prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,8n8yv7,Celestial Harmonies: Unveiling the Symphony of the Universe,Turey Rosa,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8n8yv7/,/short-story/8n8yv7/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Friendship']",38 likes,"
Poetic. As I set up my campsite in the verdant heart of El Yunque, Puerto Rico's stunning rainforest, I murmured to myself, ""Alex, you've finally made it."" Nestled near the captivating Río La Coca, a waterfall's ceaseless cascade echoed the rhythm of this untouched wilderness, hypnotizing me with its majesty. This journey was my self-prescribed sabbatical—an endeavor to escape the mundane and lose myself in the arms of nature's raw beauty. When dusk arrived, the rainforest filled with the soft symphony of its nocturnal residents. It was then I ventured deeper into the woods, lured by the prospect of foraging for berries. Unbeknownst to me, this simple act was about to propel me into an extraordinary encounter that would irrevocably shape the trajectory of my existence.In the midst of this tranquil realm, as the orchestra of life played on around me, my footsteps carried me to a secluded oasis, yet my senses were abruptly seized by a sight so bewildering, it defied every realm of possibility. Before me stood a figure that seemed to have materialized from the fringes of imagination—an entity of diminutive stature, its skin a hue of verdant green that harmonized seamlessly with the emerald foliage.Yet, it was not the creature's otherworldly appearance that ensnared my attention, but the focus of its fascination that stirred curiosity and wonder within me. Standing solitary, a single sunflower bathed in the moon's ethereal glow was the spectacle in this enchanted realm. The creature's gaze, fixated on the sunflower, was a sight so remarkable that it cast a spell upon the very air itself.Perplexed, I stepped forward, inadvertently snapping a twig beneath my feet. The alien's gaze, once captivated by the sunflower's radiance, pivoted toward me, our eyes locking in a moment of electrifying astonishment. A pulsating silence enveloped us, as if the universe itself held its breath, bearing witness to this extraordinary encounter.An unspoken understanding emerged, transcending language and the limitations of mere existence. Neither of us recoiled from the other's presence; instead, an unquenchable curiosity united us in a shared exploration of the inexplicable. In the heart of El Yunque, a silent conversation began—one that would weave the fabric of reality and fiction into an intricate tapestry of revelations.With a beckoning gesture from the alien's hand, the stillness shattered, drawing me into an intimate embrace of the arcane encounter. My initial shock yielded to cautious intrigue as I approached the green-skinned being. There was a palpable aura of friendliness enveloping its form. Accepting the alien's invitation, I sat beside it, both of us facing the resplendent sunflower that had ignited this marvelous rendezvous.The alien extended its small, verdant hand in a movement both fluid and surreal, seeming like a symbol of universal goodwill. An instinctive impulse propelled my hand to meet the alien's in a gesture that surpassed language's boundaries. This fleeting touch fostered an exchange that transcended the confines of words. Our minds intertwined in a fusion of consciousness, bridging worlds and cultures.Through this unprecedented communion, the alien swiftly absorbed my language, erasing the veil of separation that had initially stood between us. Thus a gateway to understanding had been unlocked, paving the way so the true conversation could finally commence—a dialogue that spanned galaxies, dimensions, and the enigmas of existence.As the alien's gaze returned to the sunflower, a scroll of secrets started to unfurl. Its words flowed like a symphony, each note unveiling a profound revelation. ""The golden ratio,"" the alien's voice resonated, resembling a melody whispered through the eons, ""is the cipher of creation, a language inscribed in the very foundations of reality.""In the embrace of the rainforest, the alien spun a tale of the golden ratio—an intricate pattern embedded within existence itself. With every word, the sunflower's spiral seemed to morph into a portal, a window peering into the structure of space-time. ""Observe the sunflower's petals,"" the alien continued, ""a glimpse of the divine proportion, a whisper of the cosmos' intricate gyration.""The rainforest bore witness as the alien unveiled the golden ratio's manifestations, from the spirals of galaxies to the delicate curvature of seashells. Each revelation was a note in the cosmic symphony, a testament to the unfathomable intelligence that permeated the universe.As the final echoes of the alien's words resonated within me, the sunflower before us began to radiate with an otherworldly brilliance, as if echoing the cosmic truths that had been revealed. Even the rainforest around us seemed to hum in harmony, a symphony of life bearing witness to the wisdom that had been shared.With a sense of reverence, the alien's gaze lifted towards the star-lit sky above us, its slender finger reaching out to trace the path of a distant constellation—Orion's Belt. Among the glittering jewels of the night, one star on the belt's periphery seemed to pulsate with a unique light, a pharos marking the origin and home of my mysterious companion.In a moment suspended beyond the constraints of time, I became privy to the alien's narrative—a story of an aquatic world, a planet predominantly cloaked in boundless oceans. A tale of evolution, where it's species had risen from the depths to traverse land, a leap that spanned mere cosmic moments.With bated breath, I listened as the alien wove its saga, revealing a kinship that transcended the chasm between our worlds. An evolution mirroring our own insatiable thirst for exploration, a quest to transcend limitations and redefine existence.Beneath the canopy of El Yunque rainforest, a profound connection was woven—a pact binding humanity and an interstellar voyager. With a gift bestowed upon me, the alien bid its farewell, each step it took leaving a lingering mist in its wake, a reminder of its ethereal presence.In my return to my everyday reality, a relentless obsession consumed me. The cryptic artifact held my gaze, its mysterious equation acting like a siren's call, beckoning me into the depths of cosmic understanding. Symbols and letters converged in a complex pattern, revealing a mosaic of surreal riddles that seemed to cradle the very essence of the universe itself.""Every night, the artifact rested on my desk, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, casting a mesmerizing pattern on the walls. I had become consumed, driven by an insatiable hunger to unravel its meaning.I pored over scientific texts, delved into ancient philosophies, and explored realms of knowledge I had never ventured into before.My determination was unrelenting, my thirst for understanding unquenchable. As the weeks rolled on, my mind transformed into a crucible of contemplation, where the universe's secrets melded with my thoughts. My apartment had become a sanctuary of intellectual exploration, its walls adorned with intricate notes, equations, and diagrams.I had become a modern alchemist, seeking to transmute the enigma before me into the pure gold of comprehension.Each day, as I deciphered more of the equation's layers, I felt myself drawn deeper into the riddle. The symbols began to resonate, their harmony echoing through my thoughts.It was as if the universe itself whispered its truths to me, guiding me through a labyrinth of interconnected revelations. And then, one fateful night, as the moon cast its silvery gaze upon my realm of exploration, it happened.A connection sparked in my mind, a thread of insight that wove through the equation's complexity. The symbols aligned, the letters coalesced, and the meaning bloomed like a celestial flower in full bloom.With trembling hands, I traced the lines of the equation, my heart pounding in anticipation. The riddles that had tormented me for weeks now coalesced into a symphony of understanding—a melody that intertwined with the very fabric of existence.The message unfolded, revealing a truth that transcended the boundaries of science and philosophy. It was a revelation that echoed the cosmic beauty of the stars, a dance governed not by an external hand but by the intricate choreography of natural forces.The message whispered of a universe born not from a predetermined blueprint, but from the crucible of experimentation—a universe where elements collided, conditions intertwined, and time sculpted the ever-evolving tableau of reality.It spoke of the elegance of trial and error, the interplay of creation and destruction that gave birth to galaxies and the tiniest particles alike. with a continued trial and success. My heart raced as I beheld the equation's unveiled meaning, a truth that shattered conventional perceptions.The universe, it seemed, was not a masterpiece orchestrated by a divine conductor, but a grand improvisation—a cosmic dance that defied preconceived notions and embraced the fluidity of existence.U=f(E,C,P,T,I) U—The universe and its phenomena, the ultimate reality. E—The elemental building blocks, the very alphabet of creation. C—Conditions, the stage upon which the cosmic drama unfolds. P—The heartbeat of trial and error, the rhythm of exploration. T—Time, the master sculptor shaping the universe's ever-evolving form. I—Interactions, the cosmic conversations that weave existence.This equation, once an enigma, now spoke a profound truth. The universe was not a mere product of calculation, but an intricate blend of elements, conditions, and interactions—a tunefulness of cosmic forces harmonizing through the eons.As dawn bathed my room in gentle light, I sat in admiration, a witness to a revelation that transcended the boundaries of human understanding. The cryptic artifact had granted me a glimpse into the tapestry of existence, a tapestry woven by the universe itself—a universe that embraced the beauty of imperfection, the majesty of experimentation, and the exquisite allure of the unknown. And as the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place, I knew that this journey was not just mine alone. It was a revelation meant to be shared, a message that would echo through the corridors of time, resonating with those who dared to question, to explore, and to merge with the cosmos itself.In the heart of my apartment, amidst the remnants of countless calculations and sleepless nights, I felt a profound sense of fulfillment. I had deciphered the equation, unraveled the code, and in doing so, become a part of the universe's eternal symphony—a symphony that would forever serenade the stars and inspire the hearts of those who dared to listen.Essay. In the heart of El Yunque rainforest, where the verdant foliage meets the ceaseless cascade of Río La Coca, a self-prescribed sabbatical led Alex to an otherworldly encounter. As the nocturnal residents serenaded the rainforest's dusk, curiosity lured him deeper into the woods. What followed was an extraordinary rendezvous with an entity of verdant green, an interstellar voyager, and a shared exploration of the inexplicable.This diminutive figure, cloaked in an emerald hue, fixated its gaze on a solitary sunflower. It was not its appearance that captivated Alex, but the focus of its fascination. This alien being, from a distant aquatic world, held a kinship with humanity's thirst for exploration—an evolution mirroring our journey from ocean depths to land traversal.An unspoken understanding transcended language as their minds intertwined in an exchange that spanned galaxies and dimensions. United by curiosity, Alex and the alien embarked on a silent conversation that wove reality and fiction into intricate revelations.In the embrace of the rainforest, the alien unveiled the cosmic significance of the golden ratio—a divine proportion embedded within existence. From galaxies to seashells, this pattern, symbolized by the sunflower's petals, resonated through the fabric of reality—a language inscribed in the foundations of creation.The alien's narrative, a tale of evolution on its aquatic planet, mirrored humanity's quest for exploration. As it traced Orion's Belt in the starlit sky, Alex became privy to a story that transcended the chasm between their worlds, revealing a profound connection.The encounter's aftermath saw Alex grappling with a cryptic artifact—a mesmerizing equation that encapsulated the universe's secrets. Driven by an unquenchable thirst for understanding, he delved into scientific texts, ancient philosophies, and uncharted realms of knowledge.Weeks of tireless contemplation led to an electrifying moment—a connection sparked, threads of insight weaving through the equation's complexity. Symbols aligned, letters coalesced, and the meaning bloomed, whispering cosmic truths. The revelation: the universe was an improvisation, a dance of elements, conditions, interactions, and time—a symphony of creation and destruction.This revelation shattered conventional perceptions, leading Alex to an equation that defied the notion of a predetermined universe. With trembling hands, he traced the equation, discovering a harmony that embraced the fluidity of existence—an equation that spoke of the universe's complexity and beauty.In the glow of dawn, a sense of fulfillment washed over Alex. He had unraveled the code, becoming part of the universe's eternal symphony—an exploration meant to be shared, a message resonating with those who dared to listen. 
","August 05, 2023 12:27","[[{'Eric Lizotte': 'That was nice, thanks for bringing back some PR memories. I miss El Yunque, we used to visit PR every year up till Covid, stayed in Las Palmas. Probably only went to El Yunque every 2 or 3 years as there are so many other things to see. La Cuerva de los Indios, Arecebo before it collapsed, Rincon, Toro Verde, etc. Damn I need to go again soon :)', 'time': '11:44 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Turey Rosa': 'Hope you do, El Yunque is truly breathtaking, such diversity in one place makes it a close to enchanted adventure, I go there every time I need to unwind :)', 'time': '21:54 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Turey Rosa': 'Hope you do, El Yunque is truly breathtaking, such diversity in one place makes it a close to enchanted adventure, I go there every time I need to unwind :)', 'time': '21:54 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Very deep and very poetic Turey. Beautiful imagery especially regarding the sunflower. Very much enjoyed and like the idea of presenting the story in 2 different formats.', 'time': '09:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Turey Rosa': ""Thank you for your comment, I'm glad you enjoyed it"", 'time': '21:50 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Turey Rosa': ""Thank you for your comment, I'm glad you enjoyed it"", 'time': '21:50 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""Very poetic-\n with good phrases.\n I liked this one 'Standing solitary, a single sunflower bathed in the moon's ethereal glow was the spectacle in this enchanted realm.'\n\nThis was a great opening! \nUnbeknownst to me, this simple act was about to propel me into an extraordinary encounter that would irrevocably shape the trajectory of my existence."", 'time': '00:40 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Turey Rosa': ""I appreciate your comment, it gave me joy.\n\nThis is one of my favorite parts 😊\n\nThe creature's gaze, fixated on the sunflower, was a sight so remarkable that it cast a spell upon the very air itself."", 'time': '08:52 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Turey Rosa': ""I appreciate your comment, it gave me joy.\n\nThis is one of my favorite parts 😊\n\nThe creature's gaze, fixated on the sunflower, was a sight so remarkable that it cast a spell upon the very air itself."", 'time': '08:52 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Sudarshan Varadhan': ""Your evocative writing vividly transports the reader to the lush rainforest of El Yunque and the ethereal encounter with an enigmatic alien. The narrative elegantly interweaves themes of exploration, curiosity, and the boundless beauty of the universe. The way you've merged the fantastical with scientific concepts like the golden ratio and the equation of the universe adds depth and intellectual engagement to the story. I loved it."", 'time': '20:03 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Turey Rosa': ""Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it"", 'time': '20:50 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Turey Rosa': ""Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it"", 'time': '20:50 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Fernando César': 'Hello Turkey\nI must admit I was expecting the essay part to be more of a cold, technical report about this magical encounter. It felt instead as a summary in the third person, but still field with magic and adjectives and imagery,\nIn the poetic part I noticed some repeated word. It’s impossible not to have repeated words in a text this size, but sometimes a repetition of a more rare word stands out more. Of course what are rare words is very subjective. Here are the ones that stood out to me: unquenchable, beckoning, wove, coalesced, eons.\nI...', 'time': '22:34 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Turey Rosa': 'Thanks, your feedback is appreciated 😊', 'time': '23:10 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Turey Rosa': 'Thanks, your feedback is appreciated 😊', 'time': '23:10 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'I like the poetic version best.', 'time': '20:41 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Turey Rosa': 'Thank you, I agree 😁', 'time': '22:07 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Turey Rosa': 'Thank you, I agree 😁', 'time': '22:07 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Belladona Vulpa': ""Very creative to experiment with the same story in two different ways, one was complimenting the other. I would say that both have something poetic :)\nI really like when I see in a story themes related to nature, so that was one of my favorite parts.\nMoreover, the character's curiosity is central: the interaction with the surroundings, the quest of seeking a connection to the universe, and seeking a sense of meaning.\nVery nice to read!"", 'time': '12:52 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Turey Rosa': '""Symphony of Discovery"" is a testament to the extraordinary journey—an encounter that bridged worlds, the unveiling of the golden ratio\'s cosmic significance, the shared evolution of exploration, and the deciphering of a cryptic code. In the heart of El Yunque\'s rainforest, a tapestry of reality and imagination was woven, serenading the stars and inspiring the curious at heart.', 'time': '11:20 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,y9hjdo,A Sunday Roasting,Chris Campbell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/y9hjdo/,/short-story/y9hjdo/,Character,0,"['Funny', 'Contemporary', 'Fiction']",33 likes,"
	“Wot’s this, then?”	“It’s my new smartphone, Grandad.”	“Wot’s it do?”	“Lots of things.”	“Like wot?”	“Like, read emails, search Cyberspace.”	“Wot’s Cyberspace - when it’s at home?”	“It’s a superhighway of information available to everyone.”	“Like a motorway?”	“Yeah, sort of.”	“Where’d they build it?”	“It’s not something you can see. It’s mostly underground. But lately, it’s up in space.”	“They’ve got motorways in space, like the Jetsons?”	“No, they’ve got satellites in stationary orbit that provide access to the superhighway. It’s like a big net of communication systems.”	“So, ‘ow does wots-is-face at thingy get his rockets past ‘em?”	“You mean, Elon Musk at Space X?”	“Yeah, that’s him. How does he get his rockets through the net up there?”	“It’s not like they’re connected to each other, Grandad. Well, they are connected, but not like a fishing net. The connection is invisible.”	“It’s magic, then.”	“No, it’s science. Bloody hell, Grandad!”	“I’m just pullin’ yer plonker, mate. I’m well aware of wot’s up there and all around and underneath us. I mean, my whole garden shed is proof of that, full of useless items bought on eBay.”	“Yeah, mine too.”	I went to a séance, once – in the seventies.”	“No, Grandad, I said science, not séance. Are your hearing aids working?”	“I was sittin’ at this round table holdin’ hands wif this young woman, who was wearing a scarf round her ‘ead. It had a big blue stone in the middle of it, like some Sikh magician. She kept repeating, Is anyone there, is anyone there? Like she was in the dark and had just ‘eard strange voices. I think she must ‘ave been blind, coz the room was fuckin’ packed with people. Poor love. I felt sorry for her, coz no-one answered. Rude gits. They just couldn’t deal with her disability, I suppose. They all looked shit scared of her, like if they muttered anything, she’d scream at ‘em. Then, all of a sudden, the table started to rise up on its own and this bell kept ringing. You know, the type that calls for a butler in all them posh tv shows. I thought, blimey! The Earth’s lost its gravity. So, I jumped on top of it to weigh it down and some geezer hidin’ underneath yelled out such a torrent of foul language, I stood up and left. I mean, what fuckin’ dead spirit wants to hear all that, hey? I know I didn’t, and I’m alive! Still, came home wif a nice souvenir, but your Gran didn’t appreciate me ringing it every time I wanted a cuppa.”	“Grandad?”	“Yes, my son.”	“You went rambling again.”	“Did I? Right. Must be getting’ old. So, tell me more about this smartphone of yours. Can it add?”	“It can.”	“Can it play the radio?”	“Yes, it’s called streaming music.”	“Screaming music?”	“No… Stop making fun of me.”	“Nothin’ but screaming music, these days. If you can call it that. In my day, it was love songs and dancing and fingerin’ Jane Snipper in the back alley of the dance hall.”	“Erm, Grandad. Too much info.”	“Wot, you never fing…”	“Not something I feel comfortable discussing, Grandad.”	“So, wot do you young people do these days to get your jollies?”	“Let’s get back on topic, please.”	“We never ‘ad the luxury or the readies to rent a hotel room.”	“That’s not…”	“Nah, it was either a bunk up in the local cemetery or a quickie in a toilet. You know, every time I ‘ave a sit-down, it brings back memories of those days. Who’d of thought taking a shit could be such a turn on.”	“…You can also play games on it.”	“Wot, the khazi?”	“No, Grandad. My smartphone.”	“Chess?”	“Yes.”	“How long do you ‘ave to wait for the other person to make his move?”	“It’s against a computer. It’s an App you download onto your smartphone.”	“Wot’s an App?”	“It’s short for Application. Like a computer program on your phone.”	“Why can’t you just say, Application, then? Wot’s with all this shortenin’ of words these days. Your generation too lazy to pronounce them? In my day, an Application was something you did to yerself in school.”	“Do I need to know what you did to yourself in school?”	“It was the practice of applying yourself to your school subjects. The teacher’s reports at the end of each term would be filled wif the word. Reggie could apply himself more, or Reginald’s application to his studies would be improved if he applied himself to them with an application of interest. I suppose in today’s lazy language, that would sound like gibberish. 	“That’s your opinion.”	“Nah, mate. That’s my Applied philosophy. Or is it, my App philosophy?”	“Okay, you’ve made your point.”	“Can you play twenty-one on that thing?”	“You mean, Blackjack?”	“Yeah, but in your Woke world, ain’t that politically incorrect to call it that name?”	“I don’t understand.”	“Well, you’re wot’s called a child of Generation Z, are you not?”	“How do you know about that?”	“I’m a fuckin’ Baby Boomer, Tommo. We started all this generation-naming nonsense. Well, our parents did. Post war, cold nights, no telly, nothin’ else to do but bonk, and that’s how I came abowt.”	“It’s strange thinking about people doing it back then.”	“It’s even stranger thinkin’ ‘bowt your mum and dad doin’ it. I mean, I bet you don’t look at me and yer Gran and think that at some point in our lives we went at it like rabbits, do ya.”	“Can we change the subject, please.”	“I mean, I suppose every generation thinks they invented sex. I know we did. It was so popular, there was a three-month wait at the library to borrow that Karma Sootra book.”	“It’s pronounced, Kama Sutra, Grandad.”	“Oh, so you’ve read it, then?”	“It’s everywhere on the Internet, Grandad. They just call it other things these days, like PornHub.”	“…Not read that one. Must be new. No, the whole topic of sex instruction was so popular in my day, that even WH Smith sold out of the paperback version of the book. Some bright enterprising young artist in Peckham went and copied a few pages in his own style and sold them in the Exchange and Mart classifieds newspaper for a couple of quid apiece. Made a small fortune, then went on to create his own magazine. I think it was called Forum, or sumfin’ like that. Full of saucy letters and articles. Very little photos, but when I was in school, there was a boy that used to rent copies out to his classmates at lunchtime. The teachers could never figure out why there was always a big queue outside the boys’ toilets every lunch. Mr. Boslan used to comment, sayin’ What good is a weak waterworks when there’s a war on? An army marches on its stomach, not its bladder. Poor bugger suffered from shell shock; I think. I mean, the war had been over for twenty-five years. I dunno. Maybe, he was just a fucking nutter, instead.”	“You’re rambling again, Grandad.”	“Yeah, the Karma Sootra was a big deal to the sexual revolution. Everyone wanted to try out the infamous position Fourteen – the Dhenuka.”	“What was Position fourteen?”	“Just good ol’ fashioned Doggy Style, Tommo. Up and in from behind! After all, we’re all just animals, aren’t we?”	“Sorry I asked.”	“Embarassed you, ‘ave I?”	“It’s one thing talking to people your own age about it, then there’s…”	“Heh! Yeah! Yer Grandad.”	“Some things are best left sacred.”	“Then you don’t want to hear abowt the time your gran and me walked in on yer mum and dad in the…”	“NO! Thank you. Let’s move on, shall we? I don’t know how we got here, but I was trying to explain to you what my smartphone can do.”	“Look, Tommo. I’m very much up-to-date wif technology gadgets. What I ‘ave a hard time gettin’ my head around, is figurin’ out those little symbols on the oven controls. I mean, if anyone wants proof of alien life, they just ‘ave to look at the symbols on a modern oven. All I want to do is switch it on, set the temperature, and stick a roast in there.”	“Don’t you have the manual?”	“It’s all in Chinese!”	“That’s unusual. Most manuals are written in several different languages.”	“Not this one, Tommo. Can you read Mandarin?”	“Where did you buy the oven?”	“Where I buy everything else, Tommo. On eBay. No, sorry. I didn’t get this one on eBay. I got it from that – oh, wot’s it called? It’s named after the flying carpet bloke.”	“You mean, Ali Baba?”	“Yeah, that’s it. But it was from the faster one.”	“Ali Express.”	“Yep, that’s the one! Although, I never realised Ali Baba was Chinese. I thought he was from Persia or someplace like that.”	“He was, Grandad. I used to like reading Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves as a boy.”	“Fuckin’ Chinese will steal anything and copy it.”	“That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it, Grandad?”	“You know, in the Eighties, when Ronald Reagan was runnin’ around the White house in America, he banned the sale of any technology to the Chinese. You know why?”	“You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you.”	“Because, he knew they would copy it, mass produce it, and sell it back to ‘em at discounted bulk prices. I mean, back before then, their biggest export was fucking tea and fortune cookies, weren’t it.”	“That’s a generalisation, Grandad… and a little racist.”	“Wot!? Am I wrong?”	“It’s how you explain it.”	“Oh, sorry. I forgot that you are a child of the Woke generation. How ‘ave we gotten to the point of un-labelling everything. We can call someone Chinese, but we can’t say Chinaman. I mean, it’s getting to where we can’t call ourselves English anymore. It’s those people west of France or East of Wales, or South of Scotland.”	“You’re being ridiculous now, Grandad.”	“You know wot’s ridiculous? These fucking symbols on the oven.”	“Okay, let me see. Yeah, I can see how someone like you could get confused.”	“Someone like me?”	“You know, the bigoted East of Wales person.”	“That’s facetiousness, Tommo. I thought I taught you better.”	“You did, Grandad. That was just toned down sarcasm.”	“Cheeky little fucker aren’t you. Keep it up and I’ll tell you about your mum and dad in the…”	 “Okay, okay! Let’s look at these symbols, shall we?”	“Thank you, Tommo. You’re a good lad. I’ve got the Sunday roast ready to go, okay? Your Gran left me explicit instructions to have it ready by the time she gets back from visiting her sister. Now, wot’s that one with the line going across the bottom of the square that makes it look like a grumpy face?”	“That means it’s the bottom heating element.”	“And the one that looks like it, but with an added line at the top, making it look like he has to take a shit?”	“Top and bottom element.”	“The one wif the line at the bottom, two sad eyes, and a third sideways eye above them, like a dot on an Indian woman’s forehead?”	“It means bottom element and fan assisted. The dot you’re referring to – by the way - is called, a Bindi, Grandad. Traditionally worn to indicate that an Indian woman is married. Although, these days, it’s used as a beauty mark.”	“Bindi? I thought that was Crocodile Dundee’s daughter.”	“No, her father was Steve Irwin, Grandad. The Crocodile Hunter.”	“Wot abowt this one? The puff of air looking symbol below and to the right of the fan-assisted one? See? I’m learning!”	“That means steam is used to assist cooking. Probably good for cooking your roast.”	“That’s the one, then! Even if it looks like a cartoon fart. Right, the rest of the tutorial can wait. Now, how do I set the temperature?”	“Just turn the knob on the right to the preferred setting.”	“Wot’s the preferred setting?”	“Dunno, Granddad.”	“I can see who does all the cooking in your house.”	“I live alone.”	“Exactly! You need a live-in girlfriend, mate.”	“You mean that I should get a girlfriend to move in, so she can do all the cooking?”	“I’m just saying.”	“I can cook, you know.”	“Then wot’s the temperature setting for a Sunday roast, Bachelor of the Decade?”	“I don’t know.”	“You’ve got a smartphone, yes? Let’s see how smart it is. Look it up.”	“Okay… SIRI!”	“Wot are you doing?”	“I’m asking my phone.”	“Too many words for your clipped generational existence to type it in?”	“…What is the perfect temperature to set for a Sunday roast?”	“Wot she say?”	“She says, here are some links to What is the perfect temperature to set for a Sunday roast.”	“You know, Tommo. I sometimes think that we’re all just aliens living in an alien world, using alien technology that is alien to common sense. Forget the search. Don’t look any further, your Gran’s left a note.”	“What did she say?”	“Push the button with the image of a turkey on it.”	“Ah, for fuck’s sake. That was too easy.”	“Too right, Tommo. You took the words right out of my mouth. Fancy a pint down the local while this is cooking?”	“How do you know how long to cook it for?”	“Your Gran’s left a link to a web site that monitors the oven. Says here, that it’s connected to the Internet with a camera inside and will alert you when it’s time to take it out.”	“That’s impressive.”	“Yeah, Turns out the fucking Chinese seem to have improved all that technology they stole. Clever little buggers, aren’t they.”	“Grandad! Now you’re assuming that they’re all small.”	“I’ll leave that to the statisticians, Tommo… Now, put that address in your smartphone and let’s get down the pub for a Sunday pint.”	“Don’t you have a smartphone, Grandad?”	“Wot do I wan’t wif a smartphone, Tommo? Conversation killer, mate. Nah, you bring yours and I promise not to mention what we caught your mum and dad doing in the living room.”	“I’m not listening, I’m not listening.”	“Yeah, that’s the trouble with Gen Z. Too busy talking…”	 
","August 09, 2023 06:22","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hey Chris,\nWhat a charming interaction between the two generations. Both of them, so desperate to communicate properly. You write the humor tastefully while keeping the messages of the piece clear. I also love a good dialogue based piece from you, Chris. The importance of maintaining a relationship with your elders is so valuable and the love they share for each other is clear. Nice work!!', 'time': '00:15 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Amanda.\nThis is the second installment of Reggie and Tom. You\'ve already read ""Exact Change"" last year.\nA teasing grandfather keeping the ""youngster"" on his toes, is not a bad thing. Especially, when it ends with a pint down the pub.\nSo glad you liked it.', 'time': '05:18 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Amanda.\nThis is the second installment of Reggie and Tom. You\'ve already read ""Exact Change"" last year.\nA teasing grandfather keeping the ""youngster"" on his toes, is not a bad thing. Especially, when it ends with a pint down the pub.\nSo glad you liked it.', 'time': '05:18 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'Great pacing. You really put the dialogue to its best use.', 'time': '23:31 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Many thanks, Ellen.\nI had fun writing this.', 'time': '00:50 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Many thanks, Ellen.\nI had fun writing this.', 'time': '00:50 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Ha! Funny :) What's the point of getting old, if not to mess with young people? Grandpa knows more than he lets on, and while he might not know what an app is, his trolling game is top tier."", 'time': '20:33 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Michal.\nThere\'s life in the old fella, yet. \nThis is the sequel to Reggie and Tommo\'s first outing in ""Exact change."" https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '00:55 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Michal.\nThere\'s life in the old fella, yet. \nThis is the sequel to Reggie and Tommo\'s first outing in ""Exact change."" https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '00:55 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Turey Rosa': 'I really enjoyed your story! I had a good laugh with it, thank you for sharing.', 'time': '15:37 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Turey.\nSo glad to have made you laugh.', 'time': '23:37 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Turey.\nSo glad to have made you laugh.', 'time': '23:37 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': 'Great characters. Read like a comedic play. Really enjoyed it.\n\nGood job', 'time': '21:12 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Tom.\nSo glad you enjoyed the comedy.', 'time': '23:37 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Tom.\nSo glad you enjoyed the comedy.', 'time': '23:37 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""This was a fun tale, Chris, and it also highlighted some telling traits of the differences - and similarities - between generations. In this case, two generations. I liked the grandfather. Salty as hell! I had grandfathers like him: scary and entertaining at the same time.\n\nGreat job, my friend. One of the best takes on the chosen prompt that I've read.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '12:50 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': ""Thanks, Delbert.\nWe're all the same whatever age. Reggie has proved that with his incessant opinions and endless chatter. Sometimes, you need to stop and listen to the world around you to accept its change and realise nothing changes. Time just marches on."", 'time': '03:22 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': ""Thanks, Delbert.\nWe're all the same whatever age. Reggie has proved that with his incessant opinions and endless chatter. Sometimes, you need to stop and listen to the world around you to accept its change and realise nothing changes. Time just marches on."", 'time': '03:22 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'This is one of the most fun and original takes on the prompts this week;) ""Grapple with something alien to them""... grandpa with a smartphone is so spot on for this.\n\n""I suppose every generation thinks they invented sex.""....yes reading history, it appears every generation believed they re-invented the idea of sex, and relabelled the words for an array of things... and are absolutely certain they are the first ones to have ever done this. I\'m sure it goes back to Roman times. I like the line about how the chinese improved everything, just bo...', 'time': '05:54 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Scott,\n\nGreat feedback, thank you.\n\nWe could say that anyone experiencing sex for the first time, thinks they invented it. 🤣\n\nI have an iRobot Roomba I got half-price on a local auction site. Brilliant piece of tech. We named it Rosey - after the Jetson\'s robot maid.\n\nOld people and gadgets don\'t necessarily go together, but Reggie keeps his knowledge to himself, so he can wind up his grandson.\n\nI first introduced these two in ""Exact Change."" \nHere is the link, if you\'re interested: https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '06:44 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Scott Christenson': 'Rosey haha, Someone recommended iRobot as the best brand. I bought a cheapo Xiaomi one, thought it would be a big pain to setup (i\'m a ludite with consumer technology)  but it was precharged, I pushed one button, and then it went around exploring by itself. It can actually ""see"" the room with lasers or something, and doesn\'t randomly bump into things like the old robots did.  Will take a look at Exact Change, fiction is def a fun way to discuss modern trends in a light humorous way.', 'time': '07:22 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Scott,\n\nGreat feedback, thank you.\n\nWe could say that anyone experiencing sex for the first time, thinks they invented it. 🤣\n\nI have an iRobot Roomba I got half-price on a local auction site. Brilliant piece of tech. We named it Rosey - after the Jetson\'s robot maid.\n\nOld people and gadgets don\'t necessarily go together, but Reggie keeps his knowledge to himself, so he can wind up his grandson.\n\nI first introduced these two in ""Exact Change."" \nHere is the link, if you\'re interested: https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '06:44 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Scott Christenson': 'Rosey haha, Someone recommended iRobot as the best brand. I bought a cheapo Xiaomi one, thought it would be a big pain to setup (i\'m a ludite with consumer technology)  but it was precharged, I pushed one button, and then it went around exploring by itself. It can actually ""see"" the room with lasers or something, and doesn\'t randomly bump into things like the old robots did.  Will take a look at Exact Change, fiction is def a fun way to discuss modern trends in a light humorous way.', 'time': '07:22 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Rosey haha, Someone recommended iRobot as the best brand. I bought a cheapo Xiaomi one, thought it would be a big pain to setup (i\'m a ludite with consumer technology)  but it was precharged, I pushed one button, and then it went around exploring by itself. It can actually ""see"" the room with lasers or something, and doesn\'t randomly bump into things like the old robots did.  Will take a look at Exact Change, fiction is def a fun way to discuss modern trends in a light humorous way.', 'time': '07:22 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Superb story, very funny. Generation gaps, yes. I enjoyed the dialog going back & forth. Grandpa pretends he's not in the know, but I believe he's more aware than he shows. Nice work, Chris."", 'time': '17:23 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Joe.\nYeah, The old fella is a bit of a teaser. Although, he may need a modern lesson on sensitivity.\nGlad you liked it.', 'time': '00:03 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': ""LOL, yeah, he's a bit blunt at times."", 'time': '00:28 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Chris Campbell': ""It's an English thing."", 'time': '01:09 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Thanks, Joe.\nYeah, The old fella is a bit of a teaser. Although, he may need a modern lesson on sensitivity.\nGlad you liked it.', 'time': '00:03 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""LOL, yeah, he's a bit blunt at times."", 'time': '00:28 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Chris Campbell': ""It's an English thing."", 'time': '01:09 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""LOL, yeah, he's a bit blunt at times."", 'time': '00:28 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': ""It's an English thing."", 'time': '01:09 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': ""It's an English thing."", 'time': '01:09 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Coming from a family where all the grandparents and great uncles use humor to try and connect to (and sometimes embarrass) their grandkids, this absolutely cracked me up. 😂 I enjoyed your take on the prompt! Even as a millennial, I can hardly keep up with all the new apps and technologies being produced. Thanks for sharing this story, Chris. Really enjoyed it!', 'time': '14:32 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': ""Anna,\nThanks for the great feedback. \nI try my best to keep up with technology. So far, so good. \nI've even got an iRobot Roomba now. She's called Rosey after the Jetson's cleaning robot.\nSO glad you like the story."", 'time': '15:05 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': ""Anna,\nThanks for the great feedback. \nI try my best to keep up with technology. So far, so good. \nI've even got an iRobot Roomba now. She's called Rosey after the Jetson's cleaning robot.\nSO glad you like the story."", 'time': '15:05 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'This thoroughly un-modern Mary resembles old Reggie in feeling everything is becoming more alien all the time. Loved your story anyway.😜', 'time': '20:12 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': ""Thanks, Mary.\nTechnolgy must be kept up with, or we'll all lose sight of it.\nThanks for reading and commenting."", 'time': '23:43 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': ""Thanks, Mary.\nTechnolgy must be kept up with, or we'll all lose sight of it.\nThanks for reading and commenting."", 'time': '23:43 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'I think grandad is a lot smart than he lets on. Loved the story and the banter between, the exasperated grandson and the ornery old grandfather. Your dialogue sparkles with humour and verges on the edge of inappropriate with hilarious moments of inter generational exasperation.\nWell done', 'time': '13:50 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Michelle,\nMany thanks for the great feedback. I tried my best to keep it clean and also remain funny.\nThis is the second Reggie and Tommo story.\nThe first, ""Exact Change"" can be found at https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '15:14 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Michelle,\nMany thanks for the great feedback. I tried my best to keep it clean and also remain funny.\nThis is the second Reggie and Tommo story.\nThe first, ""Exact Change"" can be found at https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '15:14 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'You took that prompt and drop kicked it in the face! Grandad seems to find so much alien to him, and hilarious to boot.\n\nThe funniest thing for me is the unsaid joke, if he confused science and seance, then what the hell is in the shed hahaha. The actual imagery of the séance scene was too good man, genuinely smiling through the whole thing.\n\nAnother cracking story Chris!', 'time': '12:23 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Kevin,\nThanks for the wonderful feedback. \nMy second story of the week that just flowed out of me.\nSo glad to keep the comedy going.\nThis was a return to Reggie and Tommo.\nTheir introduction was in ""Exact Change"" at https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '15:11 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""Oh yeah! I'll check that out later. Cheers."", 'time': '15:30 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Kevin,\nThanks for the wonderful feedback. \nMy second story of the week that just flowed out of me.\nSo glad to keep the comedy going.\nThis was a return to Reggie and Tommo.\nTheir introduction was in ""Exact Change"" at https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yuhvgf/', 'time': '15:11 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Oh yeah! I'll check that out later. Cheers."", 'time': '15:30 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Oh yeah! I'll check that out later. Cheers."", 'time': '15:30 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,4zy3vq,The Apparatus ,Michelle Oliver,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4zy3vq/,/short-story/4zy3vq/,Character,0,"['Fantasy', 'Speculative']",32 likes,"
“For God’s sake Mosley!”Jock Pendleton from Pendleton and Mosley ripped his spectacles from the bridge of his nose and mopped at his brow in frustration. Little Tim Mosley Junior stood before him with two halves of the whole apparatus resting in his open palms, his face a study of blank confusion.“If yer name wasn’t on the door, Son, I’d have given yer the boot long ago!”Tim’s munchkin face screwed up in dismay. His father had been a refugee from Oz in the early days of the Witch’s reign, and munchkin offspring stayed true to their bloodline, no matter how diluted it became.“I didn’t mean to!”“And that there is the problem. You never mean to. Yet every time, every… single… bloody time, you manage to mess it up!”“I was just…”“You was just doin’ perzactly what I specifically told you not to.”Tim’s eyes welled. It was a thing of beauty when a munchkin’s eyes welled. The moisture glistened like crystal drops, hovering just on the edge of his lashes, collecting rainbows and wavering with tremulous hesitation on the verge of spilling.Jock was having none of it.Munchkin tears were as bad as dragon tears. Full of remorse yet never learning from their mistakes, the same offense committed again and again, until one was heartily sick of the sight of them.“No use turning those tears on for me, Son, I’m perfectly immuned to them by now.” Jock slammed his eye-glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and held his hand out for the apparatus, both halves of it. Tim gingerly placed the delicate pieces into Jock’s hand, pressing his lips together in a vain attempt to force the tears back.Heedless of his wishes, they broke free from his lashes and spilled down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jock. I won’t touch it again, I promise.”Jock sighed. “Now, don’t you be promising something you can’t deliver. Everyone knows a munchkin in a laboratory is a mistake.” He waddled back to the bench and placed the apparatus on the wooden surface, carefully inspecting the two halves with a critical eye. “Now, what am I going to do?” He fumbled about on his bench for the correct tool, while holding the apparatus steady.“I could…” Tim began, but Jock stopped him with a glare.“You. There. Sit. Stay. Touch nothing!” Tim trudged dejectedly to the corner where a small wooden chair rested, its surface smooth and shining, well polished by the seat of his pants.“Right, let’s see what can be fixed…” Jock bent his head over the workbench, adjusting the mechanism on his eye-glasses to increase the magnification.The daylight dwindled into evening shadows. Tim sat as still as he could on the wooden chair, his britches further polishing it with each barely contained fidget and wiggle.“Where is the light?” Jock grumbled from the worktable, his nose pressed deeply into the apparatus as he attempted to realign the mechanisms inside.Tim, freed from the constraints of sitting still, bounded into action. With youthful energy and zeal, he flitted about with flint and lantern, lighting each lamp in the laboratory. Cautiously, he set the last lamp carefully on the workbench, ensuring that he placed it a suitable distance from Jock’s elbow, and angled in just the right way, so as to shine its light upon his work.Jock barely grunted an acknowledgment as the light fell on the mechanics, glinting off cogs and wheels, springs and coils. With his probe in one hand and long-necked pliers in the other, he was totally transfixed by his work. His wrinkled brow was furrowed with lines of concentration, and he tutted and hummed to himself as he worked.Tim shifted his weight from foot to foot, barely even able to see over the table, but he devoured each movement with wide-eyed fascination. Each gentle twist and tweak made by the master was one twist closer to seeing the apparatus restored. And it was such an apparatus. Tim had no idea what it did, or why it existed, only that it moved with meticulous precision, each gear and lever fitting into the next like magic. It was that movement that had caught his eye, ignited his fascination and tempted him beyond his capacity for self control. Mind you, even for a Munchkin, his capacity for self control was notoriously limited.From behind the curtain in the corner of the room, a snuffling sound broke the silence. Tim jumped. His focus had been so intent upon the workbench and the intricacies of the master craftsman at work on the apparatus that he’d forgotten about their other big discovery. A giant.It had landed in the small courtyard behind their shop this morning with an earthshaking thud and a smoking crackle of energy that scorched all the cobblestone pavement black. Miraculously, although it was covered in a fine layer of soot, the giant appeared unharmed. It swayed alarmingly on its two tree trunk legs, then collapsed in a crumpled heap. Tim had witnessed the entire spectacle as he was returning from the outhouse on the other side of the courtyard. He had run into the laboratory, screaming and babbling incoherent sentences, and forcefully dragged Jock outside.Jock was pragmatic. He studied the prone form, its enormous limbs akimbo, and declared they had better drag it inside the laboratory for further study and to prevent mass hysteria when the rest of the village awoke.So, with much effort (and a pinch of the very expensive and powerful levitation powder that Jock had constructed for the prince and his men) they heaved and huffed and manhandled the giant into the laboratory, where it lay the length of the entire rear wall, head against one side, feet touching the other. Jock had the foresight to enclose this space with a hastily erected curtain made from a bedsheet thrown over a rope that he nailed to each wall. No need to frighten any visitors today with the unexpected and unexplainable presence of an enormous giant in their midst.The giant didn’t stir at all, and Tim continued to take fascinated peeks behind the curtain to study the creature with morbid curiosity. It was on one of these furtive, self appointed missions that he noticed the apparatus. It had been loosely clasped about the giant’s wrist, and it took very little of his munchkin skill to liberate the item. The whirling cogs and gears produced a soft, mesmerising ticking that enchanted him. His little fingers probed and poked and prodded in an attempt to understand the purpose of the apparatus. A munchkin’s sense of curiosity is a bottomless well, never ending, never satisfied, and potentially dangerous.“Here, leave that be! Ya don’t know what yer messin’ with!” Jock had growled furiously as he swiped the apparatus from the munchkin’s hand and placed it high above the workstation, well out of temptation’s reach.But the faint ticking could still be heard, each tick a question. What am I? Why am I? How do I? Tim couldn’t leave it alone and without conscious thought, plan or consideration, he scampered up a stool when Jock had left to use the outhouse and the apparatus was once again in his hands. His nimble, yet clumsy hands. That was how Jock had found him when he returned, the apparatus in two parts and a guilty, contrite expression on his little munchkin face.After being motionless all day, the giant groaned and sat up, pulling the hastily erected curtain down in a tangle of fabric, long limbs thrashing alarmingly. Tim and Jock scampered out of harm’s way, eyes fixed upon the raging creature. It occurred to Tim that bringing the giant indoors may have been a mistake. It was very large and appeared as if it could destroy the laboratory and all the delicate implements with one mistimed sweep of its arm. When it sat up, it stilled, the stillness almost as terrifying as the previous moments of uncontrolled pandemonium. Seated, the giant’s eyes were on a level with Tim’s own and the two stared in horrified fascination at each other for long, still moments, each barely breathing or blinking.Jock, braver than he appeared, stepped between the giant and the munchkin, drawing both of their attention to him.“Good evening, giant. We do not mean to harm you,” Jock began, his hands outstretched in a calming manner. “You mysteriously appeared here, and we was wondering what you want?”The giant spoke, a rumble of sound that had no intelligible meaning. Even Tim couldn’t understand. The ability to converse with all creatures and convey their wishes and desires to Jock, the inventor, was an invaluable munchkin skill, that offset the damages caused by his curiosity and clumsiness. Jock turned to him for the translation. It was the reason his name was on the door, after all, but this time his second sense for strange languages didn’t help.The giant rumbled again, a louder rumble with a upwards inflection. A question? A plea? Tim wasn’t sure, and it was unusual for him to feel so at a loss.“I don’t know what you’re saying, giant,” he cried, panic making his usual treble voice an even higher squeak of sound.Rumble, rumble… the giant waved its arms about alarmingly, and both Jock and Tim ducked beneath the flailing limbs. The distress was written loud on the giant’s face and it finally buried its head in its hands, as if the weight of its thoughts and emotions was just too heavy. It took several long slow breaths, muttering up under its breath some kind of incantation. The repeated sounds convinced Tim that the creature was casting a spell, so he braced himself for some kind of calamitous catastrophe.Nothing happened. Quite anti-climatic, really.The giant peered through its fingers in cautious glances, as if it too expected something to have happened. For the space of seven breaths, no one in the room dared to move. They barely breathed. The only sound was the soft, barely perceptible tick of the newly repaired apparatus laying on the workbench.Suddenly, the giant grasped its forearm, eyes wide with horrified panic, searching for the item missing from its wrist.Rumble, rumble?Tim interpreted that sound, and the urgency with which it was enunciated, as ‘Where is my apparatus?’ or even, ‘Who the devil has stolen my apparatus?’ or perhaps, ‘Oh god where is it?’ He exploded into action, reacting before Jock could stop him, and swept the apparatus from the workbench to offer it to the giant, hoping to appease it. The giant reached out one hand and took the apparatus with careful fingers. The look on its face spoke of despair as it examined the damage and the unfinished repair.Rumble, rumble.It looked up hopefully at Tim, then at Jock. When they shook their heads in mute incomprehension, the giant mimed poking the apparatus with tools. Tim understood this to be a request for the appropriate tools for repair, and he bounced back to the table. The giant stood slowly, careful not to hit its head on the ceiling and with bowed back made its way to the table to study the tools.“Now just you wait here a minute…” Jock grumbled as the giant pawed through the implements on the table. “Them’s expensive delicate tools and I don’t appreciate you just rummaging through them like as they were spoons in a drawer.”As expected, the giant ignored him as it picked up the probe and pliers. In the huge hand, the tools looked like toys, but the giant wielded them with dexterity and precision. Tim was entranced by the delicate motions and he clambered up a stool to watch as the giant worked.“Tim, get down from there before you break something!” Jock growled, but for the first time in his life, Tim ignored him. The giant was fascinating, its movements precise and controlled as it manipulated the apparatus and its moving parts with confident ease and skill.Rumble, rumble.The giant paused and looked at Tim, who stared back blankly. He still couldn’t understand a single word, but from the tone, the giant was requesting he do something. Carefully, the giant took Tim’s hand and guided it into position to hold one of the tools while he manipulated the other. With a final deft twist and click, the mechanism locked into place and the giant smiled.Rumble, rumble.Perhaps that was an expression of praise, or maybe gratitude, Tim wasn’t sure, but he liked the sound of it. As it spoke, the giant clapped the apparatus about his wrist and twisted the dials and manipulated all the interesting mechanics with swift, sure movements.“Thank you for letting me help,” Tim said as he reached out his hand to clasp the giant’s arm with a friendly, grateful clasp.In a flash of ash and dust, the giant vanished as suddenly as it had arrived.***Amid an earthshaking cacophony of sound, Brenton emerged into the lab with a shudder and his head spun alarmingly. He knew he was about to pass out once again and groped unsteadily for help. It was forthcoming and urgent hands pressed an oxygen mask to his face. He breathed deeply as his legs gave way beneath him. More hands guided him down to sit with his head between his knees until the world stopped spinning. He could hear the urgency in their voices, but with the ringing in his ears, he was unable to make out words.“Brent…Brent… you ok?” Finally the words coalesced into some kind of sense in his brain and he shook off the concerned hands.“I’m fine, a bit lightheaded, but fine.” He opened his eyes, relieved to see the interior of the laboratory, its sterile stainless steel surfaces, with orderly storage for equipment, familiar and comforting.“It seems as if your mission was successful. You brought back a souvenir.” James, a fellow scientist and good friend, spoke in a tone that was not necessarily approving.Brenton frowned in confusion. He’d not brought anything with him. He knew the rules, looking only: leave nothing, take nothing. Until they had more data, the balance must remain neutral. He turned to see what had caused James’s disapproval. There, pale and limp, was the little creature who had helped him repair the convergence capacitor. The little elf-like creature must have hung on to him as he activated the jump link. Shit.“Yeah, the mission was successful. You can tell Elon Musk that inter-dimensional travel is possible.”Brenton studied the little creature, its pointed ears and fancy, bright clothing, and wondered just what kind of can of worms he and his colleagues had opened.
","August 06, 2023 06:24","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hey Michelle,\nWhat a great take on the prompt. I give you serious props for building such a rich world in 3000 words. I loved the way these characters interacted with one another. Can you really blame a giant for damaging some delicate tools? I think not. It was a delightful read and that Elon musk line was just the cherry on top. Nice work!!', 'time': '23:36 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'I appreciate you reading and responding to this one. It’s not my usual writing genre, so I’m happy that you felt the world building worked. Thank you.', 'time': '10:37 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'I appreciate you reading and responding to this one. It’s not my usual writing genre, so I’m happy that you felt the world building worked. Thank you.', 'time': '10:37 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Whoa! A giant behind a curtain and a Munchkin? Do we have a new wizard of Oz? LOL\n\nA wonderfully imaginative tale, Michelle, and one that was written with verve and sparkling wit. As per, you turn out a tale that is engaging and thought provoking. The characters shine, especially Tim. I would dearly love to read a sequel to this story and see what Tim's ultimate fate is. Well done, my friend. Well done indeed.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '12:41 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I too wonder about Tim’s fate. Maybe he might let me know how he’s going in the future and if he shares that with me, I’ll write about it. I’m having a week of writers block for this week’s prompt.', 'time': '12:51 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""You know, you have a definite genius for writing tales from a pet's viewpoint. Maybe look at Dorothy when she's in her eighties, through the eyes of Toto's great-great-great grandson/granddaughter. You'd smash it, my friend!\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '13:03 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I too wonder about Tim’s fate. Maybe he might let me know how he’s going in the future and if he shares that with me, I’ll write about it. I’m having a week of writers block for this week’s prompt.', 'time': '12:51 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""You know, you have a definite genius for writing tales from a pet's viewpoint. Maybe look at Dorothy when she's in her eighties, through the eyes of Toto's great-great-great grandson/granddaughter. You'd smash it, my friend!\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '13:03 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""You know, you have a definite genius for writing tales from a pet's viewpoint. Maybe look at Dorothy when she's in her eighties, through the eyes of Toto's great-great-great grandson/granddaughter. You'd smash it, my friend!\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '13:03 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Great Fantasy, Excellent story, humorous & I love OZ, as well as Giants & Munchkins - Nice work, Michelle.', 'time': '17:41 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading it.', 'time': '23:22 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thank you for reading it.', 'time': '23:22 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'Munchkins and witches, vanishing giants even! (I would have liked some flying monkeys, I loved the flying monkeys!)\n\nI liked the world building of the small studio,   and Little Tim Mosley Junior was a great character, I cared about what happened to him- hopefully he will fit in better in this crazy reality!\n\nThanks-', 'time': '04:42 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'A bit of light hearted fantasy this week. I’m happy hat you enjoyed it.', 'time': '10:33 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'A bit of light hearted fantasy this week. I’m happy hat you enjoyed it.', 'time': '10:33 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'What a great job! Fantasy writing is up your alley. Great twist. LF6', 'time': '23:34 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks. It’s a genre I enjoy reading, but don’t often write. I appreciate the feedback.', 'time': '00:16 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks. It’s a genre I enjoy reading, but don’t often write. I appreciate the feedback.', 'time': '00:16 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': ""Nice! Loved it! First, munchkins! Second, a giant?? Third, Tim is... Well, bilingual is an understatement but you know what I mean. I just kept loving it more!\n\nTim and Jock. Those names are paired in Robert Heinlein's 'Have Space Suit Will Travel' too. Although the characters are a lot different! 😁"", 'time': '11:18 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I don’t tend to write fantasy, although I love reading it, so this was my little attempt at something different. I’m happy that you enjoyed it.', 'time': '11:22 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I don’t tend to write fantasy, although I love reading it, so this was my little attempt at something different. I’m happy that you enjoyed it.', 'time': '11:22 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': ""Wow Michelle, you really churn these tales out quickly. It's impressive. Sparked curiosity early on and became more and more fun to read as it went on. Left the reader with questions as well, in a good way.\n\nNice work"", 'time': '21:58 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. As for fast, I don’t get much time midweek to write, so if it’s not written on the weekend (or mostly written) I wouldn’t find the uninterrupted time to sit down and write. If I have a less busy week, I’ll sit on the story for a few days, editing and reworking parts before posting, but when I know the week is going to be hectic, I put it out there straight away.', 'time': '13:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. As for fast, I don’t get much time midweek to write, so if it’s not written on the weekend (or mostly written) I wouldn’t find the uninterrupted time to sit down and write. If I have a less busy week, I’ll sit on the story for a few days, editing and reworking parts before posting, but when I know the week is going to be hectic, I put it out there straight away.', 'time': '13:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Two dimensional and then some. Totally so unbelievable it is believable. Too cute 🥰 doesn't do it justice. Trophy worthy!"", 'time': '13:28 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. It’s just some light hearted fun this week. An attempt at fantasy, a genre I love to read but find intimidating to write. There are so many exceptional fantasy writers here.', 'time': '13:40 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Know exactly what you mean.', 'time': '15:57 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. It’s just some light hearted fun this week. An attempt at fantasy, a genre I love to read but find intimidating to write. There are so many exceptional fantasy writers here.', 'time': '13:40 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Know exactly what you mean.', 'time': '15:57 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Know exactly what you mean.', 'time': '15:57 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I was trying to figure out where this was going but I was nowhere near right. This was a lovely fun piece, love the characters of Jock and Tim. And good work not giving away any clues as to the giants identity but also having him an active participant in the story, that's not easy.\nThanks !"", 'time': '07:50 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading my little attempt at some light hearted fantasy. Glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '10:29 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading my little attempt at some light hearted fantasy. Glad you enjoyed it.', 'time': '10:29 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Well well well, all I can say about that is rumble rumble rumble...rumble?\n\nJokes aside, a great piece, full of empathy for little Tim with plenty of mystery right up top. You totally lead me on, thinking it was a watch, then perhaps a Gullivers travels reference with the giant but landing in Oz. Then bam, sci-fi, and musky husky...of course he would try that!\n\nThoroughly engaging Michelle... As always!', 'time': '07:25 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I am left wondering what will happen to poor Tim and his dimension when the powers with money get hold of the tech. I kind of despair for that dimension.', 'time': '07:38 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""Elon will turn Tim into a battery, even if it's just a munchin in a dynamo wheel, to power his Tesla's and no longer need lithium. Then he will get everyone that bought one of his flamethrowers and call them the DimesionX army and march them in to Tim's Dimension. There the munchin wars will ripple across all realities and shatter the universe... How it reforms in the reverse big bang will be for future historians to discover."", 'time': '07:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michelle Oliver': 'Hahaha you need to write this! Gold', 'time': '10:26 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for reading. I am left wondering what will happen to poor Tim and his dimension when the powers with money get hold of the tech. I kind of despair for that dimension.', 'time': '07:38 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Elon will turn Tim into a battery, even if it's just a munchin in a dynamo wheel, to power his Tesla's and no longer need lithium. Then he will get everyone that bought one of his flamethrowers and call them the DimesionX army and march them in to Tim's Dimension. There the munchin wars will ripple across all realities and shatter the universe... How it reforms in the reverse big bang will be for future historians to discover."", 'time': '07:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michelle Oliver': 'Hahaha you need to write this! Gold', 'time': '10:26 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Elon will turn Tim into a battery, even if it's just a munchin in a dynamo wheel, to power his Tesla's and no longer need lithium. Then he will get everyone that bought one of his flamethrowers and call them the DimesionX army and march them in to Tim's Dimension. There the munchin wars will ripple across all realities and shatter the universe... How it reforms in the reverse big bang will be for future historians to discover."", 'time': '07:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Hahaha you need to write this! Gold', 'time': '10:26 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Hahaha you need to write this! Gold', 'time': '10:26 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'LOVED IT!!', 'time': '18:56 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'An entertaining twist on the Oz story. I enjoyed this.', 'time': '16:37 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Leland Mesford': 'Poor little Tim.', 'time': '01:56 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Heh, charming :) Not quite the giant I initially pictured, but a great twist. Two labs concurrently running their own experiments, and their worlds crossing. \n\n""tangle of fabric. Limbs thrashed alarmingly as the giant growled and ripped at the fabric"" - two sentences ending on ""fabric"" makes it stand out. If that wasn\'t the aim, might be a candidate for an alternate wording.\n\nIt starts off quite fairytalish, fitting Oz, but by the end it\'s taken a more ominous tone. Will this mark the reign of a new man behind the curtain? Or perhaps Tim wil...', 'time': '20:40 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for the pick up, you’re right and I’ve reworked that part. A new man behind the curtain… hmmm maybe. Thank you for your critique, as usually you’re spot on.', 'time': '13:46 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Thanks for the pick up, you’re right and I’ve reworked that part. A new man behind the curtain… hmmm maybe. Thank you for your critique, as usually you’re spot on.', 'time': '13:46 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,26ihzu,Boxing the Moon,Kelsey H,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/26ihzu/,/short-story/26ihzu/,Character,0,"['Drama', 'Contemporary', 'Fiction']",26 likes,"
Jesse waited on the porch, time passing slowly. The moon rose high and unblemished. All through the long hours at school he had watched the sky, the clouds billowing, parting. He had watched the night come as he sat and ate dinner, the conversation of his father and brother passing over him.“What’s out there, Jesse?” his mother asked, following his gaze. The curtains were open, stars appearing in the purple sky. No clouds.“It’s an eclipse tonight, remember,” he told her, and she nodded and smiled, already standing to clear the table before heading out to work. His father glanced at him across the table, pausing in his talk of Jay’s upcoming boxing fight, such a look of baffled regard that for a minute Jesse looked away from the sky.After dinner he read his chapters for English homework, then he went and sat outside to wait. His dad and brother sparred under the carport, shadows moving across the concrete floor. They swung, ducked, occasionally swore or laughed at things Jesse couldn’t see. They didn’t look up to see the moon, they never did.Jesse lifted the binoculars, keeping the covers on the lenses until they were trained at the sky, then he popped them off and looked at the dizzying expanse of stars. He was careful not to ever aim them at the house down the street, where he had once seen the teenage daughter undressing in her second level bedroom. For a long minute he’d been transfixed, stars and planets forgotten as he watched the girl, her bedroom lit up like a world all of its own.  Then he’d felt himself hot and prickly with shame, he yanked the binoculars down and just about fell through the door going back inside.When he’d first requested the binoculars for his twelfth birthday, he hadn’t understood why Jay laughed through a mouthful of cereal. Their dad had reached around to pat his back, higher up than Jesse would have thought was helpful to a person who was coughing. “Don’t choke now,” he had said in a warning tone, but he’d looked mildly amused himself. At who’s expense Jesse wasn’t sure. His father was the most unknown force there was.The solar system was less a mystery to him than people were. He didn't understand why his brother loved boxing, getting up in that ring knowing he was going to have to hurt another person, be hurt himself. He didn’t understand why the way his dad stared into the night while he smoked on the porch could make him feel lonely right to his bones.  He put the binoculars down again, checked the time and shifted on the porch, the last warmth of the sun still seeping through the concrete.His dad and brother split apart again, facing each other, Jay nodding as his dad said something to him. He’d been a boxer too once, their dad.Maybe there’d been a time, when Jesse was newly born and still unknown, when his dad had hope of him following in his footsteps. Maybe once he imagined both his sons out there sparring with him, getting into the ring, fists punching flesh.But that hope must have been abandoned long ago. Jesse’s lungs clenched up tight when he tried to run. He flinched when his dad feigned punches and told him to duck. Hurt his hand when he tried to swing it into his dad’s waiting palm.Earlier that year, his dad had made a last futile attempt at teaching him to fight, after Jesse made the mistake of complaining about a bully in his class.He’d taken him out to the carport, gave him the gloves to put on, told him to swing a punch. “Right here, Jess, right in the nose.”Jesse tried, arms flailing, feet slapping the ground, imagining for a moment that smile his dad gave when Jay won a fight aimed at him. But after a few minutes he felt the familiar terror, his throat closing, and he pushed the gloves off and threw them on the ground, grabbed his inhaler from his pocket.He put it to his mouth and sucked on it, relief flooding down with it. His dad stayed beside him, watching, his gaze concerned and reproachful.“You’re gonna have to learn to take care of yourself, me and Jay can’t always be there,” he said after a while.“I know,” Jesse said, even though he couldn’t imagine them ever not being there.The next day he walked out of school and found his brother there waiting. “Show me who he is,” he said, and Jesse did, a mix of shame and gladness twisting in him. He watched Jay haul the boy up against the fence by his collar, hold a drawn fist ready and hiss threats until the bully was crying and apologising. After Jay was trespassed from the school, and his dad stuck the notice on the fridge as if it were an award. He watched his dad switch off the light of the carport, then the spark of his lighter in the darkness. Jay walked over and stopped in front of him, stood swinging his arms and gazing into nothing for a minute.“What time is it happening?” he asked, nodding toward the sky. Jesse had told him about it the night before. He had been lying on the trampoline watching the sun sink into the horizon when Jay arrived home from the gym. He walked over and boosted himself up beside Jesse, lay down on his stomach and dropped his chin onto his arms. He looked weary, his shirt damp with sweat.“Tell me something,” he said, looking down at the mesh of the tramp. So, Jesse told him about the upcoming Eclipse, how it would happen, what they would see. Jay didn’t say anything, just listened, a rare stillness in him.“It’s meant to start at 10.15,” Jesse said now, hoping Jay was going to stay out and watch it with him. But he only jumped up the steps and headed inside.His dad walked over, the tip of a cigarette glowing and bobbing as he moved. He stopped beside the porch, blew smoke toward the air. “What you doing, Jess?”“Waiting for the eclipse,” Jesse said.“It’s getting late, you need to get inside.”“Can I stay out here to watch dad, please?” He resorted to pleading, like Jay never would have. And his father only shrugged, like he never would have if it was Jay arguing.“If you want to,” he said. He flicked the cigarette away and Jesse waited for him to go inside after Jay, probably going to watch boxing clips and discuss the faults and merits of the fighters. He should have told his dad the earth was going to box the moon, then he might have been interested.But instead he sat down on the step beside Jesse. “So, how long then?” he asked. Jesse glanced at him, waiting for the questions to come. What’s an eclipse? How does it happen? He hated having to explain it to him, even though he never minded explaining to Jay.“He’s taking an interest, Jesse,” his mother rebuked, when he complained to her about the questions his dad asked. How do they know how hot the sun is? How do they really know how far away the stars away? But his dad never had to take an interest when he talked boxing with Jay.“It’s going to start soon,” Jesse said. “The moon starts turning red.”“Yeah, I seen it once, when I was a kid.”“You did? How old were you?” The thought of his young father all those years ago, staring up into the sky, made him feel closer to him. He wondered if that was how it felt for Jay when he boxed with him.“About eighteen maybe. Didn’t know what the hell I was looking at but my brother was with me, he told me.”Jesse almost froze, almost forget entirely about what they were waiting for. His dad never spoke of his younger brother, who had died before Jay was born.“Did he like space?” Jesse asked, trying to imagine his unknown uncle standing beside his father, looking up at the sky.His dad had a photo of him he kept in his draw, under the tee shirts. Jesse had found it once when he was looking for an old shirt to use for art class, and he pulled it out cautiously, feeling as if it were a forbidden item.His dad was instantly known to him, the boy beside him a stranger, and yet Jesse had known him too. They both stared unsmiling and hard eyed into the camera. A date scrawled on the back. 15/04/98. His dad would have been sixteen then, although he looked older. Jesse’s heart had thudded as he slid the photo back in place, that buried thing of his dads. “Yeah, he did,” his dad said. ""He was real smart, like you.""His dad smiled at him and Jesse shifted closer to him. “Did he want you to watch it with him?” He thought of Jay, his futile hope he’d spark his brothers’ interest in watching it with him. “Nah, we were just out and happened to see it. Come on, give us a look with those.”Jesse passed him the binoculars and watched him raise them to his eyes. Sweep the sky with them. “Here, dad,” he said, putting a hand on his dads’ arm to slow it. He guided his hands until he was aiming the lenses for the moon. “Tell me when you see it,” he said. The shadow was just beginning to haze the moon. He wanted his dad to see it even more than he wanted to see it himself.“Yeah,” his dad said, stopping. For a moment he sat in silence. Jesse wondered if he was thinking of his brother. If he remembered being young. His dad passed him the binoculars. “Here, you have them,” he said. “You been waiting long enough to see this.”He stood up and walked away to light another cigarette. Jesse raised his eyes to the sky. He could smell the smoke on the air. He watched as the shadow of the earth covered up the moon.He thought of his dad watching this with his brother, and all these years later watching it with him. He felt the link between himself and his dad, an eternal bond far beyond whether or not Jesse liked sports. It seemed so strange, how things happened that seemed like they must mean something, but were nothing more than the universe doing what it did. 
","August 12, 2023 03:56","[[{'Lily Finch': 'Cool story of generations and wonderings of a boy about his dead uncle experiencing the same with his dad being the pinnacle. LF6', 'time': '20:01 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks Lily!', 'time': '08:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks Lily!', 'time': '08:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'A bond is a bond.', 'time': '05:04 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks Mary.', 'time': '08:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks Mary.', 'time': '08:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""What a beautiful and profound ending line... and such a poignant approach to this prompt. I like how the theme followed through in its own way with every character. Boxing a bit foreign for Jesse, and astronomical science foreign to Jay and the dad. The grief of his dad's brother also functioned as a point for Jesse to grapple, a way for him to better understand his dad. The simplicity of this story makes it all the more powerful. I really enjoyed this, Kelsey. Great piece."", 'time': '13:20 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks for your comment, AnneMarie. I liked the idea of a father and son who are very different but love one another trying to connect.', 'time': '22:12 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks for your comment, AnneMarie. I liked the idea of a father and son who are very different but love one another trying to connect.', 'time': '22:12 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""That last line is a great summary for this. We're always looking for patterns, for meaning in things, because that's just the way our brains are wired, aren't they? And this is especially true when it comes to connections with others, and loneliness. \n\nWe desire connection with others, but when those others behave differently than what we expected - like a boxer's son inexplicably not interested in boxing - it's jarring. It takes work to forge those connections. \n\nAll in all, a sweet moment between father and son. Jesse is learning a lot abo..."", 'time': '20:41 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kelsey H': ""Thanks for your comment, Michal. I think that's probably true about looking for meaning, I know I always feel like things must 'mean something' even when it's just totally random. Funnily enough I did actually write a bit of this from the fathers point of view, I am still interested in writing the other side so might at some point!"", 'time': '08:09 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kelsey H': ""Thanks for your comment, Michal. I think that's probably true about looking for meaning, I know I always feel like things must 'mean something' even when it's just totally random. Funnily enough I did actually write a bit of this from the fathers point of view, I am still interested in writing the other side so might at some point!"", 'time': '08:09 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Aeris Walker': 'You have such a way of capturing the nuances of family relationships--how kids and parents misunderstand each other, how so much is said through the most subtle body language, and how there is this natural rivalry between siblings that exists even if no one talks about it. Your writing has such a calm gentleness to it, that it pulls you right into hard topics without feeling too abrasive or forced. \n\nFavorite lines: ""The solar system was less a mystery to him than people were. He didn\'t understand why his brother loved boxing, getting up in ...', 'time': '18:24 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kelsey H': ""Thank Aeris, I always find parent/child or sibling relationship interesting to write. I'm glad you like the title, I was stuck on what to call it and reading through for inspiration that was what jumped out at me!"", 'time': '08:21 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kelsey H': ""Thank Aeris, I always find parent/child or sibling relationship interesting to write. I'm glad you like the title, I was stuck on what to call it and reading through for inspiration that was what jumped out at me!"", 'time': '08:21 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sophia Gardenia': '""It seemed so strange, how things happened that seemed like they must mean something, but were nothing more than the universe doing what it did."" - Woah! Loved that line.', 'time': '20:03 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks for your comment.', 'time': '08:09 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks for your comment.', 'time': '08:09 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'Nice portrait of a father/son moment.', 'time': '16:52 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks for your comment.', 'time': '08:09 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks for your comment.', 'time': '08:09 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'This line packed a punch—pun fully intended: “He should have told his dad the earth was going to box the moon, then he might have been interested.”\n\nFelt that one deep. Great story Kelsey!', 'time': '21:28 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks J.D!', 'time': '08:10 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kelsey H': 'Thanks J.D!', 'time': '08:10 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Kelsey,\nOh this piece was breathtaking! It was a fantastic examination of masculinity, family relationships, and the moment we understand our parents are human, too. I thought you did an amazing job of tackling the complex character of the father through the eyes of his child. Your use of the eclipse really anchored us in the moment as well. It was a great take on the prompt.', 'time': '16:36 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kelsey H': 'Thank you, I always love writing father-son relationships, probably because it is something I can never understand first hand.', 'time': '08:32 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kelsey H': 'Thank you, I always love writing father-son relationships, probably because it is something I can never understand first hand.', 'time': '08:32 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,j40v0b,The Alcoholic Husband,Melissa Behrend,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/j40v0b/,/short-story/j40v0b/,Character,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction']",21 likes,"
“Are you going to have another drink?” I say as he pauses The Lincoln Lawyer again. I hate it when he does that. He’ll pause it a dozen times; getting up to get a drink, a snack, to pee. Once or twice, sure, fine. But it’s never once or twice with him. 
 
“Yes, I am. What’s it to you?” he asks. 
 
“What do you mean, what’s it to me? I’m also here, watching this show, and I’d like to actually watch it.”
 
He gets up and walks toward the kitchen. As soon as I think he’s out of earshot, I call him an alcoholic under my breath.
 
He hears me, but maybe I meant for him to. “What did you say?” he asks me.
 
“Nothing.” He heard me, and I meant it. It’s always one more drink. 
 
“I’m not an alcoholic.” 
 
“Aren’t you?” I ask. “It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night and you’ve had a glass of wine at dinner and three whiskeys. That seems like a lot. I’m just worried,” I say. I mean, I am worried, but I’m also over it. 
 
“I’m not an alcoholic. I have a couple drinks on the weekends. That’s it. It’s fine. An alcoholic drinks every day. I don’t. I’m fine.”
 
I sigh, loudly—on purpose. In the kitchen, I hear him mix his drink. 
 
When he walks back into the living room, I shake my head. I can tell by his face he’s pissed. 
 
He picks up the remote and unpauses the TV.
 
“Finally,” I say. When we finish the show I get up to go to bed. I’m going to read. I can’t handle another hour of pausing and unpausing the show. 
 
“I’m going to bed,” I tell him. “Enjoy your whiskey. I’m sure you’ll have another.”
 
Before I know what’s happening, he’s up and across the room. He slams my back against the wall, the artwork on the wall shakes. His hands are around my throat, squeezing. I can’t breathe. 
 
I try to scream, but I can’t catch my breath. He’s grinning, maniacally. His eyes are bulging out of his head and I’m sure mine are too. He won’t stop squeezing. All I can see are tiny pinpoints of light, like bright dust particles. 
 
Then, I don’t see anything. Not for a while.
 
No idea how long I’m out, but suddenly I can feel myself back in my body. I’m slumped on the ground, leaning against the living room wall. I can’t move or speak, but I can think. I’m in here, somewhere. He’s nowhere to be found. If I know my husband at all, he didn’t call anyone. He’s going to try and cover this up. He probably had a drink and went to bed. Hoping things will look better in the morning. 
 
 
I don’t know how much time has passed, but I feel him step back into the living room. I can’t turn my head or move my body. This feels like a terrible dream.
 
Now I see him. He takes a step toward me and stops. Fucker. Coward. He better not cry and whine and tear at his clothing.
 
He doesn’t. Well, he should cry and whine and tear at his clothing! After all, he killed me!
 
He leaves. I hear him in the kitchen. Is he pouring a drink? He is! I hear the ice cubes rattling around a highball glass. You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Only last night he swore he wasn’t an alcoholic, and now he’s starting his day with a drink?
 
Ah, well, he did kill his wife last night. I guess that might push a borderline alcoholic right over the line. 
 
So, what’s he going to do now? I wonder. I’ve watched every true crime documentary on Netflix, and we’ve binged a lot of shows about serial killers. Maybe he learned something from them. He could pull a Dexter and chop me up into parts and throw me in the lake. But the only lake near here is always packed and we don’t have a boat. He’d have to toss me in the shallow water and pray the tide takes me out. 
 
Or, what’s that musical where the guy kills people and uses them for meat? We don’t have a meat grinder, though. He could bury me in the backyard like they do in that one movie…’The Burbs’? But the neighbors might see and complain that he didn’t have a permit. 
 
He could leave me under a floorboard like in the ‘Tell-Tale Heart’. Oh, shit, he just might. I bet he puts me under the house. We’ve got that creepy crawl space. I don’t think he’s read Poe, but wouldn’t it be juicy if he put me under there and then freaked out? I wonder if I could help make that happen?
 
I mean, look at him, he’s not even sad! I haven’t heard him cry a single tear. He’s probably thrilled his nagging bitch of a wife is gone. It will suit him to be single. Drinking, eating pizza, watching TV. No one at all around to nag (but no one around to clean or grocery shop, either).
 
The best part of all this is he can’t cash in my life insurance policy—and it’s a juicy one! Take that, you asshole.
 
I hear him make another drink (another one?!) and then he’s back in the living room, turning on the TV. What a prick. His dead wife is sprawled against the wall and he’s watching TV. But what did I expect?
 
 
Sometime later, he leaves the room. Going to bed I assume. I don’t know where I go, but suddenly I’m back and he’s here, in the living room. He picks up my body, or at least tries to, sort of muscling along, trying to get my body over his shoulder. He does a reasonable facsimile of this and stumbles under my weight to the back door (just for the record, I was a slim woman. Worked out, ate right. Thin, 5’8”. I can only assume the term ‘dead weight’ refers to the fact we seem to weigh more after death.)
 
He hesitates out on the deck. Probably checking there are no lights on in any of the neighbors’ upstairs windows. The coast must be clear because down the stairs we go. At the bottom, he drops me to the ground. That would’ve hurt if I was still alive. 
 
Then, he grabs me by my feet and drags me under the deck. I hear the crawl space open and next thing I know I’m being dragged into that dark, dirty, scary place. I never ventured in here when I was alive. Too many creepy crawlies. And now I guess I’ll spend the rest of…what? Eternity down here? Fantastic. 
 
He’s backing into the crawl space, dragging me along. I kind of enjoy it because I know he hates it down here, too. Spiders, bugs, maybe a rat or raccoon. He doesn’t go in for any of that. 
 
He drops my legs to the ground and runs. Must have hit a spiderweb or something. I can hear him slam the crawl space door. Now, it’s just dark. 
 
He’ll probably go back to bed and sleep like a baby.
 
 
Alone in the dark, I wonder why I’m still hanging around. Is this normal? Can I do anything? I try and will my hands to move. My head to turn. It takes a while, but at last, I feel a wiggle in my finger. Just one finger. But it’s a win! 
 
With a little more concentration, my entire hand moves. Then the other. Then a foot flexes. My head turns. I see beady eyes looking at me. Shit. A rat. 
 
Can I get up? I push myself to a seated position, then I stand. I’m shaky on my feet, and my neck feels funny, but I’m up. I look down and realize I’m still on the ground, too. I’m here, and I’m there. Talk about an out-of-body-experience. I see my dead body lying there on the ground, but I’m standing over it—and I can see this body, too. 
 
I can move it, albeit slowly and jerkily, but it’s me. I turn towards the door and push. Instead of opening the door, I fall through it. Aha, so that’s how it is.
 
I drag myself out from under the deck. One of my feet doesn’t want to cooperate. I’m not used to being dead; this is a bit alien to me. But I’m doing it. 
 
It seems to take me forever to get to the bottom of the deck stairs. I grab the railing with both hands and hoist myself up the five steps to the deck. I trip on the top one and basically fall into the back door. He must not be around, because I don’t hear anything. No reaction to the noise I’ve just made. I try to turn the handle. My fingers are completely foreign to me; they don’t want to grasp the door handle. They don’t want to turn it. Finally, though, I remember what happened with the crawl space and I just push through the door. I lean against the kitchen island. Whew. 
 
I would say I’m catching my breath, but I’m not breathing.
 
He comes into the kitchen and walks straight to the cabinet, not looking right or left. Doesn’t see me. This might be fun.
 
“A drink this early?” I ask. “And you say you’re not an alcoholic.”
 
I laugh as his head snaps to the side. I know what he’s thinking. This can’t be right. He buried me under the house last night. He’s afraid he might have put me under there alive. Backing away, he stares at my face. 
 
I wonder what he sees. I haven’t seen a mirror. He probably thinks he’s hallucinating, after all the alcohol I’m sure he’s consumed since killing me. 
 
“What’s the matter, honeybunch? Lost your desire for a drink?” I ask, laughing. “Consequences are ugly, aren’t they? Like, really ugly.”
 
He shakes his head. I can see he can’t believe this is happening. He runs off, and I hear the shower turn on. I chuckle again. I’ve got him. Got him good. 
 
 
The shower turns off and I wait. I see him search the house for me. I see him let out a breath. He thinks I was just a product of his guilty conscience. But I’m right here. Watching. 
 
I hear my phone ring. My favorite song. He searches for my phone. Grabs it to see who’s calling, then lets it go to voicemail. I see it’s my boss. She’ll be wondering where I am; why I’m late. I’d never miss work without letting her know. She’s a friend, in addition to being my boss. I’d call or text about a sickness, an emergency, right away. 
 
I can see the wheels turning. He’s coming up with an explanation, an excuse. He’ll probably text her, as me. Tell her I had a family emergency. That’ll buy him some time. 
 
Maybe he’ll eventually tell people I decided to stay wherever I am, at my mother’s or my brother’s. Tell people I left him. I see him make up his mind, he’s decided on a story. He grabs a drink, kicks back on the couch, props his feet up on the coffee table. 
 
I sit down next to him. “Think that’ll work?” I ask. I smile with glee as he jumps a foot and looks over at me. I’ve turned my head but can’t seem to turn it back. Feels weird, like it’s falling off my shoulders. That’d be enough to run him out of the house, I think. 
 
Let it fall off and roll across the floor to him. My smiling face looking up. 
 
“I bet she’ll call again today, it’s not like me to miss work, you know. I’d least call her and let know why I’m not there. She’s definitely going to call again. Be ready with explanation,” I smile at him. 
 
He doesn’t speak, just stares at me.
 
I leave, but I watch him. I see my phone ring again, a few hours later. I can tell he’s weighing his options, then he texts her. Over his shoulder, I watch him type. I’ve texted him enough over the years, he should be able to mimic my voice. 
 
I’m so sorry! My mother fell this morning and she’s hurt. My brother called me early and woke me up, and I booked a flight and took off. I’ve been in the air, in cars, in with doctors, and just completely forgot to get in touch with you. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I’ll update you as soon as I know.
 
Well, he’s long-winded, but it covers everything. Should get him off the hook for a while.
 
Oh, no! I hope she’s okay! Please, don’t even worry about it. Let me know when you know something.
 
He’s patting himself on the back for a job well done. He has another drink to celebrate. Wonder how much time that’s bought him?
 
I hear him leave, probably going to the grocery store. Where else is he going to go? Work. Ha! The state he’s in, if he showed up at work, they’d fire his ass immediately. But that would suit me. 
 
When he gets back home, I watch him unpack the grocery bags. As he turns to place the whiskey bottles on the counter, I catch him off guard. “This is how you live when I’m not around? You didn’t even buy a vegetable. Not one piece of fruit.” 
 
I laugh as he starts and nearly drops the booze. 
 
“I don’t know how single men survive without contracting scurvy,” I say. I do wonder. Are all the single men out there completely deficient in vitamins? 
 
I can tell I’ve gotten to him this time, but he’s staring at me again in that odd way. I’m sure I look a fright. But still, he refuses to talk to me. He leaves the kitchen. Without a drink, though; maybe I’ll scare him straight as they used to say in middle school.
 
 
Days pass. One Monday becomes the next Monday. I hover in the periphery, just observing, mostly. I see his boss has just called. 
Seeing his face after he checks his voicemail, I assume the news isn’t good. How long has it been since he’s been to work? How long have I been dead?
 
“You hated that job anyway,” I tell him. 
 
He’s getting used to me now; he doesn’t jump. He just ignores me. 
“Didn’t I put you under the goddamn deck?” he asks me. I’m getting to him. 
 
“He speaks,” I say, surprised. “Yeah, I do believe you put me under the deck. With the rats. Yes, we have rats, I had no idea. Did you? I believe they’re eating my shoulder right now.”
 
I can see him shiver, disgusted. “Go away!” 
 
“Hmmm, no. I don’t think so. This is too much fun.” I tell him. And it’s true. What else have I got to do?
 
He slams past me into the kitchen—if he could knock me down, I think he might’ve. He grabs another drink. There are empty bottles everywhere. He’s been buying booze from a delivery service. That can’t be cheap. 
 
“How much did that bottle cost you, with delivery fees and tip?” I ask. I try to turn my head, but I can’t. Feels like it’s stuck. 
 
“None of your goddamned business,” he tells me. 
 
“Too bad you can’t cash in my life insurance policy,” I say, laughing. 
 
“It’s a lot of money, but I guess that’d be a tricky explanation.” 
 
The look on his face tells me he’s forgotten about my life insurance policy. Hilarious. Can’t cash it in without a dead body, and I bet he’s not willing to offer that up. 
 
 
 
I’ve noticed he never even sets his alarm anymore. This morning, I decide to surprise him. 
 
He wakes up and rolls over onto his side, face to face with me. His eyes open wide and he screams. “JESUS!” 
 
“Morning, Sunshine!” I say in my brightest voice. 
 
I’m never seen him move so fast—well, aside from that night he killed me. 
 
He vaults out of bed and runs into the bathroom. I can hear him throwing up in there. 
 
He comes back out and heads straight to the kitchen and pours another drink. Another day. Another drink. 
 
He’s emptied the bottle. I see him look around for another one. 
 
“You can’t even remember how many drinks you’ve had,” I tell him, “let alone how many bottles you bought. What’s the matter, can’t you order more online?” 
 
Honestly, I’m not sure he can. When he looks at me, it seems like he’s looking into the distance. Maybe his vision is blurry. 
 
“That’s hilarious. I told you you were an alcoholic. Always just one more drink. And now look at you,” she laugh. 
 
As I laugh, though, his eyes seem to focus. He looks mad as hell. As mad as he was the night he strangled me. 
 
I’m standing near the glass doors that lead onto the deck. Is he about to do what I think he is? Oh, how perfect. I move so my body is right in front of the glass. He rushes at me. Has he forgotten I’m already dead and underneath the deck? I believe he has. So delicious! 
 
He’s moving fast, but I’m not really here. I think he realizes this, too late. He can’t stop. He plows right through where I was standing, right through the glass doors, right off the deck. 
 
Outside, I look over the deck. Looks like his head hit the ground first, leaving his neck at an odd angle. Doesn’t look natural. 
","August 07, 2023 21:50","[[{'C. A. Janke': 'Oddly fun story for such a grim situation! I particularly enjoyed the part where she lifted her ghost form (?) out of her body. Very cool!', 'time': '01:08 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sarah Saleem': ""Great story!\nI love your style it's really thrilling,\nLooking forward for more stories!"", 'time': '12:12 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! I really appreciate it!', 'time': '18:12 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! I really appreciate it!', 'time': '18:12 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'J Hublick': 'I like where you took the prompt! I was compelled to know if he was going to become a ghost as well or if his death would set them both free. Cool story!', 'time': '01:06 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:12 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:12 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'A nice, creepy ghost story. I particularly liked the wry voice of the protagonist.', 'time': '16:44 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! I appreciate it :)', 'time': '18:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! I appreciate it :)', 'time': '18:13 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anna W': ""Wow! This was a compelling story! I have to admit, I'm glad she got to get a bit of revenge on him. What a great take on the prompt, Melissa. Thanks for sharing this story."", 'time': '04:48 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you!', 'time': '19:48 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you!', 'time': '19:48 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nicki Nance': 'This is a great spin on the prompt!', 'time': '16:03 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! It was fun to write :)', 'time': '23:30 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melissa Behrend': 'Thank you! It was fun to write :)', 'time': '23:30 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,oww0qw,My Life as an Alien in Mississippi,Bruce Friedman,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/oww0qw/,/short-story/oww0qw/,Character,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Historical Fiction']",20 likes,"
Warning: racial epithets and violenceMy name is Brad Chao. I'm living in Chicago now but I spent my growing-up years in the Mississippi Delta. It’s now 2001 and I just turned 80 years and have been thinking lately about my early life down south. I never fit in there despite my goal of trying to be accepted. The worst thing that ever happened to me took place there when I was only a teenager. The events almost cost me my freedom and life. I ultimately had to flee for suspicion of murder with the sheriff on my tail. We Chinese were a handy target for the bullies in town but I’m getting ahead of myself. You may be curious about how I got to Mississippi in the first place. I was born in 1921 in a poor area in southern China. Rocky, dry land, and large families with too many mouths to feed. At age 15, I took off, seeking a better life. I made my way to Canton, now Guangdong, and was hired as a mess boy on a passenger ship bound for New York. I jumped ship when we arrived in port. I quickly found work in a Chinese laundry in Brooklyn but it was not a satisfying life for me, particularly since I was by myself.My uncle, Charlie Chao, had come to the U.S. around the turn of the century and settled in Rosedale, Mississippi, which had a small Chinese community. A speck of a town with a handful of rundown stores, one of which Charlie rented to sell groceries to black people. Chinese grocery stores played an important role in Mississippi rural culture because white store owners wouldn’t sell goods to them. Their stores, small shacks really, filled an important function in small towns. They served as gathering places for blacks who wanted to socialize­­­­ with their neighbors and also for job-finding. They also offered credit that was essential to the very poor people.Anyway, Charlie was growing quite frail. He had sent a letter to me in Brooklyn, offering me a job in his store which I quickly accepted. I was his only heir and also his only family. He had lost his wife about 30 years previously and had no kids of his own. It was tough work, mainly because of the long hours. Sun up to sun down, 365 days a year. None of us Chinese had been to ­school back home and spoke poor English and, perhaps, even poorer Chinese. We lived in the back of our stores, squeezed together like sardines. Our social status in Mississippi was somewhere between the whites and blacks. We were shopkeepers which did earn us some degree of respect. But we also weren’t allowed to go to school with the whites. The county did set up Chinese school rooms for our kids, usually taught by a white teacher. We made enough money to put rice on the table but not much more. Most of the Chinese kids in town caught a bus heading out of town as soon as they could. Family ties did keep a number of Chinese in the state but under continuing and difficult circumstances, particularly from the local Klan. I won't go into that here.***Shortly after I arrived in town, Uncle Charlie took sick and died. I then became the sole proprietor of his store which I had inherited. The Chinese community was always very supportive of me and I never felt lonely or heartsick. My life was as good as it gets down there until one evening when I seemed to have become a criminal with no special effort on my part.Bursting through the front door of my grocery store one evening came Mr. Beauregard Tavernier, dragging a large, heavy burlap sack behind him. I knew who he was from town gossip but, of course, he had never set foot in my store. I did know that he owned the largest cotton plantation in the area.He entered in a rush and obviously in a foul mood. He was grunting as he pulled a heavy sack into the room. I came out from behind the counter and respectfully bowed to him, anxious to find out what why he was there. My humble gesture didn’t seem to put him in a better mood. “Don’t just stand there, boy,” he said to me.  “Can’t you see that I need help with this here load,” he shouted.“Help in what way, Mr. Tavernier? I'm sure what kind of help you need.” My question definitely put in an even fouler mood. In retrospect, it truly was a stupid question but chalk it up to me being scared shitless.“Quit your yapping, boy! I need to store this here sack out of sight for a while,” he said, glancing around the premises.  He then said: “Where does that door yonder lead to?” ""My storage room for canned goods and sacks of flour,"" I replied. ""No customers are allowed back there,"" I replied.""That suits my purpose for my package,"" he replied. ""Now help me get it back there.""The two of us pulled his heavy sack back to the room. Both of us were straining because it was so heavy and flopped around.“You hear me good now, boy. Y’all hold onto this for a day or two until I find a more suitable place for it. Right now, your store is my best choice, at least for a spell. No one’s gonna think of your place when lookin’ for the corpus delicti. But that’s pretty fancy talk for y'all. Pay it no mind.” “Anyone asks,” he continued, “you never seen me this night or any other. I’m goin’ to send one of my boys back here tomorrow night to collect it. You’ll need to help him boost it onto the truck. Don’t let anyone see what you’re doing. The dark night will help but there are a lot of ‘eyes’ in this part of town.” He then rushed out of the store as quickly as he had entered, never looking back. I just stood there, shaking my head and wondering what had just happened. I did not have a good feeling about it. It was clear that I had few or no other options so I went along with his directions.***The next day around lunchtime, a sharp rap came on the front door. This time it was Sheriff Burnley who stepped inside. No one ever knocked on the door so I was on high alert to see who was there. His visit, though, set a new record for me—two high profile, white men showing up out of nowhere in my store in just two days. He looked around suspiciously and then beckoned for me to come over to him from behind the counter. I was in a state of shock, continuing from the previous night, and aware that I was in deep trouble.“You Brad Chao? he asked. “Yes, sir, how can I help you.”“Well, to start and unfortunately, there’s been a lynchin’ of a colored boy in town. Age 16 years. You may have heard some talk about this? It’s on everyone’s lips. This gossip will truly be the death of me.”“No, Sir. What you are saying is none of my business. I don’t pay no mind to town gossip. I try to keep a clean record and just run my store for my black customers who are also good citizens.”“I decide who’s a good citizen,” the Sheriff replied. “More to the point, I was told by one of your neighbors that Mr. Beauregard Tavernier was seen entering these premises last night. That seemed strange to all of us back at the station. White men don’t usually have no truk with the the Chinese and their shops. Did you, by any chance, see him last night?”.I replied, trying to keep my cool and provide him with the best, honest answer I could under the circumstances: “Sheriff, you of all folks, know that no white men would be caught dead in a Chinese grocery in town, particularly at night. Only for black folks.”“That’s sure true, the Sheriff replied quickly, stroking his beard and still looking at me, squinty-eyed. “The story didn’t make no sense to me but I am trying to cover all the bases. Lynchin’ has become less ‘­­­popular’ these days in the state and I am starting to feel some pressure from above to find a guilty party. ”For a moment, he appeared to be suspiciously eyeing the back of my store. That’s the last thing in the world that I wanted.“Watcha' got stored back there, boy? he asked suddenly. ""Your stock or, perhaps, even some other goods?""“No need to search the store any further, Sheriff” I responded. “You don’t want to go back there. That’s where I live. Very messy. I also cook there on a hot plate. Kind of smells bad. You won’t like it. Best stay away.”He seemed to be satisfied by my words, and also not inclined to stay in my store any longer than necessary. He suddenly wheeled around and strode out the front door, not even giving me a backward glance. I was glad to see him gone, but I didn’t know what to do next.I finally realized that I was in a heap of trouble, none of which was of my own making. I was now apparently on the sheriff’s short list of possible suspects for the lynching, although it made no sense at all. He just wanted to arrest someone but certainly not a prominent white man.***It was the next night and I was sleeping. I heard a soft knock on the back door. I opened it carefully to see Aaron, a black man who worked for Mr. Beauregard. A truck was parked in the back of the store, idling. “Boss man, sent me to pick up a ‘package’ that you holdin’ for him in your store,” he said. “He tole me not to let anyone see me transport it. So here I am.”I got out of bed and helped Aaron load the sack on his truck bed and then covered it with a tarp. He motioned me over to him and placed his mouth gently to my ear. “Mr. Chao, I don’t know what you done and I don’t even want to know. You been kind to us. People in town doin’ a lot of talkin’ about recent events, however. The sheriff lookin’ for someone to pin this lynchin’ on. The ‘trouble’ seems to be puttin’ the town and state in a bad light. You yourself now seem to be the perfect choice for blamin' for the crime. They won’t never pin a lynchin’ on a black man and you may be the next best choice.” With that he hurried over to the truck and drove away in a cloud of dust.***I began to go over my options to stay alive. They were to stay in town or jump on a bus headed north. It would not be good for one of our community to be under a magnifying glass. Best thing, I finally concluded, would be to catch the bus for Chicago that left early the next morning. The sheriff would soon be looking for another patsy. Unfortunately for him, to charge a black with a charge of lynching would be laughable.I packed my suitcase in a hurry, reserving a place for a small Chinese shrine with the ashes of my Uncle Charlie. Nothing much else of value to take with me. A few wrinkled clothes. I knew that hightailing it out of town made me look guilty.I knew for certain that the large number of white people in town who had actually witnessed the lynching knew that I was not involved. All the sheriff needed to do was to ask a few questions in town which he didn’t seem to want to do. No, he would merely let this incident fade in people’s memory with his most important suspect gone to “who knows where up north.”
","August 05, 2023 15:47","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Bruce,\nIt’s an interesting tale that you weave. As an Asian American, I remain dismayed at the US’s lack of Asian American education. I didn’t learn about the Chinese exclusion act until I was a junior in high school-the term “model minority” didn’t come to me until I went to college. I appreciate all of the research you did to create this piece and found the background incredible. Personally, I think it would’ve been interesting if you’d included the background within the action-provided little tid bits along the way rather than front lo...', 'time': '14:29 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Thanks, Amanda. You raise an interesting point and one that I am still working through. Whether to front-load the background information in a story or dole it out as the plot progresses.\n\nChinese and Korean Americans have a fascinating history. Treated similar to Blacks when they came here, they are now labeled as ""model immigrants"" and sometimes even discriminated against in admissions due to their overrepresentation at elite schools. Like the Jews, Asians have always held a strong belief in education unlike some U.S. citizens who have been...', 'time': '15:51 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Thanks, Amanda. You raise an interesting point and one that I am still working through. Whether to front-load the background information in a story or dole it out as the plot progresses.\n\nChinese and Korean Americans have a fascinating history. Treated similar to Blacks when they came here, they are now labeled as ""model immigrants"" and sometimes even discriminated against in admissions due to their overrepresentation at elite schools. Like the Jews, Asians have always held a strong belief in education unlike some U.S. citizens who have been...', 'time': '15:51 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Nice find! I mean your writing. Reading some of the gentlemen I follow and found your name. Will try to get back to read some more. I barely have time to read all the wonderful writers I follow on here.', 'time': '01:34 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Very enjoyable, if not troubling, tale. I always come away from your stories feeling both more knowledgeable and enlightened.\n\nI was always under the impression that the Chinese and black community had their racial tensions with one another, not that the Chinese provides shops they were welcome in.\n\nGood tension and drama with both the interactions with Beauregard and the sheriff.\n\nAll round good story Bruce, thanks for sharing.', 'time': '11:46 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Thanks once more for reading my story, Kevin. Much appreciated. \n\nAll of the research that I was able to do indicated that, at least originally, the blacks and Chinese in Mississippi were highly co-dependent.\n\nAnother very interesting ethnic group who started running small grocery and party stores is the Chaldean community in the Detroit area. They came from Iraq but were not Moslem. Hence, they started selling liquor in Iraq and continued this tradition when they came to the U.S.', 'time': '12:57 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""I'll take your research over my impression any day Bruce! Ha."", 'time': '14:35 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Thanks once more for reading my story, Kevin. Much appreciated. \n\nAll of the research that I was able to do indicated that, at least originally, the blacks and Chinese in Mississippi were highly co-dependent.\n\nAnother very interesting ethnic group who started running small grocery and party stores is the Chaldean community in the Detroit area. They came from Iraq but were not Moslem. Hence, they started selling liquor in Iraq and continued this tradition when they came to the U.S.', 'time': '12:57 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""I'll take your research over my impression any day Bruce! Ha."", 'time': '14:35 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""I'll take your research over my impression any day Bruce! Ha."", 'time': '14:35 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Fascinating tale Bruce about the difficulties faced by minorities...then and sadly still now to though in different ways. \nThe story comes to life and sparkles when the villain appears. A suggestion would be to start with that section to create a hook and then jump into the back story of how the mc came to be there. Because the introduction of the bag is mysterious and captures the attention, making us want to find out what is in it. \nGreat writing', 'time': '08:40 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Derrick, thanks so much for your reorganization suggestion. You are absolutely correct. I used such a structure in a previous story: The Colombo Drug Heist.\n\nFrom now on, I will write the first draft spontaneously and then ask myself where I could move key elements to the top for more of a kick.\n\nFor me, stories are all about the plot and how to engage the reader.\n\nAgain, thanks.', 'time': '14:49 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Derrick, thanks so much for your reorganization suggestion. You are absolutely correct. I used such a structure in a previous story: The Colombo Drug Heist.\n\nFrom now on, I will write the first draft spontaneously and then ask myself where I could move key elements to the top for more of a kick.\n\nFor me, stories are all about the plot and how to engage the reader.\n\nAgain, thanks.', 'time': '14:49 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,pyg815,Flowers Bloom In Desolate Places,Jed Cope,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pyg815/,/short-story/pyg815/,Character,0,"['Adventure', 'Fantasy', 'Mystery']",17 likes,"
Then there is the legend of the Heaven Flower, the flower that blooms only in the desolation of the largest desert in the world. This rarest of all flowers blooms in the dead of night and for one hour of intense daylight it lives, and in living provides more beauty than a human mind can comprehend. The Heaven Flower is an intoxicating distillation of all that is good. No one is built to behold it in all its glory. No one is pure enough to withstand its truth.
 
Legend has it that once every hundred years, the flower emerges from the desert sands and shines more brightly than the sun. Quite how this story came about, no one knows, for it is an unlikely tale and were it to be true, surely none who witnessed the flower in all of its heavenly glory would survive to recount its brief but wondrous visitation in the harshest of lands.
 
A legend, a flight of fancy, or an impossible dream? Ser Philip believed that he saw beyond the unlikely veneer of such fancies. He knew that the Heaven Flower was his destiny, or at least a part of it. He had heard the story in a far-flung tavern and it had enraptured him. This tale of a mythical flower was a beginning. The much delayed start of his own story. He would find the Heaven Flower and in finding it he would discover the meaning of his life, perhaps even the meaning of life itself. Once his eyes were opened to the existence of such a wonder, his life’s purpose would be clear.
 
When young Philip was a squire, there had been another flower. That delicately delightful flower had been a slip of a girl called Miranda. The two of them had been inseparable and although neither of them had ever voiced the words that approached the promise that lay between them, it had been there all the same. These two were meant for each other. Two peas in a pod. The fair lady and her devoted knight.
 
Then one day, a terrible blight had visited the land and Miranda had been plucked from the earth and discarded as though she were but a single blade of inconsequential grass. Ser Philip had heard the dread news of his love’s demise, but refusing to believe it, he had returned immediately from the tourney in a neighbouring kingdom. His desertion of his master-knight had earnt him a sound thrashing, but he felt not a blow as he succumbed to a state of terrible numbness following his audience with the cold and waxy thing that Miranda had become. Having lost the spark of life that she had harboured so perfectly and beautifully, she was a sickening reminder of what had once been and now could never be. 
 
Amongst the rumours of that night were whispers of a dark and foreboding visitation. A man who was not a man stalking the ramparts of the castle before darting inside to take Miranda away forever. These stories could be nothing more than tall-tales. The wasted words of scoundrels and gossip mongers. The truth was not in those words, for no man could enter the castle, commit such an abominable deed and then slip away undetected. Not unless he had wings and had flown onto ramparts.
 
After Miranda’s death, Ser Philip was never the same. Some say that a part of him died on that fateful day. A pitiful, sad and heartbroken sacrifice to his one true love. Nevertheless, he committed himself to the life of squire and then of knight. Never was there a more proficient warrior, but he lacked for something and that lack was apparent. No fire burned within him and his heart was but a dull and grey organ, reluctantly pumping his barely warm blood around his still grieving body.
 
It would seem that the quest for the fabled Heaven Flower was perhaps an attempt to rekindle this flame of his, not that he could or would admit this to himself, let alone anyone else. Ser Philip was a taciturn and insular man. He had withdrawn from those around him when he was still a boy and was never for changing.
 
When he broke the news of the quest to his faithful squire, Daniel, the man was crestfallen. Never having cut the mustard or made the grade, Daniel was never going to hold his own standard, only the flag of his master-knight. Squires are boys, and Daniel had never grown up. What he lacked was not only maturity, but also the gumption to work beyond the bare minimum. He had gravitated towards Ser Philip, because this knight was so obviously lost and his lack of lustre almost matched Daniel’s. They deserved each other, at least as far as Daniel was concerned. This consideration of the quiet and undemanding knight helped perpetuate the denial of his own sloth and laziness.
 
Daniel kept a firm grasp of his lackadaisical ways even upon receipt of his new instructions. He was in no rush to go adventuring. This was not what he had expected from this knight, but now all was a-change. What Daniel could not understand was Ser Philip’s delivery of the news of their mission. The man himself remained cold and monotone. There was no excitement here. This was not the spirit of adventure. It was more like a visit to a grim and dour maiden aunt out of a sense of duty, and with no more than a thimbleful of devotion. There was no roar and there was no vim and vigour, and so Daniel felt all at sea. Confused and worried at what the future held. He didn’t want to go into the night and to do so quietly troubled him to a point of delirium.
 
Nonetheless, Ser Philip set out the very next day and seeing that he had little alternative, Daniel followed. Even as he trailed behind his master-knight, Daniel considered his options. Those options depressed him being the ignominy of dishonour having failed his master-knight and the subsequent derision and exile from polite company and all other company for that matter. He would starve as he began to freeze to death. He stopped short of thinking about how his life choices were not helping him right now. His adoption of the maxim do the bare minimum, left him with few skills and abilities and the truth of his existence was that no other knight would put up with such a scruff of a slob.
 
Daniel sighed.
 
Ser Philip did not acknowledge the sigh even though his training as a warrior had heightened his senses and made him aware of far more than most would attend to. The man was all focus, more so in his embracing the quest that he had been made for. This was what he had been waiting for all his life. Everything before now had been mere practice. All of it. He had built himself into a knight worthy of this task and he was ready. Ready to be tested. He found that he was relishing his being tempered in the fires of this quest. Daniel missed the hint of a smile on his master-knight’s face as they rode onwards.
 
Following a long and arduous journey, the two stopped in the small town of Santa Cruz. The town was so small and lacking in the luxuries that Daniel had been looking forward to that he could not bring himself to consider it to be a village, let alone a town. This was to be the last civilisation that they would encounter before they entered the desert itself. A sun-bleached outpost that hinted at what was to come.
 
Having secured provisions and a room for the night, Ser Philip afforded Daniel the freedom of the town for the remainder of the evening, preferring himself to sip at his carafe of water and contemplate the trials to come.
 
“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” Daniel grizzled as he ambled off in search of whatever it was the locals drank to forget this hell hole, music to drown out the sound of the complaining and moaning voices in his head and the company of a woman to help him remember that he was a man and not a spare pack horse. 
 
Eventually, he found a place that sold drink. A woman who had seen better days and better teeth grinned at him as she poured him the cloudy drink that they brewed in these parts. The liquid looked like milk that had been contaminated in unspeakable ways. It tasted worse than it looked, but there was the familiar scorching of alcohol, so it would have to do.
 
“Leave the bottle,” he told the woman, sliding a coin across the table towards her in favour of handing her the coin. He did not relish the prospect of physical contact with her. Later, two thirds of the way down the bottle, he would change his mind and he would more than relish it, having asked her about the possibility of younger versions of herself, weighing up the pros and cons of those bad teeth compared to the gnashers of his mule. He never stopped to consider just how much of the vile fermented milk drink the woman had had to consume before she considered laying with him to be a good idea.
 
UP!
 
Daniel dreamt the word, but he felt the slap outside of his dreams, struggling to unglue his gummy eyes and attach meaning to his senses, he squirmed on the straw lined crib.
 
“I said up!” cried Ser Philip, “the day has long dawned you useless bag of skin!”
 
Daniel opened his eyes in time to see the face of his master-knight moving into clear and intimate view. Ser Philip had a hold of his shirt and had hauled him to a sitting position, “you are here to serve me, you drunken son of a weak minded goat! If you fail me, I will use your arse to sharpen my lance!”
 
Daniel’s eyes were now as wide as plates and he was nodding feverishly, the possibility of a hangover now rescheduled to another life, “yes, Ser! Right you are, Ser! Right away, Ser!”
 
Ser Philip growled.
 
Daniel bolted across the room and was a one-man hive of activity. He had never seen Ser Philip like this. The man had been transformed overnight. A furnace had been lit and now, Daniel was the squire of a master-knight in the mould of the knights of old. This was a force to be reckoned with. The proverbial one man army. It was said that a master-knight in his prime was worth a thousand foot soldiers or more, Daniel no longer doubted this. Not one bit. 
 
The sun beat down upon them as they left Santa Cruz. Daniel did not look back, he did not dare. He would not risk being found lacking. All the same, he felt eyes upon him and knew that one pair of those eyes were those of the old woman. He envisioned her and as her face came to mind he felt a pang. He would not exactly miss her, but she was the symbol of the life he was leaving and he was already missing that.
 
He doubted he would return, and that gave him a moment of morose contemplation.
 
The desert swallowed them up and the heat built and built. The horse and mule gave forth with sad utterances. Those sounds chilled Daniel as he watched Ser Philip’s back. The master-knight was a statue. Their progress in the deep and unrelenting sands was slow, but Ser Philip was relentless. He had set himself against this place and the fierce sun, and he was not for faltering.
 
That night, Daniel shivered in the inexplicable, creeping cold. His body had been cooked all day, but when the sun slipped away so did all of the heat. There was a short period of relief from the trials and tribulations of the day, but then the cold seeped into him and he battled the terror of his limbs becoming numb and never returning to him. All the same, sleep eventually took his exhausted form.
 
The morning came via rude motion. Ser Philip shook the man like a terrier shakes a rat in his jaws. They were up and away in a matter of moments, Daniel chewing on dried meat that took the moisture from his mouth and left his mouth dry for the rest of the day. 
 
His eyes hurt, but the hurt went well beyond his eyes. There was a trick being played here. The featureless desert was a never ending expanse of nothingness, and yet it was doing something to his eyes. It was latching onto them and now the contours of sand were bending this way and that, twisting his mind out of shape. He felt his breath becoming laboured and he would have cried if he had any tears left in his head. The sun had taken them long ago. He felt his lips cracking and bleeding as his mouth formed the shape of a silent scream. Then his mule stumbled and he fell unceremoniously to the sands.
 
A merciful shadow fell over him. He felt it and opened his eyes, “we’ll have to walk from here,” Ser Philip told him.
 
“I can’t,” Daniel told him, and he thought he might even mean it. The sun and burning sands had leeched his life from him and now, as he lay there, he didn’t think he had it in him to get up. He was dead barring a few minor technicalities.
 
“Then you are dead,” Ser Philip told him, as though he had read the man’s broiled mind.
 
Daniel nodded, it would be blissful to close his eyes and drift into sleep. He was a man who had always been fond of sleep and he was reconciled with a demise that was as simple and easy as easing himself into slumber.
 
Ser Philip curtly returned the nod and walked away. There was nothing to be done. He could not help his squire, unless his squire helped himself.
 
Leaving his dying horse and carrying what provisions he could, the knight walked deeper into the desert. Later, were a hawk to fly over the corpse of the squire, it would see several interlaced circles of foot prints. The delirious man had tried to leave the desert, but had not managed to get more than a few yards from his deceased mule. Soon enough, the both of them would be nothing more than a few bleached bones that would in time be swallowed up by the sands of the desert.
 
Now, time lost all meaning for Ser Philip. He travelled in the bosom of the infinite and with every step, he shed an unnecessary piece of himself. As he did so, he found an inner peace that spoke to him of the simplicity of an existence uncluttered by the noise and nonsense that people accumulate and draw to themselves in a foolhardy attempt at defending them from the truth of who they really are.
 
At the point at which his provisions were exhausted, Ser Philip saw things for what they were and he let go of the last of the things he had valued and in that moment, he understood.
 
This was the quest.
 
He was the quest.
 
He had needed the desert to strip it all away. To take from him all that was not needed. Now he was pure. 
 
Was he the bloom?
 
He thought that might be the case, and yet he walked some more, for walking was good. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other and creating the momentum of life. 
 
That was when he saw it. In the dying embers of the sun, the single stem and the closed bud of a flower. He knew it for what it was. He ran towards it, shedding what little clothes he still wore. Barely aware that he was doing so, but understanding that he must be naked in the presence of such beauty. He bore himself towards the miracle on feet that barely touched the sand, his heart filled with an elation that threatened to burst it.
 
Then his way was blocked.
 
A bewinged armour clad knight barred the way. The impossible was being denied by the improbable. Ser Philip did not falter and he did not slow, he launched himself at the dread warrior and grappled with he would deny him everything. He fought with an inhuman strength that was matched by the anonymous warrior, and as they wrestled with each other, Ser Philip experienced a growing desire to know who it was that he was locked in battle with. As this curious desire grew, so did his unease. This built and built until he knew that he must unmask his foe. He must discover the identity of the enemy who would deny him everything, but try as he might, he could not get his hand to the visor of that helmet.
 
The two of them fought and fought until the sun returned, and not once did Ser Philip see the face of his adversary, nor did he catch a glimpse of the fabled Heaven Flower. The sun rose and he knew that he had precious little time left to him, and so he gave everything he had left, he tore at the man before him using every ounce of strength he had left to him. He committed himself and his last breath to the defeat of this man and in one glorious moment he grasped the visor of the helmet and tore if open.
 
In that moment he saw everything, and he understood it all.
 
He froze in the rising desert sun, gazing down upon the bloom and the glory of the rare and precious Heaven Flower consumed him.
","August 08, 2023 16:19","[[{'Russell Mickler': 'Hi Jed!\n\nThe Heaven Flower - sounds mind-bendy! Let’s go!\n\nOh, a medieval setting - fun! But Santa Cruz … hmm.\n\nWow, okay, it’s a very bright flower, yikes, blinding. Ser Philip better bring sunglasses. Tragic, the loss of Miranda. I liked the way you described Daniel like he was quiet-quitting or something. \n\nA woman who’d seen better days and better teeth - great line!\n\nBewinged? \n\nOh man, the rising desert sun - oh, the ending is a little twisty, he gazed down and was consumed by the flower? The sun isn’t the flower? \n\nAnyway, a fun quest...', 'time': '16:00 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'Hi Russell, many thanks for this. It seems that you enjoyed the quest and that is all anyone can ever ask...!', 'time': '11:48 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'Hi Russell, many thanks for this. It seems that you enjoyed the quest and that is all anyone can ever ask...!', 'time': '11:48 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Please explain this parable.\nSounded like Jacob wrestling with God but I don't know."", 'time': '16:47 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': ""There's something of that here. The quest for meaning and where that may lead and how it may look..."", 'time': '21:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': ""There's something of that here. The quest for meaning and where that may lead and how it may look..."", 'time': '21:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,65wo2a,Freckles,Christina Reynolds,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/65wo2a/,/short-story/65wo2a/,Character,0,"['American', 'Romance']",17 likes,"
Percy Phillips ate her lunch every day by herself in the park next to the pharmacy where she worked. On cold days, she tucked her frizzy hair into a wool cap and wrapped a hand-knitted scarf around her throat. On warm days, she held her ham sandwich in her left hand and an umbrella in her right to ward off the sun because of what her father told her as a child. “Freckles look like tiny chocolate chips,” he’d say to her before tucking her in each night, kissing each one sprinkled across her nose. One day that was neither too cold nor too hot, a man about her age sat down next to her.“Expecting rain?” The stranger said, looking first at the cloudless blue sky then back to the umbrella firmly grasped in Percy’s hand. His voice was so calm and gentle that it didn’t occur to Percy that he might be teasing her. “No, you see my dad always counted—” Percy stopped mid-sentence as she noticed the plethora of light and dark brown spots on her bench mate’s face.“He counted…?” the man asked, smiling knowingly.“He counted umbrellas, of course,” Percy replied, without considering how silly the statement sounded. She blushed, her face matching the warmth of the man’s smile. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense. His nose was crooked and his ears were small, but his chocolate chip brown eyes were intelligent and kind. “I’m Philip,” he said, extending his right hand. In his left hand, he held onto the handles of a large picnic basket. She laughed.“Do you think Philip is a funny name?”“Oh no,” she replied, now blushing deep enough to obscure her freckles. “Your name is my name. I’m Percy Phillips. And your name is Philip. It’s quite a coincidence.”“Speaking of coincidences, were you stood up, too?” he asked wryly. “I was supposed to meet someone here for lunch this afternoon. A friend of a friend. Or rather, an acquaintance of an acquaintance. Now I’m feeling rather stupid.” “Stupid? Hardly, I think you’re quite brave.” “Brave? How so?”“Well, first of all, you were willing to take a chance. My dad said you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” Percy answered, acting as if her ham sandwich were a basketball. She pantomimed a fadeaway jumper. “I think your acquaintance’s acquaintance is the stupid one.”“And?”“And what?”“You said first of all. Doesn’t that mean there’s a secondly to follow?”“Oh, of course,” Percy continued. “Secondly, you were brave enough to sit next to a crazy woman with an open umbrella on a sunny day.” “I just assumed you knew something I didn’t—like there would be a solar flare storm or an alien invasion later today.” “The only thing I know is that my ham sandwich seems far less appealing than whatever is in your basket.” Percy surprised herself at her bravado, but Philip made frivolous small talk seem less frivolous and small. On the contrary, she found herself hanging on his every word.“I’ll make a deal with you, Miss Phillips,” Philip said. “If you can shoot your ham sandwich into that trash can from this bench, I’ll share my picnic basket with you.”“And if I miss?”“You’re not going to miss, Miss.”“No, I believe you’re right. I’m not,” Percy responded, tossing the rest of her sandwich into the trash can across the path without the slightest hesitation.The rest of Percy’s lunch hour passed too quickly for either of the former strangers. Over gourmet cheeses and between sips of sparkling cider, she learned that Philip was an engineer—not the kind of engineer who used slide rules, but the kind who drove trains. During that same conversation, Phillip learned that Percy’s father had passed away just three short weeks prior. “This has been the first time I’ve smiled since,” she said quietly when he handed her a homemade chocolate chip cookie. When the picnic basket was emptied, Philip stood and held Percy’s umbrella aloft while she gathered her things. “Thank you for a wonderful lunch,” she said, standing, reluctant to leave. “I need to head back to work.”“Well, I suppose it’s time for me to finish running my errands,” he said quietly. “May I walk you back to work?” “Of course,” she smiled. “I work at the pharmacy. Right over there—” She pointed behind them. When she returned to look at his face, she noted a deep sadness flicker across his eyes. “Well, I actually need to drop by the pharmacy. It’s one of my stops,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast, averting her gaze.“It’s a wonderful shop,” Percy said, touching his arm. “It’s much more than a pharmacy. We sell groceries, craft beers, and even some household items…” Percy was well aware that she was panicking. His somber look stopped her mid-sentence.Without a word, he pulled out several prescriptions from his wallet and showed them to her. Cytoxan. Trexall. Temodar.Up to this point, everything about her lunch in the park had been unfamiliar to Percy. She wasn’t the kind of girl who men found attractive. She seldom talked to anyone but customers. But now she was holding a few slips of paper she knew too well.  The prescriptions were for medications she had filled many times for her own father. Her brow furrowed as she calculated the dosage, a grim frown growing on her face as clearly as she felt Philip’s stare. In an instant, her frown was replaced by a wide smile.“This is fantastic, Phillip. I will fill your chemotherapy meds the moment I get behind the counter.” She turned to walk spryly to the pharmacy, Philip and his basket trailing close behind. “I’m so happy.” “You are?” Phillip replied, genuinely surprised. “Why are you happy?” “Because these prescriptions need to be refilled every seven days. Do you know what that means?” She stopped suddenly, turning nose-to-nose with him. Phillip grinned. “It means you have to come see me every week. That is if you don’t want to see me more often than that.”""I'd like that."" Phillip responded, ""I'd like that a lot.""""Good,"" Percy said, emphatically, leaning forward and kissing Phillip once on his freckle sprinkled nose. ""Well what do you know, my dad was right?""""How so,"" Phillip asked, trying to suppress the red rush to his cheeks.""He always said freckles looked like chocolate chips, I guess I had to learn on my own that they also tasted as sweet. Now are you coming or what?"" She said as she turned back towards the pharmacy.""""Of course, Percy Phillips. I'd follow you anywhere."" Phillip answered marching smartly behind her, truly anticipating whatever would come next.
","August 09, 2023 12:48",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,f18t2e,THE TASTE OF HUMANS,Kristin Johnson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f18t2e/,/short-story/f18t2e/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Thriller']",16 likes,"
“Do you know what I like best about eating humans?”The Silkenskin smiled at me, its voice soft and melodious and full of death in some lesser-known underground caverns near the cave of Lascaux.  The place where Silkenskins had landed.I considered the Silkenskin’s remark progress in our encounter. An hour ago, the Silkenskin didn’t even acknowledge me, except to say, “Get out of my bed.” The pile of material like satin sheets I knew to be its shed skin apparently qualified as a bed.I reached out and casually touched the translucent waxy face. It felt like touching a woman’s freshly exfoliated and lotioned cheek through a Hermes silk scarf. It didn’t feel like my feminine skin, but I spent much of my waking life in dark, humid, dirty places. I promised myself a facial when this was over. My colleague Dr. Rafe Heller constantly teased me about my appearance.Rafe Heller prided himself on being bold enough to touch a Silkenskin. When he said he was the first, I didn’t correct him. After all, that first time twenty years ago during a teenage camping trip, I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the creatures. This time, I was here as a member of the Agency for Monster Oversight, Research and Eradication (AMORE for short). But the danger hadn’t lessened.Especially since I was supposed to bring this one back alive for study.I slowly retreated and sat cross-legged on the other side of the cavern.“Do you know what I like best about eating humans?”“Tell me.”“The Nosferatu say they like the essence.” The creature slowly sat in a mimic of me. “But I understand that this is, for you humans, saying you like water. You need water to live. We need to eat to live. We also like the taste. But I wasn’t planning to eat you.”“Really.”“Of course not.  If you sat and talked to a cow, would you make hamburger of it afterwards?”“I grew up on a farm, so maybe.""The creature grinned and swayed its head from side to side.  That was all the answer I was going to get.“What is your name?”The creature made a series of sounds like pans clanging together.“Can you translate for me?”“You could not pronounce my name.”“You seem to speak English fairly well.”“One must know one’s prey.  What is your name?”“Ashley Guevara.”“Assh-lei.  You are…female?”“How did you know?  By smell?”It nodded. “I like eating males better than females.  More…meat, and it is sweeter.”I would have to remember to tell t Rafe. “Is that so?”“Do you eat babies?”“Babies?  Children?  No.” The Silkenskin shook its head. “Our females have live young. I am male, by the way. Why do you ask me all these questions?”I shrugged. “So you won’t eat me.”The Silkenskin made the sound that I thought was laughter. “Very good.  Inventive. I am wondering why you are here.”I held up my backpack and pick. “I’m a geologist.  I study rocks.”“I look to humans like a rock?”I laughed. “Not in the least.  But I’d heard rumors about you…I wouldn’t have become a scientist if I wasn’t curious.""“So why are you not studying your rocks?”I got my pick and started digging, hoping the creatures didn’t know anything about geology. “You’ve been such fascinating company, I guess I forgot.”“You should not forget.” The voice never wavered in its melody. “There are others of my kind in this area.  Approaching close now.  They will not sit and talk to you.”“How soon?”It shrugged its whole body. “I do not know your time measures.  By darkness?”Through the mouth of the cave that the afternoon sun was fading.  I hadn’t much time.  If I could just lure it closer…“There is a way…I could protect you, for a while…we are bound by the codes of our kind.”“What is it?”The Silkenskin smiled. “You will not like it.”I knew that, but I also knew that this might be the only way to win over the creature. “Try me.”“I must mate with you.”I took it in stride because I felt numb from shock. “Is…mating with a human even possible for you?”“Not to bear young, but yes, it has been done.”“What makes you think, after you told me you eat humans just for the fun of it, that I would consider mating with you?”“Because you want to capture me, and you would do anything to win my trust.”I stumbled, and the creature caught me in hands like luxurious lamb’s wool.  I leapt away and stood defiantly.“You touched me,” the creature said.“Can you read my thoughts now?”“No.  Only at the time of contact.  And I would know anyway once we mate.”“You know then that I consider you a monster.”It shrugged. “I am used to this from your kind.”“You know that I want to see all of you locked up.”“Not killed.”""We’re not like you.”“You kill small animals for sport.  You kill each other for gain.  You kill people because they look different and call it a just war.”I hated to admit it, but it--he--was seductive the way John Milton’s Satan was seductive. “Look, we don’t want, to wipe out your species.  But we’re not going to let you run free when you’re a danger.”“This is what I wanted from you, your honesty.  Not clumsy delays and pretending to dig.  You did not know what you were doing, otherwise you would have realized that your digging would cause a large stalactite to fall on you.”I looked up.  He was right.  I looked into his gemstone eyes. “If you know all this about me, why do you want to mate with me?”“Among my people, I am considered odd because I talk to my prey and let them go.”“But you eat humans too.”“Enough that I am not considered…sympathetic to you.  You, your race, fascinate me, but I am not sympathetic.”“Then we have something in common.”“We each desire knowledge of the other.  That is why you will mate with me.”“If you’re expecting me to just let you go, I won’t.  I have a commitment to fulfill.”The hiss of silk outside told me that company was arriving, and I saw that the shadows in the cave entrance looked like a prison gate.I looked back at him.  He sat motionless.  The only urgency was in his voice.“If you would decide, decide now.  They come.  I can signal them not to enter, but you must choose now.”“They will honor your request?”“Mating is a sacred thing with us, but first you must say yes.”The reasons not to say yes would fill the cavern.My voice was as soft as his. “We don’t have data on your…practices.  How do I--”He moved quickly to the entrance and emitted those sounds.  This time, they reminded me of bongo drums.  The sounds outside stopped. “We will not be disturbed.”He turned back to me and strolled back.  He moved like a grasshopper, though his legs were built like a human’s.  He motioned for me to sit, and I sat, noticing the ground was warm.  He sat so that his skin brushed mine.  I felt electricity move through me and decided it was the effect of that Spock-like touch telepathy he possessed.His name was Lhere.“Trust me.”I do.Frightened by my own surrender, I swallowed and said, “They ought to give me the Nobel Prize for this.”* * *I woke from my well-earned post-mating slumber.  A Silkenskin, who was definitely not Lhere, loomed over me. I was exhausted but determined to put up a good fight. Lhere lay motionless.I crawled to Lhere and touched him, resulting in an overwhelming urge to kill the Silkenskin near him.Before I could act, the creatures retreated.  The tall, muscular figure that appeared provoked my new primal instincts.  I growled and got to my feet.The beam from a four-battery flashlight blinded me. Rafe’s voice helped me to clear my head. “What happened to you?  Did you leave it alive?”I lifted Lhere, surprisingly light in my arms.  He was either unconscious or playing dead. “He needs help,"" I said again.Rafe nodded, not asking any questions. “The airplane is waiting.”* * *CNN trucks and helicopters surrounded the Spanish-style buildings in the lush Brazilian jungle. The reporters’ perfect hairdos withstood the heat through a ton of hairspray. “We have a mole,” I said to Rafe as the van drove through the crowd.Rafe swerved to avoid three Fox News cameramen. “They can’t get through the security system.”“What about the leak?”“We’ll plug it later.”Electronic gates slammed shut behind us, but some of the reporters were already climbing the walls.I stayed in the back of the van with Lhere, who was in a pet safety cage, the safest place for him.  I couldn’t let Rafe know my concern or my fear.“You let the other creatures go?”“They let us go.  They fled.”“They’ve never been afraid of humans before.”“They were afraid of you.”Rafe looked back at me, and I saw he was afraid, too.I moved closer to the bars and watched over Lhere, worrying because for the first time, he looked helpless.  When I spoke, it was as if someone else had taken over my voice.“They’re iodine based.  If you have any thermometers in the place, break one and give him a transfusion.  He should recover.”* * *Three days later, Rafe, protesting, allowed me inside the replica of a Silkenskin den and then retreated into an alcove where he and the rest of our team watched me wait for Lhere to awaken.I’d left my recorder in the outer labs, with strict instructions that no one except Rafe was to listen to my interview with Lhere.Interview with the Silkenskin.  I could make a bundle writing a tell-all book, but I wasn’t interested in fame or money.  I didn’t know what motivated me anymore.Lhere stirred and opened his eyes.  I knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”“I bear the pain.  Did you heal me?”I couldn’t hear him and hoped he wasn’t hearing me. “I guess so.”“I told you how?”I smiled. “I learned a lot of things from you when we…touched.”“And I from you.  So much so that I became weak and told my kin that I would leave humans alone for as long as you were mated to me.”“That’s why your kin attacked us.” I felt a stirring of guilt. “Because you mate for life.”“Correct. However, my other mates will shun me now, and my hemas will attempt to kill me. Word spreads quickly among my kind.”I touched him without revulsion.  I was in the power position now. “You sacrificed much to mate with me.”“Was it not so in the Garden of Eden?”I laughed out of surprise. “But you knew I planned to capture you.”“You planned to conquer me. And you have. But I have also conquered you. You can no more live among your kind than I can among mine.”I tried to think of what to say, but his next words made me gasp.“Even if your kind sit and study both of us in one of your laboratories. Do you think I cannot smell them near?”I looked at my lap. “No. And you know that your kin would have returned in the hundreds and killed us by now.”“They were afraid of you before.”Did he know my mind? “You were unconscious.”“I know my own kind. They were afraid of you. And your kind must now fear us both.” Lhere smiled at me. I sensed no bitterness or hatred from him. “You are as much a prisoner as I am. The question is, will we stay that way?”I turned to look at where Rafe stood monitoring us. Lhere smiled at me and emitted some of those strange sounds…sounds that I still could not decipher but gave me a feeling of dread in my stomach.“Rafe,” I shouted.Suddenly, shouts from the corridor turned the whole thing into a dark comedy..“…bring down AMORE for sure.”“…hear what’s on that tape! She actually…”“…can’t actually air that, we’d get fired.”“The hell we can’t.” Rafe stepped out of the alcove and faced Lhere. “Kill me, right now.”Suddenly, screams from the corridor echoed, and I heard the hiss of silk like a pit of snakes. I turned to Lhere. “This is why you wanted to mate with me. You knew you could arrange an ambush through me.”“Chiefly, yes. And…for scientific reasons as well.”“But they attacked you…”“I was weak.” He grinned. “I…convinced them it was all a ruse, for your benefit.”“And they believed that?”“Irrelevant. They could not lose the singular opportunity I offered.”“We can defeat you. We have advanced technology.”“Perhaps.”Rafe ran into the doorway, hypodermic in hand, before I could call out. I didn’t hear a scream, but I grieved for him and for my own folly.I didn’t have much time to regret or repent my sins before Lhere’s fangs slipped smoothly into my skin.“I thought you said you preferred males.”“I also said I preferred pregnant women.”“I’m pregnant? You said a human couldn’t--”“I had thought so, but it seems I was wrong.” “Another fact Rafe could lecture on if he were still alive…humans get knocked up instantly by Silkenskins.  And Silkenskins do eat their mates.”“Only human ones. And I cannot allow this child to live either. It is…an unknown variable and might cause my kind to war with each other.”“You won’t kill my child.”I reached up to claw at him, but I felt something warm seep through me, and I couldn’t move…his venom paralyzed instantly.  I had to fight…“Assh-lei, I never told you what I like best about eating humans.”I saw Rafe, gasping, crawl back into the chamber. He looked like he’d lost a fight with a semi-truck. But in his hand was a bucket of acid.If I was going to die, I was going to die as I lived: getting knowledge.“You like…” I swallowed, throat wobbling. “You like the salt of our skin.”“The first puncture of the epidermis, like biting into an apple.”His fangs were deep inside my flesh.“You hate the essence because it makes you…drunk?”“I like the sweetness of the bones. The marrow has…something in it that counteracts the intoxication of the essence.”“You can taste my cells. My very…nuclei.”“Like you eating caviar.”Behind us, Rafe screamed and dumped the acid on Lhere.I felt that the acid had no effect on Lhere. It bounced right off his skin. I reached a hand to his face.“Tell your friend it was a valiant effort.”I stroked his face.“Why do you touch me?”I shook my head. “I…”“Pulling my fangs will not hurt me.”I shuddered. “You like best…tasting our souls.”“Especially yours…my mate…AAAGH!”One of the Silkenskins had its fangs in him. I looked into its eyes and read the first rule of conspiracies: kill the assassins. Especially ones that mated with humans.I attacked the Silkenskin with all my strength. The Silkenskin’s flailing hands didn’t even bruise my skin.Rafe shouted at me and lunged for me.  Lhere shook off his attacker and made quick work of him before going after Rafe.  I hopped onto Lhere’s back.“Take me out of here.”“Where?” He smiled with irony. “There is no place for you, and none for me.  And none for our child, our hema.”The first Human-Silkenskin child.Everything was silent.  Several Silkenskins gathered in the lab’s entrance and looked at Lhere expectantly.“Don’t tell me. You’re a pack structure too, and that was the alpha you just killed.”Lhere smiled and made the bongo drum sounds.He was telling them to shove off and leave us alone.""We were sent to communicate with your race. Our very nature has jeopardized that mission. And yet you killed us rather than learn from us.”“We were afraid.”“As were we. We were part of an experiment too.”“Experiment?”“To see if we could live with others not of our kind. Our world…is dying.”“I’m sorry.”“No sorrier than I am. We cannot live with others. I had hoped…”“You didn’t mean for them to attack us. You meant them to communicate…you hoped that mating with me would…But then you…”“I too failed to rise above my nature…for the first time in my life.”The truth of his words came through our mental bond, and I slapped him. “You’ve never eaten a human in your life, have you?”“I hate the taste of humans.”I laughed, as much at my own prejudice as him. “But you did mate with one…”“To no avail.”I curled myself around him. “I don’t know. Seems to me that getting a human to mate with you isn’t a failure. Who do you present the good news to?”“Our Council on my homeworld. They have been waiting now for three decades for news.”“I thought your world was dying.”""In five years it will...and we have never lived anywhere else.""“Well…there’s a first for everything. Like a Silkenskin mating with a human…and that was another lie, wasn’t that? None of you have done it with a human.”“No. But you sidestep the issues. My kind have killed yours.”“And they’ll go on unless we make a trip right now to see your council. Will you go with me?”“Do you know what I like best about humans?”I grinned at him as the Silkenskins hustled us out of the lab. “What?”He didn’t answer until we were underground, near some sort of misty-white column that served basically as the subway between the Silkenskin planet and Earth.Lhere smiled at me just before we stepped into the conduit and held my hand. “Humans are full of surprises.”
","August 04, 2023 17:24","[[{'Derrick M Domican': ""Ive hinestly no idea how you packed so much in here. It's like a fully condensed novel. Impressive!"", 'time': '11:03 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Kristin Johnson': ""Thank you, that's such a great compliment!"", 'time': '17:22 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kristin Johnson': ""Thank you, that's such a great compliment!"", 'time': '17:22 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Zyn Marlin': 'That is a very twisty tale. Interesting!', 'time': '21:49 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,0t205x,Missive in a Photograph,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0t205x/,/short-story/0t205x/,Character,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Fiction']",16 likes,"
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
 
""Smell my finger,"" he giggled mischievously.
 
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. ""It smells like poop!"" he exclaimed in disgust.
 
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom - an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
 
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: ""Grandpa told me.""
 
Brady's heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth - Brady's grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
 
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
 
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady's actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
 
* * *
 
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
 
""Smell my finger,"" he giggled mischievously.
 
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. ""It smells like poop!"" he exclaimed in disgust.
 
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom - an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
 
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: ""Grandpa told me.""
 
Brady's heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth - Brady's grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
 
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
 
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady's actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
 
* * *
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
 
""Smell my finger,"" he giggled mischievously.
 
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. ""It smells like poop!"" he exclaimed in disgust.
 
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom - an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
 
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: ""Grandpa told me.""
 
Brady's heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth - Brady's grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
 
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
 
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady's actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
 
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
 
""Smell my finger,"" he giggled mischievously.
 
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. ""It smells like poop!"" he exclaimed in disgust.
 
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom - an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
 
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: ""Grandpa told me.""
 
Brady's heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth - Brady's grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
 
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
 
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady's actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
 
Brendan was laying on the couch with his son Brady, relaxing. Brady turned to his father with mischief sparkling in his eyes.
 
""Smell my finger,"" he giggled mischievously.
 
Brendan obliged without suspecting what lay ahead. As he took a whiff, an unpleasant odor invaded his senses. ""It smells like poop!"" he exclaimed in disgust.
 
Brady burst into laughter before confessing that he had placed his finger in his bottom - an act that would make any parent cringe at its grossness. Brendan scolded him gently and asked where he had learned such an unsavory trick.
 
To his astonishment, Brady replied innocently yet eerily: ""Grandpa told me.""
 
Brady's heart skipped a beat as he realized the chilling truth - Brady's grandfather had passed away six long years ago. How could his son have learned this forbidden secret from someone he had never met?
 
The room grew colder as unease settled upon them like a heavy fog. Whispers of ghostly presence echoed through their thoughts as they pondered the inexplicable connection between Brady and his long-lost grandfather.
 
Who was this spectral figure guiding young Brady's actions from beyond the grave? What secrets did he carry from another time? And what twisted fate awaited them all?
","August 12, 2023 03:49","[[{'Turey Rosa': ""Now that's what I call a stinky loop 😆"", 'time': '13:28 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Was that on purpose?', 'time': '04:33 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Still working on this one.', 'time': '06:31 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Still working on this one.', 'time': '06:31 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,vqeh2c,A Tree Always Hears Itself Fall,A.R. Eakle,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vqeh2c/,/short-story/vqeh2c/,Character,0,"['Fiction', 'Contemporary']",16 likes,"
Splendid oak trees, porcupines, chocolate chip cookies, and sting rays. Maybe there’s something to life that I haven’t yet figured out. Maybe it’s less about thumbtacks and climate change and more about the Pyramids of Giza and the process of turning cherries into coffee.
Post-it notes filled to the brim with words but lacking any real information line the bottom of my monitor, but really what in life can be summed up in a way to fit on a post-It note? Or is it just the opposite? That everything in life is meant to fit on a single note and that we often make life too complicated? Maybe everything can be summed up into something even smaller, say a word, or a single letter, or a single thought that never makes its way into the chasm of reality. 
Sunsets, movie stars, disposable cutlery, and quantum physics. There can’t be that much difference in them if they’re all part of the same universe, the same realm. Maybe there isn’t more than one universe, that this is all we have. That dinosaurs and Facebook live on the same plane with the same timeline and that there isn’t anything more or less to it than that. 
I rip off one of the notes, an old one with a bunch of information on it that doesn’t mean anything to me now but was important enough to write down at one point. I crumble it up and throw it in the trash. I do the same with the one next to it, then the other, then the other, until they’re all in the trash and my monitor is once again clear. Bits of my memory thrown into the trash to be forgotten. Or will they be? Will some part of me remember everything that was written on them? Stored away in an area of the brain that I won’t have access to later? What if we remember everything that we have ever seen or done, and in the vastness of our minds we just can’t access it. Thinking about the universe and how big it is, surely something got lost out there that will never be found again, but that doesn’t mean that it’s gone. As if a tree falling in the woods doesn’t make a sound if nobody is around to hear it. The tree itself is there to hear itself fall. 
I step out of my office, look down the hall both ways, as if crossing a busy road of traffic, and stroll toward reception at a leisurely pace. Names label plaques down the hall with a bunch of other lawyers that dedicated more time to school and fulfilling the wishes of professors than they did satisfying their own desires. Nobody desires to be in school, they desire money and a life of luxury. But in order to get to that part we have to satisfy everybody else first. Even people who work for themselves, the ones that never went to college and have never had a boss in their life still answer to everybody else before themselves. If their product doesn’t fit the design of society or their target market, then they’d be flat broke. Even those that inherited money and have never worked a day in their lives are still at the mercy of everybody around them. If there wasn’t nothing for them to buy or to have dinners with, then they’d surely go mad of richness. 
I tell the receptionist, Jen, I tell her, “I’m heading out for the day. If Davis asks, tell him I wasn’t feeling good. But don’t tell anybody else I’m out. Say I’m in a conference or something, okay?” She nods, and I lean with my forearms onto the counter, and I say, “Thanks. Hey, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Have a good evening, okay?” They say they will and smile and wave goodbye and I wave back at them as I walk through the door.
Business cards, Microsoft Excel, the Mona Lisa, and Virgos. There’s something that I missed, something that nobody can tell me that I missed because nobody knows that it’s missing. At least that I’m missing it. Maybe they found it and didn’t know that they found it to tell me what it is that I should be looking for. If I drive a toy Tonka truck into a Barnes and Noble and ask for a double cheeseburger from Dunkin’ Donuts, would they give me one? Why wouldn’t they? 
I sit in my car and call my mom. “Hey,” I answer.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Can we talk about what happened yet?”
She hangs up, but doesn’t hang up because she never answered the phone because she died ten years ago. And to this day I can still hear her voice when I pick up my phone and dial her number and get nothing in return. That’s how I know that I’m missing something. I can often hear her voice, as if she’s right next to me, and she can still tell me things and I call her back and she says, “Is everything okay?” And I say, “Has anybody in our family ever had schizophrenia?” And she says, “Of course not. Don’t be silly like that, our family isn’t crazy.” I hang up.
Super Nintendo Entertainment Systems, chickens, the Ohio River, and Erwin Schrodinger’s cat have as much in common with each other as I have in common with my own skeleton. It isn’t about the stock markets and girl scout cookies, because if it were then I would have some type of answer. As I’m walking down Main Street I loosen my tie and unbutton the top button of my shirt so that my neck can breathe and I feel as though there’s another part of me, a part that knows something that I don’t, and I can hear that part of me calling out for my current self. He’s beautiful, my voice calling out to me. I can tell in the pitch, the melody, the soft way that I can hear it but it allows me to ignore it. I’m not beautiful, not in that way, and neither is anything else. 
I left my car in the garage. I leave the busy streets and opt for a side street around a few blocks. I’m completely lost, but at the same time not lost at all because I’m in the same place that I’ve always been. I’ve never been anywhere else. I walk, and eventually my shoes cause blisters on my feet. A pair of black leather shoes that cost an infinite amount of money. I keep walking, feeling my heels bleeding. I walk as far as I can until I there is no more pavement, only dirt and grass. There’s a mountain in the distance, though I’m not sure of which peak it is or which range it’s a part of. It’s only a mountain, nothing more and nothing less. I walk toward it. 
Giraffes, Alaska, airplanes, and pontoon boats aren’t what worry me by any means. It’s this walk and the way it’s making me feel. The way I can hear myself breathing, the way I feel my heart pumping and pounding through my chest so much that I can almost see my shirt move. The way my heels are raw and my thighs are chaffing. The walk terrifies me, but it isn’t because of the distance or the fear that I might die, it’s because of what I might discover when I reach the top. It’s getting darker but my path is clear, continue straight. Slopes and hills and trees aren’t obstacles, neither are the bits of streams and cliffs. It’s the AM radio stations, carpet, and HB #2 pencils. 
It could have been hours, it could have been days, it could have been thirty-eight seconds, it could have been no time at all, but I reach a point that I know is not the top of the mountain but is no different than the top, nor is it any different than a public bathroom in Burlington, Vermont. There’s a river, not one that is an obstacle, nor one that I cannot pass, but it is a river, the same as if it were a pigeon. I take off my shoes, then my socks, then my tie, then my button-up shirt, then my undershirt, then my pants, then my underwear, until I am left standing on the side of the flowing river as naked as the day I was born. In a pile of mess, I leave it all there and walk into the water. It’s cold and painful. 
Igneous rocks, car keys, tweezers, and aglets know the same amount of information as I do, they know the exact things that I know. If they didn’t then they wouldn’t exist, and neither would I. The water is coming up to my knees and I can feel the smooth and jagged rocks beneath my feet. The moon is almost full and there isn’t any type of noise except the flow of water and the chirping critters on the sides of the river. I sit down, my feet stretched out in front of me, the water running into my back. I am no obstacle to the river nor am I an obstacle to radio towers, Ray-Ban sunglasses, or sundials. I call my mom and I say, “Hey.” She says, “Is everything okay?” I tell her it is, and she hangs up and I lay down in the river on my back and feel the cold water rushing over me. I feel the entirety of the universe swirling around me, through me, into me, out of me.
Back in my office, I scroll through my emails. There’s traffic outside, so much that I can hear it. It’s a hot day with a cool wind. I am taking the post-It notes out of the trash can, uncurling them, flattening them, and placing them back on my monitor. I want to think it was the cleaners that threw them away, but I know it wasn’t. I’ve learned to live with myself the way that I am, even if the way that I am is somebody that I don’t yet know. 
","August 10, 2023 19:41","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'This is quite deep A.R. It was carrying me away with it. I now want to walk into a forest , find a lake, undress and sit in the water. Because why not.\nI love the idea that you cant ever be lost because you are always wherever you are.', 'time': '14:05 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'A.R. Eakle': 'Wow, thank you! Really means a lot. Glad it was able to move something in you!', 'time': '21:31 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'A.R. Eakle': 'Wow, thank you! Really means a lot. Glad it was able to move something in you!', 'time': '21:31 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'A really clever title that caught my eye. The sentimentality of the story really kicks in when we learn his wife is gone, and then the reality that life goes on when he takes the post it notes out of the trash. I like how a lot of the big things go unsaid and you paint the picture through small details.', 'time': '06:29 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'A.R. Eakle': 'Titles are possibly my favorite pet of writing short stories! Glad this one caught your eye. I also liked the symbolism of the post its. Thanks for reading, man, really appreciate you!', 'time': '21:32 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'A.R. Eakle': 'Titles are possibly my favorite pet of writing short stories! Glad this one caught your eye. I also liked the symbolism of the post its. Thanks for reading, man, really appreciate you!', 'time': '21:32 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Hard to understand yourself.🤯\n\nThanks for liking my  'Any body down There' story."", 'time': '02:09 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'A.R. Eakle': 'Absolutely! Thanks for reading! :)', 'time': '15:27 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'A.R. Eakle': 'Absolutely! Thanks for reading! :)', 'time': '15:27 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,cfu5ow,Stich and the Man In Black,Patricia Merewether,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cfu5ow/,/short-story/cfu5ow/,Character,0,"['Adventure', 'Science Fiction']",15 likes,"
 
Stitch: If you are reading this, I have gone Home. I appreciate your assistance and patience, as my early entries show my naivete and unpreparedness for your world. I leave this journal and hope it will inspire your writing. Thank you, my friend. ""Mibs""
PREP:
A med-tech applied patches to my skin to keep my body motionless and remove memories of the experience, which they learned was most unpleasant.
The team used new coordinates and logistics to ensure I didn't end up inside a wall or at the bottom of a sea. I hate to think of what my predecessors endured, and since I have no companions or dependents, I volunteered. I may not return.
My destination sounded much like Home without our scientific and sociological advancements. My suit contained devices required to assist me in completing my contract.
ARRIVAL:
As I regained awareness and opened my eyes, I feared I'd gone blind, then realized it was after sunset on earth. I removed my protective film, and the stench of rotting bio-matter, urine, and an acrid chemical odor burned my nose and throat. I did not realize Earth had gotten so poluted!
I sat up and looked around, then tapped the wall of a large metal container filled with soft bundles. When I checked with my translator, I understood this was the correct area assigned to me. I decreased my sensory sensitivity level and continued. The Watchers always forget to do this, and it gives them a laugh.
 
Tires splashing through water, a distant siren, and a car horn sound were familiar from my training. I eliminated the annoying electronic hum and had no idea how strong the smells were here. After opening my pack, I stretched my muscles, and my restrictive, uncomfortable clothing ripped, so I moved with increased caution. I wanted to dispose of it; however, a naked, six-foot-tall, ashen man wandering the city brings quick incarceration, and I would also lose my supplies. Some of them are dangerous to people or animals, and causing harm to any creature, sentient or not, would cause my swift termination. Watchers observe me and my actions, much like the god concept here. 
 
My memory held all English words and a dozen languages. However, the many slang words, movements, and hand signals eluded me. My trainers didn't think they were necessary. I needed help understanding the myriad of subtle facial expressions and local customs, and I hope the Watchers note this. I spoke only when necessary until I was more informed. Silent observation was my best teacher.
 
This ridiculous suit is uncomfortable and outdated. Information via the internet and other sources makes my appearance recognizable, which puts me at risk. Two films, or movies, were created about what they think we are. Black suits, white shirts, black ties, black fedora, and an outdated briefcase are not a good disguise anymore!
 
Humans here have minimal night vision and perform most activities during daylight. Surveillance cameras are plentiful but easy to see and disable, and the slightest suspicious behavior alerts the police.
 
On my first day, two officers requested my identification, which I have. I experienced anxiety for the first time. Adapting to extreme emotions was challenging, yet it helped determine the risks in these unfamiliar surroundings. An officer inquired about my business and plans, as I said earlier, this clothing causes instant concern for humans. Anxiety spiked, and I used my ability to make them experience what I wanted them to. I needed clarification on whether this worked.
 
 Perhaps the Watchers saved me, or it was serendipity because a dark-skinned young man in a red shirt and blue pants approached and pointed at me, saying, ""There you are! The Con opens soon, and I told you not to wear your cosplay costume outside the hotel! Get a move on!"" He looked at the police, adding, ""He's such a newbie!"" The officers shrugged and left.
 
I followed him into a green space, or park, with open-sided tents and tables. Each tent contained fabrics, pottery, food, and flowers. Loud music hurt my ears, and I diminished my sense of sound again. He continued walking, but as I passed near one tent, a large woman spoke in a thunderous voice, ""Come here, handsome, you need more comfortable clothes! Go ahead, try on whatever you want. Call me Sadie!"" She swept her hand over her wares. She gasped and narrowed her eyes as I pulled on a pink shirt that read BETTY BOOP! over my suit coat.
""What the hell are you doing?"" She looked amused.
""I need different clothing,""  I said.
 
Sadie nodded and said, ""Well, I wouldn't wear that then, Honey.""
I removed the shirt and felt another small rip in my suit. She put two black shirts into a paper sack and handed them to me. She eyed my clothing with interest and said, ""Say, where did you get that outfit? It looks vintage."" She reached up and touched my hat, then my suit coat and I backed away. 
 
""Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Are you one of those autistics?""
I said nothing.
 
""Your duds are interesting, vintage? They look to be from the fifties or early sixties. We could trade your jacket for the shirts?""
 
""No,"" I replied.
 
""It's okay. I'll go easy on you, give me forty dollars, and throw these loafers in. You look like a size ten, so these will fit.""
 
The young man who'd saved me from the police returned and said, ""Hey, Bro! She's ripping you off! All of her stuff is used or used up. Give her a ten!""
 
""Get out of here, you little shit! Go back to your own table!"" Sadie's voice hurt my ears, despite my lowered volume.
 
He laughed, held up a finger, and walked away, motioning for me to follow. ""Come on, I'll get you fixed up right.""
 
I gave Sadie a ten and followed. He was short, so I slowed my pace. He looked up and said, ""Sadie's okay but takes advantage. I'm Stitch. High five!""He raised his palm, so I did too, and he laughed and tapped his to mine. He stopped, leaned closer to me, and whispered, ""Are you one of those Men in Black dudes?""
 
I remained silent.
 
I wanted to leave this place with too many loud voices and music, brightly colored clothing, and shiny metal and glass objects strobing in the sunlight. Some odors were pleasant, but others made me gag. The scent of some foods was so sweet the back of my throat itched. A stench of rotting flesh came from a truck that said: HOT DOGS! in flashing red letters. I wondered if they meant actual canines.
 
Many sounds also confused me. I didn't know what tones and accents were: happy, sad, or angry. Too many hurt me, so I turned them off.
 
The first time I experienced hunger came when I encountered a table filled with fruit and vegetables. My favorites now are avocado, watermelon, cucumbers, bananas, and yams (you must cook yams to make them edible.) Corn made me uneasy, and it seemed unnatural, and I detected toxins. I enjoyed the lemonade after adding a large amount of water to it. The water here varies in color, flavor, toxins, and nutrients, so I bought it in bottles.
 
Stitch stopped at a tent covered with books and maps. He called out to a woman in a green and yellow dress with long, dark hair. ""Hey, Ma! Come meet my new friend!""
 
Ma turned, and her eyes opened wide. She touched the fingers of her right hand to her forehead and chest, then from one shoulder to the other. I repeated this, and she looked less startled. ""Son? Who is this man?""
 
Stitch looked at me. ""Oh, he's ah, um, a priest! He doesn't speak much English, and he's from another place. You know, where everyone is very white?""
 
""Utah?""
 
""No, Ma, another country.""
 
His name is um . . .Mibs."" Stitch looked at me and closed one eye. and Mibs mimicked me. ""He's lost and needs some street clothes. Right, Mibs?""
 
I nodded.
 
I found the words and said, ""Buenos Dias!"" I made eye contact to make her more at ease. And she smiled and nodded.""Nice to meet you, Father. Take him home and give him some of your brother's clothes.""
 
""Great idea Ma. I know he won't mind."" Stitch looked at me and said, ""My brother's in the army, In the Middle East.""
 
We walked two blocks, climbed four sets of stairs, and stopped at the door marked 42. Stitch used three keys, each for a similar lock, and I followed. 
 
He said, ""No matter how crumbled, there's no place like home!"" It did not look crumbled. A sitting area and kitchen were all in one space, separated by a counter. The walls in the front room were yellow, and the kitchen was bright orange, which caused me unease until I adapted. At Home, everything is muted grays, blues, and greens. The lower classes prefer reds and yellows, which are thought to over-stimulate us.
 
Stitch pointed to a sofa covered with woven blankets. A green chair faced the window over the street. ""Thirsty? Want a snack?""
 
I nodded. My stomach made unfamiliar sounds, which meant it was empty. Stitch brought me a glass of water that smelled and tasted toxic, but I drank it. He handed me a long yellow vegetable from a bowl, and I bit into it and did not like the tough, bitter food. Stitch took it, removed the covering handed me the soft, sweet insides. ""That is a banana. Good for you."" I examined it and its thick covering.
 
""Fuck, Dude! You really are from space! I knew it! I learn all about you guys on podcasts. Linda Moulton Howe and that guy with crazy hair are my favorites. They tell it is.""
 
This information made me uneasy.
 
 ""It's okay, Mibs. I love this shit, and I'll help you if you come in peace."" He laughed, but his voice quivered.
 
""I do.""
 
""Okay then, let's find you some blendin'- in clothes. My brother is shorter than you, not as thin. Come in here.""
 
We entered a room with two beds on the opposing walls. Large pictures of nude women covered one wall where Stitch pulled clothes from a tiny area called a closet. He tossed items onto the bed.
 
""Try these. I have to go help Ma tear down and take all the stuff to the storage unit. Stay here and pick out new clothes. Oh, what do you want for dinner?""
 
I pointed to the banana. We drink a prepared nutritional mixture at Home and some fruits and vegetables.
 
""Another vegan! I'll get some more fruit and veg.""
 
Stitch pointed to his side of the room, where a poster above his bed had a photo of a hovering disc, and I read: I Want To Believe, which I found curious. Piles of books covered every surface, and papers surrounded his computer. It was so different from his brother's side.
 
""Help yourself to my clothes, too, if you need them.""
 
I read some of the papers or printouts and found them fascinating. Stitch was a prolific writer, and I picked up other documents telling him that although his stories were well-written and thoughtful, they were not suited for their publication.
 
I chose a pair of pants with many pockets that Stitch told me were 'cargo pants.' They needed to be larger to hold cargo. I used one of the black shirts from Sadie but had to keep my black shoes.
 
####
 
I'd planned to go to the location, take care of my task, and leave. It was a simple job, but it would save thousands of human lives and prevent the destruction of a large area of the United States.
 
When Stitch and Ma were asleep I put my tools into the cargo pants and walked softly to the living room, but Stitch was behind me as I prepared to open the door and leave the apartment.
 
""Yo! Where ya' going in the middle of the night? Is it time for your task?""
 
I turned but did not respond.
 
""You're going to do your thing here? Right?"" He said this while pulling on his pants. ""I'm coming with you; you might need help.""
 
""No, you aren't supposed to know as much as you do. You might cause problems."" I said.
 
He ignored me. ""How far from here? Are you going to take a taxi? A bus?"" He pulled on his shirt and shoes. ""This could be great stuff for my stories! He grabbed a black notebook and pen from the kitchen counter.""
 
""I'll walk.""
 
""Come on, I have the van. Why walk and risk being stopped by the cops this late at night?""
 
I opened the door and walked down the three flights of stairs, and Stitch was right behind me. I began walking north, and he walked south, so I figured he decided against helping. Then a few minutes later, I heard a horn honk, and there he was, in his white van, rusted all around the edges, and one blue door.
 
""Come on, Mibs, get in!"" Then he honked the horn again, and lights came on in a nearby apartment window. I got in the van and wondered what the watchers thought.
 
I never told you, Stitch, what I did that night or why because I feared the consequences. But I will tell you now that I am going Home.
 
After you dropped me off and I convinced you to wait for me, I cut through five blocks to the target's Home. I was prepared for their large, loud dog and gave him a treat that put him to sleep for at least an hour.
 
I climbed over the fence and entered the back door of the garage. The vehicle I checked was the correct one, a very old and worn Chevy. I disconnected the fuel pump and disabled it, and replaced it to ensure it appeared as a typical part failure. The wire I found was nearly worn through and severed it. The owner replaced and repaired essential parts at the local power plant. He had to be delayed in a way that raised no questions but caused no harm. I had to make sure of this but subtly. If he had gone to his job that day, he would have made an error and caused a massive power outage lasting for days.  This would cause massive power failures, larger than the one in 1965. It would have destroyed much of your communications and many people would have died.  We rarely intervene in Earth's situations, but we had to help this time.   MIBS
 
 
","August 10, 2023 18:30","[[{'Joe Malgeri': 'Excellent writing, Patricia. An interesting, great adventure that definitely held my interest.', 'time': '17:44 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Patricia Merewether': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '21:29 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Patricia Merewether': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '21:29 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'This was a really fun tale, Patricia. I enjoyed it thoroughly, and I see some real shining accomplishments in your writing. Well done, my friend. Well done.\n\nCheers!\n\nP.S. Did you mean for the final paragraph to be in such a large font?', 'time': '13:22 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Patricia Merewether': ""Again, thank you so much!  No I didn't = that happened in my last submission too.  Glad it didn't get kicked out!  xo"", 'time': '23:56 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Patricia Merewether': ""Again, thank you so much!  No I didn't = that happened in my last submission too.  Glad it didn't get kicked out!  xo"", 'time': '23:56 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,emt3et,Moon Unit,Susan Israel,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/emt3et/,/short-story/emt3et/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Contemporary']",14 likes,"
 
 
 
                                      Moon Unit 
 
 
 
          Caroline suspected there was something awry even before she adopted the dog, her first dog ever,  the dog she pictured accompanying her on long brisk walks and curling up in her bed, keeping her warm. Whereas the other dogs ran up to the front of the cages, their goofy eagerness insisting, “Me! Me! Me!”, the dog they called Terra just looked up from sleep in mild appraisal. “She’s different,” the shelter volunteer said by way of explanation. “She’s not aggressive or anything like that. She’s just…different.”
       “Different how?”
       “Well, she sleeps during the day and stays up all night. We call her our ‘third watch’ dog. Almost like her previous owner worked the night shift and she got the habit from him sleeping all day.”
        “Did her owner work the third shift?”
        “No, none of them did. There were three that we know of. She was a street dog before that.  They all brought her back. They couldn’t get a wink of sleep. She paces and howls. Poor girl.”
        “What will happen if no one adopts her?”
        The volunteer averted her eyes. “She’s on the euthanasia list.”
        “I’ll take her,” Caroline said. It came out just like that. And so she did and Terra seemed happy enough to go along for the ride, hopping on the back seat of the Jetta eager to be taken away from That Place. She was probably just stressed, Caroline thought. Probably just lonely. She gobbled her food and lapped up water and curled up at Caroline’s feet while she watched the end of the late afternoon news. And then it got dark and Terra went to the window and began to howl.
 
         “You look like you could use some sleep,” 
           Caroline opened her eyes and smiled sheepishly at the school nurse. “My new puppy kept me awake,” she said, not bothering to explain that the ‘puppy’ was five years old. 
           The nurse nodded sympathetically. “I’ve been there. It takes time. Use wee wee pads if you can’t get her outside during the night on school nights. She’ll get the hang of it.”
           “Thanks,” Caroline said through a yawn. “I’ll try that. At least I’m just a substitute here. I have whole days when I can catch up on my sleep.”
 
             The ‘mild sedative’ from the vet office didn’t work. Neither did the melatonin suggested by her sister-in-law or the lavender aromatherapy recommended by the groomer; it just made both of them sneeze. The full moon was too bright. It beckoned her: look at me! LOOK AT ME! Terra’s paw had already clawed through the blackout shade. Now she sat on her haunches, her cry starting deep in her throat. Twice a neighbor knocked on her door and implored, could you please keep your dog quiet? The third time he left out the ‘please.’
              “Oh, Terra, what am I going to do with you?”
 
             “I don’t want to give her more drugs,” Caroline told the vet. “They don’t help. They turn her into a zombie. And she still howls at the moon.”
             The vet gave her the name of a trainer who gave her the name of a pet behaviorist who gave her the name of the same vet she’d been seeing and again the drugs didn’t stop her from her nocturnal obsession. And again Caroline fell asleep in the break room at school. A tap on her shoulder jarred her awake. “I heard about your predicament,” Mr. Grimes, the science teacher said. “Maybe I can help.” He jotted down a name on a steno pad and tore out the page. “She’s a pet psychic and very good at what she does. She told me what was wrong with my dog and now 
he’s a totally different animal. If it’s what I think it is, we can both help you.”
         “What is it?”
         “Let her tell you and we’ll go from there. You look like you could use a cup of coffee. Allow me.”
 
         The psychic looked like a CPA, dressed in business attire and carrying a briefcase, but her business card billed her as Madame Luna. “Seriously?” Caroline realized that she had offended her right from the start and wished she could take that back. What her real name was didn’t matter; she was here to help Terra, whose ears twitched at the sight of her. “She’s lovely,” Madame Luna cooed. “Lovely.” Terra wagged her tail. “Please allow us a few minutes alone together. I believe Terra has some things she wants to say to me.”
           Caroline sucked in her breath and stepped in her kitchen, where she thought she wouldn’t be seen.  
            “Can you please leave altogether for a bit?” Madame Luna implored. “Terra will be fine with me. I won’t steal anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”
            I guess she can read minds after all, Caroline thought, grabbing a sweater on her way out, hoping for the best.
 
              When she came back, Madame Luna wasn’t the only person in her living room; Mr. Grimes was there too and her floor looked like a roomful of preschoolers had just left after scattering crumpled up papers and glitter all over the place– or at least what looked like glitter except on close examination it didn’t sparkle. Terra was sleeping peacefully on her Sherpa dog bed. It was dark out. 
             “What is this?   What happened here?” She turned to Mr. Grimes. “How’d you get here?”
             “He’s my husband. Your dog just missed where she came from, dear. All of this, this memorabilia, is making her feel truly at home.”
            “She was mostly a street dog,” Caroline said, echoing what she’d been told at the shelter. 
            “Ah, but what street? She might have been found on the street, but her origins are from another street, one less traveled, one that you have never traveled. Her roots go back to the Sea of Tranquility. All of what you see here is moon debris, articles about how her ancestors’ genetic codes were disturbed by the moon landing and regenerated here on Earth and forced to be like other dogs. Every dog in the genetic line was affected.”
             “This is all too weird. How did you come to have moon debris?” 
             “Look at your dog. Look how relaxed she is. We could take all of this away and see how she does.”
              “No..no……how many dogs were there that were affected?”
             “Tens of thousands around the world. Probably much more by now  This is what she needed to adjust to being here, this mess.  And for God’s sake, change that silly name! She doesn’t like it.”
             From that fateful day forward, the dog formerly known as Terra responded happily  to the name Sky and when the sun set every night, she slept like a fallen star.
 
                                                            #
 
 
 
 
","August 04, 2023 20:47","[[{'Joseph Peck': 'Interesting premise, I have only seen one idea like this before, and it was in Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated and it was a bit more extreme than this. This was more on the cute and fluffy side.', 'time': '11:42 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Turey Rosa': ""Moon Unit is a captivating and creatively spun story that delves into the unique relationship between Caroline and her adopted dog, Terra, later known as Sky. The narrative skillfully weaves in elements of the moon and lunar themes, adding a distinct and imaginative layer to the tale. The portrayal of Terra's nighttime howling and Caroline's struggle to find a solution tugs at the heartstrings, creating a relatable connection for any pet owner. The introduction of Mr. Grimes and his unexpected connection to Terra's lunar origins adds an in..."", 'time': '21:18 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,oixfcs,"Daily, Except in Hurricanes",John K Adams,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/oixfcs/,/short-story/oixfcs/,Character,0,"['Drama', 'Friendship', 'Inspirational']",12 likes,"
Ramone looked out his window at the ‘SOLD’ sign in the front yard across the street. He shook his head.  
Now retired, he’d lived his whole life in this house. He made mud pies at the foot of the driveway before they paved the street. He went to school with the boy who fathered the man who just sold his house.
Ybor City, in Tampa, Florida, was once filled with people Ramon had known forever. So many lifelong friends had moved away or passed on. 
Ramon’s neighborhood was gentrifying. He’d only just learned the term. Now it was happening in a moment. This was the sixth house in a year.
Many of the houses were dilapidated. Nearly a century old, his grandparents bought theirs new. Some were abandoned as unlivable. Buyers purchase cheaply for the land’s value. The deal closes and they demolish the house, or ‘remodel’ it into a palace. But how many palaces can fit onto one block? 
Meanwhile, the sellers take the ‘best offer’ and leave their past behind. It’s just economics. But they’re blind to how cheaply they sold their sense of place and of belonging.
‘All I know is my old neighborhood is gone.’
It seemed a particular curse that Ramon had reached this age only to feel so dislocated. Yes, he had his home. The only one he’d ever known. But this wasn’t just an address. He felt his life chipping away.
He kept the interior the same, with family pictures, a table cloth and fresh flowers in his wife’s favorite vase. A woman came to dust and wash his cup every week. He kept it simple.
He cherished being surrounded by friends and family with shared memories and values. He belonged here. And now he was alone. How many friends had he lost? 
He felt untethered where he’d always belonged. He no longer recognized his Ybor City. 
Sitting on his veranda, looking across the street, Ramon felt imprisoned. Even his children had moved away, busy building their lives.
It wasn’t a racial thing. His neighbors’ race was never the point. He got along with everyone. But they shared no history. He didn’t know them. Would he ever?
‘Should be called puppies, not yuppies, so few are house broken. Making a home but ruining the neighborhood.’
The next afternoon, he met his old workmate, Chico, at a new, franchise, coffee shop. The décor looked like Cuba got strained through a manga comic. Sitting under an umbrella they watched the crowd.
“Look at this place! So clean…” Chico ran his hand over the tabletop and examined his fingers.
“Yeah, but with none of the style of our old hang out. Hard surfaces and no heart.” Chico smiled. “Thanks for driving in.” Chico shrugged. “Where you live now?”
“By Clearwater beach. Nice. You should visit.” Ramon demurred. “Really… Sounds far. But it isn’t.”
Ramon nodded toward the other clientele. “Look at these hipsters, alone at their table, staring at a laptop. Nibbling a six-dollar scone.”
“For a scone?” Chico rolled his eyes. 
“The world’s overflowing with strangers, Chico. No one talks anymore. Unless you count your six thousand friends on anti-social media you’ve never met.”
They sipped their coffees. Chico made a sour face.
Ramon said, “Right? We’re in Ybor City, for God’s sake. Think you could get a Cuban coffee?” Chico laughed. Ramon wagged a sugar packet. “What’s this white stuff? Give me a shot of molasses… and condensed milk… a shot of Heaven!”
Chico nodded. “Simpler times, my friend.”
“Ask for molasses. See the look you get.”
“You need a girlfriend, Ramon.”
They laughed loudly. 
“Oh, no, Chico… That ship sailed.” He smiled with glistening eyes. “I miss Carmen too much. It wouldn’t be right…”
“I get it.”
“Ahh, the hours I spent as a boy, listening to my Abuelo and his friends talking and laughing over dominos. They let me keep score.”
“That club closed years ago. Is the building still there?”
“It’s a video game store. We worked when we were young. Video games didn’t exist.” 
“Don’t I know…?”
“All those beeps and hums. I miss the click of dominos against each other.”
Ramon walked with Chico to his car on the far side of Jose Marti Park. A few shaded tables had chess players leaning into their games.
Wild chickens chased the crumbs Ramon scattered from his scone. He stooped and addressed the big white rooster holding court.
“So much history. Right, Colonel? Does anyone remember it, besides you and me?”
The rooster regarded him seriously. 
Ramon rambled on. “My Nana worked in the cigar factory with her friends. Every night they’d walk home to their families. They laughed together. Shared the good and the bad. At bedtime, she’d tell me Don Quixote’s adventures.”
They got to Chico’s car and embraced farewell.
Chico punched his shoulder. “Hey… The new owners might be nice. You’ll make new friends.”
Ramon nodded. “Good point, Chico. Could happen. Thanks again.”
~
He stared at the moving truck parked across the street. 
Ramon shook his head. ‘My people used to live here. Now they only come to work, cleaning and gardening. Where do they go at quitting time?’
When the movers broke for lunch, he crossed to them. Ramon introduced himself. 
“The new owners… how are they? They from out of state? They treat you well?” 
They said they kept busy. Everyone is selling, starting new lives. “You could sell that house for a ton.” 
Ramon said, “True. But where do I go then?”
A voice called out, “Boy!”
The new owner gestured at him. 
Ramon offered his hand to shake. “Ramon… Welcome to the…”
The man ignored his greeting. “Tell my wife when you unload the ‘kitchen’ boxes. ‘ You read English?”
“I’m Ramon, your neighbor from across the street. Welcome…”
The man walked away.
Ramon looked at the workers. “He called me ‘boy.’” They laughed. “He ever call you ‘boy’?”
One guy said, “No. We’d drop his stuff.”
A week later, Ramon noticed a line of cars dropping people across the street. In party clothes, they carried gift bags, wine and platters. 
Ramon bought a party-sized, traditional Cuban sandwich at his favorite deli. His mouth watered at the perfume of juicy, roasted pork, ham and salami on the sliced, fresh Cuban bread. A feast.
Ramon rang his new neighbor’s doorbell. A woman opened the door. Music and laughter poured out.  
He presented his gift. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
The woman called a helper to take the platter. 
She said, “Thank you. I didn’t see a card. Who sent it?” She offered Ramon a ten-dollar bill. 
He pushed the tip away. “It’s from me. I’m Ramon, your neighbor, across the street.” He pulled a Cuban cigar from his jacket. “For your husband. Welcome!”
She recoiled at seeing the cigar. “Oh. My husband doesn’t smoke. We don’t buy tobacco.”
“I’m not selling. It’s a welcome gift, the best Cuban…”
“Thank you, but no. Not necessary.” She held the door defensively. 
Ramon got the message. “I see you have company. I’ll let you get back. Welcome…”
The door shut. He turned toward his house and placed the cigar back in his pocket.        
Sitting on his veranda, Ramon smoked his cigar in the deepening gloom. He watched the banana palms sway gracefully. Only the cigar’s ember and drifting smoke revealed his presence. His neighbor’s party went late. Ramon went to bed without turning on a light.
The next morning, Ramon arrived early at Jose Marti Park and claimed a shaded table. The chess hustlers would arrive later. He laid out his dominos and smiled. He scattered corn meal to the chickens and greeted ‘the Colonel.’ Sipping his Cuban coffee from a thermos, he waited. 
A boy ran up and pointed. “Mister, what are those?”
“Dominos. My favorite game.”
“Oh… dominos. Will you teach me? Can I play?”
“Of course.” 
The boy’s mother approached. “Don’t bother the man, Roy.” 
“No bother. He wants to learn. Care to join us in a game? I’m Ramon.” He gestured for her to sit.
“Hi, I’m Rachel. Can three play?” 
“Yes... Up to four friends can…” 
Emil ran to the playground to enlist another friend.
She sat. “It’s been so long. I played when I was little.”
“I learned when I was your son’s age.”
“You come here often?”
“Daily, except in hurricanes. We’re the Jose Marti Domino Club.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you.”
“This is our first day.”
She laughed. Emil brought two friends. Rachel winced, unsure of how to navigate the situation.
Ramon smiled at her. “I’ll keep score.” 
He got the game started, sipped coffee and sat back with his score pad. The sound of clicking tiles punctuated the quiet conversation and laughter of friends. Ramon felt loved.
 
 
","August 10, 2023 17:20","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'First, congrats on the shortlist for ""Behind the Door."" Well done, my friend!\n\nThis tale is such a superb example of painting a masterful picture of a neighborhood. Not just the buildings and homes, but the heart and soul of the place. The times, they are a changin\'. You did a wonderful job of getting that message across. Beautiful piece, John. Nicely done.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:46 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'John K Adams': ""Thank you, Delbert! \nI went to Ybor City in the '70s and again, a few years ago. Talk about change! I've always led more of a nomadic life, never lighting for more than a few years here or there. So my story also reflected a nostalgia for what I've never had.\nI'm glad it resonated with you and others."", 'time': '15:04 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'John K Adams': ""Thank you, Delbert! \nI went to Ybor City in the '70s and again, a few years ago. Talk about change! I've always led more of a nomadic life, never lighting for more than a few years here or there. So my story also reflected a nostalgia for what I've never had.\nI'm glad it resonated with you and others."", 'time': '15:04 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Charming story. Unfortunate the new neighbors didn't have a clue. Happy note about the new domino club.🎲🐔"", 'time': '01:11 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'John K Adams': 'Thanks, Mary. I appreciate that you always comment on my stories.', 'time': '02:31 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John K Adams': 'Thanks, Mary. I appreciate that you always comment on my stories.', 'time': '02:31 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': ""John, great job. A warm, nostalgic piece reflecting back on the old days in Ybor City. Great choice of words and the kind of tempo I like. Remarkable phrases like: Hard surfaces and no heart. You're a pro and your stories read like that."", 'time': '17:51 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'John K Adams': ""Thank you, Bruce. Sounds like it resonated with you. I lived in Tampa in the '70's and it still had that small town in the big city feel. \nI'll read more of your stories and get back to you. \nLove it when writers support each other."", 'time': '18:04 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Bruce Friedman': ""Capturing the vibe of that time is very worthwhile, most certainly for yourself.\n\nI'm 82 and feel battered by the end of each day by news and new technologies that I may sometimes have trouble mastering. My memory may be selective but I don't think I had similar days 20-30 years ago."", 'time': '18:53 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'John K Adams': ""And so much of it is noise. Now I'm supposed to be in a panic over a UFO from 1974? A lot of distractions from corruption in the here and now, if you ask me.\nAs, Thoreau said, 'Simplify, simplify, simplify...'"", 'time': '21:55 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John K Adams': ""Thank you, Bruce. Sounds like it resonated with you. I lived in Tampa in the '70's and it still had that small town in the big city feel. \nI'll read more of your stories and get back to you. \nLove it when writers support each other."", 'time': '18:04 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bruce Friedman': ""Capturing the vibe of that time is very worthwhile, most certainly for yourself.\n\nI'm 82 and feel battered by the end of each day by news and new technologies that I may sometimes have trouble mastering. My memory may be selective but I don't think I had similar days 20-30 years ago."", 'time': '18:53 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'John K Adams': ""And so much of it is noise. Now I'm supposed to be in a panic over a UFO from 1974? A lot of distractions from corruption in the here and now, if you ask me.\nAs, Thoreau said, 'Simplify, simplify, simplify...'"", 'time': '21:55 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Bruce Friedman': ""Capturing the vibe of that time is very worthwhile, most certainly for yourself.\n\nI'm 82 and feel battered by the end of each day by news and new technologies that I may sometimes have trouble mastering. My memory may be selective but I don't think I had similar days 20-30 years ago."", 'time': '18:53 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'John K Adams': ""And so much of it is noise. Now I'm supposed to be in a panic over a UFO from 1974? A lot of distractions from corruption in the here and now, if you ask me.\nAs, Thoreau said, 'Simplify, simplify, simplify...'"", 'time': '21:55 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John K Adams': ""And so much of it is noise. Now I'm supposed to be in a panic over a UFO from 1974? A lot of distractions from corruption in the here and now, if you ask me.\nAs, Thoreau said, 'Simplify, simplify, simplify...'"", 'time': '21:55 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,q1qr0k,Bruce and Missy Find True Love,Bob Long Jr,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q1qr0k/,/short-story/q1qr0k/,Character,0,['Romance'],12 likes,"
Bruce had never truly been in love best he could tell. And to be honest, he wasn't exactly sure he was now. But this time felt different .. foreign to him, if you will. Sure, there were others who he found captivating, perhaps even breathtaking. This feeling though, was different. Really different. Just observing her walk down the street with that beautiful mane of coal black hair gently blowing in the breeze was enough to make any guy's fragile heart skip a beat. Well heck, even a dog's tail would wag back and forth at such a sight. And it wasn't just her beautiful hair, it was that incredibly long and slender body and those pearly white teeth when she smiled. 
 
One problem for Bruce though was she was never alone and it was the same dang guy each and every day.Bruce wondered just what their relationship was. He looked nothing like her so he didn't believe it was her brother. If the weather was nice, you could count on those two walking together early morning, usually around 630a and then in the evening around 7p. As soon as Bruce got up and even before his tried and true breakfast of bacon and whatever else was on tap that morning , he would take a gander out the window, just hoping for a nice day. No alarm was needed for his body clock had him wake before that early morning walk, most mornings. An incredibly depressing mood would have Bruce moping around the house all day when the weather was ugly. He would often disappear and not be seen most of the day, except for being present when it was time to eat. Well that's not exactly right because he did need to go into the yard a couple times a day to take care of business. 
 
Bruce would sit near the picture window that graced the front of the main living room and would carefully canvas himself behind the array of plants so as not to be seen. The plants were of a variety of shapes and species and of varying height. Instinctively, he knew it was just about time and would place his little face with his prominent nose between the Christmas Cactus and the fern and wait. It was nice that she and her walking partner was so consistent with their walking times. Oh yeah, there were days when they must have left the house a bit early or a bit late and Bruce would just catch the back of them as they passed on the earlier than usual days. An incredible sadness overcame him on the late days, just dreading that he wouldnt see her. An even more incredible happiness would ensue when they appeared after all hope had been abandoned. Poor Bruce was in love, so he thought, and didn't even know her name.
 
All that changed though two weeks ago. As the two of them strolled past the window on a warm summer Saturday, the female he was in love with ran ahead of her male friend to more closely examine the daffodils that had just came into blossom. The male friend was caught by surprise by this and quickly yelled out .. ""Missy, hold up, you can't go running off like that!!"". So now Bruce knew that he was in love with a female named Missy. Such joy filled his heart. He was a bit concerned that once he found out her name, a rather dull name in his opion would dampen his love for her. But no, Missy was an absolutely beautiful name. Oh, was he ever happy. 
 
Later that day as he was sunning himself beside the pool in the spacious and lovely courtyard. The courtyard had an unpainted wooden fence surrounding it. There were birdfeeders and a wide variety of colorful flowers that bloomed throughout those warm and long summer days. In the rear of the courtyard was a small but fruitful garden from which peppers, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, herbs and cucumbers. They were harvested in due time. Truth be told though, Bruce did not care for vegetables one little bit. As he lay there, belly down, drifting in and out of sleep, he imagined being forever bound to Missy. Together they would share his last name. Fischer. Bruce and Missy Fischer! Bruce's heart ached to know more about his lovely Missy. 
 
He finally decided that he would discreetly follow them to wherever their walk would take them. With a little luck, he might be able to get a glimpse into what her life was like at home. And who was this walking partner of hers anyway ?! His opportunity arrived on a day when the winds of change filled the air as fall was settling in and the sun would hide its face late afternoon, making everyone long for the long and lazy days of summmer. Just as soon as they passed the window on that cool and brisk fall morning, Bruce slipped out the front door unnoticed. His house companions had just returned from an early morning shopping trip and had left the front door ajar while they carried the reusable shopping bags to the kitchen. From a short distance, Bruce followed Missy as they walked to the end of the block, crossed Pine Street and one block later, made a left onto Oak Avenue. 
 
Their destination was just a 100 feet or so and on the left. Across the street was a beautiful park with a nice Gazebo, a couple of picnic tables and a few benches scattered about. The park was lined with tall and mature Oak trees. Missy's ranch style home was painted a beautiful baby blue and had a nice sittable front porch with a swing and two handmade wooden rocking chairs with comfy cushions. Between the chairs was a round table large enough to hold a couple of glasses and a book or two. 
 
Bruce thought to himself, it is now or never ! Bruce abandoned all pent up fear and headed to the house. Just as he arrived at the gate, the door was closing and Missy had disappeared inside. Bruce's heart sank and he felt like a big cry was coming. Turning now to take the long and sad walk back to his house, he heard the front door of the ranch style house open and the shuffling of feet on the veranda. He turned around abruptly and standing there, in her glorious beauty, was his love, Missy. 
 
Unbeknownst to Bruce, Missy on more than one occasion had noticed Bruce peeking through the windows. And, she thought Bruce to be quite a handsome fellow. It was her hope that Bruce was as kind and caring as he was handsome. So when Bruce followed them home from what he believed to be in discreet fashion, Missy had taken notice. Missy, it turns out,had never truly been in love best she could tell. And to be honest, she wasn't exactly sure she was now. But this time felt different .. foreign to her, if you will. Sure, there were others who she found captivating, perhaps even breathtaking. This feeling though, was different. Really different. 
 
Who would have thought two dogs could actually fall in love !
","August 06, 2023 21:52","[[{'Michał Przywara': 'Heh :) It took me a while to clue in, and what finally did it was ""His house companions had just returned from an early morning shopping trip and had left the front door ajar"". \n\nThis story reads quite differently when we imagine a human watching another human, which makes the twist pay off more. \n\nThanks for sharing!', 'time': '20:54 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bob Long Jr': 'Thank you. There were a couple of hinty hints and you picked up on the one. Thanks again for spending your time on reading the story.', 'time': '00:42 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Bob Long Jr': 'Thank you. There were a couple of hinty hints and you picked up on the one. Thanks again for spending your time on reading the story.', 'time': '00:42 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Ha! You got me! Lol very good!', 'time': '17:22 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bob Long Jr': ""Thank you ... I wrote half this story on a Sunday morning at a local coffee shop and then finished it later that day in same place. Going to try to write each week. It's a lot of fun."", 'time': '22:49 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""My favourite place to write is in a coffee shop in fact it's about the only place I can write! Something about the environment helps me tune in. Youd think it would be the opposite!\nIt is a lot of fun yes and addictive, in a good way!"", 'time': '18:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Bob Long Jr': 'Absolutely .. this one is quiet but I tune out distractions pretty easily, most times... especially if on a roll. Nothing quite like being on a roll when writing. I am really looking forward now to the next one.', 'time': '00:38 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Bob Long Jr': ""Thank you ... I wrote half this story on a Sunday morning at a local coffee shop and then finished it later that day in same place. Going to try to write each week. It's a lot of fun."", 'time': '22:49 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""My favourite place to write is in a coffee shop in fact it's about the only place I can write! Something about the environment helps me tune in. Youd think it would be the opposite!\nIt is a lot of fun yes and addictive, in a good way!"", 'time': '18:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Bob Long Jr': 'Absolutely .. this one is quiet but I tune out distractions pretty easily, most times... especially if on a roll. Nothing quite like being on a roll when writing. I am really looking forward now to the next one.', 'time': '00:38 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""My favourite place to write is in a coffee shop in fact it's about the only place I can write! Something about the environment helps me tune in. Youd think it would be the opposite!\nIt is a lot of fun yes and addictive, in a good way!"", 'time': '18:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bob Long Jr': 'Absolutely .. this one is quiet but I tune out distractions pretty easily, most times... especially if on a roll. Nothing quite like being on a roll when writing. I am really looking forward now to the next one.', 'time': '00:38 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Bob Long Jr': 'Absolutely .. this one is quiet but I tune out distractions pretty easily, most times... especially if on a roll. Nothing quite like being on a roll when writing. I am really looking forward now to the next one.', 'time': '00:38 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,swxjjq,Dog Gone World,Charlea Jefts,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/swxjjq/,/short-story/swxjjq/,Character,0,"['Fiction', 'Contemporary', 'Inspirational']",11 likes,"
	The Jail keeper ran his metal stick along the bars. His keys and treat bag rattled sending the aroma of the ‘good-boy’ treats wafting through the air. Great loud woofs and mousey little yaps began to resonate through the cold and sterile block. This was my first stay in the Hound Pound. And hopefully it would be my last, either a trip to the room of no return or out the front door and out of this alien prison. I needed to learn to navigate this foreign environment if I was to find a way out. I was scratching my floppy ear with my big, back paw when the keeper stopped at my cell door. He clomped around loudly and loved an excuse to hit a dog with the metal stick he wielded.  His unkept red hair and puffed cheeks gave him a friendly look, if his mouth was shut and standing ten feet off, but the reality of him up close was very different. None of the other dogs, like myself, were keen on this vile human. The smell of him was off somehow and made worse by the sharp smell of whisky which was always on his breathe. It was enough to make any pooches lips curl and eyes go squint. Whenever he was alone with us prisoners, the words that came out of his mouth were mean and pointed just like his teeth. Which were as sharp and black as some of the dogs in here. 
	‘Well, well aren’t ye gonna be a good doggo and get up off that cushion to greet yer next chance at freedom?’ I ignored him and kept scratching at my ear from my bed at the back of the cell. This itch was going to be the end of me. I just hadn’t been able to get at it right since my last human, about as horrid as the jailkeeper, kicked my back hip out. The jailkeeper took his metal stick and really gave my cell door a crack. I jumped and snarled out of shock. 
	‘Oh no, Mommy, not that doggie. He’s got scary teeth.’ A little girl peered around the corner as her mother unfearfully grabbed the dog catchers’ pole and lowered it. 
            ‘I think sir you’ll find that animals respond most cordially to kindness and respond quite the same way to fear when they have a need to protect themselves.’ The kind lady reached down to her child and stroked her hair. I tilted my head in interest thinking how nice it would be to feel that warmth and love press onto my own head. She watched me in earnest as she did this. Inching my way to the front of my cell, I held my tail between my legs with my head held low. I wanted a pat; but I was also terrified of that stick and its wielder. The little girl reached out to touch me as I pressed my nose between the bars.  Would she be like the other children? Pull my tail? Pinch my toes? Or worse, beat me with a stick? I flinched and jerked back at the memory. This led to the child screaming and I knew, I had lost my chance. 
	‘Poor beast’ the mother stated calmly as she soothed her child’s terror. I went back to my bed defeated. As I curled up in the old towels filled with foreign smells, I faced the back corner as they went away to gage the other prisoner’s potential.  
	‘Yer aff yer heid, dog. Real dumb ye are. Ye should a been more friendly. She was a landed lassie.’  A landed lassie, I thought about this. So what? A landed lassie was rich and had a title. This distinction didn’t make her better than any other human. To my last humans, I was nothing more than a disposable convenience. They could beat me and be cruel, but when I made one effort to protect myself and I was sent here, to prison.  
	Time passed slowly in the Hound Pound. People were In and out all day, every day. I was wrong in every situation. Too big. Too small. Too much fur. Not friendly enough. Not scary enough. Never a good fit. So, I watched them all pass. Some of the other dogs barked that it was the fate of a big, old mutt to be stuck in jail. They weren’t completely wrong. The purebreds and small ones never stayed long. Though, I still returned my opposing thoughts to the other prisoners right enough; I wasn’t afraid of Speaking my mind on occasion. It wasn’t my fate to stay here!  
	 One such time of discussion with the other dogs, a couple came through; they were really intrigued with me. ‘I just love this one. He would be such a good guard-dog for our apartment.’ The woman concluded. I shook my tail with joy and agreed with her loudly really filling my lungs to show off my potential. 
	‘You may find good in the sound of that egregious barking, Love, but would the others in the building think the same?’ Her partner probed, then gently placed his hand on her lower back to encourage her forward. 
	With one final glance at me she replied, ‘Oh, you’re too right, Dear. We don’t need a loud dog just one that will protect us.’ My heart sunk with my tail as they walked away. I guess the loud dog doesn’t always get the treat. 
	And it certainly wasn’t a treat I’d be getting either. The culinary offerings were regular but of poor quality and small portions at the jail, not like in a home. The dry kibble was passed through the bottom of the cell door. I ate the meagre amount with gusto. Always being half-starved it did not matter that it was more a bowl of rocks than beef. While crunching on the small rocks eagerly, a family nearby put down their small human. It moved along on all fours toward me. The small thing sat in front of my cell, giggling and cooing, as I scarfed my food. I had none to share. Couldn’t this thing see that? It was fine while it kept itself contained to the other side of the bars. In fact, it was somewhat cute. But when those tiny hands reached through pulling my bowl away, I snapped. I had no intention of hurting the baby. I just didn’t want my food to go to it. The mother came running toward her prodigy screaming that I was a monster and should be put down.  No one believed me or understood, no matter how much I cried from the back of my cell, my intentions were not ill-natured. 
	I was relieved to find out the death penalty had been stayed on account of vet being out of town on holiday. All the same though, the next day I had a plastic panel with a sign, I could not see, tied to the cell. This made it near impossible to see out and worse, to be seen by visitors. New humans passing by stayed to the opposite side of the hall now and no one stopped to say hello anymore. 
	Weeks passed and I knew my sentence was drawing near. I waited patiently and tried to be on my very best behaviour. Other dogs continued to come and go. My chances of going into the room of no return became more of a reality with every person who passed me by. Maybe I was only meant for the back door?  Maybe I would never fit in with another humans? Maybe I was too alien to be understood? I had been called many things in my short two years, but good dog had yet to be one of those titles. Would I ever hear it?
	It was in this moment of despair that I decided I had to apply the lessons of my failures into action and speak this alien language in earnest or I would never get out of here. 
	‘We can’t just have any dog. I need one with a bit of an attitude. I need one as onery as my Paw is.’ The jailkeeper of the Hound Pound scratched his balding head as he listened to the animated woman. ‘He can’t be too mean though. Still needs to have potential to be a good companion.’ My ears perked up at good.
	 ‘My Paws just not as mobile as he used to be and other than me as company finds himself alone most days. He has a big yard and plenty of room.’ Now this was getting interesting. I stood from my bed.
	 ‘No kids, no other pets, and plenty of love to give a companion.’ Love? Loveys? I’m in. 
	The lady and the jailkeeper began to approach my cell door, I knew I needed to be seen and the cover that separated me from hope of that would never allow it. I had to act and quickly as I was about to be passed. Stretching upward, I placed my paw as high up on the plastic cover as possible. I scratched at the knots. I can be good. I can be perfectly onery.  Scratching and pushing. Pushing and Scratching, I forced the knots of the ties loose. Crash. I’d done it. Her attention was captured as the cover landed just in front of their feet. 
	‘Now who is this? You seem keen to say hello!’
	‘Nah you’ll nae be wanting that one near took off a bairn’s hand he did, Miss. He’s a long time deid.’
	‘Oh no how terrible.’ She exclaimed.
	‘Aye. It was. That poor bairn was just playing with his food.’
	‘I didn’t mean for the baby, Sir. I meant for the dog. He doesn’t seem the type to be vicious. Seems rather clever to me and there are no children where he’ll be going. Just a cranky old man who needs a smart friend to keep him in his place. Have you not been listening to me?’ 
	She began to reach for the cell door kneeling in front of me. ‘Miss I really don’t think it’s wise.’
	She scoffed, ‘I don’t blame you if I only got one meal a day, I’d want to protect it too?’
            Lesson one: Look friendly. I sat down tail out. She called me forward. I approached slowly, eyes and tail up.
	‘See he’s not what you made him out to be at all. Perfect size and so soft.’  Scratching me through the cell door, she hit the perfect spot behind my ear. The one I could never quite get to. ‘You like that don’t ya boy. We’ll have to teach Paw about this spot too.’
            I couldn’t hardly contain myself. Lesson two: Don’t be too loud. I wanted to agree boldly but I sat barely making a sound except for a few small yes, yes’s. ‘What an adorable sweet and quiet bark he has? Good level for Paw to handle. Let him out. I want to give him a full turn about.’ 
            The jailkeeper protested when the lady reached for the door, he tried to grab her to make her stop. Lesson three: Don’t snap.  I, instead, pounced at his side of the door. She laughed. ‘And he is perfectly protective, and I say a bit onery really put you in your place didn’t he.’ She opened my cell door and laughed as I sat gently between my jailor and the lady, keeping her safe.
	‘He’s coming home with me. He’ll be the perfect fit.’  I had never heard better news. I was getting out. It was the other dogs time to look on me with envy. Today was the day, I finally went out the front door with myhuman. This lady had seen the good in me and I was going to be the perfect companion to Paw to thank her for it. I had navigated my way through that horrible alien world of the jail, and I was finally going somewhere. 
	She opened the car door, and I hopped in without so much as a second glance at the Hound Pound. ‘You’re such a good boy.’  These were the best words I had ever heard.  
 
 
 
 
","August 11, 2023 22:43","[[{'Jakob Roy': 'Well that was really depressing, but thankfully it ended on sweet note. I love it when (both in fiction and real life) a cranky old man is best friends with a mouthy dog. You gave us a good origin story for that type of pair', 'time': '17:20 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Thank you for your comment. I am glad you enjoyed. \n\nCheers', 'time': '18:29 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Thank you for your comment. I am glad you enjoyed. \n\nCheers', 'time': '18:29 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'TC Nagy-Felsobuki': ""Heart-wrenching until a tail-wagging ending. I very much enjoyed being in Good Boy's headspace, and encountering the grim world of the Hound Pound, through his observations and experiences. Very believable 'voice'. Nicely done. So glad he found his humans and they him."", 'time': '11:37 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Thank you for your kind comments. This authors tail is also metaphorically wagging as well. \n\nCheers,', 'time': '18:31 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Thank you for your kind comments. This authors tail is also metaphorically wagging as well. \n\nCheers,', 'time': '18:31 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': ""In the words of the woman... 'I just love this one.'\n\nPlease carry on writing! Sorry I took 3 days to get to this story, been busy. Definitely would have read the day you posted it if I had the time!\n\nLove it! Very cute. Thanks for putting it out there!"", 'time': '20:01 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Whether one day or weeks between. I really appreciate your comments and enthusiasm! \n\nCheers!', 'time': '21:53 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Whether one day or weeks between. I really appreciate your comments and enthusiasm! \n\nCheers!', 'time': '21:53 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': 'He was obviously the bestest boy ever.', 'time': '20:01 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Aren’t they all. Some it just takes longer to learn than others but everyone is worth their weight in gold.    Thank you for the read!', 'time': '21:54 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Aren’t they all. Some it just takes longer to learn than others but everyone is worth their weight in gold.    Thank you for the read!', 'time': '21:54 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Leland Mesford': 'Cute', 'time': '03:40 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Thanks.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Charlea Jefts': 'Thanks.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,tkrkyl,The Ocean Horror,Harmonious Pierce,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tkrkyl/,/short-story/tkrkyl/,Character,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Fiction']",11 likes,"
My terrifying debacle began and ended at sea. It was under my wife’s prompting that I agreed to dive with the rest of the cruise ship’s thrill-seekers, although I would have been just as satisfied to have remained on board and enjoy the pleasures of the deck. A certain fear of the sea had always plagued me—I say plagued because this fear was coupled with a morbid curiosity whose limits were just as boundless as those of its subject. It was with this mixture of fear and fascination, along with the innocent desire of a newlywed to please his spouse, that I, for the first and last time, plunged myself backwards into the hellish sea.
            My wife was an adventuress and explorer to the bone. To one who knew her it would hardly have come as a surprise that we met in line for the Superman, back then the largest and fastest roller coaster in the US. Even at that time, the thought of thrills made my knees weak and my stomach nauseous, and it was only because of the pressure put on me by my college friends that I had gotten in line at all. Despite the nearly unbearable effects thrills have on men as squeamish as I, I found this woman attractive to the extreme and proposed to stay in touch with her. She had access to a life I knew nothing about, and, like the ocean, that life both terrified and fascinated me. During our engagement I underwent a skydiving adventure and a bungee jumping trip. Having survived both, I was deemed by my good-intending wife ready to step up the game. Although internally I viciously disagreed, I did not wish to spoil our honeymoon by so early a disagreement and so donned a wetsuit along with the twenty or so other prospective divers when the time came. It was not without qualms that I allowed the mask to cover my face, but for the sake of her whom I loved I swallowed my anticipation and gave myself up to the sea.
            The initial moment of submersion was one of confusion and fright to my senses. Human limbs evolved to function in the less dense fluid of our planet’s gaseous atmosphere, and adapting to the thickness and drag of the cold ocean water was, for me at least, a challenge. After my body had a moment to orient itself, I allowed myself to peek at the submarine world I was now a visitor of. If I intended to shut my eyes again in fright I was dreadfully mistaken. Far from the murky water filled with menacing selachimorpha, sinister squid, and oversized crustaceans animated with mechanical movements that I had expected, the scene that greeted me was one of pure delight. A rainbow of ocean fauna played among the clean waters, the corals their metropoles and the great expanses of rock in between their countryside. A wave of relief washed through my heart. The shadow of our cruise ship rocking comfortingly above us was a great consolation to me as well. As the rest of our posse broke the land-ocean border and adapted themselves to the aquatic environment, I began to move around, my fascination of the ocean reawakening now that my safety was so keenly felt. For those who have never dived, there is no comparison that can fully communicate the feeling of utter freedom I experienced upon finding myself hovering some twenty meters above a brilliantly live ocean portrait. Looking up, I caught the masked face of my wife, evidently laughing at the childlike expression of wonder on my face. That smile dispelled the rest of the qualms I had entered the water burdened with and I too broke into laughter, causing the bubbles from my breathing apparatus to diverge from their regular pattern.
            We were expected to remain more or less in a group, but the beauty of the ocean wildlife continuously sidetracked my wife and me. Once we even lost the rest of the group entirely, and in that moment all my fears returned. It was only because of the admirable levelheadedness of my wife that I did not end the trip early by sending an emergency radio signal back to the boat. After that fright, I resolved to remain in closer proximity to the rest of the expedition, but the daredevil I had wedded had other intentions.
            Upon reaching the end of the coral reef we had set out to explore, our flock halted. We were poised on the edge of an ocean drop off, the depths of which could not be discerned by the naked eye. In front of us was a clear blank blue; below us nothing but a darkness as black as if the abyss was filled with ink instead of water could be seen. About fifty meters off, almost too far for the eye to reach, another wall erupted out of the inky darkness, crowned, like the one we were on, with a coral reef and all the sea life that comes with it. The impending abyss extended left and right until it blended into the blue. No life was present on the vertical walls of the cliff. I shied away, overcome by the grandness of the scene and not a little frightened by its vastness. Our group took this opportunity to take photographs with the cheap underwater cameras that could be purchased on board. After ten minutes of this sightseeing, our tour guide began to herd us back the way we had come—our air was not unlimited after all. As I tuned to follow them, more than a little anxious to retreat from the sea hole, I felt a grip on my shoulder. Jumping in fright, I found only my wife giving me an impish smile. She seemed amused how easily I startled, something I suddenly found irksome rather than endearing. Signaling to me with her hands, she indicated that she intended to explore the walls of the chasm, and, furthermore, that she desired for me to accompany her. I glanced nervously back at our crowd, the distance between us increasing rapidly. As I looked back at my wife, my gut descended into my groin. I witnessed only the tail end of my wife as she pushed off—headfirst, mind you!—into the abyss. A filthy curse broke from me, then the tears welled up in the inside corners of my eyes. In another moment the woman I loved was gone, swallowed in a second by the blackness.
            My body broke. My mind deteriorated into a sobbing thing of no strength. My consciousness was destroyed. The choice was now mine: to turn my back on my wife who was currently plunging into the most sinister part of the ocean, or to dive headlong after her, an action that would be no less terrifying to me than leaping instead into the deepest and hottest pit of Hades. Then—perhaps it was the emotion, perhaps I was dizzy with fright—the gaping hole began to draw me in, as if the depths themselves were sucking the water deeper into its soaking mouth. I was pulled to the edge, violently, against my will, and for half a moment I found myself in a position not unlike a crucified man, arms outstretched and pinwheeling wildly, staring into the depths as the depths stared into me. Something in my mind cracked then and I laughed hysterically. Then my feet slipped backwards and my head torpedoed forward into the heart of the sea.
            I was so deep into the chasm before my wits were returned to me that I could barely pick out the light from the extreme darkness that surrounded me, a darkness that seemed to pervade aggressively into my soul. To my despair, even at this insane depth I saw no sign of my beloved. It occurred to me that I was deep enough down that I ought to continue my descent until I could touch my palm to the bottom (I recognize this now as the reasonings of a madman), and then I reversed myself. Call me chicken. Call me unfaithful. You were not there to experience the terror that I did. And just as I grabbed hold of the rock wall to heave myself back up to where insanity was not the norm, a hand from the depths wrapped its sticky, bony fingers around my knee. I let out a shriek, allowing a cascade of bubbles to flood out of my mouthpiece and zoom to the surface. How I envied them that I could not follow in their path! I kicked my leg, thrashed violently, struggled not to be overcome with fear. Then the fear was mixed with pain, and I found to my complete horror that the water around me was saturated with blood. The hand of the thing that had grabbed me was digging its fingers into my flesh. My hands in a death grip around a jutting rock being the only grace preventing me from being dragged forever into the darkness, I looked back and simply watched as my kneecap was separated from the rest of my body. I felt no pain—my mind was beyond that now—but I noticed to my extreme unnervedness that what was gripping me was a mixture of tentacles and human flesh. It was as if a medical quack of the worst degree had taken the limbs of a dead man and stitched them to the tentacles of a live octopus. The thing gripping my knee was suctioned with the cups of an octopus and fingered with the digits of a man. As I watched yet another limb of the same grotesqueness emerged from the blackness and seized the bone that had been ripped from my knee, pulling it out of sight and into what demonic mouth I am truly terrified to imagine. I swear a crunch emanated from below me. Then another of the same gross feelers brushed underneath my leg and gripped my thigh. For a reason I cannot say it was not this second grip that unhinged me completely, as one might expect; rather, it was when I looked back and saw suckers, no, mouths, complete with sharp, algae-covered teeth and pink protruding tongues, drinking the pulp oozing through my wetsuit from my bleeding knee that I lost it. It was a scene that should have been reserved only for the damned in hell. Perhaps if I had not seen it I could one day, through therapy and friendship, return to some degree of normality—but I do not have any hope of that now. My death instincts overpowered me; tunnel vision blinded me. I lost all sense of direction and all use of reason and writhed madly, willing to do anything to escape the grip of that nightmarish monster of the sea. My grip broke from the rock wall and I was pulled, dragged, into the lair of this thing that should not exist. Then its grip loosened and I saw our tour guide above me, firing harpoon after harpoon into its maw.
            I recall being hauled aboard and my mask and mouthpiece hastily removed by three of my diving companions. I tried to communicate to them the horrors I had just witnessed, but found myself capable only of sneezing violently and then of vomiting up a disgusting orange salmagundi. For the rest of the cruise I did not leave the hospital wing, and upon landing I was deemed mentally unfit for daily living and transferred to a mental hospital. It is here that I am writing down my experiences under the promptings of my therapists who have expressed some doubt as to the actual happenings of my aquatic calamity. I have been lectured repeatedly on the frighteningly bizarre effects of nitrogen narcosis on the consciousness. Also known as “raptures of the deep,” diving at levels deeper than thirty meters below the surface of the ocean can incur cloudy vision, impaired judgment, hallucinations, and even death, symptoms similar to those of extreme intoxication from alcohol. It is to this possibility of hallucination that my doctors attribute my monster, as they call it. Can a hallucination take the wife from a man? I insist I was mauled by a son of Cthulhu, but they shake their heads at me. They say my injury was caused by a common octopus, a normally passive creature which has been known to become aggressive at times for reasons unknown. My tour guide confesses not to have seen my predator well, it having been too dark at that level to see anything clearly, but still supports the doctors’ theory. I am done with them. Like I said before, I have no hope of rehabilitation. My only choice is to resign myself to the life of a hopelessly thalassophobic widower. Nevermore shall I explore the ocean’s depths. If no one believes my story, it makes no difference to me. Rather, perhaps it is better if I convince no one, and let the fear and I carry each other to the grave.
","August 08, 2023 14:47","[[{'Geoffrey Antonov': 'Absolutely fantastic. I’m big into HP Lovecraft, now into another guy named HMP. Great work, keep writing!', 'time': '19:11 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""As I was reading I couldn't help but be reminded of the writing ofi Lovecraft or Conan. Doyle. Had that kind of classical voice about it. And then at the end when you mentioned Cthulu it all made sense. The Oceans of Madness ! \nFabulous!"", 'time': '17:28 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Harmonious Pierce': 'Thank you! I visited Lovecraft’s grave in Rhode Island when I was a teen. His works have entertained and influenced me ever since.\n\n-H.M.Pierce.', 'time': '20:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Harmonious Pierce': 'Thank you! I visited Lovecraft’s grave in Rhode Island when I was a teen. His works have entertained and influenced me ever since.\n\n-H.M.Pierce.', 'time': '20:06 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,9srrbz,Stay Awake Stay Alive,Mark Gagnon,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9srrbz/,/short-story/9srrbz/,Character,0,"['Horror', 'Drama', 'Suspense']",11 likes,"
Stay Awake, Stay AliveI’ve been awake now for 48 hours and I know I won’t be able to stay this way for much longer. Who wants to die at 31—I know I don’t, but I’ll have to sleep sometime. Maybe the end will be painless, however judging by what I’ve observed, it will be anything but. This all started innocently enough.What I thought was the crown jewel of my life at this point is this penthouse on the 22nd floor of a newly renovated high-rise. The neighborhood had been run down but, because of gentrification, it’s now a great place to call home. Some might say the price was over the top, but it’s hard to put a price on a view like this. A 360-degree glass-walled panorama of the ocean on one side and cityscape on the other. The view convinced me to purchase this place, and it’s the view that may cause my demise.I first witnessed the ghoulish scene a couple of weeks ago. My neighbors had thrown me a welcome to the building party, which ended just before midnight. Reflecting on the night’s events, I believe they meant it to last a little past midnight; however, having had a long day and faced with a full schedule tomorrow, I left earlier than expected. Reveling in my phenomenal view one last time before bed, my attention came to rest on the rooftop directly across the street. A chain-link fence surrounded the structure, a 12-floor former office building. There were refuse chutes running from several windows on various floors and one leading down from the roof. They all ended up in a large trash compactor.I was about to turn away when the rooftop access door banged open briefly, flooding the doorway with an eerie blue/green light. A spindly appendaged creature with a head resembling an enlarged emoji struggled through the doorway. It was alternately pulling, then pushing a wheelchair. Riding in the chair was the head and torso of Ms. Alexander, a neighbor I had met recently. She was missing both arms and both legs. The thing wheeled her to the chute and tipped her into it; then returned to the doorway with the empty chair. Before closing the door, it looked up in my direction, shook its head in a disapproving manner, and retreated into the building.The evening’s drinks and hors d’oeuvres rushed from my stomach to the toilet bowl as I tried to make sense of what I had just witnessed. Torn between calling the police and trying not to sound like a stoner on a bad acid trip, and going to bed, I chose the bed. The next morning, still shaken by the evening’s events, I rode the elevator to the basement garage. It made one stop before mine and Ms. Alexander stepped in. We smiled, exchanged pleasantries, and went our separate ways. Her speech seemed a little stilted, and I noticed an odd hitch in her gait as she walked away, but not knowing the lady well, I ignored it. I never saw her again.Several uneventful days passed before I was once again the unwilling spectator to ghastly events on the rooftop across the street. They made three trips with the wheelchair and three more of my neighbors rode the chute to oblivion. I decided to investigate further before calling the police. Target shooting has always been a hobby of mine, which is why I own a 9mm Berretta semi-automatic pistol. Feeling a little foolish strapping it on, I kept reminding myself that whatever these things might be; they were dangerous, and I needed to protect myself.The gate through the perimeter fence was unlocked, so I let myself in. The air had a faint odor of putrefied flesh and the light was dim but adequate. Proceeding cautiously, my senses on full alert, I entered a stairway leading to the second floor. Approximately halfway to the top, something the size of a large dog descended onto the steps just below me, brandishing a club in each claw. Without hesitation, I withdrew my weapon and placed two rounds directly into its emoji head. A voice from the landing above cut through the echo of the shots.“It’s regrettable that you did that. There are so few of us left on the planet that even the loss of one is a tragedy.”“What did you think I was going to do, let him club me to death?”“Unfortunately, Human, we don’t possess the physical strength to do you much harm. Our strengths are in other areas, primarily telekinetic and shape-shifting. I see you’ve just realized I’m speaking to you directly into your mind. If you don’t like my “emoji head” maybe you’d prefer this face.”The creature’s head turned cloudy, then the face of a neighbor appeared.“We have been on earth since the beginning, but as food sources have become extinct and new sources of nutrition harder to find, our numbers have dwindled. Our colony is all that’s left. Over the last fifty years, we’ve discovered that human limbs are compatible with our metabolism. We only need one more donor to fill our stores for the next 100 years. This task needs to be completed before the next hibernation period, which starts in a few days. We’ve chosen you.”I bolted down the stairs, through the gate, and back to my home. In my mind, I kept hearing his words, “You are in control now, but as soon as you sleep, your mind is ours to command. You will return to us.”This all occurred 48 hours ago and I haven’t slept since then. Its voice is constantly in my mind, begging, cajoling, commanding me to sleep, but I continue to resist. It’s a battle of wills and I shall prevail.Part 2I had no idea a person can stay awake this long. I know I’ve never done it before. It’s been over 48 hours since this sinister voice took up residence in my head. The beast that’s speaking isn’t even in the same building I’m in. His pod, its term for the community of creatures that have taken up residence in the building next to mine, call themselves The Originals. According to their leader, the species predates man by over twenty thousand years. People haven’t always been their primary source of food, but as the planet transformed, they adapted.My tormentor’s talkativeness has allowed me to learn a lot about these creatures. I’m not sure what frightens me more, that they can speak to my mind directly from theirs, or that they can change their shape at will. Having the ability to shapeshift gives them an enormous advantage over humans. One minute, the being might look like a neighbor, and the next time you see it, you would think you’re looking at a chair or a dog. It’s very disconcerting not being able to trust your own eyes.Tenacity appears to be a strong characteristic of theirs. Nothing is stopping them from hunting another person to fill their food locker, but they remain focused on me. Maybe they’re worried I might report them to the authorities. Just imagine that phone call.“Hello FBI, I want to report shape-shifting telekinetic creatures that are killing humans for their arms and legs. I’m sending you their location, but you won’t be able to see them because they’ll look like furniture or maybe a rat.”I suppose being locked away in a mental hospital would protect me, but it’s not how I want to spend the rest of my life. No, this is a problem I have to take care of on my own.Is it hot in here or is my excessive fatigue giving me hot flashes? I have the air conditioning turned as low as it will go, so it must be my lack of sleep taking control. In the meantime, the creature’s voice continues to drone on in my head. What else can I do to stay awake? My old CD player sits idly on a shelf, which gives me an idea. If it worked for the CIA when they flushed out Panama’s Noriega, maybe it will work for me. I insert a Metallica CD and crank up the volume.The droning voice suddenly lets loose with a blood-curdling scream of pain and goes silent. Smiling, I mute the sound and call out.“Hey dipshit, you still there?”“What was that horrible noise?” the creature answered in a quivering voice.“You have a problem with Heavy Metal? So, you’re not only shapeshifters, you’re music critics too?”“That noise causes us great pain.”“Let me get this straight. You’re trying to kill me for food and I should be concerned about your sensitive little ears, I think not.” I reached over and cranked up the sound. More shrieks of pain followed, then once again, silence.“I have a proposition for you. If you want me, you’ll need to come get me here at my home. I’ve barricaded the front door, so you’ll need to transform into a bird and fly to the balcony. It’s that or more metal.”“We’ll be there shortly in our natural form.”They say the best defense is a good offense which in this situation starts with a home-field advantage. I know there are only two ways into my penthouse, up the elevator, and through the door, or fly onto the balcony like a bird. If they use the door, I have no idea how many will come or how big they will be. As birds, even eagle size, I stand a fighting chance. My weapon of choice for this encounter is an antique Samari sword that I purchased while on a trip to Japan. I still had my pistol, but I didn’t want to scare the neighborhood with the sound of gunfire.What came to rest on the balcony railing was as bizarre as this whole situation has been. Five gargoyles stared through the glass at me. They were as grotesque as any that I have seen sculpted into building facades. One, their leader, I presumed, cocked his head similar to a bird, and spoke telepathically.“Now you see us for what we truly are. For centuries, your artists have used our likeness to adorn your buildings. Humans have fantasized that we were angels or devils but had no idea we were real. Now you know the truth. Unfortunately, that knowledge dies with you tonight.”“I think you’re wrong, ugly bird!”I pushed the slider open and hit the remote for the CD, which immediately blasted more Metallica. The gargoyles cringed in pain, giving me the advantage I was looking for. In a matter so seconds, five severed heads rolled across my patio floor, the bodies careening off the building to the street below. As I watched in disbelief, the heads slowly crumbled into piles of dust. I slid the door closed and turned off the music.It was time for bed.
","August 09, 2023 01:49","[[{'Amanda Rye': 'Very good story! The hook, wanting to know why he wasn’t sleeping, kept me reading and the plot was interesting and original without being complex and confusing.', 'time': '11:39 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mark Gagnon': ""Thanks, Amanda! I wasn't sure what the creatures were going to be until I started part 2. Gargoyles have always been a little spooky to me, so why not?"", 'time': '19:02 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Amanda Rye': 'It was super creative! And I definitely wanted to see how it ended - I feel like sometimes the “suspense” can feel dry in some stories, but you did an amazing job! I loved it!', 'time': '20:10 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mark Gagnon': ""Thanks, Amanda! I wasn't sure what the creatures were going to be until I started part 2. Gargoyles have always been a little spooky to me, so why not?"", 'time': '19:02 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Amanda Rye': 'It was super creative! And I definitely wanted to see how it ended - I feel like sometimes the “suspense” can feel dry in some stories, but you did an amazing job! I loved it!', 'time': '20:10 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Amanda Rye': 'It was super creative! And I definitely wanted to see how it ended - I feel like sometimes the “suspense” can feel dry in some stories, but you did an amazing job! I loved it!', 'time': '20:10 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Cool story, Mark, kept me intrigued, well written.', 'time': '23:56 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mark Gagnon': 'Thanks, Joe. Glad you liked it!', 'time': '17:40 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mark Gagnon': 'Thanks, Joe. Glad you liked it!', 'time': '17:40 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,ybiuiy,Black Rock Dreams,Jay DeBurgh,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ybiuiy/,/short-story/ybiuiy/,Character,0,"['Happy', 'Adventure', 'Contemporary']",10 likes,"
The garden of Cass Emeritt was a mess, as she had been ill for a while. Her grass was stomach high, and she lacked the strength to sort it out.
Last summer Cass was seven stone lighter. She had regularly been in the gym, where she had developed strong muscles and her back and knee pain had gone. With less effort than ever, she had cut the lawn. Bagged up the grass and sat sipping an iced cordial while smiling at the fruit of her work.
""Cass, do you want another cordial with ice?"" asked Emily.
""Yes please, I'll be coming in for dinner soon, so put it in my room. My salad is in the fridge, so put it next to my cordial, will you?""
""Sure, but don't get too worn out, your left ankle is badly swollen.""
""I know, thanks Emily."" Cass felt so weak and cut only a tiny square of grass a year later. Just enough to put out the garden table and chairs so she could enjoy creating art in the garden.
Plugging in the lawn mower, Cass hit a rock just past the square she had marked. When she reached down, her hand felt for the rock. It was black, and she lifted it up in the bright summer light at noon to examine it. Pieces of silver and cerulean glittered in it.
 ""What a pretty rock you are. I wish you had come from outer space with a wonderful adventure to tell me. Oh well, I will cut this little bit of lawn ready for tomorrow. Not as good as last year's efforts. But better than January, when I couldn't get out of bed because of my swollen legs.""
Cass stood up with a grunt of pain. Her left ankle was swollen, so standing on it hurt. After dinner, Cass rested on her bed watching her favourite series. She held the black stone and moved it in her hand until the glitter rubbed off. When she felt sleepy, she turned off her light and settled down. Cass moved her long blonde hair over her pillow, and the rock dust brushed on her.
Squirrels in the trees by her bungalow screamed at each other in a major argument. Cass was sad that they were hurting each other and wished they would stop. It went quiet, so Cass slept.
The next morning, Cass was on the hail-and-ride road, where she waited for the bus. She enjoyed holding the black rock because it was smooth and cool, so she held it in her coat pocket. When she hailed the single decker bus to stop, she realised her left foot was not hurting. Sitting on the narrow red bus, her knees didn't crack or ache.
Cass felt free by the lack of pain in her back and knees. She had been liberated from her own body. She felt rather emotional and put on her sunglasses to wipe away some tears. Cass looked out of the window to regain her composure.
For the first time in a year, Cass was not exhausted at the end of a trip to town.
Feeling happy her body had no pain, Cass went to her favourite day restaurant for lunch. As she passed the mirror shop, Cass stopped and took another look. Her large stomach was smaller and her hair thicker. Cass blinked and looked again at her reflection in case she had been dreaming. Smiling, she had lunch and walked to the bus stop.
At home, Cass looked in her mirror in her underwear.
Yes, her stomach was smaller than at lunchtime, and she had no swollen joints anywhere. Cass scratched her head and transferred the glitter of the black rock to her hair. Emily had been to Cass’s home and made Cass's salad and had gone again. Leaving Cass a note about what Emily had done.
She was a good housekeeper.
""Hey rock, I'm having my dinner now. Do you want some?"" asked Cass, joking around. It was strange, because Cass felt super healthy. Like in her early twenties, that kind of healthy. They were the days when she either did lengths in the swimming baths or weight training in the fitness suite next to the swimming area. Before, they closed it and built a large shopping chain with loads of expensive apartments above it.
After dinner, Cass wanted to cut all the remaining lawn. Shocked at her own stamina, Cass was done in fifteen minutes. Grass bagged up and everything. She found she wasn't yawning and didn't feel the need to go to bed.
Cass put on her sandals and went on a walk. Due to her swollen ankles and knees, she had not been able to run for thirty odd years. She missed running. In her teens, she helped her friend Michelle train for the marathon. They ran around the entire outer path of Greenwich Park. Up a slope, past the Royal Observatory, and up and around. Running was much more fun than walking back then.
So Cass ran everywhere.
When Cass relived this memory, tears stung her eyes. A voice in her mind said, ""Try and run, go on, go ahead.""
Cass had not worn trainers for over thirty years, but she had a pair tucked in a shoe box somewhere in her wardrobe.
As she went through her sock bag, she put on blue and white ankle socks and the new trainers. Out of habit, she put the black rock in a jogging trouser pocket. Her phone went into the other pocket.
""I'm just going to walk around the block,"" Cass said to herself.
""Why?"" Came the voice in her mind.
""Because I don't have the muscles from weight training to even try walking for that long before something hurts,"" Cass laughed.
""Run up your hallway first, then.""
""Yeah, right,"" Cass laughed, but tried anyway. No pain in her damaged Achilles tendon caused by the accident. No cracks and crunches from her cracked kneecap from the accident. Where were the pain in her back and shoulder?  
""What the hell's going on?"" Cass shouted.
There was a chuckle, and a voice in her head said, ""Run and find out.""
Cass found herself running back from the town centre. The same town centre she normally caught the bus to get to. The same route that caused her every pain to ache further was now a pleasure.
Sitting in the back garden doing a post-run stretch, Cass's heart pumped loudly in her chest. Not the aching, struggling heartbeat of previous years, but the heart of a runner. A heart loud and steady pushing blood through every part of her body. Cass looked down at tight, healthy legs and shook her head.
 “I don’t want to wake up from this dream.”
“Who says it’s a dream?” asked the voice and laughed at the joy Cass felt.
 
""Morning Cass, where are you going so early?"" asked Emily, coming in to wash up and put the vacuum cleaner around the bungalow.
With the black rock in her running trousers, Cass waved good morning to Emily, ""Just an early walk before breakfast.""
""Cass it's six a.m., you usually don't get up until ten. Are you taking new supplements?""
""Something like that,"" Cass touched the black rock as she walked away from Emily smiling.
As she entered Jenny's corner shop after her run, Cass smiled at Jenny.
""Morning Cass, wow have you lost weight? What’s your secret? You look amazing.”
“Erm, morning Jenny, yes I think so. I've been walking around the block with an app step counter. It focused me on moving again after my health troubles.""
""Yes, you have gone through a lot in recent years, so it's good to see you sorting yourself out.""
Cass nodded and came home to weigh herself as she felt healthy. It was a strange feeling after four accidents and a cancer scare last month. Cass didn't feel frail, but she expected herself to still feel weak.
“Why? Would you like to feel weak instead?”
“Of course not, I’m just shocked at this amazing rapid change. It's like I've put on a new body that I never want to take off.""
“Then enjoy it and stop looking for the negative, okay?”
""Er, sure,"" Cass said slowly and wondered who was actually talking to her.
She called for Emily, but Cass was alone in her bungalow and stood on the scales to weigh herself.
Cass burst into tears as she saw the result. She got off the scales, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes.
Cass drank a glass of water and returned to the scales. The results were the same. In four days, she had dropped to ten stone. That was more than ten stone loss, and Cass knew it wasn't her.
 
“Rock, is this amazing result you?”
There was silence, but the rock in her running trousers glowed.
“That’s a yes then?” she said.
“Give me more of your joy, run more and train more.” The excited voice blurted out.
“Hang on, is it me or are you changing colour rock?”
Cass held the rock in her hand to take a closer look at it, “The black is shrinking and you are going a beautiful sky blue.”
“Joy changes my colour and your joy is tasty, give me more.” said the little alien in her rock spaceship. 
“Okay, well none of my clothes fit me, so I will put on a wash load and leave Emily to hang them up to dry, as I will sell them on Ebay or Facebook marketplace. Time to get some new clothes, I think.”
 Cass felt a bit dizzy with happiness, but hailed a bus to Romford wearing a smart black wool knee length dress and knee high boots paired with a leather jacket sent by a catalogue for her.
The lady in the clothing shop complimented Cass on her trim toned figure, to which Cass felt unprepared. Sneers of ""Goodness, she shouldn't wear that with such a huge stomach."" had been pushed her way only a week earlier. So these compliments would take a while to get used to.
 
Feeling shocked, Cass went to her favourite day restaurant for a vanilla latte and decided on a skinny version. It tasted the same, and Emily had nagged her to make some changes to reduce her calorie intake.
""Hey rock, should I eat less to continue to get slimmer?” asked Cass in her thoughts while sipping her skinny vanilla latte.
""Only if it helps you feel joy, if not continue eating, I will deal with it. What's your dream?"" Rock replied.
""To win the London marathon. I helped my friend train every year when we lived in the same area. When she moved, she stopped training and instead had a baby,"" Cass replied.
“Go train and see what you can do.”
""Really? Thanks rock, just one question: when will I wake up? Please don't wake me yet from this wonderful dream."" Cass sighed as she was so content and happy.
While sipping her hot frothy drink, Cass entered the London Marathon and received her runner number. Their request is to print the number, on something laminated that the runner could wear on the day of the race.
 
“Hi Michelle, long time no speak. Er yes, it's been thirty five years, I know, but I have just entered the London Marathon, and my number is 32683. I will have Cass Emeritt on my stomach, so please cheer for me wherever you are. Loads of Love Cass. ""Cass clicked send via direct message on Facebook to her friend Michelle, with whom she had lost touch.
 
A day later, Michelle's message was short, but full of joy. “Happy to Cass, come over for dinner before you get into intense training, as I am happy to give you some training tips. All those years ago, you were brilliant with my marathon training. I'm a mum of four these days, but what wonderful laughs we used to have. Here's my number, so ring me and we'll set up a good dinner day, okay? Hugs Michelle.”
 
With all her old clothes sold and her wardrobe full of size ten clothes, Cass was actually glowing. Her skin was softer, and her hair was thick and soft. Gleaming like spun gold in the sun.
 
After a happy phone call with Michelle, Cass chose a dress from her wardrobe ready for dinner. It was easy to travel long distances again. No expensive taxi rides where she arrived distressed by bumpy roads, causing her body more pain. Instead, she hummed the whole trip to Michelle's with her bag of wine and fruit platter to share.
Michelle liked fruit only for dessert and did not drink alcohol either. Contrary to Cass until recently.
 
 
“Emily throw out anything unhealthy, but leave my herb cupboard alone.”
“Are you sure Cass? Your favourite crisps, the Chai latte, and all the sweets for supper you normally have?”
“Emily, I am training for the London marathon, so it’s healthy with an energy kick I am after.”
""That's dangerous Cass, there's no way you're healthy enough to do that this year. You will have a tendon snap or strain something.”
""I get what you are saying and thank you for caring, but that's what I'm doing. I only live once and want to try.”
 
“You will do it Cass,” said the rock in her mind. 
“It's me who will bring you back to health afterwards.But fine, I will support you in every way I can, Cass. Actually, you have lost a ton of weight lately. Was it you that I saw running from Romford up the main road when I was on the bus to yours yesterday?""
“What time was that Emily?”
""About midday, I think when I put on a washing load for you, I was going to hang it up before you got back, so you could put it away later.""
“Yes, that was likely me, as I usually run to Romford to pick up a little shopping and then run back. The other night, I went to a lovely dinner at my old friend Michelle's, and she gave me a book and diary about marathon training. Building stamina, avoiding bloating and dehydration, and understanding where my personal peak and best times will be, including how to achieve them. She was always intelligent and organised. I always thought she should be a personal trainer. When I told her, she laughed her wonderful laugh, but said she didn't have time these days.”
Emily agreed to clear out what food Cass didn't want. Emily took most of it home with her, and took some of them to the nearby special adults' college for their snack times. They were grateful to receive a random gift of crisps, baked treats and pre-made coffee drinks.
 
 
Cass trained all day everyday with her plan stuck on her hallway wall. Every minute of time was carefully taken into account, including art time, poetry and marathon training. Gone were insomnia, stomach pain and joint pain. Replaced with snoring and dreams at night, and leg muscles that Cass never thought she would see again.
With the success of her online art shop, Cass had a custom holder with a neck chain for her rock, where the rock was always on her skin even when she ran.
Six months later, Cass ran the London Marathon with a sponsor and charity for overweight people. On that day of the London Marathon, she had three words on her t-shirt, which she had designed and printed. Great advertising for her art shop, sponsor and the special charity she wanted to help.
Cass won the London Marathon and became a personal trainer, along with her good friend Michelle, who was also a busy mum. Thanks to their friendship, Michelle also had more income to support her growing family of nieces and nephews. Cass claimed her life back and helped others do the same.
The black and cerulean rock remained around her neck at all times and turned into a big sapphire over the years. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 07, 2023 17:43","[[{'TC Nagy-Felsobuki': ""I enjoyed this story too. Particularly the rock's curious wisdoms and conversations with Cass. We could all do with a rock like that! There's a sweetness, and lightness in the tone of this piece and a satisfying gemstone ending that are very pleasing. I liked that the 'conflict' lay in the past and we got to go along for the ride as Cass revitalised and rediscovered her happiness."", 'time': '10:38 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Turey Rosa': 'A lovely story, I enjoyed it very much.', 'time': '02:26 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,ejsnv5,Something alien inside of me,Adriana Lopez De Pablo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ejsnv5/,/short-story/ejsnv5/,Character,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Lesbian', 'LGBTQ+']",10 likes,"
Sitting in class I bit my nails off while half listening to the substitute rambling on about something we have definitely gone over before he came along. I wouldn’t say I’m someone who gets easily distracted though maybe today something is different, I woke up fine and got to school okay but there is that nagging feeling in my stomach. Like there is something sinister moving around in there. I haven´t been able to stop thinking about my encounter last week. She’s sitting in this same class somewhere and I’m deathly afraid to look. I feel her staring though like if she had mind-reading abilities I would be toast right now. I’m sure she doesn’t know just how intimidating she is to someone like me. I can’t stop thinking about it. The courage I’m trying to build feels more like anxiety. I peek behind me knowing she probably won’t notice if she’s talking to her friends but find her staring directly at me, her eyes frosted overlooking like a gorgeous and scary alien. Icy blue eyes do really pierce the soul I think to myself and there and as if she’s heard me she lets out a slight giggle her red waves bouncing along the frame of her face. 
Maybe she is an alien or maybe I’m just plain old delusional. Needless to say, I turn back frozen, red in the face with shame, the reason for which I hold no answers. Liking boys is so easy because there is nothing about them to really like or admire, but her, she is so smart and decisive, popular and nice, and did I mention talented? I try to forget her eyes following me around the stage during sound check last week and the near-death experience that was crashing into her backstage and almost kissing. My face looks like a literal clown nose by the end of class and I avoid her easily by slipping away unnoticed. Maybe what I’m feeling is a sickness? A never seen before rash that spreads my two people's faces being mere inches apart. This all feels totally alien to and even as I wash my face in the grimy sink I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with me. I come up to look at myself in the mirror just as she enters the bathroom looking like a cute redheaded hound searching for something or someone. And then she looks at me.
I turn as if to walk out but she steps closer standing in between me and the door. “Hi” I squeak in the voice of a terrified mouse. “Hey” she says calmly with a smile that to some could pass as a timid smirk. I see a switch go off in her though, her eyes look through me again and she must notice my flustered face and rigid body language because she takes a step back and lets me access the door. I nod to her trying to look apologetic, partly because I know she wants to talk to me, and partly because I would love nothing more than to talk to her forever about anything, and that scares me more than her potentially being an alien.
When I get to my locker and open it I find a little cryptic message inside which I definitely didn’t leave there myself. It’s a crumpled note with nothing written on it except a tiny rainbow square painted in pencil and a little question mark next to it. Instinctively I place it in my pocket and think nothing much of it since I’m too busy freaking out and trying to figure out if girls can like other girls like stupid boys do. The whole idea just seems out of this world really or at least out of mine.
Who can you even ask about this stuff? I would tell mum but She makes big deals about everything. My friends will surely freak more than I am so I’m stuck without knowing. It kills me not to have all the pieces to the puzzle. I close my eyes to gain some clarity magically and be presented with the answer but still find myself stumped. Maybe I just want to be her absolute best friend but find it scary to talk to her, which thinking about it makes no sense since I’ve never been awkward or shy. Or maybe we like the same boy (I don’t know who) and the signals are just temporarily jumbled so I think I like her (the alien theory still stands.) I startle myself with the sound of the bell and open my eyes to head to my next class. 
As I walk down hall after hall of older students chatting in their classes I stop dead in my track as I stick my nose into one of the classes to find the same rainbow flag from my note Hanging like a little flag of someone’s pencil case. Comparing the two they are exactly the same colour pattern. Suddenly the answer to the riddle comes to mind. Someone must have wanted to know if I’m from whichever country this flag is from. Though I wish my country had a rainbow flag but alas ours is so boring. I think about asking an older kid what country it's from but I don’t want one of the big kids to think I’m stupid so I shuffle along to my next class on the bottom floor: geography. 
Surely if someone at my school is from that country then it must be on a map, and if it’s on a map I’ll find it or the teacher will tell us all about it. I sit impatiently now, this mystery must be unravelled so I can take my mind off the whole girls liking girls debacle. But of course, the universe punishes me by having my teacher running late. I consider standing right by the door, note in hand to show her when she walks in and ask about it but I don’t want to pester or annoy so I fiddle with the note in my hands. I wonder who it’s from… she crosses my mind but it could never be her…right? She doesn’t even know where my locker is let alone know my name ( I know her name though.) 
Finally, Mrs. Lovelane walks in and as everyone quiets down I sit up straight and raise my hand as high as humanly possible to ask what I think might be a stupid question.
","August 10, 2023 17:03","[[{'John K Adams': 'Puzzling out the inexplicable with little information can be so disorienting. You capture that sense well. It ends ambiguously. I fear for the ridicule the narrator may expose herself to by asking a private question so publicly. \nHigh school is tough enough without the addition of all these other social cues.\nwell done.', 'time': '00:45 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,t1lgn1,HOW HUMANS EXCHANGE INFORMATION,Kajsa Mcgeorge,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/t1lgn1/,/short-story/t1lgn1/,Character,0,"['Fiction', 'Funny']",9 likes,"
 
 
 
HOW HUMANS EXCHANGE INFORMATION
A report by exprmntl rsrchr #FIC137
 
I wish the subject of this report could have been ‘How Humans Reproduce,’ since that was, of all my experiences, the one that sticks with me. And I may be able to dovetail it in eventually, because I know my colleagues really want to hear about it. After all, they’re only human![1] Lol.[2] Meanwhile, I’ll at least pretend I’m focused upon my assigned topic: the exchange of information.
	After so many months—years it was, in human terms—of humanoid training, I was still unprepared for how difficult was the most insignificant exchange of information. I could talk, if talk just meant selecting words and pronouncing them; I could think. I even had a certain degree of verbal style (for which I take full credit, because it’s not part of basic training). But talking, as I’d already suspected, didn’t necessarily mean any information got communicated. And I’d of course been generously appurtenanced with examples of human experience that resulted in memories dating nearly back to what is termed ‘infancy’—
	But let me pause right here: Memory! What a clumsy way to store events, impressions, and responses. Half the time, when you require a particular memory you have to grope blindly in
shadowy mental caverns to grasp even a filament of what you’re looking for, since the human brainium is woefully lacking in storage apparatus. Then when you do grasp a memory, it can be like grasping a fish—though never mind, I don’t have patience to explain what a fish is. Something vigorous, muscular, slippery, and bent on escape.  
	So, memory, as I was describing, is closely allied with emotion. Thus, to my consternation I had only to grasp a memory of, say, some close associate directing negative emanations toward me, and without warning my eyes would fill with hot brine. Or another memory would set me in a landscape composed of elements known to be satisfying to humans: soft emerald grass cushioning the unshod feet, a gentle swaying in the topmost branches of trees[3]…a pervading and inexplicably pleasant sensation of warmth from their sun…and the company of other humans, larger and smaller than myself, bounding about in the most delightful way, so that I felt a sharp ache across my midsection. I later learned that this ache is called ‘nostalgia’ or ‘homesickness’ (depending, I suppose, on the severity) and makes one wish to return to that particular environ. I don’t know whether I most liked or disliked it; frankly, I didn’t know what to make of it.[4]
	But, about this difficulty of exchanging information. We, of course, are accustomed to informational exchange being instantaneous and effortless. ‘Spoiled’ would be their word for us. Whereas they—oh grokkers, the amount of pure caloric expenditure! Their speech organs are in constant motion, accompanied by hand-waving, hair-tossing, elbow-flapping, and chin-jutting; their volume intensifies as their inability to transfer mental contents becomes ever more evident. Yet they appear to derive endless enjoyment from this pandemonium, going out of their way to find occasions for it. They even have a selection of substances which, when imbibed in liquid form or drawn into their lungs as smoke, appear to encourage the continuance and consequent gratification of what is called, I believe, ‘social intercourse.’ In other words, the activity is not necessarily for the purpose of exchanging information; more often it provides an excuse for them to congregate. They are endearingly gregarious. Which meant that I, too, must be gregarious.
	But—my training had not included this! Gregariousness, as you have instantaneously reminded me, is not natural to us. We are so completely formulated to be independent units, each with a specialized assignment of information-accrual, that it is almost impossible to ‘wrap our heads around’ the concept of purposeless interaction. Hard enough to frame information into words, which must then be forced out through the lips by internal bellows—but often there is noinformation! For example the revelation, once transmitted, that a human with the name of Auntie Marge went to the church social and won a plastic penguin at Bingo is baffling; why is this important? I had to process the possible meanings of ‘Auntie,’ ‘church,’ ‘social,’ ‘plastic’ (a manufactured substance), ‘penguin’ (these are generally not plastic), and ‘Bingo’ (a game of chance requiring no mental activity), and after that to ponder the listeners’ reactions, which included clapping the hands together and making a loud hooting noise. Incidentally, this loud hooting is a thing they do often, and the one time I tried it, I did feel a kind of buzzing sensation in my sinuses and larynx that was distinctly pleasurable—more proto-human than human.
	At any rate, I became gregarious. The memory rations with which I’d been provided gave me access to literally hundreds of hominoids with whom I’d had thousands of interactions. Some were imbued with so much ‘emotion’ that I found it fascinating simply to sit and review them. To feel them. And now I found myself collecting new ones—genuine ones, from my own activities. And one in particular—
	But wait, stop. This is the obvious time to bring up human reproduction. The subject has, especially in recent times, come under a great deal of their own information-exchange—as to the humans who are permitted to practice it, the methods whereby it may be practiced, the purposes aside from reproduction that insure its practice, and the necessity of it being practiced at all. One must first understand that they have a rather humorous modus for it. Some variation of the process is found over a wide spectrum of Earth life: a seed, non-reproductive in itself, is intruded, or inserted, into the aperture of another member of the same species, and the resultant union is reproductive. You will readily see that this requires a cooperative spirit, each member having to enjoy a substantial measure of motivation. 
	My understanding is that this motivation is in fact more than enjoyable. Indeed, in our own studies of human behavior we have witnessed horrendous internecine struggles over the privilege of practicing reproduction. Laughable as it may seem to my colleagues, since I have at last experienced it first-hand it no longer seems laughable to me. To explain:
	From the outset I had been randomly assigned the identity of ‘aperture,’ which at that time meant I was ‘female.’[5] My given objective was to pass across the vision-field of a human designated ‘male,’ or ‘inserter,’ moving my limbs in such ways as had been proven to be attractive. And one day, as a lone inserter happened to appear on my own vision-field, I made the effort. It went better than I’d expected. Much depends on the flexibility of the hip joints, and as mine were Swivel-rite™ high-grade after-market add-ons, they performed seamlessly. With no further training than I’ve admitted to, I did to my surprise attract the inserter even as he continued on his way. 
	I turned to take a better look—and my memory serves up a vivid picture of how this inserter appeared to me. I see his walk just as I saw it then; I see his shoulders, the swinging arms, the upward tilt of his head, the flare of his nostrils. I did not at first see the insertion mechanism itself, but humans have an amazing number of ways whereby they identify themselves to one another, and this human identified himself as an inserter by the following properties: 1) He was larger than me, thus subtly suggesting both threat and protection. 2) He wore the clothing typical, at that time, of the inserter, viz denim pants with a wallet visible in the back pocket, paired with a soft, sleeveless jerkin that accentuated the already noticeable contours of his upper body. 3) He grew hair not only on the surface of his head, as indeed most humans do, but also, sparsely, on his jaw and upper lip. 4) His eyes, in passing, had swept across my presence rapidly, powerfully, transmitting information with a speed that quite stunned me; by the time they flicked away, I had received a vibrational challenge that both angered and excited me. And if I haven’t yet sufficiently communicated this, both anger and excitement are directly related to memory. We might even say the human is defined by them. At that moment, I was well defined.
	Now, there comes after this a deluge of memories, and if they are not as numerous as all the collective memories of my human life, they are among the most compelling. That is, I would not lose them for anything, even though the briefest review of them causes me a painful physical sensation they call ‘grief,’ or ‘desire’—either one. If nature had so designed that the inserter and the aperture were to join, to fuse, I must observe that our urge to do so exceeded natural motivation. That is, natural motivation would have ensured that, once having recognized our roles, we should simply meet, remove obstructive garments, adopt the necessary position(s), and get it done. But no, it is a more complex process, one I still don’t understand.
	Why did this inserter walk away with no backward glance, was he unnatural? Then, was it nature that made me hurry up behind him and ask, panting, for directions to the Police Station? Then, why didn’t he just tell me, why did his sharp gaze penetrate deep into my consciousness while he asked whether I was in some sort of trouble? And my own response! With very little knowledge of this word ‘trouble,’ I yet let him know by ploys of my own—who knew I had ploys?—that I was indeed in trouble, and that he himself was the trouble, and that I lived for no other purpose than trouble.
	Well, this isn’t exactly how it happened—but I gather that the way it happens is frequently a complete mystery to the participants. In fact, after fusion has been established, the two will likely engage in mutual informational exchange such as, I knew the minute I saw…it was when you…the way you moved your…and they seem to feel that some telepathic exchange has occurred, the importance of which can hardly be exaggerated. Accordingly, after three fusions, or insertions, my male—Brad was his name—lay back with a cigarette between his lips and said, “Yeah, I saw you. Would’ve been hard not to. With those eyes, like you’re from outer space…” [6]
	Anyway, this reproductive imperative—no, I shall never be convinced that any intention of reproduction, on his part or mine, can account for what we put ourselves through. Each word, each touch, each glance became an instant memory which returned in force to color the next word, touch, and glance, incrementally amplifying our attraction, until I got the sense—though sense is not knowledge—that there was some sort of meaning behind it all. Not purpose (i.e. reproduction) but meaning. As meaning is a basically undefinable word, I can only say, in their vernacular: We were making something of it.
	It's interesting—to me, anyway, and I hope to you—that I can at any time pull out any memory of this human inserter named Brad, who I saw so few times in my Earthly sojourn, and I am suddenly made of memories. Not just of Brad, though memories of him sear me as few others can, but of a million variations on the theme of human life. As if Brad had somehow humanized me, I’ll suddenly remember a waterfall…a mother…a kitten…a driver’s license… an open wound… a report card…a light bulb…a cuckoo clock…a piano…a deep ravine through which flows a river all the way to the open sea. 
	Is this information? If I press my transmitters against the electromagnetic plate, will you find yourself swept away in the current of what I’ve learned? Will you cry out, as if you had a voice? I might as well try to communicate ‘color’ or ‘flavor.’ What humans do is ‘make something of it’—of absolutely anything—which is to say, they give it meaning. And what is meaning? I don’t know if this was a gift or not, this opportunity to be for a short time a whole human being complete with a life. The sorrow I feel over having had it and lost it is a sorrow I’d never have felt if I hadn’t had it at all; sometimes it seems unbearable. If asked, however—yes, I would go back, in a heartbeat, and try to make something of it—to find this meaning that so mysteriously transcends information. 
 
	[1] This is what’s called a joke. My colleagues are of course not human.
	[2] They use this acronym to indicate that a joke has occurred. 
	[3] [refer to my report on ‘non-human Earth life’]
	[4] ‘Making something of it’ is a peculiarly human proclivity on which I will discourse at greater length when I come to ‘Human Reproductive Practices,’ which I am getting to as fast as I can.
	[5] This, like everything else, has since become a matter of human debate.
	[6] Ah, Brad, how could you have known this?
","August 09, 2023 15:41",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,xiaohj,The Color of Gravity,Camille Chase,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xiaohj/,/short-story/xiaohj/,Character,0,"['Romance', 'Fantasy', 'Fiction']",9 likes,"
	Looking out into the window of the diner, I saw the barren desert that had grown on me like a second skin. Warm nights in Nevada didn’t feel real anymore. They just felt like home. The radio up front crackled with static, the voices of the broadcasters barely audible over the noise. Glancing at the check on the hard oak table, I slide out of the booth, walking past the smell of burning bacon and coffee. But, as I come near the door, a pair of eyes meet mine. Green and dark, they look up at me with no hate or happiness, just the way you’d look at a stranger. My face feels hot, and I watch as he stops his conversation and stares back. 
	“Damon, I thought you were-”
	“I graduated early,” he interrupts. His bright red hair burns against the diner’s lights and everything comes back to me. 
	“I’m in town visiting family a few days before I fly back to New York Thursday night.” I nod, grinning. His friends start a conversation amongst themselves, giving us the little privacy we have. None of them I recognize. I glance down and notice the silver ring on his finger. My heart drops and he notices me glaring at it.
	“She’s really nice, Liv.” His words snap me out of my daze, and I look up, feeling embarrassed for staring. 
	“You would love her.” I almost scoff, but I keep it in, not saying anything at all instead. He furrows his brows, his expression sinking into his skin. 
	“I bet.” I say, smiling up at him. Nostalgia I had forgotten lived within me flooded back within moments of seeing him. And I decided it would be best if I left now rather than contemplating what went wrong in the beginning. 
	“Well, it’s ‌great seeing you Damon-” I looked over at the door, “I should really get going now.” He slides out of the booth and towers in front of me, leaning down and practically picking me up. I’m limp in his arms and I rest my head on his hard shoulder. As I hugged Damon tightly, I closed my eyes and savored the moment, knowing it had been a while since I’ve felt this way. Knowing it would be a long time before I feel this way again. 
	“Take care of yourself, Olive.” He whispers. 
	“I will.” 
	Breaking from the hug, I smile at him one last time before heading for the floppy doors. I was breathing in fire and sweat. The cicadas' bark echoed through the empty streets as trucks on the freeway rumbled in the background. Heat hits my neck, and I gasp for air as I try not to think about him. I head for my car, passing people in pickup trucks, beer bottles on the ground and in people's hands. I was grateful for the tank top I had on. It was weather beaten and ripped, but it left me room to breathe. The metallic dirt was rocky beneath my boots. I pull my keys from my jeans and slide in. It’s close to midnight, and I was an hour from home. I start up the clunky engine and pull out of the makeshift parking lot. Damon looked the same, felt the same, talked the same, yet he seemed so different. Maybe because he wasn’t with me anymore. Maybe it’s because I had never seen him with anyone else but me. Or maybe it's the 4 years apart from him that had changed the way I saw him. I needed to stop thinking about it. Flipping through channels, I finally settled on a station after adjusting the AC. Everything around me was pitch black, my headlights being the only light for miles. The only thing I could hear was the hum of the engine and the crunch of gravel beneath my tires. A chill ran down my spine. I was alone. 
	After almost 20 minutes on the road, my eyes droop from the monotony of the drive. The desolate landscape didn’t help. Suddenly, the radio fuzzes glitching in between different stations before turning silent. I try hitting it a few times, but resorting to shutting it off. That was my only entertainment. I groan in the silence, more aware of my surroundings now. I roll down my window, and the sound of the wind rushing past my ears brings a sense of calm. The desert air dries out my skin, my bangs and long hair blowing every direction imaginable. I loved the way it felt. I tease the gas, driving farther into the night, Damon never leaving my head. It gave me something to think about on the drive home, but it also gave me something to worry about. I was making ‌progress on the road, but then my car stopped without warning, leaving me stranded. My body was jerked back, the tires of my vehicle struggling to maintain traction on the pavement. The engine went out. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart as my hands remained glued to the steering wheel. What just happened? With my hair pulled in front of me, the only sound was the beating of my heart. Did I hit something? Ripping open the car door, I step outside to a black sheet of silence. Nothing in front of my car, nothing behind it. The blonde hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something didn’t feel right. Suddenly, it wasn’t just the hair on my neck that stood up. My hair stood straight up, and I could hear the crackling of electricity in the air. I could feel my pulse racing, my heart thumping harder and harder by the second. The drop of temperature sends chills down my body, in waves I’ve never felt before in my life. There was nothing for miles. Vast desert plains, cacti, roadrunners and rattlesnakes. But what scared me the most was the complete quietness of the night. The cicadas were gone. Every form of life had seemed to go silent. I was terrified to look up. But when I did, all I could see was the dark sky, illuminated only by the gleaming stars and the glowing moon. There was nothing. But as I looked closer, there seemed to be… something. I could only see its outline. The diamond-shaped object was massive, and it seemed to defy gravity as it floated through the clouds. I watched in awe as it soared above me, moving across the desert. My hair was still floating in the air, but after it passed me, a few more strands fell down my back. I can’t move, though. It’s almost like I was in a trance and I couldn’t look away from it. Whatever it was. It ascended through the sky, slowing down until the once invisible object revealed itself as a sleek black diamond, glitching in and out of view. I step back, my hair falling back down my shoulders, and I blink, wondering if this was real. The strange diamond was now completely visible in the sky, circling the road. But, as I focused, something didn’t seem right. It was shooting down from the sky… heading towards me. I panic, immediately getting into my car, trying to start the engine back up, trying to get a spark. I rush, shoving my key into the ignition, but it doesn't budge. Peering out from underneath the windshield, It’s almost near the ground. I dash out of the car and run right, the direction I doubt the object will crash. My breath is messy and my chest burns from running. And I can feel tears bridge my eyelids. I wasn’t ready. I look back, the black diamond spinning out of control, inches from the pavement, and inches away from my car. With the last bit of energy I have, I leap into the dirt and feel it crunch beneath me as I curl up into a ball and land on my back. As I fall onto the pavement and sand, I’m pushed farther back from the explosion. My ears ring. I can’t feel anything. 
	The explosion distorts my vision, and when I stand up, I’m dizzy. Blinking doesn’t help until I ball my hands into fists and rub them violently. And I wait until the black desert becomes clearer. Every part of my body aches and stiffens. I could feel every joint move and straighten out as I moved closer to the crash. As I approach the slick diamond ship, I can feel the heat emanating from its metallic surface. A swirling cloud of dust and sand surrounded it. This didn’t feel real. Did anyone else see? The dirt wall acts as a barrier. And as I push through it, I can feel the particles invade my nose and mouth, making me cough. The ship towers above me, casting a shadow over my body. My hand reaches out to touch the spacecraft's skin, but a magnetic field prevents me from making contact, leaving me to only imagine its texture. Stepping back, I frown. I didn’t know what to do. Inching up to the prow of the ship, I find an unusual engraving on the side. I reach for it, this time no magnetic field blocking me. The engraving was smooth, a hot metal coded in a soft layer of something. I gaze up at the ship. And I feel so small in comparison. Turning my head, I can't help but notice a larger engraving next to the smaller one I had seen earlier. But, this time when I reach for it, it’s not so much an engraving as much as it’s a handle. 
	“What the-” 
	Backing up from the ship, my bracelet gets caught in the handle. I try to yank it out from the tight grasp, but in doing so, I pull the handle down. 
	“Shit.” I sighed out, immediately scrambling backwards. The ship makes a loud noise, and I cover my ears until it stops. Gazing at it, I watch as the top of the diamond slices in half, propping up for a white light to beam from underneath it. The spacecraft looms in front of me, and I watch in awe as the diamond-shaped top splits apart, revealing an intense silver light. My heart thumps in my chest again. I shouldn’t have pulled that. But then the diamond stops, the top of the ship staying open. After a minute, I moved closer. With a pulse of curiosity, I lifted myself onto the sharp edge of the spacecraft. I peered into the silver light, feeling a shiver of anticipation run down my spine. So, this was a spaceship. The adrenaline was overwhelming, and though I wasn't scared at the moment, I knew it would hit me later. Sliding my legs over the entrance of the ship, I jump down into the cockpit. Everything was white. Smooth, crystal light paneling. As soon as I stepped into the spaceship, I was hit with a barrage of unfamiliar sights and sounds. It was like waking up for the first time. And it was clear that this didn’t come from Earth. That thought had disturbed me more than I anticipated. Turning around, I see a man, or what looks like a man, passed out in the cabin. I can’t see him too well, the light on that side being knocked out from the crash. Slowly, I go towards him. I tried to pull him out of the seat, but his body felt heavy and unresponsive. With a feeling of doubt, I dragged him through the narrow corridors of the ship, his body heavy against mine. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should even be doing this, before pulling him along towards the roof of the aircraft. This was the hard part. How could I get him down? I stand with him for a second, trying to figure out how to get him down without hurting him. As well as catching my breath. I make the decision to half-push him overboard, and I watch as his legs flail in the air. Hoping he’ll stay put, I jump down, landing on my knees, wiping the dirt off my jeans. I yank on his foot, and he starts to slide down the ship's slick surface. I wince at the sudden drop, quickly checking to make sure he didn't get hurt. As I dragged him away from the pulsing spaceship, I could feel the vibrations of the engines through the soles of my shoes. Taking a breath, I plop down next to him. The light from the moon and my car lights danced across his face, leaving me breathless. He looked… he looked just like…. This can’t be happening. My heart sinks to my stomach and bile bubbles beneath my throat. I bend over him, trying to get a better look, making sure this is real and my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. His hair was a deep, obsidian black, and his pointed ears gave him an otherworldly appearance. And he looked just like Damon. Like they were twins. No, this can’t be happening. First seeing him at the diner, then… whoever this is and whatever that is behind me. None of this is real. I lean over more, now sitting on his stomach. The difference in height between him and Damon was stark, and his jawline was sharper. My fingers graze his cheek as I reach for it, and his eyes snap open. 
	“Ahh!” I scream and back up onto his lower stomach. He frowns, looks at me with a confused expression. My breathing increases, my chest rising and falling with no rest. As I feel a cold hand run up my wrist, the blonde hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look down to see his bony fingers resting on my arm. His fingers glow under my skin, a cerulean blue light echoing through my veins, lighting up my blood. He trails his hand up my body until he reaches my forehead. I watched as my skin pulsed in different shades of blue. His eyes focused on his hands. I wait until he moves his long fingers to my forehead and presses deeply into my skin. I seethe at the sudden pain, then fall into it. Memories and thoughts that aren't mine fill my head. It was like he connected to me. Pain, execution, loss. A white planet, far from ours. Galaxies away. Ice. But as soon as these memories came flooding in, they were just as suddenly sucked back with his hands. His eyes sparkled like diamonds, with blue and white hues swirling like a hypnotic crystal. 
	“My name is Torion.” His voice seemed deep and tired. He put out his palm in front of him, and I pressed my hand against his.
	“Mine is Olive.” 
","August 10, 2023 06:21","[[{'John K Adams': ""Interesting story. I'm not sure what I just read. \nIt could use a few more paragraph breaks to help navigate through the dense descriptions. \nIt read like the first chapter of a much longer piece. Hope to see how this concludes."", 'time': '00:38 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Camille Chase': 'Okay great, thank you for your feedback!', 'time': '18:02 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Camille Chase': 'Okay great, thank you for your feedback!', 'time': '18:02 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,pcqjhz,Heavenly Blend,Richard Verre,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pcqjhz/,/short-story/pcqjhz/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",9 likes,"
The steaming coffee cup warmed my hand as I left the Heavenly Blend coffee shop on that chilly April morning. I was headed to the office, rounding the corner onto Milk St. when I saw her. But how? To say I was stunned wouldn’t even begin to describe what I felt. I stopped abruptly, dropping my coffee on the sidewalk. She can’t be! It’s not possible! She’s been dead for twenty-four years. I know. I watched her die.“Hey Lee, it’s been a while!” Her voice brimming with the same enthusiasm it always had. “How have you been?” Glancing down at the coffee puddled around my feet, “You’re not getting clumsy in your old age, are you?”I sputtered, stared, and garbled out “Dena?” She hadn’t aged. I’d know her anywhere.“I’m late for a meeting. Give me a call and we can get together to catch up.” With a tilt of her head and mirth in her voice, “I’ll even spring for the coffee.” And she was gone, disappearing into the crowd on Exchange Street.Unsteadily, I sat on the edge of one of the large concrete planters that dotted the curb along the street, dumbfounded and feeling a bit light-headed.But how? We had just left Jimmy’s apartment where, in celebration of Dena’s twenty-first birthday, we’d smoked some primo weed and were on our way to the Brown Derby, a smoky blues dive on Main Street. I was driving my old Plymouth Valiant, Dena was my co-pilot, Jimmy was sprawled across the back seat. The road was shrouded in a fog so dense that I could barely see my hand if I held my arm out in front of me. Fog was a regular occurrence as the town was on the banks of the Connecticut River, with a canal that ran along Main Street and serviced the paper mill and tinsel factory.The car was sputtering as we made our way north, passing the stores, Marconi’s diner, and the Realto movie theater on our left, the canal to our right. We were about two blocks away from the Derby, near the abandoned train station, when the high beams of a gigantic semi appeared through the fog and were hurtling toward us, head-on. I jerked the wheel to the right to avoid what seemed to be an inevitable crash, and the truck clipped the rear of the driver’s side of the car, spinning us into the junction behind the cab and around so as the trailer jackknifed it plowed into the back of the car sending us careening into the dilapidated train depot. The noise was horrifying, the screeching of metal, the shattering of glass, and the screams of terror. Then a deafening quiet.I could hear Jimmy groaning from the backseat, but when I looked over, Dena was gone. The impact had torn her out of her seat, through the windshield, and slammed her fragile body head-first into the depot’s brick wall.I walked slowly back to my office, distractedly trying to understand what I’d just seen and how I would explain it to Jimmy, who was now my partner in a small advertising firm.As I stepped through the door I stopped abruptly, flustered, and not quite recognizing the office where I had spent most of my life for the past seventeen years. Annie, our immensely talented and versatile administrative assistant, looked up from her desk and with one glance at the paler that had replaced my usual face asked, “Are you okay?”I shook my head with uncertainty. “Is Jimmy in yet? I need to talk with him.”“He’s in the conference room with a new client. Said you should join them when you got here.”“Okay.” But I went into the supply room first to get another cup of coffee and my bearings. Then I walked down the short hallway and stopped abruptly as I stepped into the conference room, dropping my second coffee in less than fifteen minutes.“Wow! You seem to have a hard time holding on to your coffee this morning. Maybe you should think about switching to decaf.” Dena smiled playfully.I stared at her, then looked at Jimmy. “Yeah, she called me this morning to set up a meeting for her online business.” He nodded and appeared to be thrilled to surprise me.I shook my head, brow furrowed, and grabbed a couple of paper towels from the table in the corner, stooped down to clean up the spilled coffee and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. It was like I’d stepped out of Heavenly Blend into an alternate reality.Sitting across from Dena I stared at her as she smiled at me, clearly happy to see me. I glanced over at Jimmy whose round and reddish face was grinning as he tilted his nodding head toward me.Looking back at Dena. “What the fuck is going on?” My hands were shaking slightly, my expression clearly showing how unsettled I felt.Dena’s smile slowly faded. “What are you talking about? That’s a hell of a way to greet an old friend.” Then looking at Jimmy, pointing her left thumb at me, “Is he okay?”But Dena was more than just any old friend. We’d been lovers and talked about moving in together a couple of hours before she died. Looking at Jimmy, “She’s dead! She can’t be here!”Dena stiffened, “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m sitting right here!” Then she softened, reaching across the table she gently touched my hand, then held it. “What’s with you? Could I do this if I were dead?” I began to melt into her eyes, looking at me the way I remembered. The wildness of her shoulder length auburn hair. The clearness and sparkle of her green eyes, those beautiful eyes.Pulling my hand back. “But your dead! I saw you die,” punctuating each word by punching the index finger of my left hand on the table.Jimmy was no longer smiling, his expression conveyed shock, embarrassment, and concern. “Are you all right? Do you need to take a break?”I got up, still shaking my head with disbelief and confusion, walked back to my office, sat down, and closed my eyes hoping that when I opened them all would be back to normal. She’s dead. But she just held my hand. I actually felt her. No, it’s a dream, it’s gotta be. Instead, after a few minutes, opening them only to fine Dena and Jimmy sitting in the chairs facing my desk. I looked down having no idea what to say to them. To her. God, I had loved her so much it hurt. Losing her had consumed my life.“Why do you think I’m dead?”Looking up at Dena with a what do you mean look on my face, “The accident.”Then to Jimmy, “On Main Street.”Then to both, “Twenty-four years ago.”They looked at me, then at each other, genuinely surprised.“What are you taking about?”“Come on, Jim. Are you telling me you don’t remember the accident that broke your leg and killed Dena?”“I broke my leg when a drunk driver hit me. There was an accident in front of the old train station that night and someone did die. But we weren’t in the accident and clearly Dena didn’t die.”“No, no!” I recounted the story for them, so vivid in my mind. I had relived it over and over again every day for the last two decades.They looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. But I knew I wasn’t.Dena leaned forward with an expression I’d never seen. “Well, if I died in this accident you’re talking about, then you killed me.”I looked her in the eye, with guilt and sadness, and said, “Yes, I did.”“Holy shit,” said Jimmy. “You are crazy.” Then to Dena, rubbing his hand up and down his face, like he was trying to scrub something off, “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”Dena shook her head slowly. Looking at me she said, “You called me that afternoon and invited me over for supper, you wanted to talk with me before we went out with Jim. I was so afraid that you were going to propose. You were so much more emotionally invested in our relationship than I was. Intensely devoted. Truthfully, it overwhelmed me sometimes. A little scary for me.”We all sat there quietly for a minute. My mind was spinning.“You asked me to move in with you over dinner. I said no, as gently as I could. I loved you, but not the way you loved me.” Chuckling a bit, “And the sex was really great.”I looked up at her. “Yes, it was amazing.” I picked up a pen from my desk and twirled it in my fingers to occupy my hands, so they wouldn’t be shaking so much. “I have no memory of you saying no to me that night.”“And I have no memory of any accident. I remember how awkward it felt between you and me when we were out with Jimmy and knew I had to get away. I texted you after you dropped me off and told you I was leaving for a while. I needed time to think. You repeatedly texted me back, each message more intense than the one before. I didn’t text you back. I left for Boston two days later, got a job and never looked back.”Looking down, “I’m sorry for not telling you or reaching out before I left. I did love you, but I couldn't deal with you. I knew you wouldn’t handle it well. But I had no idea you’d go so far over the edge as to make up a story and kill me off.”Feeling drained I looked at her and Jimmy, “I didn’t think I’d made it up. It’s been real for me.”“Look, Dena, I will be happy for us to work with your company. I just need some time and space.”Jimmy stood, “Take all the time you need. I can get us started with Dena’s account.” Then he took me aside and suggested, “Maybe you should schedule some time with that therapist you used to see. What’s her name? She seemed pretty helpful if I remember correctly.”“Joan Lawler. Yeah her support helped me through some tough times.” Shaking my head with a slight smile, “What the fuck do I say to her that won’t make her think I should be committed?”“I’m going to take a walk and get some coffee since I spilled my last two cups. You want a cup.”“Yeah, that would be great.”“I’ll get one for Dena, too.”The fresh air and breeze off the harbor felt good and helped me clear my muddled head a little as I walked around a few blocks. But something still wasn’t right. I could feel it in my bones as I stepped into Heavenly Blend and ordered three coffees. They gave them to me on a cardboard tray.I stopped as I left the store, looked around, half expecting another life altering surprise. Nothing. Just the normal Old Port hustle and bustle.Entering our office, Jimmy was bent over Annie’s desk as they looked over some paperwork. Annie looked up, “You brought me a coffee. How sweet of you.”“Actually, it’s for Dena. She’s still here isn’t she?”They both stopped what they were doing and looked at me. “Who?” Jimmy asked.“Dena. She brought us a new account this morning.”Annie looked startled; Jimmy confused. “What are you talking about?”He walked with me into my office. I gave him his coffee and he repeated, “What were you talking about.”“Dena. You know, I ran into her this morning. It shocked me! Even more when I walked in here and there she was meeting with you in the conference room. That really knocked me for a loop. You know…”“You mean because she’s dead. Yeah that would surprise me too.” Jimmy put his arm around my shoulder. “Okay, Lee. I’m officially concerned. Tell me what you’re talking about.”“What do you mean. You were sitting right there,” pointing to the chair he sat in earlier, next to Dena in front of my desk.Jimmy shook his head, leaning against the door frame. I described our earlier conversation with Dena. “You assured me that she was real. Hell, she held my hand! Now you’re saying I made that all up. What the fuck are you doing! Are you just fucking with me? If so, it’s not funny.”“I’m not messing with you man. I’m worried about my friend. And this isn’t the first time.”Annie appeared in the doorway, her face creased with fear and concern for me. “Are you okay?”I smiled wryly and shrugged. “I guess this coffee is for you after all.” 
","August 06, 2023 17:10","[[{'Sarah Saleem': 'Thrilling read!', 'time': '12:27 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Richard Verre': 'Thank you for taking the time to read my story and comment on it. I appreciate it.', 'time': '18:39 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Richard Verre': 'Thank you for taking the time to read my story and comment on it. I appreciate it.', 'time': '18:39 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,xucr9s,Step One ,Logan Cummings,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xucr9s/,/short-story/xucr9s/,Character,0,"['Teens & Young Adult', 'Fiction', 'Inspirational']",9 likes,"
Step One I stare at the building for a moment before entering. The bricks rubbed down, aged. Comparing them to myself thinking that though I’m but 23, the marks of my choices are carved into my exterior just as deep as they are inside me. I exhale and reach for the handle, hesitating as though it might give me a shock. Shaking my head, I take a step forward, grab hold and thrust the door hard, the weight pushing back against my frail tired body. Stepping through the threshold of the church, my senses are whelmed with the scent of burnt coffee and bursts of laughter. There’s a 70 something years old lady dragging chairs into a circle, a barrage of tattooed server types peppered in black clothing seeming to still be smeared with their work of the day, men tailored in suites and a young guy sniffling, being comforted by a lady I’d describe as Karen, a once upon jock that’s probably close to 50, and a lady in a wife beater and drop jeans. Everyone is socializing. The Karen peeps her head up, catches my eyes and says, “Welcome home.” A tattooed server says, “Hey.” And the 70 something pushes an extra chair up, gives me a half smile and a little nod. I sit down where she’s just made space for me. I immediately take in the cotton candy aroma of a vape. Surprised to think someone is actually using that in a church but recalling the group I’ve just surrounded myself with, I think I ought not put anything past these guys. Someone mentions the time and everyone settles into a seat, almost as though they’re assigned. Coffee mugs in half their hands. Some keep them up, rested in their lap, hands clasped to them for dear life, while others shove their cups under their chairs along with chip bags or cookies. I suddenly am aware of my heavy worried breathing as the room falls quiet, all except the shuffling of some papers by the wife beater chick and the ticking of a clock on the wall. I pull at the velvet scrunchie on my wrist, then start picking at my chipped slime green nails, eyes diverting to the floor with panic of the silence loudly filling the space around me. I shuffle my feet underneath the chair then back out and foot by foot, tucking them back under again. The pull of running is cutting into me. My mind begins romanticizing busting right back through that screechy heavy door I shoved through to get in. My eyes dart around, scanning the bodies near me, weirded out about who would want to be here, why they’re smiling, how could they possibly be laughing in a time like this? I silently judge each of them and what likely brought them to this creaky old building, creating fiction in my mind of each of their lives. Completely deserted into myself, trying to hold my body still like the others, I manage to find a half comfortable position by tucking both my legs into the chair and sitting criss cross. The wife beater chick begins speaking, seemingly reading off one of the papers in a red binder she’s halphaseredly flopped over her lap. She’s barely looking at the words like it’s a song she’s memorized the lyrics to and the printed words are just a recap for where she has left off. I’m not listening at all and now worrying more that somehow I’m about to be called on and unavoidably will fail to answer correctly. The sniffling young guy has mostly stopped sniffling. The Karen type, smiling widely at the wife beater chick. The black clothed tattooed server types sitting in random places about the circle, surprising me that they didn’t stick close with what I would have perceived as their clique. As I’m over analyzing the lot of them, my old chemistry teacher clambers through the door. Looking flustered as he always did, he waves to a few in the circle and nuzzles in a chair between Karen and a suited man after the two pulled away to make space for him. The 70 something year old yell whispers, “Hi, Craig!“ with an over enthusiastic wave. A tattooed server type says, “Glad you’re back.” I wince internally, hopefully not outwardly, that they know him, that he’s here, that he knows me. That this idea of anonymity is suddenly muddled and false and flushed down the drain. By this time two more people have been called on to read off separate sheets of paper. And I hear the wife beater chick announce, “Continue with introductions.” Craig speaks, then a suited man, the sniffling guy, a tattooed server, and I’m next. This could be my first time stating this outloud, the question I have yet to know the right answer to, the moment that could change my past and future forever, my first day of placing responsibility on me and fighting the urge to absolutely burn whatever life I have left. I’m clinging to the fail safe knowledge of the quick route I could run, right back out that door. I feel the circle of randoms staring at me, each with light and courage in their eyes, knowing mine must look dead, haunted. I’m suddenly thrown into the flashbacks of what brought me here, the sirens just 2 nights earlier, the lights flashing midday, knowing the neighbors would all be peering through their blinds thinking of what the hell I’m up to now. My moms morbid screams and cries. My nephew confused and hiding behind his mom, asking, “Is Mattie gunna be okay?” My sister in law squeezing my hand as they pushed me out on the stretcher saying, “Baby, you’re gunna get through this.” I’m close to tears now and I can’t hold my breath any longer. My palms feel so wet I wonder if sweat might start dripping from them down the edges of these old church chair armrests I’m wringing. The knots in my stomach pumping adrenaline through my body feel like metal coils stabbing and probing in all the wrong places. Bereft of air and dignity, shakily I let out a hard breath, thinking painfully hard of not vomiting and with as strong of a defeated voice I can muster, I utter, “Hi. I’m Mathis. I’m an alcoholic.” Logan Daks  
","August 07, 2023 04:58","[[{'TC Nagy-Felsobuki': ""'Step One' brims with relatable immediacy, plunging readers into the first-time hesitancy of a young alcoholic seeking transformative support. The sensory details of sound, touch, sight, and smell are vivid. The protagonist's contrasting panic versus determination brings the tension.  In this short space, you have successfully invited readers to care and to wish for the best for your character Mathis."", 'time': '10:18 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Turey Rosa': 'Intense!', 'time': '03:01 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nicki Nance': 'You intimately captured the grapple of a newcomer and brilliantly embedded her story of hitting bottom before she introduced herself. Impressive how many  characters you developed. It puts the reader at the meeting .', 'time': '16:14 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,vsj2py,No. 2,J Hublick,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vsj2py/,/short-story/vsj2py/,Character,0,"['Fiction', 'Speculative']",8 likes,"
In my apartment, there was only the soft scratching of a pencil point meeting cartridge paper. Uneven strokes created for me a dissonant sort of music and I filled the page edge to edge with shapes and shading. It was my routine - to pass the small morning hours hunched over the table letting my pencil move without attachment to my mind. Lost in these wanderings, I didn’t feel another presence settle in behind me until the back of my neck tickled with intuition.“Again?” came the question.“Yes,” was my answer, my eyes and pencil not leaving the paper.“That’s 47 days in a row.”“Yes.” The motion shifted gently from behind me around to my side. I could sense that my work was being observed without having to look up. Our movements dancing both in and around each other’s orbits was something I had gotten used to fairly quickly, all things considered. I was sharing my home these days because of a government mandate. Any person that was not registered with a life partner and at least two children was required to open their home to provide additional accommodations. You were either categorized as a nuclear family that could exist as a single unit or you were an irregular initiate and became subject to involuntary quartering. I wondered if the government workers and other higher-ups enforcing this mandate were subject to the opening of their homes as well.Unsurprisingly, marriage and birth rates had never been higher. My apartment was small so I only had to accommodate one addition. It was more or less about as annoying as having a roommate, which for me, was a familiarity until just a couple of years ago. Having this other with me in my apartment had actually brought a fresh and strange energy, and I joyfully found that my morning drawings were becoming more vibrant and striking than ever. I felt compelled to fill pages and pages, day after day, just in case my imagination would bloat and burst overnight, destroying my brain.“Will you do it again tomorrow?” plied another question.“Most likely,” I replied, lifting my pencil up, scrutinizing the page.“But you’re not sure.”“No.” “Because you cannot predict tomorrow.”“Yes.”I heard the small hmph that I had become accustomed to. The word itself was always the same but the feeling behind it was a constant variation. Sometimes it was loud and ruffled, as if agitated. It could also be long, light, and arching which I presumed to be contemplative. Today, as it drifted out into the air, it sounded as if it would feel like velvet if I could touch it. It seemed almost pleased. I was pleased as well. I added a few more strokes to the paper and then abandoned the table to go fix some toast and a pot of coffee. The sun was beginning to rise with intensity and I realized that my body felt hollow and wrung out from a lack of food and caffeine. “Would you like me to prepare for you?” I was asked. “No, thanks,” I offhandedly directed back. “I got it.” “But it will disrupt your flow.” “Yes.”“You dislike when your flow is disrupted.”“Typically.” I confirmed. “But right now, the stomach calls and I can make it all pretty fast.”“Nourishment is currently more important than flow.” It came out a statement, not a question. “And you are efficient at making the nourishment.”“Yes.” The hmph that followed was longer and inflected downward to indicate that it was somewhere between mostly understanding but still somewhat not. I thought about how I could build a ramp to redirect the lack of surety. “Sometimes it’s also just nice to do things yourself,” I added hoping to clarify and encourage a deeper apprehension. I don’t know if I did.Coffee grounds were measured into a paper filter and then I started the maker to get the brew underway. I thought once again about adding a reusable filter to my shopping list which sat on the counter less than two feet away. But I didn’t. The dark-roasted aroma began to waft out in puffs of wet steam as I pushed bread into the toaster. It didn’t take long for them to pop back up, dark and crisp.“You should get a reusable filter,” came from directly behind me as I set about buttering and jamming. “For the coffee pot.” “Yes.” I agreed, licking the knife. “It would create less waste.” “It would.” I agreed again. “Everyone should use reusable filters. For their coffee.”“You’re not wrong.”“I’m not.” There was a pause that indicated I was expected to continue.“There’s much we should all be doing,” I decided to add and grabbed two mugs from the shelf. “Why do you all not do much?” We tended to go through conversations like this at a regular intervals. Unfortunately, I seemed to be unable to ever generate an adequate answer. My words liked to amble up and down paths like an explorer with a map whose dotted lines sprung out in every direction, criss-crossing dizzyingly. I could never decide how simple or complex to be and it’s even harder when my blood sugar is low.So I decided not to answer at all. Steaming mugs were brought back to the table. Cream and sugar followed behind and last to join were the plates of warm toast releasing a strong scent of yeast and strawberry. We were quiet at the table. It was a comfortable morning silence. I waited. Finally, two or three bites and sips in, I heard the hmph that was arguably my favorite. Contented. This one always seemed to be released into the air and encouraged to float over to me where my own body would absorb it and feel the same easing waves of contentment as well. I breathed out a long appreciative sigh for the gift passed to me until I heard, “You are happy.”I took a long, hot pull of coffee and answered, “Yes. I am.” I offered a small smile. It was a beautifully simple moment. The kind that can surprise you by leaving a twinge behind your molars and a reminder deep in your core. You cannot possibly understand, or even imagine how a modicum of grace might begin to enter your life. You can only appreciate it when it does and enjoy the beautiful ache. I looked at my pad of paper and pencil on the table next to me and thought about the pleasure I would get if I meditated on this moment, letting my hand animate my inner world onto a blank white square. I didn’t fight the urge. I pulled my tools in front of me and pushed breakfast aside to get cold. “I have another question.” “Okay,” I responded, pencil already mid-glide onto the page.“Where is the No. 1?”I paused and looked up. “What?” I asked. “Where is the No. 1?” it came again.My brain seemed to stall. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. “Number one of what?” “Of your pencil.”I blinked and pulled the pencil away from the paper.“No. 1?” I repeated, tilting the pencil in my hand fairly incredulously. The small black lettering embossed near the eraser suddenly didn’t seem real, as if it were a figment of my already stimulated imagination. “Yes. I only ever see you use No. 2. Where is No. 1?”Later, when my mind would revisit this moment, I would remember a buoyant feeling in my body, like I had breathed in bubbles. I would remember the feeling of a grin slowly splitting my face and crinkling at my eyes. I would remember that I felt both childlike and aged, silly and shocked. Like maybe this was the most important question I had ever been asked.“You know, I have absolutely no idea.” “hmph.”
","August 08, 2023 06:08","[[{'Turey Rosa': 'Your story beautifully captures the subtle dynamics of human interaction and brings a unique twist that kept me engaged from start to finish.\nThank you for sharing!', 'time': '14:01 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'J Hublick': 'Thanks so much for the feedback!', 'time': '02:38 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'J Hublick': 'Thanks so much for the feedback!', 'time': '02:38 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,fr7x8e,Only Human,Mike Chiodo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fr7x8e/,/short-story/fr7x8e/,Character,0,['Science Fiction'],8 likes,"
Log Date 475.551 My ship awakened me from stasis, and I have spent much of the day allowing the medical systems to work on my physical recovery. Once I was feeling well enough to look over the ship’s logs, I discovered something unexpected. I am not on our colony planet of Oracia. My ship has suffered a severe mechanical malfunction, and autolanded itself upon the nearest planet that would support life; a planet which happens to show few signs of a technologically developed civilization. Once I have completed this log, I will begin assessing the problem and determine if it can be repaired without a complete overhaul at space dock. Given the limited resources on this world, I don’t expect that I will be able to obtain any assistance from the native population. I’m alone here, and completely on my own.Log Date 475.552 My problems are even worse than I initially feared. The ship’s elementals stream emitter has completely failed. This means that not only will the ship not fly, but it is also unable to process food or water. And that also means I missed my first post-stasis meal, and that put me in a cranky mood.I spent much of the day disassembling the emitter (I’m sure you know how much I enjoyed doing that!). It will require a complete rebuild, which will take at least fifteen cycles. The good news is that I have most of what I need on board to make the repairs. And back to the bad news; my very limited supply of food and water. I have enough water for two or three cycles, but I have an immediate need for food. It looks like I will be gearing up to visit this undeveloped world and forage for edible plant life. I hope that I don’t encounter any of the primitive native species; my only goal is to repair my ship, return to space, pick up my previous course, and then go back into stasis. Fortunately, the day and night cycle of this planet is similar to Oracia, and I believe that I can move under the cover of darkness.Log Date 475.553I survived my first foray onto the surface of the planet. While I was out, I heard running water nearby, so I will soon make another trip to retrieve some.I have the food processor connected to an alternate power source, and while it can’t process food packets, it can sanitize plant matter I found, and it will be fit for my consumption. I’ll have something to sustain me while I work on the emitter, which is better than nothing.Speaking of the emitter, I’ve discovered that I do not have the organic nanotube screen that separates the two halves. It is not included in the 117-43A rebuild kit and is only available as a separate purchase. Whose brilliant idea was it to not include the nanotube screen in a rebuild kit? Anyway, that’s the bad news for the day. The good news is that I can use my 3D printer to create one with the materials that I have in the ship’s maintenance pod, and I now have it working on the nanotube. But this will set be back at least another ten cycles on this forsaken planet. Once darkness falls, I plan to make a second foray outside the ship and retrieve some water as well as additional food.Log Date 475.554 This planet is a primitive nightmare! I was making my way through a densely forested area to the water source when I noticed something unusual, a very bright, flickering light. I decided that, to satisfy my own scientific curiosity, I would attempt to discover the source of the light. As I crept toward it, I realized it was fire! There were several alien beings positioned around the fire, consuming what appeared to be a meal. The smell was horrid; I believe they may have been eating the cooked flesh of a fellow inhabitant of this planet. As I crouched in the underbrush watching this nightmare, I could hear them vocalizing sounds. Apparently, this primitive species is advanced enough to control fire and orally communicate with each other. Periodically I would hear one of them speak a series of guttural sounds, and then the others would erupt with a barking sound. ‘Arr arr arr’ is the only way I can describe it, but my words fall short of the true sound.Eventually their fire began to wane, and they all began to open their mouths and make another strange noise. ‘Haaaawwwww’ is what it sounds like. A mating ritual perhaps? After several of them made the same sound, they all moved into several small structures. I had no desire to stay and listen to their mating sounds (if that’s what they were doing) so I left and returned to my ship without any water.Log Date 475.555 I will admit, my curiosity has been piqued, and while I wait for the 3D printer, I am forced to make another foray to the planet and observe the native population. After all, I am a scientist, and however repulsive, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not observe and record what I’ve discovered here. As soon as darkness begins to fall, I will once again leave the safety of the ship. I became distracted and failed to retrieve any water yesterday, so I have no other choice but to leave the ship again.Log Date 475.556 I am fortunate to have survived! I believe that the native’s fire ritual must be something that they do every cycle as darkness begins to fall. Perhaps it is a fear of the darkness, or a primitive worship of this planet’s moon, much like our own distant ancestors. I’m still not certain of the purpose. But anyway, I was nearly captured by one of the natives.I was observing the fire and feast ritual when I felt something upon my skin. I looked at my arm and crawling upon me was one of the many creatures that inhabit this forsaken planet! It had eight very long legs, and the creature’s eyes glowed with the reflection of the fire! Even our best entertainment producers could not imagine something this hideous. I could see the eyes of the creature staring right at me as it crawled along my arm, closer to my face. Fearing contamination, I immediately stood and brushed it away. As I did so, I stepped on a piece of rigid organic matter, which made a loud cracking noise. The aliens heard the sharp crack of the rigid organic matter, even above their own guttural orations and the noise of the fire. They all fell silent, turned, and looked in my direction! One of them stood and started ambulating directly toward me!The last thing I wanted to do was to confront these flesh-eating trolls, so I quickly retreated to the safety of my ship. I should have known better and just avoided the creatures, but the scientist in me just couldn’t leave it alone. I turned on the exterior cameras, and there was no sign of the troll that was chasing me, so I believe that I was able to lose it in the darkness. Thank goodness for night vision!And I still do not have enough water to sustain me. I should have focused on obtaining it when I was last out, but instead I foolishly decided to observe the beings. Not only did I nearly get caught, but I failed to retrieve vital supplies. It looks like I’ll be making another foray onto the surface of the planet. Soon.Log Date 475.558 Under cover of darkness, I left the safety of my ship once again. I had collected enough plant material for several meals, and I was making my way to the water source, a route which unfortunately took me near the nightly fire and feast ritual of the trolls. As I passed the troll’s encampment, I heard them all making very strange noises. Imagine the crooning of a new parent soothing the cries of an infant, but with varying pitch, and being uttered in the guttural sounds of this planet’s beings. Despite the strange nature of these creatures, I found it captivating, and decided that, in the interest of science, I had to take a closer look.I crept to the edge of the clearing once more, in the very same spot that I had observed them from during the last period of darkness. Again, I watched them as they consumed their meal. This time they consumed a golden colored liquid from containers made from a clear material. It appeared that the more liquid they consumed, the louder their orations became. Perhaps the liquid causes their vocal systems to expand? I don’t know of anything else that would account for the increase in volume. I moved closer so that I might observe their rituals, and as I reached the edge of the clearing, a containment system made of fibrous material fell upon me. The trolls had drawn me into a trap! I…it is so upsetting that I feel that I must stop and gain control of my emotions. I shall resume this log once I have had a period of rest.Log Date 475.559 I am feeling much better now, and I think I can continue my log.I attempted to escape the fibrous netting that had trapped me, but I was unable to release myself. All the beings stopped their ritual sounds, and one of them stood and began ambulating in my direction. Their bi-pedal locomotion isn’t particularly efficient, but it does serve to make them appear large and menacing. It also allows them to stand higher than all but the tallest woody plant life, giving them an advantage in finding prey. As hard as I tried, I was unable to escape the trap they had set.The creature picked up the netting with me still in it. “Gotcha,” it uttered as it held me up and walked toward the fire. It placed me, netting and all, on the ground near their fire. I was certain that I was going to be their next meal!I truly believed that my life was over. I had seen these creatures consuming flesh, and I was under no illusion that my own would be spared.“Whadisit” I heard one of them speak.“Idunno” another one croaked. “Neverseenonebefore”.The heat from the fire was making me extremely uncomfortable, and I knew that I was doomed. I managed to work my arm through one of the openings in the netting, and I gave them our universal sign of surrender. I preferred to get this over with as quickly as possible.“Lookitswavin” one of them growled. They all looked at me, and two of them began to make their barking sound. One of them walked toward me. “Maybeitshungry” it said. The tone of its oration seemed to be softer, and I suddenly understood that it felt sympathy for me. I continued to make the universal surrender sign with my arm; perhaps this has a different meaning for them.As I was trapped inside that net waiting for my own demise, one of them came to the net and removed an object from its clothing. It unfolded it, and I realized that it was a blade of some sort. This was it, I closed my eyes, knowing I was going to die!  I felt the net move, and I carefully cracked open an eye. I realized it was cutting away the net! I was free, and if I chose to do so, I was certain that I could roll faster than they could ambulate. But a strange curiosity overcame me, and I decided to stay there and observe these creatures for a time.One of them pulled a piece of flesh from the larger piece that was suspended over their fire, and from a clear container sprinkled something on it. Then it walked toward me, the flesh held in his outstretched hand. As it knelt, it growled something that sounded like “Haveabite”. I think it was offering me some of the charred flesh that they were consuming! Ugh!I still feared for my life, but I didn’t want to do anything that might cause these beings to become upset. Against my better judgement, I took the piece of charred flesh and offered my hand of gratitude. Now I had to find a way to dispose of it without the troll seeing me. For curiosity’s sake I sniffed it, and immediately questioned what my beak was telling me. I could not be certain because of the overwhelming odor of charred flesh. To make sure, I carefully licked the grainy substance that had been sprinkled onto the surface of the flesh. Zaptis! It was zaptis!“Ithinkitlikesthesalt” one of the creatures growled. It carried a clear container filled with the white grainy substance and handed it to me. “Salt” it said.I dropped the cooked flesh and poured a few grains into my hand and tasted it. Only once before in my lifetime have I been honored to taste zaptis, and the concentration was nowhere near what this container holds. In my hand was a container that held more zaptis, or salt as they call it, than is on most of our colony planets! The government officials would be blue with envy if they saw how much zaptis I now held in my hand.“Shouldwekeepit” I heard one of the creatures growl. “Nawletitgo” another replied. I suddenly grew uncomfortable and decided that it was time to return to my ship. So here I am, with a container full of the most valuable substance on our worlds, handed to me by primitive beings who first captured me, and then set me free. I’m feeling extremely confused, and I believe it is time for another rest cycle.Log Date 475.562 I have discovered that this world contains vast quantities of zaps…salt. On my next foray to the primitive beings encampment, I found that they had a barrel of it that they use to preserve food. They have so much that, when they spill some, they also throw additional salt over their shoulder and onto the ground as some sort of ritual offering.After their flesh-eating ceremony, they began growling and making their barking noises. I’ve since learned that this is called ‘laughter’, and they were ‘laughing’ at something one of them verbalized. I’ve discovered that their barking laughter is contagious; I did not know what was being said, but when they all started laughing, I found that I had unintended endorphin release, and I laughed along with them. When I laughed, they laughed even more.What happened next is why I awoke in agony. They have another ritual they call ‘breakoutthebeer’. This is the amber colored liquid that I observed earlier, and they sit around the campfire consuming several containers of the liquid. One of them looked at me and growled ‘wannabeer’. I reached out with one arm, and it placed an opened container into my hand. I was first struck by the temperature of the container. They seem to like consuming this liquid at a very low, uncomfortable temperature. But again, in the interest of science, I brought the container to my beak and sniffed.I could detect water as the primary ingredient. There were also several other items added to the water; although I could not tell what they were. I took a small drink, and despite the cold temperature of the bottle, the liquid seemed to warm me from the inside. Quite the illusion! Throughout the evening they offered me two more 'bottleofbeer', and in the interest of science, I drank them.I stumbled back to the ship, not understanding why my motor skills seemed to be corrupt. There must be something in beer that caused this, but I do not know what it is. I made it inside, and when I picked up the 3D printer, I dropped it and it shattered. Without it, I cannot create the nanotube screen, this ship will never fly again, and I will be stranded here. I stumbled onto my sleep tray and tried to rest.Log Date 475.563 I awoke in agony. My head was pounding, and I am certain that the ship was spinning. I must be having an allergic response to the beer. I cannot function and must return to my rest cycle.Log Date 475.564 With the disaster that occurred with my 3D printer, I am forced to start planning for my future on this planet. This area is somewhat isolated, and I am still in my prime. It would be easy to create a small army of my children, and with food and water nearby we have all that we need to create a new colony. Once I have my children trained, they can go forward and rule this planet. Someday I will find a way to repair the ship, and then I will return to our planets with a ship full of salt. Imagine, a lowly scientist becoming the wealthiest, most powerful being in the galaxy.But back to the present. I believe that, with the right training, there is not anything that can stop my future children from taking their rightful place as the rulers of this planet. And besides, I am curious to try more beer, strictly as a controlled experiment. I rub the bump on my abdomen that will soon become my first set of children. After all, the only resistance on this planet is from the native population, and they’re only human.
","August 09, 2023 13:31",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,09dobx,Flin Flamming the Pivyck.,Ken Cartisano,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/09dobx/,/short-story/09dobx/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Romance', 'Funny']",8 likes,"
Before I could protest his invasive and sudden appearance, he said ‘Wait, wait, wait. Let me tell you my story.’ He proceeded to explain how his previous jump was not well-planned and he found himself in the middle of a dispute between two large, very strange entities. ‘Little did they know’ he said, ‘it had all been pre-arranged. Planned to a T.’
 
 
“It was a bit like being at a grudge match between two mismatched Titans,” he began, “then proceeded to recount the events, by mimicking the participants.” 
 
 
“This can’t be happening,” the Pivyck whined. “You must’ve done something. Look at you,” he spat the words out, “you, you must’ve touched something.”
 
The Flin shimmered with indignation, her slime covered surface effusing gorbits of flivver. The Flin travel in groups for safety you know, and a Flin has nine arms, all prehensile, but she hadn’t touched anything. At the designated time, she and her cohort were supposed to transport to the next beacon, but she had been left behind somehow—to deal with the Pivyck alone.
 
Pivycks on the other hand, thrive in isolation, and are possessed of a terrible temper. That’s why they live in isolation, to protect themselves from each other. This Pivyck had such a murderous look in his eye that the Flin paused in mid-fluster and ceased her flailing.
 
“What in the name of infinity are you doing here?” the Pivyck groaned.
 
The Flin was not here by choice, any numbskull could see that, but Pivycks are not always logical, and his remark inflamed the Flin, and, let’s face it, there are few things worse than an inflamed Flin. “You listen to me, you pathetic little Piv,” she snapped, “You need to quit your quivering and fix that flin-shammed transport system.”
 
The Pivyck, recovering from the shock of meeting a Flin, waved his singular arm for silence. The Flin’s constant flailing was driving him to distraction. “Let me THINK, Flin. Please.”
 
The Flin deflated to a flaccid formicle—while Pivyck pondered their plight.
 
Now, “the gentleman spoke outside of his story to explain some background.” Now anyone with a little common sense could see that these two were Official Sentinels, “he said,” whose function is to inhabit the space-buoys and facilitate interstellar shipping. The buoys are specialized galactic beacons, long and cylindrical, with a spark-advance and magneto at either end.
 
Historically, the Pivyck and the Flin were incongruously dissimilar members of one species, but (narrator coughs) but prone to disagreements. Ages ago, while their species was still in its infancy, they discovered rocketry, space travel and a workable warp drive. A significant number of Pivycks, already feeling distanced by the unforgiving Flin, signed up for an expedition to explore exo-planets already known to exist.
 
(Of course, I thought, this makes perfect sense.)
 
Years passed and only one Pivyck returned, with tales of travails both great and small. The Flin sent him back with supplies and support, extending one of their many hands in continued friendship. The Pivyck at first declined, wishing to keep their distance. “They’re two light-years away. How much distance do you need?” The primary Pivyck proclaimed. “Let us trade, let us consort,” he said at length, “as long as we keep our distance.”
 
Generations came and went, millennia passed with boring predictability. The Pivyck and the Flin maintained their distance, and attained a state of co-dependent equilibrium, while trade and travel boomed.
 
Interstellar shipping was essential to the survival of their respective cultures, so agreement was made to share responsibility for the buoys, and to rotate crews from buoy to buoy. But the agreement stipulated that they should never meet, except through specific, arduous, painstakingly prearranged circumstances. In the words of one prominent Pivyck, ‘preferably never.’
 
The technology required to facilitate this arrangement was too complex to fit onto a single whiteboard, so let’s skip that part of the story for now as well, but everyone knew about the fluid in the reservoir.
 
“‘How such unique knowledge became universal is inexplicable to everyone, but stranger things have happened,’ the stranger quipped, and then resumed his story.”
 
So Pivyck said, “Did you check the fluid in the transport system?” 
 
The Flin pulsated. “Don’t insult me, Pivyck. I’m aware of the systems requirements.’
 
The Pivyck opined. “You are aware, yet you didn’t answer my question. Surely you know it takes water.”
 
The Flin failed to answer. In truth it takes heavy water to reticulate the reactive dampener. It doesn’t take much, but it has to be deuterium. 
 
The Flin fell conspicuously silent, while the Pivyck squinted suspiciously.
 
The Flin inflated, then deflated with a musical fart. “Are you testing my patience, Pivyck?”
 
“I’ll test more than that,” muttered the Pivyck, as he turned his attention to the station’s systems console, stuck his hand in a glove and began interfacing with the buoy’s hardware. In a matter of moments a series of flashing lights and beeps alerted us to a transport system shortage. “The reservoir is empty, Flin. You would leave this station with no transport power?”
 
Without heavy water, the Pivyck and the Flin would be trapped on this station, with me, for 90 days. Until the next shift change. This was an interval that exceeded all previous cohabitation events by 85 days. I did not want to witness a murder.
 
“Well how much do we need?”
 
“It doesn’t matter, don’t you see, if we don’t have any.”
 
“But how much do we need?”
 
“Less than a thimble full.”
 
A thimble was a measurement that Flins are familiar with. Again, all Flins are issued a thimble at their ‘inauguration.’ (Where they keep it, nobody knows. But they have one.) And the fastest way to draw water from a Flin was with concentrated firepower. (Especially when in flux. Which this one certainly was.) 
 
I pulled out my Eco-blaster and pointed it right at her chest, painting a little red dot on her quivering flavium. “Hold ‘em high, honey!” I announced, with way too much drama, but it convinced the Flin, who obediently raised all nine arms at once. It was hard to keep from laughing. Really. It was really hard. I moved around, concealing my amusement while feigning ferocity. “You workin’ for the inflivium, Flin?” I stole a glance at the Pivyck, who was stunned into silence by my performance, and the blaster. “Come on Flin, out with it.”
 
The Flin was obviously flustered for a moment, but recovered rather quickly. “May I retract my hands now? Since we both know you’re not going to shoot me.”
 
“No, ack, you may not,” I choked out, almost snorting. “One of you is, is a mole, or something.” I shifted my aim between them, staying out of their way. As expected, the Pivyck jumped to his one foot, and hopped across the deck to protect the Flin.
 
He knew she had it. We both did. “Give us the water, Flin. It’s the only way you’re getting off this beacon. Be reasonable.”
 
She produced the thimble with amazing dexterity and held it under her enneadic beak and waited. 
 
We all waited. Until a bead began to form, grow, jiggle and fall. And then another bead began to form, grow, jiggle, etc.
 
Pivyck kept a watchful eye on me as the Flin, whose fear I had fomented, began to osmose minute molecules of deuterium into the thimble.
 
Drop, by deuterius drop.
 
When I could see that she was almost done, I snatched the thimble from between her fingers and backed away. I splashed a drop or two in the reservoir, opened my coat, selected a glass vial from an inside pocket, and poured the remainder of the thimble’s contents into the vial, and tossed the thimble aside.
 
The Pivyck’s eyes grew wide as the consequences of my actions slowly dawned on his single-minded brain. “No. You wouldn’t, you’re not…” he glorphed in desperation. (It was a massive glorph. Never seen one like it before. Hope I never see another one again. Not like that.) Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, at the end of my story, lying to a Pivyck.”
 
“Of course not,” I lied, as I punched the giant ‘For Emergencies Only’ button, skipped across the room, jumped onto the transport platform and hit the ‘send’ button: Taking all of the water with me.
 
“It seems cruel to the uninitiated perhaps, but it has been the accepted method of Flin-Pivyck reproduction for centuries. Leave them alone together for two-and-a-half days, then send in squads of heavily armed domestic counselors. Peel and heal the Flin, separate and isolate the Pivyck, and give the little flivulets room to grow.
 
“In other words, I was just doing my job, ma’am. Or sir. Excuse me, sir.”
 
“Unfortunately, I forgot to calibrate the transport’s focuser, and that’s why I appeared in your living room. Show me to your transporter and I’ll be on my way.”
 
“And when I told him, ‘we don’t have transporters yet.’ A look of suspicion flitted across his animated face, then he looked me up and down. “You have a toaster?”
 
I nodded.
 
“A microwave?”
 
I nodded.
 
“That’s a good fellow,” he said, in the most disarming voice. “Which way?”
 
I pointed to the kitchen and his last words were, ‘just give me five minutes—alone.’
 
I started to say, ‘With my appliances?’ But I think that was already a given. At about four minutes, ten seconds later there was a loud thunk from the kitchen. I waited another thirty seconds but I knew, that crazy bastard was gone. But there’s no reason for me, or you, to think that he wasn’t telling the truth.
","August 12, 2023 03:50",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,ti0qg2,Lost,Vincent Paiement Désilets,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ti0qg2/,/short-story/ti0qg2/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
The lights swirled above me, between branches of towering pine and cedar trees. Spills of colorful ink in the starry sky. They seemed to communicate. A red glow would enlarge, then retract. A blue halo would shine brighter as a response. And purple, green, yellow… High in the night. They had to be gigantic, for I saw them large and clear from the ground, lying under a sheet of dead leaves, shivering.
           I had blamed the cold for waking me up. Only thin embers remained of the dying fire I had struggled so much to ignite. A feeble glow in the immense and crushing darkness surrounding me. Weakened from a starving stomach and exhausted from days of futile walking, I had no energy to revive it. Had to. But no matches left. When lost in the wilderness, exposed, you sleep only in stretches of five to ten minutes, if at all. Awake, suffer, pass out again. If lucky. The thought that you may not wake up hangs over you like a taunting ghost.
           Then I saw them. Terrifying, mesmerizing, and I couldn’t look away. Immersed in the mysterious dread they spurred in me. I struggled to lift my head. Were they real? Delirium from dehydration? Maybe the lights at the end of the tunnel. I reeked of death, but my heart persisted. I checked to make sure. Still beating. And fast.
           An aurora borealis didn’t look like that. Distinct spheres, hovering with purpose. Could it be insanity seeping in?
           A month ago, my mind had given in. An implosion from the weight of years of routine, stress, pressure. Cacophonic city life. I escaped. The job, the concrete, the smog, the traffic, the crowds. Found a new vitality when I moved to Alaska, eager for a clean start. A wildland free of the urban things that slowly sucked the life out of you, but filled with new challenges for which I was unprepared. Deep in the forest, still possessed by the desire to get away, I walked further and further until I couldn’t find the way back to my camp. Gone too far. No food, no shelter. For days. Weakened by exposure to the elements I had found so appealing. The refreshing wind now dangerously cold, the wildlife threatening, the trees claustrophobic. Now my body was giving in. Lost in infinite wilderness, craving a sign of the civilization I had run away from.
           The lights glowed and glided up and down. If it was a hallucination, it was vivid and prolonged. One sphere left a ghostly trail of fading light. A trail. Like a… A plane. Could it be? Didn’t look like one. Those colors, those shapes. But what if…
           I snapped out of my stupor. Picked my foggy brain for a way to signal for help. Waving was pointless, too dark. Screaming too, too far. In pitch black, I groped around for kindling to revive the dying fire. Before the embers turned cold. Before the lights disappeared.
           I placed handfuls of twigs around the embers and, as careful as one could be, blew on it. The red glowed brighter, then faded again.
I glanced up. Lights still there.
With a trembling hand, I held a dead leaf against the embers, blew softly on it until the edge of the leaf glowed red, until a thin and feeble flame sprouted. Methodically, I brought another leaf to the flame, the lit leaves to the tinder, the tinder to the logs. The fire grew.
           I lay next to it. Too close, but I didn’t move. I watched. As the lights danced, as the smoke blurred my vision, as the heat bit my face. Waiting for a sign of recognition.
           See me. Down here. A dot of red in the dark. Save me.
           An orange dot detached itself from the lights. A spark from the fire? No. An orb.
           It floated down toward me. Like a little eye, it saw me. It saw me.
           The hair on my arms rose. A question mark punctuated my relief. What was that?
           Through the cold night sky, through the branches and leaves, it descended until it hovered a couple of feet above the ground. I pushed myself up. My legs barely supported my weight. The orb floated around me, as if examining me from all angles, before coming to a stop at my knees’ height.
           It glowed brighter, grew larger. In a flash.
           A dark, thin limb emerged. Another. A head. A humanoid, slender body.
           The orb vanished. The alien — what else would I call it? — stood before me, barely within reach of the fire’s orange light. About five feet tall. Smooth, glossy skin. I saw it as dark brown, but as I stared, I could discern tints of blue, red, green, a mixture that appeared to glisten while at times seemed to absorb all light and fade into an inky figure of charcoal black, only for the colors to spread out again. There was no face. No eyes, no mouth, no nose or ears. Just a head, like an elongated egg.
But it saw me. Its head tilted left and right. I stood frozen as it approached, ran its cold hand on my cheek, patted my hair. If I had tried to run away, my body wouldn’t have followed. Both heavy with fear and light with detachment, the dream-like state of one deprived of sleep, food and water. No energy left for panic. I was half dead. What life could it take from me that the forest hadn’t already drained?
When it finished examining me, it took a step back. Something metallic and circular hung around its neck. It raised one of its long, thin fingers, almost tentacle-like, the kind that could bend backward completely, and brought it above my forehead. A drop fell on my skin, down my nose, on my lips. I let it get in. More drops followed, turned to a trickle. Akin to oily water. A hint of saltiness. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth.
A feeble heat emanated from the alien. My eyes followed the drops from the tip of the fingers, up the arms, to the chest and neck. They gathered into furrows on the skin, thin as thread, almost like scars, that extended from head to feet. And the drops streamed along its body to end up on my tongue.
My dry mouth felt a bit of relief, but I was far from adequately hydrated. We considered each other further, both more curious than threatened.
“What are you?” I whispered.
 It grabbed the circular object around its neck, wrapped its fingers around it.
A wave of electricity-like energy burst out of the thing and through the forest, in all directions at once. I jumped back.
Orange light flashed slowly at the center of the pendant and was projected upward in a larger, complex pattern. The alien brought its face closer, carefully examining it. Textures and shapes lived in the glow. I could discern trees, mountains, rivers. The projected landscape kept changing as the alien slid its finger across the metallic instrument.
I approached what I could only assume was a map. Possessed by inquisitiveness, and a hint of hope. I thought I spotted a road, buildings. I stepped closer.
A flash. And all went black.
#
           Daylight seeped through my eyelids, pried them open. A tangerine sun hovered above. The alien stood next to me, watching, eyeless. It cocked its head as my stomach roared. I was hit by the thirst, the hunger, the pain, the fatigue. All reminding me of the gravity of my situation.
           Cued by my awakening, the alien walked away, glancing back to make sure I followed. I did.
           It watched me as I leaned against a trunk, catching my breath. As I held my head from dehydration pain. And I watched it when it stopped to examine a plant, to touch the bark of a birch, to observe a squirrel climbing up a tree. Its metallic pendant flashed now and then. Sometimes the alien opened the map to orientate itself, and therefore, me. That’s what led me to think it would take me out of the woods, or at least somewhere.
           “Where are we going?” I said.
           My voice sounded as foreign as my guide. The alien stopped and turned, surprised by the sounds I made. No way to know if it understood a thing.
           As we walked, I talked just to break the silence. Reveling in the fact that someone was hearing me.
           “I’ve been lost for a long time.”
           “I’m so tired.”
           “Are we going to civilization?”
           And each time, the alien would turn, the pendant would flash. As if absorbing every word, cough, grunt, moan.
           We came upon a creek, and the alien studied me as I gulped the life-saving water.
           Something cracked behind us. Through the dense woods, a tall brown figure made its way toward us. A grizzly. On its rear paws. About nine feet tall.
           I froze, lost in this terrifying and surreal spectacle. Always on two legs, it approached with determined, awkward steps. Let out a shattering growl. And charged me.
           Had I wanted to run, I wouldn’t have been able to. I stood there, a spectator in my own fate, powerless. Fear from the mind, detachment from the body. Both feelings now more than familiar.
           The alien worked the pendant, and an orange orb shot out of it.
           The grizzly got sucked right in.
           The orb floated in place. An imperfect sphere, its irregular surface swarming with barely discernable life, radiating inexplainable intelligence.
           One glow. Two glows. Three glows.
           The orb enlarged, retracted. Disappeared back in the pendant.
           On the pebbly ground lay neatly arranged piles in a straight line.
           The bones. Shining white. As if bleached. Not a drop of blood or a hint of a ligament.
           The fur. One piece, folded. Like a blanket. Clean and dry.
           The meat. The organs. The teeth. The claws.
           The alien bent over the piles, went from one to another. Examining every bone, every organ. Passing a finger on the tissue, in the fur, in the guts. The pendant flashed now and then.           
           I grabbed a chunk of meat and bit into it. The alien watched me chewing my tough, gristly meal. Eating it raw could make me sick, but I couldn’t stop myself. Starvation would kill me before disease.
            For hours, the alien led me between trees, across rivers, up and down mountains. A slow progress that got slower the weaker I became. My feet throbbed with their own hastened heartbeat. My soles burned from their raw skin. When I struggled to keep up, the alien stopped to study a plant or the soil or to look at its map. As the day went by, I sank into a dream-like state, with a Zen focus on taking one step after the other. I lost track of time, was only partially aware of the fading sunlight. I had no thoughts. Only the concerto of pains ringing through my body. A nerve drumming here. A muscle stretching there. A sore screamed, a cramp answered. 
           In complete darkness, I followed the orange orb. The light traced the contour of the alien’s dark silhouette who paced behind it. Like sinking into abyssal emptiness, treading on the ocean floor. Until I tripped on a root, bumped into a tree. A reminder of how filled the void really was.
           The day returned. It surprised me. I was clueless as to the distance we had covered, how long we had walked, or even if I had slept or not.
           Down a steep slope, I held onto branches not to be pulled forward by gravity. My legs gave in. The world got blurry, hit me from all sides until I found myself lying still, roughed up. The alien came to me upside down. Or maybe I was. It grabbed me, pulled me up. A cold touch, space cold, on my skin. It dragged a finger down my arm. My hair rose with its passage. The tip of the finger stopped on a long scratch, dipped into the trickle of blood. Up to the alien’s face, down on my arm again.
           Its body radiated heat. Soon, drops of white oily liquid emerged from all over its skin, made their way along the vertical furrows, down the arm, the fingers, and landed on the scratch. New tissue formed across the laceration, in little bridges. The flesh took back its territory, swallowed the cut, sealed the blood inside.
           We reached a clearing. My eyes widened. A ranger's cabin rested there. A beaten dirt path led up to it. The umbilical cord to a road, to civilization. To safety, shelter, food, drinks. Humans. My eyes fogged up a bit. A mist that could have been tears.
           The alien stood at the edge of the woods. I walked past it, to the cabin. When I turned, the alien was gone.
           Inside, the ranger, sitting behind a desk, lifted his head. He scanned me from head to toe, wondering what mess had just walked in. His nostrils flinched. Can’t imagine how I smelled. 
           “What are you?” he said.
           “I’ve been lost for days.”
           “A long time?”
           “Yes.”
           He stared at me. Blank face.
           A firepit lay in the corner. Some logs piled up. A stained coffee pot on the counter. A large map of the area on the wall. Coats on hooks near the entrance. Everything in its right place. Everything made sense. 
           “Can you help me?” I said.
           “Help?” He stood up. “Where are we going?”
           “I was lost for days. I need to go to the hospital.”
           “Going to the hospital.”
           He got out, walked toward his truck. I followed. In the grass, a squirrel scratched up in the air, as if trying to climb an invisible tree. I looked toward the woods. The alien was still gone. And yet I felt observed. From no direction in particular. I hurried to get in the truck.
           “I’m so tired,” the ranger said as he climbed in.
           The motor roared.
           “Going to civilization,” he said.
           I lay my head on the window and enjoyed the vibrations. My eyes wanted to shut, crash, black out, but something kept me awake. That feeling. Something off, something watching. I failed to chase it away.
           The trees melted into a blur. The wheels bounced on the uneven ground, sent pebbles knocking under the truck. My eyes locked on a sign on the side of the road. Maybe it could give me a hint of where I was. But as we approached, I saw there was nothing written. Only a reddish wooden board with peeling green paint.
           The ranger stared ahead in complete silence. Except for one word, after we’d been rolling for a while.
           “Lost.”
           He almost muttered it. His blank face bothered me. I wanted reassurance. Stories of other people who got lost and found. Hunting anecdotes. Moose recipes. I hadn’t heard a voice in a while, but I made no attempt at conversation. Something told me to avoid interacting with him.
           We kept driving for I couldn’t tell how long. Always in a straight line. Time stretched and stirred and spun.
And then we passed the green sign again. And again. And again.
The same one. I say it with absolute certainty. We hadn’t turned, had kept straight. I looked at the ranger. Blank. Silent.
My head against the window, I let it happen. Whatever was happening. There wasn’t a thing I could do.
We drove until the truck ran out of gas and came to a stop. The ranger didn’t move a finger, hands still on the wheel, facing ahead. After an hour of stillness, I resigned myself to stepping out of the truck.
In the middle of the dirt road, I walked. One step after the other. At some point, it hit me. How dead the forest was. The trees soaked in silence. Not a bird, not a crack of a branch or a rodent shuffling leaves. No wind. Completely still. As if things would come alive only when they needed to. To put on a show.
I kept walking. Aimless. Hoping for… don’t know what.
All the while, always, being watched.  
","August 05, 2023 03:08","[[{'Turey Rosa': 'Hey, I\'ve got to say, ""Lost in Silence"" is an incredibly gripping and atmospheric story.\n\n You\'ve managed to create an intense blend of the unknown, drawing me into the protagonist\'s struggle for survival in a way that\'s truly vivid and visceral. Your descriptions have a way of immersing reader\'s senses and emotions into the narrative, making it feel like they\'re right there in the midst of the forest.\n\nThe way you\'ve built tension throughout the story is truly impressive. \n\nThe protagonist\'s deteriorating physical state and the eerie occurr...', 'time': '21:32 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Vincent Paiement Désilets': 'Thanks a lot for the feedback.', 'time': '23:10 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Vincent Paiement Désilets': 'Thanks a lot for the feedback.', 'time': '23:10 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,9fdysm,An Unwanted Visitor,A R,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9fdysm/,/short-story/9fdysm/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Horror', 'Thriller']",8 likes,"
	Alister remembered what it was like to slide across an empty ice rink. The cold air would seep into the creases of his skin and bones. Smiling fondly, he put down a set of worn-out ice skates. He sat there for a few minutes soaking in the smell of old leather. His memories of ice skating were a comfort to him like no other.  He basked in the feeling, knowing he would eventually have to acknowledge the hole in the roof a few yards away. 
 
	He had been quietly reading in the loft when he first heard wood crackling, as if it was bending in. As he set his book down, he heard the snap. It was from the attic. A place Alister took no guilt in avoiding. The attic was where he stored his childhood knick-knacks. Alister twisted the doorknob open and tripped over his old ice skates. He held them and reminisced, slowly realizing how cool the room was. He looked up at the ceiling and noticed the wood had bent downwards in a circular shape revealing the stars above. He looked back down, setting the skates away.
 
	The comfort of nostalgia dissipated as a feeling of unease overtook his mind. He turned around taking in every aspect of the room. It was a small and quaint basement space. It seemed mysterious and dimmer than it usually was. Something about the familiarity of the room was lacking. 
 
	The periodic noise of a clock filled his ears. Had the clock been there before? He stared confusedly at the hands of the clock as it moved counterclockwise. It was broken. 
 
	Perhaps it was his mind. His eyes fixated on a small door across the room. Like the clock, he didn’t remember it.
 
	Before he could even begin to wonder, his eyes widened and his confusion was replaced by the feeling of bubbling fear. His heart was pounding. He was sure he had seen the doorknob turn. There was someone behind the little door. The door he didn’t remember existed. 
 
	Holding his breath, he grabbed a hold of the ice skates he previously had put down. Aiming it at the door, he readied himself to take action. The doorknob turned a full circle, slowly creaking open. 
 
	“Hello.” 
 
	Alister launched an ice skate at the voice. 
 
	“What?” He shrieked, picking up the second skate and aiming it. 
 
	“Calm down,” the voice cried out. 
 
	Alister, in fact, did not calm down; instead, he attempted to throw the second skate. The voice was rough and quiet. He looked closer and saw a tiny creature scramble toward him. 
 
	Tilting his head, he focused on the creature. With his eyes scrunched and confusion clouding his mind, he wanted to scream as his own dark eyes stared back at him. 
 
	“You look like me?” He spoke, afraid of the creature in front of him. That wasn’t an exaggeration; the miniature version of him shared all the qualities he did: slicked back brown hair curled into his ears and a distant look in his unfocused brown eyes.  It was like walking into a mirror funhouse and looking at a distorted version of yourself. The distortion smaller, much smaller, like a toy soldier.
 
	“Well, I just thought the response would be more peaceful if my form was familiar.” the thing reasoned. 
 
	 Alister was on the verge of breaking down in laughter or tears. This was absolutely insane. He'd finally lost it, gave in to the inevitable, losing his mind. Whatever, he might as well entertain the idea. 
 
	“What do you want?” his voice dripping with sarcasm. He was either in a dream or dead. At this point, he decided, he might as well go with it. 
 
	“I need your skin.” 
 
	“What.”
 
	“I need your body.” the voice dipped into a graver tone. Alister scoffed.
 
	“What are you on about.”
 
	“I can’t wander this planet without a human vessel.” 
 
Alister stepped back, the gravity of the situation setting in. He wanted to believe this was some sort of dream or hallucination, but he knew better. 
 
	“You know what, I’m done. I’m too old to be having dreams like these-” Alister’s biting words retreated as his eyes drifted to his midriff only to find blood. 
 
	“What…” his voice trailed as his hand pressed against the growing red stain on his button-up
	. 
	“You misunderstood, I don’t need your permission.” 
 
Alister looked at the creature. This time in a serious manner. The creature had once seemed somewhat humanoid but now it was purely disembodied. Its head, far too wide for his slender shoulders bobbled as he stepped closer. His mouth twisted into a smooth surface. All orfices on his face closed. Its legs elongated. It had no face. It had no hands. It was inhuman. 
 
	Bitterly he laughed, this felt too real to be a hallucination. He had crumpled to the floor. He gripped the floorboards pulling himself against the small door. Panting, he reached over and grabbed the doorknob. His hair fell against his eyes, sticking to the sweat. The sound of his breathing filled the room. Spinning and spinning, he couldn’t do this. The soft clicks of the clock started to fade. His eyes rolled back. The floorboards beneath him seemed to disappear and the taste of blood in his mouth dissipated.
 
	The creature shuffled towards him, long legs bending unnaturally. It brought its wind head down, pressing it against Alister’s forehead. The voice spoke. This time in his mind. 
 
	“You should be proud. I have chosen your body as my new disguise. I will live inside your walls and understand the way of your people.”
 
	Alister couldn’t respond. He called out, and only then realized he had no voice. Or maybe he did, but couldn't hear it; the darkness smothered his senses, every connection to the world around him. All he was now was a collection of emotions, feelings, and thoughts. He felt the creature push closer until he felt his mind snap. 
 
	The leather smell of his ice skates disappeared along with its air of comfort. 
 
","August 11, 2023 01:10",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,r4emc9,Are You Sittting Comfortably?,Sue Eaton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/r4emc9/,/short-story/r4emc9/,Character,0,"['Funny', 'Science Fiction', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
Are You Sitting Comfortably?
 
	‘Quick, Dorrie. Come and look at this.’ Dorrie’s husband sounded quite excited which should have aroused suspicion. He was rarely quite excited anymore which suited Dorrie.
	‘I’m busy,’ came the muffled reply.
	‘Hurry up. We’re being invaded.’
	‘Will it take long? Only I’m waxing the dado,’ she said. Silly bugger, she thought.
	‘Leave it. We’re being invaded by aliens from outer space,’ came the insistent reply.
	Dorrie put down her rag and poked her head into the front room.
 	‘Stop messing around. I really am busy.’
	 ‘I’m not joking. We’re definitely being invaded and they’re definitely from outer space,’ her husband assured her. ‘This is the BBC. It’s got to be true.’
‘	You’ve not got a film on, have you? It been done before. Although …’ Dorrie thought for a moment. ‘… I think that was the radio – in America.’ 
	‘If you’re doing nothing make us a cup of tea, there’s a love. Then come and watch the news with me. I thought you’d be interested. You like Star Trek.’ 
	She made a pot of tea and then, after some thought added chocolate biscuits. If they really were being invaded, they would need the sugar. She would also need the sugar if her husband was going senile, which was what she suspected. He was about that age.
	‘Where have they landed, then?’ She wanted to know as she walked back into the front room.
	‘In London. In Hyde Park of all places. You’d think they’d pick somewhere more suitable.’
	Dorrie placed the tray on the coffee table and helped herself to a biscuit as she sat down. 
	‘What about America? They always land in America in the films.’
	‘There’s nothing been said about America.’ Bob’s eyes were firmly on the television. 
	‘That’s a poke in the eye for them,” observed Dorrie. They usually get the visitors from outer space.’
	The aliens seemed friendly enough. There were three of them, two males and one female. They met with the Prime Minister and had tea with the Queen Consort. They did all the usual stuff that foreign dignitaries do. 
	They were a sweet looking bunch of quite young explorers, short in stature with merry smiles and a rotund physique. They were welcomed everywhere and were soon in big demand for opening summer fetes, kissing babies and judging vegetables at village shows making what happened next rather a surprise.
 
	‘What time is it, Dorrie?’
	‘I don’t know. I’m asleep.’
	‘The light’s a funny colour.’ Bob observed. ‘All purpley and bruised looking.’
 	‘Go back to sleep.’ Dorrie grunted. ‘Is that the alarm? I told you not to set the alarm. Why, on God’s good earth do you set the alarm now we’ve retired? You’re not right above the kneecaps, Robert Attercliffe, you’re not. Now I need a wee. I shall have to get up and it’ll be too late to go back to bed because I’ll go back to sleep and wake up with a headache. And it’s too early to get up because it’s cold and dark.’ She flounced off in the dark still complaining.
	Bob switched off the alarm with a sigh. Now he’d done it. He’d woken the dragon and there would be no peace until bedtime. Setting the alarm was a habit he couldn’t break, and he normally woke a minute before it sounded as he’d done all his working life. It gave him time to switch it off before it roused Dorrie. The strange light had thrown him. 
	‘It’s freezing out there.’ Dorrie jumped back into bed and placed her cold feet on his calves. ‘Feel.’
	‘I’m going downstairs.’ Bob slid out of bed. 
	Bob’s internal clock assured him that it really was time he usually got up despite the lack of daylight, so he decided to make himself a cup of tea and check the time by the clock in the kitchen.
	The kitchen clock told him that it was half past six which was odd because the alarm would have gone off at half past six and time had passed since then. He switched on the kettle and tried to look outside. It should have been light at this time of the year. He opened the back door and stepped out. He was facing east and there was a faint glow in the distance but then he was looking towards the service station on the motorway. There was always a glow in that direction. It looked a bit sickly this morning. Not at all well. He went back in to make the tea. The clock said twenty past six. It appeared to be going backwards. 
	He warmed the teapot, spooned in the tea and filled the pot with boiling water. He watched it brew while deep in thought. He wondered for a moment what was happening to the world. Everyone was up in arms over some cause or another. People hadn’t enough to do, he decided. He did wonder if the little aliens had anything to do with the strange happenings. They were rather keen on meeting Winston Churchill. They didn’t seem at all bothered when they were told that it was impossible because he had died many years before. 
	Was it possible to make time go backwards? It seemed the sort of thing an alien would do.
 
	‘Dorrie?’ Bob whispered tentatively. ‘Dorrie dear? I’ve brought you tea. Are you awake?’
	‘I am. I can’t get back to sleep. You can turn the light on. What time is it?’
	‘I don’t know. Something’s definitely wrong with the world this morning. You should get up and see for yourself.’
	Dorrie pulled the duvet up to her chin. ‘What’s that noise? It sounds like someone’s trying to break in.’ Whoever it might be was hammering on the front door.
	Bob sat on the end of the bed and considered the ramifications of going to see who it was. It could even be a what it was, you couldn’t be sure when the world was out of kilter. ‘Well, go on then. Go see what’s amiss.’ Dorrie kicked at him through the duvet.
	Bob decided to edge his bets and look out of the window. He could pour boiling tea down if he didn’t like the look of who was there. It turned out to be his neighbour, Usman still in his pyjamas.
Bob placed his tea carefully on the sill so as not to waste a drop. It seemed that sort of a day. He opened the window and called down to his friend, ‘Aye up, youth. Not in work?  What’s to do?’ 
	‘What’s up with the light?’ Usman queried. Usman usually considered Bob to be the fountain of all knowledge due to his advanced years.
	‘Not sure,’ Bob considered. ‘Is your clock alright?’
	‘My clock?’
	‘Mine’s to pot. Going backwards.’ Usman disappeared from Bob’s view to return a few minutes later.  
	‘Same ‘ere. The world’s not right this morning if you ask me.’ He complained. ‘I knew voting Brexit would cause us trouble.’ And disappeared back inside his own house, slamming the door against the world.
	Leaving the EU might change many things, but it wouldn’t stop aliens from another planet landing in England. Bob was sure of that.
	‘Put the news on, Dorrie, love.’ Bob turned to the television at the end of the bed as Dorrie fussed under her pillow for the remote control. ‘Make sure it’s the BBC. I don’t trust some of them other channels to get it right.’ Bob was a tad old fashioned in his views.
	Dorrie was convinced she had pressed all the right buttons but there was no BBC. There was just a screen filled with snow and an annoying crackle which prompted her to turn it off.
	‘Ay, lass. The world has ended and there’s no mistake.’ Bob shook his head. He lumbered from the bed and ventured downstairs where he turned on the radio in the dining room. There was no Radio Four. Now he knew that things were very, very wrong.
	‘What’s to do, Bob?’ Dorrie’s voice quavered. She had followed him down, and stood shivering and anxious, wrapped up in her dressing gown.
	‘Eh, lass. I don’t know.’ He looked squarely at her. ‘Have you been doing something with your hair?’ he asked. It looked darker, permed, like the old queen had hers, like Dorrie used to have it.
	‘No,” she snapped, scared. ‘What’s brought that on now?’ She stopped and stared at her husband. ‘Have you? You know, done something to yours?’ She was sure his hair was growing back. Bob sighed and shook his head. ‘Well, you’d better do something. This can’t go on. I’ve got a WI meeting this afternoon.’ She sounded near to tears as she put out her hand to turn off the radio. 
	As she touched the button it crackled making her jump. A familiar tinny voice broke the silence, ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’
 
","August 06, 2023 11:20","[[{'Bruce Friedman': 'Sue, a totally professional job on this. Great momentum, solid vocabulary, and an interesting plot. Clearly very British piece which I always enjoy with the vocabulary and phrases. Keep them coming. I notice that you are relatively new to Reedsy.', 'time': '18:24 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,mfkmyo,H.O.A.X.,Kimberly Walker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mfkmyo/,/short-story/mfkmyo/,Character,0,"['Black', 'American', 'Creative Nonfiction']",8 likes,"
H.O.A.X.My mother drove the school bus year-round; staying home alone was not an option, so we left home at six Monday- Friday, around the winding roads of Greensville County for two hours, scooping up children 5-13 years old. We were heading to Route 18’s school of destination with fellow students who wished they could sleep in, play in the yard, or do anything other than board 718 for four weeks during the prime summer break. On the other hand, I passed every subject but needed something to do during school hours because riding a school bus and not exiting the bus at school was weird. After the morning drop-off, Mom would go to the bus garage for fuel and clean the bus inside and outside. Sometimes I got to pump the gas and hose the tires, but I would ruin my shoes. I got Mom to ask the school board if I could attend classes. They said NO, but reversed their decision when Mom’s boss explained that it would be the cheapest solution for everyone. No daycare meant losing a good driver and would stretch an already-packed rural system too much. That county section needs four buses but only had three during the summer. Mom, Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. French covered a third of Greensville County.No, I didn’t bump my head and wake up stupid! I was bored enough to beg for the opportunity to attend summer school. That was the summer of 76, my first day at Hicks-Ford Elementary School for the summer session; we visited the library.H.O.A.X…Hoopla’s Outing and X’s compatible chromosomes! That title grabbed me when I looked for a book worthy of a summer read at ten.The story began:My name is a Japanese and Chinese smashup of the words for my mother’s favorite fragrance, my birthstone, the two grandmothers’ middle name, and my dad’s love of basketball.Honeysuckle + Opal +Lala: It’s a challenge to try to teach someone how to pronounce all five syllables of my first name, and the middle one doesn’t just dance off my lips either, so, for the interest of time, the stupid squiggly lines of the Chinese alphabet don’t matter… call me, Hoopla!I get called all sorts of name butchery, but I’m dealing with it! I love basketball as much as Dad did too. He played some in school for a P.E. credit until he began getting winded. After his diagnosis and a blood transfusion, he was fine.That was all I had time to read then, so into the backpack it went. Still looking for more summer distractions, I remembered the Nancy Drew series had a few titles I hadn’t read yet. So, with three contenders and only ten minutes to get checked out and back to the meeting spot. The library was my refuge, hiding place, and a staycation place. For the most part, I was a good girl who never got in trouble, but on rare occasions, my punishment would be no library trips for a week. I got punished for burning dinner once because I got engrossed in a book and boiled all the water from the spaghetti noodles.Hoopla was the main character’s nickname and was my age.As I read on, I discovered that the alien who inhabited Hoopla’s body that day in the park was cancer, a form called Non- Hodgkin Lymphoma. One may say that cancer tries to communicate with the host’s body and decides to reap havoc instead.Hoopla described it like this:Instead of staying with the nanny, my younger brother, and sisters at the kiddie rides, I ventured over to my home away from home, the basketball court. People underestimate my skills because of my short stature and age. Or maybe it’s because I am Oriental, soft-spoken, or just because I’m female. A 4’3’’ slant-eyed girl can’t hoop, is what everyone thinks or says. Only a few people know. I have a good friend who practices in Central Park around ten daily and lives the next block from my building. I would sometimes shoot layups against him for pocket change, advice on form, and how not to grow up too fast. That happened to him and his twin brother, who dropped out of high school when they weren’t allowed to play for fun.That day I was in the zone; my fadeaway threes were on the mark, dead-on netting us fifty big ones, and my legs were on fire from the run-and-gun type game we were in, or so I thought. I thought I wore too many layers; a New York mid-morning in April was still cool. Before I could leave the court, I got wobbly like a wind sock puppet blowing aimlessly with no control hither and yon until I felt nauseous and dizzy. It left me as helpless as one of those giant waving balloons in front of the car lot the day after tax season started. Dad always started his balloon family members waving on January 2nd, only because mom won’t let him work on New Year’s Day.That was a year ago; during a pickup game in the park, I shot a three-pointer, and as I released the ball, it felt like an alien took over my body. My legs became mushy spaghetti, unable to support my frame. I dropped like a wet noodle, hitting my head on the blacktop. Dazed and embarrassed, I just lay there until the ambulance arrived. Like a Pro, as they wheeled me away, I flashed two thumbs up, or at least I think I did…I put H.O.A.X. down for two weeks, thinking it was about something other than what it would be until I returned the books. The librarian asked me whether I enjoyed it. I couldn’t lie and say yes. I fudged the truth and just said I ran out of time. She gave me that over-her-glasses look and smirked. I blushed and dropped my head, knowing she didn’t believe me. She said something that shocked me….it took me two attempts, and I, too, put it down before I realized it could have been about us. It’s a true story written by the donor and recipient as a gift to all who are going through something scary and need a transfusion.I smiled and rechecked it out!
","August 11, 2023 11:42","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'You always have heart rending stories.🥰', 'time': '04:21 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kimberly Walker': ""I'm not trying to box myself in, but writing survival stories feel good. Thanks!"", 'time': '14:05 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kimberly Walker': ""I'm not trying to box myself in, but writing survival stories feel good. Thanks!"", 'time': '14:05 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,ae85mo,Who's There? BOO,Doreen M Atkinson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ae85mo/,/short-story/ae85mo/,Character,0,"['Happy', 'Fiction', 'Mystery']",7 likes,"
Who’s There? Boo.
 
Beware. Beware my friends. Beware of life and its many moods. From its highest and brightest peaks to its lowest and darkest depths we are caught. Caught in its eternal web. Caught forever. So, beware.
 
The day was gray and gloomy. The big, dark clouds rushed at each other. They clashed together with a great roar and sent bright bolts of lightening crashing down to earth. The wind whipped around the trees causing them to dip to the ground. The rain splashed hard against the windowpane.
Why is it so dark in here? It’s so quiet in here. Wonder where I am? Wonder why I’m alone?
But I’m not alone. Something is touching me. Something is walking on me. Something is making a sound. What is it? What is it?
Wait—hold on. I don’t hear it now. I don’t feel it now. Did it go away or was it ever here? Was it my imagination or was it real? I’m not sure. 
The storm has abated. There’s a breeze swaying the lilies in the garden. It’s gentle and nice. I feel calm. I’m cozy and content and relaxed on my bed. I like watching the leaves fluttering in the breeze .
But oh! Oh! Oh my! There it is again. It’s big and heavy. Now it’s laying on my feet. I don’t like it at all. I can’t wiggle my toes. I can’t kick my feet up. This is getting scary. I think I’m going to cry.
But wait, I won’t cry. I’m okay. Whatever it is, it has moved. I’m free again.
The intruder is still near me. I think it is trying to talk to me. The language is foreign to me. I’ve never heard anything like it.   So how on earth can I connect?   I’ll try using sounds. Perhaps laughter and giggles will send a message. They work well in other situations. The sounds are happy and friendly. Yes, some success achieved. The creature responded with a kind of whining sound but not entirely sad or threatening. More like a “hello” sound. I’ll give it another try. Here goes.
“Ha, ha, ha.” No response. Again then, “ha, ha, ha.” Okay, I got some movement. The creature is laying down beside me. Slowly, very slowly, I reach out and touch it. It’s hairy. In fact, it’s very hairy. Doesn’t seem to mind being touched. Guess it likes people. I sure hope so.
The night is growing darker. I can hear thunder growling across the sky. A bright flash of lightening brightens the room. I catch a glimpse of something hunched down in the corner of the room. It appears to be hiding. Or is it getting ready to pounce on me again? How can I ward it off? I have nothing and no way to stop an attack. The sweat is starting to run down my face. The thunder roars again and the lightening cracks into the room giving it an eerie look. The creature in the corner is getting up and looking at me. Is it evil? Am I in harm’s way? Where are my protectors? Fear grips me. For the first time I know how vulnerable I am. I know how helpless I am. Please, please someone, come and help me.
With a mighty leap the creature is back on the bed. It creeps to my side and screams at me. I can’t move. I can do nothing. I’m paralyzed with fright. My eyes are bulging. My nose is running. I can’t even cry. It slinks towards me. Slowly. Deliberately. 
I lift my hand and try to hit it with my fist. I pound both fists up and down. I keep pounding. 
The creature backs away. It stares at me, then starts creeping towards me again. It’s getting closer and closer. I pound my fists on the bed. It hesitates and then starts towards me once more. The tears roll down my face. I am crying but there’s no sound. My throat is dry. My mouth is dry. I kick my feet and pound my fists so hard I hurt myself. The creature backs away.
“Help, help me. Please come and help me,” I try to cry out but still there’s no sound. What’s wrong with my voice? The thunder roars again. The lightening strikes again. The creature leaps into the corner and hides from it. I’m thankful for the only protector around me.
With the calm of the storm, the thing in the corner starts towards me. How long will this go on? Surely someone must think of me and come to help. Someone must realize how frightening the storm is. But no one appears and the danger persists.
The storm is passing, and the night is brighter. The creature in the corner raises its head and stretches it’s body out to full length. It is big and black. I wish it would tire and perhaps sleep. I watch carefully as it lays down on the rug. The sound it makes is as earlier before. Not as loud and not as threatening. Was it threatening or was it alarm? Did I panic without good reason? How do I know.
I lie still, full of anxiety waiting for the next thing to happen. As expected, the creature looks my way and starts towards me. “Don’t panic again” I tell myself. Stay calm and quiet. You may win the day if you do so. The creature is back on the bed beside me. I reach out and gently touch its head. I can pat it in a friendly way and try to keep it happy or even pat it to sleep. The hairy feel isn’t so bad this time. Am I getting used to it? Feels kinda nice. Warm and comfortable. A new sound is coming from it. It’s like a person humming. My fear is changing to pleasure. I no longer feel like a target. The creature inches closer to me still making that odd humming sound. It’s pleasant. Somehow it’s comforting. Have I been foolish to fear?
Suddenly the door swings open. My favorite person enters the room and smiles at me. 
“What have we here” she asks. “ How did Cat get in your room? I hope he’s been a good boy.
You don’t know Cat. I hope he didn’t scare you. I think you’re going to like him. He’ll play with you and you’ll both have lots of fun” she said.
“Now it’s time for your dinner. Let’s get cleaned up first and then we’ll all have something nice to eat” she said as she smiled at both Cat and me..
“I love you very much my sweet little baby and I love you too, Cat.” 
 
 
By: Doreen M. Atkinson
© August 2023
 
","August 08, 2023 22:01",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,akvvwt, Whispers of the Forest: A Tale of Transformation,Defaulty Noah,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/akvvwt/,/short-story/akvvwt/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Teens & Young Adult', 'Thriller']",7 likes,"
 
TW: Murder, Poisoning
 
 
 
Pre-Accident
 
 
 
Elijah grew up closeted, mostly by his own doing. He had a small family, two elder sisters, and his mom. He grew up in the southern States, specifically Louisiana. And although he wasn't disliked, he was a scared kid when wearing his own skin.
 
He owned hundreds of outfits, but he only wore six or seven in public; it was hard for him to see the beauty that he carried in any piece of clothing, no matter the raggedy natured garment.
 
This sort of headspace kept him secluded from his friends and family during his early teens, and he spent a majority of his time alone, wishing to be the person on the other side of the television. Some nights he'd wish to play the man who found love on the titanic, or maybe he'd be the first man to climb Mount Everest.
 
Although he tried to keep the daydreaming out of his regular life, it proved impossible, and his constant embarrassing behavior wouldn't reflect back on him; they'd reflect back on Olivia and Harper, his older siblings.
 
That kid in your mind, the one who would not get any social clues? The one who'd wipe his snot on the table, or say completely inappropriate jokes out of the blue; that was Elijah. Not exactly him, but he was one who'd try much too hard to fit in. It wasn't his fault, he just never knew best.
 
His sisters were constantly belittled for their brothers ineptitude. It got to the point where they wouldn't be able to go to school without someone making a snarky comment or associating them with him. They became less of themselves, and more of Elijah's sisters And even this was tolerable, but they wish they had a brother. 
 
A strong, independent person who could be looked up to.
 
Harper and Olivia were not willing to deal with Elijah's shenanigans, and they developed a scheme.
 
Hiking was a big part of the family, and, even for how closeted Elijah was, he loved doing it. Anytime his sisters would go he'd go with them. They didn't even need to tell there mother if they were going or not, they would just leave with the reassurance of thinking things would be okay. However, the two sisters had different intentions when they spent all afternoon hiking with only Elijah one afternoon.
 
They had small talk, but once they reached the top of the trail where the overhang of the hill was, they sat down to enjoy a final meal with him before they went through with it. Although they had the entire hike to think it over, they still decided it was the only choice to end the torment they felt they were experiencing in school. They never tried reasoning it out with him, they just wanted him gone.
 
Their palms, much sweatier than his, got prepared for what's to come. Did they really even have a choice? Life is cruel, and sometimes tough decisions need to be made.
 
Before the sun went down, Elijah is plummeting towards the ground floor of the forest below him. Not a single misstep from Harper as she shoved him to the abyss below. 
 
But Elijah lived on, he had yet to face what was after this life. However, he wasn't truly alive either. He moved into a state of limbo, where, although his heart continued to beat, he wasn't conscious. His eyes were in the back of his head, as he stayed on the ground of the woods. Although the grass was beautiful, he wasn't awake to experience it.
 
Days continue, and so did Elijah's long-lasting slumber. Not a single person went into the woods to find him, nobody even walked past. Nothing happened anywhere near, so it's almost as if he'd missed nothing. His body clearly recognized this, yet couldn't wake itself up.
 
Days turn to weeks, but his body hadn't given in. Although the fall was traumatizing, he wouldn't die here. His family had the police called and search teams were out looking for him, but it was no use. The hill was too far from home, and Olivia and Harper were not weak. They wouldn't give up any information.
 
Harper, mostly, was overwhelmingly resilient. While Olivia would stay in her room, Harper would pretend to be someone who could help. But even this cocky confidence never questioned by anyone.
 
 
 
Pre-Finding
 
 
 
Seasons pass, and Elijah had stayed on the ground of the forest floor, like a sunken boat at the bottom of the Atlantic. The case at this point was hopeless, and Elijah was presumed dead by anyone who knew of the story. But, he wasn't close to. Eight months passed, and, as the sun begins to get hot again, Elijah comes to it.
 
He opened his eyes to the sight of nothing. And not the nothingness of closed eyes, no, but completely blind to anything. Not even could he perceive the light from the suns rays on him. Not only that, but he couldn't move a bone in his body. He began confused, trying to understand how this could've happened. He had no memory of what led him here, but he did understand he wasn't home; he could hear the rustling of leaves and the movement of creatures around him. He wasn't hungry, nor tired, but truly confused. Unable to scream, he tries to protest this event in his mind. He's left in this white room of his own thoughts for three long, consecutive days.
 
The days and nights dragged on, and all he thought about is his how exhausting the existence of his own mind is. He tries to focus on the sounds around him, but it's almost impossible to when this might be it; when death may arrive from the horizon.
 
""I know,"" says a strong, American voice. The type of voice he heard everywhere in his area. Not too country, but enough where you could tell it's southern.
 
""It's going to be okay, you will not be here for much longer.""
 
Elijah doesn't question the voices presence, thinking it might be a hallucination of some sort. It's sort of comforting to him, even, having something speaking, even if he can't speak back. He wonders if the squirrels around him gained a voice of reasoning and were trying to tell him something.
 
""I want to tell you, Elijah, you are here for a reason. You will be okay. We will escape this life together.""
 
Elijah, although unable to laugh, finds this obscenely humorous. What kind of adventure does this voice want? This isn't a fairytale, it's my life, Elijah thought. He questioned the voice in his head; why? Why put me here? I would've been okay in my life, or whatever life I was leading, what could you have saved me from? I'd rather be dead right now rather than living this pitiful existence!
 
Another three days pass before the voice returns.
 
""You will soon be found, and you shan't ever tell another about this place Elijah.""
 
As this is said, it's like he was brought back to the surface of the ocean he was drowning in. He could finally see where he was! He was stuck in a gloomy, moist forest. The trees, the birds pecking at their own nests he had been stuck listening to for hours on end; the ants that would sometimes crawl on his skin.
 
""Everything you once had you will regain. As soon as you are physically able, you must return here without question. If you do not, you will miss out on a life full of wonder that is so obscenely beautiful that you couldn't imagine anything more perfect. Nobody else can do this but you, Elijah. I give you the choice, but you will want to come back.""
 
This became a dilemma for Elijah. He's only a teenager, why him? Not only this, but who would stop him if he decided not to? And, who was this speaker? Was it the forest itself? Is he a prophet sent by God, and fate will lead him back here?
 
The silence drags for a while. He stayed on the ground broken, forced to enjoy the grass that covers the floor of the place. A few minutes after, and he already missed the whiskey-tinged voice that was just in his ear.
 
The suns beams spray through the leaves of the greenery, leaving a glare in his eyes, but not stopping him from enjoying his time. Six hours later, he is discovered by oncoming hikers. 
 
 
 
Post-Finding
 
 
Elijah's story went nationwide. People became fascinated with what had taken place that day he was found, and how he could've gotten there. 
 
The two sisters were never even suspected, let alone questioned.
 
Elijah hadn't told a soul about what had truly transpired. He was scared of challenging the forest, scared that it could've been a God of some sort and he was chosen for some deathly prophecy. The media led him to believe this, seen as everyone thought an act of their deity took place to keep him alive. He didn't want to disobey it, if he truly was the person for whatever job it wanted once he returned.  
 
The following months, he was stuck in hospital, but through physical therapy he was making excellent work and was starting to be able to move once again. His mother, although old, was there for him always, lucky he was alive. 
 
 
 
Pre-Poisoning
 
 
 
Years pass. Elijah's life became one with only physical therapy and being stuck in the hospital. His mother passed away not long before he was able to leave, making him alone most of his time in the white-celled hellhole. This made Harper his legal guardian, being that she was in her early 20's. Elijah was soon to become an adult himself, and within a couple months would be graduating through online-schooling.
 
He became forever in Harper's mercy, due to her constant assistance to him once he returned home. She would pay for his computer, his phone, and any needs he needed met. Elijah was always appreciative of this.
 
It was hard to tell why Harper did this. Possibly she felt bad years after what happened? Or maybe she wanted to get on Elijah's good side, in case his memory comes back to him? I mean, really, how the hell did he survive that fall? It was incredibly high, and she had thought it through enough to where there should've been no place for an accident.
 
Elijah returned to his family life, able to continue where he left. Although he could tell his relationship with Olivia seemed strained, he felt close to Harper once home. It was harder to live when he was not able to go long distances alone, but was grateful for not being like how he was in the woodlands. He had even gotten an online-computer job, which put him at a financial advantage to his two sisters.
 
Although his day life was very fortunate, his night life is where the true punishment of what occurred in those forest-ridden months would come out. Since he had gotten back home to his bed, he'd have the same reoccurring, nightmarish dreams.
 
They were extremely vivid, as if he were lucid in them; but don't think he was in control, because he wasn't. The dreams would depict him, and millions of other people-type-creatures flying through space. They would fly in one long tunnel like pack. Imagine swarms of flies, but instead of being scattered in an area they were tightly packed in a tube fashion. Or schools of fish in the sea travelling. What made it stranger, is that they had no function. They didn't do work, they didn't help. They just floated through space, as if they were just display for alien species to witness. And the scary part wasn't the dreams themselves, it was quite relaxing for him, ironically enough. But how long the dreams felt like they lasted. Sometimes they felt like they went on for days, and then sometimes for months. It made him feel as if he played a character during waking hours, and his real livelihood came when he was unconscious. He thought maybe this was some sort of warning from God, telling him to avoid the forest.
 
Elijah's mind was churned with conflicting emotions as the months passed. He became less optimistic and open like he was when he left the hospital, and became more closed-in and insecure. He had less confidence in his online work, and started to pull away from Harper and their relationship, even though he loved it.
 
This became prime opportunity for her to do what she had been waiting for; she began poisoning the meals she'd make for Him.
 
 
 
Post-Poisoning
 
 
 
Time continued normally for everyone but Elijah. He had turned into a man, but his physical imparities had gotten worse. He went from being able to move and work most of the day, to being barely able to get out of bed to reach his computer. 
 
He started pulling more away from Harper, and began to spend more time thinking about his purpose and if the forest was the only option. Maybe it's what he needs, maybe he should trust the promise it had given him; 
 
""You will be okay. We will escape this life together.""
 
He wouldn't forget those words.
 
He became not only physically ill, but mentally. The dreams began to to seep into his already fading reality; there would be points throughout the day where he would go into a trance between reality and the dreams that once only occupied his unconscious. The swarm made him less and less scared, though, as he became unconsciously accepting of it.
 
Elijah started to feel the only way out of his physical torment was by becoming one of those fish that explored the galaxy, forever. He didn't know how, nor why, but he knew once he joined that hive he always dreamt of, he'd never leave. It'd be an eternal adventure through the universe, the nothingness and the everything that made what he would float through; with people just like him. 
 
Maybe this was it, God was building an army of unconscious, non-sapient creatures to be his little puppets that don't never stop. We would be his fish, his bees, the colony of ants that doesn't know what they're doing, but they still do things because it's their evolutionary job. 
 
They don't think about their existence, they just simply exist.
 
He stopped talking, he wouldn't do his job, he couldn't leave his bed. He'd stare at the ceiling and daydream, the same way he did when he was young; but now he imagined a more grandiose type living.
 
He loved putting on a show in the visions, instead of being the main character. He'd be a rock on Everest, instead of the man climbing them. 
 
Harper could tell his physical condition was near death after some weeks of the poisoning. Through vigorous consideration and discussion with herself, she had come up with the final part of her scheme; bury him in the same place he should've died when he was young.
 
Elijah's consciousness became so impaired that he can not tell what was truly going on in the reality around him, and reacted to nothing anymore except for the occasional spoon-feeding from Harper.
 
He enjoyed what his life starts to become, where he doesn't have to worry about the small insignificant parts of survival and can just be an amalgamation that explores the skies without thought. He wanted to become an art display for any aliens in the observable universe to watch him explore. 
 
And although he ""enjoyed"" it, it's hard to tell if he could experience those kinds of complex emotions anymore. He had become just a body of flesh, instead of living soul, it seemed.
 
Harper took advantage of this when she brought him back to the forest. Instead of needing to tie him down or keep him quiet, she could lay him down next to the grave she dug without issue. She was pleased at the fact the forest didn't seem to get much attraction anyways, made everything all the more smooth for her. 
 
She questioned if she may have been destined for this, and if the fall was a test of her strength; if she would have truly persevered or not through an act. 
 
She wanted to be that unapologetic, strong, independent person that Elijah could never be.
 
Before sundown arrived, his body is thrown into the newly made casket, and he's buried. Not a bit of remorse on Harpers face as she leaves his body there to rot. Her hands, only sweated from the work now.
 
Time moved, yet, Elijah didn't pass. His heart continued to beat, and, even without oxygen, his legacy hasn't ended. 
 
This seemed to be the forests doing. But Elijah didn't care. He cared as much as an ant cares about world politics; the only thing that mattered in Elijah's mind is the swarm he once dreamt of, and is now his only conscious experience.
 
Elijah's mind, in those moments of buried silence, became the reality the forest made for him. And he not only wanted it, but sought it out.
 
And why can't he be happy with just that? Why are schools of fish happy and he can't be? Why is he not allowed to be happy with a meaningless, eternal existence? Can he not experience a life of happiness without striving for some sort of meaning?
 
He wanted to be that boy again. That daydreaming, uncaring, imagination filled boy.
 
Elijah wasn't ascended from the ground into this life, no. He was left buried, but left to fully encapsulate the reality that was now bestowed upon him. And he was allowed to be happy. He didn't need a meaningful existence to thrive, he could suffice the purpose that was handed to him, and be happy with just that.
","August 09, 2023 23:02",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,0bmnbn,A Box of Love,J Walters,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0bmnbn/,/short-story/0bmnbn/,Character,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Coming of Age', 'Black']",7 likes,"
My name is Jodi and I'm six. 
Six year olds are in the first grade like me. My teacher is Ms.Spring. I like Ms. Spring. She reads lots of books to the whole class and we have to sit in a circle on the carpet. I don't like when she reads boring books though. I like Eric Carle, and Robert Munch books because of the pretty pictures. I can't talk about books too much because then I would talk about them alot more in my head and then I wouldn't hear what Ms.Spring was saying. I said shh to my head and then I heard Ms.Spring teaching.
 
“Alright first graders, because Mother’s Day is this Saturday, we’re going to be making gifts for Mom. Today, we’ll be making a box of love. Does anyone know what that could be?”
 
Almost the whole class put their hand up, even me. Kaden raised his hand up way higher and shaked it in the air. Ms.Spring said “Yes, Kaden?”
 
“Is a box of love a box for our Mom with hearts inside?” He said. He's sometimes shy like me but everyone likes him so he's friends with the whole class. I don't think the whole class likes me as much.
 
“Well You can put hearts inside. '' Ms.Spring said back. “Later I'll tell you what we're actually putting inside! Your moms are going to love it!”
 
We all had a blank white box in front of us on our desks. And, on the table in the corner of the classroom there was some paint. And there was some tissue paper too! And pom-poms, and coloured paper and scissors. Oh and the wet glue that we put on our hands to dry, and then we peel it off like lizard skin!
 
I got glue and tissue paper. There are so many different colours but I got purple and red. I got purple because it's my favourite colour and red because that's my moms favourite colour. 
Ryan, is the boy who likes the same colour as me, which is purple even though purple is a girl colour. He got purple tissue paper like me but then he got pink instead of red and pink is the other girl colour. But I don't like pink, just purple.
Mom says I shouldn't like purple because in Jamaica people wear purple at funerals. She says it's a dead people colour. That's why I only have one purple shirt. I try to wear it everyday but mom won't let me.   
 
I sat back down at my desk and painted the whole box black It was taking so long because it was hard to paint the corners. When we were all done painting Ms.Spring said we were about to do something special.
 
“Ok class, now I want you to put your love in the box. Were going to close our eyes, and think about how much we love Mom and think about all the nice things we do with Mom”
 
I closed my eyes and I can see Mom smiling. I don’t really know what love is, but something tells me it's when people are smiling. Mom only smiles when Dad isnt home. When he's home we have to stay in our room and practice math and spelling on the closet door till our feet get tired. Then, we have to stand on one leg to give the tired one a break. Sometimes mom writes new things on the door in chalk when we rememborized the old words and numbers. 
One day I asked Mom to show me how she draws stick people. She said I did really good for my first try. It almost looked as good as hers. I liked when mom was showing me how to draw.
 
Another time I remember Mom smiling was when we lived in Hamilton and I was four. Dad wasn't there because he was just a picture dad. Picture Dad always smiles and you can't see his three horns. He gets them when he’s mad right in the middle of his eyebrows. He has three horns everyday.
 
In Hamilton We used to play boogeyman with Mom. We would laugh cause mom would jump on the bed and scream boogeyman! I hugged Mom really tight because I didn't want the boogeyman to pull me under the bed. And Mom hugged me tight right back. When I remember things that make me happy I get sad. Mom calls them tears of joy.
 
One time when dad wasn’t home me and Mom made friendship bracelets. I felt like me and Mom were like the Moms and kids are on t.v when they do nice things together.
 
“Now, Imagine all those memories and love going into the box.” Ms.Spring said.
 
I imagined the movie memories in my head turning into golden sparkles and then they started swirling around my head. I smiled at the sparkes I was imagining. Then the sparkles floated into the box and swirled around inside.
 
“Now quick, grab the lid and close the box before the love escapes!” Ms. Spring shouted.
 
We all started giggling. I grabbed my lid really fast and slammed it on the box. Ryan the boy who likes purple slammed his lid so hard his box was crushed up! Some of the love sparkes tried to escape my box but I catched it really fast in my hands and lifted up the lid a teeny weeny bit so I could put the sparkes back inside. That was close. Then grabbed a red ribbon and tied the box up and put lots of decorations on it to make it look pretty.
 
When it was home time I held the box in my hands and I could feel the love sparkles inside moving around. Just like the time, I caught a ladybug in my hands and it was flying around in there. I felt the lady bug bumping into my fingers trying to get out. I think that's what the sparkles are doing inside the box right now too.
 
Mom picked me up and saw the box of love I made for her. I was smiling so much I had to use my fingers to pinch the smile away.
 
“Who's that for Jodi?” Mom was smiling now too!
 
“It's for you but I can't tell you what's inside until Mother's Day.” I said
 
She said “looks nice.” I think she's excited to know what's inside. 
Ms.Spring said our moms are going to be so happy when we tell them because last year some of the first graders' moms cried. I think it was tears of joy because Ms.Spring said she got thank you cards.
 
On the way home the box was shaking in my lap. I think some of the sparkles were scared of the bumps on the road because the box would bounce really high after the bumps. I whispered to the sparkles that it was ok they don't have to be scared. I was really quiet because I didn't want Mom to figure out what was inside until Mother’s Day.
 
Then when we were home Mom said she'll put her box on top of the fridge. I tapped the side of the box to let the love sparkes inside know they have to be quiet so they don't ruin the surprise. I think the sparkes listened because they weren't shaky anymore.
 
After Mom put it on top of the fridge all I could do was think about Mother’s day. I wonder if Mom is going to cry like the moms did last year. Or maybe she would give me a big hug and squeeze me really tight like when we played boogeyman! Or maybe she'll give Ms.Spring a thank you card because of how happy she is!
 
For the rest of the week I was looking up at the box way up on the fridge. And it was shaking! I think it was excited for Mother’s Day too.
 
At school I couldn't wait to get home and sleep because one day when I wake up it will be Mother’s Day. Then I can tell Mom what I put inside. At dinner I watched Mom’s box of my love on the fridge and I was smiling to myself. 
I don't remember how many sleeping I did but finally it was Mother’s Day. I can tell Mom what’s inside her box!
 
I was up before even the sun woke up today! Then I was waiting till I heard Mom getting up from sleeping. She went in the bathroom, so I got up and waited outside the door then when she opened it I said
 
“Happy Mother’s Day! Mom, do you want to know what’s inside your gift? ”
 
Then she said back, “Thanks Jodi, Uhm I’ll open it after breakfast.”
 
I don't have school today and Dad doesnt have work today because it's the weekend. It's Saturday because dad is usually up real early on Sunday making Sunday breakfast and playing reggae music real loud. Today breakfast will be my dinner from last night. Everyone else will get cereal probably, or eggs. Mostly, I have to stay up by myself and finish my dinner in the kitchen. One time when I was done eating dinner the clock said 12 : 30 which is lunch time but outside it was dark so I think Mom or Dad wants the clock to be wrong like that.
 
Everybody ate cereal for breakfast. I finished eating my soup and then I asked.
 
“Mom, do you want to know what's inside now?” I'm so excited. Ms.Spring says it has sentimenal value, and Mom isn't supposed to open it. I know she will be so happy to know how much I love her.
 
Mom looked at me and said yeah sure. She got the box from off of the fridge and put it on the table. Then she started to untie the ribbon.
 
“Wait Mom, you're not supposed to open it. I'm supposed to tell you what's inside” 
“Who says I can't open it?” she looked mad now
 
“m-Ms.Spring said I have to tell you what's inside and you're not supposed to open it. Because it has senimental value!” I said, a little scared.
 
“You don't tell people what's inside their gift before they open it! And I don't care what your teacher says.'' Then Mom opened the box. The love sparkles were glowing golden on Mom’s face. She looked jumbled up inside..
 
“What’s this?” she asked
 
“It's my love for you. I put it in this box at school.” Mom didn't smile, she looks mad now. Maybe I put my love in the box wrong? It's probably because I didn't listen Ms.Spring. She said mom isn't supposed to open it. I tried to stop her but I couldn't because mom is the mom and I'm the kid.
 
“Do you think this is funny? Why would you give me an empty box?” Mom said even more mad.
 
“It-it's not empty. I put my love in it at school. Ms.Spring said whenever you are sad you can hug my box of love and you will be happy again” I said.
 
“That's so stupid! The teacher made you give me an empty box and say its love?” she called my dad into the kitchen
 
“Guess wah Jodi teecha sen har come gi mi fi Mudda’z Dey. ” she said in patois to Dad. 
“a wah ina di box?” he asked.
 
 “Nuh emptiness! The teecha seh it wan box of love” she said with a big smile.
 
“Ah di fus mi eva ear dis” he said back Then they both laughed.
 
I was kinda worried because I thought Mom didn't like the gift but she's laughing now. I started smiling too. Mom looked at me and smiled a little. Then she said,
 
“Yeah it’s stupid, I don't know why your teacher would do something like that. That's not a gift, even a card would be better than this. You don't see love, you feel it. What does she want you to do? Put all your love for me in a box, and I'm supposed to put it on a shelf? That means when I look at you, you have no love for me in your heart because you put it all in that stupid box. I don't know bout’ these Canadian teachers, always inventing stupidness.” She shook her head, “I'm just gonna throw this out!” Then she opened the garbage can and threw her box out.
 
I guess Mom didn't like it.
 
At school, Ms.Spring asked us what our moms said when we told them what our gift was. Almost the whole class put their hand up but not me. Kaden put his hand up way higher and shaked it “Yes Kaden?” Ms.Spring said.
 
“My Mom said she's gonna get a clear box to put it in so it doesn't get dusty. And this morning she brought it to work because she said she’s gonna hug it when she misses me at work today.”
“Aww that's so sweet Kaden I’m glad your mom liked it. Who else wants to share?” Ms.Spring asked						
My eyes start to sting a little so I shut them really fast. Everyone has their hand up but not me. Ms.Spring called Ryan.
“My Mom gave me a hug, but she squeezed so tight I had to tell her to get off of me” he said giggling.						
“Ha ha. That just means your Mom really loves you Ryan. Does anyone else want to share?”
 
“Me, Me, Me,” said Kayla, she had her hand so high she almost touched the roof. “Ok, Kayla what did your mom do?” Ms.Spring asked
 
“My mom held it up to her ear and she said she could hear a heartbeat. Then she put it to my ear and I could hear it too!”
 
“Wow that's amazing Kayla! We have time for one more story. Who would like to share?” Ms.Spring was looking around the room everyone who didn't tell their story yet had their hand up but not me then Ms.Spring looked at me “Jodi, tell us what your mom did”
 
I didn't say anything then Ms.Spring asked again “Its ok Jodi, did your mom like it?” I didn't want to say anything but Dad said I have to speak up when grown-ups  are talking to me. I don't want to get in trouble with Dad like last time.
“My Mom laughed and threw it in the garbage” I looked down.
 
“Oh. Ok. Thanks for sharing Jodi…Uh Ok for today's lesson we're going to learn about geometry!”
 
For the rest of the day my eyes kept stinging. 
 
","August 11, 2023 12:15","[[{'Emilie Ocean': ""Poor Jodi :'( My heart aches for that little child... I actually didn't expect the ending to be so moving. I really enjoyed the bits and pieces of Jamaican culture in your writing. And the way you rendered the parents' speech was clever. Thank you for this story, J."", 'time': '16:18 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'J Walters': 'Thank you, I glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '15:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'J Walters': 'Thank you, I glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '15:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,1parnk,The Secret,TC Nagy-Felsobuki,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1parnk/,/short-story/1parnk/,Character,0,"['Contemporary', 'Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",7 likes,"
The SecretThen (1959)Near Branxton, Exmouth Gulf, Western Australia . . .Their Dad always said Moxie had the sensitive connection with living things, and Zeke had the way with mechanicals, and how much Dad appreciated and trusted their help around the station. Particularly while he was away from home on overnight duty in town at Branxton Fire Brigade, earning extra firefighter’s income.        The afternoon that it happened, Moxie Baker, her palomino mare Trigger, and Dingo the Blue Heeler were in the farthest paddock, inspecting a cattle trough. Girl and pony had been inseparable for most of Moxie’s eleven years, so the responsibility of riding out back and checking that the water-pumps were working didn’t feel like a chore. Mischievous steers chewed everything and sometimes messed up the pump fittings, either emptying the troughs or flooding them to overflowing.                  Dingo was plunged in the trough and Trigger lipping the water, when a bright flash streaked across the vast sky, sucking sound away in its vortex.      Dingo bust the eerie silence, dashing along the fence-line in the wake of the flare, barking like crazy. There was a searing explosive impact beyond the rise and a rumbling earth tremor that startled the cattle and jittered Trigger.        Moxie steadied her pony and stood in the stirrups, squinting into the horizon. ‘Was that a shooting star?’ Were shooting stars visible in daylight, she wasn’t sure. ‘Or, was that an aeroplane crash, Trigger?’      Fighter planes from “Potshot”, the RAAF Base at Learmonth, flew all over the Exmouth Gulf, frequently tearing apart the sky. Had one crashed?      Moxie whistled for Dingo to get behind and urged Trigger to a gallop. When they crested the rise, she saw the landscape freshly gouged. A long tear had ripped out the coarse, low scrub and churned the red earth. The ground was studded with scattered bits of metal, reflecting in the sun, silver, and as thin as tin foil.        Trigger snorted and dug her hooves in a bone-jarring halt. Moxie’s horsepersonship saved her from pitching over Trigger’s head. The pony shuddered violently, then backed up stiff-legged, unwilling.        Staring ahead, Moxie’s stomach flipped. Trigger’s reaction was completely justified: Moxie couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing, either. A circular craft, about 25 feet across, was half-ploughed into the ground on a steep camber, with more of that strange silver foil debris blasted all around as if from some catastrophic failure.        Moxie reassured Trigger, slid out of the saddle, and hitched the reins over a bush, trusting her beloved pony wouldn’t spook again and bolt for home.        She moved closer on foot, Dingo at her heels. Then the dog woofed gruffly and ran towards three little bodies, the size of children, lying on the ground. Two of the figures were obviously deceased, their bodies still and greyed. But the third stirred pitifully at the investigative press of the dog’s cold nose.        Moxie ran and crouched down, eyes bugging. The little being lay in the full scorch of the afternoon sun, so Moxie lifted it up, surprised how slight it was, and transferred it tenderly into the shadow cast by the craft. She settled it back down as carefully as she could while it opened and closed its mouth as if gasping for breath, but emitting no sound.        Its head and eyes were large; it’s other facial features almost non-existent. The small body had arms and legs, but wasn’t human. It turned its head, looked at her with olive-dark eyes. It raised a skinny arm and pressed three spatulate fingertips into her left palm; a strange, tingling sensation. Intense emotions of despair wracked Moxie, communicating the loneliness and distress it suffered at the death of its companions.        She knelt and tried to assist it to drink from her water bottle, but its mouth was such a slim slit, the liquid simply splashed down its pointed chin.        She fanned it softly with her Akubra, and tried talking aloud, but the little being only blinked its eyes once and stirred feebly in the sand.        In the end, Moxie said, ‘I don’t know what else to do. I’m really sorry.’ She picked up two pieces of the unfamiliar metallic debris and stowed these in her saddlebag. ‘I’m not stealing. People won’t believe me otherwise,’ and scrambled to her feet, willing the extraterrestrial to understand. ‘I’ll come back; I promise. I’m going to get Dad and the truck.’After (1959) . . .As she raced for home, a dark unmarked helicopter circled Moxie and her animals clockwise once, then flew on towards the crash site. She heard the wail of emergency sirens in the distance, and turning her head, saw the flash of red as firetrucks dashed by, churning contrails of dry dust in their wake.      Branxton Radio 6:00 pm news reported an unidentified flying saucer, a UFO, had imploded outside of town and was being investigated by the authorities. There was no mention of the little beings.      Mama received a message that the firefighters had orders to report direct to “Potshot” the RAAF Base, where they were detained for “debriefing”. Moxie and Zeke wouldn’t see their father, Will, for nine days.       Throughout the night Moxie couldn’t sleep for worrying, her rest disturbed by the rumble of heavy trucking along the tarmac road that ran past the front gate of their station but petered into a dirt track not long after.        The next morning – the frontpage of the Branxton Weekly newspaper, special edition, featured photographs of a uniformed air force officer displaying the foil-like debris; and articles about the crashed UFO.        That afternoon – the bureau printed a special new edition, with a different picture of the same air force officer holding junky pieces of stick and material that looked like child’s play, under a headline exclaiming, “False alarm! Only a weather balloon.”        Two days later, Dingo rushed barking to the Baker’s front door. Through the sitting room window, Moxie watched a helicopter fly in and hover down in their home paddock, flattening the grass.        Two men, dressed identically in dark suits and hats, ducked under the rotor blades, vaulted the fence and barged the steps to the porch.        Dingo was growling up a storm. Mama went to the front door, and called to Zeke to come and hold the dog.      The first Man, blocking the doorway said in a foreign accent, ‘Looking for the girl with the palomino.’      Without allowing Mama chance to respond, he pushed aside the flywire door and shoved his way inside the house, forcing Mama to back up along the hall like he was blowing on a feather.      The second Man laid his hand heavily on Zeke’s neck and made him drag resistant, scrabbling Dingo out of the house commanding, ‘You chain up that animal.’        The first Man made Moxie and Mama sit at their formal dining table, opposite each other, straight-backed like for church. His stare narrowed on Moxie, boring into her. ‘We’re going to talk about that crashed weather balloon.’      Moxie longed to ask if the little being was okay. But mistrust of the man’s demeanour quelled her tongue.      ‘Did you see the balloon?’      ‘It wasn’t a balloon.’      ‘Little girls,’ he said, unhooking a mean-looking baton and extending it with an easy flick of his wrist, ‘Shouldn’t … tell … lies!’ He thwacked the baton against the palm of his own hand, a beat to emphasise each word. ‘You’re trying to be interesting. If you saw it, you’d know it was a balloon. Don’t lie.’      ‘I’m not lying!’      The Man bent close, blowing rancid breath in Moxie’s face. ‘Don’t play stupid. You need to understand. You didn’t see anything. In fact, you were never there. Say it!’      Moxie shut her mouth and stared out the window, waiting for Mama to intervene; to scold the Man for encouraging her daughter to fib, being raised not to lie.      Mama sat tense at the front of her chair. She didn’t say a word but moved to reach her hand across.      ‘Hands to yourself!’ The Man whacked the table.      Moxie and Mama flinched like shot had been fired. Mama had to grasp her seat with both hands and plant her feet firm on the dining room floor to steady herself.      Moxie thought the table might split in two.      Outside, she saw Zeke struggling furiously with the second Man, yelling, ‘Let me go. I need to be with Mama and Moxie!’ But the Man twisted Zeke’s arm high behind his back and subdued him.      Moxie’s chest and breath tightened up and it felt like her soul was being yanked out the top of her head. To stop herself from floating away, she gripped the rim of the table.      Their interrogator moved directly behind Mama, blocking Moxie’s view of Zeke. He pressed his knuckles in and bent Mama’s head to the table top, flattening her cheek on one side.      Mama gasped, ‘Tell her what you need her to say.’      ‘She has to say she wasn’t there and she has to promise never to talk about this.’      Moxie gripped the table harder, hating to be a liar, but Mama kept her eyes on Moxie, and she comprehended Mama was conveying to comply with the Man’s demands.      The Man dropped his voice. ‘That purty palomino you love so much – we’ll snatch her away, turn her into horsemeat.’ The way he said ‘pretty’ rhymed with ‘dirty’.      Choke rose in Moxie’s throat.      He thumped his palm. ‘Did you take anything from the balloon crash?’      Moxie hesitated. ‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘I wasn’t there.’      ‘That’s right,’ said the Man, releasing Mama who sat back up keening for breath. ‘Y’all remember now – the rest of your life. Not a word to anybody. Else it’ll be a short life.’      He stepped up to Moxie, drew his baton across his throat, whispered awfully close, ‘We can take your family out in the desert and bury your bodies where no-one will ever find them.’      Moxie shot to her feet, knocking her chair over.      ‘No need to get up,’ said the Man, ‘I’ll see myself out.’Now (2023) . . .Zeke blows dust off a crusted tin discovered in the back of Mama’s wardrobe. He prises apart the rusted metal with a blunt kitchen knife. A pungency of Eucalyptus and mothballs. A welter of photographs and old papers slides to one side. ‘Did Mama ever talk to you about that day?’        Moxie shakes her head, ‘No. We never mentioned it again.’        She and Zeke have returned to the old family homestead to pack up Mama and Dad’s estate. Zeke’s relieved Moxie is here, she’s skipped many family occasions, from what he calls her blowing in the wind nomadic life. He waits for her to add, “you know I can’t talk about that”, only she doesn’t.        Zeke studies a photo of Moxie astride Trigger, eleven-years-old, grinning under her big Akubra hat, the whole wide horizon ahead. The snapshot must be from before because – unlike his sister’s guarded, care-worn face today – Moxie then was clear-eyed, freckle-faced, indomitable. On the back, in their mother’s precise cursive handwriting, the date confirms it – a couple of months before the UFO.        Afterwards there was Moxie’s sudden vehement insistence she’d outgrown Trigger – no point keeping her; the pony sold to a family far from Branxton; pillow-smothered sobs escaping Moxie’s bedroom the night the horse-float drove Trigger away.        Zeke points to the photo, watches his sister’s face. ‘Thought you adored that horse.’        ‘I did,’ she says.        That familiar twist of guilt in Zeke’s gut, failure untempered by time: he should have set Dingo on to the man rather than chaining up the dog, escaped from the man, and protected Moxie and Mama. Another gut twist, remembering how much he’d envied Moxie seeing a UFO.        He picks up a foxed news clipping, bold-font headline proclaiming, “Mistaken identity. Military weather balloon.” He hands it to her, ‘Could it have been a weather balloon?’        Brinnng-brinnng!! The shrill ring of Mama’s ancient rotary dial landline in the hall startles them both.      ‘Will those men ever leave me in peace?’ Moxie scrambles to the phone, yanks the receiver from the cradle, yells, ‘What?!’        Conversation crackles back and forth. Zeke hearing only Moxie’s side detects the shift in her tone from belligerence to agreement.        ‘That was a journalist,’ she says, coming back into the sitting room. ‘She’s researching the UFO history, been calling for a while. Hoping to talk to Mama, find out what she remembered about Dad’s involvement. I told her, “I can give you something better”.’ She grabs car keys, beckons. ‘You want answers? Come on then!’        Zeke struggles off the couch, not so nimble at seventy-seven.        They climb into the creaky Land Rover and drive over the farming land that no longer supports livestock or livelihoods. After Dad passed, Mama sold the herd, and let the land rest.        Reaching the far paddock, Moxie beelines for the water trough. Wincing at the scrunch of ageing ligaments she kneels, yanking away weeds, exposing the concrete blocks supporting the tub. She wiggles one free, revealing a hollowed compartment and her childhood money tin. Busts open the lock with a stone.        She passes Zeke a piece of thin silvery foil-like metal. ‘Look at this’ Scrunches it in his hand.        Fascinated, Zeke watches the metal un-scrunch and flow back to pristine form, without scratch or fold mark visible. ‘What is this?’        ‘Memory metal. It’s from the crash.’        Incredulous, he tries twisting and ripping the foil. It’s as light as air, tissue-paper thin, amazingly strong. He’s never encountered anything like it, despite being an engineer.      ‘How come you never showed me this before, Mox? I could have reverse-engineered it; made us a fortune.’      She meets his eye, shadows in her own. ‘Because there are people who will do anything to keep it secret.’           Those bastards! Another stab of guilt. He hadn’t protected her. ‘Why now?’      ‘I’m done playing their game: sick of them turning up every few years, staking out where I live and work, reminding me they know where I am, and what they can do to everyone I love.’      Like sky lit by lightning, the nomadic trajectory of his sister’s life strikes him with abrupt clarity. Zeke’s had no idea how much his sister’s had locked up and hidden, like that money-tin; how high the stakes have been. Realises why she left home just turned eighteen and shifted jobs so often across Australia, fortunate that nursing meant there was always work. Never marrying. Never having kids. No pets. Caged, minimal phone conversations, short on detail. Missing those milestone family occasions.          He steps up, hugs Moxie for a long time.      That night Moxie sits on the porch steps, watching the passage of the teeming bejewelled sky. Zeke hands her a glass of brandy, sits next to her. ‘Mox, just want you to know, I’m sorry I didn’t protect you and Mama – when the Men came.’      She hooks an arm across his neck. ‘Oh Zeke – not your fault. We were kids. I saw what he did to you.’ She feels the tension ebb from his shoulders.      The brandy helps, mellowing them both.      Moxie says, ‘There’s something else. But, once you know, it will change your understanding of our world forever— ‘      He swirls his brandy, stars reflecting in the liquid. ‘Time to share your burdens, Mox. I’m here for it.’      ‘There were three extraterrestrials. One was still alive. It was so distressed.’ She blinks off a tear. ‘I didn’t keep my promise. I didn’t save it.’       ‘That’s why you trained as a palliative care nurse?’      ‘At least I could make sure others didn’t have to die alone.’      They drain their brandies in one long swallow and set down the glasses. Zeke turns a piece of the memory metal over in his hands, gently nudges Moxie, drawing her attention to it. ‘You do realise what this means, of course?’      ‘Well— what?’      ‘You know: conclusive proof we’re not the most intelligent species in the universe!’      Moxie’s silvery hair flicks as she rocks back laughing – a delicious tinkling sound seldom heard these many years. ‘Total self-centred idiots to think we are!’      He stands, offering his hand, ‘So— we’re in this together now?’      She grips his hand and gets up too. ‘You’re the last one I love left. I’d hate for anything to happen to you.’ She kisses his cheek lightly. ‘Heading for bed.’      After she’s gone inside, Zeke holds the memory metal up against the night sky, notices something very peculiar in the way it seems to disappear, and is struck by a brilliant idea.A few weeks later (2023) . . .A couple of weeks later, Moxie has sorted out and packed up their parents’ home, but Zeke has been distracted, tinkering away in the old workshop till all hours at some secret project. She hasn’t minded, though. Cleaning the old place has been cathartic.      Moxie has brewed hot tea which she and Zeke are enjoying with cake in the work-shed, when the sound of rotor blades slices the air. The trembling of Moxie’s hand jitters her cup and saucer in a rattle.      Zeke steadies her shoulders, looks into her eyes. ‘I’ve got you, Mox. Let me handle this.’ He pulls a large sheet of silvery, tissue-paper thin, foil-like metal and throws it over her.      She shivers with the tickle of it as the memory metal forms a gossamer-fine aura surrounding her from head to toe. It’s so light she can see right through it and when she takes a step it moves with her.      ‘This,’ he says, with a McGyver smile, ‘Is what we call concealing in plain sight, and, the answer to all your problems.’      When the black helicopter settles in the home paddock, and the men in black suits duck under the blades and stroll over to the fence, Zeke and Moxie are waiting for them.      Without offering greeting or handshake, one of the men says, seeing only Zeke, ‘Dropping by to offer our condolences. Is your sister home?’      ‘Don’t think you’ll be seeing her again,’ says Zeke.***
","August 07, 2023 03:48","[[{'Nicki Nance': ""This story of Moxie's hidden history unfolds perfectly, and the bigger secret revealed at the end was a great surprise. A great read."", 'time': '15:49 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'TC Nagy-Felsobuki': 'Thanks for your lovely words Nicki Nance. Very much appreciated.', 'time': '02:55 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'TC Nagy-Felsobuki': 'Thanks for your lovely words Nicki Nance. Very much appreciated.', 'time': '02:55 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,sekg09,Where's the Catch? ,Jessie Laverton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/sekg09/,/short-story/sekg09/,Character,0,"['Fiction', 'Sad']",6 likes,"
Three days ago, I arrived at a place where I don’t yet know what to feel. Before now, I had never journeyed away from my home and my family, although neither of those things were synonymous with safety and comfort. The exact composition of my clan was frequently modified, feebler members often failing to return home. That’s hard at first, and then you get used to the disappearances.My homeland is a bleak place. My people are tortured and oppressed. When the sun beats down on the arid earth, we are dragged from our cramped dwellings, out into open spaces. There we are forced to run. We run until our legs bleed. We run to win, pitted against our own kin, the slowest threatened with torture, humiliation, abandonment, starvation. We run until we shake, and fall, parched and depleted, to our knees. Our oppressors look on, entertained.My heart broke a thousand times in that godforsaken place. It broke each time I had to walk on, abandoning a collapsed brother or sister in the heat, the dust curling around their nostrils, settling in their open mouth, all their hope evaporated. It broke each time I saw a brother or sister hanging from a tree, their legs just touching the ground, not close enough to be able to stand, not far away enough for their body to break under its own weight; the minimal contact with the ground ensured a prolonged, agonising death. My heart broke as, helpless, I watched our oppressors torture the hanging victims, stabbing them with hot cigarette stubs, laughing as with their last ounce of strength they winced when the burning tobacco cut through their stretched skin.The day came when I was cast out alone into the hostile land. A brother had outrun me. I was considered a waste of space, or worse, a dishonour to my masters. I was free finally from the grip of oppression, but now, I fell into the callous claws of starvation. My bleeding legs, submissive, carried me across endless fields, clumps of dry earth giving way beneath each step. I searched for anything edible, and anything to quench the thirst that scratched my throat like sand. I remember laying down in the dust, letting my own hope evaporate, closing my eyes in the blinding sun. I felt myself floating in the hot breeze. I looked down to see my body curled like a round pile of dirty bones, my face half buried in the dry earth, my nose not even twitching as flies landed and crawled there.*I awoke then to a new kind of light, just as bright but unfamiliar. I no longer lay on clumps of dry earth but on a smooth, cold surface. People surrounded me, looking down at me, speaking in a tongue I couldn’t understand. Their tone was gentle, gentler than I’d ever heard before, but still, I was surrounded. Adrenalin pumped through my veins, I tried to get to my feet, but when I struggled, they held my legs down. I lay defenceless as hands travelled over my whole body, sometimes stroking me gently, sometimes pinching, sometimes poking me with sharp instruments. Sometimes they leant over me and put things in my ears, or looked in my mouth, then at each other. I lay squinting in the bright light on the cold surface, shaking in the fear that they would soon start to burn me with cigarette stubs, or drag me outside and hang me by my ankle from a tree till my leg broke, twisted at the joint by my struggle. But the cigarette stubs never came. The people only prodded and poked, stared and talked. They did not appear to be at all entertained by my pain.That night I was left alone in a small concrete cell. I was weak, the skin hung off my bones, but I had food and water. The terrible scratching feeling was gone from my throat. Through the bars of the door, I saw a brother stare from his cell. We exchanged a few whispered words. He didn’t know any better than I did why we were there or how long we would be held for. Several days passed. We were allowed periods of exercise in the prison yard, and small rations of monotonous food. It was better than starvation, but I hoped and yearned to one day be free again.One morning, after a short spell in the yard, I was led out of the prison. My brother from the cell opposite me was there, along with some others of our kind. Everyone was terrified. I had a strange feeling that I was at once one of them and an observer. My heart raged as I looked at them, meek, resigned, and afraid. Gentler creatures never walked the earth. Our suffering and humiliation are undeserved, our oppressors’ satisfaction sordid and baffling.A large van with no windows waited. We were forced into the back of this vehicle, and our endless journey began. Occasionally the van stopped, and we were taken into the fresh air. There we were offered food we were too terrified to eat and the chance to relieve our bladders, most of which had already emptied themselves in the dark terror of the van as it moved into the unknown, adding stench to the heat and obscurity.Our journey finally ended, I can’t say how long it lasted, I have no way of knowing how many times the sun rose and set as we panicked in the dark. But it did end. We were taken out, one by one, into air colder and damper than anything we had ever known before. People waited in a semi-circle around the van, watching as we stumbled out into the light. We were separated from our brothers and sisters, and each taken away by different people from the semi-circle, bound with rope, unable to escape.That was three days ago. It was how I got to where I am today. This new place is the strangest I have ever known. Everything is soft here, so soft. There is an inside part and an outside part. The outside part is covered in the softest most luscious green grass I have ever set foot on. The sun shines but doesn’t burn. Inside, large soft squares cover the ground. You don’t ever have to walk on anything hard if you don’t want to, you can just hop from one soft square to the next. Except, that is, in the place where we eat. There, the floor is cold and hard, and the people often push a bunch of wet furry things over it on the end of a stick, usually right after dinner. Oh! The dinners! They’re succulent, fresh, and smell delicious even if you’re right at the end of the outside place. I know when it’s ready because one of the people who seem to live here, a man, stands in the doorway and shouts “dinner!”.He often has a cigarette in his hand, and I was wondering if that was the catch. I expected him to turn to stab me with the burning stump after I ate, but he hasn’t done that yet. It’s all just softness, lush grass, gentle light, and big platefuls of wonderful food for now. There are trees though, in the outside part. That worries me. There are other outside places too, but they seem to be separated from this one. I can’t find a way through to them. I often hear people laughing, although I can’t see them, and I wonder if my brothers and sisters swing in agony from their trees. I pray that they don’t, and I wonder where the other passengers from the van are now.The man with the cigarettes frightens me when he laughs, his voice is very loud. I wonder when he will beat me with the stick he pushes around the floor. It puzzles me why he holds a stick and burns cigarettes yet prepares such delicious food and lives in such a soft place. There must be a catch. I shall watch him very closely until I work out what it is. Until then I plan to enjoy this soft place whilst staying as far away as I can from him and from all the other people here, even the smallest ones. I know from experience that even a small person can hurt you very much when they throw a stone at you.Oh dear.The man is walking towards me now.I’m leaping up, ready to make an escape, but he’s stopping, crouching down, extending his hand towards me, making gentle sounds in his strange language. He’s not holding a cigarette or a stick now, maybe it’s safe. I’m tentatively putting my paw in his hand, even that is soft, and warm. My paw has landed in his palm, an unexpected wave of joy is engulfing my chest. I’m unsure what to do, so I’m just leaving my paw there and looking into his face. It’s a kind face, after all. My tail is starting to twitch uncontrollably, I’d forgotten how annoying that can be.Now I hear laughter again, coming from one of the outside places I can’t access. It can’t be safe here. Caution has cut through the hazy joy, reminding me that there must be a catch.I’ll take back my paw for now.A galgo must never drop his guard.*Explanatory note: A galgo is a Spanish greyhound. An estimated 50 to 100 000 of these gentle creatures are killed or abandoned in Spain every year. The scenes of torture described here are common occurrences. The lucky ones find themselves taken to refuges and adopted, often in foreign countries. Even for these, the trauma is hard to heal completely.
","August 11, 2023 18:36",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,9rea4z,An Alien's Halloween ,Diya Sinha,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9rea4z/,/short-story/9rea4z/,Character,0,"['Fantasy', 'Science Fiction']",6 likes,"
""I'm going Xommy!"" and I stormed away, blocking the capture ball she hurled at me in desperation.I found it unfair,UNFAIR that she still babies me, calls me her babex when I'm an adult, sixteen for Xianthe's sake, not six.So, a couple of months ago, I had stumbled across Xad's All Knowing Crystal Ball which was focused purely on a planet called 'Earth,' a couple of light years away. I had stared open mouthed at the number of creatures scurrying there like little ants.There were also giant colourful bugs eating them up as they moved but the creatures seemed fine inside. I found all of it confusing, bewildering but wonderfully fascinating.However, after researching, I learnt that the bugs were actually something called 'cars' which the 'humans' used for transportation. Hmm... Smart creatures they are.But the fiasco started when the the creatures called 'women,' with long threads on their head and tiny bodies attracted me. The one's called 'men' who had bristles on their faces did not attract me much. But I did wonder whether those bristles were some self mechanism.I guess I was wrong as I saw a woman rubbing her mouth against a man. I couldn't understand what that action meant though.Soon, after seeing this a number of times, I learnt that it's a human love language called 'kissing.' Much better than the tentacle locking we do here.Now, whenever my xister, whom I'm supposed to mate with extended her tentacles towards me, I swatted them away. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒅.Day by day, my desperation grew. I refused to mate with Xiana, infuriating my entire family. But how could I? I just kept on staring at my reflection, despairing at my gigantic frame, bluish complexion, the four tentacles on either side of my torso. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒆...The longing kept on eating me from within. And the situation had become critical with me turning sixteen. I was officially an adult who was supposed to shoulder responsibilities, mate and contribute to my planet, Xixaxioxin. But,I spent day after day glued to the crystal ball, learning all that I could about them, including their language.Here too, I was flummoxed as they had thousands of different ones. So, I wisely chose the most popular, 'English.' It was maddening. I couldn't understand why 'tea' was not simply spelled as 't.'Despite that, I so badly wanted to be a part of their world that I began to work harder than ever on my lousy transformation skills too. Ofcourse, my trials were embarrassing, even to myself. I concentrated hard on a man seated in a car. I tried to focus on him, his bristles and bald head but my disobedient mind was more fascinated with the mechanism of his car.As a result, my torso half heartedly resembled a mini car. I panicked, swayed around for a good five minutes before I returned to my original form,almost passing out in fear.Then came in another problem: I knew that an attractive man would be more desirable (the same rules apply everywhere it seems), but I had no idea what constituted an attractive man on Earth. In Xixaxioxin, the longer the tentacles, the bigger the body and the darker the shade, the more macho we are considered.My brain came up with a brilliant idea to combat this. To find out some desirable men on Earth and transform myself into one of them. I chose someone called 'Justin Bieber.' Looked pretty washed out and grumpy to me but someone called 'The Rock' seemed oddly out of proportion. Meanwhile, 'Kim Taehyung' confused me as to whether he's a man or a woman with short threads. So I stuck to Justin Bieber as he seemed to be the safest choice.I concentrated on him, his golden threads and little bristles but again, my mind strayed to his wife called something like 'Hooley Bieber.' This time, my torso remained as it is but my lower body turned into her legs. The stick thin legs were unable to support my weight.I tottered around and fell with an exploding crash.I kept on trying though and after multiple attempts, I perfected his look. The only thing I lacked was the inspiration to land on Earth and get kissed. Ironically, Xiana provided me with that.I compared her with the women. There was a time when I used to think she was pretty and was proud to be her brothex, but not any more. She disgusted me with her slimy tentacles and her writhing crop of wrigglers on her head. 𝑶𝒉 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒌𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 '𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓'?𝑺𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆,𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒘 𝒊𝒏 𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏.What made it worse was Xiana's obstinate refusal to accept that something was amiss. She continued to approach me, making silly faces, trying her best to tempt me. I kept ignoring her, much to her frustration.However, her tactics started getting worse. Once, she stroked me under the table while we were dining. I jumped and dropped my sandcake, while being ticked off by Xommy for being so clumsy. It was my favourite cake, with wet mud cream and sprinkled pebbles on top. I glared at her but she grinned at me lasciviously, clearly misunderstanding my leap which she probably felt was due to lust, not anger.Ofcourse, I made a gigantic mistake of not asking her directly to back off as she barged in my cabin and saw me without my sheath. I scrambled to get it on but she laughed and extended her tentacles towards me. I noticed that she had decorated them with red beads and the contrast of blue and red was a complete eyesore.""GET THE SWINX OUT OF HERE!"" I bellowed.""You mean come closer?"" Xiana whispered.""OUT! FOR XIANTHE'S SAKE! OUT!"" I was so indignant that I became hoarse.""Don't be silly Xinny, I know you want me. Playing hard to get to drive your poor xister nuts? Must say its working."" She smiled, her wrigglers now swaying in a rhythmic trance.""Not playing hard..."" My voice started to die out.Xiana slowly stepped out of her sheath. Her body was performing the mating dance, her tentacles doing little waves as they reached out for mine.I had had enough.I lashed mine at her. She pulled back, shocked to the core."" Xinny? You aren't serious, are you?""""I AM... GET OUT, NOW!"" My voice was back. Xiana started heaving. ""You. Can't. Just. Humiliate. Me. Like. This. How. Dare. You?"" She paused between each word. ""I dare."" And like the idiot I am, I turned my back to her.""EXTENDIX!""she shouted and her tentacles lengthened, ready to choke me. "" DEFENCIX! "" I shouted back. Immediately my shield turned into a razor sharp plank. Xiana's tentacles were severed right in the middle, the pieces dancing on their own. She screamed. So loud that Xommy came gliding as fast as she could. ""What's happening?"" she hissed, trying to take it all in. ""He... Severed... My..."" Xiana tried to say. ""She attacked me first Xommy! I just defended myself."" I interrupted. Xommy did not say anything. ""Combinex,"" she whispered and tapped the tentacle pieces with her own. They instantly attached themselves back to Xiana. ""Why did all this happen?"" she finally asked. ""He attacked me,"" Xiana accused. I had a savage desire to chop them off again. ""She forced herself on me. I protected myself,"" I spluttered. ""You are supposed to mate with her, aren't you?"" Xommy quietly asked. She was taking Xiana's side! I became angrier than before. ""I WON'T! SHE'S SO BREATHTAKINGLY UGLY... I'M GOING TO EARTH FOR A MATE!"" I yelled. ""Earth? You mean those pesky humans I can crush in a teeny tiny moment?"" and she gave a smile. Xiana meanwhile laughed throatily. ""You aren't taking me seriously, are you?"" I politely asked. ""Ofcourse not Xinny!"" Xommy laughed too. ""You are too young to teleport yourself to any planet,"" she continued. We stared into each other's eyes. With a start, she realised that I was serious. ""No."" Xommy's eyes darkened in warning. ""I'm going Xommy!"" and I stormed away, blocking the capture ball she hurled at me in desperation. I did not have much time. I entered an empty cabin, took a deep breath, fixed my mind on the chosen picture of Justin Bieber and transformed myself. I gave a hasty check. 𝒀𝒆𝒔,𝑰 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐.𝑴𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆.𝑾𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈.𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆.""Teleportex,"" I whispered, now concentrating on a place called 'New York.' These humans have downright weird names. I felt myself spinning for a good minute and I landed slap bang on Earth in New York or at least that is what I thought. I was right in the middle of a place they called a square but there were no humans, not a single one of them.Looking around desperately, I did not find a face that looked human-like.Instead, I saw a crowd of unfamiliar creatures shrieking and dancing. They did not even seem to be the same SPECIES! Definitely this is a wrong planet! 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑿𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚... 𝑿𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆,𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒎𝒆... One was a huge rodent, another a moving piece of cheese. But no, the rodent was not eating it. They were instead having the best time of their lives. I saw moving candies too. Then another looked like a mummy. He was chasing two screaming dwarves but none where even trying to protect them. What demonic planet have I landed in?I couldn't let those dwarves get killed. So, I ran after them desperately but collided with the most horrific looking monsters. They had scary pumpkin faces.""Yoo mate, it's Justin Beybeaa!"" one of them shouted.𝑰𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐?""Dang, yes!"" Another pumpkin head screeched.Meanwhile I ran, not bothering to explain anything. The mummy had cornered the two dwarfs.""Xeaxe xem xaoxne!"" I shouted. Too late, I realised that I had blurted out in Xixaxionish.""Holy fuck, it's Justin!"" The mummy 𝒖𝒏𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 his face.His eyes wide in excitement. 𝑾𝒂𝒊𝒕,𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏...𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈?𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌?"" Why are you attacking these poor dwarves?""I demanded in a loud voice. He looked at me quizzically, as if checking whether I'm sane or not. "" Are you alright? They aren't dwarves.These two are my little brothers. It's Halloween. I was just having a laugh,""he doubtfully said. "" Halloween? ""I echoed. I did not have the faintest idea what that meant. ""Halloweeeeen""I blinked at him like the most prize worthy idiot. Suddenly, I heard a roar. Different creatures of every shape, size, thing and colour were rushing towards us. ""JUSTIN!"" ""Ommagawd, it's Justin!"" ""An autograph please, please Justin!"" ""A selfie!"" ""Do you still love Selena, Justin?"" ""Is Hailey really pregnant!"" ""Hailey's tryna be Selena!"" ""Justin look here. HERE!"" ""Smile Justin!"" ""Your biggest fan, Justin!"" The throng of people clawed at me. I was tossed around like a feather. There were lights flashing everywhere. People shoving, pulling and pushing each other to grab me. I blinked back tears of terror. I looked around widely for an escape route but I was surrounded. Out of nowhere,a vampiress flung herself at me, embracing me fiercely. ""Leave me alone..."" I tried to shout but she kissed me hard. It was almost painful, not pleasurable at all. If this was kissing, then it was horrible. 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓...𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝑿𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒂.""It's my turn now!""""No mine!"" ""Mine, it's mine!""Vampiresses, fairies, mermaids, and other indescribable creatures started a squabble as to who would kiss me next. Meanwhile others were shouting and hollering, enjoying the scene,recording it. Somehow, I broke free and ran like hell,the crowd following me. Here I was, desperate, with no idea which planet I am currently in. ""Justin... STAPHHH!""  I had no other option. Right in front of them, I closed my eyes.""Teleportex!"" and I was back in my own lovely Xixaxioxin, hungry for Xiana. I had missed her so much in that mad planet. 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚.𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑿𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒂,𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒎 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔.                       ~~~~~~~ Justin's phone was ringing like crazy. He picked it up. ""What's going on man?Have you lost your mind? What were you doing outside on Halloween and how the fuck did you disappear?"" A voice barked at him frantically. ""The fuck? I'm at home with Hailey."" ""You were in Times Square and then you disappeared like a magician. How did this happen Justin?"" ""I swear that wasn't me!I'm at home.Ask Hailey if you want."" He was terrified. Justin checked the news. He saw his doppelgänger shouting something incomprehensibly and then disappear into thin air.He fainted.The search for Justin's mysterious doppelgänger is still on.
","August 08, 2023 09:10",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,jw1hb2,Cries Of The Sihalik,Josh Hairston,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jw1hb2/,/short-story/jw1hb2/,Character,0,"['Horror', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",6 likes,"
	He knew he shouldn’t have let curiosity possess him, but he was helpless to resist, and his intrigue compelled him to see the rumored near-mythic creature that lay in the shallow-base shack. He had no knowledge of what they were doing with the legendary and feared beast, but he feared that was a question he did not want an answer to, but as for what the creature looked like? He could not stop that. No. When Zafir wanted something, and not so often did he want things, he set all matters aside, grand and trivial, to pursue the object of his focus. 
	This was one of those objects. And he completely regretted meeting his wish.
The sand burnt beneath the soles of his stolen, worn-out trekking shoes. He regretted stealing these cheap things instead of the combat pair he saw adjacent — far too long ago to remember why he’d chosen these, and nonetheless, his feet escaped that hot sand before hitting the shady inlet of the shack. He had to hurry now, the sun was falling to the horizon and the darkness would take its place, and men relied on his presence in support of their defense. 
	A draping tarp swung lightly in the breeze, layering the entrance to within. The interior was dark. He entered from the right side, going around a wall to find that deep purple-blue haze of dark light illuminating the room. A neon green illumination shed actual luminescence to the room. The smell was putrid. It awfully twisted his nose hairs, yet he continued. He forgot about the sweat that adhered his cloakwear to his body, the weight of the shock beam weapon in his hands, and the child he left waiting outside for him. Curiosity overtook him, nothing else. The smell was so strong now, which indicated his proximity to the object of exploration, and he knew he would regret this. 
	Zafir couldn’t tell what saw. This was no such creature he imagined -- the dreaded Solifuga, in this shack he was informed would reside in. Instead, a slick, dark gray mass of matter lay in the center of the shack. The length of it spanned nearly that of the entire structure, and its width was just near the width of the shack as well, leaving barely enough room for anyone to walk around. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark. This wasn’t just a hunk of gray matter. There was something here far more grotesque than he expected. It was larger than he anticipated, and quite terrible of stench he barely managed. 
	He recognized that this slick gray form was an organism, but none he had ever seen, and certainly not the described Solifugae -- unless perhaps the stories were wrong about the creatures. Despite its foreign nature, there were features all too familiar - it had limbs, but not like the creatures in the area. They looked nearly human in shape, but the flesh was so disgustingly greasy, it looked like a skinned animal — a huge skinned-animal. The head he assumed could weigh at least similar to his entire upper body. The face was so disfigured it was difficult to tell where eyes belonged, or mouth, or if it even had any. He couldn’t see too well, either. The head itself had no neck, but appeared in a sense like some great giant stone smushed it into the body with great force; at the base of the head were huge wrinkles resembling slimy serpents roped around the base. The upper body, maybe the thorax, was an immensely solid mass of hardened flesh, like a shell, but not quite. There were two sets of arms, each muscled and vascular, with a diameter greater than Zafir’s waist. His confusion soon transformed into an inexorable fear. This thing was an abomination and he didn't want to see it anymore. It made Zafir sick to his stomach to gather all the visuals he did. This thing did not belong to the world he knew. He did not want to see anymore of the atrocity here. Zafir stepped out and remembered, I have to get my son out of here immediately, and without hesitation, he ran out of the dilapidating shack. He ran up the sand hill and grabbed his small boy. “What is itttt—” his boy said losing his words as his father snatched him up briskly. “We go. I’m taking you back to Alerita’s”
 
	After leaving his son in a somewhat safe environment with his love-interest, he returned to the brigade to join the rest of his ""companions"". The Watch, which was the dull title they named their assemblage, stood in wait for opposing territory-rivals within the area. His meandering for a break wasn’t worth the journey. He couldn’t explain what he saw. How could he? Who would believe him?There were things hardly any man thought would exist on this forsaken stretch of wasteland and yet they did exist, but the transmogrification he saw was unspeakable, more false and inconceivable than the Solifuga. Was that monster a Solifuga? He thought about it. It was shaped so much like a human, but the exterior… 
 
	“Zafir, where were you?” Galande asked in his thick Alharith accent, full of tapped r’s against his palette. Galande always had a hoarse and accusing tone, even when speaking gently. “The Watch doesn’t just quit watching whenever we choose, we have duties. You neglect those duties. Where is your boy? Do you not want your boy safe with you? What kind of useless father are you? You’re neglectful to everything, are you not?”
	“He’s safe, none of which concerns you, Galande” said Zafir, with a slight hiss in his tongue. “Ah, off in the care of your whore” Galande spat. “She distracts you, Zafir”
	Zafir just sat silently. It would do no good in retorting against that. He understood that a real attack would occur from the Sihalik marauders, and to disrupt and distract was erroneous. His arguments were useless anyways. Galande was correct about Zafir’s neglectfulness, and Zafir just fell into himself when he remembered the mistakes he’s made, sinking deep within shame. This was the best he’s done with his life. This brigade was his only real family, sometimes. Even if he was scorned often, it was far more tolerable than the empty life he lived before. It was dark now. 
	With the darkness, a foreboding imbued. It was absolute black outside the shallow walls of this encampment. The sand was a dark tan within the circle of wall, lit from the small sconces lined across the perimeter, but externally there was nothing. He feared what the sea of nothingness fostered. There was no sun, there were disappointingly no moons as he expected, and the stars seemed all but above. The sound of darkness was silence, to that he could attest. 
	There were seasons on Alharith where pitch blackness enshrouded the globe. He believed that if he tracked the chronological records correctly, that this was the middle of one of those seasons. A perfect cloak to cover The Watch’s foe. 
	Zafir joined the small camp fire where five others sat. “Alamec”, said Zafir, “May I sit here?” 
	Alamec hesitated a moment, but capitulated. In the presence of others, Alamec avoided Zafir, or almost always ignored him, but outside the group or in quiet secluded places, he was a good friend to Zafir. The only true friend. The group was already quiet, but Zafir’s joining made it awkward, as he did not fit into their dynamic. He placed his shock beam down on the sand beside him. 
	No one respected Zafir, not while in a group. He was often shunned when he asked questions, made requests, or apologized. He apologized the most, far more than questions, and he questioned far more than he requested. He wondered if the brigade knew he had a capacity for more extensive speech than apologies. 
	But some sickening feeling twisted his insides. The smell that entered his nostrils lingered still from what he experienced earlier in the afternoon in that dreadful shack. It crawled inside him. Turmoil settled in. The heat of the fire exorcised the nausea, but it was cold out, and — he didn’t want to admit to himself — he was afraid to leave the light… or anyone’s presence for that matter. He no doubt would be shamed for admitting any fears, and he could not bear it.
	He was unsure if it was liquid matter he felt compelled to expunge, or blurt out what sight he witnessed in the day. Either way, it would come out displeasing others. He spoke finally. 
	“I saw something today.” 
	He began, but he didn’t know how to continue, before someone interrupted across the fire and began talking about the god they fought for and how angry that god must be for what the enemy was doing. This vicious holy-war was never ending, nor the apparent zealotry this brigade held. Zafir felt not vehemence whatsoever, and was impartial to the outcome among the many opposing religious entities. His only concern was for his son and his son’s survival. “I said, I saw something today” Zafir started at once, in turn interrupting his counter speaker. “I saw what the enemy was creating”. Suddenly, the zealots looked at him with deep interest — quite rare and unfamiliar to Zafir — the sudden attention actually perturbed him. He was quiet a moment.
	“Well, speak it, Zafir.” Alamec urged with pseudo-rigidness (all a show for politics), but before Zafir spoke, his esophagus yanked at his stomach just enough to compel regurgitation all over the ring of the fire. “You sick bastard,"" said one of the men, ""you could have delivered that sentiment in words instead”, then they laughed. The brigadiers nearby laughed. The concerns that vexed him seemed to be merely fiction now. He was confused and disheartened. Did he really see what he did earlier? Was that creature real? Am I stupid for believing in what I witnessed?
	He turned and fell to his side, and rolled away with his back to the fire — the cacophony of their hysterical laughter amplified. He felt physically hollow after hurling his last meal, and emotionally hollow of hope or safety. He was sweating. It was freezing out in the open, but he perspired to the point of soaking his cloths.
	He was laughable, he concluded. His life meant nothing. His lover was indeed a whore, though her excuse was of desperation for survival (who was not in struggle upon these wicked, sandy plains?). His son was motherless and Zafir, as a father, already failed him in safety and security. He failed himself in youth, and even now, he was certain the brigade would leave him and his boy to death for the heresy they would soon learn of Zafir’s disposition. 
	How was he not already dead? This was his end. In this one moment he had mentally surrendered. I will die here if I lie here long enough. It would feel good to just lay there on the cold sand, looking away from everyone, and fall into a sleep without awakening again. He had no energy to move. He was paralyzed in vexation, placated by stillness. His sickness disappeared and was replaced by a motionless pain. 
	After the laughing died down, someone threw an empty liquid sack at him for more jokes for them to laugh at. They laughed again, briefer, quieter, feeding off what sad limited life he had remaining. Then immediately, they got quiet. Not even the wind made noise. For the fire’s crackle was deafeningly loud compared to all things auditory that it currently outcompeted. The fire flickered violently. Shadows smacked across the sand-brick walls of this ruins’ structures and undulated across the sand. 
	Then Zafir heard it. The cry. One scream, so small as if a rodent made it, then more screams following, building up to an orchestral waling of a horrific massacre. No one in the camp made a noise. Zafir instinctively reached slowly for his shock beam, nearly crawling to it, yet everyone else remained static. He knew exactly why there were cries of agony. He could tell that the waling of dying men weren’t more than a kilometer away, as the other men did, but they did not know the monstrosity that caused it. 
	“Was that… the Sihalik?” someone asked. The Sihalik, their sister tribe, weren't far from the camp. 
	They remained still. They were animals caught between the boulders of fear and death, squeezed and immobilized. Zafir stood up. He felt considerably better now, but he soon felt the sickness arising once again — and far worse now. He was dizzy, barely vertical, but he used all his power to hold his ground with his shock beam in hand. 
	Once the screams stopped, Galande yelled in his thick, ugly tongue, “Pick up your weapons, fools!” With haste, brigadiers kicked up sand, ran across the camp, picked up their shock beams, spears, swords, and explosives. The fires furiously whirled as a wind spun from the sea of people. Alamec looked at Zafir, as if Zafir was the blame of this event, but Zafir only looked at Alamec with wide-eyed fear and queasiness. The men took posts all across the circling wall, uncertain where the attack could ensue. 
	There was an orderly formation of defense: spearmen took the walls, shock beam men in between, grenadiers behind, and swordsmen in the innermost layer. Zafir was for a moment as useful as any man here, but it meant nothing to the wrenching anxiety he accumulated up to this point. There was nowhere for him to go — it was stiflingly dark, but he could die out there alone from the daylight sun or starvation out in the sandy doom. He had no choice but to remain — to endure. 
	Everyone got quiet again. Several moments passed, and the fires burnt low as the last charred logs fell to the beds of embers. That was the only significant light left, as the sconces barely lit a square meter around them. There would be no more light for them to see. The cold loomed over more significantly. The season of darkness showed its full face now that the moons had just dipped beneath the horizon. Sudden winds threatened the last flames to sudden brightness, and death. Zafir’s ears rang during the quiet. 
	A scuffling on the sand was heard. The men looked frantically but stiffly around the area. Scrapes against the sand echoed around the periphery. A disturbance on the large sand-brick walls to the left, a sand scrape to the right; Zafir heard a slithery sound of grating sand almost right in front of him. 
	A bright, loud blast came from one of the shock beams and lit the night for a millisecond; the shape of a huge, disgusting and terrifying creature was illuminated. The scuffle turned into a crunch, then a terrible screech of rankled horror emitted from the immense creature. The men felt a swoosh of air as the monster hurled itself over the wall. Shock beams went off, lighting the night up like lightning strikes on a stormy evening. The darkness engulfed everything and flashes of light were the only relief, but sight only rendered the slaughter of men being torn in half, snakes of red flung across the camp, splatters of crimson across the cold sand and the hiss of blood on the embers. The smell and taste of metallic liquid hit Zafir’s face, and he shuddered. He dared not shoot, though Alamec urged him to help. Zafir only dropped his shock beam. Alamec yelled something fearfully at him, or angrily, but Zafir ran away nonetheless. The shooting, the screeching, the cries of men, the ripping and severing of limbs and bodies impelled him to escape.
	The beast slashed at spearman, snapping the weapons as the beast swung its limbs across and then leaping and diving down onto men, smashing them down and swallowing them whole, stuffing their bodies inside its wide mouth. It used its small limbs protruding from beside the creatures giant stump of a head. It squashed men with its large, vascular fist-claws in one solid collision to the ground. Bone was crunched. Cloths stuck to its claw-fists as it lifted up its limbs to smash more victims. 
	The screams. The chewing of bone in its teeth, the swallowing. There were no more shock beams going off. It must have known to slaughter the gunmen first.
	Zafir ran to the wall and jumped over it, landing far louder than he would have liked, so he dropped down against the wall in silence. It seemed as if all the men were now dead, for his breathing was the only noise he heard. The scuffling of sand emitted from behind the wall. He clenched his cloakwear cloths. It was unbearably cold, and his sweating mitigated, but his breathing — could he not shut up? He clenched his fists as though it would help stop the sound. 
	A squashing sound echoed agains the walls, followed by a frightful cry of someone’s impending doom that wailed behind him, and Zafir flinched and shuddered in response. He clenched his fists tighter. He was certain what was not delivered through his esophagus was surely delivered from his bowels now, the inner tension forcing out any organic matter remaining inside of him and making him more repulsive to his would-be predator. The crunching sound began again, now calmer and seemingly with relish. The creature paused, snorted, as if displeased, or angry, then continued chewing. Once it stopped, Zafir stopped breathing. 
	He felt warmer now, a warm wind maybe, a rise in temperature, then a giant sticky drop fell onto his head. He looked up to the black nothingness, except the glimmer of what appeared to be teeth. His last thoughts were of his son, then sudden excruciation, and finally there was nothing. 
","August 12, 2023 02:39",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,i2xl2c,Out of the Frying Pan,Jill Moyet,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/i2xl2c/,/short-story/i2xl2c/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",6 likes,"
	""Try the octopus,"" her editor had said. ""It's one of the better dishes and if something's wrong with it, the deep fryer will probably kill it before it reaches you.""
	Joanne liked calamari, and getting a restaurant review gig was better than covering another high school soccer game, but now she regretted her decision. The lowest rated restaurant in town had been assigned to her and the advice now seemed to inspire more fear of her immediate future than had been intended. ""If something's wrong with it,"" he'd said. If was a strong word. It was doing a lot of heavy lifting for the sake of her peace of mind but it was still an if, and when if came to seafood it became a slightly alarming word. Just as alarming was probably.
	The surface and turf restaurant was one of those overpriced but underwhelming places. It had a few strong supporters, mostly those who had been going there so long they remained loyal despite the four name changes and five ownership changes over the past 40 years. Most of the changes had occurred in the past 20-odd years. Fortunately some patrons were so old they didn't taste much difference or at least remember a time when it had been a good restaurant. But there were only three of these patrons left and the current owner watched them shuffle out of his restaurant each time with trepidation, wondering if he was seeing one of his few reliable customers for the last time.
	Joanne felt bad for the current business owner. But mostly she felt bad for herself as she looked over the menu.
 Steak is hard to kill somebody with, she thought as she slowly scanned the menu, looking for the perfect foolproof dish. Can't really undercook it, only overcook it. And if there's mad cow prions in it, overcooking it is the best option. Unless they undercooked it after all.
	When the waiter arrived and asked if she was ready, she just asked for an order of the fried calamari.
	“Drink?” the waiter asked.
	“Just a Pepsi, please.”
	“We only have Coke products.”
	“Okay, a Coke.”
	While she waited for the meal to arrive, she studied the company card her boss had given her to pay with. For some reason it was one of those personalized credit cards and was designed with a camouflage theme.
	The waiter set down the coke a few minutes later and she drank half of it. When the calamari came, with fries, it smelled perfectly fine. She took a bite and it was only a little rubbery. The crunch around the meat was nice and the oil content was about just right. She finished her Coke and ordered a refill while she ate the rest of the basket.
	Around eight o'clock she was feeling better and already planning to write a favorable review. Considering her name would be on the by-line, and the restaurant owners would be sure to read the thing—probably the others in town as well—it would be better for her future dining experiences.
	On a trip to the bathroom before settling the bill, and getting a slice of chocolate cake to go, someone said, If you can hear me, I won’t ask why, but I need help.
	Without  thinking about it she answered back, What? It was a simple thought in her mind, just like the other voice was, except she didn’t recognize that one as her own.
	I am in the basement and I need immediate help, please.
 Who are you? Joanne was already looking for the basement. She had a sketchy idea of where the staircase was located, in the back of the restaurant beyond the bathrooms. Later she would decide that was why she didn’t run, or ask for a doctor, but believed the voice implicitly—she knew exactly where to go in her mind’s eye.
 I can’t tell you my name but I am the small conch in one of the aquariums in the basement.
 Say what? Then, Wait, what do you mean by “conch”?
	As far as she’d always known, conches were large spiky seashells that washed onto tropical beaches and were taken home as souvenirs by tourists. It only now occurred to her that something must live in those shells at some point.
	Joanne took her phone from her pocket and typed conch + alive into the default search engine. A cartoonishly grotesque thing appeared in the thumbnails on the image-results page: a fleshy blob that looked like the result of impure relations between a slug and an octopus. Or maybe a little two-eyed shoggoth.
	The basement was a simple unlocked wooden door, very slightly ajar, a little trail of water leading out of it. In a way it was an encouraging thought. The place served fresh seafood, straight from the water (out of cheap several-gallon aquariums stored in a dark basement). But one of them was plaintively asking for salvation.
	She hung around outside the bathroom, as if it was occupied and she was just waiting for her turn, and cast what probably looked like shifty looks at the basement door. When she felt confident no one would see, she opened the basement door as quietly as the rusty hinges would allow, and walked down the ancient wood stairs.
	There were several large aquariums in the basement, large but too small for all the octopuses, lobsters, and other specimens crowded together inside them. In the corner, by a pile of flattened, damp cardboard boxes, she spotted the conch aquarium. There were only about five, all of them tucked away in the shells, excepting one who had extended its long eyestalks and swished them back and forth in the water in what looked like exaggerated and paranoid fashion.
 I guess you’re my target, she thought.
	The eyes waved more frantically. You guessed right! Get me out of here.
 How do I get you out?
 Just reach into the tank and lift me out!
	A stark image of the slimy blob of flesh from her image search popped back into her head. It changed to include her picking up the shell and the flabby mass falling out into her hand. 
	Joanne reached into the water, careful to grab just the shell, fingers avoiding its spikes. Stay inside your shell, she told it as she started to tentatively lift it out of the water.
 Why would I jump out? it said.
 I don’t know how you guys work. Just make sure to hang on in there.
	Then she was very aware that she was in a strange basement and had a dripping, live sea creature in her hands. Now what? she asked.
 “Now what?” Take me far away from here! Do I need to walk you through every step?
 Sorry. Don’t know if you guessed but I’ve never stolen a telepathic conch shell before. She dumped the shell and the hideous thing inside it down into her purse, and hurried back up the stairs as quietly as she could.
	Water had begun to drip from the bag as she paid for the calamari at the cash register. The person in line behind her politely informed her that it was leaking. The cashier leaned over to look also.
	“Bathroom was out of order,” she tersely said, then power-walked out of the establishment.
	…
 Freedom! The eyestalks extended out of her purse and nearly sent her into cardiac arrest. Excellent work. Apologies for my short temper before. I was destined to become fritters in a basket and it had begun to weigh heavily on my mind.
 It’s fine. As it didn’t have a visible face, just eyeballs that scanned the surroundings independently of each other, she tried to make meaningful eye contact with those. Now where exactly am I supposed to take you? The marina, maybe?
	It said, Anywhere by the ocean is fine. I’ll make my way home from there.
 Now that I’m thinking semi-clearly, she said, can you tell me why I’m having a telepathic conversation with a giant snail?
 We have the ability to communicate psychically, it said, though almost no humans can receive and understand us.
 Right, and who’s “we”?
 I meant me. I have the ability to communicate mentally. Your languages and their pronouns are still a little confusing.
 Are you really a conch?
 Just take me to the marina. 
	On the way, Joanne remembered, too late, that she never bought the slice of chocolate cake to-go. It would have been the perfect thing to stress-eat when she got home, too.
	A few seagulls were still poking around for food, but no one was out fishing on the water or wandering around the docks. Before that changed, she hurried to the farthest dock, the berth of a small motorboat.
	Maybe just to take the conversation out of her head, she said, “Are you an angel testing me to see if I do the right thing?”
	The conch said nothing.
	“Or maybe all conches are aliens that came here millions of years ago and we only think they evolved here on earth,” she continued. “Or—” 
 Suffice to say I am monitoring the Bahamian conch situation, it said finally.
	“What do you mean?”
 This species, my species—the Queen Conch—is not thriving as it should. I was already aware of the circumstances, but now I have experienced the environmental conditions myself. Being served as fritters in a basket is one of the more dramatic threats that the species faces every day.
	“No kidding. By the way, that’s such a hyper-specific assignment, to monitor just one species of one family of gastropods.”
	They had reached the end of the dock. Joanne looked over the dark water lapping  below them. A new image popped into her mind: dropping the conch unceremoniously into the water with a wet plop. Probably should try to avoid that, although with the shell it would probably be all right. 
	Then, another thought, which she voiced:  “Will you be okay in this water? You said your species is from the Bahamas, right?”
 I’ll be fine, the conch said. In fact, I’ll enjoy the change of scenery, I think.
	“One last question, then: After this is over—after I go to bed and then wake up tomorrow—will I remember what happened tonight?”
 Tomorrow I suspect you will experience a delayed emotional reaction to tonight’s events. You should probably stay home, as it may be a very visceral experience and you’ll want time to recover privately.
	“I see.”
 I also suggest you pretend to forget about tonight’s events. Tell no one or you might be shunned or hospitalized—or worse.
	“I won’t tell anyone.”
 You are equally cursed and blessed, the conch said. Finding someone who can receive my thoughts should be almost impossible. But I’m glad I did. I’m sure you didn’t expect to be a hero tonight.
	Strangely touched by the two twisting eyestalks making eye contact with her, Joanne crouched down and held the conch’s body over the water. It was still a bit of a drop, but that was why snails had shells, right? “Well, goodbye, I guess, Mr. Queen Conch. Or whoever you really are.”
  	Goodbye, it said. Or, as I’ve also heard—perhaps—“au revoir”?
	After she deposited the conch in the water, Joanne went home.
	Maybe it was the result of having a conversation with a psychic conch snail, but she felt mentally and physically exhausted, and slept soundly when she got home. The next morning, she went directly to her computer to write her review. She wouldn’t be able to process everything until she wrote it. The restaurant wasn’t going to be happy with her. 
	She began with, ""Don't try the conch.""
 Fin.
","August 12, 2023 03:39",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,dgfg8r,To Live ,Theo Benson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dgfg8r/,/short-story/dgfg8r/,Character,0,"['Christian', 'Sad', 'Inspirational']",6 likes,"
A man stopped in front of Sam, reaching to take the plate she offered. Wrapped around the back of his hand was a tattoo of a red balloon. She looked at his face. 
The man looked back, recognition turning to startlement. 
Hidden within the humdrum of the soup kitchen, the plate hung suspended between two sets of hands for several moments before Sam released it and the man hurried away to take a seat at one of the tables. 
Her eyes followed him. 
 
 
Several days prior, Sam paused outside the small living room to steel herself before entering. Oh God, help me.
The cozy space held two small couches, a coffee table laden with snacks, and a small TV on the wall. Two sets of couples occupied the couches, their chatter bubbling. When they noticed Sam’s arrival, a woman in a plaid shirt stood up and crushed Sam with a hug. 
“Samantha Jean!” Lilly cried. Sam grunted. “It’s been too long. We were just talking about you – here, I’ll get another chair.” Hurrying out of sight, Lilly returned hefting a wooden kitchen chair. She wedged it between two couches and Sam sat on it. 
Matt, a curly-haired man on the couch to Sam’s right, clapped his hands. “Alright. Before we dive in, how’s everyone’s year been?”
“Busy.” A man in a Pokémon shirt beside Lilly let out a puff of breath. 
Lilly laughed. “Between Josiah’s work and my grad school, it’s been chaos. And not to mention-” She looked at Josiah. Something silent passed between the couple on the couch, and Josiah nodded. “-our engagement.” 
Cries of congratulation filled the room, and a chasm ripped itself through Sam’s chest. 
Brooklyn, the woman beside Matt, said, “You know, Matt and I made a wedding work on a Youth Pastor’s salary. We could share some tips.” 
“That would be great.” Josiah intertwined his fingers with Lilly’s. “Even with work going as is, saving a couple bucks never hurts.” 
Matt leaned forward conspiratorially. “You got that promotion, didn’t you?” 
Josiah grinned. 
“You did!” 
Wobbling awkwardly on her perch, Sam struggled to get comfortable. The guys went off on a small tangent about the highs and lows of web development while the women exchanged glances. 
“Enough about us,” Lilly said after a few minutes. “How have two been?” 
“A bakery down the road agreed to sell my soap with the other local crafts,” Brooklyn said. “And Matt baptized five youth this year.” 
Josiah whistled. “That’s amazing.” 
“Working at the church is such a blessing,” Matt said. He carefully placed a hand on his wife’s stomach with a small smile. “But we’ve got an even bigger blessing on the way.” 
There was a moment of silence. 
Lilly exploded. 
Shooting off the couch and dancing around the coffee table – nearly knocking it over in the process – Lilly cried, “No way. No way! You’re kidding!”
The chasm, a deep abyss, tore wider within Sam. “That’s great.” 
“It’s crazy how much time has passed.” Josiah watched his fiancé continue her erratic parade until she returned to her seat. “It doesn’t feel like we graduated high school six years ago.”
A hand touched Sam’s arm and she jumped. She looked at Brooklyn, who smiled gently at her. “How are you?” 
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“How’s work been?”
Sam forced a smile. “Still at London Drugs.”
As conversation whirled its way back into the topics of impending marriage and children, Sam found herself stuck between two very excited couples. Her head whipped back and forth, trying to keep up. Eventually, she stopped trying. 
A kettle whistled in another room. Brooklyn made to stand up but Sam beat her to it. 
“I’ll get it.” Sam hurried into the kitchen. 
Turning off the burner, Sam let her arms hand limp at her sides. She stared at the kettle, its image turning blurry, her eyes loosing focus. Living room chatter became a dull buzz. She stayed there for several minutes. The chasm tearing itself insistently – painfully – through her chest, grew wider with every passing second. Eating her from the inside out. 
Consuming.
“Sam.” A voice cut through. Lilly’s. 
Sam blinked, the kettle refocusing. “Uh, sorry.” She took the kettle and Lilly helped bring several mugs into the living room. 
Matt had an open bible in his lap when they returned, and once everyone had a hot drink, he began talking excitedly. “Since we agreed to do another bible study this summer, and I just finished going through Philippians for a personal study, I thought it might be a good idea for us to go through it.” He flipped through several pages and stopped. “Let’s take a look at Philippians chapter one, verses twenty-one to twenty-six.”
He read aloud, “To live is Christ, and to die is gain,” his voice taking on a soft but strong melody as he continued to the rest of the passage. 
Sam struggled to find her bible, lodged somewhere deep in her cat-patterned purse. By the time she found it, Matt had finished. 
Silence hung in the air for a few moments. 
“Do you guys have any thoughts?” Matt looked around at everyone. 
“Paul’s got guts.” Josiah stuffed a handful of Cheetos from the table into his mouth. “To have that kind of confidence is intense.” 
“Do you think Paul was ever depressed?” Lilly asked.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if he was,” Brooklyn said. “He went through a lot for the sake of the Gospel.”
Sam stared at her bible, the words blurring together. 
“Sam.” Matt’s voice had her looking up. “What do you think it means – ‘to live is Christ’?”
“I. . . I’m not sure. It sounds kind of vague.” 
Squinting at her bible, Lilly said, “In the New Living Translation it says, ‘For me, living means live for Christ, and dying is even better’.” 
“Living for Christ,” Sam echoed. 
Matt began speaking excitedly once more. Sam looked between husband and wife, noting the love-filled expression Brooklyn wore as she listened to Matt’s passionate explanation of what living for Christ meant for him. 
Sam forced herself to look elsewhere. 
The room grew larger around her as, left behind by the eager couples, Sam found herself a rock sinking to the depths of an ocean while they floated above her. Her eyes unfocused again, and the yawning chasm swallowed her whole, dragging Sam down into the abysmal depths. 
Dying is even better. 
 
 
The following evening, Sam had a late shift at London Drugs. 
She stood behind the register, staring into the near-empty store. After a fitful night of rest, the chasm, unabated, relished in her exhaustion with painful throbs. Sam rubbed her eyes blearily. 
A man entered the store and passed the checkout area, his hood pulled low. He disappeared into the store. 
Sam’s eyes drifted over the register keys. Grime, dust, and stray hair filled every gap and crevice on the thing. One key was jarringly different. Stolen from a different style of register to replace the key that broke, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Different in color, different in shape. On the counter beside the register, a small green clock filled the silence with a low tic-tic-tic.
The man reappeared in front of her, startling Sam from her thoughts. A mask covered the lower half of his face. 
He pointed a gun at her. “Give me all the money in the register.” 
Sam didn’t move. 
The man’s arm shook as he waved his gun closer. A tattoo on the back of his gun-bearing hand drew her gaze. It was a red balloon. “You deaf? I said open the fuckingregister.” 
She said nothing. 
“Do you wanna die?” 
The word slipped from Sam’s mouth before she could stop it. “Yes.” She looked him in the eye. The yawning chasm opened wider. Expectantly. Like a stomach growling for food or a child reaching for its mother. Sam yearned with it. 
He brought his other hand up to steady the shaking of his gun. “Please,” he said. “Open the register.” 
“I don’t want to be here anymore.” Sam’s voice was quiet. “Dying is better than living like this. I just want to go home.” Her voice dwindled to a faint whisper. “I want to be with Jesus.”
A moment passed. 
Wide-eyed, the man took a step back. 
Then another. 
He turned and fled the store. 
Tic-tic-tic continued doggedly into the silence that followed. The shelves in the store stood by as towering witnesses. The sound of her own shallow breathing filled Sam’s ears. Where terror and relief should have been, all she found was disappointment. 
Sam burst into tears. 
 
 
Standing numbly on the street outside her apparent several hours after her shift ended, better judgement urged Sam to go inside. It was cloudy, dark. Well past midnight. 
She looked angrily into the sky instead. 
Emotions rolled out of Sam in hot waves. She shook. The food to quench her hunger had been foiled, the answer to her longing stolen. The abyss wailed its disappointment, and Sam wailed with it. 
“Why?” All of her anguish came flooding out. “Why won’t you take me home?” 
I have more for you here. 
The sky above Sam spun. Sam reeled, sitting down hard on the pavement. The ground lost its solidness and she fell – words, not her own, sinking with Sam into the depths of her abyss. It was as when a hand reached to calm the frantic clattering of wind chimes caught in a breeze. A cacophony brought to abrupt silence. 
Sam whipped her head around, looking for the source of the voice only to found none. 
Her pocket vibrated. 
In a daze, Sam withdrew her phone and glanced at the screen. A text from Lilly glowed up at her:
Hey girl, I’ve been thinking about you and wanted to share a verse: “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he has planned for us long ago.” (Ephesians 2:10)
Sam looked into the sky once more. Stars winked at her through a part in the clouds. 
“I don’t know what this means,” she said, her voice earnest. “What does this mean?”
God remained silent. 
 
 
Sam returned to her position as a volunteer at the Salvation Army soup kitchen the following weekend. She watched the man with the tattoo take his seat at a table. As though sensing her gaze, he glanced Sam’s direction before quickly looking away. Something tugged on the inside of Sam’s chest and her heart beat faster. She frowned at the sensation. 
No matter how hard she tried, Sam couldn’t look away from the man. 
Okay then. 
After hanging her apron, Sam approached him. Sitting opposite the man at the table, Sam felt oddly calm. There was no fear. Only that insistent tugging. “I remember you.” 
He tensed. For a moment, Sam expected him to bolt. 
The moment passed. 
“My name is Sam,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Justin.”
","August 11, 2023 01:54",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,yn2z4u,Mute Frequencies,Buddy Calvo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yn2z4u/,/short-story/yn2z4u/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Suspense']",6 likes,"
I don’t know when I arrived, I only know that I’m here, wherever here is and I do exist but not in a way that I’m familiar with. I am alive but I don’t know that I fully understand what that means, to be alive, not anymore. I’m sorry if this is confusing but I feel like I’m dreaming, and I can’t wake up or that if I am awake then I was more comfortable sleeping. I do want to clarify that I am aware that I have woken up many, many times but only to find myself still here, stuck inside this skin. What makes all of this more frustrating is that I don’t remember what was before this, if this seems unfamiliar then that means something else is familiar, but I don’t know what that is or was. I only know that I am no longer in a place I recognize, and I no longer feel at ease. I do appreciate that my thoughts are still able to make sense to me and although until now, I have not been able to communicate with others, I can understand what I’m thinking and processing. Now you can understand me, right? Some thing is receiving this, translating this, searching for me, trying to figure out what I am and where I’ve been. But in the end when you know all about me, you will know there is nothing you can do to help me. You will just have this information and the reactions that come with it. This must sound like nonsense, or words circling the drain, but I would like to explain, to the best of my ability, what I see, what I’ve done, and the creatures I’ve encountered. 
 
The space I’m in is dark, sometimes it’s black, and it’s thick and it moves, and I can feel it around me, but I can’t always see it. I move freely, for what seems like forever, I can move fast, and I can collapse my body into the smallest form, entering spaces too small for me and then I can reemerge, reinflate, take shape and move on. I remember the sun and the stars, and I’ve seen them, many, many times but not like before. I see them before it happens, before I’m taken or worse. I’ve escaped only a handful of times, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t know when it’s coming, the hurt, the pain. I can see, but it’s different and I can hear, but not like before, I feel sound, but sometimes I don’t, and the creatures that have hurt me have tried to communicate, on some level, at least I think they have. They have a language I don’t understand but I’m getting better at anticipating what’s coming, bracing for impact would be a better term as what’s coming is always the same. There are others like me, many, many others, too many to count and although they can speak to each other, no one understands me. This is frustrating but it makes no difference, they are in the same situation as I am. 
 
I sleep but don’t dream but like I said before, I remember dreams, not specifically, but I remember that I have dreamt but I don’t know anymore. I am asleep and then I am awake. I am hunted both in my immediate surroundings and beyond. There are things that consume me, they literally eat me, this has happened many times, even while I am still alive and sometimes by those close to me. I’ve been pulled apart, I’ve had the flesh torn from me, I’ve fought back, I’ve hidden, a skill I’m quite good at. At times I am a ghost, and they will pass me by, other times I use the tools I have to fend off my attackers and when I go, I go screaming and crying but they can’t hear me, or they don’t care, and I’ve felt pain and desperation and I’ve seen the inside of others and my own parts being burned and mutilated. Here, the hunters don’t look like me, they come in other shapes and sizes, they move swiftly and attack because they are hungry. My instinct is to run, and I get away most times but never from the creatures above. They have ways to hunt that trick me and that leads to capture and a slow death. I prefer to be gone in a blink of an eye than the drawn-out occasion that the aliens parade me through, but such is that. What is different is nothing is ever final. I have been killed and eaten and maimed and each time I come back. Same as before, ready to move, using what I’ve learned to stay here longer, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t but I always come back. I do eat too, I hunt, I kill, I consume, so I am like everything around me, alive and needing to sustain and I wonder if everything around me is like me. Does it come back? Does it hurt and then wake up again like I do? I have no home just feeding grounds and prey shelters. Like I said, I remember before, but I’ve been here a long time, you’d say years or decades, or centuries and I’d say I’ve been here longer than that.
 
When snatched from above, I am brought onto their vessel, caged with others like me. I am kept alive, and moved across their planet, showcased like the animal that I am and when the moment is right, sometimes in front of many and sometimes only one, I am butchered. It happens in different ways; by heat, by blade, quickly and slowly, consumed by one or all and then it goes dark and secretly, I want it to be over, but I must admit I am always relieved when I come back. I feel each time I am stronger, I am bigger, knowing I need to hide deeper, avoid the hunters and find a way back to where I was before. 
 
Now, as I wait to die once more, I wonder if this is it. Because this time is different. This time you are hearing me, I am communicating with you right? I must be because you are staring at me like no one has ever done before so this time must be different. Because I can reach you, then this must be the last time. Right? You must be overwhelmed with everything I’ve said because you have said nothing, but it makes no difference. The time to act is now, to get up, to get help, to do something to save me or I will not come back, because this time is different. I must admit, I do this every time I go, I wonder if I will come back. But then I couldn’t communicate with you, I wasn’t able to reach you or any like you so this time MUST be different. So please help me, if this is my last time then I need you. Unless this isn’t and my consciousness, my pain, my past, will be back again, forced into existence for all time. Into a body that I can’t escape, signaling for help that will not come. 
 
Staring into the tank of live Octopuses in the back of a small Korean restaurant, an older man, responsible for washing dishes at this popular seafood spot, continues to stare into the eyes of the soon to be dinner for two. He’s fixated on this creature as it has been looking right at him for what must be over five minutes now. He senses something, or maybe he doesn’t but the Octopus is staring at him. Suddenly a crash of dirty dishes comes into the kitchen just as the animal is yanked from the tank, spread apart, butchered and thrown onto the grill in the kitchen. The man returns to his dishes as another order comes in. 
","August 11, 2023 03:04",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,zbcz90,DEADLIER THAN THE MALE?,Charles Corkery,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zbcz90/,/short-story/zbcz90/,Character,0,"['American', 'Horror', 'Science Fiction']",6 likes,"
DEADLIER THAN THE MALE?
“Let us take, for example, the species, Scorpiones (scorpioun in the Greek, scorpionem (nominative scorpio) in the Latin. In many types of this species, often mistaken for insects, the female, once impregnated, will kill and eat the male. Scorpiones are closely related to spiders under the banner of Arachnida, having eight legs compared to the six legs of an insect and, indeed, many species of spiders follow this same Sexual Cannibalism of the male; the black widow being, possibly, the most infamous. However, though the female scorpiones will provide unfertilised eggs for their offspring to feed on, these are never enough and the new born will resort to eating the mother; a practise known as Matriphagy. There is nothing the mother can do except look on helplessly as she is slowly devoured over a period of up to ten days for she will have been totally paralysed by her offspring’s stinging venom, Chlorotoxin. A clear indication of Mother Nature balancing things out, I suggest, for, either way, there is no benefit to being either a female or a male of the Scorpiones species; their fate is the same”.
 
Excerpt from Origin of the Species by Dr. Basil Cromane, BSc. Chief Arachnologist, Sharma Biodiversity Laboratory, University of Oklahoma
 
 
“I’m afraid you could be in for a shock, ma’am...”
 
“You don’t think I’ve already suffered a shock?”
 
Doctor Janssen looked across his desk at Dot Bean who returned his stare sternly.. He was trying his best to prepare this woman for the sight of her husband who had disappeared 24 years earlier but her belligerence was not making it easy.
 
“Well, for one thing, he seems to have lost the power of speech...” 
 
“Roy Bean weren’t never much of a talker”.
 
“He also seems to have a total memory loss. Not just unable to recall people or places but certain cognitive functions, also. For example, he is unable to tie a knot in his tie...”
 
“My Roy never wore a tie in his life, not even on the day we got married”.
 
 “Or to tie his shoelaces”.
 
Quickly losing patience, Dot snapped.
 
“I need to see him. Where did they find him, anyways?”
 
“Well, he was found at the back of a gas station just outside Albuquerque. I should advise you that when they found him, he was naked and eating a rabbit...”
 
“Always was partial to a bit o’ rabbit. Preferred it to chicken, any day”.
 
 “Raw!”
 
This last remark pierced through the stoic armour that Dot had wrapped around herself ever since her husband had disappeared more than two decades previously. She looked up sharply.
 
“Look, I want to see him. I need to know it’s really him...and I’m the only person who’ll know”. 
 
There was no sense arguing, so the doctor led Dot to a window and drew back a curtain.
 
“He cannot see you but you should prepare yourself, ma’am...”
 
Dot Bean stared in. Despite her immense strong will, she was unable to disguise the stagger of her body as she looked in on her long lost husband.
 
“He’s...he’s...”
 
“Yes, I’ve been trying to warn you, Mrs. Bean. We can’t explain it but, to all intents and purposes, your husband, Roy Bean...well, it appears that he has not aged a day in twenty four years”.
 
 
Though the doctor had wanted to run more tests, Dot had been adamant; she was taking her Roy home. She hoped that the familiar surroundings would trigger a reaction but she was unable to elicit a single response as they drove home and, once in the house, nothing seemed to be of interest.
 
She helped him undress for bed and, as she sighted his naked torso, Dot could not help but become aroused at sight of her husband’s taut body, though she noticed the size of his coccyx, protruding larger than she recalled. 
 
She led him, still naked, into the bedroom and into their double bed, the one in which she had slept alone all these years. Then she returned to the bathroom and shut the door.
 
Looking at herself in the mirror, she realised with regret that she had begun to let herself go; the grey streaks in her hair, the facial creases. Though her figure was still lithe, she felt that Roy would never again find her attractive. Nevertheless, feeling foolish, she removed her own clothing and tiptoed back to the bedroom. Here goes, she thought as she eased herself into the bed and started to stroke the thigh of her husband, inching closer to his groin and, finally, cupping her hand over his penis. As she felt him stir and become hard, turning to climb on top of her, she let out a cry of ecstasy; a feeling of pleasure she’d thought she would never experience again.
 
“Oh my God! Oh, Roy, you’re home”.
 
The following morning, it was as if nothing had occurred between them and Dot fixed him his favourite breakfast of grits, bacon and eggs and watched as he sniffed at the food and pushed it away but, sighting the packet of raw bacon on the counter, fell upon it ravenously.
 
“What the hell?”
 
She pulled the packet from his hands and was shocked at the look of pure fury he gave her.
 
“What in tarnation has happened to you? Where did you go, all these years, to pick up such disgusting habits?”
 
Roy stared back at her malevolently.
 
Feeling slightly fearful, she handed back the packet of bacon and he stuffed it into his mouth. Maybe, she reasoned, this is how he has survived, eating scraps, raw scraps. Okay, if this is what he wants, then fine. It obviously hasn’t done him any harm; let him eat uncooked meat if that’s what it takes to please him.
 
Their days settled into a steady routine as, Roy would accompany her in the pick up around the ranch, doing nothing, content to sit in the sun and watch, his face becoming tanned again, as she did all the work the same as she had for all the years he’d been away.
 
At night, she would feed Roy his uncooked meat, apart from sex, the only time that he came alive. One evening, she sampled a bit herself but spat it out, disgusted. In bed, their lovemaking was brief and carnal but oh so satisfying.
 
Six weeks or so had passed when she suddenly felt a strange compulsion to join her husband in the eating of raw flesh; this time, finding it satisfyingly good.
 
When the early morning vomiting started, she knew, she could be pregnant and ordered a pregnancy test to be delivered with her next grocery delivery. The test confirmed her fears. She was almost 50 years old and it didn’t seem right somehow.  Her life, the solitary life she had known for all these years was, suddenly, taking a strange and alien turn.
 
The hospital had called several times, wanting Roy to come in for more tests but Dot had said that he was still adjusting. Roy’s only living relative, his older brother, Max, had also been phoning and requesting time with his brother but he, too, received the same answer.
 
One afternoon, as Dot was disposing of garbage in the burn barrel she kept back of the barn, having left Roy sitting vacantly inside, she thought she heard a truck pull up outside. Walking around, she saw that it was Max’s pick up. Damn, she thought, as she ran to her own truck to fetch a rifle. Inside the barn she found Max on top of Roy on the ground.
 
“Tell me or I swear to God, I am gonna beat the living daylights out o’you. Where have you been all this time? How come you ain’t changed none? You had surgery or what?”
 
“Let him up, Max. I told you he needed time. You have no right to be here”.
 
“No right? He’s my goddamn brother. I have every right. What in hell is going on here, anyway?”
 
“Let him up, I tell you. I won’t ask again”.
 
Max turned towards his sister in law and spat. Dot fired, hitting him in the shoulder and Max reeled back in shock, blood splattering onto Roy’s face. Dot watched, horrified, as Roy licked his lips, looked at the wound in Max’s shoulder and, with a burst of supernatural strength, sank his teeth into the area where the blood was spurting from. Max let out a blood curdling scream and tried to fend his brother off with his one good arm but Roy’s blood lust was up and he was tearing chunks out of Max’s torso. As Dot looked on, she could feel her own primal urges taking over her body and she drew closer and closer before, dropping her rifle, she joined the feast, fighting her husband for the juiciest morsels.
 
Afterwards, Roy crawled away into a corner, sated and exhausted. Dot, slowly recovering her senses, realised the enormity of what had just happened but she felt no disgust for she had actually enjoyed the depravity of her actions. It had felt normal.
Now though, her cannibalistic urge satisfied, her brain working overtime, she realised that they had crossed a line and tracks had to be covered.
 
She cleaned up the mess that had been made, burnt her and Roy’s bloodstained clothing along with the remnants of Max’s. Then, tethering two horses to the rear of Max’s chevy, she drove with Roy far out onto the part of the ranch where Roy’s own abandoned truck had been found, years before.
 
As they prepared to ride the horses back, she stared in astonishment as Roy, reacting strangely to being back in this place, began to “talk” but in a guttural language that made no sense. As he did so, he stared up into the sky and circled on all fours, round and round, his butt high in the air. She tried desperately to coax him onto a horse to no avail so, ever resourceful, she picked up a large rock and hit him over the head, then, she used all of her remaining strength to hoist his unconscious body across the saddle of his horse. She cursed him for causing her this trouble and, in that moment, she realised that she actually hated this version of Roy, hated what she had become.
 
That night, as he slept beside her, obliviously, she thought things through carefully. To her mind, something strange had obviously happened to her husband all those years before. It sounded so fantastical to her but she now believed that her husband had been abducted by aliens. There had been hundreds of sightings of spacecraft out in the desert over the years and this ranch was only a 3 hour drive from Roswell, after all. Somehow, incredibly, he had retained his youthful looks. That desire for bloody meat had crossed a sacrosanct boundary, today and, now, she knew, only human flesh would suffice; for him, for her, for the baby. Her being impregnated was how this forbidden urge had been transferred to her. She wasn’t eating to satisfy her own needs; she was being compelled by the baby that was growing within her. Her former husband was no more. Instead, this thing that lay beside her now was some sort of extra-terrestrial inhabiting her husband’s body. The way he had reacted today, the strange speech, his crawling on all fours; Dot felt real fear.
 
Just then, she felt him stir beside her and raise himself up, preparing to mount her but she pushed him away.
 
“No more, you hear?”.
 
The thought of coupling with this thing now repulsed her. She leapt from the bed and, looking back at him, saw the rage in his eyes. She felt maternal fear for her baby and ran from the house, grabbing her rifle as she did so. If anything happened to her, the baby would perish. He had been returned for one reason only: to propagate and only she knew that he had been successful.
 
Her gun propped on a bale of hay, she watched, knowing that, sooner or later, he would come. His lust for sex or human flesh-or both -would bring him her way.
 
She heard the shuffling of his footsteps as the barn door creaked open, the brightness of the moonlight illuminating him perfectly as she fired; once, then twice to be certain. As he lay in the doorway, she approached. He was still naked and she felt her mouth watering, her unnatural lusts rising to the fore as she lunged at the dead body and began to feast.
 
As she lay back, sated, her human consciousness returning, she realised with a start, that, if he wasn’t human, then that meant that this organism that gestated inside her was, also, non-human. It wasn’t a baby, it was another thing, and she had no idea what the gestation period would be. She could be due to give birth at any time. Her human clarity urged her to do something to prevent this creature from being born. She staggered back to the house in search of her carving knife; she had to kill herself. As if the multicellular organism inside her knew her thoughts, it began to stir and she was seized with terrible cramps, her brain becoming flooded with maternal contradictory instructions; it was her duty to protect this creature; she was a mother not a murderer. Dot collapsed on the kitchen floor in dreadful agony, tortured by indecision.
 
As she opened her eyes, the rest of her body immobilised, she felt, rather than saw, the creature that she had given birth to feasting on the blood, mucus and uterine tissue from her vaginal discharge. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she stared aghast at the black shiny head of the monstrous being that was her offspring. Sensing her recovery, its head bobbed up and the eyes opened; two black orbs set against the white sclera. Its mouth dripping, it opened its fangs in a grimace before slithering across the kitchen floor on its eight legs, glistening in the moonlight, the sharpened point, with which it had paralysed her, overarching and menacing, taking one last look back at its mother before crawling out of the door. Dot, paralysed and unable to move, thought back on her husband’s coccyx; not a tail but a sting. Resigned to her fate, she thought:
 
“You’ll be back. I know you’ll be back for more. And Momma’s gonna be right here waiting”.
","August 07, 2023 01:20","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Gruesome spidey tale.', 'time': '02:57 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,tu9fii,Dihydrogen Monoxide,Listy H,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tu9fii/,/short-story/tu9fii/,Character,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Funny']",5 likes,"
""Dihydrogen monoxide?""Zane reached for his refreshment cartridge. ""The entire planet. Well, almost. Huge oceans of it.""""And the inhabitants live in the oceans?""""Inhabitants?"" Zane turned to look at his friend in the dim light of the relaxation center. ""You have never seen a planet inhabited like this one. Oceans, land masses, atmosphere...everywhere!"" he waved his tentacle around his head. ""Billions of inhabitants. Animal and vegetation. And get this. The planet tilts--""""Vegetation?""""Everywhere. Photosynthetic. So with their yellow star, that means green. Green, everywhere. But the blossoms are all different colors, to attract the arthropods.""""Arthropods?""""Billions of arthropods. Multiple legs, exoskeletons, and many have wings. They are everywhere.""""So humans are arthropods?""""No! They're mammals!""""Oh wow!"" Dix leaned back a little, an impressed teal. ""Two different animal taxonomies and vegetation on one planet? Amazing.""""You misunderstand me."" Zane leaned forward. ""They have eight levels of taxonomy just for the one planet. There are millions of species of both plant and animal. And with the planet tilt, and all the dihydrogen monoxide, it has a massive temperature range, and multiple biomes! And humans reside in every one of them. They're so adaptable, it's almost frightening.""""They're adapted for both cold and heat?""""Yes! And they have domesticated several other species to tolerate the cold and heat with them.""""For what purpose?"" Dix asked. The refreshment tender was listening now and trying to pretend not to.""I don't even know how to explain it."" Zane paused to gather his thoughts. ""Some, they work with. They keep them as companions and also sometimes to guard or assist them with tasks. But others..."" he leaned in a bit. ""They eat them.""""What? They're carnivorous?""""Omnivorous! They eat everything!"" Zane waved his tentacles. ""Plants! Animals! Fungus! Some eat the arthropods! And they don't just eat it all they...they prepare it in various ways, with heat and ground plants and grasses and they take pride in arranging it on a plate in what they consider a pleasing manner. Some of it is quite creative.""Dix looked at his refreshment tube, turning a little pinkish. ""Everything? They don't...they don't drink the dihydrogen monoxide, do they?""""Oh, they do! Every living thing on the planet evolved in it! They depend on it and are made of it--and carbon. They mix it with everything to make these strange potions that bubble or ferment.""""Ferment? They ferment their nutrients?""""Some of them. And don't get me started on how they flavor them. Some of the chemicals they've found actually cause pain to their membranes, and they find it enjoyable!"" He leaned forward. ""They ingest saccharides for pleasure.""""I've never heard of such a thing. But, I learned that young species can be strange, and they are a relatively young species, are they not?""""They're infants! They developed technology faster than they could understand the consequences of their actions and nearly destroyed the whole planet with waste, and poison, and nuclear fission explosions! Their industries pumped dangerous chemicals into the atmosphere!""Dix turned several shades of blue. ""How did they survive?""""They almost didn't. It's taken a long time to fix and they aren't done. I believe the council has offered to help. I'm not sure they're worth it. They're still so..."" Zane went a bit ruddy looking for the right word. ""Childish. Running around, trying to go as fast as they possibly can on roadways that cover the land masses! Thousands of personal vehicles, zipping to and fro! And do you know what they use to track the vehicles around them? Guess. Go on.""""Sensors?"" Dix tried helplessly.""Mirrors.""""You're making that up!"" snapped the refreshment tender, going a little pinkish himself.""I'm not! They trust their own eyes! Some of their vehicles are still run by combustion engines powered by fossil fuels! I actually had to travel in one!""""You must have been terrified!""""I was! I happened to ride with a skilled driver but I was still almost white with fear! Their airships are hardly better. They have floating vehicles as well, to cross the oceans of dihydrogen monoxide. They never stay still. And they have this thing...do you know the Mypar, with the singing Popos?""""I've never been but I've heard recordings,"" said Dix as the refreshment tender waggled sagely, turned purple as he realized he wasn't really a part of the conversation, and gave them each another capsule to cover it.""They all sing,"" said Zane, taking the proffered capsule. ""They create specific tools to make sounds they find pleasing and rhythmic and they create entire...works. They call it music, and with much of it there are specific words you chant along with the sounds! They invented a written language that records the order in which to play certain tones to replicate each song.""""Is it a pleasing sound?""""No! Most of it is too loud and rhythmic. Some of the tools--instruments, they call them--have interesting tones but for the most part, it is just noise. They move their bodies to it, too! They call it dancing and it is quite disconcerting. They bounce and move their limbs to the rhythm, sometimes in sync, and they have entire performances of those who train to move in certain ways.""""So they're an active species.""""Active does not begin to describe it! My host took me to an event known as a 'sport'. They're competitive, you see. I assume it is a channeling of their aggressive nature. They play many sorts of games, some casual, but others very formal, with...squads--they call them teams--who are paid to play professionally for entertainment."" ""Paid to provide entertainment?"" Dix asked.""Humans pay each other for all sorts of entertainment! But this was the strangest. We packed into a huge structure with thousands of other humans to watch this game. They were very excited, but I could not fully understand what was happening. The sport focused on a prolate spheroid which I assume has some sort of symbolic value. One squad would attempt to transport this object across a large delineated space through coordinated strategies which included running, kicking and throwing, while the other squad attempted to stop them from doing so by attacking them with physical violence!""Both the refreshment tender and Dix waffled through hues of blue as they attempted to picture it.""And then, once they either succeeded at transporting the object, or failed after a certain number of tries, the other team took it, and then they tried to transport it back the other way! It was madness. The people watching chose the squad they preferred, you see, and each time it succeeded in getting the object to the end of the space, they would scream and leap up and down and grab each other. And when the squad failed, or if someone on the other squad violated a rule, they would become almost violently angry. I have never seen anything like it.""""It's lucky you survived,"" said Dix.""Very lucky. My host's preferred squad transported the prolate spheroid to the end of the delineated space more times than the other squad, so they were declared the victors. We then attended what they call a 'party' where squad supporters imbibed fermented beverages and ate a strange meal of cooked vegetation and animal matter baked into an edible plate of ground grains, so you could eat the entire thing, plate and all!""""I can't even picture it,"" said Dix.""I wish I could describe it better. My synth-body did not react well to all the fermented beverages and I lost some motor control on the way to the host's residence.""""I hope you didn't damage it. The synth-bodies are expensive. What sort of residences do these creatures have?""""There are a variety, depending on the climate and whether they live in an urban or rural environment. My host lived in a building just outside the larger urban area, with numerous other residences stacked on top of and around it, with several other humans. They sleep on beds of coiled springs wrapped in fabric and cushioning, though my host said that is not always the case in other parts of the world.""""They don't need to keep moist at night?""""No. Their atmosphere is moist enough as it is. The dihydrogen monoxide lends itself to a cycle of evaporation, condensation, and precipitation.""""Wait...dihydrogen monoxide falls from the sky?""""Yes. In torrents. In some regions it is rare, others it is common, so there are both deserts and forests of dense vegetation that thrive on it! And the clouds of dihydrogen monoxide can move with such energy that they cause massive electrostatic discharges! It is quite alarming, though my host apparently enjoys viewing the experience while safely indoors."" ""From what I'm hearing I wouldn't be surprised if you told me the humans go after these storms to experience them firsthand.""""Some do! I was told that the storms can get quite violent, and cause cyclonic wind-storms that can destroy buildings, and even entire communities! So they get into their vehicles and go to find these storms when they think they might be forming, some for scientific study, and sometimes simply for the experience!""""I still think you are making this up!"" said the refreshment tender.""I'm not. There are giant storms that form over the oceans, and human scientists fly airships into the largest of them to get readings on the wind and precipitation. They then pass that information on to the communities of humans in the storm's path, so they know when to evacuate the area.""""They build homes in the path of giant storms?""""They build their homes everywhere, and it seems to me there are storms everywhere. Rain storms, wind storms, ice storms, dust storms--"" ""This sounds like a death planet!""""Death planet? It's a living planet! They have active plate tectonics with active fault lines, and the humans build near them! And they also have active erupting volcanoes!""""No!""""Yes! And they live near them! One of their tourist attractions is a city that was destroyed by a volcano in what to them is ancient history. They excavated it and now people come to see the fatalities and damage. And the volcano that did it is still active! It will do it again one day! But they still live there!""""I am so glad I passed on the exchange program,"" said Dix after a moment. ""I cannot imagine walking on an active planet like that, with dihydrogen monoxide everywhere!""""It does feel very unstable. The vegetation underfoot helps. And the humans evolved with it so they are quite comfortable, and I must admit they made their best attempt to make me feel comfortable as well, however clumsy that was. They like to do this thing where they wrap their upper appendages around each other, as a sign of affection or comfort. It is very disconcerting, since...you know...""Dix and the refreshment tender turned a bit fuchsia. Upper appendages were only wrapped around others at certain phases in the life cycle.""Well,"" said Dix after a moment. ""The important thing is that you got through the expedition, and made it back to us in one piece. I bet you're glad to put that planet behind you.""""Well..."" Zane went a little purple. ""Actually, it's such a complex environment that I felt that my report wasn't entirely complete. I want to be thorough, after all. So I volunteered for a second expedition. I'm meeting my host again next week, in order to experience a culturally important event they call 'taco Tuesday'.""
","August 11, 2023 21:30",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,trzcm2,Alien to Me,Kris Foster,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/trzcm2/,/short-story/trzcm2/,Character,0,"['Suspense', 'Drama', 'Sad']",5 likes,"
	The hand struck me before I even knew what was happening. A surprise attack but from an all too familiar assailant. “Who could ever love someone like you. Without me you’re nothing. You are so lucky I’m here!” His hand once again struck me and I went down. Collapsing into a useless heap. “I mean just look at you!” The monster I once gave my heart to, standing there, yelling over my body. Jacob, a boy I once admired, became a force I feared time after time.
	His angry flurry of blows and slander became faded background noise. My nerves began to frost over and shut down. My eyes glazed over as I could feel every bit of light leaving. Being left alone with the darkness I’ve grown too close with. The monster is screaming more and more to be noticed. All the while I refused. I didn’t want to once again see someone I loved turned into such wickedness. Jacob grew to be noticed as he grabbed my chin and forced me to look up into his eyes. Glaring down at me as if I was anything less than human. A meer insect under his boot. The only thing looking back at him were blank, empty eyes. Becoming a shell due to years of abuse. 
	Years of dealing with countless nights like this. Wanting nothing more than to help out after a long day and inturn becoming a human punching bag. Years of confronting a beast only to get torn down with his sharpened claws. Pain inflicted from someone I loved and someone who claimed they loved me. Only using me as a way to get out his daily frustrations. Years of wanting to give all I could only to be beaten and bruised while he claims I’m useless, but he loves me anyways. Being torn down only to be told that he still loves me even when everyone else will see someone who has no point living. 
	This time I just couldn’t help but give up. I wanted to believe he loved me, but the size of the welts were louder than the slurs he currently threw down upon me. His beatings drew out any glimmer in my eyes. Any joy that was holding onto hope that things were going to be okay. But my nerves being shot was only another nail in the coffin. 
	“This is over! I can’t keep doing this anymore!” I screamed into the void. Getting choked up as I steeled my nerves and stared down the beast. Wanting to scream over and over as the pain welled up inside my throat. An internal asphyxiation as I fought to breathe. 
	The darkness I had tried to love only giving me a chuckle in response. “Oh I haven’t heard that one in a while… You think you can just get up and walk away from me!” At least he stopped with the blows as he crouched down. Still staring me down. “How many times do we have to go over this, my love?” He cupped my chin with mock gentleness. His dark eyes changed as they began to fill with tears. “I don’t do this out of animosity. We need each other to get through and you know I can’t control myself.”
	I was now the one to give a laugh in response. “Everyone has a choice. I think it's finally clear which choices were made.” The fragile person he used to deal with was now being taken over by a monster of my own. A monster of his creation.
	A monster some poor innocent soul was now having to see in the flesh. My own anger being the cause of fear in someone else. A tearful look being the very thing that pulled me from my dark past. The person I truly loved staring up at me in a way that made me feel sick to my stomach. David replaced Jacob's spot. No longer having my memories playing in the back of my mind. Seeing the savior that pulled me out of the hole looking back at me instead of the devil I feared nightly.
	The vision I had was fading away. My eyesight blurred as tears began to fill my eyes. My own anger subsided the way I’ve seen countless times. My own irritation melted into guilt.
	My nerves and body tensed up as I was ready to deal with the usual barrage of punches. But the monster from before was gone. The tearful and scared look in David's eyes changed into one of comfort and sorrow. Instead of dealing with punches that followed conflict, the person in front of me only caught me as I fell. 
His arms felt so strange around me all the while he whispered sweet nothing in my ears. A feeling began to well up inside me and only made the tears come down with ferocity. “You don’t java to worry babe. That person is long gone. I’m sorry if something brought back those terrible memories. But let me remind you that you can breathe easy. You are my everything.”
	The moment those last words were spoken my nerves turned to ice and I grew immobile. Brushing my hair with his fingers he began to console me. “Why do you do this?” That was the only response I was able to get out. 
	He went to cup my chin, but I pulled away. My fight or flight kicked in. David was persistent and made sure it was a gentle touch. Cupping my chin and wiping the tear streaks that had formed. Slowly moving my face to look up at his beautiful eyes. Flashes of the flames I stared down countless times crashed through my mind. Taking a deep inhale, I did my best to push them away. My blood filled with fear. “Why isn’t it simple? It's because I love you. You deserve to be protected instead of someone tearing you down.” His figure faded away as the tears came back once again.
	“Come on babe.” His voice is naturally calm. David held me gently as he made sure that both of us got onto our feet. Pushing me away to be only a breath away he continued. “You mean the world to me and just as I’ve helped you with the pain you’ve gone through you’ve helped me with mine. Without you I would be nothing. Please never, ever forget that.” Instead of landing a painful blow that I grew all too comfortable with. He gave me a kiss dripping with pure admiration. It was in that uncomfortable moment that I finally knew the past was behind me and I was finally home. 
 
","August 11, 2023 21:42",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,hu8o6c,"R.T., Where's Home?",Kay Smith,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hu8o6c/,/short-story/hu8o6c/,Character,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Suspense', 'Teens & Young Adult']",5 likes,"
""Mom?"" I hiss.Its pitch black; this house that belongs to her friend, where we are apparently staying for awhile. Carefully, I thread my way between stacks of unpacked, various-sized boxes, haphazardly spread in looming towers throughout the completely alien bedroom I am sharing with my little brother. Miraculously, I make it to the doorway. It opens onto a short, squat hallway. I blindly reach to my right and feel a deep void that I remember being a bathroom as I scurry forward. Not wanting to wake her friend, I grope my way forward, into the yawning darkness. I stop abruptly. I sense open space in every direction and know I reached the living room. Bent slightly at the waist, I continue to feel my way toward the low set of couches I recall being set almost mid-room to my left.“Mother!” I whisper again, praying to arouse only her from sleep. I feel the soft material of the edge of the couch and feel relief flood my body. It is short-lived; I hear a small, whining voice drifting through the dark.“Kay…” my brother whimpers.“SSHHH!” I shoot back, impatient and annoyed and if I were being honest, I was also teetering on the verge of utter panic. It was the week following Christmas. Cody and I had been picked up, that day, from Cody’s Dad’s place where we had been dropped off two weeks ago.Late November, 1990: The bell in Jr. High was not so much a bell as it was a buzzer; an overly-long, low tone that hummed hourly from day’s beginning to day’s end. Its presence was just as present as the students it directed here and there. I gather my stuff and join kids queuing up to exit the final class of the day. I receive a painful jolt to my left shoulder that sends me into the other side of the door jamb. I succinctly hear a fake cough and the trademark whisper, “Raisin Tits!”Bullies! It had begun toward the end of Elementary School. Apparently, my budding breasts were a source of entertainment for some. For me, it was an emotional and strained time, everything felt alien to me. The flood of hormones, the boys in my class becoming something different to look at, though they were pretty much the same… Between that, the uncertainty of Jr. High, and the complete dubiousness of safety at home, I was really in no mood for the shit.I squat down in front of my locker and spin the faded dial, then open it. I trade binders and books accordingly and unsurprisingly hear a female practically sing, “See ya later, R.T.!” Without turning around, I hold my hand up with middle finger extended, and give a mock salute.I make my way outside and am greeted by a blast of welcomed, comfortably cool and crisp smelling air. Our school sat atop a sharply inclined hill. At the bottom of the hill was a one-way road lined with school busses all lying lazily in the autumn sun, head to tail. They were dappled with shade from several mammoth oak trees, making them look like prehistoric, spotted yellow dogs.That day, I was supposed to ride the bus home to meet up with my little brother, seven years younger, so I could watch him while his Dad and our Mom went to some function at the chamber of commerce where they made ‘business contacts.’ It was a gathering of wannabe-Yuppies, eager to glad-hand and smile big fake smiles at each other while they enjoyed the open bar.Therefore, I was surprised to see my Mom’s Suburban parked at the end of the line of busses. I stomp down the steep grade. The window was half open on the passenger side of the car.“I thought I was riding the bus home so I can watch ---“I sputter to a stop when I see the backend of the Suburban. It is tightly packed with the majority of our belongings. I open the door, jaw slack with shock, climb up into the running car, and close the door. Though the animated voices and raucous laughter of my peers could still be heard outside, an unnatural silence fell over us.My Mother is a stunning woman with glossy dark hair falling straight down her back, piercing green eyes, tan, trim; I hoped one day to look like even half that good. At that moment, for the first time, I could see her age and it struck a chord within me that scared me in some foreign, unpleasant way. She looked care-worn and frightened but also laser-focused and serious as Hell.“When we get home, I want you to grab everything you can from your bedroom- but only the things you really need! Grab ALL of your clothes! Don’t fold anything! Just grab as many things as you can from the closet, leave everything on the hangers, and load them- wherever you can find space,” she directed as she swung out of the line of busses and slowly passed them finally leaving campus a moment later, heading toward home.Wait, do we have one anymore? Where the Hell were we going? I was just sitting in Study Hall dreaming of Winter Break.When he found out, he was not going to like it. Things had been becoming increasingly more scary and I had a feeling the ante was about to be raised. My stomach clenched.Snapping me out of my thoughts, she begins speaking in a more indirect, hushed tone, “Okay, when we get there, you’ve got your room… I need to call the neighbors to let them know not to let their kids ride bikes or play ball in the street.”She knows the neighbors, since when? It's as if when I left Study Hall earlier, I was transported to some other reality entirely.“I just know he’s going to be roaring up and down the streets…Those kids definitely need to just play inside this evening.” I actually felt like I might vomit, right here, into my lap.I look to my Mom, my Constant. I mean, I knew this was going to happen eventually, this or he would wind up killing her. Roughly two months ago, after a particularly traumatizing fight had erupted because my Mom had told the guy Cody’s Dad had been playing basketball with that he played a good game as a show of sportsmanship, Cody’s Dad had lost his friggin’ mind! He had choked her nearly to the point of blacking out while she had been driving, punched out the picture window in the hallway, and beat several new holes in the walls. Shortly after this died down, I was summoned before them. In voices quavering with emotion, they asked me, with all of my decade’s worth of wisdom, if they should divorce.Did I really get a voice in this?Cody and I were generally just along for the ride- Scared and Clueless. I couldn’t say that day. I felt like no matter what I said, I was going to hurt somebody. They had vowed to improve. That had devolved pretty quickly. Nights were often wakeful ones, hiding under the covers to try to block out the yelling and screaming and pounding, praying that those things didn’t get too close to your door. Days were long lectures I wished I could focus on, intercut with the insufferable whispers and taunts by my clever peer group.As I watch, we blow by the house, I am about to speak up when the car suddenly begins backing down the long driveway toward the light yellow, single-wide trailer. She stops mere inches from the wooden front porch. I remember the summer Cody’s Dad and his brothers had worked on it, all shirtless with suntanned hairy, beer bellies. Except for Cody’s Dad, he kept in shape by playing for many of the intramural teams in the community: volleyball, basketball, baseball, even billiards. Now, I was unsure if I would ever bound up these steps to go inside, flop on the couch, and watch TV again?I hop out of the Suburban, turn to grab my backpack, then reconsider.Where will I be doing my homework tonight?My face feels almost fevered as my nose starts to run, my eyes quickly follow and begin leaking- despite my efforts to be a Big Girl about things. I climb up those long ago built stairs. Once inside, I immediately turn left and face a narrow hallway with a length of about twenty-five feet. The small area that has been my space is through the first door on the right.My tiny but tidy bedroom looks nothing like it did when I left it at 7:30 this morning.Was that really just this morning? When I left, things might have sucked but at least they made some kind of sense?My dresser drawers, so meticulously well-kept this morning had been upended, their previously folded contents now in a heap on my bottom bunk. The drawers themselves are in their rightful place.I face my small but orderly closet and stretch my skinny arms as wide as they can comfortably go and begin, marching a path back and forth between my room and the car. I make this trip several times before the closet is empty, each time throwing nervous glances down the road, looking for his Jeep. I had no idea what I would do if I saw it; I just keep steeling myself for anything.Domestic violence is more a “family issue,” than a legal one. In small, rural places, I believe it is still referred to as, “home correction,” by some. For instance, if your large, drunk, pissed off Stepfather comes home and launches you down a twenty-five foot hallway, you didn’t make an appointment with the school counselor or sit down after class to have some talk with a trusted adult. You just got up, as usual, and went through your day; even if the outside of your body actually matched the inside.When I get back to what is slowly morphing into something I don't recognize, I turn my attention to my white bunk beds complete with matching bedding where the heap from my dresser sits. I grab a large bag and an old backpack and start stuffing them full of underwear, training bras, pajamas, socks, and one random purple leg-warmer. I zip it all up and begin to turn around to head back out to the car when my mother appears in my doorway, looking frazzled, “When you finish up here, do you mind doing the same with Cody’s room? I haven’t even begun to....” she trails off, distracted as she turns around to go back toward her room again.I look out of the picture window and down the road as I nod and walk back outside and laid my bags on the floor of the backset. I stare into the Suburban at the detritus of our lives and feel as if the sky itself is pressing down on me. With another look over my shoulder at the street we once lived on, I head back inside and further down the hallway to Cody’s room. Matchbox cars of varying color are lined up with tractors, dump trucks, and semi-trucks; there is an almost formed path from the door to the bed and closet. I navigate this path where there were blocks, LEGOs, spaceships, stuffed animals, action figures, and the occasional book lying to the sides. I start to grab a large chunk of his little clothes out of the closet, and then pause, letting my arms fall to my sides.Do I even take all of his stuff? Cody is his actual child so won’t he probably coming back at some point? How long is he going to be gone at a time? He's a pain in the ass, Cody but I love him fiercely!I start to call out for my Mom, and then think against it. She is stressed, I can figure this out. I grab half of his seasonally appropriate clothes and leave the rest. I stand on tiptoe and wrestle a duffel bag and a small, green backpack shaped like an alien from the top shelf. I open each of his drawers and remove half of his little boy briefs, small socks, and super hero adorned pajamas. I shove all of this into the bags and heave them across my back. I stop and grab his stuffed Little Foot that has more of a broken neck than a long one off of his bed.He’s going to need something that at least smells familiar, isn't he? We are starting to stack things across the center console up front so I cram his bags and Little Foot on the floor of the passenger side with my school stuff. When I turn to go back inside, my Mom is on the porch, door closing behind her, keys in hand saying, “We’ve got to go! Get in! We need to pick Cody up…. Oh, I hope he doesn’t try to pick him up!” We leave with a trail of dust spraying out from the back tires. I watch out of the sideview mirror as my old swing set and then the tall basketball hoop disappears along with our past life.As we drive through town to pick up Cody from preschool, we keep a constant eye out for the blue Jeep. When Cody gets in the car, his eyes go as wide as saucers. I motion him over to the front passenger seat with me and stretch out the seatbelt so he can plop on my lap. I can feel the fear rolling off him in waves and grab Little Foot by the neck and hand it to him. He wraps his arms around the stuffed dinosaur.It is roughly one month before the Winter Holiday. At the start of the break, Cody and I are both dropped off; right back at the yellow, single-wide we just fled weeks before. All I knew was that Mom wanted us to have a “real Christmas,” she would be staying with a friend while things cooled off, and she would be back. Once again, I stare out of that damned picture window in the hallway, this time not in terror, rather in deep, melancholic longing. As I am the babysitter for my brother, every morning of the two weeks we are there, Cody’s Dad wakes me from my strangely empty bedroom and ushers me to the master bedroom where Cody is sleeping so he can leave for work. I lay there, in Mom’s spot, staring at the red glow of the digits on the alarm clock: 2:45. He doesn't start work until around 8:00 AM… so, he wasn’t at work, he was hunting my Mother.The Present:I reach my way along the back of the low couch, where I am confronted by linens and other bedding. I gently run my fingertips up to where Mom’s ankle or leg should be, and then I desperately search the couch, silently pulling off the sheets and blanket. They are cool to the touch. No one had been sleeping here!""Did she leave us here? What, was she abducted? Maybe she’s in the restroom?"" I think, unconvincingly reaching out for any justification than the one I fear the most. I had just passed the restroom… while whispering for her. Surely she would have answered?From the open doorway of the master bedroom across the living room, I hear the low, rumbling snores of her rather brawny, gruff-voiced friend. At that moment, comprehension turns my feeling of stark dread into irritation.“Kaaaay….” My brother continues to whine, dragging out the vowel in my name annoyingly. I glance again toward the open doorway where the loud snores continue to emanate from. The only thing visible in any direction comes from the glowing red numerals on the alarm clock on what I presume is the bedside table.Gravity feels amplified as I force myself in that direction, my fear palpable, and my pulse making a whooshing noise in my ears. Hearing Cody whisper my name again tells me he is on the verge of a giant, shitfit. I raise my foot, once again forcing myself toward the sleeping giant that is dead ahead.I made it!I hesitate in the doorway, my mouth starting to open, then snapping closed again. Calling out to my Mom in someone else’s bedroom feels bizarre and awfully presumptuous, though I am certain she is in there…Do I call out to him instead? What is appropriate in this scenario? What was his name again? Is it Ron, or was it Don?Running the risk of- I wasn’t sure what, I throw caution to the wind and in a voice that I am sure betrays my incredible consternation, I say, “Um… Ron?” The snoring abruptly ceases.Oh God! Is he going to be angry? Is he going to yell and throw things and pound on the walls? What if she’s not even in there and Cody and I are alone again?I hurry on, probably speaking ridiculously fast, “Cody’s awake and he wants Mom but… Well, I checked the couch for her but she’s not there, do you know where she went?” I feel breathless, panic-stricken as I await his response. Time slows to a crawl. It feels like the entire world came to a screeching halt and then I hear a tired sigh.“I’m in here, Kay,” my mother’s voice comes sleepily from the other side of the bed. Momentarily, I feel as if all language had been siphoned from my brain. I feel as if the Earth is bending and slanting sideways. I feel like I might faint. I hear the bedcovers rustle as she stands up from her friend’s bed. I breathe deeply in and out of my nose.“Well, “I think, “at least we’re not alone...”
","August 12, 2023 00:03","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Turmoil upon turmoil.', 'time': '01:10 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,6wqwzb,The Brood Comb,Nicole Harvin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6wqwzb/,/short-story/6wqwzb/,Character,0,"['African American', 'Coming of Age', 'Contemporary']",5 likes,"
	“Mr. Moreno?”
	“Hmm?”
	“Permission to speak freely?”
	Paul scrunched his brow, eyes up from his desk. “Speak freely? We’re not in the military, Lil.” She cut him a glance. “My bad. Lily.”
	“I mean, can I speak candidly? Like no admin/student pretenses?”
	Oh no. “Well, Lily, we’re both adults here. What can I do for you?” Mr. Moreno knew he probably shouldn’t have asked that question, but Lily wasn’t going to ask for permission twice.
	“Look Mo. With all due respect, this is bullshit…respectfully.”
	Paul chuckled lightly, suddenly feeling the massive strain on his temples, the weight of his waist-long dreadlocks. “Right, right, respectfully.”
	I suppose a bit more context is needed here. “Mr. Moreno, if I wanted to get insults and racial slurs thrown at me by a bunch of white kids, I’d go on a Call of Duty forum. This is not what I signed up for.” In actuality, it was exactly what she signed up for. The Opportunity Teachers Alliance Program was designed to a) give kids in struggling and underfunded school districts the opportunity to be taught for one to two years by bright-eyed new college graduates, and b) give recent college graduates too scared for the Peace Corps the opportunity to do something noble for a year without people continually asking what the next “big plan” is. What she hadn’t anticipated was,
	“Honeycomb, West Virginia?! Seriously Mo?!”
	Paul expected it to be a hard sell for any student here. When he signed on to be the OTAP liaison at Cheyney University, he hadn’t expected assignments like this to come across his desk. But they were desperate and Paul knew Lily was the perfect candidate, even if she had been anticipating, 
	“Chicago, not fucking coal country! I mean, shit Paul, anywhere but there. Detroit, Bridgeport, any where else I put as location preferences on my application. Was this even listed as an option?” His shiffle-shuffle of papers and avoidance of eye contact gave Lily the sense that no, it wasn’t, only adding to her ire and frustration. She tried to ground herself, stopping her from succumbing to waves of panic, depression, and overall pissed-off ness. 
	“Look, Lily. White kids need Black teachers too. It’s a new opportunity, a fresh start.”
	Lily’s mind drifted to that documentary on ants she watched with her Dad. 
	“I’ve spoken at length with the principal there, and they are tremendously excited to have you there. They don’t get a lot of staff from big cities - hell, they don’t seem to get a lot of staff from outside the state or the county at all.”
	Lily liked ants. Loved them even. They reminded her of Philly. Everyone organized neatly in perfect little Penn-like rows, even, bustling but an order underneath the chaos.
	“And look, there’s a town close by, let me check my notes…Beckley. Beckley, West Virginia. It’s 23 percent Black. That’s the same percentage of Black as Pittsburgh!”
	She remembered her dad leaning into the TV, as fascinated as her if not more. This particular one was about a fungus that took over the ant’s minds, “Almost like Walking Dead, Last of Us zombies!”, her dad had quipped.
	“There’s a long history of Black people in that region. We think of Appalachians as poor Southern white folk, but there’s so much more to that region than we could even imagine!”
	Except, the more you watched the documentary, the more you realized the horrifying truth. The fungus didn’t control the brain. It crept its way into the nervous system, spreading spores into the bug’s legs, making it move, however, wherever it wanted.
	“Bill Withers even grew up there. And B. Kwaku Duren was born there…granted, they moved to Cleveland, but still-”
	The ant’s brain was still intact. It knew what it wanted, and it knew what was happening. It was powerless, at the mercy of the moss in its brain.
	Lily heard Mr. Moreno the entire time. Now she was listening. “Am I the only one going? To Honeycomb, I mean?” 
	A pause. Paul Moreno drummed his fingers on the armrests of his leather chair and cleared his throat again. Lily knew what that meant.
	She wondered if an ant could scream.
 
 
    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 
 
 
	Lily barely heard her dad on the drive back from Cheyney to Philly. She hadn’t exactly divulged the secrets of her next venture to him, and she wasn’t quite sure why. He’d always been supportive of her, even among the pain of mom’s leaving and lights off and tremulous walks home from school down Kensington Avenue when he couldn’t get off work to pick her up.
	“That’s MY baby. Lily Marie Bolton, Bachelor’s degree. I got me a college grad!”
	She giggled as he ruffled her hair and slapped his Eagles cap on her head. She’d usually complain about him messing up her wash-and-go, but she let it slide. (For today, at least.)
	“Baby girl, I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of you. You did it.”
	Lily pushed her seat back a bit to gaze at her father’s profile. Same aquiline nose as hers, long with a slight bump in the middle. He was just shy of 55, but he still looked about 20, a trait that reverberated in her baby face.
	“We did it, Baba. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” He smiled at Lily’s old nickname for him, back from when she was having a hard time pronouncing her “D” sounds and the nice Ethiopian man at the corner store told her that his kids called him Baba too.
	The metallic, tinny rendition of “Just the Two of Us” alerted Lily’s father to a  call, and reminded Lily of the fact that she’d be living in the singer’s hometown in a few weeks. 
	“Maurice Bolton, head of Bolton Cleaning Supplies and Services, how may I be of service to you?”
	Lily turned towards her window, watching as Route 3 whirred past like a technicolor laundromat. She tried to keep down the lump in her throat. Worse came to worst, she’d tug her hoodie over her head, lower the aforementioned Eagles cap over her eyes, and pretend to sleep while she cried.
	Maurice’s (relic of antiquity) flip phone snapped shut and he tossed it in the cup holder, humming “Money, money, money” (The O’Jays, not ABBA) happily to himself.
	Lily grinned. “Big deal coming in, I presume?”
	“You presume is right!” He laughed. “Biggest one yet. From now on, yo daddy’s gon’ be cleaning the Walnut Street Theatre.” He switched to his poshest British accent for the latter part, and Lily responded in kind.
	“Tally-ho, good Sit Bolton, First of His Name. Do riddle me this, old chap. Shan’t it be your employees cleaning on your behalf? Why you haven’t cleaned a toilet apart from our domicile since I was a wee lass on The Avenue of Kensington.”
	A beat passed. She knew she had triggered an uncomfortable string of memories, even when he smiled at her a moment later.
	“Yeah, yeah, you know what I meant wicha smart mouth. It’s a big deal, though. Onwards and upwards, Lily May.”
	Onwards and upwards, indeed. The one-bedroom apartment in Zombie Land was fine for a while. Until Lily and Maurice saw her mom passed out standing up.
	They moved to a motel after that. Lily never could figure out how he got the money for that.
	One Mick Jenkins mixtape later, the Bolton’s trusty Ford Transit Connect pulled in front of their brick townhouse on Fern Street. It had been an absolute fright when they first moved in on Lily’s tenth birthday, but her father was nothing if not crafty and determined to make it a home.
	She hopped down from the car (at 5 foot 3 on a good day she didn’t have much of a choice) and stretched out, yawning and clearing the crick-crack-cricks in her shoulders and hips. Lily waved at Sister Jenkins across the street, and before she could ask any intrusive post-grad life questions, a rogue football slamming into her rose bushes provided a much-needed distraction. 
	Maurice appeared at Lily’s side, arm over her shoulder. He cocked his head toward the truck. “Getting that tomorrow?”
	“Absolutely”.
	“Usual fare? Meet back at West Godfrey and head to the park?”
	Without a word, the two splintered off. Lily to the H-Mart for two rice porridges with snow crab (heated in the staff break room - a perk of the manager’s son having a crush on you). Maurice to Olney Steak and Beer for two roast pork sandwiches (the sole reason why their stint as Messianic Gentiles didn’t work.)
	They could have driven, but the late summer air was warm, so they walked down to Fisher Park, posted up against trees as they ate everything and talked about nothing. A perfect Philadelphia evening in Lily’s book.
 
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
	She really wished she had just taken the admin job in her dad’s office.
	Lily tossed and floundered about, trying her best to get comfortable. Her bed was fine, and $2,430 for a fully furnished two-bedroom apartment (partially subsidized by her grandmother) was unheard of in Philly. Her dad installed every apartment-friendly alarm system he could find and refused to leave until he was certain she knew how to manage them. (He’d also tried to get her a gun at the Wal-Mart nearby, but she had politely declined.)
	She flipped over to her left side, staring at the faint glow of her cell phone charging across the room. Should she keep it closer to the side of the bed? What if there was an emergency? Or that weird guy Logan down the hall came by trying to be “neighborly” again? He’d offered to help her and Maurice carry groceries in earlier, but as her dad put it, “Man like that, smelling like a pack of Marlboros and a John Deere shirt on? I don’t care how nice he is, you be polite, say hi and leave. Don’t know why you even agreed to come down here, all this ‘Let’s go Brandon’ shit everywhere…”
	She’d given up on sleeping. If she couldn’t rest, at least she could get some work done. The mountain air was already chilled, so she padded her way to grab a robe and sat down at the kitchen table. Cocking up an ear, she realized it - it was too damn quiet here! No drunkard arguing, or police sirens, or kids with night-shift parents racing bikes down the street. Just eerie silence.
	She shivered, bunching her robe tightly against her chest. The silence wasn’t the only thing weird here. People were just too damn friendly. Rolling a busted shopping cart around Kroger, she assumed the stares and odd smiles and ‘How ya’ll doing’ was because they were new - and Black. But even the Black people here were strange. Like they could smell she wasn’t one of their own. “Close Encounters of the Appalachian Kind” she called it.
	Now fully awake, she flipped through the pages of her training manual wondering how on earth she was supposed to approach this mess. Teaching English and Geography classes wasn’t the issue. Her Social Relations major allowed her a lot of flexibility in course concentrations, so she was more than intellectually equipped. But as for everything else…
	“One planning period? That’s all you get? What about lunch or recess or somethin’?” her dad exclaimed.
	“They’re understaffed, Daddy. I’m the only English teacher guaranteed to sign on for the whole year. The other two are part-time subs, so who knows how that’ll go. The Amandas said sometimes they just let the kids run around in the gym to let off steam if there’s no teacher for certain classes, and they’re trying to incorporate some virtual stuff, but they don’t have enough computers and-”
	Maurice cut in. “Wait a minute, run that back. Did you say ‘The Amandas’?”
	Yes, she had said ‘The Amandas’. Amanda Hoker, Amanda Grace Jones, and Amanda Lynn Terry. After the kerfuffle that arose when Lily mistakenly called the latter two just “Amanda” and not their (“God-given and doctor-written) full names of Amanda-Grace and Amanda-Lynn, she learned that the three had been part of a state program to encourage West Virginia locals to come back and teach in the area after university. They were nice enough, if not a little…well, vapid. Once “Just Plain Amanda” learned that no, Lily wasn’t really a fan of Beyonce and no, Lily hadn’t seen Black Panther, their attempts at a further connection fizzled out.
	It was formerly retired Julie Hawkins that got Lily together. The 75-year-old Texan had found Ms. Bolton curled up in a fetal position and crying under her desk, much to Ms. Bolton’s embarrassment.
	“Now hun, I’ve been to Philadelphia. Ain’t nothin’ in these hills a little thing like you ain’t seen before. Get on up and let me show you how the printer works. Damn thing is always giving me trouble.”
	Setting aside not knowing what she meant by “a little thing like you”, Lily clung to Mrs. Hawkins for dear life. Maybe it was the mommy issues, but having an old, no-nonsense Southern woman around was a welcome change of pace (even if she still slipped and used the word “colored” sometimes.)
	Because had it not been for Mrs. Hawkins on the night of open house, Lily might have run on home, back to the familiar march of Philadelphia streets and away from this altogether alien hum of the Appalachian hills But with a gentle shoulder squeeze and a “You ready?”, Lily thought she might be.
	And when a little ruddy-cheeked seventh-grade boy with a body like a bean pole and a head like the Liberty Bell wandered into her classroom and said, 
	“Oh! Are you a teacher here? You look like Afro Samurai. That’s neat!”
	At that moment, Lily knew she was ready. 
 
 
 
","August 12, 2023 00:54","[[{'Joe Malgeri': 'Great story, very interesting.', 'time': '15:18 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,zzi9tg,Project Un: Expendable,Samuel Bowen,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zzi9tg/,/short-story/zzi9tg/,Character,0,"['Fantasy', 'Science Fiction']",4 likes,"
 “I began my search across the stars to find natural wonders beyond beauty, to find anomalies beyond comprehension, and find life beyond humanity. Yet all I have seen is mankind alone in an hostile empty universe.”  - Captain’s log, R. Gunson, Paradigm Prime	“Just say it as it is Jax,” Mannis said, clicking his helmet into place. “I’m expendable.”	“It’s not like that!” Jax protested. Mannis gave a cold stare that silenced Jax even through the visor. Fluorescent light flickered glares off Mannis’s suit giving him a foreboding look. Jax looked down and tapped the screen of his tablet. 	“It’s a high risk operation,” Mannis said. “Everyone else is specialized like hell on this mission.”	Jax gave a slow nod in agreement, failing to find words to say. Mannis knelt to put on his grav-boots, lacing them with magnetic and interlocking straps like suspenders to his knees. His first layer was an airtight, flame resistant, waterproof, heat regulated, synthetic standard uniform. On top, he placed the grav-boots. More like tech enhanced sabatons than boots, but for a space repair, he wouldn’t complain. After placing both boots on, he stood back up and tapped the screen on his right forearm bracer pad. The grav-boots extended upwards with 4 sheets of metal like a budding flower. The sheets pressed against his leg and rested in place. Mannis gave a good squat and stretch to test the strain.	“Not bad,” He muttered. “These gen 6?”	Jax shook his head not looking up from his pad. “7’s, our boys in engineering just finished testing them. 20% more efficient.”	Mannis looked over at Jax. “Looks like Jess’s work.”	“Spotted the genius of our lovely head engineer, did you?” Jax said. 	Mannis nodded, placing a hand on the cold steel of the airlock tunnel. “She’d kill you for calling her ‘our boys in engineering’.”	Jax looked up. “I was referring to the team who built them.”	“Ah so you intentionally left out credit for her design work?” 	“I…” Jax stuttered. “No, it was a figure of speech!”	Mannis held up a hand. “I’m messing with you,”	Jax stopped mid protest and his shoulders slumped. 	Mannis shrugged. “Gotta have a laugh before I die.” 	“Well you didn’t laugh,” Jax muttered finishing his work on the tablet. “And you won’t die… Statistically speaking.”	Mannis grunted a one second chuckle. “Lovely.” 	He strapped on gloves before checking the bracer on his left arm. The thing hardly did anything more than offer a layer of protection, but policy had to be followed. He adjusted the chest piece that housed the oxygen and power supply. He tapped the bracer screen again and the chest piece extended plates to cover his thighs and connected to the grav-boots. The shoulder blades of the chest piece extended and folded metal around his arms up to his elbows. The bracers extended to connect to the elbow and extended to encase the openings of the gloves. Mannis tapped again and the suit jettisoned a burst of air. 	“Decompression complete,” Jax said walking up. Jax was a short man, but the grav-boots gave Mannis another half a foot of height on the man. Jax placed in the center of the chest piece, a round device like a metal donut with the hole filled. “Shields are charged and confirmed ready for use.”	“Let’s boot her up,” Mannis said. He reached for the jaw of the helmet and hit a switch. That opened a small panel in the helmet that contained the power button. He pressed it and light filled his vision. Sounds became clearer, visuals were auto adjusted to be high quality and precise on details. A plethora of logs and systems scrolled across his visor. 	“Systems are good.” Mannis stepped up to the airlock and pulled upward to open the hatch. Mannis nodded. And Jax stepped back. 	“I’ll tell Jess you complimented her boots,” Jax said with a smile.	“Please no,” Mannis said with a groan. 	“What? Maybe she’ll catch the hint?” Jax said.	Mannis shook his head. “Don’t think she’ll need the hint. Asked her yesterday.”	“No!”	Mannis began closing the airlock, but Jax caught it and stuck his head under to stare up at Mannis. 	“When were you gonna tell me? Better yet what did she say?!”	Mannis shrugged. “Flattered, Not opposed. But doesn’t want a ‘distraction’ while on mission.”	“Oh,” Jax said.	“Let the airlock go, bud. I can tell you all the tragic details over a drink,” Mannis said. 	Jax nodded. “On me, pal.”	“I’m counting on it,”Jax could hear the grin in Mannis’s voice for once. 	“You’re a smart bastard, Mannis,” Jax said with a friendly glare. “Show some emotion more often will ya? It’s easier for me to tell when you’re joking that way.”	Mannis shrugged.	“Maybe you’d get a ‘yes’ if you did?” Jax said. “Just saying!”	Jax ducked out of the airlock and shut it. 	“That’s cold, Jax!” Mannis yelled.	“Go die in space Mannis!” Jax replied. He gave a joking salute before walking off, his face bearing that stupid grin. ***	Mannis all but dropped his tray of dinner on the table. He plopped on the bench exhausted. Who could have guessed recalibrating a flare reader from the outside would have taken so much work? Mannis blinked away spots and downed a glass of water. He brushed away sweat and flicked his hand to the side. He stared at his food. The perfectly cut blocks of food did not appear appetizing. Of course it was full of flavor and nutrients, not to mention the texture never bothered him, but one could miss the natural messiness of home cooked meals. 	Mannis went to drink again, but found his glass empty. He strained to get up again. His legs shook in protest and he slumped back down again. Mannis sighed and began to eat. He’d give his legs a few minutes rest before getting up for more water. As he ate, a glass set down in front of him. Mannis looked up mid-bite to see a feminine figure. Everyone aboard The Commission wore the same standard uniforms, but for this woman it seemed to compliment her. Her face, her pale skin, almost glowed in comparison to the dark grey clothing. She bore a very expressionless look. Straight lips, set jaw, brows in a slight furrow. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, tied with the strap of goggles which gleamed like a pair of second eyes on her forehead. Her real eyes were a deep brown flecked with gold. There seemed to be a small twinkle in her eyes, like a spark of humanity behind a mask of stoicism.  	“Heard you liked my boots,” She said. Mannis groaned but nodded. ""Mind if I sit?""	He ignored the protests forming in his head and gestured for Jess to sit. She sat with precision, and set down her own tray of food. She made an odd gesture with her hands and closed her eyes. She was silent and unmoving for a moment and then began to eat. Mannis too returned to eating, realizing he may have been staring.	""How'd they do?"" Jess asked, her gaze like a carven statue. It took a moment for Mannis to realize what she asked.	""Worked great, the extended power about saved my life. The job took twice as long as a normal repair should. 20% more efficient is quite an improvement.""	""Any malfunctions?""	Mannis shook his head. They were quiet for a while and Mannis felt awkwardness begin to exceed his exhaustion. Luckily, Jess spoke up first.	""I thought about it,"" she said. 	Mannis raised an eyebrow in confusion.	""You asked. Yesterday.""	Oh.	""Would a conditional yes do?"" She said. Mannis dropped his fork midway through a bite. The cafeteria went a bit more quiet than it should. Mannis waited until chatter started up again. 	""Meaning what exactly?” Mannis said.	""We're on mission, I have responsibilities that pile up. I can't have distractions, I can't make promises, work is priority.""	Hadn’t they been over this already? ""Alright…""	Jess lost composure. ""I'll be straightforward about it then.""	""That would help,” Mannis said before quickly adding “I think.”	""You're the first one to ask. I respect guts, Malek. And I could do with a break from work.""	""Wouldn't a break be considered a distraction?"" Mannis asked, then realizing what he asked stared at his food to avoid her gaze.	""In a way,"" she said. ""Yes. I'm making a slight exception.""	""Thank you?"" Mannis said.	""You're welcome,"" Jess said. 	They both went quiet. Mannis kept eating.	""When are you off work?"" He asked.	""23:00"" 	Mannis nearly choked on his food. That was quite late. He usually was on call starting at 5:00. He nodded. Maybe he could find a way to get a later shift…	""Anything you'd like to do? Something you consider fun?"" Mannis asked.	""Mathematics, Meridian Theory, and the occasional impromptu Panoply redesign.""	Mannis chuckled. There was no way someone did any or all of those for ‘fun’.	""Glad you understand humor,"" she said in her matter of fact way. She sat stone faced, but seemingly expecting. Jess was confusing to him sometimes.	""Fun?"" Mannis asked. ""What do you do for fun?""	""Oh,"" Jess said. But she seemed like she didn’t have an answer.	""Tell you what,"" Mannis said. ""I asked, so I'll figure something out. We'll do something that gives you a break from math and science and the engineering smart stuff?""	Jess looked at him and a smirk tugged at her lips. Heat rose to his face. Mannis shrugged and gave a sheepish smile as if to say ‘sorry?’. He was never this bad at keeping his composure.	""Yes, something distracting from smart stuff.""	""It's a date, Jess. Er…” Mannis paused. “Do you prefer last names? Is it unprofessional to say first names? Should I-""	""Jess works,"" she said. 	""Alright… Jess,"" Mannis said. ""How about tomorrow 23:00? Meet you at your shop?""	She nodded.	""Lovely,"" Mannis said. He finished his food and stood up. He took his tray and turned to leave. ""Oh and if something comes up, just let me know. We can reschedule or cancel. Whatever works. You have priorities.""  And I'm expendable, he thought.	Jess nodded. ""Thank you.""	Mannis raised a cup as a goodbye wave and walked away. Jax would have quite the time hearing about this.***	23:00 had come almost too soon. Jax, of course, loved the twists and turns of Mannis’s situation. Jax gave endless amounts of advice that Mannis had considered, but promptly tossed in his mind’s nearest airlock. That software genius had a million ideas but Mannis wasn’t really focused on how to “get the girl.” He understood what he was. Just a distraction from work. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more. 	“Lost in thought again,” Jess asked. 	Mannis blushed. What was it with her? He couldn’t seem to keep composure anytime he was around her. “Sorry, I’m a bit scatterbrained when it gets late.”	Jess nodded. Mannis dared a glance in her direction as they walked down the hallway towards storage. Her eyes had a look as if a thousand thoughts were running through her mind. She didn’t say anything more, just a subtle straightening of her posture to say she was uncomfortable. Mannis looked away. So much for a good impression, He thought.	His brain searched for questions to ask, conversations to start, or words to say but ultimately found nothing. They were met at the door by Vincent. The brute’s muscles could be seen through the uniform and the body armor he wore. 	“Oi,” Vincent said. “Where ya going?”	Jess gestured to Mannis as she didn’t know. Mannis stared at the man and slipped into his professional self.	“Checking on storage,” Mannis said. “Something our Head Engineer needs to see.”	Vincent narrowed his eyes. “And what are you doing then?”	Mannis smiled a cold smile. “If something goes wrong, I’m here to take the bullet, repair the damage or get sucked into space on her behalf. Can’t have her be at risk.” 	Vincent nodded and Mannis opened the storage door with a swipe of a badge. Jess followed Mannis and the doors shut behind them. Jess looked uncomfortable, but remained quiet and composed. 	 “Do you have access to everywhere?” She asked. 	Mannis nodded. “The one perk of being expendable. I have to be able to be everywhere.”	Jess frowned. A sinking feeling came over Mannis. Jess reacting meant something deeply bothered her. So Mannis shut up and pointed ahead of them. For a moment they walked on in silence. Mannis realized they couldn’t just not talk, so he tried reassuring her.	“Figured you wouldn’t like the typical nonsense of the crew,” Mannis said. “Don’t want to take up your time so I figured I’ll do something no one else can.”	Jess stopped. Mannis didn’t notice at first and continued speaking.	“Most people don’t know about some of the greatest places on this ship.”	“Mannis,” Jess said. “Where are you taking me?”	Mannis turned to see her steps behind him. He stared blankly at her, but pointed ahead of them. “There’s a big old window.” He admitted. “It’s not like the most interesting thing in the world, but it’s a damn good view.”	He winced realizing he had swore. Jess however seemed to recover her composure. Stone faced as ever she followed. Did I say something wrong? Mannis thought. 	“Thought it’d be more exciting if it was a surprise…” He said. “But hey don’t want to waste your…time…” She walked ahead of him. He couldn’t tell if she wanted to be done with the whole ordeal or if she was genuinely curious. Mannis hurried to catch up and led her to the spot he had picked. The round window had a diameter several feet long. The sparkling stars twinkled in the void and even wisps of galaxies could be seen. Jess stared with wide eyes at the sight.	“I know it’s not much…” Mannis started to say. Jess held up her hand and he stopped talking. She put her other hand to the glass and remained staring at the world outside. “It’s far enough away from lit portions of the ship. Even far enough forward so that you don’t get light pollution from the engines. Sometimes you can even catch a glimpse of-”	A faint shooting star crossed the sky and Jess let out a gasp. “Something cool,” Mannis said. “A glimpse of something beyond, ya know? Makes me think that maybe we’re not alone. Maybe something else is out there besides humanity.”	Jess turned to him with a spark in her eyes gleaming like he’d never seen.	“It’s amazing!” she said.	Mannis sat down. Propping one leg by the window so that he rested within the nook. Jess sat down as well.	“Do you…” Jess seemed uncertain. “Do you see things like this often?”	Mannis nodded. “Sometimes more up close.”	Jess cocked her head.	“I repair the outside of the ship a lot,” He said, shrugging. “It’s a lot different when your life is tied to a tether and some boots.”	“What’s it like?” Jess asked very quickly. Mannis looked at her, but couldn’t read her stone face. 	“Terrifying,” Mannis admitted. “Every step is walking between life and death. But I trust the work of people smarter than me. The tether won’t break. The boots won’t fail.”	“But even statistically speaking there is always a margin for error. Entropy will eventually wear down the most sophisticated and least sophisticated technology in the same way. There’s no way to guarantee a 100% success rate. Surely you must…”  She stopped rambling and blinked twice in rapid succession. Mannis felt a smile tugging at his lips.	“Doesn’t death scare you?” Jess said. 	Mannis stared at space while he thought. 	“I think I am,” Mannis said.	Jess stared at him. Not the stars. At him. Mannis blushed again.	“One day,” Mannis said. “I’ll die out there. Don’t think there’s a way around it. The tether will snap or an explosion will take me out. Whatever it is, I already know how I’ll feel and what I'll think.”	“How?” She asked.	Mannis shrugged. “With what I do, I know I’ll die thinking about the fact that someone else will have to risk their life because of my incapability. Someone of more value will have to come along and fix my mistakes. 	Jess stood up seeming very distraught. 	“Sorry,” Mannis said. “Talking too much?”	That sinking feeling returned. Jess grabbed his hand and he looked up in shock. He met her eyes and saw immense sternness.	“Mannis Malek,” Jess said. “Quit it with the degrading comments about yourself! Your work is beyond important, and you are one of the only people qualified to do it! You get to see the wonders of space and do incredible feats! You risk your life to keep this blasted ship going. While the rest of us sit around, practically in bubble wrapped rooms so we don’t get scratched! Stop acting like you’re just expendable!”	“Yes Ma’am,” He replied instinctually. His response seemed to remind her who she was speaking to. She let go of his wrist and looked away. Mannis felt a whirlwind of emotions stir up in him. He didn’t know what emotions they were or what to do with them.	“Apologies,” She muttered.	Mannis sat stunned.	“I should go,” Jess said. “Thank you for the…um…view.”	Jess began to walk away.	“Thank you,” Mannis said.	“For what?” Jess said with a slight confused look.	Mannis shrugged. “Tonight, I suppose.”	The oddest thing happened. Jess smiled. It was a quick smile, but a smile nonetheless. She nodded goodnight and Mannis stared back at the window. As her footsteps faded, Mannis rubbed his wrist where she had held him. He tried to process what had happened and understand the mind of Jess Polaris.	There was only one thing more confusing than that woman; the statement that Mannis Malek wasn’t expendable. 
","August 11, 2023 19:13",[]
prompt_0029,Write about a character who has to grapple with something completely alien to them.,5b69xy,The King of Time,Hamzah Malik,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5b69xy/,/short-story/5b69xy/,Character,0,"['Fantasy', 'Bedtime', 'Adventure']",4 likes,"
There once lived a boy who loved playing with pebbles. He'd collect them in the morning, line them up proudly in the street, and play games with them until sunset.
 
One day, the King of the land noticed him playing with his pebbles, and being a wise leader, asked his advisor to walk by the boy and drop a gold coin.
 
The advisor did as he was asked, and the King watched intently from a distance as the boy played with his pebbles, and then noticed the glinting gold in the dust nearby.
 
He picked it up and looked around expectantly, his shining green eyes scanning for people nearby.
 
He spotted the advisor walking away and ran towards him, jumping up to tap him on the shoulder, and gave him the coin back.
 
The King was impressed and asked his servants to inquire about the boy. They discovered he was an orphan, living in terrible squalor, so the King asked if he'd like to live in the Palace.
 
The boy eagerly accepted, thinking of all the room he'd have there to play with his pebbles. He hurried back and grabbed his lucky pebble, which was oval-shaped with a crooked line dancing down the middle of it.
 
The King noticed this and smiled, asking the boy what was special about the pebble, and the boy excitedly told the King all about the games he would play in the streets, and how he always won when playing with his lucky pebble.
 
The King listened patiently and nodded, saying he too played pebble games as a boy, but his hands were far too old and frail now to be useful. With a beaming smile, the boy held up his lucky pebble and said they could share it because it would never let its owner down.
 
The King smiled warmly and tousled his hair, quietly promising himself to always protect the boy and his fearless innocence.
 
And so the years passed, and the boy became a man. He became like a son to the King, who entrusted him with his Kingdom's most delicate affairs.
 
One day, the King fell sick, and the boy traveled far and wide frantically searching for a cure. Alas, he was unsuccessful, and one cold winter's night, the King died in his sleep.
 
The boy was beside himself with grief, so much so that he ran away from the Palace, unable to look at anything that reminded him of the King.
 
Months passed and the boy started to have dark thoughts about ending his pain. He was walking in a daze towards a cliff edge when he noticed an egg on the ground. He carefully picked it up and placed it in a tree nearby.
 
As he turned to leave, he heard a thunderous explosion, and a brilliant flash came from the tree. A huge bird made of pure light unfurled its wings, and the boy fell to his knees, holding his arm to his face.
 
The light from the bird poured endlessly into the sky, and speaking in a rumbly voice, it introduced itself as the Tempus and thanked the boy for his selfless act. 
 
It then offered him one wish in return.
 
The boy, still in anguish over the death of his father-figure, said he just wanted things to stop, that life was too painful to bear.
 
The Tempus screeched and wriggled a silver ring off its smallest talon, which fell to the ground and shrank as it did so.
 
The boy picked it up gingerly, turning it around in his hands. The Tempus told him this ring, when worn and twisted twice clockwise, would trigger a curse that stopped time. Twisting it again would lift the curse.
 
Without hesitation, the boy pushed the ring over his index finger and twisted.
 
Just before he did though, the Tempus screeched once more, and said that while time was stopped, only the animals, sea, sun, moon, and stars would function normally. He would also never need to eat or drink while time was stopped.
 
The boy nodded eagerly, and thanked the Tempus. The majestic bird urged him to be careful, and then vanished.
 
With a shuddering breath, the boy twisted twice, and there was an almighty bang. He ran back to a nearby village and, to his amazement, realised everyone was frozen.
 
Men stood frozen mid-step, children were suspended in mid-air while jumping off trees, and a woman stood motionless at a nearby stream collecting water, although the water itself was overflowing out of her bucket.
 
The boy twisted the ring twice again, and everything returned to normal. The child landed on the floor with a giggle, and the woman shook her head and tutted to herself as she scolded herself for daydreaming.
 
For the next few weeks, the boy turned time on and off several times, just to ensure everything worked as the Tempus claimed.
 
Then one day, he twisted the ring twice and walked off into the sunset, exhausted by his grief, tears streaming down his face.
He walked for several years across every land imaginable, not worrying about anyone else or any dangers. He slept under the stars and spent time by the sea, watching the birds.
 
After a few years had passed, he realised he quite liked having time under his thumb, and toyed with the idea of not ever turning it back again.
 
He wasn't aging, and no one who was frozen would have lost any time of their own, so it seemed like a fair deal. He became enamoured with the idea of total immortality, sometimes screaming from the mountaintops how he was the true King of Time.
 
The boy woke up one day on a beach, time still frozen in a beautiful mosaic. His trousers were wet from the tide, but he knew the ocean's ebbing and flow well enough by now to know it wasn't dangerous at this time of the month.
 
He yawned and then suddenly gasped. His ring was missing. He scrambled around for it everywhere but could not find it. He retraced his steps, dug in the sand for hours, but was unsuccessful.
 
He then sat down, and the truth dawned on him. Before falling asleep the previous night, he had been playing with the ring, turning it around in his hands. He had then placed it in his palm before drifting off to sleep.
 
His hands shot down to his trousers, which were soaking wet. His eyes widened, and he screamed as he turned towards the endless ocean. The tide had come in and snatched the ring from his hand. 
 
Even with all the time in the world, he would never find the ring again, not if it was at the bottom of the ocean or carried to new shores somewhere in the world.
 
And so the boy travelled for a hundred years, searching desperately for his ring, calling out to the Tempus now and again to see if it would help, but to no avail.
 
One day, as the boy sat on a cliff edge looking at a particularly beautiful sunset, a crow came and perched near him. It eyed him for a moment before speaking, startling the boy.
 
The crow introduced himself as the Crendle and said that he had watched the boy for a long time but had grown tired of his endless searching for the ring.
 
The boy's heart skipped a beat. The Crendle paused and said he knew where the ring was, but first, he wanted something from the boy.
 
The Crendle told the boy to travel to the biggest kingdom in all the land, and break into the King's inner sanctum, the place reserved only for the most valuable treasures, and steal his most prized ruby, which was rumoured to be the size of a first-born son's ego. 
 
The Crendle said it was rumoured that this room was bursting with treasure, so to help himself as well if anything took his fancy.
 
The boy laughed in both relief and exasperation, for he had grown up in this very kingdom, and he was the only man apart from the King who knew where the inner sanctum was.
 
He had never visited it while in the King's care, but had been told about it by the King himself before he died.
 
The boy travelled back to the Palace where he had grown up, walking silently through the halls until he arrived at the secret door which led to the inner sanctum.
 
He ignored everyone frozen in time, as he knew he'd stop to reminisce, and the Crendle seemed like an impatient creature.
 
Walking past the frozen guards and straight into the inner sanctum, the boy frowned. The room was as big as a citadel, but completely empty. 
 
There was no treasure, gold coins, rubies or mountains of diamonds to speak of. The only thing in the middle of the room was a small wooden box.
 
He opened it and stood frozen for another year. There was no ruby, sapphires, or pearls in the box.
 
It was an oval-shaped pebble, with a crooked line dancing down the middle.
 
The boy sobbed and realised he had been running away from his own grief, smothering his own pain for so long, that the young boy who loved playing pebbles in the streets so long ago was barely recognisable anymore.
 
As the boy returned to the Crendle, he explained that there was no ruby, and showed him the pebble. 
 
The Crendle squawked in annoyance and said he could keep his strange pebble, and that he'd help him anyway.
 
The boy listened intently as the Crendle told him that on that fateful night, it was he who had stolen the ring, not the ocean. The Crendle had wriggled it out of his hand with his little beak, vowing to put it somewhere so safe, no one would find it.
 
At this news, the boy nearly flew into a fit of rage, but he held his composure and kindly asked the Crendle where he had placed the magic ring.
 
The Crendle squinted at him and said it would be the only place the man looking for it wouldn't search. He flapped his wings and flew off, circling around the boy three times and telling him that he snored when he slept, so he placed the ring into his face nest for safekeeping.
 
The Crendle had dropped the ring into the boy's mouth - it had been in his stomach all along.
 
He cast his mind back to the Tempus, hundreds of years ago, and recalled that it said he would never eat or drink, meaning he could not force himself to vomit or relieve himself.
 
The ring was well and truly stuck, and time was frozen until something was done about it.
 
It was then that the boy knew what he had to do, and felt a strange sense of relief. He walked to the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees, unsheathing a dagger from his boot that he hadn't touched in the longest time.
 
He kept his gaze fixed on the sunset and plunged the dagger into his stomach, gasping at the wave of pain engulfing him. As he bled onto the cliff, he saw his pebble in front of him, drops of blood landing on it.
 
The boy realised that time was only beautiful because it passes and runs its course.
 
The very moment he was living, with blood pouring from his open wound with the seconds dwindling away, was more precious than the last 300 years he had spent endlessly roaming the world.
 
The boy slowly reached into his wound and fumbled around until he found the ring.
 
He placed it on his finger and with a shuddering breath twisted it once. He looked down at his pebble and wept openly for the first time in an age.
 
He wept for his dear King, he wept for his childhood spent in squalor, and he wept for the mountain of tender memories he had so easily forgotten in search of selfish solace.
 
He remembered the King tousling his hair, playing pebbles with him in the courtyard, running home to the Palace after lazy afternoons studying under apple trees, and how his life had only been beautiful because of the people in it.
 
Without them, it had been like trying to paint a sunset with a palette full of soot.
 
With one final shuddering breath, the boy twisted the ring for the last time and collapsed as he heard an almighty bang, realising the end of all things carried with it a quiet beauty that even infinity would never match.
","August 11, 2023 13:28","[[{'Belladona Vulpa': 'From the beginning, I am drawn to the fairytale-like way of this story, the allegories and symbols used, and the very human emotions as well. \n\nThe story was fascinating to follow until the end, to see how the boy deals with his grief and loss of a father figure. Although death seemingly takes control as a topic, more deeply, my understanding is that this fairytale is a contemplation about life itself. \n\nVery nice!', 'time': '12:06 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Hamzah Malik': 'Thank you Belladona! I’m so glad you enjoyed my story. Death does take over as a core theme, but yes it’s largely a commentary on the fragility and beauty of life itself. :)', 'time': '18:48 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Hamzah Malik': 'Thank you Belladona! I’m so glad you enjoyed my story. Death does take over as a core theme, but yes it’s largely a commentary on the fragility and beauty of life itself. :)', 'time': '18:48 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"