods and makes my ears burst in pain. I keep running, following Nim. He tries to keep to a pace I can follow, but that has always been his hardest part. He is in his element here, sleekly running and dodging around trees and bushes, and I am his opposite in every way. The smell of rotten meat creeps into my consciousness, and I hold back a gag as it grows stronger. It’s not real; I chant in my head. It’s not real. These things are all part of the game, and the game doesn’t want me to win.
 
I keep my eyes on Nim, focus on Nim. Where he is going, and where I will have to follow. Don’t think of anything else. As I calm down, the smell recedes. Nim stops running, and we are now outside of the cave once more. Relief washes over me as I realize I didn’t fall into any tricks this time. Pride bursts through my chest, and I smile at Nim - who sits unimpressed by the mouth of the cave. 
 
I can’t help but chuckle at him. So stern. I drop the basket and pick him up. Turning him on his back like a baby in my arms, I kiss the top of his head and hug him tight. He emits the quietest, almost distant purr. I pull back and look at him in shock. 
 
“You can purr!” I blurt out with glee, giving him some extra rough smooches and scratches. It is the first time we have been successful. I have always fallen for tricks, losing the item we sought and Nim himself.
 
“My Nim... you fluffy beautiful boy,” I say as I set him back on the ground. We both turn toward the basket. Picking it back up and peeking at Nim from the corner of my eye, I unwrap the cord. Inside is a thick yellow cloth. Confused, I pull the fabric out; it is stuffed into the back tight, my eagerness making me struggle. What is in this basket? 
 
I finally pull the cloth from the confines of the basket. I stare at in. It feels heavy now. I place the mass of material on the ground and unwrap it. Nim sits close and watches every move, eyes never straying from our treasure. 
 
Under all the cloth was a shiny white and gold rock carved beautifully into a shape of a cat curled into a ball. Taking in its form, I gasped and glanced at Nim, who had closed his eyes. I pick up the rock, hold it up and run my fingers over its delicate ears and down to boop its teeny tiny nose. 
 
“It’s beautiful,” I tell Nim and place it back. He then walks over and holds his nose to the one on the statue. I watch him in awe as he stands holding this position. I can feel his sadness seeping into my soul, so I place a hand on his back for comfort and to tell him he has me. 
 
I look at the cave and the daunting way back home. Nim doesn’t move, but I feel the urgency fill me - I need to be back, but I have never had to return myself physically. Could I find my way back? I doubt it. 
 
Looking back at Nim, he sits at the edge of the cloth, looking down at the statue. I startle as I realize the gold has disappeared from its body. It is now completely white, and now it seems - different. 
 
Thinking the light is playing tricks on my eyes, I place a hand on it. I feel soft tufts, long silky hair, warmth, and shallow breathing movements! 
 
I pull my hand back and watch as the once white and gold statue sits up with pure white fur and a tiny pink nose. It glances at me with its glowing blue eyes. It elegantly gives me a slight head dip and walks to Nim. It circles, purring, settles flush beside him, and grooms his face.
 
He gives the new cat a few licks back before entering the cave and then turning to see if we follow. The shock I had from the transformation is now pure happiness. I just saved this beautiful cat. A sudden thought pops into my head, a name. 
 
“Lyn,” I say aloud. “Your name is Lyn!” I laugh out loud at her loving purr. 
 
I follow Lyn and Nim through the cave and back home. My heart feels complete as I watch them weaving together as they walk me to my home. When I reach for the door, I pause and look back towards them. They sit pressed together, watching me. I push open the door. 
 
“Let’s go to bed,” I tell them. They hesitate, but with Nim leading the way, they both walk inside. 
 
Welcome home.
","August 17, 2023 22:28","[[{'Aiyana Henderson': 'This was a good story. I really found the tale full of adventure and fun! It started out confusing at first, but once I realized what the character was doing, I started to follow along.', 'time': '13:07 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Vivacity Rex': 'Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story. I apologize for it’s rough edges it is my first story out in the world. 😸', 'time': '00:48 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Vivacity Rex': 'Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story. I apologize for it’s rough edges it is my first story out in the world. 😸', 'time': '00:48 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Aiyana Henderson': 'This was a good story. I really found the tale full of adventure and fun! It started out confusing at first, but once I realized what the character was doing, I started to follow along.', 'time': '13:07 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,x1xtwp,Rilestone:  A Day with Kit,Steffen Lettau,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x1xtwp/,/short-story/x1xtwp/,Fluff,0,"['Funny', 'Friendship', 'Fiction']",7 likes,"
He peeked around the corners of his bed.  No one.
 
He peeked around the corners of the closet.  No one.
 
He peeked around the entire room before peeking outside the door.
 
No one.
 
Where was Kit?
 
Rilestone was a bit worried.  He had sworn to his dad that he would not let Kit out of his sight, specifically anywhere around the house.  They kept a regulated pen next to them, opposite of the greenhouse, where all manner of fowl from chickens and geese to ducks and even a couple pheasants wandered about, eating and laying eggs.  That was their main source of protein here at home, and if his dad caught Kit going anywhere near there...
 
His suspicious were relieved, and he almost relieved himself as a white fluffy ball of joy jumped out from the hallway and tackled him to the floor of his room.  Immediately, he felt something wet tickling his face all over, with the sound of giddy yips accompanying each curl of the tongue.
 
""Kit, you silly fox, get off me!""
 
The young fox jumped off, only to leap back onto the nine-year-old white-haired boy and resume his attack.  Rilestone rolled with the fox, being careful not to hurt the animal.  He giggled along with his friend, and eventually managed to get a hold of himself and a literal hold on this skilled hunter.  ""Okay, okay, don't run off like that, okay?  Dad would have you ousted if he saw you alone now, won't he?  Yes, he would!  Yes, he would!"" he explained in glee as he rubbed his nose on the fox's nostrils.  More licking ensued.
 
Coming down the stairs, Rilestone greeted his parents, making sure to keep Kit in his arms until the harness could be placed.  Once said harness was secured, he leashed the back and led Kit around the table, placing a bowl of chopped rabbit and a bowl of fresh water under the table and on top of a towel, just in case.  He sat, the leash resting in his lap as he ate his breakfast.  His mother, Lilli, was reading documents on a case she was stated to be working upon while his dad, Harris, talked with one of his personnel from his security company.  Once the call ended, he turned to his son.  ""So, Rilestone, today is Saturday.  An entire day off for everyone, if they so desire.  What will you be doing?""
 
Rilestone thought about his answer, and then gave it:  ""I want to take Kit for a walk, but at the park near the city.  And...I want to train him without the leash.""
 
There was a pause as both parents now looked to their son.  Lilli was the first to ask, ""Why so?""
 
""Well, we had Kit for almost a year.  I trained him as best as I could, with leash and harness, and if it is all right with the both of you, I want to see if he can be trained without the restraints.""
 
Harris nodded.  ""Well, you have kept your promise to keep Kit in check, away from both the fowl house and the greenhouse.""
 
Rilestone couldn't help himself in the moment.  ""And the toilet.""
 
Lilli stifled a laugh while Harris tried to appear serious.  ""Yes, son, and the toilet.  You have leave to try, but if Kit slips, it's back on the harness until he's inside.  Get it?""
 
""Got it.""
 
""Good.  Help clean the dishes, and then you and Kit can go have fun.""
 
An hour later, Rilestone and Kit were finally at the park.  Rilestone held the leash and patted his pockets for the hemp bags; Kit had already done his business near the forest close to Rilestone's home, but it was better to be safe than sorry.  He looked to the city of New Seattle, rebuilt after the Second Civil War, and he saw Onyx Tower, where his cousin's family resided and worked.  Looking back to Kit, he saw the fox had been sitting and waiting on him.  ""Okay, Kit,"" he said, ""I'm gonna trust you on this.  Please don't do anything rash.""
 
He reached down and undid the leash, then backed away a couple paces.  Kit cocked his head to one side, as if wondering why Rilestone was doing this.  Then, he got up and walked over to Rilestone, sitting down again and waiting.  Rilestone then reached down and undid the harness, once more backing away a couple paces.  And, again, Kit cocked his head in curiosity, getting up and following Rilestone.  This time, he seemed to be more energetic, lifting up his right pay instead of sitting.  Rilestone smiled, and the fox opened his mouth in a gleeful yip.  The fun would now begin!
 
Rilestone ran from one end of the park to the next, with Kit keeping pace and letting his white and fluffy tail flow like a conductor's baton, moving to a natural rhythm that only animals seemed to understand.  When Rilestone stopped running and turned around, Kit had intentionally slowed down just so he could leap once again upon the boy and attack his defenses with a flurry of licks and yelps.  Rilestone laughed, carefully grabbing the animal and putting him down on the ground.  ""Okay, okay, let's begin!"" Rilestone kneeled in front of Kit.  ""Sit!""
 
The fox sat down, waiting.
 
""Stay!""
 
The fox stopped moving altogether, even shutting his mouth.
 
""Shake right!""
 
Kit lifted his right paw and Rilestone grasped it, shook it twice and then released.  
 
""Shake left!""  The same happened with the other paw.
 
""Speak!""
 
Here, Kit would start with a few yips, followed by yelps, a bit of a howl, and then bark, bark, bark, before toning it down to a high-pitched hum.
 
""Really?"" asked Rilestone.  ""Tell me more!""
 
Kit started yipping again, but added a few jumps from the left to the right.  Rilestone followed him with his head turning after the fox.  
 
Finally, Rilestone called out, ""Okay, let's roll!""  And roll they did!  Frontwards, backwards, one side, the other side, and they even performed a couple flips of their own designs.  After this, they had exhausted themselves, and headed to a water fountain.  Rilestone took his fill, after which he would cup his hands and fill them with water for Kit to drink out of, repeating again and again until Kit was full.  Then they went over to a large tree on a small hill and sat down, staring out at New Seattle and watching as the lights of the remade Space Needle started lighting up.
 
""Summer is almost over, Kit"", said Rilestone.  ""Pretty soon, it'll be fall.  You know what that means?""  When Kit turned to look at him with a face that seemed to ask, ""Whaa?"", Rilestone responded, ""Leaves will fall, the air will be cooler, and we could get you hunting some rabbits.  Would you like that?""  He smiled as Kit licked his lips at the mention of the rabbits.  Looking at his watch, Rilestone got on his feet and looked at the harness and leash.  ""Will you stay at my side until we get home?""
 
Kit looked up at him, and stared into his eyes, shifting his head to lean upon the boy.  His gentle breathing lifted Rilestone's heart, as if any fettering within his body was suddenly cut down.  He decided to not put on the harness and leash, holding onto them in his left hand as he patted the fox with his right hand.  ""Okay, Kit, let's go get some lunch.  You wanna come back here next week?""
 
Kit huffed a sigh, turned away from Rilestone, and headed to the tree.  Before Rilestone could ask, the white fox stopped and lifted up his leg, peeing upon the roots of the tree.  Rilestone laughed; that was a definite ""yes"".
","August 18, 2023 21:10","[[{'Mary Bendickson': '🦊A cute foxy tale.\n\nPlease do tell:)', 'time': '00:51 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Steffen Lettau': 'Thank you.  One day, I hope to tell the tale of how Kit got his name.', 'time': '01:39 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Steffen Lettau': 'Thank you.  One day, I hope to tell the tale of how Kit got his name.', 'time': '01:39 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,90do0w,Groundhog Seeking Employment,Tanya Humphreys,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/90do0w/,/short-story/90do0w/,Fluff,0,"['Bedtime', 'Fantasy', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
Paige Harper, in her mysterious world, did not hear her brother as he snuck into her room, tiptoeing like Sylvester the cat after Tweety. The basement room had been used for storage until all three people concerned, felt it best that Paige take it as her room. Her mother didn't have to put up with her, her little brother got his own room in the attic, and she got blessed darkness and quiet.
 
Benny was the opposite of his sister. He played sports and ran around with school chums, usually on their bicycles, all summer long. They had a penchant for all things noisy and loud: firecrackers, horns that went AAA-OO-GAH!... cap guns, and so on. Even Benny’s little terrier mix made up for his wee size with a stupendously loud bark.
 
A month earlier, while school was still in session, Ricky had brought one of his father’s Coastguardsman’s airhorns to school. At lunchtime, the group of four boys raced off into the woods as far from the schoolyard as possible to sound it off. YOWZA! Whatta holler! Benny had coveted it ever since. After his eighth birthday, he had traded his new Spiderman watch for that magnificent horn.
 
 
 
Paige’s room was not entirely silent. Floorboards creaked above her where the kitchen was, as her mother prepared dinner. She heard cupboards thud, the oven door squeal open, and Redrum’s toenails clicking as the dog followed Phoebe around. A scrap or two would be his; Phoebe was messy. By the time she made dinner, she’d be four martinis into her cups.
 
Sometimes, when all was quiet, her mother’s four-quart soup pot would crash to the floor sending Paige’s nerves through her skin like needles burning with acid and the inevitable scream escaping her lips. She would shake uncontrollably for an hour afterwards, the sound echoing again and again in her head like a bass drum in a marching band of tormenting ghouls. The little tormenting ghoul upstairs would laugh hysterically and the screeching and stomping of their mother inevitably pushed her deeper into the blue lighthouse in the spectrum of her mind.
 
 
***
 
 
Just a half mile past the rundown house at the edge of town, the Oceanview River lazily winds its way through the forest, through the meadow at the looming dusty-purple foothills, and beyond. It was in this meadow, right at the edge under a vast hemlock bush, where Dusty lived. 
As the sun was setting, throwing long shadows over the dry yellow grass, a small figure plodded along a well-worn path to where it disappeared under a mass of blooming lavender. Dusty normally paused at the purple blooms to take in their heady aroma. He himself, smelled of the fragrant flower as he had a passion for rolling in it. Today, he merely glanced at it and sighed.
 
“What’s the matter, Dusty? You’re not your cheerful self.” It was his best buddy, Mike, a raccoon.
“Oh…nothing,” said Dusty.
“Well, for you to not stop and smell the flowers, I know something is terribly wrong.”
Dusty turned to his friend and sighed heavily.
Mike put an arm around the groundhog’s shoulders and turned with him, so they were facing west. “Look at that sunset. It’s magnificent tonight with the floaty clouds out there on the horizon.”
Dusty glanced up and nodded. “It is a smashing one indeed, my friend. But I think I’ll just go in to bed.”
“Don’t be daft. You’re going to share this wicked burrito with me and tell yer ole pal Mikey what’s wrong.”
 
Dusty had to smile. His mum was from London, both she and her son spoke with a lilting accent that Mike had found cool; the raccoon had picked up a slew of British terms from him. Dusty had no desire to pick up any of the American slang and his human employers had encouraged him in sticking to his British roots. They said his voice was pleasing to American viewers.
 
He sat next to Mike and sniffed at the proffered half burrito in the raccoon’s hand. “Egads! That thing’s turned at least a week ago…”
 
“Aged beef man. Heavenly. Besides, the wrapper says Taco Bell, so it’s full of yummy preservatives.”
Dusty raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You’ll make yourself ill.”
 
“Don’t be daft. I’ve got an iron stomach,” Mike said as he rubbed his ash grey belly. “You’ve been eating too much good food…gour-may stuff. Am I right?”
Dusty sighed. He would miss the gourmet meals. “I’m just not hungry, you go on and enjoy your food.”
Mike shrugged and chomped and licked his lips. After half was gone, he said, “I’ve seen that commercial y’know.”
 
Dusty looked over, perplexed.
“Yeah, over at the Johnson’s house. Gotta good view of the tv from the window.”
“Mike. That’s dangerous. You said you wouldn’t do that anymore.”
“I know, you’re right. And I promise to stop…as soon as they’re done binge-watching Game of Thrones.”
 
They sat watching the sunset in silence only broken by Mike’s soft burps.
 
 
 
***
 
 
On this early evening, Paige’s basement room was deeply and calmingly dark, the only illumination, a small desk lamp on her desk. She was inking in a sketch she’d penciled the day before and pleased with the results so far. Illustrating put her in a pleasant zone like nothing else could. Her mother’s footsteps and Redrum’s clickings faded into a familiar cadence. Her soft light brown hair fell over her shoulder and onto the page as she leaned forward to select a finer tipped ink brush. She flipped her hair from off the page, it cascaded onto her left side, revealing her right eye in the profile of her pale, delicately featured face.
 
The shadow on the door behind her halted and froze. 
 
Slowly, with all the patience it could muster, the shadow raised its arm and slid from the rectangle of light against the door.
 
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! The airhorn was an apocalyptic weapon of mass destruction in the low-ceilinged room.
Paige screamed. She whacked her throbbing head against the desk but didn’t feel a thing as she fell. She curled up into a ball. The horn’s screaming wail went on and on. As her throat rawed like bloody road rash, the screaming grew hoarser, and she realized with revulsion that it was she who’d been making the noise. At last, when she stopped screaming, she heard a dog barking, a wicked boy laughing, and a drunk woman screeching.
 
The sounds were faint, as if she was going deaf.
“…in God’s name Benny!…”
“…arf…arf…arf…arf…arf!…”
“…and shut that mutt up before I do for good…”
“…aw Mom…having a little fun…”
“…arf…arf…arf!…”
“…gone and messed herself again…”
“…ew…sorry Mom…”
 
Their voices undulated like pulses under the sea. ‘I’m going deaf… Good.’
 
Paige was in her lighthouse, her safe place, her alone place. She’d teleported herself there through a blueish purplish portal that resembled a swirling intestinal tract.
It was always night here, cool, and dark. The white of the moon sometimes made her eyes tingle- not in an unpleasant way, but more like a hypnotist’s waving silver watch inspires positive apprehension.
On this night, the moon was just the sliver of a friendly eye winking at her. The stars were as bright as ever, cheerily twinkling, and cool as mentholated balm.
The revolving light of the lighthouse was steady in its slow revolutions, flashing in slow motion over the black ocean, sending a rippling pale blue streak to the far horizon.
When she’d hurtled into the circular stone room her heart had been lodged high in her throat, choking her; she could gather no air into her burning lungs. When she opened her eyes and saw the familiar place, she relaxed at last and sat at the arched stone window. Paige turned to her right and pulled the worn oak table to her. She fingered through the pencils and brushes on the shelf above it, chose a hard lead for light sketching, and began to draw on the creamy white page before her.
 
 
***
 
 
Dusty’s mum had always told him he was different. He was abnormally bright, as if a human brain had been implanted in his furry head. His mum had been taken from London, England, and put in a California game farm. She burrowed under a fence and was free, eventually finding the beautiful meadow and digging the burrow he now lived in. She’d escaped because she was pregnant and wanted her babies to live free like their groundhog ancestors. The lavender reminded her of the heather from her home.
 
 
 
 
One day when Dusty was just four months old, he’d been foraging in a garden behind a small wooden house not far from the meadow.
 
A small girl had been in the garden picking peas. A low-flying airplane had roared overhead, perhaps dusting a nearby field…the girl had curled into a ball, covering her face, and making herself small.
Dusty hid. As he watched, a woman came into the garden. She bent to the child and enveloped her into her arms. A man came to them. He smelled…bad. Sour, with crazy oozing from his pores. He said to the woman, “Leave her alone. Let her curl up and lie there. You go on and make my supper.”
“But Drake…she’s just delicate…please---”
The woman’s voice was cut by a sharp slap.
The woman carried the small child inside, following the man.
 
 
Three days later, Dusty was again in the garden sampling the new sweetpea flowers. He came around the end of a fragrant row and the girl was there. She was using her finger to draw in the soil. A small tin pail of beans sat beside her. The girl’s finger froze as she looked up and into Dusty’s eyes. The girl’s eyes were such a pale blue, they looked nearly grey. Her skin was the color of cream, she had a scattering of fine freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was radiant as she smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said softly. Her lips had not moved.
Her mother stomped over, and Dusty ducked out of sight.
The woman slapped the child across the back of her head and screeched, “Watchoo doin girl? Pick up that pail. What is wrong with you?!” She picked the small, frail girl up and stomped back to the house.
Dusty sat stunned for a minute. ‘My imagination.’ He shook off the strange feeling of confused awe, picked some beans for his mum, and went home.
 
 
It was no wonder his dreams that night were awfully strange.
He found himself along a rocky coast at night (he had never been to the ocean in his life), following a sandy path to a small wooden bridge with fat hemp rope sides. On the other side sat the tallest structure he’d ever seen. It was of rough stone and round and painted cerulean blue. Its top was lost in dark wispy clouds- they parted, and a bluish white light burst forth like a giant eye. He was very frightened and figured he would now wake up…
He did not. Instead, he heard a voice in his head, ‘hello friend. Welcome.’
It was the little girl’s voice, and the fear was replaced by a calm, ethereal happiness, and contentment he’d never felt before. He crossed the bridge and the realization that it was groundhog-sized made him smile.
 
“…Dusty.” Not the girl’s voice.
 
 ‘Go away.’
 
“…wake up sweetheart.” It was his mother. “This is a big day for you, c’mon now. I’m making your favorite breakfast.”
 
He had felt an overwhelming loss inside… of what, did couldn’t say. He loved his mother dearly, but she was a bit daft- in a loveable way- and he knew she’d prepared a salad for him. That was what she always made for their meals. He realized he was feeling intensely melancholy and needed to snap out of it. Today he was going to work…in the city.
 
***
 
 
And now, a year later, he huddled in the burrow, a bleak black fog of depression seeping into his ears, nose, mouth…every pore felt the destructive tendrils prying and invading. His mum had passed while he was at work in the city.
 
“Hey man. Snap out of it.” Mike was back.
Dusty groaned. “Leave me alone.”
“C’mon mate, get up.” Then he said in an ominous deep voice, “Winter is coming…”
That got the corners of Dusty’s mouth curling upwards.
Mike nudged Dusty and he sat up. Mike said, “…but not for another three months. Dude…no hibernating for you yet. Okay? Talk to me.”
“I got laid off.”
“I sorta figured it was something like that.”
“Yeah. I felt it coming. That last commercial killed my career.”
“But you’re not a gimmick! You can talk…to humans! That’s gobsmackin’…phenomenal!”
“I never should have revealed that in the first place. I’m a freak. They want to cut me up now to see how I do it. Barely escaped. Can’t go back.”
“I get that. But life here is great. Peaceful. So much beauty. C’mon, let’s watch the sunset. I gotta BK Whopper in mee pocket.” His brilliant fake British accent matched his toothy grin.
“Okay. Let’s.”
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
The next night…
Dusty wandered the streets of the city covertly, sticking to the shadows and alleys. He didn’t know what he was going to do, he was depressed and listless. He knew this but couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness.
He walked and walked…and crept and crept. His ears detected minute sounds and he ducked accordingly, out of sight. He thought to himself, ‘why do I bother?’ He was on the outskirts of the city when he heard a shrill scream. He’d heard it before. Curious, and with a newfound lust for life, he went towards the sound. Gradually, he detected more sounds of distress, sounds that hurt his heart. He had nothing to lose. He homed in on the sounds and eventually came upon a huge rectangular brick building…one that exuded an air of dismal despair and hopelessness.
It was an ugly design, ‘that architect should be shot,’ he thought, as he took in the enormity of its four stories. In the dark of night, he realized only by getting closer to it, that it was painted blue…and featured thick black iron bars on every single window.
Being an animal that could talk and read human stuff, he went around to the front and read the sign announcing: “LIGHTHOUSE INSTIT ION.” There was a capital iron ‘U’ hanging askew and a ‘T’ missing entirely. Dusty, after living in the city and with humans, understood that this was a home for the insane. Some criminally perhaps, some trapped in veg-state. His sharp ears heard screams and cries and moans. But he was drawn to the place regardless.
 
‘I feel I belong here. Lol.’ He slunk around the base of the building, inspecting it for access. A basement window was broken, a baseball-sized hole in it. It took little pushing to clear it wide enough for his body. He’d once been a fat, healthy groundhog. He discovered he’d become much thinner. In he went…’oof’, dropping six feet to a grungy cement floor.
He scuttled on all fours, it was faster than walking upright on two legs, and stopped periodically, listening for…? Guidance?
 
“Hey man.”
 
Dusty was shocked he had not heard the rat. He gathered himself, stood upright, and said calmly, “Well hello to you, mate.”
The fat charcoal grey rat grinned. “You’re new here. And big. Be on my side…we’d rule this---”
Dusty cut the rat off. “I’m looking for a human. A girl. Autistic. Not crazy. Pale grey eyes.” He was three times the rat’s size and loomed over him.
The rat sensed something about the groundhog, it was written all over its face. The rat’s eyes squinted, and it looked at Dusty as if the mammal was a human in disguise. It put a small finger to the corner of its mouth, and said, “Hmmm. I know whom you are referring to. For a small fee…”
“Quit it. I’ll give you…um…the address of a building that houses a studio where they film commercials. There’s a way in. Every day they toss out tons of doughnuts.”
The rat’s eyes glimmered. It licked its lips.
They exchanged information eagerly.
 
 
 
Dusty found the girl’s room, he huddled in the dark corridor, and waited for a nurse to leave. He skooched quickly through the doorway and looked around the gloomy, dismal room.
 
She was sitting up in the bed. She leaned forward and spit the pill from her mouth like he’d seen patients on tv do so many times. She grinned at him and said with her mouth, “Welcome friend.”
 
Dusty was dismayed at how frail and diminished she appeared to be. He came and jumped upon her bed. She squealed softly with glee and giggled, perhaps for the first time in her life, as she hugged him to her. Also, he knew, the first time she’d ever hugged anyone. “I knew you’d come. I know you’re not real, but I knew you’d come…”
“Sweetheart. I am real. As real as you are. What’s your name?”
Paige clapped her this pale hands together, delightedly. “Paige. But I prefer Pagan Star. What’s yours?”
“Wesley Dustin Humphreys the third. But I prefer Dusty.”
She frowned. Though she was little more than a skeletal waif, she possessed power and great strength. All this Dusty knew. Their eyes spoke volumes.
He said, “The lighthouse…?”
“Yes. My place. It’s real you know.”
“I believe you.”
“You’re my first and only friend.”
“You’re my savior.”
She looked around, fully aware of where she was…and shrugged as a tear drifted down her cheek.
Dusty said, “I can get us out of here…”
Paige said, “And I can take you to the lighthouse.”
","August 19, 2023 02:12",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,ymfu7g,Worried dog,Hannah Abrams,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ymfu7g/,/short-story/ymfu7g/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
  Jamie let out a cough, and the dog that hadn't left his side all day looked up and tilted his head to the side, then gave him a kiss. 
   Jamie chuckled and coughed. He buried his face in the dog's fur and wiped his runny nose. He'd been doing that all day. Man, when he got over this, he'd need to give Spot a bath. Jamie felt so achy and tired. 
   He was so sick. His friends were at school, his dad was at work, his step-mom was doing whatever it was that she did, and his dog was right beside him all day long. 
   Jamie turned on the TV and flicked through the shows and movies. 
   ""Spot, what do you wanna watch?"" He asked. 
   The dog looked at the TV and barked when Jamie came to a channel. 
   ""Ok, fine. We'll watch Animal Planet."" Jamie said and turned it on. 
   He fell asleep and woke up to a coughing fit. 
   Spot seemed freaked out, like he wasn't sure what to do. He started howling and whining. 
   His step-mom came running in and handed him some water. Once he managed to stop coughing, she left, and Spot whined and buried his face in Jamie's chest. Jamie hugged the dog, who was now whining like crazy. 
   ""It's ok, boy. I'm ok."" Jamie told the dog. 
   He seemed to need comfort more than his owner did today. This was the first time Jamie had been sick since he got the dog nearly 2 years ago, and he didn't seem to like it anymore than Jamie. He kept whining and giving Jamie kisses. It was like he thought he was dying. 
   After a while, Spot calmed down and watched the TV. 
   Suddenly, Jamie needed to pee. He got up, and his dog followed him into the bathroom and sat there watching him pee. If Jamie didn't let him come in, he'd be barking at the door. Jamie was pretty sure Spot thought he'd die if he left his side for a minute.
    ""Ok. Now, you have to pee."" Jamie told his dog and took him outside. 
    He went pee and then grabbed his favorite toy on the way back inside. 
   Jamie didn't have the energy to go all the way back upstairs, so he just plopped on the couch. Spot jumped on the couch beside him and took his spot in Jamie's arms. 
   When his parents insisted on taking him to a doctor, the neighbor said Spot howled the whole time, and he made a very big mess. When Jamie came home, he pretty much got attacked by his dog and his 'welcome home, I thought you died' kisses. 
    Jamie turned on the TV, and halfway through the movie, he fell asleep. He woke up to find a pair of blue eyes staring into his brown. The dog gave him a kiss. 
    ""Spot."" Jamie groaned. 
   He barked and jumped off the couch and barked again. 
   ""What do you want, boy?"" Jamie groaned. 
   Spot looked towards the kitchen and barked again. 
   ""Are you hungry or something?"" Jamie asked. 
   The dog barked again, and Jamie got up. He followed his dog into the kitchen to find his bowl full. As soon as they were in the kitchen, Spot started to eat.
   ""What? Can't eat without me?"" Jamie asked.
    He let out a cough, and his dog looked at him like he was about to explode before going back to his food. 
    ""Man, Spot, you're more protective than my dad."" Jamie said. 
   The dog was eating his food like he was in a contest and making a mess. Jamie let himself fall to the floor, and immediately, the dog completely forgot he was eating. 
   ""I'm fine, Spot."" Jamie said. 
   After making sure he wasn't dead, Spot went back to his food. 
   ""Dude, you're gonna make yourself sick."" Jamie said. 
   Then he realized that Spot hadn't eaten all day. 
   After a while, Spot made his way over to Jamie and lay beside him. Jamie must have fallen asleep because he woke up to someone yelling his name and his dog barking. 
   ""Jamie. Jamie, are you ok?"" His step-mom asked and felt his forehead. 
    ""Yeah. I'm fine."" Jamie groaned. 
   ""What are you doing on the floor?"" Linda asked. 
   ""Spot wanted to eat, and I fell asleep."" Jamie said. 
    ""Oh."" Linda said. 
   Jamie got up and made his way back to the couch. Spot followed. 
   ""Your father should be home soon."" Linda said. 
    Jamie nodded. Dad had said he could take the day off work if Jamie needed him to. He had told him he didn't. 
   Jamie fell asleep again and woke up using Spot as a pillow and a cold hand on his forehead. 
    ""Dad?"" Jamie groaned.
    ""Hey buddy."" Dad said.
    ""How are you feeling?"" Jamie shrugged and sat up. 
    Spot crawled into his lap.
   ""A little better, I guess."" Jamie said. 
   ""Good."" Dad said. 
   Linda handed him a bowl of soup and some medicine. He downed it because he knew he had to. 
   He felt better than he had earlier that week. 
   Linda and Dad watched a movie with him. He managed to stay awake until he went to bed. Spot slept curled up beside him as he usually did, especially over the last few days. 
   The next day, Jamie was feeling better, not well enough to go to school or take Spot for a walk. He only took 2 naps.
    Linda tried to take Spot for a walk, and he flat out would not move. He started barking and growling once he realized that Jamie was not coming. 
   ""Go on."" Jamie told the dog.
   He wouldn't. Finally, Linda just gave up. 
   Jamie's friends stopped by after school, and Jamie actually felt well enough to do some homework (which they had to help with). While they were over, he tried to convince them that Spot was really smart. 
   ""Spot. What's 2 plus 3?"" He asked the dog, who then barked 5 times. 
   They then got distracted trying to see how much math Jamie's dog knew. He didn't know how to count above 5. 
   Spot seemed to love it. He was wagging his tail like crazy.
    After his friends left, Jamie took a nap with Spot. 
   The next day, Jamie felt well enough to play with Spot outside for about 15 minutes and clean up his room a bit. 
    He begged Dad not to send him back to school on a day he had gym. 
    The next day, he gave Spot a bath. Spot only jumped out of the tub once and seemed to feel bad when Jamie fell in the tub, fell down the stairs trying to chase down his soap covered dog, and wound up in a coughing fit for 5 minutes. 
   If Spot was human, he would have been hugging Jamie, sobbing, and apologizing for the next half hour. He kept whining and giving him kisses throughout his bath, and he stayed in the bathtub. For the rest of the day, Jamie was working on his homework with his dog in his lap. 
   The next day, Dad made him go to school. After school, he took Spot on a short walk. 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 16, 2023 22:37",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,f8g5uo,"Basil, a dog who saved a life. ",Deliliah Smith,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f8g5uo/,/short-story/f8g5uo/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship']",6 likes,"
This story contains issues surrounding mental health (depression) and suicidal actions. 
 
 
Amelie and Basils relationship didn’t get off to the greatest start. Effectively, he had been dumped on her doorstep when her best friend Natalie and her husband had decided to go to Thailand to be teachers. Basil appeared with the promise of “He will make you feel better, he’s good company, no trouble at all.” She remembered to keep him fed and watered, she didn’t walk him. Understandably he grew bored, anyone knew dogs needed to be walked at least once a day, but Amelie didn’t have the mental energy to brush her teeth or comb her hair, never mind walk a dog she didn’t want. This had been a bad idea, a dog deserved to be around people who loved and cared for them, not someone like Amelie. Basil grew increasingly frustrated with his lack of stimulation he started chewing curtains, skirting boards and anything else he could get his teeth into. “No trouble at all.” She thought looking at Basils latest act of destruction “Yeah right.”
 
When Basil arrived Amelie was going through the lowest time of her life. She had woken up on a Saturday morning, excited for the weekend ahead, thoughts of work cast aside for the next forty- eight hours. This; however, was not meant to be, ideas of a carefree, relaxed couple of days were soon forgotten when, that morning her boyfriend of seven years Andrew, told her he had found a flat and was leaving the next day. A seven year long relationship shattered to smithereens in a matter of moments. She had been utterly devastated. She thought they had been happy. Week nights spent cooking recipes they had chosen together. Weekends meeting friends for one too many drinks or brunch. Time spent alone together would involve visiting local farmers markets, her baking a fresh batch of cookies or a loaf of bread, him working on the house. They would watch a movie or play scrabble changing the theme each week to make it more fun, laughing until their bellies hurt late at night when the rest of the world had long taken to their beds. In more intimate moments he would lay on the sofa, “The New Scientist.”  In hand, she would rest her head on his chest, pen in mouth reading the latest manuscript she was proofing. She truly believed they had been content, comfortable. Long had the times gone where she would worry or fret he would go out with the boys and cheat on her. They had talked about getting married, having babies, going travelling. Was it all a big joke to him? 
 
That had sent her into a deep pit of depression. She had been to the doctors, they had given her some anti depressants, anti anxiety medicines and a six week course of CBT, which was magically going to change the way she thought. The medications didn’t help though, they made her woozy and unable to focus. When it came to the CBT, she found it useful to discuss some of her emotions, but no matter how much she spoke about the unexpected break up she still couldn’t understand that someone who she thought would be in her life until the day she died, could just change their mind like that. Someone she perceived had loved and cared for her could hurt her the way Andrew had. When the block finished she went back to keeping it all locked in, no longer able to trust anyone, or even let her walls down riddled with anxiety that all the people she previously considered to be confidants turned out just to be the same as Andrew? 
 
In the initial phases of their breakup, Amelie had tortured herself by looking at Andrews social media profiles. She watched as any and all of pictures of them disappeared, having been deleted, he had completely eradicated any evidence that she had been part of his life. These images were replaced with photos of his new flat, some art work he had bought and batches of banana bread, which looked barely edible. Still, as she clicked on each image, she prayed he would turn up on the door step declaring that he had made a colossal mistake. This didn’t happen though, and a few months later a picture of a girl all smiles appeared. He’d moved on. It had taken him mere months to move on from a seven year relationship, while she was still sobbing on the sofa, wondering what she had done wrong. Had he even loved her at all? 
 
After that post she told herself not to look again, it caused her too much distress, but today something was pulling her to look. Perhaps it was because it was a year to the day since they had separated, she didn’t know. All day she had tried resisting the urge, distracting herself as best she could, but nothing worked, that niggling in the pit of her stomach left her nauseated, head spinning without easing off, intensifying as the hours past. Eventually, she gave in opened up instagram, searched for his name and clicked it. She wasn’t expecting to see the image that was now glowing in front of her eyes. There it was in all its glory. A selfie of him and the new girlfriend with her perfect hair and chiselled jaw line, her hand to the camera. She didn’t need to read the caption to know what it was, but she did anyway. “SHE SAID YES!” Engaged. A year since their relationship had dissolved and he was getting married. They had been together for seven years and although they had talked about, he had never proposed. She must be special, and she must have meant nothing to him. 
 
In a fit of rage and upset, she threw her phone to the wall. It banged and bounced; Basil barked. She didn’t see the screen smash; she was too busy in the kitchen rifling through cupboards in search of something. She wasn’t sure she had them anymore it had been a long time since she had taken them, deciding they were useless. When she found it, she shook the box. Success. There was a whole unopened packet. She now calmly poured herself a glass of water and went back to her spot on the sofa. She didn’t need to write a note, she didn’t need to play melancholy music, she didn’t need any of it. She popped each of the pills out of the packet and lined them up on the coffee table. She took a swig of the water and counted them one by one placing them in her hands. She was the most composed she had been in a long time. She wanted this. She looked at the tablets in her hand, Basil Barked. She looked at him annoyed. He barked again. “Can I not do anything without you barking?” She yelled; Basil growled. Her hand shaking now slightly, she took another gulp of the water and lifted her hand to her mouth. At this moment Basil leapt up knocking half of the medicine into unknown locations and the rest into a fizzling mess in the water. 
 
Basil without realising had interrupted her plans, and was now making himself quite comfortable on her lap. Amelie sobbed she didn’t know how long for, but she must have cried herself to sleep. When she woke Basil was exactly where he had been. She was unaware, but Basil had not left her side that night. He hadn’t eaten any of his kibble or lapped up some water, it was as if something inside of him knew what he had to do. 
 
From that night something changed. Amelie started taking better care of Basil, she fed him, kept his water topped up, started playing with him, giving him love, taking him for walks. The more she took care of Basil, the more she practiced the same for herself. It wasn’t all at once, first making sure to brush her teeth twice a day, eat three times a day, wash her hair, do laundry, but it did happen. She began to discover who she was again, what she enjoyed as well as what she didn’t. She made friends at a dog walking group, joined a hockey team on Tuesdays and a Spanish class on Thursdays she even thought that one day she might be carefree and joyful again. 
 
 Two years later she was thinking of how Basil had saved her life as she held his paw in her hand, her thumb stroking it gently, tears once more uncontrollably streaming down her face. She knew the news she was about to receive. He had been old two years ago, even more mature now. She was all too familiar with the idea that nothing sticks around forever, having learnt that lesson the hard way.
 
The vet appeared. She smiled at Amelie, but she could tell by the way it didn’t meet her eyes that it wasn’t genuine, she was just doing her job. At that moment Amelie was certain of what was going to happen. Basil had been walking slower and slower, Amelie having researched it thought it was due to old age, she followed what to do, less walks, but encourage play. It seemed to help for a while; however, today when Basil couldn’t even lift himself to his morning feed, she knew something wasn’t right, this is why she was here now. She had been here all day. 
“Amelie, I have looked at the scans and I am so sorry to tell you, Basil, unfortunately has bone cancer. We can give medicines to help with pain, but we can’t treat it, it is too far gone. You can take him home with the medication or I am recommending you seriously think about having him put down. It won’t be a nice death even with the pain relief, this is the kinder approach, it’s up to you though.” Amelie looked around the room, her eyes swimming, never did she think she would feel this way about an animal, even less about one she didn’t choose. She glanced at the vet. Amelie was annoyed at herself for not doing something sooner. How could she do this to him? The initial stages of their companionship had been fraught, but she had grown to love him. As if she knew what Amelie was playing through her mind the vet squeezed her shoulder. “I know what you are thinking, but even if you had bought him in months ago we still couldn’t have done anything, this type of cancer develops quickly, and whatever stage we catch it there is very little we can do.” 
“Do I have time to make a phone call? He won’t be gone when I get back will he?” 
The vet shook her head “I have given him medicine to make him comfortable, he’s sleepy, but he knows you’re here, I can step out while you make the call.” Amelie nodded, and the vet made herself scarce. 
 
Loosening Basils paw momentarily, Amelie searched her bag for her phone. It was 4pm, meaning it would be 10pm in Thailand, she had to be quick. She went into watts app and found Natalie and pressed call. It took a few moments, but soon enough she heard the all too familiar voice of her best friend “Hey Am, nice to hear from you, how you been? How’s my boy?” It took everything for Amelie not to break down.
“That’s the thing, Nat, you know how his walking has been, I was worried I took him to the vet and…” she explained the situation remaining collected, after all Basil wasn’t hers, no matter how much he meant to her. 
“Look Am, you know I love him, but he’s not mine anymore, he was yours from the day I gave him to you, and you have looked after him so well, you know he loves you, do whatever you think is best, I am not going to begrudge you.”
 “Okay Nat, I just wanted to make sure.” 
“I know, I know, you’ve got this, you are strong now, let me know what happens, love you.” 
 
Amelie returned the phone back in her bag and not wanting to leave the dog, she went back to holding his paw. The vet reappeared. “Did your phone call go okay?” She asked sympathetically. Amelie tried to smile, but instead her lip gave way, the tissue she had been gripping onto had been rendered useless hours ago, so now trails of her sadness were leaving puddles amongst Basils golden coat “Oh I am sorry buddy, the last thing you need is wet fur, being poorly like this.” She glanced at the vet one last time and in a voice barely audible said 
“if you think putting him to sleep is the kindest thing, do it, do whatever you need to do.” The vet didn’t respond but began making a tray of various complicated items. She handed Amelie a consent paper which she signed before finding the cannula she had inserted upon Basil’s arrival. “This is the medicine, when it’s in it won’t take long, you can stay with him.” 
 
The doctor, injected the medicine meticulously before reproaching “I will give you some time, I will come back shortly.” She left. Amelie shuffled closer resting her head on Basil’s tummy, she could feel his breathing slowing, his time left on earth inching closer by the second. She wished she could do something to make it better, to save his life, to repay him for what he had done for her, but she knew there was nothing, so she did the only thing she could think of and went back to stroking his golden brown paw, murmuring occasionally “I am here buddy, it’s okay, you can go now.” 
 
When the vet materialised , he had gone. She confirmed this before comforting Amelie. Before she left, she ruffled his hair for the last time and spoke softly into his floppy ear that was always getting bugs trapped in it “thank you for saving my life.” As she left the vets, she worried for a moment what she would do now, her one and only companion gone, to go back to that empty house all over again, but then she remembered it was different this time, she had her friends back, she had a life now, she was better, Basil had given her a second chance and she couldn’t waste that.
","August 17, 2023 14:05",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,e9h863,An Unlikely Companion ,Taylor Petska,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/e9h863/,/short-story/e9h863/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Coming of Age', 'Friendship']",6 likes,"
	It was dark. Darker than she would have ever imagined it to be. Remembering her map, she pulled it out of her backpack and unrolled it. To her great dismay, she could not read a single thing. The forest was far too dark, and what was even more frustrating was the fact that it was early afternoon. At a time of the day where the earth should be the brightest, it was the darkest she had ever experienced. What was she supposed to do now? Added to the darkness was the violent wind. It whipped her hair back and forth constantly—entangling it into nature’s own bird nest of a mess. Even if there had been a great amount of light, she was afraid that the wind itself would have prevented her from seeing her map. Between the wildness of her hair and the corners of the map folding in on themselves every second, she was certain there were multiple factors at play wishing to prevent her from reading the map she had spent so much time pouring over. Her planning, tracing, and memorizing seemed to all have been for nothing now: it was surely no use to her at this point.
 
	Just when she thought she could not be off to a worse start, she heard a peculiar noise in the distance. And this noise was not comforting nor welcoming… no, it was frightening. It was a high-pitched squeal, and it seemed to pierce every ounce of her soul. It was impossible to think with this incessant squealing, and Edith felt that the only possible solution was to curl herself into a ball and give up. She returned her map to her backpack and plugged her ears. She grimaced, closed her eyes, and held her breath, just waiting for there to be an end to it. Suddenly, the squealing went from incoherent, random noises, to actual words and sentences. As time progressed, the sentences and the voices grew clearer and clearer.
 
You do not belong here, human daughter.
You should turn back, you’ll never make it.
He doesn’t want to see you. Your plans were shattered, remember? He allowed that, didn’t He? Why would He want to see you?
You are not capable of being an explorer.
You are nothing here. You are nothing.
 
	The more intently Edith listened to the words, the louder they grew, to the point where everything else seemed to fade away. It was almost as if she was in some sort of trance. She let go of her ears, and her arms dropped to her sides. Her face, which was grimacing moments ago, was now wet with tears. She fell to the forest floor with her face in the palms of her hands. She was nothing… she did not matter… why did she even bother… she could not do this…
 
	When she hit the forest floor, the words that were being thrown at her were no longer shouts, but whispers. But they were whispering directly into her ears. This direct hit into her ears, quietly, was unbearable. The words seemed to inch themselves from her ears to her brain and directly to her heart.
 
	Suddenly, she heard a mighty roar. It was so loud it drowned out everything else. She heard the swishing of a sword very near to where she lay on the ground, but with her eyes closed, she was uncertain of what was happening. After brief moments of roaring and swishing and slashing, all was calm. The roaring had stopped, and the voices had been silenced. 
 
	She carefully opened her eyes to survey the aftermath. Sitting on her knees and lifting her head from her hands, she glanced straight ahead at the most peculiar sight. There, staring at her with gentle curiosity, was an orange cat. Not a lion, no… an orange house cat. The voices, the roar, the sword, and now… a cat? In that moment, she was as confused as she had ever been. But that confusion was replaced with dumbfoundedness when the orange cat opened his mouth and said, “Hi, I’m Wynton. You must be Edith. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
 
	“You can talk?” Edith asked in bewilderment.
 
	“Of course I can talk. Why wouldn’t I be able to?” Wynton asked with an offended tone.
 
	“I’m sorry, it’s just… animals can’t talk.” Edith stated.
 
	“Ah! Yes, not in your world, but in this world, I think you will find many things that contradict yours.” Wynton said with a grin on his face.
 
	Edith needed a moment to take it all in. She had, quite literally, just stepped foot into the forest. She glanced behind her and was taken aback by how very little she had traveled so far. The treeline was right behind her, and it looked as though she had taken only two or three steps. So much had happened in so little steps. And she wondered if perhaps she had fallen down or crashed her bike and had simply dreamed up the voices, the swords, and now this talking cat. 
 
	As if Wynton could read her thoughts, he said, “I promise, you are not dreaming. You have taken your first few steps into the forest, and the enemies of the land have already tried to stop you on your quest for the Great Tree. Your heart is very broken, my dear girl. I could smell the hurt from miles away. No wonder those pesky little rats were able to attack you so quickly.”
 
	“Rats? What rats?” Edith asked.
 
	“Do you not remember the voices? The shouting, and then the whispering? It was the rats. They creep about the forest floor searching for weak souls and broken hearts. And your soul is the most broken I have seen in a long time. As soon as you entered the forest, they were ready to attack. They began to shout their lies at you from the ground. They wanted to be certain you would hear them.”
 
	“And that’s why they began to whisper when I fell to the floor.” Edith said to herself.
 
	“Yes.” Wynton replied. “Their words and their mischievous, evil ways were able to get you to fall down to their level. That is where they do the most damage. I arrived just in time.”
 
	“But I heard a loud roar, and… possibly a sword?” Edith thought out loud.
 
	“Ha, yes, the roar was me. The Great Tree uses the most unlikely looking fellows to do the most extraordinary things. He gifted me with my roar. It is very special to me.”
 
	“Can you roar again and show me?”
 
	“No, Edith, I cannot. My roar is meant to be used for good only, not for boasting. I use it to serve others, and in that moment, you needed my help.” Wynton replied.
 
	“What about the sword?” Edith questioned.
 
	“My claws. I am a cat, afterall.” Wynton remarked.
 
	“I see.”
 
	“I am here to protect you, Edith. The Great Tree sent me to be your companion and your guide as you travel.” Wynton said.
 
	“What is the Great Tree? How did it give you your roar?” Edith asked, her brain spinning with questions.
 
	“Not a what, but a who. He goes by a different name in your world. You will know him when you see him.” Wynton answered with a warm smile.
 
	“Well, I don’t know how a tree is going to help me, so I probably won’t be needing to meet with him anyway. Now, I have my map in here somewhere…” Edith trailed off as she began to search through her backpack for her map. She knelt down, removed it from her back, and began to frantically search through. No matter how many items she threw out, and no matter how far she dug through that old bag, she could not find the map anywhere. Wynton sat staring at her calmly, licking his paw and wiping his face in between glances.
 
	“Oh no.” Edith said, her voice shaking.
 
	“What’s wrong?” Wynton asked, still licking his paw and not the least bit worried.
 
	“I can’t find my map anywhere. And it’s so dark. I will never be able to find my way. But I think I may have memorized the first bit of my journey.” And as Edith said this, she began to turn in circles and side to side as she surveyed the deep forest stretched out in front of her. She pointed and mumbled to herself, occasionally putting her hand to her forehead in frustration. It was true that she did have some of the paths and trails memorized. But the forest was nearly pitch black, and the paths she had spent so much time tracing and memorizing were nonexistent. The forest she was looking at now was not the same forest that had been drawn on her map. She felt hopeless.
 
	“Don’t feel hopeless, Edith.” Wynton said, again reading her thoughts. “I told you the Great Tree sent me here to be your guide, remember? Follow me, I know the way. I live in a cozy little log with a couple of friends I think you should meet.”
 
	“But Wynton, you don’t know what I’m looking for. How can you possibly know the way I need to go?” Edith questioned.
 
	“Trust me, Edith, I know what you’re looking for—even more so than you do.” Wynton commented with a grin. “How do you think I was able to find you so quickly the moment you stepped into the forest? We have been expecting you, Edith. The whole forest has. Just trust me.”
 
","August 12, 2023 21:05","[[{'Julie Grenness': 'Magic in the air! Well written, this story presents a great tale, with apt and effective  choices of language and imagery. The writer has built an intriguing word picture, appealing in this fantasy genre. I look forward to more stories, keep on writing.', 'time': '02:23 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'David Partington': ""Great atmosphere right from the start. I think I'd like to be told what the cat's voice was like. For some reason I imagined it being deep and scary like the Wizard of Oz."", 'time': '23:21 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Piqued my curiosity with this one Taylor. I too want to know who the Great Tree is. Hopefully, Edith follows and finds the healing she needs. :)', 'time': '00:54 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,e96n8s,Fluffy's Home,Teresa Brown,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/e96n8s/,/short-story/e96n8s/,Fluff,0,"['Adventure', 'Bedtime', 'Friendship']",6 likes,"
On the way to school, Bobby was slowly walking on the side of the dirt road and heard an unusual sound coming from the ditch. He stopped, just for a moment, to be sure he was not imagining the sound. It got quiet and so he kept on walking. He had fun in school that day but his mind was on that noise he heard earlier in the day.
The bell rang, he said goodbye to his friends and started the trek back home.
Bobby started walking slowly when he got near the spot where he heard the noise before and decided to try and find out what was making it. With a swallow of air, he stepped down the embankment and searched the area. Low and behold, he found the cutest, yet scruffiest little tike of a dog tucked among the tall grasses.
With satisfaction from taking courage to see what the noise was and finding the puppy, he grinned from ear to ear and decided to take it home.
Bobby washed him and brushed him, and made a bed for him. Then he thought of giving him a name.
Scruffy came to mind first, then Mikey, but looking at him and his fur, He agreed, Fluffy was the perfect fit.
Everyday they would walk to school and back, and on the weekend, hang out at the pond.
Finally Fluffy had a home to call his own and Bobby had a new friend.
One day it rained heavily and thundered so loud that it frightened Fluffy. This was his first real bad storm. He ran down the road in search of where he remembered he was first found looking for solice. Bobby was away for the weekend because he was invited to a sleepover.
Fluffy hid among the tall grass, not knowing where his master was and whined all night. It was rough for him.
Bobby unaware of the situation, was enjoying making Lego block houses because they could not go outside due to the storm. After a while they just chilled and had popcorn and watched movies.
Bobby thought of how Fluffy was getting along but soon focused on playing cards after breakfast.
Fluffy got hungry and so wandered into the woods in search of something to eat. Needless to say, now he was lost.
Bobby came back home and was excited to see Fluffy, but he was no where to be found. He searched all around the house. Under the house, thinking about the storm, hoping he was there, but no. No Fluffy.
Bobby called his friends and they came right over and started searching with him. They looked high and low. They went to the school yard, thinking maybe Fluffy went there to look for Bobby. No Fluffy.
With saddened hearts and dejected faces, because they all loved Fluffy, they tried to think of where he could be as they sat on the school's stoop.
Bobby then said, ""Let's try the woods."" The boys agreed and went and brought a whistle and some flashlights and a leash.
Off they went to look for Fluffy in the woods. Meanwhile, Fluffy was really having a time being out in the woods alone. He missed Bobby, their walks and the kids at school.
Still he managed to catch a fish or two, though.
Soon the boys were scouring the woods for Fluffy, calling his name and using the whistle. When it was getting later, they turned on the flashlights and kept on searching.
Then one of Bobby's friend yelled, "" I see him, I see him!"" They all rushed over and sure enough, there was that cutest, scruffiest little tike of a a pup, Fluffy, laying next to the stream.
Bobby ran and fell down beside him, hugged him tightly and told him how worried he was and how glad he was to see him. Fluffy wiggled with joy, wagging his tail profusely, too.
All the boys shouted for joy, knowing Fluffy was okay and happy they found him.
They traveled back to Bobby's house and all ate a hearty dinner and sat back on the porch looking at the night sky and agreed that all future sleepovers would be at Bobby's, especially if it was going to rain that weekend so as to keep Fluffy company and from running away and getting lost.
Bobby and Fluffy were inseparable after that. Wherever you saw Bobby, you saw Fluffy and vice versa. Fluffy had found a home and was home. Bobby was very happy and Fluffy was content.
Once in a while, Bobby would think about the time Fluffy was lost and he could tell it came across Fluffy's mind, too. His whining in his sleep, so he would comfort him and let him know it is okay.
Bobby went off to college and yes he took Fluffy. They lived across from the university so Fluffy would be able to watch from the living room window and they can see each other when Bobby changed classes. Also when the weather gets bad, Bobby can go and check on Fluffy to keep him calm and make sure he is okay.
Bobby finished his courses and took some time to travel the world, with Fluffy at his side. They explored all of the nooks and crannies of the world.
One day, before Bobby went to work, he noticed a storm was brewing and wondered if he should go in. Looking at Fluffy, he saw a different dog, one confident and seemingly okay with the weather change.
 Bobby could not believe how much Fluffy had grown. He was more secure in himself now and that made him smile. He patted Fluffy on the head and locked the door and headed to work.
 The storm came, the storm passed. When Bobby got home, there was Fluffy, waiting for him.
 Both were happy to see each other and had a wonderful evening by the fireplace.
 Yes, Fluffy had found a friend and a home. Fluffy was home.
","August 13, 2023 21:40","[[{'Cliff Pratt': 'OK, please don\'t be disappointed by my criticism, but this story doesn\'t really flow. I suggest that you try reading it out loud and recording your story. When you read it back, you will see problems with it, I expect. In particular, in the paragraph about the storm, it goes like this. ""One day it rained heavily and thundered so loud that it frightened Fluffy. This was his first real bad storm. He ran down the road in search of where he remembered he was first found looking for solace. Bobby was away for the weekend because he was invited to...', 'time': '07:48 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Teresa Brown': 'Thanks for input.', 'time': '18:55 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Teresa Brown': 'Thanks for input.', 'time': '18:55 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,n2w64j,Lucy’s pony adventures - where it all began.,Lisa Lawrence,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/n2w64j/,/short-story/n2w64j/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Kids', 'Teens & Young Adult']",6 likes,"
It was Saturday, it was summertime, and Lucy was so excited she was getting ready for her first-ever riding lesson at the local stables.  
 
It was Lucy’s 7th birthday and her Mum and Dad had bought her a new riding outfit, cream jodhpurs, black jodphur boots and a lovely silk hat cover with lots of unicorns on it; Lucy loved unicorns.  She loved anything horsey. 
 
Driving to the stables with her Dad Lucy had a funny feeling in her tummy, her Dad said it was called butterflies.  Lucy wondered how butterflies had gotten into her tummy, but she went along with it.  All she knew was this feeling is because of the excitement of meeting all the ponies at the stables today, and starting to ride.  Something she had only dreamt of to this point. 
 
They arrived at the stables and Lucy jumped out of the car and headed over to see the ponies, whilst her dad let the instructor know they had arrived for Lucy’s lesson.  Lucy couldn’t wait to see who she would be riding, but she hoped it would be the one who looked like paint had been thrown all over him.  His name was Ringo, Lucy assumed he was called this because the brown and white patches looked like lots of different rings around his body. 
 
The instructor Suzy came into the stables and asked Lucy if she liked Ringo, and did she want to ride him for her lesson today.  Lucy was so excited and said ‘yes please’.  She helped Suzy tack up Ringo, and listened as Suzy explained each part of the tack. She said this is something that you need to know if you are serious about riding.  
 
Suzy explained that first, you needed to put on the bridle, which goes over the horse's head with the bit in its mouth. The reins go over his neck which you hold in your hands whilst riding. Suzy fastened the different straps called noseband and throat latch, which hold the bridle on. 
 
She then explained the saddle which goes on the horse’s back and what you sit on when riding the horse or pony. The saddle is held onto the horse by fastening a girth from one side of the saddle, underneath the horse’s belly and fastening the other side. The girth is like a material strap which is soft on its belly but holds everything together. 
 
Now that Lucy had helped Suzy put the tack on Ringo, Lucy then walked with Suzy and Ringo to the riding school and was shown how to mount the pony correctly.  There was something called a mounting block in the corner of the school, which Lucy was asked to stand on.  Suzy then walked Ringo to the mounting block and Lucy got on as instructed. 
 
‘This is the best day ever’ thought Lucy as she was riding around the school. Suzy told her she was a natural horse rider, Lucy was happier than she had ever been. She felt like she was flying. Lucy had the horsey bug, and this was just the start. 
 
Lucy spent every weekend over the next few months at the riding stables helping out. She attended the horse workshops which Suzy had arranged. These workshops were for new horse riders like Lucy, to learn and understand the basics of looking after horses. These workshops included talking about the grooming kit and what each piece of equipment was called and how it was used. 
 
Dandy Brush - used to remove dirt and mud from the horse as this has stiff bristles 
 
Body Brush - softer bristles used to brush over the horse after the dandy brush once removed the dirt. This brush can also be used on the face. 
 
Mane & Tail comb/brush - as it says this brush or comb is used on the mane and tail. 
 
Rubber curry comb - used in a circular motion to remove any loose coat. 
 
Hoof pick - this is used to remove dirt and stones from the horse's hooves. Care should be taken around the frog area of the foot (the triangle shape inside the hoof). 
 
These workshops helped Lucy to understand how to care for the horses correctly. Suzy even suggested that as she was spending most weekends at the stables, Lucy could look after Ringo whilst she was there. This would involve grooming him whilst he was in the stable, in between riding lessons, and learning how to muck out the stable too. 
 
Lucy attended another workshop, this time about the parts of the horse and parts of the tack. 
 
Winter had arrived, but Lucy didn’t care as long as she was with the horses. She had warm clothes on so she was not worried. Lucy has now been riding for 6 months and had a lesson each week, so was now more confident. She had done walk, trot and canter easily, and last week had gone over her first jump. She was a little nervous but pleased when she managed to jump the fence completely clear. 
 
Suzy mentioned that the stables were holding a small local winter show in a few weeks, and suggested Lucy could enter Ringo if she wanted. When Lucy’s dad arrived to pick her up, she couldn’t wait to tell him and to ask if she could please enter Ringo into the show and do the jumping class as well. 
 
It was the day of the show and Lucy was so excited. She woke up early to get herself ready, her mum made breakfast making sure Lucy ate before she left, and a packed lunch to take with her for the day so she wouldn’t get hungry. ‘Good luck Lucy’ said mum, ‘just do the best you can, and remember it’s all about taking part and getting the experience’ she continued. Lucy smiled at her mum and gave her a big hug before heading off to the show. 
 
Lucy and her dad arrived at the stables where the show was being held. She swiftly went over to Ringo’s stable and started to get him ready. Suzy was waiting to help show her how you turn a horse or pony out for a show. ‘They need to look clean and tidy’, she said, ideally they need to be bathed so they are looking nice and clean. Suzy had bathed Ringo the day before so it saved a little time. Lucy brushes Ringo to remove any overnight scurf or dust, she picks out his feet and brushes his mane and tail. Suzy then showed Lucy how to plait the mane and tail. Ringo looked lovely. 
 
Lucy tacked up Ringo and took him to the practice area so she could warm him up ready. This loosens his joints and will stop Ringo from hurting himself when he gets in the show ring. 
 
It was then Lucy’s turn, she heard her name being called from the big speaker outside the arena, and headed over with Ringo. ‘Be good, and look after me’ she said to Ringo as they entered the big arena. ‘Oh my gosh’ Lucy said quietly to herself, the arena was full of people watching in the seating area. Lucy took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second and re-focused her mind, she opened her eyes and asked Ringo to walk on. She glanced her eyes around the jumps and the course path she needed to follow; Lucy had already walked the course earlier with Suzy and her dad so she knew which path to take over the jumps. 
 
Lucy took a deep breath and asked Ringo to canter, she turned towards the first jump, and yay Ringo sailed over it. She turned towards the next, then the next one, Ringo jumped all of the fences smoothly. ‘I could get used to this’ thought Lucy. She followed the path over the fences which she had remembered from earlier, walking the course with her dad and Suzy. As Lucy came over the last fence the spectators in the seating area cheered. Lucy felt great as she left the arena, her dad came over to meet her and say well done. Lucy had to wait for the rest of the riders to complete their rounds before she knew where she had been placed in the lineup. 
 
Lucy heard the speaker as all riders were being called for Lucy’s class. She crossed her fingers and waited for her name to be called. There it was, she had made 3rd place.  Lucy was so pleased, her dad was jumping for joy. She made her way into the ring and lined up with the others to collect her rosette. It was a lovely yellow one. Lucy learned the colours and order of the rosettes, they are generally given to 6th place and follow the order of Red 1st, Blue 2nd, Yellow 3rd, Green 4th, Orange 5th, and Purple 6th. Sometimes, she was told, the 5th and 6th colours can vary or swap their order. 
 
That night when Lucy went to sleep, she had the most amazing dream. She dreamt that one day she would be competing at the ‘Horse of the Year’ show, and being talent-spotted. Maybe this was just the start, and the dream, someday, would come true. 
 
 
It has been a couple of months since the show, and Lucy has continued to have lessons with Suzy which included improving her jumping. Suzy had told Lucy that through the summer there are quite a few horse shows which Lucy could attend, so they need to work hard to prepare for these. 
 
A few weeks later, Lucy’s mum and dad sat her down and told her they had bought her a pony. As she had proved she was serious and had learnt about how to look after a pony, they thought she was ready for her own. Lucy was so excited she jumped for joy. She couldn’t wait to go and see her new pony Shandy. 
 
Shandy was a brown pony with what looked like little white dots, called flecks. The name of this colour is strawberry roan. He looked lovely and Lucy loved him straight away, he was all hers. 
 
Lucy was sorry to leave Ringo, but she knew he would now be able to help another little girl to follow their dream, just like he had with her. 
 
It was now time for Lucy to continue her dream with Shandy, and see where this takes her…….
 
 
 
 
 
","August 14, 2023 06:32",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,y3p9gq,Embracing The Vast Unknown,Frisk Quiroz,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/y3p9gq/,/short-story/y3p9gq/,Fluff,0,"['Fantasy', 'Inspirational', 'Adventure']",6 likes,"
Aurelia woke up from her slumber, greeted by a pair of familiar brown eyes, just like she would on any other morning. The pair of brown eyes were Cinnamon’s, her pet fox. She giggled as the little fox stood on top of her chest, sniffing her face.
- “Good morning, Cinnamon.”
She said in a sweet voice, as she nuzzled against the fluffy little fox. Cinnamon responded with a little whimper and nuzzled her back before jumping off the bed to let Aurelia get started with her day. She didn’t have much to do really, though that was completely normal. She spent most days reading, tending to her garden, and going out to explore the forest she found herself in, though she would never go too far. It was always the same though. Wake up, play with Cinnamon, tend to her garden, read a little, explore the forest, and look for ingredients for her potions. You see, Aurelia is a well-known witch in the area. Every once in a while, someone would come all the way out to her humble little cottage for guidance or a remedy, but those were the exciting days.
 
For the most part, her days were pretty uneventful and mundane, even with Cinnamon occasionally making her laugh, and reminding her to smile with their cute brown eyes… But even so, the young witch couldn’t help but feel like maybe… They were missing out on something. She had read so many stories of adventurers out there in the world. They tell stories of floating isles, forests filled with massive trees, stretching up towards the clouds, and far away on the borders of the map, a sea of clouds stretching as far as you can see, and that’s without going into the interesting creatures they’ve seen on their travels… All of which she’s never been able to see for herself…
 
After the young witch had her breakfast, she took a seat in her comfy chair by the fire, as rain gently drizzled outside. Once she made herself comfortable, ready for another reading session, she looked over to Cinnamon, who was waiting patiently in front of her, almost like they were waiting for an invitation.
- “Come on then, we’ll read together.”
She giggled. Cinnamon never seemed to leave her side for anything. Whenever she would take a walk in the forest, they were right there by her side. When she would tend to her garden, the little fox would always be there as she watered her plants, and would sometimes end up getting wet. And sure, they would occasionally make a mess, but she really didn’t mind at all (even if they would sometimes bring just a little bit of mud indoors…).
 
The fluffy little fox jumped with joy as she invited them to read with her. They climbed up onto their lap and snuggled into them. Aurelia scratched them behind their ears and stroked their fur, loving just how soft they were. Cinnamon tilted their head up as they received affection. The young witch found them so adorable as they did. The little fox then let the young witch do as she pleased, as they let their head rest on her leg, and slowly but surely drifted off to sleep. Once Aurelia was certain Cinnamon was fast asleep, she took out her wand from a little harness she kept on her at all times, and with a quick wave, a book from a shelf across the room started to float into the air, and made it’s way over to where she sat. She took hold of it once it was close enough, and continued reading where she last left off the day before. The next chapter told the story of how the author (who happened to be a witch), started her journey…
 
I still remember how I started my first journey, so deathly afraid of what might be out there, even though I didn’t really know for sure. A part of me was curious to know what I might find if I traveled far enough, but I was almost certain that same curiosity would get me in trouble (and well, it did, but that’s a story for another time). I was so indecisive and torn between simply staying at home, or starting my journey to see what was out there myself, but… Well, in the end, I chose to see it all with my own eyes, and travel the land on my own two legs. And let me tell you, dear reader, I don’t regret it one bit! This land is filled with many wondrous sights, whether it’s the sea of clouds at the borders of our world, or the luminescent forests deep beneath us. And that’s without going into the many people I met along the way, some of which I still keep in contact with, and have led me to great friendships. Yes, there are dangers out there, I won’t deny that. But even so, I’m still glad I decided to travel on my own. I feel as though it’s shaped me into the witch I am now. Looking back, I feel silly to have been afraid to take that leap and leave my warm bed behind. If I didn’t, nothing would’ve changed. That leap is necessary, whether you fall flat on your face, or reach someplace you’ve never seen before, you should always try, give yourself a chance, and be willing to embrace the vast unknown…
 
The young witch set her book aside for a moment. Those last few words echoed through her mind… Aurelia couldn’t help but wonder about what she could discover herself. Reading so many stories about adventurers on their travels, she wanted to see it all with her own eyes too. It was a deep yearning inside of her. To go out and explore… But she couldn’t deny that yes, she was afraid. Very afraid. She had no clue what she would find out there if she decided to travel, but there was no way to know for sure if it would be good or bad. If she chose to do nothing, then things would remain as they are, calm, uneventful, and perhaps a little dull at times. It was a leap of faith. One that she would just have to take, even if it was scary. The young witch’s mind began to race, as it was filled with many what-ifs. But she tried her best to silence them, because deep down, she knew they were irrational. She couldn’t know for sure what she would find, unless she tried.
 
The next morning, the witch had prepared a knapsack filled with a small amount of food (mostly cookies she had baked herself, along with a few other baked goods), some parchment, a quill, and the same book she was reading yesterday. She didn’t want to carry too much. After all, the witch felt she wasn’t ready to venture too far out just yet. Instead, she would just leave the forest and head towards a river she had heard about from some people, who came by seeking aid not too long ago. This was an excellent opportunity to get ingredients she would normally never find in the forest. Cinnamon sat close by with their head tilted off to one side, probably confused as to why she was shoving food into her bag. The young witch smiled at the sight of the cute little fox watching them with their head tilted. Smiling made her feel just a little more at ease…
 
 Once her knapsack was ready, Aurelia took one big stretch, reaching towards the ceiling, almost as if she was stalling her trip to the river for just a little longer. She walked towards the front door and grabbed the handle. Before turning it however, she took one more look around her little cottage… She took a deep breath as she did, exhaling slowly, and stepped outside before she could change her mind. Cinnamon quickly ran out the door before she could close it. She had planned on leaving the little fox in her cottage since she wouldn’t be out for too long, but now that she thought about it, she would feel a lot safer, and happier in general if she had a friend accompany her. She kneeled down and scratched their chin.
- “Wanna come with me?”
She said with a warm smile. Cinnamon barked and wagged their tail, clearly excited to find out where they might go. Aurelia giggled and stood tall, orienting herself towards the river. She looked up at the sky. The air was cool, there was a gentle breeze, and the sun was shining.
- “Let’s see what the world has in store for us today, Cinnamon.”
","August 14, 2023 17:36",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,yeivtg,The Boy and the Beast.,Christopher B.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yeivtg/,/short-story/yeivtg/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Adventure']",6 likes,"
The Boy and the Beast.The beetle at the edge of the road was huge. When it skittered into the woods, the boy skittered after. Through shrubs and ferns, around young trees and old, over boulders and across little creeks. It was lively for a beetle, the boy thought as he carefully placed his feet on the little log that acted as a bridge over a trickling stream. He wasn’t sure, he had to admit, if the beetle was leading him on an adventure or doing its best to run away. It surely couldn’t hide, this hulking thing. A leaf would sit on its back like a child’s blanket would on an elephant. It was far too big for the cracks in the trees or the spaces between the rocks. In the end, the boy didn’t care one way or the other. They raced through the woods, leaving the sounds of cars and picnics far behind them. The boy decided to call the beetle Fred. Because he seemed like a Fred.           Around the boy, the woods grew thick. The trees were old and grizzled. Their leaves reached out for the sky, more and more as the boy followed Fred, until they had blocked it from view. There were no footprints but the boys’, that squiggled through the twigs and leaves. And still he ran, he hopped, he crawled, as he chased that huge beetle.           He was getting tired, as Fred led him through the wooded hills. The boy struggled up a steep and mucky slope, jealous of the speed and confidence that took Fred up so much faster. When the boy finally scrabbled over the edge and into the clearing, he panicked because he didn’t see Fred. But the huge beetle slid on some leaves and the boy ran towards him. He tripped, his feet tangled in a root near a boulder in the ferns and bushes. The boy huffed and reached out to the rock, mumbling angrily at his feet. And then he was silent. On that shadowy little flat the only sound that cut the forest came from the scrambling beetle as it climbed and slid and climbed and slid.           The boys hand was on the rock. But he wished it wasn’t. He had spent most of his short life in the outside world. He knew about rocks. There were big ones and small ones, shiny ones and rough ones, heavy ones and light ones, there were even crumbly ones. But one thing seemed absolutely certain, as far as his mind could grasp, there were not any furry rocks. But even if, in the whole of reality there was, somewhere, a rock that had fur, there simply couldn’t be a rock that breathed. And this one did. Which meant, it wasn’t a rock.           The thing that could have been a rock but wasn’t didn’t move, other than the soft rise and fall of its breath. And the boy, unsure of the right course of action, followed suit. He didn’t look at the thing, but he could feel it through his hand. A hand that was absolutely, positively, without a doubt, not shaking just a little. It was warm, he realized. Not just fuzzy, but very warm, at least compared to the cool earth he was laying in. The long fur was strange, light and soft, but with a hint of hardness and edge. For a moment he felt a trembling and he thought it was going to move, to pounce, to leap upon him. But it wasn’t muscles that he felt, or not the ones that he had worried about. It was the thing’s heart, racing as fast as his own. The boy had to look.           Slowly, so slowly that the leaves and dirt tangled in his hair barely wiggled, he turned his head towards the thing he was touching. It was half buried in the dirt and the same color and pattern of the dozen big rocks he had passed by on his way here. And it was big. Not as big as a car, but definitely bigger than his cousins golden retriever. Which was, the boy decided, too big. 			He waited for movement, for the thing to react, but nothing happened. He looked for eyes, or a mouth, or a tail, or legs, but even now he only saw a boulder. Only his hand told him it wasn’t. His hand, and his fear. Because the boy was afraid.			This was not something that happened in real life. Not here, in the woods so close to home. Not to the boy or anyone he had ever talked to. And as he thought he realized that it was in fact the ‘not’ that made him the most frightened. So many ‘nots’ crowded his mind that little else had room to wiggle in. Not a rock, not a dog, not a cat, not little, not good. And then something did manage to get through, and he did not like it at all. If it’s not all of those things, then what is left?           Carefully, the boy pulled his hand off of the thing. He didn’t want to see it shaking as he moved. He didn’t want it to move at all, but especially when he was looking as he stood slowly up. He started cautiously stepping back, crunching slightly on leaves and twigs and wincing with every sound. The thing didn’t move. And if it wanted to be a rock, the boy thought, let it be a rock. Another step and he knew he was getting closer to the edge; he would slide down on his butt and be halfway to China before anything else could happen. Except…           Except it wasn’t a rock. That was a problem for the boy. As scared as he was, as certain that the world had suddenly become strange and dangerous, it wasn’t a rock. The boy stood still for a long time, looking at the thing in the bushes. He saw the way the ground was pushed up around it, like a rock thrown into mud. He saw that it didn’t react, as he reached down and grabbed a long stick.			The boy told himself he was brave, fearless, tough, and powerful. And when that didn’t work he told it to himself again. But they were just words, and the fear was real. Too real to be chased away by letters and sounds. So, the boy admitted, I’m not those things. But, I still need to know.			The boy took a trembling step forward. The rock didn’t move. He took another step, ready to run away, but the rock didn’t move. One more step and he would be close enough. A branch cracked beneath his feet and the rock wobbled. The boy was very still. But the rock didn’t move. So, the boy did what he had too. His heart was racing and mind buzzing with a thousand screaming thoughts, but he did it anyways. He poked the rock that wasn’t a rock. He poked it with a stick. And this time, it moved.			It blew up. Not like an explosion but like a balloon. As soon as the stick touched it, it burst into a giant boulder colored blob. The ferns and bushes around it swished and snapped out of the way, the ones that didn’t were reaching out from beneath it in surprise. Huge and round, the thing loomed over the boy far more than he would have liked. Still not a car, the boy thought in spite of his fear, but a big round tent.The boy didn’t run. Even he wouldn’t say it was courage that made him stand there and stare. It wasn’t fear, either, he would be quick to add. But right now, in this moment, it was shock. It was more than he could process, this rock that wasn’t a rock that blew up like puffer fish. It was all the boy could do to stand there and gawk. At least, until he saw its face.			Two huge eyes had appeared. They weren’t up high, but halfway down the huge furry thing. The eyes were big, bigger than a baseball, bigger than a grapefruit, bigger than any other eyes he had ever seen. And they were looking straight at him. Huge and dark, with pupils like a cat’s that bled into stony blue-green around them like tie dye. Fingernail sized flecks of fools gold were scattered amidst the blue, glinting like sparks in the shadows of the forest. Stumpy little legs were smooshed underneath it, stretched as tall as they would go and looking like they were at risk of sinking into the thing’s now very poofy stomach. If it weren’t for those ridiculous legs the boy would have screamed when he saw its mouth.           Wide, is the word that comes to mind first. It was wide. Nearly as wide as the boy was tall. The line of its mouth traced across the front of it from end to end. Because it was standing tall, its mouth was tilted up, giving it something of a huge grumpy frown. Teeth jutted out from the mouth. Not that it was open. The boy immediately thought of crocodiles, with their teeth sliding outside their mouth instead of in it. But the thing’s teeth weren’t close together. They sprouted out every couple of inches or so in a line along the mouth, alternating between up and down. They were as big as the boy’s longest finger, maybe longer. An animal then? It stared at him, and his mind went blank, nothing came to his rescue in there, so all he could do was stand there and be stared at. And he did. Until it roared.           It’s puffed out glare bobbed as it tried to stand taller and failed. Its stubby little feet shifted a little, so that one eye could glare harder than the other. But the boy stood still. Suddenly it’s front ballooned, sending its huge fluffy chest jutting out below its mouth, and it roared. Or at least, that’s the best word for it the boy could come up with. It didn’t open its mouth but rumbled deep and loud. It sounded like wheels on a bad road, with an undercurrent of thrumming rubberbands. The boy felt the rumble in his chest and remembered to be afraid. A fuzzy rock was one thing, a fuzzy rock that roared and had a mouth big enough to swallow him whole was a different matter entirely. Not a rock, not an animal, but a beast.			Something rustled in the trees above with a burst of chattering from squirrels and the wail of a crow, and something cracked. The snap was loud, and the falling crash of the branch sounded like something rushing down the tree at him. It happened so suddenly he didn’t even get to think about running. So the boy dropped down, made himself small, covered his head with his hands and waited for disaster.           The branch hit the ground in a muffled slush of leaves and dirt. When the boy realized he had not been eaten, he still stayed small and quiet. It would be his luck, he thought, if he moved and only then got eaten. But moments stretched on, and the woods were silent, except for Fred and his desperate eternal struggle up. At last, the boy peeked. A large new stick complete with fresh brown crunchy leaves sat behind him. And that was all. Relief pushed him to stand up and huff ‘phwew’. But he ran cold as he remembered the thing behind him. Slowly, he turned. It was gone.           Well, not quiet. It took a moment for the boy to see it. It had been big when he found it, huge when it had puffed up, and now it was all but flat. It looked a bit like an enormous pancake. Its body had squeezed all the way down, its sides rolling over and between the little bushes and rocks. Its eyes were shut and as the boy watched, its chest popped out like a tiny bubble, and it squeaked. The sound was so completely different from the rumbling roar from before that the boy laughed. Which led the thing to tremble even flatter.           “No, I’m sorry,” said the boy, feeling ashamed as he looked down on its now sadly frowning face. The thing’s eyes closed as he walked towards it and he stopped. It squeaked again. “It’s ok,” the boy said softly. “It’s ok, it scared me too.” The boy crouched down where he was, and held out his hand like he had done a thousand times to new cats or dogs. He held it there and waited, smiling and patient. One of the eyes blooped open. First, huge and black, then, slowly, it narrowed and filled in with that stony blue-green and gold. It eyed the boys hand, and wiggled a little. It inched towards it. Just a hair at first. And then a little more. Then it waddled, which is the only word for it, closer. It hesitated, its eyes darting from the outstretched hand to the boy’s face and back, before it bumped its huge furry head into his hand and stood back on its stumpy legs and waited.			“See, its ok. I’m not going to hurt you,” the boy said softly. “I would very much appreciate it if you returned the favor.” It was puffing back up, not like before, but more so than when it was a pancake. The boy reached out slowly, and it didn’t flinch. His fingers grazed its fur and the beast stood still, watching, waiting. The boy gently scratched the beast’s head. It squeaked, but didn’t deflate. So the boy scratched it again. and after a moment, its stomach puffed and it started to purr, a shallow closed mouth rumbling broken only when the boy pulled his hand away and stood back up.           A pile of leaves shuffled loudly and the boy and the beast turned towards the sound. But it was only Fred, sliding into his growing nest of leaves and twigs. The beast blinked at the huge beetle before waddling around, awkward and proud like a bulldog, until it could stare straight at it. “That’s just Fred,” the boy said, laughing in relief.			A great wad of bubble gum the size of the boy’s lunchbox at home shot through the air, gooped around the huge beetle and drug it back to its source. The boy stood horrified, as the beast turned and looked at him. Its wide mouth crunching happily at the last of Fred, grinning like a large furry Venus Flytrap.			“No,” the boy shouted, throwing his arms in the air. The beast half deflated and looked up at the boy with huge eyes, occasionally sneaking a haphazard crunch between the passing seconds. The boy looked down at its half-puddled form and said as sternly as he could, “you ate Fred, that is not ok. We do not eat things with names.” The beast sat in its puddle and looked up at the boy with its huge sad eyes. It was slurping up the last leg of the beetle as slowly as it could, as though it hoped the boy wouldn’t notice. “No,” the boy shouted, pretending his voice hadn’t faltered. “No, I’m so mad I can’t even look at you,” and he turned away and crossed his arms and glared into the woods. He glared and glared until he realized he couldn’t see the road beyond the trees, mostly because there were just more trees behind the trees. The boy’s anger left him like the drink from a spilled cup. He was lost, and alone.			The beast nudged the boy’s leg with its great furry head and squeaked behind him. The boy turned, and the beast went a little flat. Its huge blue-green eyes looked up at him and it squeaked again. And what was the boy to do? After all, it wasn’t the beast’s fault that it was hungry, and how could it have known that it shouldn’t eat named things? It simply didn’t know the rules. The boy reached down and scratched the beast’s head, and it purred and puffed out in delight. In the distance, he heard his parents yelling his name. They sounded scared, or angry, or both. And the boy thought to himself that parents worry too much and braced himself for the lectures to come.			“Sorry, I have to go now,” he said to the beast and started to walk away. Behind him, the beast squeaked. He turned and saw it puddle again, shivering as its eyes darted around the woods. It looked straight at him and squeaked. “Do you want to come with me,” the boy asked, surprised and suddenly hopeful. The boy nodded his head towards his parent’s distant voices and the beast waddled toward him. The boy sat down on the edge of the hill and slid all the way to the bottom. He stood up and looked back, and the beast spread its stumpy legs and slid down after. The boy couldn’t help but laugh, but the beast didn’t mind. The boy knew his parents’ thoughts on pets, and when he’d said he wanted a dog like his cousin’s they had shook their heads and said no. They had said no, the boy thought and smiled, to dogs and cats. But they had said he could have a pet rock, and then they had laughed.			The boy’s smile was as wide as the beast’s as he headed towards the shouting voices. “Come on then,” the boy called, and felt a strange joy at the sound of the beast’s waddling hurry behind him. “I think I’ll call you Rocky,” the boy said. Because he seemed like a Rocky.
","August 18, 2023 19:48",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,i7cvmo,The Heartbeat of Home: Nutmeg’s Tale,Carol Boeth,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/i7cvmo/,/short-story/i7cvmo/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Bedtime', 'Teens & Young Adult']",5 likes,"
The early morning sun cast a warm golden hue over the quaint coastal town in Jamaica, heralding the dawn of yet another delightful day. While most of the town was still submerged in dreams, a certain backyard was already brimming with activity.
 
Nutmeg, an effervescent ball of fur, greeted the day with infectious excitement. This was not merely a pet dog but a source of boundless joy and inspiration for her owner. As the first rays of sunlight washed over the garden, they highlighted the playful dance of a creature with an unparalleled zest for life. Nutmeg, with her vivacious spirit, viewed every fluttering leaf, every scampering squirrel, and every passing car as a new escapade waiting to unfold.
 
In the heart of this town lived I, a passionate lover of nature, quiet moments, and, most importantly, my canine companion Nutmeg. Our mornings were sacred—a ritual of exploration and bonding. These were moments that transcended the ordinary, turning into timeless memories.
 
However, it was evident that Nutmeg’s boundless daytime enthusiasm began infringing on her nocturnal duties. The dog, who would once stand guard, alert to every night sound, had started showing signs of fatigue. Nights would often find her slumbering peacefully, her usual alertness replaced with gentle snores.
 
A decision was made. In the best interest of Nutmeg’s health and responsibilities, she was gently restrained in the garden during the day. This decision, although made out of concern, tugged at my heartstrings. Restraining such a free spirit felt unfair, yet, to my surprise, Nutmeg adjusted quickly, almost as if she understood the greater good behind the action.
 
This change in routine bore positive results. That evening, as the sun bid adieu, Nutmeg’s transformation was palpable. The energy that she had conserved during the day now fueled her night-time vigil. Her eyes, usually softened by fatigue, now gleamed with determination and responsibility.
 
Life in this Jamaican town was a blend of the simple and the profound. Days were marked by the rhythmic sounds of reggae, the tantalizing aroma of jerk chicken, and spontaneous rain showers that cooled the tropical air. And in the midst of this vibrant cacophony, the bond between Nutmeg and I deepened.
 
One day, amidst the routine, an encounter with Jamaica's tiniest inhabitants—fire ants—offered a lesson in coexistence and respect for all living creatures. While the sting was painful, the realization that emerged was invaluable: even the smallest of creatures play an essential role in the great tapestry of life.
 
As days melded into nights, the house often echoed with laughter and camaraderie. Nutmeg, the ever-gracious hostess, relished the company, basking in the attention and love showered upon her. It was evident; this was not just a dog but a family member, a heartbeat that resonated with all.
 
One of the most touching instances was when Nutmeg, sensing a profound moment of sadness, nestled close, her warmth providing solace during a challenging time. Her intuitive nature was a testament to the deep bond we shared, a bond that went beyond words.
 
With every sunrise, a new chapter in our shared story unfolded—a tale of adventure, lessons, laughter, and profound love. In Nutmeg, I found not just a pet but a soulmate, a kindred spirit that taught me the beauty of living in the present and cherishing every fleeting moment.
 
In the heart of Jamaica, amidst its vibrant culture and breathtaking beauty, the tale of a human and her dog unraveled—a story that was less about ownership and more about companionship, a narrative that celebrated the joy of shared moments and the timeless bond of love.
 
This morning, as Nutmeg and I unwound under the verdant canopy of our favorite haven, the gwango tree, my peace was abruptly broken. I found myself amidst an unexpected encounter with Jamaica's smallest residents - Fire Ants.
 
It was a sharp, biting sensation that alerted me to their presence, a surprisingly forceful sting that seemed disproportionate to their minute size. I glanced down to find a flurry of dark brown ants swarming around my feet. It was clear that my innocent misstep had breached their elaborate mound, causing an invasion of their otherwise harmonious habitat.
 
Faced with this unexpected situation, I found myself intrigued. After all, these tiny creatures, despite their minuscule size, had made their presence known with resounding clarity. I was not merely content to step away and forget this incident. On the contrary, I was now keen on understanding more about these fascinating organisms.
 
As I nursed the sting, I began to appreciate the complex ecosystem that existed just beneath my feet. These fire ants, and indeed all the 'bugs' of Jamaica, have lives just as intricate and interconnected as our own. It's a humbling realization, a reminder that even the smallest creatures play a role in the grandeur of our beautiful Jamaica. Each has a story, a part to play in the island's intricate and mesmerizing tapestry.
 
So, while today's encounter may have been a little painful, it's sparked a newfound curiosity. Here's to understanding more about our little neighbors, the insects of Jamaica, and their integral role in our shared home. Here's to the beautiful complexity of life in Jamaica!
 
There is a unique bond between Nutmeg and me, a silent communication that allows her to sense my mood. This morning, it was pure joy, reflected back at me through her eager, sparkling eyes.
 
As we strolled along, we exchanged greetings with our usual cast of characters: the innovative entrepreneur always looking for the next big thing, and the ever-watchful security guards standing firm at their posts. Our journey then continued, accompanied by the tranquil symphony of a Jamaican morning.
 
Our favorite spot awaited us - the towering gwango tree. It's there where we took our well-deserved respite, stretching our muscles, and rejuvenating our spirits. Watching Nutmeg during her stretches always adds a dash of humor to our routine. Her comical attempts never fail to leave me doubled over in laughter.
 
Indeed, these are the glorious moments that make our shared adventures truly worthwhile. The time spent with Nutmeg, my faithful, furry companion, is the highlight of my day. Together, we're embracing the vibrancy of Jamaica, creating a shared tapestry of experiences that, like Nutmeg's playful spirit, is wonderfully alive and infectious.
 
 
 
 
 
","August 19, 2023 01:20","[[{'Carol Boeth': ""This story beautifully weaves together themes of companionship, nature, cultural richness, adaptability, and the interconnectedness of life.\n\nIn essence, this narrative isn't just a recounting of events in a Jamaican town. It's a celebration of life, love, and the unexpected lessons nature imparts. Through the lens of the bond between a human and her dog, the story explores the deeper themes of connection, adaptability, and the myriad experiences that shape life."", 'time': '11:17 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,qq0nzh,Compromises,Kenneth Starling,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qq0nzh/,/short-story/qq0nzh/,Fluff,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Adventure']",5 likes,"
    Fiery red wings flutter agitated, the tips transition from a bright red to burning orange and ending in an effervescent yellow, patterned and striated like the hissing motions of fire. A feathery body of deep crimson red coming into the size of an eagle. An s-shaped neck like a flamingo or goose, and a series of long flowing tail feathers colored reminiscent of the wing patterns. They were longer than the body, and despite this, he flew gracefully. He was a majestic creature, a Phoenix, and last of his kind. And in his talons was a silver platter, and in it, what gave the Sun to the realms. “Duke! Avel!” A woman shouted as the bird flew in closer to her. The Goddess of Fire, lost in a Necrotic Forest without her spouse. “Found the Sun? Well, we gotta get it back to the Altar in the Tree of Life.” She said cheerfully, leaning back as she extended her black wings before adjusting a sturdy chest plate made of a nearly chrome-like metal.    “Just need to get out of the Kingdom of the Diseased.” She muttered to herself solemnly as the bird hovered above her, with the Goddess taking the platter of liquid Sun and then set it on the ground, kneeling on one knee as she removed a leather satchel and took out a container. Almost a metal flask or vial she could seal off, she poured the liquid Sun as it radiated a pure, almost holy and immaculate light, watching the ethereal fluid glisten in the chromed vial. Once full she screwed a cap on, and slid it into a pocket on her leather pants. “Stuffs hot Duke.” She said as her companion stretched his neck out and put it against her shoulder as she chuckled.“Still won’t answer me who stole it this time. If it is Yalun’s father again then we’ll have to have a talk. Still, what’s that, the Kingdom of the Diseased? Eh, alright, alright Duke, we’ll talk to them.”    Goddess of Fire and the Hunt, Tailka Ogonyon, the last Phoenixborne. Tasked with guarding the only source of light, the only way for crops to grow, and the single most powerful source of magic for the Twelve Kingdoms. It seems everyone wants to steal the Sun and use its power. Yet, Tailka is used to this, she has seen it before, five times in fact. And every time she learns a bit more about the realm she lives in. “Avel, avel!” She said as Duke’s nearly five foot wingspan was on full display, beating his wings and squawking as he took off into the air. Tailka chuckled as she followed the bird through a forest lit up by the moon. Trees with a rotting black bark, the ground corrupted by fungal growth, and the air unwelcoming.    The Kingdom of the Diseased, those who lived here, well, were sick. A disease of the Soul. Like a city of lepers they lived in fear, they lived in agony. Neglected by the other Kingdoms, their lives were lonely. The forest got thicker, and large mushrooms could be seen kissing the canopy sky. And as Tailka watched the fiery bird above soar, she saw him come down to a clearing where she thought she could see smoke. Her black wings unfurled as they began to flutter quickly, and she took off, knowing where she was at.     Grodon, their one true city. Walls made out of logs of living mushroom trunks, with a larger foundation made out of cobblestones mortared together with dirt. She could smell the smoke, breathing it in as she did from her volcanic home in the Kingdom of the Sun. She began to flutter her wings, beating them harder and harder. Slowly those black wings lifted her up into the air as she soared over the walls and met up with her companion.  “Quite the sight isn’t it? Gotta meet up with Valya, maybe she can be honest and straight-forward. One witch to another ya know.” She chuckled as their eyes landed upon the crown jewel of the Kingdom of Disease, Valana's Keep.     Where every other building is mossy, moldy, covered in fungal growth, Valana's Keep was ornate, made of porcelain marble with delicate painting work and artisanal decorations. Sure there were the overgrown mushrooms protruding from the lower floors and even one spiraling up the center spire, but it felt like it belonged. The majestic blue star mushroom, every once-in-a-while one stumbling through the Necrotic Forest will find one of these cork-screw bodied behemoths, towering above the canopy, with small bioluminescent bulbs hanging by long strands of mycelium. They cultivated them, using them as lanterns, lighting up the city beneath Tailka and Duke.“Od Hayla, it is beautiful, isn’t it?”“Yeah it is, Tal, what are you doing here? And is that Duke? Oooh, I haven't seen him in so long!” A young woman said as Tailka smiled, watching from the castle a woman on a sorghum broomstick, the bristles facing forwards, and the handle going behind her, floated on over. Wearing dark green robes with a brown hood and cape, her blonde hair mostly covered though strands of it stick out from across her forehead with a dark green witch’s hat to boot.     Tailka smiled in excitement, though declined a hug when Valana offered one. “Vala, I need to speak with King Syphus, Duke found the Sun here.” “Tal, he actually wants to talk to you too!” Valana said and Tailka nodded.“I’d give you a hug but given the fire goddess thing, I’m afraid I’m going to burn you if I touch you. But Duke seems so happy to see you!” Tailka chuckled boisterously as Duke landed on the shoulder of Valana, his long neck wrapping around hers as he gave a hiss. “Such a strange creature Phoenixes are! It…it…it is a shame what happened to them. An immortal species somehow extinguished.” She held back tears and tried to find something to be happy about, smiling, chuckling even, as Duke untangled his neck and leaned it against hers. “But you’re lucky to have him!” She said, as Duke almost squawked in agreement.     The two flew to the balcony of Valana's castle. Landing and being met by the dull natural lighting of mushroom lanterns. “Our apologies for borrowing the Sun. We needed it momentarily.” A jagged and sharp voice pierced the air as Tailka turned around.“Syphus, you need to talk to me first, why did you take it anyways?” Syphus sighed and shook his head in negation. “You do realize how powerful the Sun is right? You can’t just take it.” She added on seeing Syphus lower his head.“Our people rarely see the light as-is. The Sun never rises here, and it feels so good on us. Our skin is welted and covered in bumps and warts. Hayla blessed you and Valana with smooth, whole skin. We, we’re just hideous abominations. And yet, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”     Tailka was taken back, curling her wings as she landed on the beautiful wooden floor and slowly approached. “If it is comfort you want, the ash of a Phoenix can help. I can provide ten feathers, simply burn them in a high enough heat and they’ll catch on fire and turn to ash. It is easy to dilute into water or soap.”“Yes but the light helps the luminescent mushrooms too! The Sun being here makes the shroomlights glow so brightly!” Tailka nodded as she thought.“How long does it take and how long until they need to be ‘charged’ eh, so-to-speak?” She asked as Syphus thought.“It has been three days and the city is ablaze! I’ve never seen it so lit up! And as for how long before we need the Sun again? I’m quite unsure.”“Well we can experiment. Mychor Whale oil from the Kingdom of the Frosts, or the Kingdom of the Seas, burns brighter and for longer. I’ve almost convinced them to enjoy wormroot vines that grow beneath the Kingdoms in the Kingdom of the Caves. So many flavors you know. Anyways, Whale Oil for a large supply of shrooms is a good trade if you ask me, seeing that you grow so many mushrooms you practically make your homes out of them!”     Syphus smiled eagerly.“Oh Wormroot is what we prefer, and Liverlung fungus! Tastes like liver and lung! The Black Pot fungus is quite good for tea, oooh and the green oak fungus that grows on the moldy oaks has a fruity almost melon like flavor!” Tailka smirked eagerly as she looked at Syphus.“Okay, so how about we make a deal? The Kingdom of the Mines, which their entrance isn’t far from here, can be a liaison between the Kingdom of the Frosts and you guys. You trade mushrooms, they provide Mychor Whale oil for lanterns!”     Syphus pondered this, his mind running through the requirements.“It’d be a massive change in lifestyle. For the Two of us! But….but I…I think as King it is my choice and yet the choice of my people, but our people will probably accept.” Tailka smiled, and began to cool herself off, nervously reaching her hand out.“If my hand is burning hot just let go. My apologies, it's hard to control my temperature.” Tailka sighed reluctantly, nervously holding her hand. She was about to reel her hand back but Syphus reached out and shook it quite firmly, smiling.“All we ask of you is the feathers, and speak with the Ice King about our deal!”“Yeah, I’m on my way to return the Sun, and then speak with the Ice Queen.”     Tailka turned to Valana as she leaned against the wooden panel wall near the balcony.“Well, ‘Auria, Goddess of Fire’ you better be good on your promise.”“Yeah, I am. Since me and Yalun became God’s we’ve been trying to fix these twelve messy Kingdoms. “You cannot fix the Kingdom of War, or the Kingdom of Sands. Hell, the Kingdom of the Dead and those damn racist elves who run the Kingdom of Merchants ain’t going to break.” “But I’m willing to try. Words speak more than violence you know.” Tailka gave in, leaning in and hugging Valana before opening her wings and taking off with Duke. “Well, time to meet my wife. How do you think ‘Friea, Goddess of Ice’ is doing huh Duke?” She chuckled, hearing the bird make a squeal almost like it was chuckling.    When she departed the Necrotic Forest she was met to a golden prairie, endless fields of what as they flew towards a large tree at the center. The trunk was massive, bigger than any man, bigger than any troll, bigger than any God. The tree was like a nation, a country, with breadth and width, depth and height. The world surrounds this tree, and within it the Sun is supposed to rest peacefully. Traveling into the trunk following winding corridors, she made it to the center, the center of her realm, the center of her world. She removed the silver platter, set it on a gold inlaid marble altar and then the vial of the liquid Sun, pouring it in as light began to radiate out and from the tree, the Sun was restored to the Kingdom.     Echoing behind Tailka were footsteps, and she quickly turned, drawing her aiodium maces, the metal being the same one her chest plate is made out of. “Look, I just restored the Sun, I don’t want to deal with another theft.”“Seriously Tal, you’re real uptight.” A woman said as Tailka lowered her maces and breathed a sigh of relief.“Alright Yalun, we need to talk.”“Right? About?” She said as Duke took off from Tailka’s shoulders and flew toward Yalun, hovering above her before landing on her right shoulder and snaking his head across to her left shoulder, cooing like a dove. “He-he. He likes you mea.” Tailka said as she crossed her arms.“Look I need you to talk to your father, Salun, eh, so Kingdom of the Diseased stole the Sun, I got it back thanks to Duke, talked with Syphus and he can provide a trade deal. Mychor Whale oil in exchange for their edible mushrooms. Trust me, they are good. That way you don’t have to rely on the sun for only one part of the year and not the entire year.”“Tal, that is a good idea. I don’t know though. But I’ll talk with my father.” Yalun sighed as Tailka smiled.    The two held hands but steam began to radiate off of them. They let go, and chuckled.“You’re doing everything you can for the Kingdoms. Maybe Hayla is right, maybe peace will come to the Twelve Kingdoms at last.”“Peace? You really think that? How do you find peace with a Kingdom that believes in war, worships it like his life depends on it. Worst of all, he’s my father.”“You do things peacefully, and yet you’re not afraid to fight.”“My father killed me a few years ago when I tried to talk to him.”“Just put them to the side. Unite the reset of the Kingdoms. Eleven against one, and possibly the rest of the Gods. That is all it takes.”“I have to convince so many Kingdoms, and yet, I feel, I feel I can do it.” The two Gods turned to leave, with Duke in pursuit. “So, who is next?” Yalun asked with a smile as Tailka began to cackle.“Your father, then the Kingdom of the Dead.”
","August 11, 2023 20:41","[[{'Paul McDermott': 'An imaginative fantasy world, which deserves a more detailed description - I can see this being an extract from the opening chapter[s] of a longer piece of work. There are also a lot of Names to absorb - perhaps you could \'introduce\' them one at a time, hinting again at a longer work and several chapters? And a petty point (maybe my Latin Jesuit teachers are to blame!) ""Phoenixes"" [pl.] \'feels\' wrong: I think the noun is the same, singular or plural. One Phoenix, fifty Phoenix???\nAn enjoyable romp - thank you!', 'time': '22:23 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenneth Starling': ""Thanks for your response. It is from a larger work of mine and is a fantasy world I've been working on for several years. I felt like sharing it because I felt people would enjoy the world I built. Yeah I see where you're coming from, I feel conflicted saying Phoenix or Phoenixes it just feels weird"", 'time': '19:30 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenneth Starling': ""Thanks for your response. It is from a larger work of mine and is a fantasy world I've been working on for several years. I felt like sharing it because I felt people would enjoy the world I built. Yeah I see where you're coming from, I feel conflicted saying Phoenix or Phoenixes it just feels weird"", 'time': '19:30 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,8diw2s,Filsuf,Jack Webster,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8diw2s/,/short-story/8diw2s/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Holiday', 'Horror']",5 likes,"
“Oh my goodness, look at those statues!” 
Standing behind her I smirked to myself. Throughout our trip in Bali, it has been Alejandro’s favourite phrase to exclaim with each new statue we saw. She first uttered it on the taxi ride from the airport, in reference to a forty-foot statue that made the central island of a roundabout. The second time she said it, on that same ride, actually cheered me up enough to forget about the taxi-driver who gleefully bolstered our fare mid-trip. 
To defend her, these pair of statues deserved the praise. It was the first one we encountered just outside the Ubud Monkey Sanctuary. It displayed two figures, one standing and the other kneeling to the other. The figure standing was, I guessed, a goddess or queen, arms stretched out at an angle staring down at her subject in placid recognition. The figure kneeling was a man with simian qualities; tufted fur, a looping tail, and a protruding savage face.
“I’m not sure who she is,” I started, “But I think the one kneeling is meant to be Sun Wukong, the Monkey King”
“Very good sir” said our guide, a squat little man with a painted smile. “He was cheeky one. Like all of them here”
The Sanctuary was famously littered with monkeys, crab-eating macaques. Short, grey-haired little guys with sagacious white moustaches. Our first encounter with them was at the food stalls near the parking lot. A junior un-moustached macaque had approached Alejandro and held out it’s hand for food. Our guide, at the time looking for patrons, ran to us immediately and shooed the creature away.
“No, no, no. It’s best not to feed them here. The cheeky little thieves will keep coming,” he smiled and pointed to a scene behind us. Along the row of food stalls all the macaques were trying to run up to collect fruit. The store owners would pelt at them with slings and they quickly scrambled away.
While remembering this I started to feel a gentle pat on my leg. A junior monkey was playing at an object bulging in my pocket.
“Shoo! Shoo!” yelled our guide, threatening the monkey with his stick. The thief ran away and into the forest trees.
“It looks like a proposal, doesn’t it Alan?” spoke up Alejandro, still admiring the statues. She gave a suggestive look and started to follow the guide into the forest. Alejandro and I had been together for a little over six years. In that time we, like is true for most relationships, started communicating in two ways. The first was direct and stated clearly, the second was silent except for a few suggestive phrases that other was meant to apprehend completely. In the beginning she lectured me on my behaviour in this latter mode of conversing, which I was ignorant of. The latest topic was the idea of marriage. She had become restless about the topic and always tried to intimate to me about her frustration. To calm her, I had bought us tickets to her hometown in Spain scheduled in three months. I hoped that this would communicate to her: “Yes, we are going to get married. I have planned to do it surrounded by your family” She seemed to have received this message and has been mostly quiet about it, except for the occasional remark like the one she made now. I looked up at the statues and self-consciously inspected the object the monkey was trying to steal. The case for the ring was still resting snuggly. I watched her walk along the pathway. The best part about this second conversation is that I’ve gotten quite good at tricking her. “Yeah, I’m going to sneak-attack marry you, bitch”
The tour through the forest was stupendous. Along with the throngs of tourists and furred residents, the pathways were littered with statues of various monkeys. I Our guide took plenty of pictures for us. Along the way I couldn’t help noticing how aggressive each of these simulacrums were. Always wide-mouthed and snarling. I tried to find a moment to get Alejandro alone, but wherever she stood her attention was immediately arrested by some other thing and she charged immediately there. Bless her heart.
She walked over to a pile of fruit that macaques were gathering around to eat from. The larger ones would eat calmly while their smaller kin would stand anxiously away. Eventually one of the little monkeys was brave enough to make a quick scramble, but the larger would take a break from his food and strike at them.
“They’re very aggressive, aren’t they?” I said to our guide.
“They are. They do it for their women. The bigger one’s grab everything they can for their women. It causes the biggest fights amongst them”
“Our cousins indeed”
Further on the tour, I saw Alenjandro had stopped walking along the pathway and planted herself over the wooden fence, admiring the waterfall pouring down the river below. Our guide was busy talking to a colleague. I took a deep breath and approached Alejandro from the side.
She stared at the waterfall for a moment and turned to me, moving her hair out of her eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“What’s ‘what’?”
“What’s what’s whats what? Ha!”
“You’re happy, right? With how things are between us?”
She made of show of thinking deeply about it. “Happy? Meh, I could do better”
I put my hand in pocket and started to bend down. Her eyes widened. Suddenly our guide clapped me on the shoulder. “Over here! Come! Come!”
Alejandro followed the guide past me. I stood straight again and followed her and the cockblock.
“Over here, meet Filsuf!”
The guide pointed over the fence to a pool of water. A single tree branch stretched over the pool of water and terminated just over the centre. Sitting at the edge of this branch, staring down at its own reflection, was a lone monkey.
“He look’s sad,” said Alejandro. 
“Filsuf is always sad. Smartest monkey here. Always alone though, never comes to visitors or family”
""You named him?” I asked.
“Yes, Filsuf- how do you say-wiseman? Like Socrates or Plato”
“Philosopher?”
“Yes! He is our philosopher. Always sitting over the pool and thinking” 
Alejandro approached closer to the base of the tree and started calling to Filsuf.
“He’s not going to come, sweetie”. She ignored me and kept cooing to the monkey. Eventually the monkey did looks sideways at her. When he saw her his hunched body shot upright. While the tree branch was swinging, he started climbing to the base of the tree.
“He’s coming! Ahh!” she held out hand for the guide to give her some food. The guide, bewildered, gave her a banana. While she peeled the fruit and breaking it into pieces, I watched as Filsuf jumped onto the wooden fence and calmly waited for her. Her work done, she approached Filsuf and held up her palms with the banana. Filsuf ignored the food and stared up into her face with his big brown eyes.
“Come on little guy. Yum-yum” Alejandro said in her baby-voice, pretending to take a bite of the food. Filsuf meekly began taking the fruit and eating it. I took a picture of the interaction with my phone. After a while I took some fruit from our guide. I walked up next to the two and waited for Filsuf to finish. I held out my hands and waited patiently. Filsuf ignored me and kept staring up at Alejandro.
“I think he prefers you sweetie” I said and put the food in her hands. Immediately after offering him new portions, Filsuf again resumed eating meekly, never focusing away too long from Alejandro’s face. 
I looked behind us. Several of the guides had stopped their groups to stare at the interaction. It started to make feel unnerved for some reason. I took another photo of Alejandro and Filsuf. While looking through the gallery, I saw the picture I took of the statues. I looked up from the image to the two of them, one kneeling before other. Filsuf leaned over and gently placed his hand in her palm and let it rest. I walked up behind her and rested my hand over her shoulder. Filsuf snapped his attention to my face. He stared at me intensely and started hissing.
“Oi! Away with you!” shouted our guide and threatened Kilsuf with his stick. Kilsuf leaped from the fence and bolted into the forest.
“Oh, poor little guy. He seemed nice”
The tour of the temple lasted another half-hour. I didn’t see any more signs of Filsuf, knowingly anyway. While searching for him I forgot that I was meant to propose and scolded myself. Before leaving the templ our guide took us to his office the process the photos he had taken for us.. Three other workers were sitting around glumly drinking their coffee. While our guide sat at his desk, I looked over his shoulder at the computer monitor. An image of Filsuf placing his hand in Alejandra’s was on screen. 
“Hey may I ask, what’s so special about Filsuf?”
The guide turned to me with a mildly-panicked expression and swivelled in his chair to face the boss behind him. This elder gentleman sitting behind his desk had a bushy beard and glaring eyes. He seemed a little simian himself. 
“You wish to know about Filsuf?” His eyes were watery and didn’t blink.
“Why do you consider him smart?”
The elder man stroked his beard for a moment pondering. After stroking he held out his hand.
“100, 000 rupiah. Insider tip”
I glared at him in disbelief and eventually handed him the money.
He pocketed the pink money. “Now let me see. Filsuf, he isn’t the same as the other ones” He leaned over the table and began thinking. “A couple of years ago, we kept our fruit behind a locked cage, combination-lock. One day we found the door opened”
“And you assumed it was Filsuf?”
The other guide standing behind me spoke up: “We kept the code written in our office. He likes to come in here and read the notices sometimes”
“He reads now?”
“So we changed the lock to a padlock and key. At the end of the day, I took the key home with me. Next morning, it’s gone” he clapped his hands together “Straight from my dresser. I found it later here, in the padlock to the cage”
I nodded sarcastically. “Wow”. I looked over to Alejandra to gage her reaction. She was listening attentively.
“Another time” the elder started, agitated, “A few years ago, we sold Filsuf. Some scientists from Malaysia took him. I went with them to the airport and saw the plane fly off. A few weeks later there was Filsuf, sitting over his favourite pool of water” The elder slumped into his chair.
“that’s not a bad story,” I started, “Do most visitors tip for it?” 
The elder laughed. “Okay. Sir, how old do I look?”
I guessed in my head around late sixties.
“Early forties”
“I am seventy-three years old. When I started working here, I was a teenager. Even then, everyone knew about Filsuf”
 
                                                                                   ***
Alejandro and I had lunch at the resort. Near the entrance we patted the owner’s dog, a black Labrador. We went into our villa and while Alejandro was in the shower I quickly put the engagement ring in my luggage bag. The rest of the day consisted of nothing except going out to dance and retiring to our room. 
“Hey Alan”
“What?”
And she kissed me. I quickly shut our blinds while she got undressed.
I woke up that night in a cold sweat. The dog barking had woken me up. I wearily looked ahead at the window to the front porch, suddenly I jolted upright.
“What is it, sweetie?” Alejandro asked tiredly.
“We’re not alone”
Through the curtain, shaded by the night outside I saw the outline of a body. Where it was standing it must’ve been near the porch fence, resting over it. I stared at its motionless frame. Without moving my head I scanned the room for my pants. When I located it on the floor near the bed I looked back up at the figure. I waited a moment and jumped out of the bed. I scrambled for my pants, put them on and ran outside. The figure near the porch fence was gone, but I saw the black dog chasing something across the garden. I zipped up and chased it through the villa.
The dog ran around a corner into the parking lot. I heard it yelp and he ran back whimpering past me. I went around and searched the area. No one was in the parking lot. I heard a rustle above me. In the garden bordering the fence were a few trees. I looked up at the branches and saw the wind rustling the leaves in the night-air.
                                                                              ***
Alejandro and I fought in the morning. She was complaining that I had become moody for some reason and wouldn’t tell her why. I couldn’t tell her that I thought one of the staff had stolen the ring from our luggage during breakfast. I complained privately to them but they insisted no one had gone into our rooms. I gave up on the idea of calling the police, knowing it probably wouldn’t achieve anything. Anyway, Alejandro and I fought and we decided to spend our last day in Bali privately for a couple of hours. I decided to go into town and have a massage.
I found a place hidden around a burger-shop. I went in and the lady brought me to a curtained-off area. She asked me to undress and went away to prepare. I denuded, wrapped the towel around me and laid on the table.
While laying there I kept fuming about the ring. I speculated on the idea that it wasn’t the staff who had taken it. I tried to think how someone could’ve broken in. The front door was locked, but the door to the bathroom was left wide open. It was an open area; a tall wooden fence kept our privacy. I couldn’t imagine a thief jumping over it, unless they were able to squeeze through the trees bordering the fence. Also, nothing else was stolen. My wallet was open and ID thrown across the floor. I have heard something about people learning your addresses for scams later, but couldn’t think of what. 
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard the masseuse squeal behind the curtain. I started to sit up when a body planted on my shoulders and pushed me down.
“Hey!” I protested when I felt a sharp bite into my ear. The masseuse ran in with a broom and swung at the body on top of me. I felt it jump off and she chased it outside. I sat up and pressed my hand across my aching ear. I felt the blood pouring down the side of my face.
She came back in and swore. “Bad monkey”
                                                                              ***
Alejandro and I were still indifferent to each other on the way home. The aching of my bandaged ear still throbbed at the airport. I was even more miffed when our flight was delayed. The lady only explained that the plane before ours couldn’t leave due to trouble with local wildlife. On the flight home I kept rubbing my ear.
 Alejandro and I were still silent on the taxi-ride home. I kept staring out of the window and thinking about what happened at the massage parlour. “Bad monkey” the lady had said. I wish I had gone back to the monkey sanctuary and asked more about Filsuf. I looked at my phone and stared at the photo of him and Alejandro. How looked up at her with his eyes. I felt there was more the elder worker had to say about Filsuf, but we left immediately after our photos were processed. Now that I thought about it, the guides all seemed a little anxious discussing the intelligent macaque. I wondered what other stories they might have shared. 
“What?” Alejandro asked. 
“Pardon?”
“You keep muttering something. Like ‘Feel-sooth’, ‘feel-sooth’. What is feel-sooth?”
“Nothing” I said bluntly. She rolled her eyes and returned to staring out the window. 
We arrived home and went inside. “I got it” she said dryly and took our luggage upstairs. “Whatever” I muttered and went into the loungeroom. I started calling to our cat. “Come here Lady! Your parents are home!” I couldn’t find her. I decided she must’ve been in her regular hiding spot. 
There was a space above the fridge behind the cabinets. When she discovered it, she liked to run up behind it and hide there. I reached over the fridge and stretched my hand out, I reeled back when I pressed my bandaged ear against the cabinet and switched sides. “Come here puss, puss”
I wiggled my hand and patted lightly coarse fur. 
“Dammit, Blake”
Our neighbour was meant to be looking after her. I assumed she had gotten dirty and he couldn’t bother to wash her. I still tried to pat her behind the cabinet. I only felt the body start away. She usually licked my fingers when I did this.
I heard Alejandro scream upstairs. I took my hand away and ran upstairs into our bedroom. Alejandro launched at me and started kissing my face all over.
“Watch the bandage. What is it?” She continued kissing me.
“Oh sweetie. Yes, yes, yes! When did you leave it here?”
I pushed her away slightly. I looked at our bed and my blood froze. The throbbing in my ear reached intensity. The empty case was laying on our bed. Alejandro held up her hand and I saw the missing ring on her finger.
","August 19, 2023 03:19",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,14sulx,Genes & T-Shirts,Barbara Nosek,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/14sulx/,/short-story/14sulx/,Fluff,0,"['American', 'Creative Nonfiction', 'Happy']",5 likes,"
Genes and T-Shirts
Barbara J Nosek
 
Her looks are alluring, disarming, the textbook definition of adorable – and totally deceiving. This kitty is able to hide her true nature behind her ragdoll mother’s contribution, china blue eyes in a perfect cool gray triangle with matching soft plump paws and showpiece tail, surrounding a fluffy cloud of snow white fur.
 
But of course that's only half the gene story, and as experience proved, not the dominant half. Nope. That’s the province of her daddy, feral and full Bengal, a breed born in the 70s when a domestic tabby spent a romantic evening with an Asian leopard cat, a wild creature banned as pets in many countries, requiring special licenses in others. 
 
And Lucinda {Lucy as an affectionate reduction} favored the paternal heritage when she joined our household, taking feline aloofness into a new dimension, instructing one and all that touching her may well trigger a whap-ready paw. Her previous mom warned that a few scratches on the head may be okay but not her back, and don’t try to pick her up, those back claws are no joke. 
 
I’d had a ragdoll years before. His mother was a black stray, as a neighbor informed us, father unknown but we could make a pretty good guess. Mom and son showed up in our yard, and bowls of food and water later – surprise! – started coming back on a daily basis. They also communed through the sliding doors with our two indoor cats, and nobody seemed too upset about the “company.” So, yep, we ended up bringing them in too.
 
Mom, quite the porker, was a bit feisty but dear Lord did she love food and that tamed her to an acceptable level. And actually, truth be told, the fact that she was on the losing end of a first-day encounter with our slim and elegant tortie probably had a whole lot to do with the shape of the future.
 
There was no actual fight. None needed. An unexpected hisssssssss from our small black and gold girl - her mouth appearing to open the length and width of her entire face, her volume and duration Olympic-worthy - was sufficient. Removed all question as to who would be ruling this roost.
 
But it’s her boy, a classically designed ragdoll, that provides the context for this years-later tale. In place of Lucinda’s gray, Punky had blackest black accents, an incredible setting for those ragdoll eyes. In the pecking order of four cats, he came in around five or six. But, oh my, he was pure sweetness in feline form.
 
If Punky was sitting on the arm of the couch we had to touch foreheads. If in my lap, the briefest glance down would result in him pushing the top of his head ever so gently into my lips. And given the breed’s physique, I could quite literally drape him over my arm and carry him all over the place. He would greet us with an adorable squeaky little chirp, a ragdoll’s version I guess of meow. I thought so often, had no one ever taken him in all that love would have gone to waste.
 
I want to be clear that I never took in Lucy expecting her to be a clone of Punky, having had enough cats to know each has its own personality. But I was sort of hoping for some ragdoll leanings. With what I’d seen so far, had to wonder if they would ever appear.
 
Meanwhile, though this is mostly Lucy’s story, I’d like to take a moment to also draw a contrast with Lucy’s exotic sister Luna, who couldn’t look more Bengal – muscular, broken stripes, spotted belly, ringed legs and tail, slightly elevated hind quarters, and those Bengal eyes, that unreadable expression. But, go figure, she’s as friendly as can be, purrs a lot, loves to be petted including belly rubs, joins me in the chair, sleeps on the bed, greets me on the stairs when I’ve been out, loves to rub her head against my arms or legs, comes when I call her. 
 
And one other identifying Bengal trait – Luna is Talkative, with a very much intended capital T. You ask a question, she’ll answer. Other times she’ll just volunteer conversation. And while I could be accused of giving her some leeway, for all the world at times her responses seem appropriate to the situation. For example, though she usually moves out of the way at the top of the steps when I’m coming up, she chose the occasion of me carrying a heavy box to go back to her beauty sleep. Move! Luna, Move!! Get the {censored}!!! Finally up, walks away, head down, and in the most plaintive voice, “Ohhhh Kayyyyy.”
 
When the catnip is unleashed, and while Lucy just lays around glaze-eyed, Luna stages a ticket-worthy show, jumping around as if stung by a hive of bees, in the process teaching her toys a lesson they won’t soon forget, and on occasion rolling down a step or two. 
 
Her exuberance, or maybe as close as she’ll ever come to revealing her wild streak, used to play out in another way that was kinda funny, slightly painful. When I’d be taking food to her dish she’d run behind, using her paws to “help me along.” I started telling her, “You first!” and she apparently understands the language as well as speaks it because when I say that now she goes ahead. But not convinced I’m still heading dish-ward, she’ll keep hesitating and looking back, testing my braking powers. So then I say, “Step it up” and she takes off at a stiff-legged trot. Twice a day amusement, guaranteed.
 
So, Lucinda, my little queen of the jungle? None of those things.
I remember her previous mom’s words of warning about limiting scratches and no picking up.  But what I now hear is – not unless you already have the car started and your shoes on, ready for a fast trip to the ER. But I kept cautiously pushing the zone until eventually I could usually add three back scratches, even though that usually earned me a look back with a “how dare you” expression, but nothing more.
 
And it was encouraging that even though she didn’t engage very much, at least sometimes she would hang out with me wherever I was. She did, of course, show up like clockwork in front of her dishes for morning treats and evening supper.
 
Approaching her on her throne, aka the cat tree, was another place where the caution light came on. Stand at the other side of the window, all good. Move a bit toward her and a paw raised up ready for combat. 
 
She would jump up on the couch with me, but only at the far end, and I had to be curled into a fetal position at the other end in order to maintain a proper buffer zone. If I had any questions where that started and stopped the band aid on my toe served as a handy reminder.
 
And, eventually she started jumping on the bed with me but only to brace herself against my head so she could look out the window. If something outside captured her attention she might even stretch out on the pillow and stay awhile, now her back instead of her butt plastered against me. Even though I was just being used as a backstop, loved that she was comfortable being that close to me. Still no picking up though.
 
So there were incremental signs of progress, but ever so slow. I was grateful that neither of my little Bengals were bitey, neither inclined to go into attack mode. But I began to wonder if I would ever be able to bond with Lucy, or just have to accept her as a semi-wild stranger.
 
And then, covid stepped in. Not the disease, the prevention.
I had breezed through all the vaccinations with little more than a bit of chills the night of, all better by morning. But then came the time, assured it would be fine, that I had the covid shot and flu shot at the same time. Oops.
 
Beginning early that evening I was hit with burning fever, freezing chills, debilitating fatigue. No appetite, no energy, just wanted to crawl under the covers. And did.
 
I awoke the next morning, still sick, sick, sick. Before I even opened my eyes I realized Luna had laid her head on my outstretched arm. This was sweet, but not likely related to my bad reaction to the vaccines as she did this often.
 
Then I did open my eyes. And found myself face to face with Lucy. Lucy!
 
A friend of mine had told me long ago about a cat she had that was just awful to her. But then she contracted an illness that kept her off her feet for three weeks. Much of that time she would just be resting in her rocker, and most of that time the self-same cat was peacefully curled up in her lap, apparently sensing that she needed some tlc. But then when the friend recovered, guess what. Right back to nasty cat.
 
Lucy had acted the same way for the first part. But not the second. Mind you she didn’t become Madame Cuddles overnight, but she was definitely a changed cat, gradually spending more time with Luna and me. Maybe my extreme vulnerability that night and morning had made me a little more approachable.
 
Could this have helped too? On a hunch, I folded the T-shirt I’d been wearing and laid it on her blanket at the end of the couch. And she would jump up there and sleep on that shirt. I left it for a few days and then it really, really, had to go into the laundry. Thereafter I would often lay another laundry-bound shirt in one of her nap spots and she would sometimes sleep on it, sometimes next to it, becoming I’d like to think ever more familiar with my scent, and thus with me.
 
And in other couch news, I could now actually stretch out my legs along the back of the couch behind her and she was fine with that. No band aids!
 
Also she’ll now come for pets whenever my hand “just happens” to be hanging over the arm of the chair. Neck and back. And maybe this is sneaky, but I’ve also found she likes backy rubs while she’s at her food dish. Or, praise be, even brushing {previously I always sort of felt sorry for the brush}.
 
A newer development defies explanation. We spend most of our time on the middle floor of our townhouse, but if I go to the lower level for anything Lucy follows me down, and then  follows me around, chirping all the while. She also rubs back and forth, back and forth, on my legs. If I sit on the couch down there she jumps up next to me. Thinking eventually maybe that welcome behavior can make its way upstairs.
 
Despite those Lucy challenges, it’s always been a fun ride, with their antics serving up a daily source of joy. Luna’s commentary of course, but also her sprints up and down the hallway like she’s being chased by a bazillion demons, and then her “work-related” run, that being when she’s hears the printer and gets there as fast as she can to guard any papers that may have fallen to the floor, or maybe helping along those that didn’t – it’s her job. 
 
Lucy, somewhat less athletic, gets most of her exercise cramming herself into a padded box designed for a kitten. But giving credit where credit is due she does has a black belt in poses – the glamorpuss over the shoulder one, the Z-form with head and front legs one way and tail and back legs the other, and of course the requisite ragdoll meaning on her side for her lower half, on her back for her upper half, front paws curled over her chest, and I’m pretty sure the eyes saying, You do see how cute I am, right?
 
So, really, life has been good all along with these two wildcats that I cherish and adore, both so pretty, so funny, so clearly capable of love and affection. Each in her own way a unique character, full of surprises.
 
We’ve marked a year now, and I’m so confident Lucy’s progress will keep moving on little cat feet right into a fully bonded connection. I kind of picture her ragdoll genes telling her Bengal genes to just chill and they’ll take it from here. 
 
Maybe that’s what’s helping her catch up with darling Luna. Whatever motive forces have come together, it's just so gratifying to see Lucy moving into her ragdoll nature, becoming, friendlier, sweeter, more companionable, more trusting day by day.
 
Still no picking up.
 
 
-- end --
","August 17, 2023 23:52","[[{'Barbara Nosek': 'Many thanks', 'time': '00:54 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Aw, this makes me miss our ragdoll who just passed away after giving us 15 good years. Such a sweet story and true to how cats can be lol. \n\nI liked this line in particular: “I thought so often, had no one ever taken him in all that love would have gone to waste.” Great way to look at it. :)', 'time': '15:42 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Barbara Nosek': 'Forgive me, should have said immediately how sorry I am to hear of your loss. Losing any kitty is a pain like no other, but ragdolls are such loves their passing just may mean even a few extra tears. Hope you can feel a little bit better every day.', 'time': '14:37 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'J. D. Lair': 'It’s okay! Grateful for the many good memories. :)', 'time': '15:20 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Barbara Nosek': 'Forgive me, should have said immediately how sorry I am to hear of your loss. Losing any kitty is a pain like no other, but ragdolls are such loves their passing just may mean even a few extra tears. Hope you can feel a little bit better every day.', 'time': '14:37 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'J. D. Lair': 'It’s okay! Grateful for the many good memories. :)', 'time': '15:20 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'J. D. Lair': 'It’s okay! Grateful for the many good memories. :)', 'time': '15:20 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,grkpe1,Frazz,Cliff Pratt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/grkpe1/,/short-story/grkpe1/,Fluff,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Adventure']",5 likes,"
The Dwarf turned and looked behind him. Nothing. Just a bare hillside.
	“Ugh! Dammit! I thought that they were following me. Apparently not. Apparently I have to do it all by myself,” he grumbled.
	He turned and strode down the hill. A bird took off from almost under his feet, chirping its alarm call.
	“Now where is that damn Dragon?” He hefted his axe in his hand.
 
	There wasn’t much cover for a Dragon, he thought, as he looked around. A few boulders poked through the tussocky grasslands, but there were no caves or canyons that a large and scaly monster could hide in.
	“That’s funny. The Oracle definitely indicated a Dragon in the area. I hope the Wurm is not invisible! That would be, um, difficult.”
	Suddenly he caught sight of something in the corner of his eye, and spun, axe at the ready. A tail disappeared around a rock. The Dwarf carefully peered around the rock, and started laughing.
	“What? What’s funny?” grumped the Dragon.
	“You’re the Dragon, are you? But you must be, what, a metre long? I’m going to look pretty silly carrying your head into the Conclave, aren’t I?”
	“My h-h-head?”
	“To prove that I’ve killed you.”
	“No! Please don’t kill me, Sir Dwarf. Please!”
	The tiny Dragon scuttled behind the rock, then stuck its head out. It huffed and a few sparks and a cloud of smoke shot out of its nostrils.
	“Dammit,” the Dragon grumped again. Tears filled its eyes.
	The Dwarf laughed. He made a decision. “I’m not going to kill you, kid. Come on out.”
	“You aren’t?” The Dragon bounced out from behind the rock. “Thanks, Sir Dwarf! Got any food?”
	“Whoa! Slow down! I didn’t agree to feed you!”
	The Dragon wilted.
	“But I do have my lunch with me. Let me see.”
	The Dwarf searched in his backpack for his lunch. The little Dragon didn’t help. It tried to stick its head into the Dwarf’s pack, looking for food.
	“Get out, you little bugger. Ah, here it is. Have a carrot.”
	“What? I’m a fierce fire breathing Dragon, not a bunny rabbit! Got any cheese?” The Dragon was outraged.
	“Choosy beggar.”
	The Dwarf crunched the carrot and tossed a small piece of cheese to the Dragon who grabbed it out of the air.
	“Thanks, I love cheese! It does make me... Achooo! ...sneeze though.”
	The Dwarf ducked as a small ball of fire headed towards him. He had plenty of time. The ball of fire rolled slowly through the air, until it disappeared with a pop.
	“Sorry. Say is that a sausage?”
	“You can’t have my sausage, kid! Oh, go on then. Here’s a bit off the end.”
	“Mmmmm! Thank you. Sir Dwarf. What are you going to do now?”
	“Ah, I might as well go home, kid. I’ll take you with me.”
	“Why, Sir Dwarf?”
	“Well, pal, if I left you here, you might grow up to be a big nuisance. The people round here...” He paused and looked at the bare landscape. Rocks and heather as far as the eye could see. Even the landscape said ‘There are no people here!’.
	“Hmm. The people round here, if there are any, might not like having a big Dragon around, stealing sheep and stuff like that. Secondly, I’ve never heard of a baby Dragon before. I don’t think that anyone else has ever found one. Do you want to come along, kid?”
	“Yes please, Sir Dwarf. Will there be sausages, do you think?”
	The Dwarf laughed.
	“There will definitely be sausages,” he said as he opened a door in the nearest rock, and he and the Dragon stepped through.
***
“Is that a bleeping Dragon?”
	“Well, if it isn’t D-Harold the renowned Dragon spotter.”
	“Shuddup, Thark. What’s it doing here? It’s tiny!”
	“It’s Thark’s,” said Grizzy, D-Grizzella was a female Dwarf, and currently head of the local Conclave of Dwarfs.
	“Well, I just found it,” said Thark, who didn’t want to end up being held responsible for the Dragon. “You know the Oracle told us there was a Dragon about? Well, Grizzy sent me out to deal with it and I found this little guy. That reminds me! You guys were supposed to back me up!”
	The other Dwarfs ignored his complaint.
	Harold filled his tankard from the communal ale barrel. “Looks like you really needed our help, pal,” he said.
	The Dragon was lying in front of the fire, snoozing. He looked like a snake that had just been fed, as he stretched out, his limbs hidden beneath his body. He woke up and decided to try his luck. He rested his head on the table.
	“Any sausages?” he asked, trying look as if he hadn’t been fed in weeks.
	“Ha, he’s cute,” Harold said. “I’ve haven’t got any sausages, but here’s a hunk of cheese.”
	The cheese was in air, as several of the company yelled “No!” or “Don’t”, and then dived out of the literal line of fire.
	“Gulp! Thanks, Sir Harold. I love cheese but it makes me… Achoo! ...sneeze.”
	The Dragon’s fireball hit the table and bounced up onto Harold’s chest and then onto his beard. Harold was quick, but not quite quick enough. He batted the fireball away and it popped out of existence, but his beard was partly burned away. A Dwarf’s beard is really tough, but Harold’s would be lopsided until it grew out. He might even have to trim it!
	“Oh, bleep,” said Harold.
	“Sorry, Sir Harold,” said the Dragon. “I didn’t mean it!”
	“Grrr! I’ll ring your little neck!”
	The Dragon hid under the table, going “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Sir Dwarf. Sorry.”
	Everyone was laughing.
	“Come out, you little ratbag,” said Harold, who was laughing as much as anyone. “I’ll not harm you.”
	“Thank you, Sir Harold. Doesn’t anyone have any sausages?”
	“No!” said everyone in unison.
	“You’ve had plenty,” Thark told him. “Do you want me to put you back out in that moorland?”
	The Dragon shivered. “No, please, no. I like it here. There’s a fire! And there are sausages! Sometimes.”
	“Right, guys and gals. Let’s re-convene the Conclave. We have to decide what to do with Frazz here,” called Grizzy.
	“’Frazz’? You called the little bugger ‘Frazz’?” asked Harold.
	“D-Frazzle, actually,” the Dragon said.
	“You can’t be ‘D-anything’. You’re not a Dwarf. Hmm, you can’t be ‘G-anything’ either. That’s Gnomes or Goblins.”
	“How about ‘W’ for ‘Wurm’?” suggested Jenn.
	“’W-Frazzle’ works for me.”
	“ANYWAY,” Grizzy raised her voice to cut through the chatter. “The Conclave.”
	The others fell silent.
	“We’ve been discussing the Dragon. At least everyone who arrived on time has been discussing the Dragon.”
	“Well, I was held up by…” started Harold.
	Grizzy just talked over him. “Everyone is agreed. We don’t kill Frazz, Well not yet, anyway. We study him. I have to confirm that with the Full Conclave of course.”
	“Er, Grizzy. He’s listening.”
	“No, I’m not. La, la, la. I can’t hear you!”
	Grizzy ignored the Dragon. “I know, Jenn. It doesn’t matter. We really need to study him. If he suddenly becomes dangerous, well, any one of us could take him out. You know that! We need to know why grown Dragons are so dangerous. It’s a heaven-sent opportunity.”
	She looked around at the dozen or so Dwarfs around the table.
	“All we need to decide is who looks after the little creature.” She looked at Thark. “Does anyone want to volunteer?”
	Everyone looked anywhere but at Grizzy. In the end Thark gave in and sighed.
	“OK, guys. I’ll look after the little bugger. You never know, it might be fun.’
	He stood up to refill his tankard.
	“We could celebrate with a plate of sausages,” suggested a voice.
	“Seriously, kid? Are you always hungry?”
	Frazz gave the question some serious thought. “I think so, Thark. I think so.”
***
“Get your head down, you dozy Dragon. They might see you!”
	“Oh, what?” said Frazz. “Oh, right.” He lowered his head, then slid just his head over the rock. He narrowed his eyes like a cartoon spy.
	Thark sighed. They shouldn’t have watched cartoons last night.
	“They are messy buggers,” opined the little Dragon.
	“What? Yes, I suppose so.” Thark looked at the group of Dragons again. “Yeah, you’re right, Frazz. There are bits of whatever it is they are eating all over the place. Hey, that one dropped a chunk of meat on the other one! Now they are fighting. Oh, the little gods! They rolled on it and then another one stole it! And swallowed it!”
	“My Mum would never have let our nest get into that state!”
	“Your Mum? You remember your Mum? How come you were all by yourself, pal? Did she chuck you out?”
	The little Dragon sniggered. “No, not exactly. I left of my own accord. With one of my brothers and a sister, but we split up later. All of my brothers and sisters were leaving the nest, coz we had all grown up enough. Mum had had enough of us and was encouraging us. ‘It’s about time you guys started leaving,’ Mum said. ‘I want to have another brood’.”
	Something happening in the Dragon nest distracted him. “Say, what are those two Dragons over there doing?”
	Thark took a look. “Um, never mind. Tell me about your nest.”
	The two Dragons in question stopped doing it, and Frazz gave them a puzzled look.
	“Erm. Well, it had a fire-pit of course. To cook the meat and stuff. And we all dug sleeping holes. Mum would toss uneaten scraps of meat on the fire to keep the place tidy. Yeah! She’d get us to tidy up too. Bones and stuff. And we’d poop outside the nest, behind a rock, and Mum would blast it every day, to keep it… What’s the word, Thark?”
	“Clean? Sanitary?”
	“Yeah, san-it-ary. That’s it. But that lot are a bunch of unrelated Dragons, I’d say. No mother Dragon in sight.”
	“Hmm.” Thark watched the Dragons in the nest for a while. There were five of them, two females and three males. They were all about two to three times the size of Frazz.
	“How long before you get to that size, Frazz?”
	Frazz laughed. “Err, never, pal. Those are swamp Dragons. I’m a highland Dragon.”
	“You’re what, Frazz? There are different types of Dragons?”
	Frazz was surprised. “You didn’t know that? Look at their feet!” He waved one of his in front of Thark, extending his sharp claws. “Theirs are more paddle like, pal. For walking in swamps and swimming. I’m more used to moors and rocky places.”
	“Nobody noticed that?” said Thark to himself. He took another look at the Dragon nest. “They do look a little different to you, Frazz. More stocky. That’s astounding!”
	“I didn’t realise at first that there are different types of Dwarfs.”
	“Different types of Dwarfs? There’s only one sort of Dwarf!”
	“What about Kev, the barman? He’s a different sort of Dwarf from you, isn’t he?”
	“He’s a Human!”
	“Is that not a type of Dwarf? How about Steevve?”
	“Steevve is an Ogre! I told you that!”
	“Krizztal, the cleaner?”
	“Now you’re pulling my leg! She’s a Ghoul!”
	“Ah! You all look very similar to me!”
	The Dragon and the Dwarf looked at each other in confusion for a minute, and then they realised that nest of Dragons had fallen quiet. They both turned to look at the swamp Dragons who had all paused in the middle of their activities and were looking straight at them.
	“Run!” yelled the little Dragon, heading away from the nest.
	“Over here, idiot!” shouted the Dwarf, scrabbling on a rock. “Now where’s that lock and handle?”
	“Quick! Quick!” squeaked the Dragon, as he batted away a fire ball or two.
	“Got it!” said the Dwarf. He dragged the Dragon through the hidden door.
	“I think we need to talk to Grizzy,” said Thark.
	Frazz nodded. “Yeah.” Then he frowned. “What about?”
	“You daft bugger!”
***
Grizzy watched them come in. “Sit down, sit down, Thark. Get out of there, Frazz!”
	“What? Oh, OK.” Frazz removed his head from Grizzy’s rubbish bin. He scanned her desk.
	“There’s no food here either,” she told the small Dragon. “Well, what did you want, guys? What did you find out?”
	Frazz humphed and lay down, like a scaly Labrador dog.
	“As you requested, Grizzy, we went and investigated that nest of Dragons that the Oracle found the other day.”
	“Oh yeah. Down by the marsh. What did you find out?”
	“They were swamp Dragons, Grizzy,” said Frazz. “Messy buggers.”
	“Yeah, apparently Frazz is a mountain Dragon. Doesn’t much like the swamp Dragons. He told me that he wouldn’t grow as big as the swamp Dragons, and that his mother kept their nest much cleaner and tidier.”
	“They stank,” interjected Frazz.
	Grizzy regarded the little Dragon over the top of her desk. “There are types of Dragon? Swamp Dragons? Mountain Dragons? How many other sorts? Do you know, Frazz?”
	“Well, er, no, Grizzy. When I left the nest, I went down to the lowlands and the Dwarfs, sorry, I mean Humans there had sausages! It was awesome! But the lowland Dragons warned me about the swamp Dragons! The humans didn’t like them either, so I avoided them. Say, the local Humans didn’t think I was a swamp Dragon! They got on well with the highland Dragons and the lowland Dragons. They knew the difference!”
	“Hmm, where was your nest, Frazz?”
	“Dunno! Oh, the Dw—, Humans called the range Krack,,, Kanag... something?”
	“The Kragsbergs?”
	“Yeah! That’s it.”
	“I know some Dwarfs over that way. I’ll send them a message. Pick their brains.”
	“Get them to send some sausages! Yours are great, but theirs are amazing.” The Dragon drooled at the thought.
	“I’ve heard that, pal,” smiled Grizzy. “I might just do that.”
	She stared at the little Dragon, and Frazz just grinned back. His grins showed a lot of teeth.
	“Hmm,” said Grizzy, after a long pause. “Suddenly Dragons become a problem, or so the High Council of All Humanoids decrees. Suddenly the Oracle is reporting sighting of Dragons across the Seven Realms. Suddenly the Council requests that we ‘deal’ with Dragons that are reported to be a problem. And they are, and we do.”
	Frazz giggled. “Sorry!”
	“Suddenly we come across a cute, amenable little Dragon. Sorry, Frazz. I think that you are what you seem to be, but I can’t help but be suspicious. Why is this all happening?”
	Frazz looked from side to side. “Sausages?” he tried.
	Thark and Grizzy laughed. Grizzy turned to Thark.
	""We'll have to find out,"" she said.
","August 12, 2023 23:27",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,8pzlka,"The adventures of Nemo, the plush fish",Dao Huy Kien,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8pzlka/,/short-story/8pzlka/,Fluff,0,"['Adventure', 'Contemporary', 'East Asian']",5 likes,"
Nemo was a plush fish with the same figure of the young clownfish in Disney’s cartoon “Finding Nemo”. He was born among other cotton animals in a workshop in Saigon. After only one day staying in the workshop, he was moved to a truck to go to the seaport, where they put his box in a container. After being filled with boxes, the container was loaded on board. Nemo asked other cotton animals where they were and where they were going but no one knew. Nemo only felt a strange taste: the salty taste of the sea. Nevertheless, he didn’t know what the sea was. Nemo tried to listen to sounds outside. He slightly noticed the voice of people calling others boisterously, the murmur of sea waves, and most clearly, the howl of the ship’s whistle. Then, the ship began her voyage. It was a long journey. Nemo felt like the trip were endless. He was anxious to get out of dark, stuffy and boring box. Besides, he didn’t like the feeling of floating in the ship. Finally, after nearly a month on the sea, the ship arrived in New York harbor. A few days later, Nemo appeared on a shelf of Disney store on the Fifth Avenue of New York city. It was exactly the place he wished to be. The store always sparkled with lights and happy music and was glitteringly decorated, but the most pleasure was the appearance of children, a lot of children. Differing from adult creatures Nemo saw in the workshop, quiet and austere, children were usually naughty, noisy and laughing. They even spread their pleasure to adults. Nemo watched children playing, wishing he could run and jump like them. But he was only a plush fish. Every time finding Nemo, children enjoy looking at him, hugging him and fondling his fluffy body, which made him feel very happy. However, once, there was a naughty boy snatching his fin, causing him painful and fretful. The boy even asked his mother to buy him Nemo, so that the plush fish found himself in a cold sweat. He only breathed again when the mother refused the boy as he had already torn another Nemo raggedly right after bringing home last time.
From his position, Nemo could see the world outside through a huge window class. On the outside road, a stream of people walked hastily, but there was a girl stand for a long time before the window. She was playing violin for pedestrians. Some people stopped to listen to her music, then dropped some bucks or pennies in her violin box. Nemo could not hear the sound of her violin but he enjoyed watching her pull the bow along the strings. Her act was flexible this time but firm that time. Her eyes were so passionate that Nemo wished he could play violin.
Nemo felt happy here. He wanted to be like that forever, everyday watching children and the violin girl. But the pleasure is short like a period a butterfly sit on your shoulder. After only three days, he had to leave the Disney store, continuing his adventures. A woman, in her travel to New York, visited the Disney store and bought Nemo as a present for her little daughter. It cost her $12.99 to take him.
He had to come to the bag, and then, the suitcase. This time, he did not even have any friends to talk to. In return, he did not have to stay in the dark as long as last time. Nemo was on an air flight and it only took him two days to be at the destination. He enjoyed flying in an airplane. He was just a little bit scared when the airplane taking off and landing, and sometimes his ear was blocked, but those also were exciting experiences, he thought so. Another interesting thing was that Nemo was back to Vietnam, his hometown, but not Saigon. He was in Hanoi. When the mother came home, her little daughter ran to her.
“Mama, do you bring gifts for me?”, the daughter asked.
“Yes, I bought a lot of gifts for my sweetheart!”, the mother answered. 
The daughter eagerly asked her mother to open the suitcase. Having just seen Nemo, she screamed out loud.
“Ah! Nemo! How beautiful! I love you, mum.”
The mother felt really happy as she brought pleasure to her daughter. Meanwhile, Nemo was proud that he was a treasure in the little girl’s eyes. She pampered the plush fish so much, often embracing him in her arms, fondling him as if he were a kitten. Night after night, she hugged Nemo while sleeping. Once the girl brought him to the bathroom to play with. Witnessing that foolish act, the mother asked her:
“Why did you bring it to the bathroom? Who would clean the floor if it were soaked and made the floor wet?”
“But Nemo is a fish. He must’ve wanted to swim in the water”, the daughter answered naively.
“Oh, my foolish girl! It is not a real fish but a cotton animal.”
The girl didn’t change her mind and the mother had to humor the stubborn girl. It was the first time Nemo touched water. His eager quickly turned to be sickness as water soaked into his body. At that moment, he began to understand the woman’s word. He is not a real fish but a plush one. He cannot swim. The little girl soon realized her mistake, too, and got him out of water.
Nemo and the little girl went together through her childhood. But when growing up, the girl did not love him anymore. The plush fish was not chubby like the first day he was born because the girl hugged him too much that he was much flatter. Moreover, the girl had so many new cotton-animal friends that she no longer cared about him. Therefore, Nemo had to stay silently at the corner of the room, counting the days.
One day, there is a charity subscription of old cotton animals for poor children at the girl’s school. She eagerly took the plush fish and some other cotton animals to the subscription and hoped they would bring happiness to poor friends. Consequently, Nemo continued his adventures. However, his position now was different. Sadness filled his heart as people no longer liked him. He was not the proud Nemo on the shelf of gorgeous Disney’s store on the Fifth Avenue, New York. Now he lied in the dirty bag together with other neglected cotton animals. They lamented to each other, talking about their golden age.
Nemo followed the volunteers to an orphanage in the suburb of Hanoi. When they delivered things to the children, a gray-skin child snatched him. Nemo was rather sad since he got used to being hugged by white and clean girls and boys. Every time the boy hugged Nemo, the plush fish had to suffer his bad smell. Anyway, Nemo consoled himself, the boy was not silly or disabled like many kids there. Because the boy’s smell was so bad (but he didn’t realize that), few kids played with him and no one was close to him. Meanwhile, even blind kids had close friend, and silly ones were not smart enough to be sad of lacking close friend. The bad-smelling boy considered Nemo his only close friend. The boy usually talked to him. Nemo listened to the boy’s words and gradually liked him. The boy often mentioned his parents, who – might be get into some kind of accidents- leave him at the hospital. Each time seeing kids with their parents beside, the boy felt sad. He told Nemo that when growing up he were surely going to find his parents. The plush fish felt sorry for the boy. Sometimes, Nemo was sad because all people have parents while he, the plush fish, do not. He reminisced about the mother of his old owner and her warm love for her daughter. He wished he could have a mother like her…
The boy had bright and smart eyes. He studied passionately, especially when the subject was mathematics. He solved all difficult exercises in the advance fifth grade Mathematics book, which was given to him by the volunteers. When studying, the boy put Nemo beside. The fish watch the boy study with extreme concentration. The boy’s eyes were as beautiful as the violin girl’s. Nemo did not understand why the letters in the book attracted the boy that much. The boy was the proud of mothers in the orphanage. But the more intelligent and diligent he was, the more painful was their heart. The boy contracted a deadly disease, AIDS, and the doctor said that his life would soon come to an end. They tried to hide the truth but one day, the boy finally found out. There seemed to be a door suddenly close before his eyes. The bright prospect he drew for himself disappeared. He threw the books which he used to foster to the floor. He had expected that those books would change his life but at the moment the Death were coming closely, they were meaningless. The boy embraced Nemo, his teardrops were rolling and rolling. When the pain subsided, an idea suddenly grew in his mind. He escaped the orphanage with his close friend in his arms. He had to make his biggest dream come true before dead: finding his parents.
The boy walked relentlessly. He had never walked far like this time. The scene around him kept changing upon each footstep: the hills, the fields, then solitary cottages. Nemo was interested in looking at wonderful landscape. It was the first time he integrated himself into the immense nature. In New York, he saw only skyscrapers. They don’t have huge sky there. The boy had been walking for half a day. His feet reached Hanoi urban areas. He intended to look for the hospital where he was born to ask for his parents’ information. The boy asked people how to go to the hospital but no one answer. Moreover, they threw despising looks to him, then turned their backs on him. Some even swear at him. The boy was so ugly and stinky that everybody hated him. Only Nemo cared for him, but he couldn’t do anything for the boy since he was only a plush fish. The boy was both hungry and thirsty. He had had nothing in his stomach for the whole day. Seeing a restaurant, he came to ask for water. Nevertheless, having just seen the boy, the watchman of the restaurant screamed:
“Get out! No begging here.”
“I just asked for a glass of water”, said the boy.
“What? Are you deaf? I said ‘get out’!”
The watchman savagely kicked the boy at his stomach. The boy fell to the ground, with an arm embracing the stomach while another still holding his close friend. Having watched the ugly boy since he came to the street was a pack of shoeshine boys. They were curious as the boy still held the fish while falling. Then, one of them went silently to the boy and grabbed Nemo from his hand. The shoeshine boy eagerly showed off Nemo to his friends. Lying painfully on the ground, the stinky boy startle when his close friend was stolen. He stood up reluctantly, dragged his feet to the shoeshine boys. 
“Give him back to me!”, he said.
“Who? This fish?”
“Give him back to me!”
“Why did you act as if this ugly fish were a treasure?”
“He is my friend.”
“Oh! I see! You make friends with this ugly fish because you are ugly, too.”
“Give him back to me!”
The ugly boy screamed loudly and plunge into the shoeshine boys to snatch the plush fish. The shoeshine boys turned to be angry and beat the ugly boy fiercely. After the boy fainted away, they left him with his fish at a corner of the street. Nemo tried to scream out loud, but he could not make any sound. He was just a plush fish. Pedestrians still walked across coldly as if no one realized the existence of the lying boy. In his dream, the boy saw his parents. They led him to a shimmering-light area. Suddenly, he turned back. He heard his close friend calling him. He smiled, waving his hand to say goodbye to Nemo, then followed his parents…
Next morning, a dead boy was discovered. Curious people gathered around talking while the police were doing the report. Someone said the boy had stolen and been beaten to death. Thus, everybody supposed that the boy deserved the death. After the police brought the body of the boy away, curious people went, too. There was only Nemo alone.
In that evening, it rained heavily in Hanoi. There were dazzling lightnings and growling thunders. The street Nemo lying started to be flooded. The tide gradually rose. The plush fish felt that he was melting into water. In the rain, he seemed to hear the sound of a violin. That melodious sound took his soul back to places he had arrived. He saw austere workers in the cotton-animals workshop, he floated to the Disney store and saw naughty children, he saw the violin girl on the Fifth Avenue, he found himself in the room of his old owner who was doing massage for her mother. He smiled and flew to the sky. Over there, his close friend was waiting for him…
 
","August 14, 2023 07:30",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,0y1qry,My furry best friend,Rudy Greene,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0y1qry/,/short-story/0y1qry/,Fluff,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Friendship']",5 likes,"
 It was Christmas morning, my girlfriend Sandy and I were spooning and in a deep sleep. We spent Christmas eve at her house. A very noisy ruckus disturbed my bliss. I sat bold upright and for a few seconds was totally disoriented. What was that large doll doing on the chair across from my bed? Since when was my room painted pink? My girlfriend’s hug and kiss reoriented me but what was that horrendous noise? It sounded like someone was dying or being murdered.
“It’s my cats and dog. It sounds like it’s coming from the garage. They must have cornered something.” Sandy whispered in my ear. We both rose. I put on some running shorts and Sandy grabbed a robe and we ran barefoot to the garage. Sure enough her two Persians and Golden Retriever were in a corner of the garage trying to get behind a huge chest that was against the wall.
“There’s something behind the chest. Let’s move it.” Sandy said as she pulled the chest away from the wall. I restrained the Golden Retriever and Sandy blocked the Persians as soon as we saw it. A small gray fur ball was trembling in the corner.
“Oh my, it’s a kitten. It looks like a newborn. Someone must have dumped it Christmas eve. It’s not that unusual. Let’s bring it into the house.” Sandy said as she lifted the little being into the palm of her hand.
I had never seen such a small being and feared for its life. My experience with pets was limited to fish and turtles. According to my mother, I was allergic to all kinds of fur. I was allowed only one stuffed toy during my childhood. You could say I was pet and toy deprived. So, when Sandy took the fur ball into the house with all her pets following, I was clueless what to do next. Sandy put a saucer of milk on the kitchen counter and tried to tilt the kitten’s head towards the milk but to no avail. The kitten would not drink. She then took a pair of rubber gloves, cut off the top of one of the fingers and filled the glove with milk. Lo and behold, the kitten began to suckle. I was impressed.
“Wow, you really have a knack and know-how with your pets. Now you’ll have three cats.” I said admiringly.
 Sandy shook her head. “There’s no way I can handle another cat. My cats will eat the little thing for lunch. You should take it home with you. It will be good practice for you to live with another being.”
I wasn’t sure how to interpret the implication of her last comment but chose to ignore it. Instead, I pulled my allergy card. “I am allergic to animal fur and am not home during the daytime. It’s not a good idea.”
Sandy smiled and put the fur ball in my hand. “I don’t see you sneezing now, and my pets don’t seem to affect you. Cats are pretty independent, just leave some food out for it during the day and it will be fine. Try it for a week and if you can’t handle it, you can return it to me or give it to a shelter.”
I shook my head and tried to give the fur ball back to Sandy, but she turned away. Her dog and cats were still lingering curiously around my legs, and I felt suddenly protective. I walked the kitten to the bedroom, put it on the bed and got dressed. Sandy accompanied me to my car. I had the kitten clutched against my chest. It had stopped trembling. I kissed Sandy goodbye, placed the kitten on my lap and started the car. After a few minutes of driving the kitten had crawled up onto my chest and was looking into my eyes. I knew I was screwed! My heart melted and we bonded for life.
For the next few weeks, I fed it with a rubber glove but eventually got Bobcat or Bob to drink from a saucer. He grew into a large, long haired gray cat and a ferocious hunter. I sneezed occasionally but the deluge did not come. After a month, I let him wander outside. I was tired of cleaning his cat box and thought he might start doing his business elsewhere. At first, I restricted him to my fenced backyard. We would play tag. I would chase him the length of the yard pat his head and then turn and have him chase me. We would repeat the chase several times until I became exhausted. Soon I noticed that he could jump un top of the six-foot fence and escape, but he’d always return for dinner. 
One morning as I ran down my street to the busy boulevard where I would complete a ten-mile run, I noticed a gray blur running parallel to me in the shadows. As I crossed the road, Bob followed me into traffic. I jumped in front of an oncoming car with my hands waving, grabbed Bob and ran him home. For the next several years, I locked him in the house during my runs.
Sleeping was an adventure with Bob. He would either wrap himself around my neck like a fur collar or lie next to me and purr into my ear. I would either sweat for hours or lay awake until the purring stopped, or I conditioned myself to its soothing effect. Occasionally, I’d wake up to his kneading my chest with his nails. I’d then throw him into the hallway and close the door, but he’d just cry until I relented and let him back in. If he was still in the hallway in the morning, I’d see his paws moving back and forth under the doorway.
If I was home during the day, Bob would observe me from the top of the eight-foot wall which partitioned my living room from the hallway. He was my sentinel. Other days he’d bring me gifts, usually live ones.  I knew I was in trouble when I’d see him run by me emitting a muffled sound. Something was in his mouth. Mice, birds and voles were common prey. I would try to corner them with a broom and a wastepaper basket while sequestering Bob to a different room.  Most of the time, I was able to save his gifts from an untimely and unseemly death and liberate them in my backyard. Occasionally, I found corpses behind doorways in my house. Bob preferred presenting me with live gifts. I wasn’t thrilled. He amazed me several times with the size of his gifts. I spent a whole day chasing a bat with a broom and directing a Bluejay to an open window.
 I found the most memorable gift in my bathtub. There was a trail of blood leading from the hallway, through my bedroom, up and into the tub. I followed the trail and to my horror found a large headless squirrel lying in a pool of blood. At least Bob had the sense to dispose of the corpse in an easily cleaned place. Still, I felt I was witnessing a murder scene. Tearfully, I donned a pair of plastic gloves, deposited the body in a plastic bag and ran down the street, looking for a place to deposit the evidence. Several blocks away, there was a house with very thick bushes in its front yard. I emptied the bag and disposed of the body in the bushes. It would decompose before anyone could find it. No one could implicate Bob. I ran home and was somewhat relieved but spent hours cleaning my floor and bathtub. 
Bob’s forays into the wilderness weren’t always successful. He had many fights with raccoons and other cats. I treated him for wounds and abscesses almost monthly. Injecting him with antibiotics was a challenge. I think I still have the scars from his scratches. Strangely, he would put my finger or hand in his mouth as a threat but never bite. I guess he knew the adage never bite the hand that feeds you. 
Bob was very sociable. He’d visit all the neighbors, often just walking through their front door if invited. Inevitably, he’d be fed. After a few years I had to put a note around his neck that said Don’t feed me, since he was becoming obese. When I had visitors, he’d follow them around the house until they sat down and then he’d jump onto their laps and purr. Guests sleeping in my guest bedroom were treated to a furry bedmate. During Bob’s first year, my mother, who was notoriously animal phobic came screaming out of the bedroom in the middle of the night when Bob jumped on her chest. She eventually grew to appreciate his affections. She was shocked when I greeted her at her arrival with Bob on my shoulder purring. My shoulder was his usual perch when guests arrived.
When Bob was four, a cousin was evicted from her apartment and needed a place to stay for a few months with her two cats. I offered my guest bedroom. Bob was not thrilled. The two cats were not friendly, and Bob would disappear for days. I would receive calls from a neighbor a half a mile away. Bob would cry in his backyard all night. I’d drive down the road, find Bob and take him home. Eventually, I moved into a one room apartment I had on my property to give my cousin and her cats more space. They were extending their visit and my cousin did not seem to understand or care how disruptive they were. I had had enough. Bob slept with me nightly when I wasn’t at my girlfriend’s house. Eventually, Bob and I regained possession of our house.
As the years passed Bob’s fur became thinner and he shrank. He developed hyperthyroidism. The vet prescribed liquid medication for him. I tried to squirt the liquid into his mouth but to no avail. Trying to squirt it between his teeth was too risky and he’d squirm away. Finally, I mixed it in his food and hoped he’d ingested at least most of the needed dose. He was aging and would cry most of the night. I got married and moved into a house a mile away. After several sleepless nights my wife and I decided to sequester Bob with his cat box in a room on the other side of the house at nighttime. We slept better.
As Bob passed into his seventeenth and eighteenth year, he developed cat dementia and became incontinent, leaving us new kinds of presents around the house. Interestingly, he’d wander down to my old neighborhood a mile away and visit all the old neighbors. I’d receive phone calls from them to come retrieve him. Finally, one morning as I stretched on the floor, Bob licked my face, my arms and legs. I had an ominous feeling. He had never done that before. One hour later, when I was at work, my wife called. She found Bob dead on the kitchen floor. He had said his goodbye. I still have some of his ashes. The rest are buried in our backyard with a cat headstone. He was my bud and I miss him.
 
 
","August 14, 2023 21:42","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'I have a cat named BOB. He is 12.  He is still lonely for Blacktop who died a year and a half ago at age 21. He is full of personality, too.', 'time': '07:02 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Rudy Greene': 'Bobs rule! Thanks for sharing.  Rudy', 'time': '19:35 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Rudy Greene': 'Bobs rule! Thanks for sharing.  Rudy', 'time': '19:35 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,p8pvnf,La Lupa ,Mia Long,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p8pvnf/,/short-story/p8pvnf/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Historical Fiction']",4 likes,"
Tobias kicked a patch of grass as he strode further away from the schoolhouse. His fair face was thunderous beneath the sweat soaked strands of his bright hair. The skin around his left eye was red. It would soon turn a mottled purple, maybe even black.Harvey Foster always threw the hardest punches. He was older than Tobias, stronger than him, and meaner. The stinging urge to cry grew the further away he got from the building. Tobias wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He wouldn’t give any of them the satisfaction of making him drop a single tear. He took heaving breaths to calm himself as he climbed the wooden fence dividing the woods from the school yard. Tobias paused for a moment just sitting on the top slat of the fence. The wind offered a fresh chill to the heat radiating from cheeks. “Breathe,” he could hear his Ma’s soft voice in the back of his head.The furrow in his brows eased. “Breathe,” he murmured.With a clumsy hop he descended the fence. Promptly, his worn leather boots slipped in the fresh mud. His spine met the wet earth a moment later and the air shot from his lungs in a strangled wheeze. He blinked up at the gray sky, his head spinning. All he could do was laugh. It was a harsh, biting sound. Tears rolled down his freckled cheeks. He could just see Foster’s face sneering down at him now, “Rollin’ in the muck like the mutt you are, Cross?”He grit his teeth, his split lip starting to bleed again as his mouth stretched into a grimace. “Plug-ugly bastard,” he fumed. The mud soaked through the worn fabric of his shirt and pants with ease. He closed his dark eyes. “Shit.”Tobias drove hid hands into the mud and pushed himself to his feet. Ma would wash his mouth out with soap if she ever caught him cussin’ like that. His fingers squelched as he tightened them into fists. She’d probably dump him in the creek when he got home too. The thought made his lips twitch upwards. These were his good pants, after all. With a sniff he wiped his dirty palms across the fabric on his thighs. Nah, Ma’d save herself the trouble of washing them and just skin him to make a new pair. He snorted. Maybe with some boots to match.The flattened grass path into the woods was one some of the older boys used when they wanted to skip lessons. Mrs. Ward’s ruler left raised red lines across their knuckles for hours whenever she managed to catch them. Tobias wasn’t interested in having his own matching marks and trudged off through the underbrush before lunch was over. The faint glimpses of sun that filtered through the treetops cast green light across the ground. The effect was similar to the perfume bottle his Ma kept on her windowsill. Da had gotten it for her before he… Tobias huffed. He struck some of the small rocks at his feet with the toe of his muddy boot as he walked. Best not to dwell on it.He kept a sharp eye out for animal traps or fresh footprints. His Ma would murder him if he got eaten by an animal. Uh. No, wait. She’d revive him somehow, then she’d kill him. Lucky for him, there had only been one close call with a small pitfall trap. The path had become less identifiable the further on he went. At some point it would lead to town. He knew that. As long as he kept walking west and didn’t get turned around. The setting sun made that easier too.He made to grab the beef jerky from his pocket when a noise rose up over the peaceful din of birdsong and rustling leaves. Tobias’ spine went rigid. He froze with one foot in the air and his left hand hovering over his side. Another low whining sound came through the trees to his left.When he looked back on the this moment months from now, he wouldn’t be able to recall if it was bravery, curiosity, or sheer stupidity that made him do it. But he turned left and followed the sound when it came again. He expected a dog or small creature that would match the keening noise. He was very wrong.Now Tobias had a problem. A very big, very hairy problem. They stared each other down. Yellow on brown. His breath caught in his throat and his knees locked up beneath him. He wouldn’t be able to run even if he tried.The beast’s lips pulled back. Saliva dripped from its maws. Its teeth were the size of his thumb! There shouldn’t have been any wolves near town. Trappers and wolfers had come through the area only a few weeks ago. They’d been assured that all the beasts had been taken care of. They’d been assured their livestock was safe. Evidently they were wrong. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to realize the beast was caught in an old steel trap. Its back right leg was a bloody mess.Relief swooped low in his belly. He could run and it wouldn’t follow. He could turn his back and the creature would be stuck watching him go. He could kill it. It would be a mercy at this point. He had his slingshot in his back pocket and there was a plethora of perfect stones at his feet. Not to mention the knife in his boot. It would solve everything! The bounty on wolves was nearly 50 bucks per wolf these days. Or at least that’s what the trappers had said. They could fix the leaky roof. No! They could sell the house. They could move somewhere nice. Where Ma didn’t have to work, and there was no Harvey Foster with his heavy fists and crooked teeth.Tobias reached out slowly for a smooth rock. His eyes slid from the wolf’s to the ground and in that split second the beast lunged. It’s jaws slammed shut a foot away from his hand and Tobias stumbled back. The creature yelped and Tobias’ arms pinwheeled. He landed flat on his backside, his tailbone slamming into something hard. The rapid thud of his heartbeat dulled the sound of the animal's low whines.“Breathe, Tobias.”He set his jaw, “Breathe.”He got to his knees and grabbed a stone about the size of a peach pit. His eyes locked with the wild yellow gaze and painfully slow he reached for the slingshot in his back pocket.The wolf’s sides were heaving. Its rumbling growl created a terrifying white noise. Tobias could feel a bead of sweat crawl down his temple as his trembling fingers slotted the stone into the leather pad of his weapon. He was a good shot. From this distance it wouldn’t even matter if he were a shit one though. He stood carefully and stretched out the band as far as it would go. One shot right between the eyes.Would it hurt? What if it didn’t kill it? His arm twitched with the effort of holding the band taut. His breathing started to grow rapid again. His own chest began to heave. They watched each other with pupils the size of pinpricks. Their hearts hammering. The wolf whined again and stumbled. Tobias watched it shrink in on itself. Its tail hung low and its ear pressed back. He bit into his lip and tried to get his fingers to release the band. His whole body shuddered.They stood watching each other for what seemed like an hour. His arms burned and he could see the beast’s legs trembling. “Agh!” He cried as he tossed the slingshot into the dirt.The sound seemed to echo through the trees. He couldn’t do it. “Can’t even kill an oversize dog, coward.” Foster’s grating voice drifted through his head like nails on a chalkboard.He crouched low and tried to slow his racing pulse. The animal seemed to have the same thing in mind. The tension eased but never left its strong limbs. Its growling subsided. Tobias turned his eyes back to the trap clamped down on its leg. He winced. “Alright,” he muttered.With slow, clear to see movements he reached inside his left pocket. The beast snarled. “It’s alright,” he gulped. “It’s fine.”His voice trembled.He wrapped his fingers around a stick of dried beef and steadily brought it out. The wolf’s nose twitched and for the first time its eyes weren’t on him but on the food. “Peace offering,” Tobias said uneasily.He tossed the jerky forward and watched with bated breath as the wolf nosed at it. Its startling eyes flicked to him twice before it snapped it up between its powerful jaws. Without him realizing it, a smile tried to edge its way onto his face. It was brittle but when the wolf looked back at him again it remained fixed.The details were fuzzy. It happened quickly. One moment he’d taken off his torn jacket. Then the next the wolf's head was covered with the material and he grappled with it to get it to stay on. He had no interest in getting bitten.The weight of his body pressed the animal down reluctantly. His knees kept both sides of the material pinned to the earth. The wolf’s head stuck between the dirt and the muddied fabric. “Sorry sorry sorry-” he frantically looped as he grasped the steel trap.He groaned as he desperately pushed down on the side levers. The wolf bucked and barked. Growled and griped. The trap cracked open and he tugged its foot off of the compression pan. The wolf’s struggling stilled.Tobias took that moment to rip his jacket off the beast and scrambled back. It shook its head and snorted before growling at him. Then it shifted its back leg and paused. Its head tilted to the side and Tobias began to feel just a tad bit scrutinized. “Right. Well. Good luck to you,” he said to the animal (not that it understood the sentiment). Without a further thought he lobbed his last chunk of jerky in the opposite direction and bolted.Tobias Cross was a tall, gangling teen. His face was rather skeletal and his clothes tended to hang off him awkwardly. His Ma constantly assured him that he’d “Grow into them eventually.” -Doubtful.- Nonetheless, he’d been dubbed “scarecrow” on a number of occasions by his schoolmates. He wouldn’t make a very filling dinner. There was barley any fat or muscle on his limbs to speak of. He hoped the wolf saw that too. The dried beef would be the easier -and more tasty- option.For most of the run home he felt like the beast was right on his heels. It couldn’t have been, not with that injured leg. By the time his house came into few the sun had dipped behind the horizon. His body barreled up the porch and through the front door. He slammed it shut behind him and gulped air like a drowning man. “Tobias? That you?” A voice called from down the hall.Sweet relief. The back of his head thunked against the old door. “Yeah, Ma.”There was a clanging sound coming from the kitchen. “You’re home late.” She said“Sorry, Ma.”He heard her sigh as he stepped further into the house. “Go wash up, hon. I’ve got dinner on the table.”Tobias paused. Slowly he looked down at himself. He might as well have been rolling in the mud. His pants were filthy, his boots had left stains along the floor, and the jacket griped tight in his fist was covered in saliva and puncture marks. “Shit!” He cursed under his breath.“What was that!?”“Nothing!”She did in fact make him take a dip in the creek that night. She did scold him about his clothes and she screeched when she saw the blinker Foster had given him. He didn’t breathed a word about the wolf.It was a week before he ventured off into the woods again. He’d been admiring Lizzie Everly as she braided her dark locks when he was sent flying. Tobias slammed into the unforgiving dirt and almost wished for soft squishy mud. Foster had come barreling at him out of nowhere. He knew Harvey was sweet on Lizzie. Everyone was sweet on Lizzie. No one else was getting tackled for staring!There’s not much he remembered about the fight. Only that he lost and something about Foster puttin’ him in an “eternity box.”Indignant, he got to his feet and shoved aside some of the onlookers. Lizzie included, much to his embarrassment. He hopped the fence before Mrs. Ward saw him. He stuck the landing.This time wasn’t so bad. Foster hadn’t gone for his face and the only bruises he’d need to nurse would be the ones on his shoulder blades and pride. It took him a moment to remember the events of the week prior. The dangers that laid within the woods were worse than at school.Tobias cringed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could turn back now. His cheeks flushed at the thought. Everyone had watch him flounder in that scrap. He’d rather face the wolf. At least it wouldn’t laugh at him. “No, it’ll just eat me,” he mumbled. Nonetheless, he continued on. He found the wolf not far from where it had been trapped. Or, well… It found him. He’d been biting into the sandwich his Ma had made when rusting leaves startled him. He yelped and his sandwich went careening through the air. The wolf darted forward and snapped it up before Tobias could make a grab for it.He gulped. It was the same wolf, if a bit skinnier. Piercing yellow eyes and gray fur. Its back leg was raised gingerly. There was no way it could run with that. No way it could hunt like that. It must have been starving, and he was a sitting duck.“Hello,” Tobias greeted slowly. How was one meant to greet a wild animal? Certainly not like a pet, he imagined. “That was my lunch.”It licked its lips. Tobias swallowed roughly. “Ma would be glad to know you liked it.” It took a step forward. Tobias scuttled backwards. “She would decidedly not be glad if you ate me,” he said with a disconcerting laugh.  He tried to get to his feet but his shoes slid over the loose dirt and twigs. It kept prowling closer, and Tobias kept crawling away. That was, until he couldn’t. His back met the rough bark of a tree. The wolf was upon him before he could try to use it to push himself up. His shoulders drew up to his ears. He though it would go for his throat first. It might have if Tobias hadn’t scrambled for his pocket nearly taring it off. He yanked out a piece of jerky and tossed it.The wolf dove after it eagerly, but Tobias couldn’t run. His legs were a liquid puddle. His heart was in his throat. The wolf scrambled back to him and before he could even think to fight, it shoved its entire snout into his pocket. The seams tore loudly. Tobias squawked. “Hey!”The wolf pulled back with a large slice of dried meat between its teeth. It plopped itself down beside him and Tobias watch wide eyed as it chewed. It finished quickly and turned back to him. He rushed to grab another slice. It was taken from his fingers in a heartbeat. All he was left with was a palm full of saliva. “Egh… Thanks.”The beast tipped its head and waited. Tobias huffed in disbelief. He dug through his pockets for another bit, broke it in half and offered it on the flat of his palm. The wolf’s tail began to slap against the dirt when it took it.It laid down slowly, eyeing him but with its ears perked up. “I’m Tobias.” Something eased inside his chest.It licked the back of his closed fist and Tobias opened it. The wolf snatched the next strip of meat away before he could blink. “Guess I’m your meal ticket, huh?”The wolf’s loud chewing was answer enough. “You’ll need a name then.” He readied another piece. “What about Maximus? That’s a good strong name. Very manly.”The wolf blinked at him slowly. “Alright maybe not. Howell?”It sniffed this time and nipped at his fingers when he offered it food. Tobias snorted. “Right sorry. Hmm… Jasper?” he pondered that. “Jasper. Jass? Jazz? Oh I like that!”“It’s a pleasure to meat you Jazz.” It wasn’t until two months later that Tobias realized Jasper was a girl. 
","August 19, 2023 02:31",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,dmkphd,"Tiramisu, the cat, goes to Dallas",Paul Holland,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dmkphd/,/short-story/dmkphd/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Happy', 'Adventure']",4 likes,"
	It is 5:00 in the morning outside the Samuel Mather Building in Cleveland, Ohio. I am standing by a small black Ford Tempo, called Little Car. We are getting ready to head for Dallas, Texas. The adventure is going to begin. The Samuel Mather building houses my office and I am gathering a handful of items that I need to take with me to Dallas. My clothes, some important items, and personal effects are in the car but the car is small and does not carry as much as would be preferable. In part because, there on the front seat, in her carrier, is Tiramisu, my domestic short-hair cat. Also, best friend and love-of-my-life in many ways. 
 
	Cat’s are thought of as independent, aloof, uncaring, not loyal, and some think they view humans as staff. I am firmly of the opinion that this could not be further from the truth. They are not goofy affectionate like their companion animal of the canine persuasion. But in their own way they are fiercely loyal and they know their person very well. That was Tiramisu and I. 
 
	I remember when my partner and I went to pick a kitten from a litter that some friends had. I sat down to watch a ball game while my partner selected a kitten. As she sorted through the various options, Tiramisu came over to the couch, climbed on my lap, and turned to watch the game. Well, the only thing better than picking out a new family member is having the new family member pick you out, and so Tiramisu, as a tiny kitten came home. 
 
	That was four years before we embarked on our trip. My partner had been transferred to Dallas and I was going to be working remotely for a good bit of each month. Tiramisu was clearly unhappy about getting up early, getting into a carrier, and heading out into the cool morning, with literally no consultation on what her preference would be. 
 
	We began our drive to Dallas right out of downtown, hopping on I 71 out of Cleveland headed south. It takes five hours to clear Ohio and it was with a sense of saddness we crossed the old bridge that takes you from Cincinnati into Kentucky. That was about noon and the sun was up and the day was warming up. 
 
	Tiramisu had calmed down and since she was a very well-behaved cat to begin with, which is not to say she gave one damn about being good, she simply saw no value in being contrary. Her mantra appeared to be, “let’s get comfortable and see what this human of mine is going to do now.” 
 
	That being the case I felt comfortable turning the carrier so that the door faced towards me and I propped it open. She was able to crawl forward so she was half in the carrier and half on the seat and could look up at me, and we could speak. It also gave her access, should she need it to her litter, which was on the floor. Note, if you have not done the math, the entire front passenger seat was hers. 
 
	We rolled the windows down and the warm air flowed through the car as we cruised south through Kentucky, and then Tennessee. We saw a lot of activity associated with the agrarian industries prevalent in that part of the country. One notable example was a truck that we passed full of livestock. I remember, Tiramisu, looking up at me with a “what the hell” look of alarm, or perhaps morbid curiosity, who can tell which at that point? 
 
	Feeling nothing was to be gained by telling her the truth, especially one of which I was not comfortable nor certain, I reassured her they were on a field trip and there was no reason for her to have any concern, and on our way we went. 
 
	In Arkansas I found a rest area and very cautiously took her from the car and we had a meal. She was able to touch grass and relax away from the car. I hovered lest she bolt but she was well behaved. Then I put her back in the car, gave her some privacy (she was a lady), and I cleaned up from our impromptu picnic. 
 
	We headed on our way, Texas loomed out there and our new home beckoned. 
 
	Around midnight, we headed into Texas and began the trek west toward Dallas, with Texarkana in our rear-view mirror. By now the diet cokes and coffee were working less and less and, we were getting very tired. Up ahead we saw a rest area and, since it said rest right in the name, that seemed a good place to stop for a bit. We pulled in, parked the car, rolled the windows up, and tilted the driver’s seat back. And I dozed. 
 
	I have no clue how long I slept but all of a sudden I felt a set of eyes on me. I opened my eyes and there perched on my chest was an old friend who clearly wanted to know, “what-in-the-hell” was going on. We had a whole day invested in the adventure and now, based on smells and her dead reckoning, we were clearly a long way from home. I wrapped my arms around her and assured her that we were just going to see her mom and she would be living in a new wonderful home in a really great state. She looked doubtful. I fear my credibility was not high at this point. 
 
	After an hour or so, we headed off to finish our drive to Dallas. We rolled into town around 7:00 in the morning. Subtracting stops, we were around 20 hours on the road but now, we were at our new home. 
 
	Since that trip, she has made it back and forth three additional times and actually got really good at that trip. She was a trooper. But I remember feeling like if there was anyone with whom I wanted to travel, and there are very few, there are none who I enjoyed traveling with as much as I did my sweet Tiramisu.
","August 19, 2023 02:37",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,x5he64,The Midnight Wanderer,Karen McDermott,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x5he64/,/short-story/x5he64/,Fluff,0,"['Bedtime', 'Friendship', 'Happy']",4 likes,"
It was a cool July evening when Erinaceus europaeus finally accepted my offering.
 
That’s their scientific name. The hedgehog. I learned it just in case he responded to it, but I still had to look it up again to remember how to spell it.
 
I’m doing more of that since Horatio died. Not just with scientific words that you wouldn’t expect an 85-year-old retired seamstress to know anyway; but with simpler words like ‘fruitcake’, ‘newspaper’, ‘remorse’, and ‘lodger’. The difficulty with that last one struck when I was trying to place an ad for a new one. Not only did my husband go and die on me last year (prostate cancer – they said in the service that he’d battled it, though it was hard enough to even get him to lay a trap down for our mice visitors), but the nice quiet Asian I’d let what used to be Horatio’s study out to told me he was moving on to pastures new. 
 
A sweet boy, that Sim. We had an agreement – reduced rent in exchange for helping me out with some chores. And the non-verbalised arrangement of giving me some actual company. Folk had flocked around to supply me with more meals than I had the freezer space for and to tell me how sorry they were but the food avalanche ceased after a few weeks. I eventually got Sim to take all the empty food boxes back to their owners, as I wouldn’t have been able to bear the cycle of “I’m sorry”s starting up again. 
 
Chores. Or “activities of daily living”, as I noticed my orthopaedic surgeon had written in my discharge letter. “Activities of impending dying” I tend to think of it as (mainly as I know Horatio would have done one of his belly laughs at that, the sort of laugh that would send the pigeons scattering from the birdbath outside our kitchen window). 
 
The departure of Sim is how I found myself staring at cartons of hedgehog food in the supermarket that rainy Tuesday following my physiotherapy appointment. The cheeky mare, when he was through getting me in a twist with those giant elastic bands they have, recommended lifestyle and dietary changes. Which had thankfully reminded me I was running low on crumpets, so I headed to the shop. 
 
I’d gotten so used to someone else doing all the remembering for me.
 
It was about a week ago – no, it was two weeks ago, because it was the same day Christina had invited herself round on the pretence of sharing the flapjacks she’d accidentally made too many of and then waited until my mouth was too full to protest before whipping out the sponsorship forms for her knit-a-thon from her hiker’s rucksack. I should’ve guessed something was afoot when she turned up with that tatty brown lump on her back. Put her eyes on stalks and she’d be unmistakable from the snails whose homes I try to avoid crushing every time I put the bins out. 
 
Yes, it was two Wednesdays ago because I’d tossed the flapjacks out for the birds to finish because the diabetes nurse had given me strict instructions about my blood sugars, a copy of which I’d pinned to the fridge. Funny how one minute the fridge door is all fingerprint art that the kids have done that you have to pretend is in the running for a Turner prize, then it’s all notes to remind yourself what not to eat, after years spent doing without what you want anyway so the kids could have more on their plates. I whispered my own strict instructions to the birds to polish off the flapjacks, which had rapidly turned to slabs of cement and that once they were through dining, to fly over Christina’s car with a view to giving it a new paint job. 
 
Only person on the whole street who can afford to run a car, yet always has her hand out. Isn’t that always the way. 
 
I was up before the birds the next morning. I went to top up their bath with fresh water – they’d be needing it to give themselves a chance at unsticking their beaks from whatever superglue she’d put on those flapjacks – when I heard a rustling, just beneath the hedge at the far end. 
 
Nowt wrong with my ears. Yet. 
 
At first I thought it was next door’s oddball toddler, who I once found lying in a heap crying because he’d tried to climb up a sunflower and fallen off. He was babbling about golden eggs. Great to know they’re still teaching the classics. Would be even better if they started teaching about trespassing laws. 
 
But then I saw the little dark spikes, attached to something about the size of a foot. An actual honest to God hedgehog. Last time I'd seen one of those I could still manage to put a bra on without running out of puff. I crouched down, saying “hello hedgehog”, but off he scarpered, his little bum wriggling through a hole in the fence. I blinked and looked around, to see if anyone had seen it. But of course there’s nobody else around. 
 
I went back in my kitchen and got him his own dish of water, as I didn’t think he probably had the leg muscle to scale the pillar of the birdbath. I pulled a few scraps of fruit and veg out the compost and set those in a separate bowl. It felt like a long time since I had put out plates for anyone other than Sim, who always looked perplexed by things like cottage pie and beef Wellington. He offered to cook for me once, but I told him I was scared of putting my eye out with those funny sticks. 
 
It took a while for my hedgehog to bite. I guessed he’d been doing the rounds and getting his fill from other people’s gardens. I like to sit on my back step and talk to him. It’s not madness – it would be true madness if he ever spoke back, though. If I ever tell you that that's happened, you have my written permission to refer me to psychologist. I’ll add it to my list of all the other ologists I see. 
 
The list that’s pinned to my fridge of course. Along with a photo I printed off when I managed to catch my little spiky friend, the midnight wanderer, on camera. I may have to stay up past my bedtime, but I get a great listener in exchange. And best of all, he never tells me how sorry he is. 
","August 18, 2023 15:28","[[{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY\n\nplease come in I beg you', 'time': '20:57 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,3b4gko,Inaaya and the Gentle Giant,Ishan Gupta,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3b4gko/,/short-story/3b4gko/,Fluff,0,"['Kids', 'Bedtime', 'Friendship']",4 likes,"
Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a precious 4-year-old girl named Inaaya. Her heart was as expansive as the endless sky, brimming with love, innocence, and boundless curiosity. Inaaya's family had embarked on a journey from India to the distant shores of Ireland, a journey dictated by her parents' work. This transition brought them to a foreign land, leaving behind the familiar and embracing the unknown. Despite her tender age, Inaaya was a beacon of strength, adapting to this new chapter of life with a grace that seemed almost magical.Every day in Inaaya's world was like a symphony of joy, painted with hues of play, exploration, and laughter that echoed through her toys, her blooming garden, and her dearest friend, Sophia. Inaaya and her parents found themselves navigating this new adventure, yet it was the bond between these two young souls that proved to be a guiding light, illuminating the path ahead.One sunny Sunday morning, a special opportunity dawned upon Inaaya - a playdate at Sophia's house. Sophia, a steadfast companion from her days at creche and a cherished neighbor in this foreign realm, had extended her hand of friendship, helping Inaaya find her footing in the embrace of Dublin. Cloaked in her favorite pink attire, Inaaya radiated excitement, a bundle of nerves and anticipation, ready to immerse herself in a day that promised a mosaic of laughter and shared escapades.As Inaaya's footsteps approached Sophia's doorstep, her eyes were drawn to a sight that tugged at her heartstrings - a tail wagging with rhythmic enthusiasm. Zach, a golden retriever whose heart was as warm as the honey hues of his fur, stood there, a portrait of unbridled joy. Yet, within Inaaya's chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirled. She remembered stories of dogs, their boundless energy, and their powerful presence. Her feelings were a tapestry woven with threads of curiosity, apprehension, and wonder.Sophia, ever perceptive, sensed Inaaya's unease and rushed forward with a luminous smile that could rival the sun. ""Hello, Inaaya!"" she chimed, her voice a melody of unwavering cheer, ""Meet my furry friend, Zach. He's a sweetheart, I promise.""Inaaya's uncertainty led her to seek refuge behind her mother's protective embrace, her gaze darting nervously towards Zach. Yet, Zach's tail wagged on, a silent invitation to a friendship yet to be discovered. Still, Inaaya's heart quivered, her nervousness cascading into teardrops that clung to her lashes. Sophia's comforting touch, her soothing words, they were lifelines in this sea of emotions. ""It's okay, Inaaya. Dogs can seem big and lively, but Zach is like a cuddly teddy bear.""Inaaya's tears refused to be held at bay, and in that moment, the arms of Sophia's mother enveloped her in a cocoon of solace. ""There, there, Inaaya,"" her voice was a gentle whisper, a soothing balm to the heart, ""Dogs can be scary sometimes, but you take all the time you need."" With a graceful gesture, Zach was led to the garden, and Inaaya watched through the window. A pang of guilt danced within her chest - she didn't want Zach to feel sad because of her fear.With a soft apology whispered to Sophia, Inaaya's voice barely more than a sigh, her response was met with nothing but understanding and compassion. ""It's alright, Inaaya. New things can be daunting. But remember, Zach is forgiving and patient. We can try again when you're ready.""United by a shared resolve, Inaaya and Sophia stood at the threshold once more. Zach's tail painted joy in the air, a testament to his unwavering enthusiasm. Inaaya watched as Sophia and Zach engaged in a dance of play, forging a bond that seemed insurmountable, a bond rooted in trust and kindness. With Sophia's encouraging words echoing in her heart, Inaaya's fingers reached out tentatively, making contact with Zach's velvety fur. It was a sensation that felt like the embrace of a cherished stuffed animal, a source of comfort and warmth. Zach, in his gentle curiosity, nuzzled her hand with a tender sniff and a soft, affectionate lick. While traces of trepidation lingered, a flicker of bravery ignited in the depth of Inaaya's gaze.A tender smile, fragile yet resolute, curved Inaaya's lips - a testament to the blossoming of courage. Maybe, just maybe, Zach wasn't the intimidating force she had once imagined. Slowly, with her heart as her guide, her hand brushed against Zach's head, earning her a chorus of tail wags that painted the air with elation. Giggles bubbled from Inaaya's lips like a stream of pure joy as Zach's tail grazed her hand, a ticklish delight that dissolved the remnants of fear.Through shared games and laughter, through towers constructed from vibrant blocks, and through a shared snack that sealed their camaraderie, Inaaya and Sophia's bond grew stronger, illuminated by the warm light of friendship. And intermittently, Zach would join the revelry, his tail an eloquent dance of happiness that mirrored the joy in their hearts. Though shadows of uncertainty occasionally cast their fleeting shadows, they were dwarfed by the burgeoning tapestry of happiness that was being woven.As the sun, a golden orb descending toward the horizon, cast a final golden glow upon the day, Inaaya stood on the precipice of a profound realization. The fear that once clung to her heart had begun to loosen its grip. Zach, with his gentle spirit and patient presence, had slowly unraveled the threads of apprehension, revealing the true magic that lay within unexpected connections. Sophia, with her words that dripped with empathy and her smile that radiated warmth, had provided Inaaya with an anchor of security, a lighthouse to guide her through the stormy waters of uncertainty.With twilight painting the sky with a tapestry of stars, Inaaya's gaze lifted skyward, mirroring the swirling emotions within her. A symphony of accomplishment, courage, and a tinge of bittersweet nostalgia coursed through her veins. But above all, it was gratitude that enveloped her heart - gratitude for Sophia's unwavering compassion, for Zach's unspoken camaraderie. Lessons had been etched into the canvas of her soul, lessons that whispered tales of embracing the unfamiliar, of cherishing the friendships that navigate us through the labyrinth of our fears.And so, empowered by the beacon of Sophia's friendship, Inaaya surrendered herself to the embrace of slumber, her dreams a tapestry of adventures yet to be explored. In those dreams, she danced with Zach beneath the starlit sky, each step a celebration of newfound bravery. And as her breathing steadied and her eyelashes fluttered, she was ready to traverse the realm of dreams, a realm where courage flourished, friendship bloomed, and the magic of unexpected bonds unfurled, leaving trails of shimmering stardust in their wake. 
","August 18, 2023 16:03",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,cumqda,Feathered Lessons,Karin Eriksson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cumqda/,/short-story/cumqda/,Fluff,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Inspirational', 'Contemporary']",4 likes,"
	 Miraculously, I did NOT become a hoarder. From what I understand by watching hours of compelling reality television, hoarding is a condition that can manifest after a trauma, often by losing someone through death. Having lost my husband 2 yrs., 10 weeks, and 5 days ago, thankfully, it's safe to say, I didn't choose that route. There are no piles of newspapers, clutter, or rotting garbage, making it challenging to navigate through the rooms of my home. Instead, I became, what I like to call, a ""selective collector"" to help me process the grief and accept my new status as a widow. (That's what I tell myself anyway.) 	My compilation is relatively small in quantity, inexpensive to buy, but intriguing nonetheless. Especially if you know the mysterious background as to why I found myself drawn to these particular items.	The unusual curios are confined to the shelves of a built-in wall bookcase amongst smooth-to-the-touch, wood-turned bowls, delicate pottery with leaf imprints embedded within the clay, and colorful hand-woven baskets created from natural grasses. Items that come from the earth and are rich in texture and soothing to gaze upon. Fully displayed, my collection has become an alter of sorts. Souvenirs of a memory that instantly transports me back to a fleeting moment when saying goodbye was a pleasant, heartfelt experience. One that has helped me cope with oncoming grief.  	Unlike snow globes, kitschy salt and pepper shakers, baseball cards, or vintage toys in their original packaging, my unique procurements are not an obsession or bought to reap the financial rewards when their values increase. My collection is inspired by a personal encounter with a small bird during a difficult time. A friendship that brought new meaning to my life. As the caregiver to my then-terminal husband, I found joy in the most unexpected place - on my doorstep. 	Stepping outside my front door early one morning, just as the sun rose on a cool spring day, I was drawn to what appeared to be the beginnings of a nest being built on the wooden door frame ledge above my head. The dark mound of gnarly shoots, sprigs, and crude branches stood out against the pale ivory-painted woodwork, surprising me with its sudden appearance. Its size was hard to miss amongst the sticky, stringy cobwebs around the door jam, bits of grass cuttings, and dust that had flown through the air and settled on every surface from the previous day's mowing.	Curiously, the nest had appeared overnight. Precariously perched there, half on, half off the ledge in the far left corner, teetering on a narrow wood plank with little to support it from behind. This crude nest could have been at risk from the unpredictable weather elements. One strong gust of wind would destroy it quickly. I assumed the bird chose that very spot to protect it from neighborhood cats, and with the exterior porch light's illumination, there might have been a gentle glow that assisted with building the nest in the dark hours of the night. I noted the nest briefly, then went on my way, leaving it be. Giving it little attention at that stage of development.	 Gradually, other materials were added until they formed a solid structure of twigs, grasses, moss, mud, and leaves. A design that looked sturdy and deep enough to securely, yet gently, cup the precious eggs to be laid within. I watched with great curiosity as each day brought new developments. This was my first time witnessing a nest being built up close.	  As time passed, the protective mother bird, a robin, finally showed herself to me. She was perched within her nest, possibly over eggs inside. Occasionally she'd swoop down on me as I left the confines of my home. Dive bombing me by flying within a couple feet of my body but not attacking. This was now her territory, and she wasn't about to let any harm come to her or the nest. She was guarding it, and she meant business. I came and went gingerly. Quietly entering and exiting my home. I'd gently close the door to avoid jarring the framework foundation. I had no intention of disturbing her or bringing on any mistrust. I was happy to share the space. 	 Watching this feathered creature thrilled me. I reverted to being a curious small child, all wide-eyed with excitement and wonder, witnessing Mother Nature's magnificent glory through one of her winged creations. Each day, I captured the nesting progress on my cell phone by snapping a few quick photos from a safe distance, then running inside to share them with my ill husband. The time-lapse of images showed the progression of how new life was coming. It was fresh and exciting. Would I see any eggs? When might they be laid? Every day brought a new level of fascination and questions. I remembered my own human ""nesting "" experiences decades ago as an expectant mother. Getting everything ready in time was critical.  	Feeling like Sir David Attenborough as I observed from a safe distance, I was drawn to this beautiful wonder of nature and could hear an imaginary narrative voice documenting the process. In my head, Sir David was beside me, describing how everything was unfolding as intended. At a time when I was feeling the anticipatory grief of my husband slipping away and the heaviness of being his caregiver, there was something extraordinary happening before me.	This small act of nature was a glimmer of light for me. Being privy to something magical for a few minutes each day released me from all the complicated physical and emotional sorrow that I was going through. When the world felt cruel and unbearable, I was reminded that there was also beauty. 	 Later that week, I stepped outside to see three small nestlings appearing to look over the edge of the twigs that made up their home. My heart swelled. Their featherless heads appeared like wrinkled, skinless grapes bobbing up and down. Their beaks were wide open as they made tiny chirping noises. The mother bird was nowhere to be seen. Possibly searching for worms and insects to feed them. Again, I remained at a safe distance to observe in silence, and with my trusty phone camera, I snapped the newest images, thoroughly fascinated by the progress made from the time the nest was created. 	As time progressed, the chicks grew, and dark-colored feathers formed. Little tufts of down that appeared slightly oily were now covering the bald patches. Again, they would look over the side of the nest and chirp at me. Their dark eyes, now open, were clearly visible, and their gaze was intent. Each day they would see me for a few minutes and seemed comfortable with my presence. I would speak to them in hushed quiet tones, fully confident that they were just as fascinated with me as I was with them. Their large baby bird eyes shone brightly, making me smile. Even Mama Bird grew to be unphased by my coming and goings. I was now accepted and trusted. She often flew into a nearby oak tree and watched me and her nest from afar. She knew I would do them no harm. 	 With the passing days, feathers covered the babies, their wings fully formed, and seemingly, it was time they were on their way. I stepped outside the door to witness two birds jump at that very moment from the nest and fly off awkwardly into the nearby tree where their mother often perched. The third bird, however, gave me a spectacular parting gift. The little fledgling jumped out of the nest, awkwardly flopping about, and promptly landed at my feet. Standing on my jute fiber ""welcome"" doormat at the entrance of my home, it looked up at me with its shiny dark eyes. Its stare was intent. Gazing at me with great effort and focus, I felt an incredible connection. This tiny creature was saying goodbye. I realized what a special moment this was, and again, I grabbed my camera and snapped what would be my last photo - one of that baby bird looking up at me. It stayed with me for a few minutes. I talked to it in hushed tones, thanking it for bringing joy into my life. And with that, it flew off on its own. Never to be seen again. The nest was abandoned. Left deserted, so they could move forward with their lives and be free. Free to fly, free from any constraints. 	I was sad to no longer have the daily interactions, but I experienced something rare between myself and a wild animal I will never forget. As crazy as it sounds, I felt a kinship, an emotional bond with these creatures. The small daily interactions had such an important impact on my mental health. I would like to think I gave them something in return, even if it was just sharing the confines of my home and offering safety. 	 After my husband passed away several months later, I gravitated toward birdcages for unknown reasons. I had no desire to own or keep a bird as a pet - I would rather see them in their wild habitat. These birdcages were nothing that would hold a real bird; they were ornamental. Purely decorative Victorian, French, and Venetian reproductions with elaborate scrolled wrought iron bars and domes, Chinese pagoda varieties with several tiers, and square box wooden cages with miniature hatch doors that raised up and down. Some were purposely rusted to look vintage, others painted or given a blue-green patina for an aged appearance. I was drawn to the large ornate birdcages and the miniature versions- roughly the size of a small bird. All varieties of primitive, rustic, and shabby-chic decor styles. This became my ""collection.""	 I started researching birdcages and birds and wondered what the significance might be. Why was I drawn to them? There had to have been some profound meaning. Something deep in my psyche, perhaps?	 The answer seemed obvious. Christian, Hindu, Muslim, and Buddhist teachings accept the bird as a metaphor for the human soul. In Japan, the crane is believed to carry the soul to heaven and grant immortality. In Hiroshima, colorful origami folded paper cranes are made and gifted to bring peace, compassion, and healing. Birds symbolize freedom, hope, transformation, and new beginnings in indigenous, spiritual, and religious beliefs. Birds are seen as messengers of God, and flying birds are seen as a link between the spirit world and the earthly realm.  	Flying meant independence, being liberated, and not being held down by convention or restrictions. An empty birdcage represents freedom and making new choices in life. For me, the symbolism hit home. It was a reminder that one needs to evolve by ""leaving the nest"" or ""cage."" To take that leap of faith, to grow and soar. This could be a sign that I needed to live a spectacular life with my finite time on this planet. One that honored me and my husband (the experiences he couldn't have due to his early passing.)	 My husband's soul was freed once he left this earthly realm, and drastic changes to my existence came with it. I was no longer living a life of constant foreboding and heavy round-the-clock caregiving duties.	Like the baby bird, I had to start anew and face the scary world alone. Making myself the priority. Letting go of ""what was,"" I could recognize the beauty, meaning, and purpose of life and death. This was my call to action to start living.	 Observing this spectacular aspect of nature, I experienced many emotions and teachings. With these came hope, gratitude, and celebrating things differently. I had a new set of eyes and perspective.	 I can either grieve, mourn and dwell on what is no longer my life, or I can see the beauty and understand the difficulties of letting go and coming to a place of acceptance. Grateful for the incredible ride, I now understand that the most significant growth comes from the darkest times. 	 I can't think of a better animal interaction I could have had - and at a time when I needed it most. My ongoing fascination with birds gives me a new level of understanding, enlightenment, meaning, and purpose. Unexplainable and spiritual encounters with random feathered friends have continued to bring me ongoing joy. Feeding (and photographing) robins, chickadees, sparrows, wrens, tufted titmice, and even woodpeckers from my hand have become treasured moments in time that bring tears to my eyes. Being trusted and part of an animal's world is truly a gift. The birdcages I so lovingly collect will always remind me to be connected to nature, to delight in the little things in life, to be curious, and never let myself be held back or restricted from what I want to achieve. I will always aim to soar high like the birds that inspire me.
","August 14, 2023 20:42","[[{'Rudy Greene': ""I like the transition from hoarding to building a nest, to leaving the nest to birdcages, flight and the husband's soul. These were soulful connections, Well done. If I had any criticism with the writing, it would be that some of the sentences were too long and need to be crisper. Otherwise well done!"", 'time': '20:06 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,uf6yh7,Little Things,Ren N.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uf6yh7/,/short-story/uf6yh7/,Fluff,0,['Fiction'],3 likes,"
The house looks bigger somehow.
 
That’s the first thing Simon thinks when he wakes up by the mailbox. It’s the middle of the day, but the autumn storm clouds blanch out the sun, until the cheery little house appears shadowed and foreboding. His bike is noticeably gone from the front porch, as is his pea plant that usually sits on the windowsill. The curtains are drawn on every window, but it hardly makes a difference; there’s no sun to let in.
 
Normally, these were Simon’s favorite days. The rain would pour so hard it would make ponds in the hills in the backyard, and he could splash and roll around in them until Dad or Charlie or Conny caught him and forced him inside to dry off. Worms and snails would come out of their hiding spots to greet him, enjoying the refreshing weather before they’d retreat into the cracks in the cobblestone or the fallen logs in the woods beyond his house.
Today, though, made him feel hollow. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten back here, to the quiet country neighborhood he’d grown up in, when he had been miles away last time he was awake. 
 
He dimly remembers the crash. He knows it killed him, but the thought doesn’t seem to register. Simon doesn’t feel dead, but then again, he’s not entirely sure what that would feel like.
 
Though, now that he thinks about it, he can’t feel the gravel below his fingers. His shoes don’t quite seem to catch on the ground, instead hovering right above the surface.
 
The neighborhood is silent. Conny’s truck is gone from its spot on the front lawn, so he and Dad are probably at work, and Charlie’s in class. 
 
Or maybe they’re home? If he was truly dead, wouldn’t they take time off for a bit? 
He gets up from his spot on the path and walks to the front door. Elly is sleeping in her bed nestled under one of the patio chairs. To his surprise, she opens her big blue eyes and meows sleepily at him. 
Simon startles, stumbling back. Maybe he’s not dead after all. But when he tries the door handle, his hand falls right through the metal. 
 
“Elly?” he whispers, wondering if he imagined her seeing him.
 
She gets up and stretches, chirping as she weaves in between his legs. He gasps, feeling her soft fur brush against his legs, tickling the skin exposed from his torn-up pants. It’s the first thing he’s felt in a long, long time.
 
Crouching next to her, Simon holds out a hesitant hand, amazed when her whiskers tickle his skin as she rubs her face on his fingers. When he scratches under her chin, he can see the fur part where his fingertips are. 
 
He gets up, watching the front door warily. Maybe he could get through now?
But he phases right through the handle again, as if he was grasping mist. 
Frustrated, he shoves his entire body through the door, and winds up in a pile on the other side. After collecting himself, he stands on shaky legs, peering around the dark living room.
 
His dad had never kept a tidy house, but this was the messiest he’d ever seen it. The couch is covered in a pile of binders and old schoolwork—his work, he realizes with a pang of sadness—and folded moving boxes, probably getting ready to be put in the attic. Simon guesses it would’ve happened eventually, but this feels too soon.
 
What day is it? He dodges a few other piles of his old things, making his way to the desk next to the kitchen. The calendar is open to October. He had died on August 16th. 
 
Elly walks into the kitchen through the cat door, her little claws clinking on the old tile. She perches on one of the dining chairs, watching him expectantly.
“Can you say something, Elly?” he asks, feeling a little silly.
 
Her ears perk up at her name, but she says nothing, not even a chirp. His shoulders sag a little. Of course. The one living thing that can see him, and she can’t even talk.
Something large drops upstairs, and Dad’s muffled voice booms after it. Oh no. Simon floats through the air towards the stairs, climbing them two at a time, like he always used to do. Elly follows close behind.
 
The hallway is even more cluttered than downstairs. Charlie’s keyboard is folded up against the wall, and Conny’s guitar is nowhere to be seen, the stand tucked behind the banister. There are more boxes, full this time, with things like Charlie’s room and Kids’ art projects scrawled on the outside. 
 
They’re moving?
 
They can’t be. Dad would never leave this house behind. 
 
But one look at the man crouched in the doorway of Simon’s old room tells him otherwise.
 
Dad’s pale hands are wrapped around the broken remnants of the ceramic cat Simon had glazed for him in first grade. It was an ugly thing—he had adored rainbows as a little kid, so the cat was covered in every color imaginable—but Dad had always loved it like it was a masterpiece. The head lays in two pieces a few feet away from Simon’s shoes, its purple and yellow eyes staring blankly through him.
 
Dad cries. First it’s silent, strained tears, then a sob escapes his lips. And then all of it comes out. He curls his knees to his chest, sandy hair falling into his puffy blue eyes. Wails like Simon’s never heard erupt from him, so pained and raw it makes his chest jittery. They rattle his head until he’s dizzy, stumbling on ghostly legs.
 
Elly sits right next to Simon and looks up at him, flicking his ankle with her tail, as if to say, do something. But do what? Could Dad even hear him? Feel him?
 
He tries anyway. Tears streaming down his face, he says, “Dad?”
 
Of course, nothing. He tries again. “Dad, I’m here. It’s okay. It was old anyway.” Dad doesn’t move. He doesn’t even notice Elly next to him. 
 
The grief in his eyes freezes Simon in place. This was the man who had picked him up every time he’d fallen. He’d bandaged every scrape, kissed him and tucked him in at night even when he was exhausted, sold belongings and worked two jobs and gone hungry some nights just to keep him and his brothers safe. He’s Dad. He’s indestructible. But here he is, broken on the floor, vulnerable. A small voice whispers in Simon’s ear. Help him.
 
An idea pops into his head. He sprints past Dad into his room, phasing right through the mess of old toys and towering boxes. His feet hit the board right inside his room that always squeaks, and the silence that follows him after he pushes off hurts more than he could ever imagine.
 
Once he gets inside, he drops to the floor, hoping Dad hadn’t moved his memory box from under the bed just yet. And sure enough, there it is; a dingy old yellow treasure chest he had stashed under there years ago, back when he thought he would make it to age eighteen and be able to open it. It had doubled as his secret storage in the months before his death.
 
Simon reaches for the rope handles, before he remembers that the chest won’t move no matter how hard he yanks. Defeated, he lies on the dusty floor of his childhood bedroom, staring at the red painted walls he’ll never scribble crayon on again, the books he never read, the bed he’ll never get to sneak out of when the nightmares got bad. He’ll never get to annoy Conny or force Charlie to play with him ever again.
 
The tears come again. Simon sniffles, then sobs, clamping a hand to his mouth. Not like anyone can hear him anyway. No one except the cat.
 
Elly pads into the room, chirping quietly at him. Her eyes look almost sorrowful, giant blue saucers in a sea of white fur. He reaches out to her, the pain in his chest fading a little as she rubs her face against his fingers, purring. 
 
Simon drops his hand and looks at the treasure chest again, so close but so infinitely far at the same time. Elly leaps over his chest, looking under the bed to see what’s distracting him.
 
That’s it. Frantically, Simon shimmies towards the chest, drumming his fingers on the plastic as best as he can without going straight through it. Elly’s ears perk up instantly, recognizing the game they used to play when they couldn’t afford to get her a laser pointer. She darts towards the box, batting it with her paws, towards the edge of the bed.
 
“Yes!” Simon whispers, tapping more and more to keep her excited. She hits the box faster and faster, meowing as the plastic scrapes on the worn wooden floors.
 
“Elly?” Dad calls over his shoulder. His heavy footsteps thud into the room. 
 
“C’mon, Elly, get out of there. You need to finish your dinner anyway.”
 
Elly’s ears shift towards Dad but she doesn’t waver, pushing the chest closer to the edge. Instinctively, Simon gets out from under the bed and faces Dad, even though he can’t see him. Dad looks around the jungle of boxes for the cat, eyebrows scrunching as he peers down at the bed.
 
“Elly, get out. There’s probably spiders under there,” he grumbles, eyes still red and teary. 
 
She doesn’t move. The scraping continues, until Dad crouches down and snatches the chest from her. Yes! Open it! Elly finally scampers out from under the bed, chirping defiantly.
 
Dad holds the chest gingerly in his big hands, eyes downcast. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, he unlatches the front and opens it, sifting through the knickknacks inside. He pulls out the folded construction paper card sitting at the top, where Simon had scrawled a god-awful drawing of the four of them a couple of months prior, surrounded by a shaky red heart. He was supposed to give it to Dad when he got back from his assignment at the base. That never happened.
 
Lip trembling, Dad opens the card, reading Simon’s note slowly. He doesn’t really remember what he wrote, so he cranes his neck to read. 
 
Hi Dad!
I’m writing this a month after you got deployed. We miss you a lot. I think senior finals are gonna kill Charlie, but Conny and I keep telling him he’s the smartest out of all of us. Conny almost got fired last week for being late *again*, but I guess he talked his way out of it. Crazy. Not to worry you, ha-ha. I think we’re doing pretty good.
 
Mrs. Wilkins baked us cookies when she found out you were gone. She sends us stuff every week now. This week was garlic Parmesan noodles. I ate half the container already. (Don’t tell Conny.)
 
Don’t be mad, but I failed my science test again. I don’t get tectonic plates. They’re weird. I still have a C+ though! My teacher said I can get it up before the end of the quarter if I study this time. 
 
Okay I’m running out of space bye-bye I love you! 
 
Simon
 
Dad crumples to the floor, nearly dropping the chest as he goes down. He buries his face into his knees, howling incoherent words into his lap. The card shakes with him as his shoulders shudder. Look in the chest again, Simon wills silently, wiping tears from his eyes.
 
Elly sidles up to Dad, rubbing herself against his arms, shedding clumps of hair all over his shirt. She paws the chest again, still sitting open in his lap. He lifts his head from his knees, watching Elly curiously through the onslaught of tears. After a moment, he lifts a beaded bracelet out of the chest, along with two other cards, for his brothers’ birthdays. He squeezes his eyes shut, collapsing in on himself.
 
Simon doesn’t need to look at it to know he had strung lettered plastic beads together to spell out BEST DAD EVER, in alternating green and blue beads, Dad’s favorite color. His own wrists are much smaller than Dad’s, so he’d forced Conny to be his model after a long shift at the diner. He hopes it’ll fit Dad as well as it fit Conny.
 
Getting down on the ground, Simon rests his head on Dad’s shoulder, wishing he could feel him, smell the cheap deodorant he slathered on every morning, hear him scold him one last time. He feels robbed. He was ten years old when he died, and now he would be ten years old for the rest of his life. 
 
***
 
They sit on the floor for a long, long time. The clouds have fully consumed the sky by the time Dad rises, slipping the bracelet onto his wrist. It fits perfectly. Simon wants to cry all over again.
 
Conny comes home from work not long after, paler and gaunter than Simon remembers. He barely says a word to Dad when he comes stumbling in the front door, tearing off his construction worker’s vest and tossing it on the floor. Immediately, he goes to the kitchen, cracking open a beer and chugging it like it’s water. 
 
Conny never drank before.
 
His heart wrenches itself into knots. 
 
“How goes packing?” he mutters, collapsing into the dining chair right next to Simon.
 
Dad’s watery eyes turn to him, looking up from his armchair in the living room. Taking in a shaky breath, he whispers, “I found Simon’s last letters.”
 
Conny freezes, looking up from his phone. His usually stony expression cracks, revealing the agony underneath.“What do they say?”
 
To Simon’s surprise, Dad’s face breaks into a wide smile, even as the tears stream down his aging face. He laughs. “Conny, you never told me you almost got fired.”
His eyebrows scrunch into a straight line, then break apart as his eyes widen. He presses his lips together, fighting tears, but he manages a smile too. “Really? That’s what they’re about?” he says.
 
Dad nods. Conny bursts into tears.
Simon watches his dad and brother get up and embrace each other for the first time in a long time. They smile and cry and smile some more, reading the cards Simon had written before he’d known what short time he had left.
 
Elly watches on from the windowsill. Simon walks over to her, scratching her favorite spot under her chin. “Thank you,” he whispers.
 
If he could, he’d tell them all how much they mean to him. How he couldn’t have wished for a better family, no matter how badly they’d struggled, no matter how much they’d fought. That he loved them, and he’d love them until he fades away into nothing. He’d spend a whole day just telling them every good thing he’d ever felt, if it only meant he had one more day with them. He wants them to know he didn’t die disappointed in them. 
 
But tonight, it seems like the little things were all they needed to hear.
","August 19, 2023 01:12",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,6arz52,One of a Kind,Grace Chavez,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6arz52/,/short-story/6arz52/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Sad']",3 likes,"
	October twenty first was the special day we met. As our five year anniversary gets closer I reminisce the fond memories we have created and hope to form future ones. The day you were born had a bright blue sky, cool weather that signaled the end of summer and an unexpected gift as it was the first time Gizmo, your mother, gave birth to her children in our home. The subtle cries in the house peeked our curiosity to search for the source of the sound. After minutes of searching, the bathroom was the last place. We opened the door and notice four little furry bodies and a bloody floor where we built a tent for Gizmo to comfortably give birth to her kittens. It was a joyous yet dreadful day as two of the kittens were born still but two were healthy identical brothers later named Droopy and Raptor.
           A few weeks passed and the two kittens were growing healthy. They were cute and small and at this point they were able to slightly walk with a few wobbles along the way. The bond between Raptor and Droopy was supposed to be unbreakable until I destroyed it. Unable to cater for three cats including the individuals living in our apartment. The struggle was not only unbearable but becoming unmanageable. I had recently been through a break up and was severely wounded. I was emotionally and physically exhausted and the only thing keeping me going was the innocence and pureness of the kittens. The last week of November was the last day all three of them would be together and that day came and went. 
           The days and nights became cold and sad. The memory of giving Gizmo and Droopy away was painful. The sight of foster homes coming to pick them up in cages. I requested to have them adopted together and they promised they will. I kiss Gizmo farewell and pet her one last time and thank her for all the years and memories she gave me. She was a loyal, kind soul. She was always there for me through thick and thin. Tears well up my eyes as I recall the day. Gizmo purrs and rubs on me but at that moment I knew that she would be better off at another home who could cater to her needs and give her a filling loving life without struggles. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks and its followed by a tiny yet powerful purr. Raptor makes his way towards me wobbling from learning to walk, circles around my legs and eventually cuddles against my legs to keep me company. At this point I sob alone in my room at the fact that I solely separated his family. I vowed to be the best cat mom, but the guilt engulfed me in the end. 
           One year is enough for a lot of things to happen. It was all I needed. Within the following year, Raptor became more of a male cat as he was destined. He was small with a huge head for his body but was loyal and sweet. He was a hyperactive cat but mellow at times. In this year he would get sick with worms for two months and fleas and end up at the hospital. Once again, I felt ashamed of owning a cat since I failed to take care of him. I felt resentment from him and that he hated me for being a horrible cat mom. It took me one year to realize my answer.
           The days grew long and tiring. Raptor was constantly visiting the vet once a week. He would get the worms out of his body and in two days they would re appear in the feces. He would meow loudly all around the house every day from being in heat. He was starting to lose weight from the worms eating him alive and the fleas not wanting to leave his body. It was excruciating to watch him suffer. His once happy eyes became dull and sad. His walk became more lethargic every day. I wanted Raptor to be a happy cat and at one point I considered giving him up for adoption since the only thing I could do was make him sick and unhappy.
           Even after all of this, Raptor would make his way to me in the middle of the night, get under the sheets and keep me company as I sleep. He always managed to comfort me and looked happy being next to me. During the day he would come and lick my hand and face. He would bring his favorite toy and still want to play with me even though he was not healthy enough. Raptor would jump from the highest point from his cat tree, a squeak sound comes out of his mouth and gallops his way to the sofa where I would sit. He would gently stare at my eyes and gently lay his head on my legs. I would caress his fur gently and lay my hand on his tiny waist to comfort him and let him know that he was not alone. 
           This continued for weeks until he contracted scabies. His immunity was almost nonexistent. He was placed on watch at the vet for two months. I would visit him daily and at times I would stay with him until closing time. Raptors eyes would light up when he noticed me in the room. I would gently touch his face and talk to him even though he didn’t understand me, but maybe he did. I would tell him to get better so we can hang out more and intime he did. He was released from the hospital just in time for Easter. I rearranged his cat tree, bought him his favorite treats and new toys he would enjoy hoping our bond would strengthen. 
           The night everything changed was stormy. Raptor and I were watching television when the power went out. I immediately stood up and turned some candles on and grabbed the portable air conditioner. It circulated carbon dioxide into fresh air. I built a little fort for Raptor to make him feel comfortable at a time like this but instead he was by the window enjoying the light show. His eyes lit up from the lightning, his ears perched at the sound of thunder. He turned his head to me and I could see his eyes were wide and dilated from happiness and excitement. I raised the blinds up, turned the candles off and let the lightning fill the room. 
           I called for Raptor to keep me company on the sofa and he did. I felt the need to talk to him. It was silly but I did. I had a heartfelt conversation with him. One I should have had a long time ago. I started with:
           “I know that you probably hate me, but I want to apologize for separating you from your family. I am not a good owner, but I love you. You are not only a pet to me but a friend. The only friend I can trust and will always love me and not judge me…” My thought drifts to an epiphany.
           “I always thought you hated me but you are a cat and all you have done for me was help me heal. Even though I only cause you pain, the only thing you have shown me has been loyalty, kindness, and unconditional love…” I stop midsentence laughing hysterically at the silly realization. 
           “That is it…You don’t hate me. All you give me is unconditional love. I am an idiot. Thank you, Raptor for helping me heal and always loving me even in my worst times. I know you are only a kitten but you make a difference. I promise to only give you the best of all worlds. You cannot speak to let me know what I am doing is right or wrong but that is okay. Together we will figure it out.” I say to raptor as he sleeps in my lap and continues to loudly purr. I cover him with the nearest blanket and watch the rainy show.
           Months passed by and he was finally flea free. I invested in preventative medicine, had him nurtured which helps expand his life. Bought him quality food, many scratchers, window perches, taught him to use a harness to safely go out and had him vaccinated every year. Raptor and I build a bond strong enough that the guy I dated didn’t like Raptor I would break it off with them as Raptor was family to me and refused to lose him the same way I lost his family. The guy can leave anytime but Raptor was one of a kind. He would stay until it was time for him to go. 
           Raptor and I would make memories going hiking, walking in the park, binge watching movies. He was the best friend anyone wished for. During a breakup he would lick the tears away and lay next to me and purr me to sleep. During Raptor’s sick moments I would make a bed next to me and I would keep him company until he was feeling better.
           February twenty fourth something unexpected happened at work. The company hired a new male employee. We spend the majority of our time together with the graveyard shift. That day the sky was clear blue and air was chilly. We both realized we had feelings for each other the more time we spent together. He did not care about owning animals because it came with a lot of responsibilities, but he accepted Raptor. He came over to our apartment one day and soon the guy grew fond of Raptor. 
           In a blink of an eye the years flew by and Raptor would showcase his personality more. The sassiness he would get when told no. The gentle cuddles he would give in bed and sofa. The way he would follow me around the house being not only a partner but a bodyguard. The different faces he would make when he was sleepy, moody, happy, sad and more. The most powerful sign of trust he would show me was when he would lay on his back and expose his stomach for me to touch. It took me a while to accept that Raptor trusts me. It was a relief as for many months I thought the opposite and now it was made clear by him showing me that he trusted me. He would carry his tinsel ball in his mouth and would bring it to me to inform me it was play time. At times he would sneak into his snacks or would make a loud noise to let me know he wanted some. We had become inseparable. The bond I once severed with his brother, I managed to give to him. Raptor was one of a kind. 
 
","August 19, 2023 02:05",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,3dx2uz,In the Name of Friendship,Keila Aartila,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3dx2uz/,/short-story/3dx2uz/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Teens & Young Adult', 'Sad']",3 likes,"
	(Sensitive content regarding death)
 
	Me and Sabrina got to be best friends when she moved here in the fifth grade. Now we were starting eighth grade after summer. She had a little brother named Peter who had some behavioral (that’s what Sabrina calls it) issues due to some troubles when he was born. He was a couple of years younger than us, but he was big and kinda mean. That was the summer we found the kitten, though.
	We were poking through some old buildings where we weren’t supposed to be, when I hear Sabrina call out to me in a low voice and wave me over.
	“Hey, Billy!” She whispered. “Look here!” She was waving me over excitedly with one hand, while the other covered her mouth to stifle an impending sneeze.
	I crept over to crane my eyes around some dusty old wood blocking the way. She pointed, “Look, look!”
	I looked. It was a mama cat nursing a litter of kittens. She saw us and hissed. I turned around. Sabrina stepped back so I could see better. 
	Sabrina reached in her pocket where she had some leftover peanut butter and jelly sandwich from lunch and tossed it toward the cat. Then we skedaddled from the shed. Sabrina stopped me outside the door.
	“Billy, what should we do?”
	“What do you mean, ‘What?”’ I asked. “They’re cats. They’re fine. Just leave them alone.”
	“Okay. We’ll come back tomorrow,” she replied, like she didn’t even hear me. “I’ll bring some food for the mama cat. I think she hungry.”
	“We aren’t even supposed to be here now,” I reminded her.
	“Yeah, but the cats are here. We need to come back.”
	I looked at Sabrina, shook my head in resignation. “Fine. Okay.” I never could say no to my friend. 
	**************
	When we returned the next day, Sabrina popped open the can of tuna she brought and set it near the mama cat, who flattened her ears and hissed at us. We backed off a little ways, but watched as the cat slinked forward and greedily chewed the soft food. We left quickly, though, to leave the cat in peace and to avoid setting off Sabrina’s allergies again. The extreme dust mixed with cat dander made her sneeze and cough. We would return the next day with more food.
	**************
	When we got there the following afternoon, the mama cat didn’t come forward for the food. She lay still, curled up protectively around her litter. Sabrina finally coaxed her forward enough to leave her kittens for a bite of tuna. That’s when we saw two of the three kittens weren’t moving. The third mewed and squirmed, unhappy with the disturbance of it’s cozy bed. 
	I heard Sabrina gasp, then she grabbed the one struggling kitten. The mama cat ran back and curled herself around the two remaining kittens.
	“Now what?” I asked in surprise and exasperation.
	“Well, we can’t hardly leave it here to die like the others. That mama must be sick, too. You’ll take it home.”
	“No way. What would I do with a helpless kitten? Besides, my parents already said we can’t have animals.” She handed the kitten over to me expectantly, while I tried to protest. I took the tiny creature in my hands.
	“Well, I can’t take it! Who knows what Peter would do,” Sabrina claimed, near panic. “You can sneak it into your room for a day or two. Then we’ll figure out what to do. We gotta come back tomorrow and feed the mama. Maybe we can trap her. My dad has one of those live traps from catching that raccoon last year. We’ll catch her and take her to the vet.”
	So I took the kitten home and snuck it up the stairs and into my bedroom, where I put together a box with some of my old clothes for it to snuggle into. I guess I would have to figure out how to sneak some milk up here for it later. 
	***************
	The next day, Sabrina and I went back to check on the mama cat. Sabrina brought the cage and another can of tuna. The food from yesterday was barely touched. When we peeked back into their spot, the mama cat still lay curled around her lifeless kittens. Sabrina took a couple of steps closer, but the mama cat didn’t move. Sabrina then stepped in close enough to see the mama cat had died, too. 
	With tears in her eyes, Sabrina looked at me. Not knowing for sure what to do now, we decided they needed buryin’, at least. Sabrina ran back to her house to get a shovel. It wasn’t too far to go. I sat on an old pallet in the corner and waited for my friend to get back. I kept checkin’ my watch. After an about an hour of waiting, I started to get worried, so decided I should go after her, see what was up. Maybe her mom and dad caught her and she got sidetracked by their questions, or somethin’.
	I got up from my dirty seat, brushed off the rear of my jeans, and started wandering toward the direction of Sabrina’s house. I got about halfway when I saw a form laying on the ground. I jogged up to see it was my friend. I kneeled down next to Sabrina’s motionless body and started gshaking her and calling her name. She didn’t respond. With tears of panic streaming down my face, I ran as fast as I could the rest of the way to Sabrina’s house for help. I started calling when I saw her dad in the yard. 
	“Mr. Williams! Help, help!” I screamed, waving my arms.
	Mr. Williams came running. “Billy, what is it? Where’s Sabrina?!”
	I turned back, running toward Sabrina. Mr. Williams sprinted after me. 
	When we came upon Sabrina’s form crumpled on the ground, Mr. Williams scooped her up in his arms and ran as fast as he could back to the house. I followed. 
	Mrs. Williams met us on the front porch, screen door wide open, eyes wide, mouth open and a hand raising to cover it. Mr. Williams swept in and lay Sabrina on the carpeted floor. 
	“Call 911!” he hollered.
	“What’s happening?” Mrs. Williams cried in confusion, as she picked up the landline.
	Mr. William’s was working on mouth-to-mouth, Mrs. Williams was on the phone with emergency, and then Peter wandered into the room. 
	“Beana?” he asked. Eyes wide, Peter pointed, toward his sister, then collapsed onto his knees beside his dad to see what was happening. I heard the ambulance sirens heading up the driveway. In a panic then, I ran and ran all the way to my house, up the stairs, and slammed the door to my bedroom. I whisked the fluffy kitten from the box and snuggled it to my chest as I rocked, streaming tears, on my bed. I don’t know how long I stayed like that. It was dark when my mom came into my room and told me that Sabrina had passed. She hugged me, and the tears started flowin’ again.
	She the looked down and took the little kitten from my grasp.
	She held it up and smiled. “What’s this little one?”
	Between sobs, I told her the story of how the kitten had come into my possession, and how Sabrina couldn’t keep it because of Peter, and her own allergies, and how I found Sabrina lying on the ground after she’d gone to get a shovel to bury the remaining cat family.
	“Oh,” she said, handing me back the kitten. She lowered eyes for a bit, thinkin’ about somethin’, then looked up at me again and gave me a small smile.
	“So what’s it’s name?”
	“It doesn’t have a name. I don’t even know if it’s a girl or a boy.”
	‘Well, it’s awfully cute. I’ll go see if I can find it some food.”
	And she left, closing the door gently behind her.
	*******************
	After the funeral, I took the kitten and went over to Sabrina’s house. I wanted to pay my respects in person to her parents. I’m not sure why I wanted to take the kitten with, but it felt important. Peter met me at the door. Immediately, he got a wide grin on his face and took the kitten from me. He rubbed it to his cheek and sighed, “Beana.”
	Both Peter’s parents looked at him with wide eyes, then asked me to come in. I think they were wondering’ what Peter might do to the kitten. So was I.
	I went in and sat at the table, never taking my eyes off of Peter and the kitten.
	I told them the story of how the kitten came to be. Mrs. Williams took the kitten gently from Peter, kissed it with teary eyes, and handed it back to Peter, who cuddled it back to his cheek, saying “Beana.”
	We decided the kitten would stay with them. It’s name was Beana. 
","August 18, 2023 15:57",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,bjlwka,NEW FOUND FRIEND,R. J. Garron,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bjlwka/,/short-story/bjlwka/,Fluff,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Suspense', 'Thriller']",3 likes,"
The door blew wide open, the blast hole serrated and peeled.
“Go! Go! Go!” he shouted. The infantry followed orders and slipped through the smoking orifice.
They were pitched into the blinding darkness with the exception of a thin shaft of light from outside. The night blindness was no longer relevant when they switched to infrared in order to pick up any heat signatures, friend or foe, abounding in the zone of action. There had to have been at least a few survivors, but Keller was ordered by the general to find one particular weapons expert while his men searched abroad for the rest of the occupants, if any were left standing. Somewhere deep within lurked this person of interest, whoever it was and whatever kind of weapon they were privy to.
The first door slapped open. Relief. Nothing but milling dust and debris that slowly settled. Keller told his men to proceed accordingly with each room while he and a small contingent moved further down the corridor. He cursed at the tedious process, but they were better safe than dead. To complicate the matter, a call came in from the corporal informing him they discovered a couple of occupants, both of whom were DOA, the pallor on their skin indicating asphyxiation from failing ventilation systems.  
He cursed again, however useless it would have been, and scrambled toward the next chamber. Still no readings. Hunkering next to the threshold, he and his men cocked their guns, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The door slid open. Carefully peering around the corner—a mode of defense that was protocol on every mission— they saw that infrared picked up nothing of interest until, without warning, a bright red light flared and overexposed their vision enhancements. The ominous sound of shoulder minis wound up. The soldiers bucked as a barrage of fire erupted from within, buzzing away and blasting from the entryway in a flurry of deadly sparks and shells. Keller leaned against the wall, clenching his teeth and holding his breath for the critical moment. A multi-armed robot seized the corners of the door trap and lunged into the hallway, full view. Aside from the appendages, the drone was a composite abdomen; its shell was hard to pierce and its brain was embedded deep within. 
Keller waited for the split-second between rounds, recited a quick prayer while increasing his rifle's power, and with fight-or-flight instinct, opened fire. The shell blazed in rounds of projectiles and blaster fire; the onslaught gave distraction to the robot, but not long enough to prevent itself from rearming. Realizing it could have been his final moment, Keller went in, focusing all his grit and energy, and within a few harrowing seconds, concentrated his fire until the bullets pierced the hull. The robot jolted, rocked back and forth before its appendages went limp and dropped to the floor like an empty husk.
Solace, but the mission wasn't over. He received an emergency call on the com-link. “Sergeant, I'm hit!” One of his men was slumping to the ground and clasping the side of his lumbar. The burn was severe, carbonizing his obliques from what he saw through the tattered uniform. Thankfully, the wound didn't appear to be mortal, nor was it a direct hit, but the soldier still needed immediate attention.
“Pvt. Sanders!” he barked. “Tend to Pvt. Uvik. It won't be much, but throw on that hemostatic patch and give him a shot of morphine before bringing him in. Pvt. Ugo, you and Sanders got fireman's carry. Get him to medivac, now! I'm going in.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” came the summary replies.
Keller retreated further into the darker depths.
Keeping all the collective cool he could muster, he contacted the general. “Commander, sir. I'm passing an extended section without entry points. Should I proceed?”
“Affirmative, Sergeant. Keep going. There's another chamber all the way down on your left. If no one's there, get out!” Keller acknowledged, cut contact and maintained his course.  
Explosions rattled from above, followed by tremors akin to an earthquake. The salvos arrived, and each second was a dance with death.  Moments later, he stumbled into a clearing where the corridor flared into a centralized hub surrounded by multiple points of entry. He spotted the door on the far left and fired to test the durability of the bulwark. The rifle barely made a dent. Switching to the blaster holstered at his side, he groused when it only left a dark starry blot. No time. Without shedding another precious second, he pulled out another detonator, stuck it against the door and took immediate shelter in the corridor. The wall erupted in a plume of smoke and debris. After the coast was clear, he lunged into the thick of smog, hoping to God no one trapped inside was affected by the blast or the noxious fumes.
Even with infrared, it was hard to make anything out with all the billowing smoke, but he persisted and scanned the room for any signs of life. Whipping his head around in all directions, he saw nothing but computers and furnishings, most of which were knocked out of place after the blast. Drawers hung from their hinges, the contents of which were left strewn all over the floor next to the fallen pieces and shards from the ceiling. The place was ransacked and he saw no sign anyone was here since the invasion began. However, wedged in the far corner out of harm's way was a box glowing with the patent heat signature. To his surprise, the box jostled with the open flaps quivering in return. Odd. No man could fit inside unless he was bent out of shape and shoved inside against his will. Yet something was stirring inside. Running up, he slid his gun around his back and parted the flaps before peering in.
His jaw nearly slackened. Someone must have left their pet behind. No wonder; they were all in a hurry―or they perished. He was unfamiliar with the planet's fauna and wondered what kind of animal it was. The creature laid there nestled within a tiny blanket staring up at Keller with the sad eyes of a whimpering dog, and eyes large enough to indicate it had to have been nocturnal. Both ears folded back as if the creature was looking to be petted, or so it seemed. From first glance, it appeared to be a large galago, but more streamlined and fewer tufts of shaggy fur, so the wrinkling in its pelted skin was visible with each twist and flexion.
A thought flashed into him. Was this the object of interest the general was talking about? It couldn't be. Puzzled, he immediately contacted the general's office.
“What is it, Sergeant?” came the deep gruff voice.
“Commander, sir. I found no one inside except this animal. I have no idea what it is or who it belongs to. Does your objective still stand, sir?”
After a brief pause, the general replied, “I've received no further instruction. Carry on, soldier!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” he prompted and reached both hands into the box. The creature stirred, appearing more curious than frightened, and leaped on top of Keller's shoulder, nuzzling the side of his face with the affection of a house cat. The creature, with a soft and gentle demeanor, buried its head under Keller's chin and cooed. Strange! Why did they have this creature there in the first place? It was clearly non-terrestrial and didn't act like it was snatched from the wild; its mannerisms suggested some level of domestication. But regardless of disposition, the creature was no substitute for whoever Keller was supposed to find.
As he fled as several explosions rocked the compound. In the midst of the chaos, he received another call from the general. “Sergeant, were under heavy enemy bombardment and the compound's about to be toast. I'm ordering the whole infantry out, on the double!”
Another explosion kicked out more detritus as Keller scrambled back up the corridor, dodging bigger fragments collapsing from the ceiling and hurtling over the robot he shot down minutes earlier. The onslaught was relentless, and the floor heaved several times, jostling his stride and almost knocking him off his feet. But once outside, he realized, he would only be exposed to direct enemy fire and immediately neutralized on site.
Just a few meters behind, a section of the corridor caved in under the barrage, scattering clouds of smoke and hazardous particulates into the air. Keller was soon enveloped. In an instant, he gagged and coughed, his throat and nasal passages singed with irritants of shattered bits of carbon fibers, plastic, alloys and earth. He was meant to risk his life, to stick out his neck where he could lose it at the drop of a hat, and it was no different here with the Vertellion Imperials on the verge of claiming another habitable world, spreading their ungodly wings and bulling the entire Terran Federation out. The planet, aptly named Adam, was pivotal in the trans-stellar power struggle, and losing this world would toll the death knell of freedom in the galaxy.
The thought only propelled Keller closer to escape with an alien creature latched on to his suit. Though adorable, the animal was in all probability a burden and not worth losing a single soldier over, however, orders were orders, and he felt a wash of relief when a report came in over the comlink that the infantry escaped with only the one WIA. But it seemed like they were jumping out the frying pan and into the line of fire...
The compound jolted. A bunker buster must have hit, or its enemy equivalent. The light ahead seeping through the blast hole was only ten meters away, partially occulted by passing dust, but it might as well have been a million miles when the walls caved in. The creature was startled, furrowing its brow in a manner that Keller might have taken for sentience under different circumstances, but he quickly dismissed it as hogwash. No lowly animal had that kind of intelligence.
In an instant, Keller was hit over the shoulder by a falling slab, missing the creature by inches when it darted and latched onto his chest plate. Keller tumbled less than a meter from the opening, feeling himself going numb from the waste down. He instinctively knew the bones around his shoulder were fractured. Pain struck with every move he made, hampering even the smallest shift in posture. The creature jumped to the floor and settled next to his sprawling form, whimpering with notable concern as he probed his surroundings. Keller tracked where the animal was looking and realized his legs were pinned down by another slab. Defeated, he dropped his head in resignation.
A call came in, demanding his status.
“Commander, sir. I'm trapped...can't leave,” he began to wheeze and huff as he strained to speak. “I request to be left behind. Evacuate the troops...shuttle waiting outside...don't let them blow it up...cover them...allow my troops safe egress...quick...”  
The general repeated his name. Keller was fading, his professional formalities broken, and he was bound for immolation.
The place rumbled and the walls buckled, soon to give way, flattening everything in their wake as they came crumbling down. The creature glanced at Keller and cooed before leaping up and disappearing through the hole.
Great. Keller thought. Risked my bum just to lose the family pet. But it was only war, he cajoled himself with stark rhetoric.
Yet the hole gave Keller a full purview of the area despite his incapacitation. From behind the door, Keller witnessed the creature scampering out onto the front lines and up the knoll where a single blast of energy would have reduced anyone to paste. To his puzzlement, the creature looked back in his direction with the same set of puppy eyes Keller first saw, then turned toward the sky and perched like a meerkat.
Before his ears could interpret what happened, all firing ceased. The relentless impacts against what remained of the compound abruptly followed, as if the enemy was given orders for an impromptu retreat. But the gusts from passing ships still sheared across the sky as the enemy maintained its position. To Keller's horror, several craft aimed right where he was laying. This was it. He shut his eyes and lowered his head in full submission. With seconds to spare before he met that fateful salvo, he uttered a silent prayer, asking for repentance and making atonement.
The wind shear of approaching vessels suddenly went silent. Puzzled, he peered up into the hole, and his eyes flared in disbelief. The oncoming ships remained, but they were still, dragged to a dead-stop in mid-air. In a single snap, the ships were suddenly pulled away from the compound and flung along their individual trajectories like a shot put toss before crashing along the outer periphery in smoldering plumes. A squadron of reinforcements soared into the battlezone with guns blazing. The creature, who appeared calm and unreactive to the surrounding caterwaul, gently lifted its snout. In an instant, the searing shafts of high-energy pulses began firing off axis and taking out fellow ships that blossomed and dove like a falling comet. The thunderous crashes and violent shaking that followed would have knocked any ground troops off their feet. The remaining craft circled the perimeter, but to Keller's astonishment, they were all tugged by some unseen tether, whipping around like a cat-o-nine tails with crippling inertia. As if the tether had been cut, they hurled in single file into the next hill that lit up in evenly successive blasts. A series of sonic concussions followed, reaching Keller's incredulous ears.
The creature continued to face the sky as the few surviving crafts banked and hightailed it away from the front. Keller could hear the air strain under the steep angles of retreat before they accelerated with an ear-splitting boom and faded from view. The compound rocked for several seconds, stirring some of the dust already settled. The creature tweaked its head back toward the compound, tilting it innocently to the side. Keller could even see the tiny glint in those oversized beads. What was he thinking?
Scampering confidently down the knoll, the animal's juxtaposition with the fiery pillars of war along the perimeter looked strangely misplaced, evoking a scene out of a satire. Seconds hence, a brief shadow blotted out the hole as the creature came prancing back up to Keller's face only to bury its head under his cheek, cooing in a warm tenderness before shutting its eyes affectionately. It amazed Keller how an animal of non-terrestrial origin became attached to a human it never met until now, but there was something missing, that there was more to this scenario on what was happening.  
“No...” he cried in sotto, trying to keep up his breathing as he came to the terrifying conclusion, “...it can't be...the weapon...” His words slipped away before he passed out.
 
“Sgt. Keller!” He heard his name, but he was still coming to.
Again, he heard someone shouting out his name, and he flicked his eyes open and blinked, recognizing the medic standing over him
Continuing, he said, “Sir, we found you laying on the ground. Your legs were crushed by something lost in that mess. Looks like someone moved them before we got there.” He turned around and mumbled a word or two before patting the side of the bed and leaving.
Keller was still recovering, so he shrugged off what he heard. He wiggled around, but his motility was still limited. His shoulder was encased in a mold and fastened by a metal brace. Looking down, he saw that both his legs were wrapped up as well. He wondered if he was about to be entombed and garnished with gold. The fog in his head made him certainly felt that way. Regardless, despite the temporary setback, he was glad to be alive.
Something leaped onto the bed. Turning slightly, Keller recognized the gray-brown pelt of the creature he rescued. He didn't remember much aside from running for his life with something akin to a tabby cat faithfully latching on. And here it was, having clearly tracked him when he was hauled from the rubble.
The rubble...the slabs of rock pinning him down...the compound caving in...
It all came back to him. They were under attack. He remembered that, and the creature as well, who ran out of the compound, running up the little hill pocked with gunfire. Afterwards, he lost consciousness. There was more that happened just prior. It was hard to believe. Paralyzed in thought, he puzzled over how the creature avoided getting hit by enemy fire or scraps of the ships blasted out of the air. And what incredible force was able to repel a whole fleet of Vertellion fighters without a visible means of contact? He knew no Federation ally with those kinds of powers.
Then his eyes flared and he stared back into a pair of shimmering orbs.
Footsteps approached, then a looming shadow cast over the light coming from the cramped office in the corner. The imposing presence of the general stepped up to the foot of the bed. He had a smirk on his face. Keller expected the worst. He didn't even know if he failed his mission or not, despite the heavy losses of the adversary. It was either commendation or reprimand, followed by demotion. He shuttered at the prevalence of the second outcome.
“Sgt. Aram Keller of the First Infantry?”
“Yes, sir.” It was all he could say.
The general tilted his head down toward the beast curling itself under Keller's chin. “Looks like you got yerself a devoted pet!”
Though Keller was too spooked to return the affection, he reluctantly lifted his good hand and stroked the animal against his own protest. Connecting the dots, he knew who lifted those slabs.
The general continued, “Apparently, that little guy's called a waltufit; native to this planet and smart as a whip from what I was told.”
“That's good to know, sir.”
“Besides that, we're empty-handed, Sergeant. No weapon; no expert. We still haven't heard back from the FM.”
“Sir, I take it you saw what happened when―”
“We saw a bunch of explosions and three crafts escaping. Glad we got a leg up on this fight, but that's all we know. We were lucky that time, but we're waiting for the next strike. The Verts almost got the galaxy in their pocket.”
“Sir, if I may say add, I think we may already have the weapon that can tip the balance of the war.” And he looked down and gestured toward his new found friend shifting its weight and cuddling up with a contented smile.
 
","August 18, 2023 18:25",[]
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,ccfzwp,Let Me Tell You About My Best Friend,Jonah Yuhas,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ccfzwp/,/short-story/ccfzwp/,Fluff,0,"['Friendship', 'Happy']",3 likes,"
Animals give humans the most loyal friendships in the world, and they love us unconditionally, to be honest, one day when my furry friend dies it will break me and while I shed tears writing this, I can't help but to remember all the good memories we've shared together. Six years ago I was anxious to pick out my very own puppy and my husband driving the car to Stockton, CA asked me if I had any name ideas for a male, and the first name that came to mind was Max. Simple and cliché I didn't care, his name will be Max. Andrew already had a Siberian Husky puppy named Lana and we both decided that she could use a friend. We arrived on a farm and the nice folks took us back to where the puppies were being kept. One of the puppies ran up to me and grabbed my shoelace, and ran off with it, that's when I knew I didn't choose this dog, he chose me. That day I had absolutely no idea that this tiny German Shepard was going to make a huge impact on my life.Max was seven weeks old so tiny that he only cared to be in the car if he either slept on my lap or, between the brake and gas pedal. Lana thought he was a tiny rodent and tried to grab his neck a few times, but it didn't take long until they both became great friends. I don’t have children one day perhaps, but that day hasn’t arrived, I still see both dogs as more than a friendship. I see them as family, as my own children whom I love so much. Sometimes I talk to my fur best friends and most of the time I get made fun of, but I swear even though they can’t speak to us humans they know what we’re saying, because the days I complain Max sighs or if I’m in the middle of a conversation he’ll react to it. Andrew and I did our first road trip to Oregon where we drove along the coast with the dogs, and we soon realized that our dogs will be traveling dogs.     I have endometriosis and with every flare-up or agonizing pain, there wasn't a time that Max didn't comfort me, or left my side until he knew it was okay to. He kissed away every tear I have shed and even made me laugh on the days I wanted to cry. Over the years Andrew and I did a lot of traveling, we went from traveling around the country for two months in our Prius to buying a sailboat in Sausalito, CA with no knowledge of sailing, we decided to practice a few times before taking off beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. This was an unforgettable experience because we learned a lot about our dogs, and our friendship with both only grew stronger. Our family learned to trust each other in the hardest moments and shared incredible adventures with one another. It wasn't the first time that I had seen Max protective over his family, but it was the first time that I had seen him protective over every single living creature. It was a great feeling knowing that my best friend would always protect me even if it was against a Segal. I have met some people who believe that dogs live longer when they have a purpose in life, and I believe this to be true. Wherever we are Max's purpose is to protect and guard whether we lived on the sailboat, or if we lived on land. He loves it so much! And he thrives doing it.As we sailed along the coast of California and into Mexico, Max and Lana have seen things most dogs in their lifetime don't see such as dolphins, Manta Rays, Turtles, Whales, and the glowing ocean (Bioluminescent). Sometimes people would say that our dogs were spoiled by the amount of fish they'd eaten on our sailing journey or the endless uncharted anchorages they explored, but the truth is Andrew and I cared so much about Max and Lana's diet that we are only trying to increase their life span. Even if it only increases by a year. It has been a great feeling watching my fur babies glow in a new environment and being able to run their paws on unfamiliar land. To this day we are back on land enjoying family and friends before we decide to live back on the sailboat, but Max's grey hair has spread and I can see the difference in his appearance, Lana can no longer move the way she use to limiting us to less traveling. Some of the things that I used to find annoying I now appreciate such as the need to put his head near my shoulders while constantly snoring, and the amount of bed space he hogs. Lana's little nose kisses and the way she crosses her paws like a princess. I've always felt like when Max comes over to me and rests his head on my lap, with his big sandy brown eyes I know he loves me because any animal lover knows 'the look' their pet gives them when they are affectionate. I know the little things now matter in the long run and I will miss it later. I will miss the way he lays on my chest and how he sits on my lap when he wants attention, I will miss the way Lana chomps her mouth open to let us know when she is hungry or the way they both play together. They are so loving, playful, and full of energy that any child playing with them will not be disappointed.It's so hurtful to witness an animal that is your whole world get old and it's devasting to see them pass before you do. My sister asked me: ""What are you going to do when Max passes away?"" I didn't have an answer for her then and I still don't to this day. I'm enjoying the time I have left with both of my animal best friends.
","August 18, 2023 19:31","[[{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY\n\nplease come in I beg you', 'time': '20:56 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0023,Write a story involving a friendship with an adorable animal.,nu58se,Oscar the Owl,Merissa Penniman,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nu58se/,/short-story/nu58se/,Fluff,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship']",3 likes,"
Oscar the Owl
 
“Please, Vu, you have to take him,” Linda’s voice pleaded over the phone. “We’ve already had him for six weeks and he’s been to three other adoption places with no luck. No one wants to adopt an owl with no background.”
 
I sighed. “Linda, I can’t--” I started.
 
“You’re the best option for him,” she continued. “He’s not predictable or sweet and approachable like most people are looking for. He needs someone who knows animals and can respect and care for him properly.”
 
“If he seems so undomesticated,” I countered, “maybe he should go into one of those programs at the conservation place that helps re-release animals into the wild?” 
 
“I talked to them already,” she replied. “They said they’re already overwhelmed with animals and can’t even come see him for an evaluation.” 
 
I rubbed my forehead. 
 
“Please, Vu,” Linda said. “I’ve got no one else. He’s got no one else.”
 
I rubbed my forehead harder and shook my head. Linda sure knew how to tug at my heartstrings. 
 
“Linda, what am I going to do with an owl? I don’t have the time for--”
 
“He can live at the clinic!” She interrupted. “We’ll give you his favorite perch and the leash. He mostly just sits and stares at everyone when he’s not eating or sleeping anyway. He can sit at reception and people will love it.”
 
People did love it at first. Oscar the owl was regal and surveyed his new kingdom­– the vet clinic waiting room– from his wooden perch with unmitigated aloofness. I told Myra at reception not to let anyone near him until we knew his behaviors better but that only lasted about half a day. Robin came in with her toy Pomeranian Moxie and set him on the counter as usual (despite repeated reminders not to). Oscar turned his giant orange eyes on Moxie and lunged in quick as lightning for a bite. He was just out of reach, thank heavens, or things could have been very bad. Robin ripped poor Myra a new one, and Myra calmly weaponized her professionalism to remind Robin that it was against the clinic’s policy for animals to be set on the front counter unless in a carrier. I made a mental note to look into giving Myra a raise. 
 
After that incident, Oscar was moved to the back counter and spent his days glaring at the back of Myra’s head and making threatening eyes at our clients. His new location was next to the doorway that separated the front office from the back. He quickly learned that I regularly used this doorway and made a game of being ready to strike. It was annoying but harmless, as he couldn’t quite reach me. 
 
A week or so later, I was doing an exam on a regular of mine, Dimpty the Siamese cat, when his owner Tom brought up Oscar.
 
“By the way, what’s the deal with that mean-looking owl behind Myra?” He asked. “He sort of appeared out of the blue.”
 
I snorted. “Yeah, that’s Oscar. It’s a long story. A friend at the animal shelter begged me to take him because no one was adopting him and they were going to have to put him down.”
 
“Ha,” Tom chuckled. “A fitting name. Like Oscar the Grouch.”
 
“He certainly does live up to his name,” I said.
 
“So what’re you gonna do with him?” Tom asked as I finished listening to Dimpty’s heart rate.
 
“Looks like an eye infection; but nothing too serious. We’ll prescribe him some antibiotics,” I replied. 
 
“That’s fine,” Tom said. “But I didn’t mean Dimpty, I meant Oscar.”
 
“Oscar?” I said, surprised. “What do you mean?”
 
“Well, he’s clearly an unhappy owl. Are you gonna find him a new home with some experienced owl person, or train him yourself, or what?” 
 
I frowned. “I actually hadn’t thought about it,” I said. “I mean, he bites, but I didn’t really look at it as him being unhappy.”
 
“Hey, you’re the vet,” Tom said as he affectionately scratched Dimpty’s head. “But it seems to me that when an animal is mean it’s usually because they’re scared or sad or unhappy for some reason.” He shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
 
Tom’s words stuck with me for the rest of the afternoon. He was right, and it was oddly neglectful of me to not have realized sooner that it was unlikely that Oscar was inherently mean. Myra and I had tried befriending him when he first arrived but he had made it clear he wasn’t interested. She fed him crickets throughout the day, which he would only devour after she backed off.
 
I was frustrated with my friend Linda for passing him off on me and frustrated with myself for letting her. But it wasn’t Oscar’s fault no one wanted him. Oh wait, yes it was. He wasn’t exactly pouring on the charm. Still, Tom was right. Oscar was probably scared. 
 
That evening, I told Myra I would close up and give Oscar his dinner. She had been kind enough to stay late a few times to feed him while I caught up on my charting from the day. I think she felt bad for him, or maybe me. 
 
After Myra left, I grabbed the live crickets and some dead mice and lizards and sat in Myra’s chair. I loved birds and had owned a cockatiel when I was a kid. But during veterinary school, I had focused my attention on parakeets, cockatiels, lovebirds, etc., as those were the most common house pets I would be encountering. Owls were birds, yes, but they were very unlike your typical house variety. They were nocturnal, solitary, and carnivorous. 
 
Oscar was a great horned owl. He was beautiful despite that he was always glaring at me with his huge, unblinking orange eyes, shadowed by a formation of feathers that gave him an angry unibrow. He sat there fluffed, eyes piercing into my soul, just waiting for me to get within striking distance. 
 
“Hey, Oscar,” I said. He blinked but otherwise didn’t move. “I’ve got your dinner here for you. Some crispy crickets, tasty mice, and chewy lizards. What do you think?” I slid the desk chair a couple of inches closer to him. “Want to try them?”
 
Oscar shifted his talons, glancing for a quick moment at the lizard I held. I inched closer to him in small increments until I was close enough to lay the lizard near him, but as I did, he lashed out and bit my finger with passion. “Ouch!” I cried. It was a good bite and I had to get a Band-Aid for the bleeding. 
 
When I came back, the lizard was gone and Oscar was back to glaring at me threateningly. I slumped into the chair again. 
 
“Okay, buddy,” I sighed. “You’re uptight; I get it. I can’t say I blame you. I get uptight a lot, too.”
 
I spent the next hour talking to Oscar about life; what was going well, what wasn’t, and why. As I talked, I used a wooden spoon to feed him his dinner from a safe distance. Sometimes I would toss the crickets and he would watch where they landed and grab them. When dinner was over, I said goodnight, turned out the lights, and left, locking the glass door behind me. He glared at me through the glass, and I waved. I probably look like an idiot right now, I thought. I walked around the corner and got in my car. I caught up on answering texts for a few minutes, but instead of driving away afterward, I tried sneaking back to the door to spy on Oscar. He was preening his feathers diligently. 
 
I spent the next few evenings feeding him like that and having a one-sided conversation. Sometimes I sang songs when I ran out of things to say. Oscar’s orange eyes continued to bore unflinchingly into my soul.
 
On Friday, I came into the clinic just as Myra was getting settled at the desk. “Hey Myra,” I said. She returned the greeting. “Hey Oscar,” I said as I passed through the doorway to the back office. He turned his head as I went, his glowing eyes following me. For the first time, he didn’t try to bite me. 
 
I grinned to myself as I sat down at my desk in the back. “It sure is the little things in life,” I murmured to myself. 
 
As the next few weeks passed, Oscar gradually let me get closer to him during dinner and eventually I risked another finger to see if I could feed him without the spoon. He lunged at me, but his bite was more like a reminder that he could bite me really hard if he wanted to. He didn’t draw any blood. After some more practice, he stopped lunging altogether. He was finally taking baby steps toward trusting me. All I had to do was stay consistent and show him he had nothing to fear. I started spending lunches with him as well as dinners, and on weekends when the clinic was closed I’d let him loose and encourage him to explore a bit. He was still wary of me but his aggression was dwindling. He even closed his eyes one night while I sang a little song. I started looking forward to our evening talks as he grew to trust me more and would even preen himself sometimes and move around on his perch. 
 
Myra laughed one day when I gave her and Oscar the usual greeting and Oscar responded “WHO!” at me in return. “You, buddy!” I chuckled. Oscar shuffled closer to me and gently flapped his wings. It was official: he was happy to see me. He’d been easing up on Myra too, and many of our clients were fascinated by him now that he was more active and didn’t just sit there threatening everyone with his massive eyes and angry unibrow. 
 
Linda from the animal shelter came in with her German shepherd Polly and gushed at how magnificent Oscar was. 
 
“See?” She said, poking me in the shoulder. “I was right, wasn’t I? He’s a huge hit!” 
 
I just rolled my eyes.
 
“Linda,” said Myra, “where did Oscar come from, anyway? What’s his story?”
 
“All I know is he was left on the doorstep of one of our shelters up north,” Linda replied. “We think he’s about 12 to 15 years old. So many people think it’s so cool to own an owl, but they are a huge investment. Keeping them fed and housed and exercised properly is beyond what most people can afford, both financially and practically. They require a lot of care.”
 
I gave her a pointed look. “Yes, they do,” I said. 
 
She chuckled apologetically. “I have no regrets,” she said.
 
Six months later, Oscar was letting me gently scratch his head and made a big fuss if I didn’t give him attention at pre-determined intervals only he was privy to. Myra even complained that he would interrupt her phone calls by loudly asking “WHO?!” until she fed him a cricket. I offered to move him to the back with me for the rest of the day. 
 
“Oh, no,” she said, quickly. “You don’t have to do that, we’ll be fine.” I smiled. She liked Oscar as much as I did. 
 
One evening, our last appointment of the day had just left and Myra and I were about to start cleaning up when we heard the little bell on the door chime. 
 
A man had come rushing in carrying a small pug in his arms. 
 
“Please!” the man cried. “Please help my Rocky! He’s been hit!” 
 
“I’m sorry, we’re not an emergency vet,” I said. “There’s one just a few minutes from here—” 
 
“No, please,” the man said again, clearly very distraught. “Don’t make me go all the way there! He’s hurt, can’t you do something?” 
 
I hesitated for a moment. 
 
“At least patch him up enough so I can get over there,” the man pleaded. I exchanged a look with Myra, who gave me a sympathetic shrug. 
 
“Alright,” I conceded, and the man let out a relieved breath. “Myra, can you make sure one of the exam rooms is clean?” She scurried off without a word. I turned back to the man. “What happened, Mr…?” 
 
“I’m Frank and this is Rocky,” he said, hurriedly. “He got out and I think he must have been chasing a squirrel or something and I went after him but he got hit before I could get there.” His voice cracked as he spoke. It was clear this pug was more than just a dog to him. Myra came back and ushered us into one of the exam rooms as he continued. “He was still awake when I got to him, but I think he’s hurt bad and now he won’t open his eyes!”
 
“Alright, Frank,” I said gently. I took Rocky carefully from him and laid him on the exam table. 
 
I could see immediately that Rocky’s injuries were very serious. He was still breathing but they were ragged breaths, and I palpated several broken ribs. The likelihood of internal bleeding was almost certain. I started doing what I could, but it quickly became clear that the poor little guy wasn’t going to make it. Frank was very agitated and paced the room. A few moments later, Rocky breathed his last and my heart sank. I looked up at Frank sympathetically. 
 
“No!” he cried, hoarsely. “No, no, no. This isn’t happening. What did you do?”
 
“I’m so sorry, Frank,” I said, quietly. “I’ll give you some time with him.”
 
Myra slipped in with a box of tissues and I moved to leave through the back door of the exam room. 
 
“This is your fault!” Frank yelled, suddenly tackling me from behind. He was a larger man than I was and I found myself on the floor at his mercy. He used his weight to hold me down and rain down angry punches on me. I instinctively covered my face and neck with my arms but couldn’t manage to get out from under him. Myra screamed something and ran. I could only assume she was calling the police. 
 
Suddenly, I heard a high-pitched screeching sound and Frank’s attacks let up. I moved my arms enough to see what was happening and saw Frank defending himself against the large talons and sharp beak of Oscar. I had completely forgotten that I’d let him off his leash just before Frank came in. He had flown in through the open exam room door and was a flurry of wings and feathers, screeching, clawing, and pecking. Frank rolled off me and curled up in a ball on the floor to protect himself. Oscar was relentless. I gained my feet and found my voice. 
 
“Oscar!” I shouted over the deafening squawks. “Oscar, stop! Come here.” I grabbed him from above, pinning his giant wings as best I could as he kept up his flurry of attacks on Frank. He struggled in my arms and kept screeching. I looked at Frank. For a man who’d just been viciously attacked by an owl, he seemed okay. He stayed in the fetal position, sobbing. There were countless scratches on his arms but none were bleeding too badly.
 
I was in shock and couldn’t find any words. Eventually, Frank calmed down enough to sit up. 
 
“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. All signs of rage were gone. “Rocky was my late wife’s dog. I lost her to cancer two months ago, and Rocky was all I had left.” He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing again.
 
I sighed. The adrenaline was still pumping and my whole body was shaking. Oscar had stopped screeching but was still wriggling to get free. Frank wasn’t a threat anymore; I left the room, closing the door behind me. Myra nearly ran into me when I got to the front.
 
“Vu!” She exclaimed. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? I called the police and they’re on their way. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know how to help. Where is he? What happened?” She was talking rapidly and holding onto my arm. I made sure she was okay and told her Frank was calm now and thanked her for her help.
 
Oscar had settled and I set him back on his perch. He hooted at me and then immediately set about putting all his feathers back in place and cleaning himself up.
 
The police arrived a few minutes later and I decided not to press charges. Frank’s actions had clearly been driven by grief and, while this did not absolve him from responsibility for his behavior, it did seem unlikely that he was a danger to anyone else. He asked to take Rocky home with him and on his way out he apologized again. Myra fished around in her purse and handed him a trifold pamphlet for grief counseling. 
 
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. Frank took the pamphlet and gave her a grateful nod. Without another word he turned and left, clutching the box containing Rocky. 
 
The police didn’t stay long after that. Once they left, I turned to Oscar. He’d finished his important work on his feathers and was sitting on his perch, looking at me curiously with his big orange orbs. I leaned over and his eyes closed contentedly as he enjoyed the head scratches I gave him. 
 
“You saved me tonight, buddy,” I said. The shock was finally wearing off and what had happened was starting to sink in. My eyes got wet. “Thank you, Oscar. Good boy.”
 
Myra smiled and flicked him a cricket. “Who’s a good guard owl?” She teased him.
 
“WHO!!” Oscar replied, merrily scooping up his treat. 
 
 
 
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