prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,sjio3u,"Raise High the Roofbeams, Carpenters",Delbert Griffith,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/sjio3u/,/short-story/sjio3u/,Dramatic,0,"['Funny', 'Romance', 'Drama']",43 likes,"
                                                                              Raise high the roofbeams, carpenters.
                                                                              Like Ares comes the bridegroom,
                                                                             Taller far than a tall man.
                                                                                                                  Sappho
 
 
Life in the Danforth household wasn’t perfect, but it was as near to dammit as could be expected by any reasonable definition of the adjective. Harold Danforth was happy to accrue large amounts of money from his investments in real estate, he was well pleased with his daughter, and he was quite fond of his wife. Placidity ruled the roost, with nary a tempest in sight.
Until today.
Patricia Danforth, his better half – according to his better half – had been on a mission in recent months. Her daughter needed a husband. Desdemona disagreed in principle, though her heart was open to the tender ministrations of manly solicitude. No arguments ensued concerning this matter, though there were baleful glares. Yelling and recriminations never followed, nor sulky silence. Miniscule ripples in the pond. Eventually, as do all ripples in all ponds, they disappeared. Life returned to normal.
Until today.
Mother Patricia had invited a young man for dinner, and she made it clear that Desdemona was to be in attendance. Further, she was also to be on her best behavior and wear a dress that accentuated a figure she didn’t have. Desdemona remonstrated. Yelling ensued, causing Harold Danforth to retreat to his office and continue working on this week’s edition of Kooky Crosswords. Ripples accrue.
Desdemona stomped out of the house, laptop in hand, and toward one of her favorite sanctuaries: Kelly’s Java Hut. A drive of three miles accomplished the twin objectives of getting Desdemona to her well-lighted and well-patronized hideaway, and to disperse her anger. To further alleviate the latter symptom, she ordered decaffeinated coffee.
Only one table remained when she got her coffee. Desdemona grabbed it and opened her laptop. She had been staring at a blank screen for five minutes before she noticed a man standing in front of her. She traded staring at a blank screen for staring at the man.
“May I sit here?”
Desdemona frowned. She wanted to be alone. Casting about the room, Desdemona saw that the only free seat in the establishment was the one the man wanted. With a slight gesture, she invited the man to sit. 
One of the things that Desdemona despised was small talk. She didn’t care to chat about the weather, politics, inflation, or what a cute dog that man in the corner had. Right now, for example, she wanted to sit and contemplate her next novel.
Desdemona’s Cowgirls in Love series was a modest success, garnering her a high five figures per book. Though she wasn’t in the same league as Danielle Steel or Nora Roberts, she still made a comfortable living. The demographics of her audience showed that she had a durable audience for at least the next two decades. Women approaching middle age adored her writing. 
Desdemona found it rather disheartening that most of these women were married; this cast a dim light over the whole romance-for-life thing. Her parents, likewise, weren’t so much in love as they were sparring partners, jabbing at each other with marshmallow words. This was always done behind closed doors, and Desdemona knew of this because she was a shameless eavesdropper.
Desdemona attributed her lack of any permanent relationship to these two factors. Married women shouldn’t need romance novels to stimulate their lives, and her parents shouldn’t need to gently pick at each other to show their devotion.
The man seated across from her hadn’t uttered a word throughout Desdemona’s ruminations. This irritated her. She understood that it was hypocritical to be irritated, given her views on small talk, but now she felt as if she were being shunned in favor of – something else.
“There’s a seat at the bar, if you’re interested,” Desdemona said, unsmiling and a little miffed.
The man looked at her. He was smiling, which made Desdemona not smile even more.
“Why would I want to do that? I’m sitting across from the prettiest girl in the room.”
Desdemona gazed at the man for a moment. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but she wasn’t yet willing to release the hounds.
“Hmm. Has that line ever worked?”
The stranger cocked his head slightly.
“Scores of times, when I said it to my mother.”
Desdemona couldn’t help but smile now.
“Touché, good sir. Double points for the mother reference.”
They sat in companionable silence for another five minutes before Desdemona felt the need to speak. The man had become an itch that she needed to scratch. So to speak.
“You are unusually quiet for a table companion. What gives?”
The man again cocked his head before speaking. Desdemona found it cute.
“You seemed deep in thought. Didn’t want to disturb.”
“Indeed. And I was deep in thought.”
“Ah.”
“I was wondering how my parents, lovely people though they are, ever got together long enough to produce me. I can’t see it, myself.”
The man let out a rich, resonant laugh, one that reminded Desdemona of Garrick, her first literary creation. Garrick wooed and married a poor cowgirl, upending the status quo of the era and celebrating the true meaning of love. They went on to live, of course, happily ever after. Desdemona knew it was tripe when she wrote it, and was amazed that a publisher wanted to print it. But the publisher did. So far, she had penned six books in the series, each one selling moderately better than the last.
“Nor can I, thankfully,” the man responded quietly.
Desdemona found the stranger’s laugh pleasant and forthright. An honest laugh, a laugh that reminded one of substantial picnic fare and lazy evenings on the veranda. Desdemona didn’t believe in love at first sight, but she was beginning to believe in attraction at first laugh.
“You have a name, sir? I wish to know the possessor of such a good laugh and witty tongue.”
“I am blessed with three names. The first name is Jarod. I’ll reserve the other two names for future use. A little mystery in a relationship’s good, don’t you think?”
Desdemona noted the smile. A veritable sunrise with teeth, a lighted path with gums, a solar source between stubbled cheeks. Desdemona was heartened by the smile, and even happier that the man was not handsome. Ugly men, she believed, were more honest, worked harder, and appreciated women without an hourglass figure.
Desdemona admitted to herself that she didn’t have an hourglass figure. It could be likened more to an apple sitting atop an eggplant, the whole lot balanced precariously on two carrots. Desdemona searched for a fruit or vegetable that could describe her boobs, but nothing came to mind. Grapes seemed too big and raisins seemed too small and wrinkly. She left off thinking about her boobs, returning her attention to Jarod.
“Oh? So we have a relationship going on now, do we? You move fast.”
Jarod smiled and leaned forward slightly.
“Only as fast as I need to be.”
“I see. So, now that we’re in a relationship, I can be blunt in my addresses to you. First, don’t call me beautiful. Second, my name is Desdemona, which you didn’t even ask about, and third, can you come to dinner with me and my family tonight?”
Jarod’s eyes widened slightly – only slightly, mind you – at the invitation. 
“I think you’re beautiful, but I’ll respect your wishes. Desdemona, though, is a beautiful name, and, yes, I’d love to meet the parents that somehow, in the dark of the night and within the sacred confines of the marital bed, created such an entrancing progeny.”
“You talk pretty,” Desdemona said. She, in fact, was a little stunned by the outpouring of Jarod’s tongue.
“I blame public education.”
It was Desdemona’s turn to laugh heartily. Her non-hourglass figure jiggled; Jarod admired the look of it. To him, the sight of Desdemona laughing was one of those pleasures that everyone who was skeptical about human nature should see at least once in their benighted life.
Desdemona gave Jarod her address and the time he should be there. He gazed at the address a moment longer than necessary before looking up. Desdemona had already flitted, hieing off to home, hearth, and sober contemplation.
She was smitten, and it scared her.
                                                            **************
Jarod arrived ten minutes early, being of the school of thought that to be early was to be on time. The Danforth household did not adhere to such a heretical doctrine, opting instead for the motto that to be fashionably late was the height of civility.
Because of the clash of philosophy, Jarod was ushered in by a thin-lipped maid and seated next to the father, the only occupant of the room. Harold Danforth paid the boy scant attention, continuing with his attempt at solving this week’s Kooky Crossword. It was well-known among the Danforth family that the father would consider his life complete were he to solve one of these puzzles. The 1000-dollar cash prize meant little to him. He wanted his picture on the Wall Of Fame.
“Hmm. A former member of the Quisite cult,” Harold Danforth murmured. The Kooky Crossword Challenge was, in many respects, like many other crossword puzzles. The difference, however, was that The Kooky Crossword Challenge had twenty clues for twenty words, but it was interspersed with three “Kooky” clues.
Just as Harold uttered the clue aloud, Desdemona came down the stairs. Jarod’s breath caught, a slight gasp escaping his lips.
“Exquisite,” he said, a little too loudly. This is where it gets interesting.
Desdemona felt her heart flutter at the sight of a man she had just met, just as Harold Danforth clapped in glee. Desdemona had never seen her father clap, with glee or otherwise. He seemed happier than usual.
“Exquisite! Ex-Quisite! I commend you, sir!” Harold grabbed Jarod’s hand and pumped it vigorously.
“Um – “ Jarod stopped there. It seemed like the thing to do.
The doorbell immediately rang. A young man was shown in. Gerald Portnoy. Mama Danforth’s prize for her daughter.
Gerald Portnoy had money; he reeked of it, according to the good mama. It was rather unfortunate that he had the face he had. Desdemona thought that God had given the man all the required facial features, but those features had declined to work together in harmony. 
His eyes were too close together for his eyebrows, or, conversely, the eyebrows were too far apart for the eyes. He had the correct number of cheeks, but they were pink and chubby, which did nothing to soften the sharp nose and weak chin. Altogether a repulsive face, in Desdemona’s opinion, though he was considered good looking by the standards of the day. Her mother, for example, found that handsomeness correlated perfectly with wealth.
Gerald stopped short when he spied Jarod sitting between Desdemona and Harold. In short, he was confused.
“A breath refresher for ranch hands,” Mr. Danforth murmured, shaking his head at the enigmatic clue. Two of the three kooky clues still evaded him.
“Well, this is a nice arrangement,” Gerald’s weak chin trembled, his cheeks became redder, and he was considering getting his dander up. 
“Arrangement?” Jarod said out loud. 
“Arrangement! A-range-mint! Stupendous, young man. Simply stupendous!”
Mr. Danforth eyed Jarod with admiration and approval.
“You’ve grown about three feet taller in my dad’s estimation,” Desdemona said to Jarod, her eyes sparkling.
“Perhaps I’ll stoop upon leaving, so as not to bang my head,” Jarod said. He was eyeing his intended rival with alarm. Dandified pretty boys had lost him more than one possible romance.
Mrs. Danforth chose this moment to descend the stairs. As she glided downwards, resplendent in a chiffon evening gown and Italian heels, one could liken her to a battleship in full regalia. Wide and long and sleek, a sight to behold, yet with plenty of ordinance below to quell any impending insurrection. Already, the shells were being loaded and primed.
Jarod was subject to a steely, hard gaze from the mother of his new acquaintance. She stopped briefly on the last step but two, casting an imperious eye over the interloper. Her journey resumed, and she greeted the impeccably-dressed – and rich – Gerald Portnoy with a warmth that belied her natural inclination towards stoicism and ever-so-subtle grimacing.
“Mother, I’d like you to meet Jarod. We haven’t been blessed with a last name as yet. Saving it for the wedding, I suppose,” Desdemona’s eyes gleamed with mischief. Mischief duly arrived.
“Hmm. A mongrel, to be sure. And he’s wearing jeans. How quaint.” Mrs. Danforth turned her attention to young Portnoy.
“Come, sit by me. Tell us all about your portfolio, my dear. Desdemona is ever so interested in how money works,” Mrs. Danforth shot a glare at her daughter. 
“Well. Money. Interesting thing, really – “
“Tar, squared,” Mr. Danforth blurted out. He was in a tizzy, for he had never been so close to solving a Kooky Crossword. The last seven years had seen him struggle against the esoteric clues, never quite getting all three. Undeterred, he vowed to continue the struggle until the day was won.
“Harold!” Mrs. Danforth’s voice reached stentorian proportions, as befitted her bulk.
“Yes, m’dear?” Mr. Danforth muttered, paying not the slightest bit of attention to anyone. He was so close he could smell the victory.
“Shall we go in to dinner?” Mrs. Danforth’s word carried the chill of an ice flow in the Arctic regions.
“Excuse my mom, she a bit of a – “
Desdemona left the sentence unfinished. Jarod finished it for her.
“Tartar?”
“Um, yes. I was plumping for ‘bitch in a dress,’ but you get the general meaning.”
“Tartar! Tar times tar! Tartar! I’ve won! I’ve – I’ve – “ It was at this juncture that Mr. Danforth broke down and cried. Wet, large, manly tears invaded his face, wending their way down his cheeks and splashing on the expensive carpet. 
Impulsively, he hugged Jarod, and Jarod would swear, later, that his cheek had been kissed. Mr. Danforth pumped his hand with a vigor that had never been known in the house. He hugged the young man again and slapped him on the shoulder.
“You may marry my daughter, young Jericho.”
“Jarod,” Jarod said.
“That’s what I said. Go to it, Jarroot.”
“Jarod,” Desdemona said.
“Yes yes yes. I know the boy’s name, no need to keep repeating it.”
The trio made their way to the dining table. Gerald and Mrs. Danforth had already ben seated, and one of them was ready to commit heinous acts on the latecomers. The other sat and worked on looking awkwardly at the far wall.
“Who’s that?” Mr. Danforth pointed at Gerald.
“Our invited guest. Gerald Portnoy. Desdemona’s date.” Mrs. Danforth’s words were clipped and tinged with judgement.
“Ah. I say, Jenson Pootnoodle, Des already has a date. Bad luck, old man.”
Mrs. Danforth stared at her husband in amazement. She had long known that he was scatterbrained and a little dithery, but he had reached new heights of not-with-it-ness in a very short time.
“Harold! Mr. Portnoy is her date, not this – this – raggedy specimen before you. He seems a nice enough person, but look at his clothes. His stubble, for God’s sake. The man can’t even be bothered to shave.”
“Ah, well, that’s as may be, but he helped me win Kooky Crosswords. And he’s betrothed to Des.” Mr. Danforth helped himself to a large slice of roast beef and got busy cutting it into bite-sized pieces.
Mrs. Danforth stared at her husband and fingered the butter knife on her plate. The ripples in the pond had reached tsunamic proportions.
“Um, not betrothed. Just getting to know each other, really. I like him, though. Could be worth keeping, mother.”
Mrs. Danforth declined to sob, though her heart felt near to bursting with sorrow. She turned to Gerald. He had not stirred during this exchange, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the situation. CPA’s didn’t normally deal with such an outpouring of emotion.
“I’m so sorry, Gerald – “
“You may leave my house, Jeeper Puddlefoot. My daughter is smitten with another.”
“Gerald Portnoy,” Gerald said.
“That’s what I said. Now, Mr. Prunenoodle, leave!”
He did so, and with some alacrity. Mrs. Danforth stared at her husband, unable to comprehend what had come over her husband. He gave her an imposing look.
“I’m a Kooky Crossword winner, thanks to this young man. Uh – Jabroot.”
“Jarod.”
“That’s what I said. Perfect man for Des. I will hear no more on the matter, Trish.” Mr. Danforth’s eyes blazed with a fervor that both frightened and impressed Mrs. Danforth. 
“Fine. She can marry a penniless – “
“Not quite penniless. I’m a successful hedge fund manager, and I live two blocks over.”
Six eyes stared at Jarod. His two eyes scanned the others, holding them for a few seconds before moving on to the next pair of eyes. 
Mrs. Danforth went through another transformation. Jarod was suddenly more handsome, and quite taller than she had given him credit for. Yes, she deemed him taller than any man she had ever met.
“Is this wonderful young man worthy of our daughter?”
Desdemona looked at her mom, smiling at her for the first time in months.
“The young man and I will determine that in the fullness of time, mother.”
“Tartar,” Mr. Danforth murmured. “Should have seen that one.”
Mrs. Danforth nodded. She was lost in thought. Her husband had become rather attractive, and she was anxious to see how this would work out in the future. 
The younger couple escaped to the cool night air. Desdemona’s heart swooned just a little, and Jarod’s eyes sparkled the perfect amount of sparkling. A date was made for Wednesday.
How this couple fares is a story for another day. The future will write what transpires, in honest letters and the true accounting of events. The pond, for now, is as smooth as glass.
","July 28, 2023 11:53","[[{'Ellen Neuborne': ""I love what you've done with language in this piece – weaving the Downton Abbey with Friday at Starbucks. Very entertaining read."", 'time': '17:33 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much for the praise, Ellen. I'm so pleased that you enjoyed the tale and commented on it.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '19:05 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much for the praise, Ellen. I'm so pleased that you enjoyed the tale and commented on it.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '19:05 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jessie Laverton': 'Well you got a way with words. And names!!! This really made me smile while I was reading.', 'time': '09:02 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Jessie, for the kind words. I really appreciate you reading and commenting on my little tale.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:01 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Jessie, for the kind words. I really appreciate you reading and commenting on my little tale.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:01 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Jessie, for the kind words. I really appreciate you reading and commenting on my little tale.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:01 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Jessie, for the kind words. I really appreciate you reading and commenting on my little tale.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:01 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Yes, a very entertaining story, rich characters, lots of fun and clever quips. I like the dialogue. Your vocabulary and choice of words is key to the flow and bounce of the story. The Kooky crossword and its crazy clues is a brilliant literary device that would carry the story if needed, but becomes more of a sail that lifts and heels your little old 'story ship.'\n\nVery, very, clever and creative writing. \n'A former member of the Quisite club'. A range mint. Funny stuff.\n\n(I found two typos, one of them was the word ben. The other was an omi..."", 'time': '03:53 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Ken, for the praise, and also for finding some typos. I swear those things sneak in when I go to bed! LOL\n\nI'm pleased that you liked the dialogue, for I've been working on dialogue lately. I'm glad to see that the hard work has paid off.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your comments and the time you took to read my little tale.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '08:55 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Ken, for the praise, and also for finding some typos. I swear those things sneak in when I go to bed! LOL\n\nI'm pleased that you liked the dialogue, for I've been working on dialogue lately. I'm glad to see that the hard work has paid off.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your comments and the time you took to read my little tale.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '08:55 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Hugely entertaining story that seemed timeless. I also thought it was 19th century until the coffee shop and laptop scene. Its an interesting dichotomy, little bit steampunk in a way, I quite like it! Even the names are out of time in the setting. Great story!', 'time': '11:48 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Derrick. I appreciate the kind words and the insights that you shared. \n\nI modeled the characters after a P.G Wodehouse family, from his ""Blandings Castle"" works. There was also a two-season television show named ""Blandings."" The old-and-new dichotomy is because the ideas came from something old, but I wanted to modernize it a bit while still keeping the integrity of the old-time characters.\n\nThe steampunk feel was unintentional, but I\'m glad you saw some elements of it. Steampunk is kind of fresh and exciting in literature, ...', 'time': '13:50 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Suzanne Gonsalves': 'It seemed modern yet stuck in the past at te same time.', 'time': '11:32 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Derrick. I appreciate the kind words and the insights that you shared. \n\nI modeled the characters after a P.G Wodehouse family, from his ""Blandings Castle"" works. There was also a two-season television show named ""Blandings."" The old-and-new dichotomy is because the ideas came from something old, but I wanted to modernize it a bit while still keeping the integrity of the old-time characters.\n\nThe steampunk feel was unintentional, but I\'m glad you saw some elements of it. Steampunk is kind of fresh and exciting in literature, ...', 'time': '13:50 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Suzanne Gonsalves': 'It seemed modern yet stuck in the past at te same time.', 'time': '11:32 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Mr Danforth became John Cleese to me after completing that crossword, ha. Alot of humour with the name changes. You have a clear mastery of vocabulary to do a story like this. Excellently done.\n\nI honestly thought this was set in the 19th century until Desdemona left with her laptop. A unique mix of old and new made for a real interesting read.', 'time': '10:30 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks, Kevin, for the kind words and for taking the time to read and comment on my little tale.\n\nAs you say, a mix of old-world sensibilities and modern life. Although you saw John Cleese in Mr. Danforth (a worthy model, to be sure), I was channeling Lord Emsworth from the P.G. Wodehouse characters at Blandings castle. A definite British vibe, to be sure. \n\nI have considered doing a veiled pastiche of ""Fawlty Towers"" one week, and this might be the week. John Cleese is a genius in his field, and I\'d love nothing better than to honor his tal...', 'time': '10:43 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks, Kevin, for the kind words and for taking the time to read and comment on my little tale.\n\nAs you say, a mix of old-world sensibilities and modern life. Although you saw John Cleese in Mr. Danforth (a worthy model, to be sure), I was channeling Lord Emsworth from the P.G. Wodehouse characters at Blandings castle. A definite British vibe, to be sure. \n\nI have considered doing a veiled pastiche of ""Fawlty Towers"" one week, and this might be the week. John Cleese is a genius in his field, and I\'d love nothing better than to honor his tal...', 'time': '10:43 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Delbert,\nOh congratulations!! This was an outstanding shortlist! I love the way that you created these characters and that you chose to write in an I love the way that you created these characters, and that you chose to write in an author’s perspective. Sometimes, I worry that we have a too romantic view of the world simply because we spend so much time creating our own. And I love how you decided to end the peace with the reality of the world. We may never know what happens next, but we can always hope and pray for the best. Nice work!!', 'time': '23:48 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks again, Amanda, for reading my little tale and sharing your insights.\n\nThis was a different kind of writing for me. Very lighthearted and almost effervescent in that there was no real tragedy going on. i need to expand my writing, I think, and humor is something I need to work on to be better at writing the total package. Not that I'll ever be brilliant, but to be competent would be nice.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. You're a class act, Amanda.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '00:07 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks again, Amanda, for reading my little tale and sharing your insights.\n\nThis was a different kind of writing for me. Very lighthearted and almost effervescent in that there was no real tragedy going on. i need to expand my writing, I think, and humor is something I need to work on to be better at writing the total package. Not that I'll ever be brilliant, but to be competent would be nice.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. You're a class act, Amanda.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '00:07 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'John K Adams': 'Delbert! Amazing wordsmith, you. Too many hilarious turns of phrase to list. Master of the resonant understatement. Such a pleasure to read this, with sharp dialogue, well drawn characters and laugh out loud situations. \nA masterpiece.', 'time': '15:04 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much, John. I really appreciate that you found the humor to be, well, humorous. LOL I wanted to create a lighthearted look at dysfunctional family life. It was fun to write, and I'm so pleased that you found it enjoyable. Such a change from my usual dark pieces, yes? LOL\n\nCheers, my friend!"", 'time': '15:11 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'John K Adams': 'In lesser hands, your formal language would just end sounding stuffy. But your masterful irony kills it every time. This is a gem.', 'time': '15:27 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""You are a true gentleman, my friend. I can't thank you enough for your praise, and for taking the time to read my little tales.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:28 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much, John. I really appreciate that you found the humor to be, well, humorous. LOL I wanted to create a lighthearted look at dysfunctional family life. It was fun to write, and I'm so pleased that you found it enjoyable. Such a change from my usual dark pieces, yes? LOL\n\nCheers, my friend!"", 'time': '15:11 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John K Adams': 'In lesser hands, your formal language would just end sounding stuffy. But your masterful irony kills it every time. This is a gem.', 'time': '15:27 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""You are a true gentleman, my friend. I can't thank you enough for your praise, and for taking the time to read my little tales.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:28 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John K Adams': 'In lesser hands, your formal language would just end sounding stuffy. But your masterful irony kills it every time. This is a gem.', 'time': '15:27 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""You are a true gentleman, my friend. I can't thank you enough for your praise, and for taking the time to read my little tales.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:28 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""You are a true gentleman, my friend. I can't thank you enough for your praise, and for taking the time to read my little tales.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:28 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'A witty fun story Delbert. A modern day comedy of manners  with touches of Jane Austen. Enjoyable to read. The father sounds like a very sensible man. He certainly understands  his daughter’s needs. Great characters here too.', 'time': '07:28 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Helen, for the praise and the commentary. I appreciate you taking the time to read and reflect on my tale.\n\nI like the father the best. He has his quirks, but they're harmless, and he did stand up to his wife for the sake of the daughter. I trust a man who does crossword puzzles. LOL\n\nThanks again, my friend.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:17 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Helen, for the praise and the commentary. I appreciate you taking the time to read and reflect on my tale.\n\nI like the father the best. He has his quirks, but they're harmless, and he did stand up to his wife for the sake of the daughter. I trust a man who does crossword puzzles. LOL\n\nThanks again, my friend.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:17 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ela Mikh': 'Really enjoyed the story - Gerald Portnoy? Where did this name come from? It\'s very curious. There are a few phrases that can be carried over into day-to-day life. The one about a ""better half"" - I may just steal it from you :)', 'time': '16:17 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much for the praise, Ela. I\'m pleased that you liked my little tale about a dysfunctional family. It was a fun write, for sure.\n\nThe name ""Portnoy"" came from an old novel by Phillip Roth, in which Alexander Portnoy is the MC. Gerald Portnoy is a more modern and less lusty version of the same character.\n\nThanks again, my friend. I appreciate your comments.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '18:48 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much for the praise, Ela. I\'m pleased that you liked my little tale about a dysfunctional family. It was a fun write, for sure.\n\nThe name ""Portnoy"" came from an old novel by Phillip Roth, in which Alexander Portnoy is the MC. Gerald Portnoy is a more modern and less lusty version of the same character.\n\nThanks again, my friend. I appreciate your comments.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '18:48 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Aeris Walker': 'I love this mash-up of a modern-day wealthy family\'s domestic drama and the witty 19th-century banter of Austen or James. Very entertaining. Your writing is solid, evocative, and fresh. These were some of my favorite lines:\n\n""A drive of three miles accomplished the twin objectives of getting Desdemona to her well-lighted and well-patronized hideaway, and to disperse her anger. To further alleviate the latter symptom, she ordered decaffeinated coffee."" --I feel you, Desdemona; I need to cut back myself.\n\n""Desdemona admitted to herself that sh...', 'time': '19:54 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you very much, Aeris, for the kind words and the congratulations. I\'m especially pleased that you find my writing to be \'fresh"" and \'evocative."" That means a lot coming from an amazing writer like you.\n\nYour favorite passages were also mine, my friend. I look at authors that describe things well, descriptions that stick. You are one of those authors, for you seem to have the gift of easy yet vivid description. When I go back and look at some of my earlier tales, I see glaring deficiencies in description. \n\nOne of the great things about...', 'time': '22:24 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Aeris Walker': 'Trust me, I see those in my early stories too. Not just deficiencies, but straight-up errors. I\'ve learned so much, like you said, from reading other authors here and putting into practice those elements that you find just ""work."" Not to mention, there are so many great resources out there for studying the writing craft.\n""Luxuries like food and habitation"" ain\'t that the truth?', 'time': '22:01 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you very much, Aeris, for the kind words and the congratulations. I\'m especially pleased that you find my writing to be \'fresh"" and \'evocative."" That means a lot coming from an amazing writer like you.\n\nYour favorite passages were also mine, my friend. I look at authors that describe things well, descriptions that stick. You are one of those authors, for you seem to have the gift of easy yet vivid description. When I go back and look at some of my earlier tales, I see glaring deficiencies in description. \n\nOne of the great things about...', 'time': '22:24 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Aeris Walker': 'Trust me, I see those in my early stories too. Not just deficiencies, but straight-up errors. I\'ve learned so much, like you said, from reading other authors here and putting into practice those elements that you find just ""work."" Not to mention, there are so many great resources out there for studying the writing craft.\n""Luxuries like food and habitation"" ain\'t that the truth?', 'time': '22:01 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Aeris Walker': 'Trust me, I see those in my early stories too. Not just deficiencies, but straight-up errors. I\'ve learned so much, like you said, from reading other authors here and putting into practice those elements that you find just ""work."" Not to mention, there are so many great resources out there for studying the writing craft.\n""Luxuries like food and habitation"" ain\'t that the truth?', 'time': '22:01 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin B': 'Congrats Delbert!  I thought this was such a well thought-out story with everything making sense right up to the lovely ending.', 'time': '16:37 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Kevin for the kind words and the congrats. Truly appreciated, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:57 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Kevin for the kind words and the congrats. Truly appreciated, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:57 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Congrats. I now know why you appear here every two weeks.', 'time': '08:44 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""LOL Thanks so much, Philip. You're a kind man!\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:40 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:53 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""LOL Thanks so much, Philip. You're a kind man!\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:40 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:53 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:53 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Great writing!  The characterization of Desdemona upsetting the family dynamics to choose her own suitor is a good conflict--and your word choices and descriptions are great!  The characters, while we only get a small glimpse, are authentic.  You can see Desdemona adopting some of her eccentric parents traits--the father wants his picture on ""The Wall of Fame""--and his daughter is likewise driven for success and recognition--having written six books with what she regards as a ""tripe"" premise--and her mother Patricia is impressed by men with ...', 'time': '23:35 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Jonathan, for the kind words and your especially sharp insights. You really saw what I intended. Nice!\n\nYes, old-world mores clash with modern sensibilities. Des is a hybrid, and whether or not this generational change works out for her is still in the air. The characterization, as you pointed out, was crucial to the tale. Actions and words were driven by personalities.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for such an excellent commentary.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:40 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Jonathan, for the kind words and your especially sharp insights. You really saw what I intended. Nice!\n\nYes, old-world mores clash with modern sensibilities. Des is a hybrid, and whether or not this generational change works out for her is still in the air. The characterization, as you pointed out, was crucial to the tale. Actions and words were driven by personalities.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for such an excellent commentary.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:40 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'I really enjoyed this.\nVery well structured 👍😎\nCongratulations on the shortlist!', 'time': '11:01 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thank you very much, Cecilia, for the kind words and the congrats.\n\nI intended to portray the clash between old-world mores and modern sensibilities. I'm pleased that you liked the structure. That's always important, yes?\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:36 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thank you very much, Cecilia, for the kind words and the congrats.\n\nI intended to portray the clash between old-world mores and modern sensibilities. I'm pleased that you liked the structure. That's always important, yes?\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:36 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Sophia Gardenia': 'Delbert, this was so funny, especially the kooky crossword clues, lol. Mr. Danforth is the GOAT, and the banter between Desdemona and Jarod was very well done. \n\nAnd the prose! This was so Jane Austen-y; I\'ve never seen anyone but her (and now you) use the word \'alacrity.\' The style is kind of oxymoronic because the story takes place on the modern day, but it still fits so well, especially as Mrs. Danforth is stuck in the Jane Austen era. I also really liked how the formal/pompous language was interspersed with modern phrases (eg. ""not-with-...', 'time': '10:50 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much for the praise, the insights, and the congrats, Sophia. Always appreciated from an excellent writer like you.\n\nIt was my intent to have a clash of cultures. The parents, with their old-world outlook and mores, versus the younger generation's outlook on life and relationships. And, I agree with you about the dad; he's a hoot! A dithery but kind-hearted man is always a fun write. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you for the comments and the congrats. Truly.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:34 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much for the praise, the insights, and the congrats, Sophia. Always appreciated from an excellent writer like you.\n\nIt was my intent to have a clash of cultures. The parents, with their old-world outlook and mores, versus the younger generation's outlook on life and relationships. And, I agree with you about the dad; he's a hoot! A dithery but kind-hearted man is always a fun write. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you for the comments and the congrats. Truly.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '15:34 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Harmonious Pierce': 'Congrats on your story! Your style is original. I’d like to read more plots you’ve come up with.\n\n-H.M.Pierce', 'time': '02:47 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Harmonious. I appreciate the kind words and the congrats. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '07:36 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Harmonious. I appreciate the kind words and the congrats. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '07:36 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""Congratulations on the Short List. Didn't you do well. Not sure what era this is set in. Seems old fashioned in a modern sort of way. I thought maybe the man Jarod was actually the man Mum had invited for dinner, but - perversely - two beaus showed up . How awkward. Hilarious read. What a prompt to write this to! Read again to check for the mention of unicorns or rainbows. Not there. But everything else you could think of was present. Such a cool story."", 'time': '22:38 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Kaitlyn, for the kind words. I also appreciate that you took the time to read and comment on my little tale.\n\nYes, the awkwardness made it fun, as did the dithery father. I had a lot of fun writing it. Who doesn't love an awkward dinner? LOL\n\nThanks again, my friend. Truly.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '23:38 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Kaitlyn, for the kind words. I also appreciate that you took the time to read and comment on my little tale.\n\nYes, the awkwardness made it fun, as did the dithery father. I had a lot of fun writing it. Who doesn't love an awkward dinner? LOL\n\nThanks again, my friend. Truly.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '23:38 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'An exquisite arrangement of words- and some tartar to top it off! \nI loved this - especially with the prompt. Everything is looked at as perfect in the beginning, but then it turns out each person is looking at the wrong thing, and not quite understanding what is important to each other. Congratulations!', 'time': '16:54 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Marty, for the kind words and the congrats - and the insights. Nice!\n\nI had fun with this tale because of what you mentioned - perception versus reality. And, I love a dithery dad. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '20:18 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Marty, for the kind words and the congrats - and the insights. Nice!\n\nI had fun with this tale because of what you mentioned - perception versus reality. And, I love a dithery dad. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '20:18 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': 'Well, well, what have we here?  Seems the author of this piece just grew to skyscraper height.  I am more thrilled than I can say, Del - this is great, the story, the recognition, all of it.  Congratulations, my talented buddy!', 'time': '16:05 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thank you so much, Susan. It received a major assist from you, as per. I'll have a celebratory drink and raise a glass in your honor. This wouldn't have happened without your help, my good friend. So, thanks again, for all your insights and suggestions. \n\nCheers!"", 'time': '16:09 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Susan Catucci': ""Always a pleasure, seriously.  And every time your wonderful tales are applauded, I have a great week that follows, lots to smile about!  I'll be tipping a toast your way this evening as well - celebrate, Del.   This is truly wonderful!"", 'time': '17:30 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thank you so much, Susan. It received a major assist from you, as per. I'll have a celebratory drink and raise a glass in your honor. This wouldn't have happened without your help, my good friend. So, thanks again, for all your insights and suggestions. \n\nCheers!"", 'time': '16:09 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': ""Always a pleasure, seriously.  And every time your wonderful tales are applauded, I have a great week that follows, lots to smile about!  I'll be tipping a toast your way this evening as well - celebrate, Del.   This is truly wonderful!"", 'time': '17:30 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': ""Always a pleasure, seriously.  And every time your wonderful tales are applauded, I have a great week that follows, lots to smile about!  I'll be tipping a toast your way this evening as well - celebrate, Del.   This is truly wonderful!"", 'time': '17:30 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Deidra Whitt Lovegren': 'Of course this is brilliant. You use archetypes to immerse us fully into a world with no stereotype in sight. (Jarod\'s a hedge fund manager. Of course he is.)\n\nBest line among some very great ones: ""jabbing at each other with marshmallow words""\n\nWell done, Del. Another one for the Griffith anthology!', 'time': '15:50 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""LOL The Griffith anthology. It sounds so impressive; I might start believing it's possible to have one of those things.\n\nI'm really pleased that you liked my little tale. It was a fun write, and the intent, as you surmised, was to explode/avoid/sidestep stereotypes. Nicely done, my friend.\n\nAgain, thank you, Deidra, for your comments. Truly.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '16:02 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""LOL The Griffith anthology. It sounds so impressive; I might start believing it's possible to have one of those things.\n\nI'm really pleased that you liked my little tale. It was a fun write, and the intent, as you surmised, was to explode/avoid/sidestep stereotypes. Nicely done, my friend.\n\nAgain, thank you, Deidra, for your comments. Truly.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '16:02 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Congrats on yet another shortlist Delbert!', 'time': '15:20 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, J.D. I appreciate the congrats, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '16:00 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, J.D. I appreciate the congrats, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '16:00 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'Modern day Pride and Prejudice, especially this line: Her mother, for example, found that handsomeness correlated perfectly with wealth. Very cute.', 'time': '14:53 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Anne, for the kind words and for reading my little tale. I had a lot of fun writing it. Dithery dads are always fun, yes? LOL\n\nAgain, thanks, my friend, for the comments.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:59 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Anne Shillingsburg': 'And fussy gold digging moms! And the kids who have it together!', 'time': '16:52 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Anne, for the kind words and for reading my little tale. I had a lot of fun writing it. Dithery dads are always fun, yes? LOL\n\nAgain, thanks, my friend, for the comments.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:59 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'And fussy gold digging moms! And the kids who have it together!', 'time': '16:52 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'And fussy gold digging moms! And the kids who have it together!', 'time': '16:52 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Delbert,\n\nI had the distinct impression that we were invited into Des\'s life thoughts mixed with her novel\'s characters and style of writing. \n\nYou managed to mix an Edwardian-like language into a modern era of jeans and laptops that journeyed straight back into the days when manners and breeding were of the utmost importance.\n\nI felt like I was stuck in some time continuum - a helpless voyeur of classical fiction and practices mixing with modern love.\n\n""Desdemona admitted to herself that she didn’t have an hourglass figure. It could be like...', 'time': '03:53 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Wow, thanks so much, Chris, for the very kind words. I truly appreciate that you read and commented so thoroughly on my little tale.\n\nI did intend to mix the old with the new, and to do it through language and attitudes. The blending of two very different eras as regards relationships sounded fun, and it was a fun write. A little Wodehouse mixed with a little ""Modern Family.""\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your comments and insights. I always appreciate a Chris Campbell reply.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '09:17 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Wow, thanks so much, Chris, for the very kind words. I truly appreciate that you read and commented so thoroughly on my little tale.\n\nI did intend to mix the old with the new, and to do it through language and attitudes. The blending of two very different eras as regards relationships sounded fun, and it was a fun write. A little Wodehouse mixed with a little ""Modern Family.""\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your comments and insights. I always appreciate a Chris Campbell reply.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '09:17 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Chris Campbell': 'Congrats on the shortlist, Delbert!', 'time': '00:38 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, my friend. I appreciate that.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:58 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Wow, thanks so much, Chris, for the very kind words. I truly appreciate that you read and commented so thoroughly on my little tale.\n\nI did intend to mix the old with the new, and to do it through language and attitudes. The blending of two very different eras as regards relationships sounded fun, and it was a fun write. A little Wodehouse mixed with a little ""Modern Family.""\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your comments and insights. I always appreciate a Chris Campbell reply.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '09:17 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Wow, thanks so much, Chris, for the very kind words. I truly appreciate that you read and commented so thoroughly on my little tale.\n\nI did intend to mix the old with the new, and to do it through language and attitudes. The blending of two very different eras as regards relationships sounded fun, and it was a fun write. A little Wodehouse mixed with a little ""Modern Family.""\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your comments and insights. I always appreciate a Chris Campbell reply.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '09:17 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Congrats on the shortlist, Delbert!', 'time': '00:38 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, my friend. I appreciate that.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:58 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Congrats on the shortlist, Delbert!', 'time': '00:38 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, my friend. I appreciate that.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:58 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, my friend. I appreciate that.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:58 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Suzanne Gonsalves': 'I thoroughly enjoyed this story and laughed aloud at several points. The characters were fun and quirky. The relationship of the father to the mother and to his puzzle, was fun. Cerebral nonchalance should be a new type of romance', 'time': '11:29 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOL Cerebral romance. I love it! Thanks so much, Suzanne, for the kind words and taking the time to read my little tale. Yes, this story was all about the characters, and I had fun writing them.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:47 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOL Cerebral romance. I love it! Thanks so much, Suzanne, for the kind words and taking the time to read my little tale. Yes, this story was all about the characters, and I had fun writing them.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:47 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'RJ Holmquist': ""What an entertaining read! I particularly loved the father and his interesting take on names. Every one had me smiling! The mix of personalities and cleverness of phrasing kept me wanting to see what would happen next. I'd read more of this!"", 'time': '03:08 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, RJ, for the kind words. I appreciate you reading and commenting on my little tale.\n\nYes, the characters are the story. They all have their ideas of what a worthy man should be, and Jarod meets them in one way or another. I went the humorous route this time because I've been writing a lot of dark tales lately; I felt like a little light in one of my tales would be good for my writing. \n\nAgain, thanks, my friend, for the commentary.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:49 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, RJ, for the kind words. I appreciate you reading and commenting on my little tale.\n\nYes, the characters are the story. They all have their ideas of what a worthy man should be, and Jarod meets them in one way or another. I went the humorous route this time because I've been writing a lot of dark tales lately; I felt like a little light in one of my tales would be good for my writing. \n\nAgain, thanks, my friend, for the commentary.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:49 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""A fun story :) The mix of older prose with the modern setting is an interesting choice, and works out to be quite amusing. I think the fact that the premise is a rich family trying to arrange a marriage for their daughter goes a long way to enabling this. Although, it might be fun to try in a completely mismatched situation too, but that's another story.\n\nA lot of drama packed into that dinner. We end up feeling a little sorry for Portnoy, as he was kind of just used and discarded, but not too much. Des' and Jarod's story overshadows it. Tha..."", 'time': '02:01 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much for the kind words, and especially for the ""her husband"" repetition. Much appreciated, Michal.\n\nThe tale was all about perception. Des\' perception of romance, dad\'s perception of a worthy man, and mom\'s perception of a suitable man. Des is attracted to Jarod because he doesn\'t make small talk; in fact, he is the antithesis of her characters in her romance novels. Dad loves Jarod because Jarod inadvertently helped him achieve a dream. Mom doesn\'t like Jarod until she finds out he\'s also rich. All three have a different reason f...', 'time': '09:45 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michał Przywara': 'The list of shortlists grows longer :) Congrats!', 'time': '21:13 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Michal. I appreciate it.', 'time': '21:19 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much for the kind words, and especially for the ""her husband"" repetition. Much appreciated, Michal.\n\nThe tale was all about perception. Des\' perception of romance, dad\'s perception of a worthy man, and mom\'s perception of a suitable man. Des is attracted to Jarod because he doesn\'t make small talk; in fact, he is the antithesis of her characters in her romance novels. Dad loves Jarod because Jarod inadvertently helped him achieve a dream. Mom doesn\'t like Jarod until she finds out he\'s also rich. All three have a different reason f...', 'time': '09:45 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michał Przywara': 'The list of shortlists grows longer :) Congrats!', 'time': '21:13 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Michal. I appreciate it.', 'time': '21:19 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michał Przywara': 'The list of shortlists grows longer :) Congrats!', 'time': '21:13 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Michal. I appreciate it.', 'time': '21:19 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Michal. I appreciate it.', 'time': '21:19 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'L J': ""loved! this is almost an Adaam's Family! I could picture all the characters sitting at the table. I will look forward to the next kooky  event with the family! Thanks for sharing. Enjoyed it immensely."", 'time': '21:51 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, LJ, for the kind words. And, yes, being at the same dinner table with this bunch would be a hoot! LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '22:07 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, LJ, for the kind words. And, yes, being at the same dinner table with this bunch would be a hoot! LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '22:07 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Damn, Delbert, a true to life story of a family with different values and ways of viewing the world, and the people in it. I dug Mr. Danforth mostly, along with his puzzles and Tartar, LOL... His wife, well, ""His better half – according to his better half,"" sums her up. Nice work, Delbert.', 'time': '21:29 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Joe, for the praise. You know, I really like the old man the best as well. Lovable, slightly dithery, and genuinely nice. We should all have fathers-in-law like him. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. Your commentaries are always worth reading and thinking about.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '22:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Joe, for the praise. You know, I really like the old man the best as well. Lovable, slightly dithery, and genuinely nice. We should all have fathers-in-law like him. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. Your commentaries are always worth reading and thinking about.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '22:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tommy Goround': '""manly solicitude"" what a lovely turn of phrase. Still reading. ..\n\n-let out the hounds\n-an ugly man is better\nFlannerty on the wit and..___? ____ on the voice for a modern romance. Poe? No..he\'s too damp..\n\n-thin lips\n\n\nThe interpolation of 18th century diction and modern problems is great. I have to look when a crossword was invented. You have laptop computers...that\'s what dated it. \n\n-the correct number of cheeks. \n-handomeness coordinated perfectly with wealth\n\n""CPAs didn\'t usually deal with....emotions."" I challenge that these are acco...', 'time': '19:53 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Tommy, for enjoying/reading/commenting on my little tale. I wanted to go full-on Wodehouse, but I really don\'t have the wit. As it is, we have delightful characters, and they are all psychotic to a degree. Welcome to modern times, yes?\n\nI especially appreciate the ""Clapping."" It was a fun write, but not an easy one. Lots to work in, and I don\'t have your scattershot genius to help me out. \n\nAgain, thanks, my friend. You always leave me with tons to think about.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '20:49 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Tommy Goround': ""Nah. It's all working. People want to relax and enjoy a tale. You give them immersion. Kudos.\n\n(Wow, how you have changed since the days of laying out calculus in storylines) bravo!"", 'time': '23:26 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Tommy, for enjoying/reading/commenting on my little tale. I wanted to go full-on Wodehouse, but I really don\'t have the wit. As it is, we have delightful characters, and they are all psychotic to a degree. Welcome to modern times, yes?\n\nI especially appreciate the ""Clapping."" It was a fun write, but not an easy one. Lots to work in, and I don\'t have your scattershot genius to help me out. \n\nAgain, thanks, my friend. You always leave me with tons to think about.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '20:49 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tommy Goround': ""Nah. It's all working. People want to relax and enjoy a tale. You give them immersion. Kudos.\n\n(Wow, how you have changed since the days of laying out calculus in storylines) bravo!"", 'time': '23:26 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Tommy Goround': ""Nah. It's all working. People want to relax and enjoy a tale. You give them immersion. Kudos.\n\n(Wow, how you have changed since the days of laying out calculus in storylines) bravo!"", 'time': '23:26 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': 'Bravo, Del - love love the finished product.  Kooky is certainly the thread throughout which makes this an absolute joy to read.  Dad is a kooky hoot, mother is a bitch in a dress with good intentions and the sensitivity of a Sherman tank, Des is the spunky heroine who forges her own destiny - you go, girl.\n\nThe story beneath is the real treasure.  Just how do we measure quality in people?  This is an old question that remains a moving target.   Mother wants financial stability; Daughter wants what she wants; and Father has his own set of ""s...', 'time': '16:29 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'We both know, my friend, that my tales are twice as better with your input. You have a way of seeing my tales and knowing exactly what they need. That\'s quite a gift, and I\'m the beneficiary.\n\nYou know, this was fun write, and I enjoyed a little wordplay along the way. BTW, you used the word ""milquetoast"" in the commentary. You should get shortlisted just for that, Susan! LOL\n\nThanks again, my good and true friend, for commenting on my little tale, but most of all for your friendship and your assistance. You put the ""lit"" in literature, Susa...', 'time': '19:44 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Susan Catucci': ""Hahaha!   Del, you make $250 inconsequential.   You da best (and I'll say it again)."", 'time': '22:10 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'We both know, my friend, that my tales are twice as better with your input. You have a way of seeing my tales and knowing exactly what they need. That\'s quite a gift, and I\'m the beneficiary.\n\nYou know, this was fun write, and I enjoyed a little wordplay along the way. BTW, you used the word ""milquetoast"" in the commentary. You should get shortlisted just for that, Susan! LOL\n\nThanks again, my good and true friend, for commenting on my little tale, but most of all for your friendship and your assistance. You put the ""lit"" in literature, Susa...', 'time': '19:44 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': ""Hahaha!   Del, you make $250 inconsequential.   You da best (and I'll say it again)."", 'time': '22:10 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': ""Hahaha!   Del, you make $250 inconsequential.   You da best (and I'll say it again)."", 'time': '22:10 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Well, tartar to you and your witwit.\n\nHey,Del. Hope you don't mind me blowing my own 🥳 horn but since you have been so supportive of me I wanted to share I have been named a finalist in Killer Nashville The Claymore Award in western genre for the first 50 pages of my novel that I debuted here in three excerpts. Ever heard of it? Prize is publication and a cool dagger trophy!\n\nCongrats on shortlist. This one was indeed a winner. One of first I read all week and was first on list to read much of week.🥳🥳🥳"", 'time': '15:02 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOL Thanks, Mary. I had fun with this one.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:18 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOL Thanks, Mary. I had fun with this one.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:18 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': 'Hilarious! A marriage hinged on a crossword (and a Kooky Crossword at that!) 😁', 'time': '12:49 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Khadija, for the kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the tale. Much of life's big issues are decided by little things, I think, so why not a new relationship? LOL\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '12:53 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Khadija S. Mohammad': 'Congratulations on the shortlist! Definitely well-deserved! :)', 'time': '16:36 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, Khadija. I appreciate it.', 'time': '20:16 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Khadija, for the kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the tale. Much of life's big issues are decided by little things, I think, so why not a new relationship? LOL\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '12:53 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': 'Congratulations on the shortlist! Definitely well-deserved! :)', 'time': '16:36 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, Khadija. I appreciate it.', 'time': '20:16 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': 'Congratulations on the shortlist! Definitely well-deserved! :)', 'time': '16:36 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, Khadija. I appreciate it.', 'time': '20:16 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, Khadija. I appreciate it.', 'time': '20:16 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Louisa Jackson': 'More greetings to you dear how are you doing ??', 'time': '07:23 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,lzu0mx,Rainbows and Unicorns,Derrick M Domican,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lzu0mx/,/short-story/lzu0mx/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Suspense', 'Sad']",30 likes,"
TW: Mental Health/Suggestion of Self HarmMy rainbows and unicorns are broken.Torn asunder, whipped and beaten, drowned by dread. The coloured bands of the polychromatic arcs that once formed a ceiling across the land brutally cleaved apart, blackened and cast far and wide. The pristine white hair of my precious, horned family scorched, seared and branded by evil, welts on their backs, chains on their hooves, misery their only companion.   And I, the King of the Unicorns, the Vassal of Variegation Valley, the Master of this mountainous domain, made this happen.Because I let the Darkness blindside me, catch me unawares while I wasn't watching, take root in my realm and wrest control.Trapped now, a prisoner in a cage of mud-wood taken from the quagmire that encircles the mountains, its overwhelming stench and magic-damping qualities sapping my energy, subduing the enchantments in my horn, I can but watch, helpless, as the smoke-formed interlopers with their gaping, grinning maws and pinprick, ember eyes continue their destruction of my world and annihilation of everything I love.The sky above, seen through the criss-crossed, tar-dripping bars of rotten swamp wood, crudely bound together to form a cell, is home now to lichen-like, pustulous storm clouds, black and grey and ashen, throbbing in the day–or night–like cancerous tumours. The land ahead, once verdant green fields of quivering grass, dancing daffodils and swaying sunflowers, is now a mutilated hellscape, a desolate quarry pockmarked by the quiet screaming mouths of the mineshafts blasted into it, openings by which to access the depths of the mountain and the iridescent, life-giving Opalite Hearts held within.My family, my brethren, my beautiful white unicorns with their manes of coloured hair and once-sparkling horns, enslaved by the Shadoween Smokemen, forced to do their bidding in this fog-enshrouded valley where time no longer has meaning. Manacled. Bridled. Wings clipped. Harnessed. Forced to venture deep into the mountain to do their captors' bidding. The endless, soul-destroying work of excavating Hearts from the rock with their ivory alicorns, repurposed for use as common tools.My loved ones, being tortured and whipped, branded and burnt, starved and neglected by soulless, substance-less creatures from the outer void, forced to use their mighty hooves and glorious horns to betray their heritage, disfigure their home, surrender the magical heartstones that allow them to fly and thread kaleidoscopic rainbows of soul-lifting light through the sky.Being forced to destroy this sanctuary from within.And I, in a moment of weakness, allowed it to happen.And now I am powerless to stop it. And so I can only watch.Watch as poor Jennabelle falters, her energy at last giving out, her scuffed and scraped knees buckling at the mouth of a cavern, as a Shadoween warden floats close, threatening with a tentacle arm of black mist, that undulates and writhes like a snake, that can choke and crush and burn if it closes around her.Poor Jennabelle, the jade green hair of her tail skirt and mane tangled and frayed, far from the immaculate beauty it once was, lying on the ravaged ground, tongue lolling in rock dust, bloodshot eyes staring wearily, panting as the warden approaches, silent, looming, extending its tentacle further, forming fingers that reach towards her muzzle.She knows what will happen when the smoke fist engulfs her head.I know what will happen.But neither of us can do a thing about it. I am powerless, my alicorn bound by wart leaves and covered in tar, its magic long drained by lack of exposure to light and Opalite Heart deprivation. Heavy leather straps secure my wings to my back, coarse ropes bind my ankles and secure me to posts in the earth. I can not move. I can not help. I am useless.And so is Jennabelle. She has given everything. She has spent days and nights, countless numbers of them, working the makeshift mines, digging Hearts from rock with chipped and blunted horn, dragging carts full of treasure up from the depths then back down again when their cargo is transferred to bunkers. Orb-shaped metal bunkers at the edge of the clearing. Bunkers full to the brim with precious heartstones, waiting to be spirited away when the work is over, when the Shadoween have drilled every last Heart from the earth and slaughtered my unicorns.Of which four will remain when Jennabelle succumbs.And I can only watch.And wait.In agony.And yet. Something is happening.Corralled together at the edge of the quarry, beside the orb-like bunkers, my unicorns shudder, their legs weak from another day’s exertion, their matted coats covered in sweat and rock–dust, alicorns scraped, bent and worn. Looking on in horror at Jennabelle’s plight, they whinny and wail, swish manes and tails, their urge to assist their fallen mother at odds with the knowledge of the punishment that awaits should they step out of line. Well-earned knowledge beaten, burnt and suffocated into them, the price of disobedience and rebellion. As if by way of reminder, the Shadoween wardens slipping lumpy, black sheaths of strange, organic material over their horns–sheaths secured to the end of fleshy, vein-like tubes that trail from the middle of the bunkers–swell their bodies up to twice their size to hiss and threaten.But something is different.As Jennabelle lets her eyes fall shut and the Smokeman towering over her starts to close his fist around her head, I notice silver-maned Ri-Chard glaring at me across the barren earth, make contact with his accusatory eyes, see how the filthy white hairs on his back bristle as he stares into my soul, communicating his thoughts loud and clear.Fight, I hear, and it startles me. Get up and fight. We need you. We need you here.Tears, unexpected, well up in my eyes as the words I can somehow hear rain down on my anvil heart like hammers. And for the first time in a long time…I stir.It is the slightest of movements, a twitch of a hind leg, numb from lack of movement and inadequate blood flow, an alien sensation, unnatural. But it’s there. My leg is there. I can move it.But not enough.And even if I could replicate the movement in my other limbs, even if I could somehow stand, I don’t have the strength to free myself from the ropes that tie me down, to remove the harness from my back, to pull off the muzzle and uncover my horn.I am sorry Ri-Chard. It is impossible. I send the thought back with sorrow-filled eyes and a deflated slump of my head and Ri-Chard responds, not by looking away from his King in disgust and submissively accepting his mother’s fate but by shaking his head in rejection and standing tall. Some hitherto unknown reserves of strength and defiance surge through him and he erupts into a gallop, away from the wardens, away from his siblings, away from the bunkers, the veiny rope connecting his horn to an orb growing taut as he races towards Jennabelle.No, I think, and now both hind legs are twitching. Stop!But he doesn’t, and as the fleshy cable reaches its maximum extension; as the smoke-made Shadoween rise up behind him and roar, additional tentacle-like arms wafting from their bodies to swirl after him; as Jennabelle thrashes and kicks beneath suffocating warden, he grunts and snorts, rising up on his hind legs and throwing his head forward with all his might, the tumour-like sheath around his horn tugging violently as the sinewy cord attached to it snaps, ripping the alicorn from his head in a spray of sparkles.Ri-Chard doesn’t falter.Ri-Chard neighs in pain but thunders on, blood spurting from the hole in his forehead, running in rivulets down his muzzle as he reaches Jennabelle, charging into and through the warden, shattering it like an illusion and scattering its smoke in all directions. Its body, its tentacle, its hand disappear and the green-maned unicorn, face scorched and seared, lifts her head up to hack for breath.Ri-Chard howls in agony, having run through the monster’s burning form, knees giving out and sending him hurtling to the ground. He hits chin first, slides along the rock, into the mineshaft opening, while the warden pulls itself back together, a large shapeless blob now, from which dozens of tentacles sprout forth, whipping and writhing in the air.Somehow, I realise, I have gotten my legs underneath me and am pushing myself into standing, a shaky, teetering stance the gentlest breeze could blow over.But I am up.For all the good it will do Ri-Chard and Jennabelle, who are now being threatened by not just the smoke-blob but the other Shadoween, who have moved from the bunkers to surround them, burning red fire-eyes dilated, empty maws frozen in silent scream. I have seen this demeanour before. They intend to make an example of the rebels. They intend to blacken and burn til scorched ash remains.I am up, I am unsteady, I am angered but also inspired, by Ri-Chard, the upstart, who found it in himself to fight back, to show me that we don’t have to accept such a fate, to embarrass me into taking action.On the ground, by the mineshaft, I see him lift his head to regard me, that steely gaze seizing me again.You can make it, I hear him in my head. It’s not too late. You can come back. Please come back. We need you.I want to, I think, hoping the words channel back. But I don’t know how to…Ri-Chard’s severed horn, on the ground, in its sheath, draws my attention, sizzling, spitting and bursting into flame, joyous, psychedelic flame, which ignites the sheath and the vein its attached to, races along the artery like fire on oil. Back, back, back, past the Shadoween, back, back, back to the bunkers, back, back, back up the flesh-rope and into the orb, which emits a high-pitched, keening wail as it rattles and shakes, cracks zig-zagging through it, fissures appearing on its surface as the Hearts within react. A booming screech of rending metal accompanies the eruption of a shimmering rainbow sword, which lances through the foetid air filling the valley and stabs its way into the clouds. Carves a path. Tears a hole.Forms a shaft in the turbulent nimbus’, like those in the mountain below, through which golden rays of beckoning light stream forth, angling down to caress the grey slate before my prison.Light.After all this time. I thought I’d never see it again.And now it’s here…I wonder.Can I reach it with my horn?My first attempt at taking a step ends badly and I topple, colliding with the ooze-coated bars of my cage. Ends badly for my confidence but well for my hope, as I notice the tip of my alicorn protruding through the rough-hewn stakes of mud-wood almost pierces the beam. I can reach it.At a stretch.And so, as I watch the Shadoween wardens close ranks around Jennabelle and Ri-Chard, linking their tentacles and transforming into a smokey enclosure that starts folding in to consume then, I begin sawing my horn back and forth against the mud-wood slats either side of it, tearing at the sticky coating of tar and wart leaves that surround it.Hurry, Ri-Chard communicates. You’re running out of time. You must get out, now! I believe him.For one reason or another I believe I am running out of time.And so, it seems, do the rest of my unicorns, the three still tethered to their bunkers by the black veins and sheaths that cover their horns, draining any energy that may have built up inside them during the course of a day mining Opalites.Escape and resistance are not options. The Shadoween ensure this with precautions. Ordinarily. But Ri-Chard broke free while a faint sliver of power remained in his horn, and breaking it off made magic. Magic the others think they can recreate, as evidenced by how, with a glance and a nod, they all, as one, begin to run, not towards the Shadoween engulfing their mother and brother but away, towards the edge of the valley and the fog bank of mist that shifts and slinks there.Cobalt blue, scarlet red, canary yellow manes and tail skirts whipping, Bilabee, Finalon and Dandril run towards it and into and vanish, the arteries connecting them to their bunker-orbs snapping taut. I see their severed horns then, still held firm in organic gloves, arcing back through the air, trailing sputtering, sizzling sparkles in their wake.    This time, before they hit the ground, the alicorns explode, and a trio of multi-coloured fire trails blaze back along the veins, burning their way into the bunkers and activating Opalites.Three more bunkers crack and shatter, three more rainbow swords burst forth, startling the Shadoween, halting their attack on their captives and drawing their attention to the tumultuous, throbbing thunderclouds above, which split apart and buckle as the swords slice through. Four rainbows rising from the earth, four knife-wounds stabbed into the clouds, four effulgent light shafts lancing down, miraculously zeroing in on the same spot and expanding the diameter of sunlight hitting the ground.I can do this.Another violent spasm of my head and the tar-encrusted covering of hardened, crispy wart leaves peels from my horn, drops to the ground, exposes the dull ivory surface of my spiral alicorn as I press my head forward between cage bars, letting its tip drift into the light. I can get out.The dull ivory surface of the tip of my horn starts to glow, softly at first as the sunlight pours into it, filling it up, revitalising. I feel it flowing into my head, my neck, my shoulders and flank, feel the hairs on my dried out mane rise up, feel the power of the sun activate dormant unicorn magic deep inside me and offer me life.I can live.Bilabee, Finalon and Dandril are lost in the fog, but I have to assume I can find them. Jennabelle and Ri-Chard are trapped, incapacitated, amongst the Shadoween, but I have to assume I can free them. I, the King of the Unicorns and Lord of this Land, am muzzled, harnessed, tied down and trapped in this cage…but I have to assume I can break out.And with the power flooding through me, from the tip of my blinding bright horn, I make my move. No time to waste. Standing strong, muscle rippling. Spreading wings, harness ripping. Stretching jaw, muzzle snapping. Rising up, up, up, mud-wood sticks coming asunder above me, rope-posts ripping free of the earth beneath my hooves.  I am free.I am alive.I am airborne.And I continue to rise, flapping hard, kicking back, craning neck, up towards the clouds amongst the light beams, targeting a spot I deem weak, that seems to tremble and cave as I approach, opening wide in anticipation.Light.Blinding white light bursts through dreary grey clouds and I am ready, to escape the valley, to bask in the sun, to recharge myself ready to fight. To fight and kill the Darkness that invaded my land.The Darkness that I, myself, unleashed.The Darkness.The Dark.The.*My eyelids flutter.Light pours in, chasing shadows away.People take shape before me.Faces I recognise and don’t.“Oh God, babe, thank God babe, oh Jesus.” Jenna.“He’s awake. He’s awake, mum.” Richard.“Dad? Can you hear me? Don’t move, okay, we’ve got you.” Billy.“He’s still with us. Let’s get him onboard.” Someone. A man. Paramedic? Working with another, lifting a gurney, carrying me past the tear-stained faces of those I love, my family, the twins Finlay and Dan behind the others, watching as they slide me into a van. “I’m sorry,” I hear myself utter, my gaze drifting down to my arms, with tattoos of rainbows and unicorns, my wrists, with bandages wrapped tight, tell-tale red stains peeking through.Memories return, carrying shame and remorse.“I’m sorry.”""Don't be sorry, babe,"" my wife at my side, squeezing my hand, leaning in, her forehead touching mine. ""You don't have to be sorry. Just let us help.""The Black Dog came barking at my door again.“I let it in,” I mutter, squeezing back, large doors slamming shut before me. ""I'm sorry, Jen, I should have told you I was suffering. I should have... I should have...""Her soft, loving lips, with warm, gentle kiss, cut me off.""It's okay, my Unicorn King. It's okay, you're safe now, just rest ""The Darkness was strong this time. It hit hard, cut deep, almost took me.But now I know I can beat it.
","July 28, 2023 23:54","[[{'E. M.': 'I\'m in awe of the detail and description of this story. I really enjoyed how you started off with a literal interpretation of the prompt, but it became clear early on that this was a story within a story. The paralytic pain of depression and defeat was evident long before the reality of the ending set in. Your line about ""the Black Dog"" hit home for me, as I\'m sure it does for many. You captured the hope and power of second chances given to us by our loved ones. Lovely piece; best of luck!', 'time': '18:01 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thank you so much Em. Yes it hits home for a lot of us I feel, sadly. It's a constant struggle. \nGlad you enjoyed and I appreciate you commenting 😊"", 'time': '18:27 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thank you so much Em. Yes it hits home for a lot of us I feel, sadly. It's a constant struggle. \nGlad you enjoyed and I appreciate you commenting 😊"", 'time': '18:27 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martha JPorter': ""The details💗    Chef's kiss 😙👌✨"", 'time': '14:54 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Martha.. sadly didn't make the shortlist and I really thought it had a shot! Never mind! Im proud of this one!"", 'time': '16:03 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Martha.. sadly didn't make the shortlist and I really thought it had a shot! Never mind! Im proud of this one!"", 'time': '16:03 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Naomi Woods': 'The imagary, especally in the beginning few paragraph, are so vivid! The way you wove fantasy into the reality is on point. Unicorns are usually associated with sunshine and happiness, so it was really interesting to see it tied to this theme and put in a battle. Kudos!', 'time': '03:31 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks so much Naomi.\nThis one wasn't easy to write to be honest so I'm glad it came together well."", 'time': '10:18 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks so much Naomi.\nThis one wasn't easy to write to be honest so I'm glad it came together well."", 'time': '10:18 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Quite intense! Great imagery too. Likening depression to darkness is nothing new, but the visuals of choking sentient shadows, of tumorous tentacles, these add a lot - especially contrasted against the light of unicorns and rainbows. \n\nLikewise, the image of digging through stone to extract Hearts from within, is apt. \n\nOn that note, I enjoyed the double-twist. At first, I assumed the unicorns and rainbows thing was a metaphor, but then it turned out to be literally true (twist one). But then it turned out to be a metaphor after all (twist t...', 'time': '22:41 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'Very visceral writing. Well done.', 'time': '17:08 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thank you! 😍', 'time': '17:59 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thank you! 😍', 'time': '17:59 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Excellent, Derrick, very emotionally moving, it stirred up a ton of feelings, nice work, great story.', 'time': '22:49 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Joe!', 'time': '13:28 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Joe!', 'time': '13:28 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': ""Whoa.  Soooooo so good, Derrick.  I'm not ashamed to say I had to turn away several times at the start - I couldn't take it, it affected me to my core.   I can't imagine a more apt depiction of mental anguish - aside from some of Van Gogh's work.  The battle that ensued was just as descriptive of what goes on inside a person struggling.   The only way I can think to describe what you have here is excruciatingly beautiful.\n\nThe ending was as heartbreaking as anything I've read but that's where the light lay, in an Oz-like ending filled with h..."", 'time': '15:07 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jessie Laverton': 'Oh! \n\nOh!!', 'time': '09:23 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Is that a good 'Oh!' or a bad 'Oh!' ? \n\n:)\nthanks for reading!"", 'time': '10:01 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Jessie Laverton': ""That's like a speechless oh :) So good yes. \n\nI read this yesterday and it's really stayed with me since. Very powerful writing. \nAnd I love the inverted interpretation of the prompt."", 'time': '09:44 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Is that a good 'Oh!' or a bad 'Oh!' ? \n\n:)\nthanks for reading!"", 'time': '10:01 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jessie Laverton': ""That's like a speechless oh :) So good yes. \n\nI read this yesterday and it's really stayed with me since. Very powerful writing. \nAnd I love the inverted interpretation of the prompt."", 'time': '09:44 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jessie Laverton': ""That's like a speechless oh :) So good yes. \n\nI read this yesterday and it's really stayed with me since. Very powerful writing. \nAnd I love the inverted interpretation of the prompt."", 'time': '09:44 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""What encapsulating descriptions, the imagery was fantastic. I'm going to say it, best unicorn story I've ever read ha. I was so engaged I totally forgot the trigger warning and ye got me, got me good.\n\nAnother smashing piece!"", 'time': '12:47 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks mate.  Had no idea where this one was going when I started writing, it just created itself as I went. So cool when that happens!', 'time': '20:19 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': 'We followed the same path this week then so haha', 'time': '20:31 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""Ha! Have you had any inspiration for this week yet?? \nI've got something percolating but feeling I want to do something a bit breezier this week."", 'time': '10:03 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""Yeah, two things one an emotional one for the car journey prompt, thinking about when I had to take my dog to be put down years ago.\n\nBut I think I'm going for the gas station prompt, but an interstellar gas station where the refuelling ship finds the station abandoned. I haven't done sci-fi before even though I love it so could be fun."", 'time': '12:46 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks mate.  Had no idea where this one was going when I started writing, it just created itself as I went. So cool when that happens!', 'time': '20:19 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'We followed the same path this week then so haha', 'time': '20:31 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""Ha! Have you had any inspiration for this week yet?? \nI've got something percolating but feeling I want to do something a bit breezier this week."", 'time': '10:03 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""Yeah, two things one an emotional one for the car journey prompt, thinking about when I had to take my dog to be put down years ago.\n\nBut I think I'm going for the gas station prompt, but an interstellar gas station where the refuelling ship finds the station abandoned. I haven't done sci-fi before even though I love it so could be fun."", 'time': '12:46 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'We followed the same path this week then so haha', 'time': '20:31 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Ha! Have you had any inspiration for this week yet?? \nI've got something percolating but feeling I want to do something a bit breezier this week."", 'time': '10:03 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kevin Logue': ""Yeah, two things one an emotional one for the car journey prompt, thinking about when I had to take my dog to be put down years ago.\n\nBut I think I'm going for the gas station prompt, but an interstellar gas station where the refuelling ship finds the station abandoned. I haven't done sci-fi before even though I love it so could be fun."", 'time': '12:46 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Ha! Have you had any inspiration for this week yet?? \nI've got something percolating but feeling I want to do something a bit breezier this week."", 'time': '10:03 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Yeah, two things one an emotional one for the car journey prompt, thinking about when I had to take my dog to be put down years ago.\n\nBut I think I'm going for the gas station prompt, but an interstellar gas station where the refuelling ship finds the station abandoned. I haven't done sci-fi before even though I love it so could be fun."", 'time': '12:46 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Yeah, two things one an emotional one for the car journey prompt, thinking about when I had to take my dog to be put down years ago.\n\nBut I think I'm going for the gas station prompt, but an interstellar gas station where the refuelling ship finds the station abandoned. I haven't done sci-fi before even though I love it so could be fun."", 'time': '12:46 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Wow, wow, wow!!! Derrick, going for the win again! Wonderful descriptions throughout painting a woeful world. Then the reality of what it all meant and the hope shining through. Powerful writing! Power to unicorns everywhere.🦄🤩🏆', 'time': '16:32 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Mary. I thought I had a shot at shortlist with this one for sure but ......who knows!\nOn to the next! 💪💪', 'time': '16:09 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Yes keep flexing those muscles. You have proven you have some big guns.', 'time': '17:24 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Mary. I thought I had a shot at shortlist with this one for sure but ......who knows!\nOn to the next! 💪💪', 'time': '16:09 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Yes keep flexing those muscles. You have proven you have some big guns.', 'time': '17:24 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Yes keep flexing those muscles. You have proven you have some big guns.', 'time': '17:24 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,wz0l04,Pink Mist,R W Mack,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wz0l04/,/short-story/wz0l04/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Speculative']",22 likes,"
 You'll find more tracks outside the bodega than any subway terminal, but I couldn't ignore my crazy for those new kelp chips. I'd gotten used to scooting by bodies and bottles on the street. It's San Diego, baby! Sunshine, seaside and sipping were worth the unavoidable. What're ya gonna do? Homelessness happens. At least we had awareness.
 
A couple beeps and taps later, I'm tossing pink-tinted shades back on, crunching sea-kale and salt before hopping back on my bike. The unhoused didn't bother asking me for money anymore. Who carried cash nowadays anyways? If I pretended they were sluggish seagulls or cats, it was easier. They weren't that different after all. We're all just animals anyways.
 
I restart my fitness tracker and take off. A mile and change wound between me and the office. Cars are convenient, but the gas station added another digit before the decimal point last month. I grin at the calorie counter. Making a healthier choice was a great excuse to save some engine emissions.
 
We're all supposed to be a part of saving the planet, right? Sometimes that means taking responsibility and making sacrifices. Jet trails through a clear blue East Coast sky remind me to prep a client's flight itinerary. I'd have to book a private charter if they wanted to avoid layovers. But that's the benefit of being successful: they get to decide meetings are in person at Myrtle beach last minute and someone else gets to figure out the logistics.
 
Another tent-lined street later and I zip into the fenced garden-way entrance of the office building. Landscapers were planting new rose bushes with specialized irrigation bottles in tangled roots. It's pricey to maintain thirsty roses in California, but the latest online polls said they were great for morale. They were a nice status symbol to relate to after the twelve and fourteen hour shifts. Rent isn't cheap, but Adderall was. And it was easier to get now that Theresa-in-maintenance had another son diagnosed with ADHD too.
 
I secured the bike in the arboretum entrance lined with purple and red Japanese maples, Should I take the tire in with me? While I contemplated the odds of another bike theft after Dale's lock was cut last week, Denise's blush three-thousand dollar model rolls up and I stop worrying. Glass doors closing behind me silence an argument over bread outside the gate. The stone waterfall fountain next to the bagel rack sends cooling mist washing over sun-tinged shoulders. Cinnamon raisin or jalapeno cheddar? I settle for honey-wheat and cinnamon cream cheese as stock-jocks from the fifth floor take bets on the fight outside. Philistines, I mutter with a bite of bagel. It's not their fault they're hungry.
 
Rose quartz crystals on the windowsill splatter sparkling kaleidoscopes of pink across stuffy professional-white walls. They're supposed to promote love and happy-vibes, but I just thought they were pretty. No one said work can't be fun or cutesy. The Himalayan salt lamp on my desk ionizes my deep sigh as I open a rose gold Mac-book demanding I embrace the day. The first e-mail is a new client demanding I find a nanny who won't use the house bathrooms on the clock. They're supposed to clean smells, not make them, she says. 
 
News flashes update me on stories about economic woes and wars overseas. I scribble on a heart shaped post-it note to make a thoughts-and-prayers status on social media. It helps to have clients know I was spreading awareness and staying relevant. My handwriting practice with a new fude nib makes the cherry-ink swirls pop. 
 
The lunch daiquiri in my hand humbles the green-juice smoothies and cucumber waters left at the pickup-counter. They might be healthier, but life's too short to skip an excuse for whipped cream. We could be gone tomorrow, so we oughta enjoy what little things we can while they're around. Someone will figure out rising sea levels before the coconuts get washed away along with any hope of tiki drinks on Hawaiian beaches. Everyone just needs to stay positive and do their part.
 
I'm not upset when work ends and I can't see the hazy moon everyone is posting on Instagram, but I see the rosy lace under Candy's mini-skirt as she bends over into the window of another car. I pedal by as she moons the street negotiating her evening shift. Two blocks down is a pink tube top and flamingo feather boa waiting at the corner with her face in a phone. I don't judge sex workers. Their body, their choice. They're kinda the perfect girl-boss. A female-led body-autonomy industry modernized by people like my tech clients and their well-managed capital liberated women from pimp-culture. Right?
 
A full mailbox spills across my counter-top in a splay of white envelops containing pink late-payment notices. I wonder how many trees were chopped down to make all their paper waste. Why don't they have a paperless option if they're an online-only bank? It's been a week since they froze my account. Data breeches happen. I'm sure I'll have access to my online checking soon. The automated phone service swore they're working on it as fast as possible. They could probably afford extra technicians with no physical branches to handle. Or maybe it was all AI fixing it now. I probably trust my life savings with AI more than people anyways. People steal. AI doesn't care.
 
I crack a cherry wheat ale and flop between strawberry throw-pillows. All I've wanted to do after sitting in an office chair all day is binge Netflix until I pass out. My eyes were already bloodshot from staring at screens all day, but there a cute pair of glasses I've been eyeing if the optometrist says I need a prescription next week. I don't know how much they'll cost without health insurance though. Work doesn't provide benefits, but they do holiday parties and the complimentary bagel and juice bar are nice. My fridge is almost always empty anyways. The Teamsters union is on strike again, so none of the grocery stores have stock to buy even if I could afford it.
 
But it's gonna be fine. Those new glasses come in pink too.
","July 28, 2023 19:49","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi RW!\nOh, what a fantastic take on the prompt! And very fitting with the Barbie movie undertones. I thought that you did a great job of addressing tragedy – with the unhoused, with wars overseas, with economic woes, and yet you stuck true to the rose colored glasses. This person felt quintessentially LA to me, and I would’ve loved to see a sequel or a prequel where we get to understand how this character got to LA and how they bought into that version of the American dream. Nice work!!', 'time': '18:09 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Steve Uppendahl': 'Excellent word choice throughout this piece. Writing this in the first person was definitely the right move, in my opinion. It (sadly) makes things more real. \nI love how many ways you brought in (so!) many shades of pink throughout your story.\nThis was very well done.', 'time': '17:37 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'I get a bit of a Charles Bukowski vibe in this, the meandering view of the underside of San Diego. The insanity of the problems of the superrich, contrasted with those just trying to get to their next meal. \n  We all need those pink-tinted shades to not lose out minds.\n\nCongrats!', 'time': '01:42 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tommy Goround': ':)', 'time': '12:15 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Congrats.', 'time': '06:51 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Marlow': ""'Rose quartz crystals on the windowsill splatter sparkling kaleidoscopes of pink across stuffy professional-white walls.' - my fave line. I think the fact that the MC is blissfully unaware of where things are headed makes it memorable like Nero fiddling as Rome burns..."", 'time': '00:38 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'R W Mack': ""Out of all the stuff I've submitted, I'm amazed THIS is the one that got shortlisted. I had zero confidence in it, but I suppose I never have confidence in my submissions haha."", 'time': '15:10 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Harmonious Pierce': 'Congrats on your story! The narrative is introspective. Doom lurks just beneath the surface. I’d love to read more.\n\n-H.M.Pierce', 'time': '03:15 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Such beautiful prose to describe such horrible things, yet it has a feeling of indifference, or maybe worn down might be better. \n\nCongrats on the shortlist, well deserved.', 'time': '16:50 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'This is all too uncomfortably relatable!!! 😬\nGreat voice.', 'time': '15:45 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Hey Mack,\n\nNice, colorful. An artistic display of skillful writing. So entertaining, I barely noticed you were depressing me.', 'time': '03:34 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'R W Mack': 'Ha! That what I was aiming for!', 'time': '15:09 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'R W Mack': 'Ha! That what I was aiming for!', 'time': '15:09 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Rose colored glasses still shade it all away.\n\nCongrats on the shortlist\n🥳🥳🥳', 'time': '21:06 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,b6pjr0,Marci's Menial Menagerie,Kevin Marlow,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/b6pjr0/,/short-story/b6pjr0/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",20 likes,"
Marci thumbed through the pile of manuscripts. Bad text choice, that title is terrible, and the surname alone cries DORK, Oh, this one sounds promising. She proceeded to spend the best part of the three hours after her two-hour, three-cocktail lunch deciphering the story arc of a dystopian, science fiction novel, occasionally peering over the top of her leopard print Warby Parker progressive lenses at the bland modern architecture of the Goldman Sachs building across from the glass on her floor.A smile crawled across her burgundy lips. Knowing the ways of men, she was sure if she bedded that disgusting pile of humanity that controlled her floor she would be in line for a corner office, or at least an office with a view over central park. Laying down the chunk of bleached white paper, Marci sighed and smiled, sipping her gourmet white chocolate latte, delivered to her cubicle just as she sat down at her desk. She glanced at the photo propped up next to her flat screen. Pepper stared back in perpetual delight, lips in a slight curl. The blue eyes of the purebred Siamese were a shade lighter than her Caribbean Ocean irises.""Hey, Marci!"" A familiar voice rose over the din of office banter.""Hi, Julian."" His stiff suit stood out like his pathetic resume. Why they hired depressed, mid-major near dropouts like him perplexed her. He had been trying to get in her pants for the last six months. She honestly didn't even want to take off her Jimmy Choos in the filthy broom closet he called an apartment.“I'm going to Chan's after work, you wanna grab something to eat?” His dark pupils dangled over an upturned nose that belied his feral Midwest upbringing.Marci tried to hide her huff as she took him down again, “My Mom is not doing well. She is in the hospital again with heart issues. I really need to go see her after work.”“Maybe next time?” His wink as he turned away made her want to stick a spoon down her throat like a bulimic teenager.The afternoon chugged away as Marci devoured the manuscript. It glimmered with sparks of promise. Striking all the right cultural notes, it didn't feature tired nuclear family archetypes and straight folks more numerous than those in the U.S.A. Republican fundraiser.She stamped it with her junior editor's red mark of approval. Throwing the others in the slush basket she placed the one with some shine in the top basket on the shelf. Her manager would scoop it up in the morning with the others and deliver it to the Chief, as he liked to be called. This was no tribe, but one had to respect the hierarchy.Marci dug a finger into the back of her comfy flats and slid them into their spot under her desk. How many people get to take off their pumps at work? The thought of her last ten years settled in. Ivy League, yet she was the last true blood in her family. Her brother dying as an unwed young man put pressure on her. Dad was gone as well. Only her deathly sick Mother stood in the way of a family fortune that was amassed for four generations in the Big Apple. She wasn't ready to lose Mother, yet the thought of buying an entire floor tantalized her. An editor's salary in New York City wouldn't even cover the cost of a studio apartment. Thankfully, she had her Grandma's promise. If she could stay employed and not end up preggers by some blue-collar loser, the family trust would pass to her.The subway cars raced through the bowels of a corrupt yet comfortable city. Marci had the number of the hospital room burned in her mind. Thoughts of power of attorney and other end-of-life decisions bounced in her consciousness. Her Mom's last words on the phone lingered, “Don't worry Marci, everything will be as it should.”Striding up to the receptionist at the front desk and adjusting the Gucci handbag on her shoulder, Marci heaved a breath and spit out the room number.“I'm sorry, Ma'am, your Mother passed a few hours ago. The Coroner has her body, we just need you to sign a release.” The words thudded into her, and she felt the warmth drain from her face.“What happened? I thought... I thought she had a mild heart attack.”“You will receive a report from the attending physician in the mail, just sign the release.” The receptionist's brown angled eyebrows arched over her glasses as she slid the paper across the desk and handed Marci an ink pen.Marci signed with a flourish, practicing in case she should ever have the luxury of autographing her own books.“Thank you. Look for correspondence in the mail. Your Mother made a note, she suggested you contact Mister Finkelstein. Does that ring a bell?” The woman wrinkled her nose, brushing it with a knuckle.A family attorney, Ari Finkelstein, held the legal papers for a couple generations of her family. She remembered the promise from her Grandma, they would schedule a private meeting and read the Legal Will after the funeral.Any funeral was a sad affair, friends and family members metered out hugs and condolences. The catered event smelled of lavender and brisket. The showing of her Mother's body cascaded into an endless embrace and fake love fest with innuendos of 'We are owed something!' In her mind these vultures weren't owed any more than a thank you card or a free snack and drink.Graveside was handled by the funeral home, it was all over except for the reading of the Will. Tripping to the attorney's office the following day felt surreal like some unfinished business was bulging in the atmosphere, waiting to birth itself onto the planet. Ari adjusted his spectacles watching as Marci brushed past the secretary, sitting on the edge of an overpriced office chair.“Your Mother wanted you to be here at this moment. Are you ready to break the seal on the Will?”“Yes.” Marci let it slip in an almost orgasmic tone. The culmination of her heritage was here.Ari twisted his eyeglasses as he sliced the seal and began reading, “To my only daughter Marci, I leave the wealth of our family's experience, the accumulation of our generational knowledge, the weight of our preponderance. I leave her the tidy sum of $1000.00 dollars. The rest of my wealth is to be evenly divided between The Humane Society of the United States and The Metropolitan Museum Of Art in the beloved city of our heritage.” Ari folded the paper up as his lips curled in a final smirk.Marci caught her breath, shuddering, “There must be a mistake. The family trust was to go to me! Is there, not an addendum? You must be mistaken, Ari. You know as well as I how this was supposed to end.”“It is my duty to execute the Will. Your Mother was adamant, we met over the past months. You know how she admired her pet and the Met.”“I want to contest. This is unfair!”“You can take me to court, unfortunately, the fact that she left you SOMETHING, undermines your case. You will lose and be out the legal fees atop the lack of inheritance. I'm sorry Marci, the law is the law.”Marci wandered down the hall of the law office, dumbstruck and numb. The weekly checks from Mom would end, and the soft pillow of the family trust evaporated. The immediate reality of an $8,000 dollar per month rent charge hung like an albatross on her neck. With a sub-100 K salary, she would be fortunate to make it a few months on her savings. Suddenly the subway fare seemed steep, and the thought of a latte on the way home disappeared.“Her iPhone lit up, a text message from Julian. 'My lease runs out this week. Wanna meet somewhere? I'm looking for a new neighborhood.'Settle, for god's sake it was an option. At the moment, settling sounded much better than being homeless. Her finger hovered over the send button, in what seemed to be giant letters the word 'O.K.' hovered on the screen.
","July 25, 2023 01:05","[[{'Francois Kosie': ""Fun and reads really easily! I'm always impressed by the variety of characters and scenarios you can bring to life."", 'time': '01:15 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': 'Thank you, I really just hope to write stories that entertain.', 'time': '02:18 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': 'Thank you, I really just hope to write stories that entertain.', 'time': '02:18 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Kevin,\n\nA cliffhanger with an obvious outcome. ""Pride before a fall"" comes to mind.\n\nI felt Marci\'s massive disappointment and sense of betrayal. It could almost drive a person to dig up their mother and deposit her body at the city dump. \nThe thing is that Marci is not a bad person. She just knows her own mind but had towed the promised line of behave and you shall be rewarded. The rainbows and unicorns outside her office window suddenly turned to storm clouds and gargoyles. A personality changer.\n\nI would definitely like to read more of he...', 'time': '03:46 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': ""I based the story on a journalism read of how an editor in NYC can't make a living on their wage (the article said 60K, I was being generous) and needs a rich spouse or family money to survive.\n\nI've often thought about a vindictive digging up of my parents and they aren't dead yet...\n\nThanks for the color commentary."", 'time': '03:54 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Chris Campbell': 'Love the parents remark! 🤣🤣🤣', 'time': '04:16 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': ""I based the story on a journalism read of how an editor in NYC can't make a living on their wage (the article said 60K, I was being generous) and needs a rich spouse or family money to survive.\n\nI've often thought about a vindictive digging up of my parents and they aren't dead yet...\n\nThanks for the color commentary."", 'time': '03:54 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Chris Campbell': 'Love the parents remark! 🤣🤣🤣', 'time': '04:16 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Campbell': 'Love the parents remark! 🤣🤣🤣', 'time': '04:16 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'A fun story. Had to laugh at the feral midwestern upbringing haha. And self important narrators always make for great humor. ""In her mind these vultures weren\'t owed any more than a thank you card or a free snack and drink."" lines like that really showed her personality. If only all trust fund kids wound up like she did at the end! Good work Mom.\n\nI didn\'t think any publishing companies were down there by Goldman Sachs, but I see on google Harper Collins in that area, so you got all the details right. Memories of my five years in a tiny over...', 'time': '05:30 Jul 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michael Pollock': ""Very nice quick, smooth read and I liked the impending sense of financial doom. I also liked the fact that your main character wasn't at all disagreeable, just a victim of promises not kept."", 'time': '05:27 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': ""I'm not sure I can compose flash fiction, but I am trying to trim it down and compact the essence of a story."", 'time': '02:03 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': ""I'm not sure I can compose flash fiction, but I am trying to trim it down and compact the essence of a story."", 'time': '02:03 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'Other people are saying this is funny (witty prose for sure!) but I find it very sad. She doesn’t seem to have been and awful or entitled child—she did exactly what the family told her they expected and now she has to depend on a slimy guy who kept asking her out at work because her parents raised her with false promises. Gross. Good story, fun descriptions, icky situation for her.', 'time': '14:11 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': 'As a young adult with ovaries on the outside, I found myself in a similar situation (without the NYC money bit). I decided that sleeping with a psychopath was better than sleeping in my car. I will never put my, even grown, children in the same precarious situation.', 'time': '01:52 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Anne Shillingsburg': 'I’m sorry you had that awful experience. That pressure and uncertainty is what I got out of the story', 'time': '04:46 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': 'As a young adult with ovaries on the outside, I found myself in a similar situation (without the NYC money bit). I decided that sleeping with a psychopath was better than sleeping in my car. I will never put my, even grown, children in the same precarious situation.', 'time': '01:52 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'I’m sorry you had that awful experience. That pressure and uncertainty is what I got out of the story', 'time': '04:46 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'I’m sorry you had that awful experience. That pressure and uncertainty is what I got out of the story', 'time': '04:46 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nicki Nance': 'You really captured her inner workings, and you left a message for those who make judgements based on limited information.', 'time': '11:45 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': '👍', 'time': '02:20 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': '👍', 'time': '02:20 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Great story Kevin. I loved this previous comment: And self important narrators always make for great humor. \n\nYou have a great understanding of the NYC culture and prices.', 'time': '02:12 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': ""It's good to read you again Bruce. Thanks for taking the time to comment."", 'time': '02:46 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': ""It's good to read you again Bruce. Thanks for taking the time to comment."", 'time': '02:46 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Good one, Kevin, funny, and man NYC would be way too expensive for me, ha-ha...', 'time': '22:53 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': '👍', 'time': '02:51 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': '👍', 'time': '02:51 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mike Panasitti': ""Definitely no unicorns or rainbows on the immediate horizon for the MC in this story.  It's crazy what a 100K salary can't buy in a place like the Big Apple."", 'time': '14:40 Jul 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Marlow': '🤑', 'time': '02:52 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Marlow': '🤑', 'time': '02:52 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,krud1d,Plump,Joy Allen,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/krud1d/,/short-story/krud1d/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Drama']",14 likes,"
Yum. Yum. Yum. Yum. Yum.  I do, I do, I do declare Ashton Place is paradise on earth for squirrels. Buffered on three sides by piney woods and with a wide swath of even more pine trees running through its middle, the neighborhood is a veritable all-you-can-eat buffet. Just take a look around at all the pinecones that litter the landscape. I call it reckless abundance. What, you didn’t know that squirrels eat pinecones? Allow me to demonstrate. My teeth gnaw easily through the pinecone’s hard outer scales, exposing the seeds surrounding its core. Voila! I eat them like corn on the cob, typewriter-style, left to right. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Bing! Next row! Chomp, chomp, chomp. Bing! Next row!
            Of course, we squirrels, enjoy variety in our diet, just like you folks do. Ashton delivers! I tell you, it’s like living in a gourmet grocery store. Walk with me, if you will, down aisle number one, our gloriously tree-lined main street. See here: the live oaks have dropped thousands of acorns, like manna from heaven. Thank you, Squirrel Jesus!
	 The red seeds found in the pods of magnolias are one of my favorite delicacies. They taste as spicey as they look. Um! Wahoo! That lit a flame in my sinus passages. It makes me want to shout, “Wasabi, Ke-mo sah-bee!”
	May I direct your attention to the flower beds and planters adorning the entrance to each and every town house in the development? You see beauty, I see snacks. Watch me as I excavate this terra cotta pot. Eureka, a bulb! Hmm, tart, just what I had a hankering for.
	Is it time for dessert yet? Shall I partake of some holly berries? If only the camellias were ready to bloom. I crave one of those sweet buds. Oh, well, berries will have to do. 
	Now please follow me to aisle number two, the back yards. Note that a continuous line of fencing runs along the rear of all the properties, which is a very convenient way to travel from one to the next.  Let’s stop at one of my favorite gardens.  The Creightons, the residents of Unit 68, like the majority of their neighbors, have equipped their back yard with bird feeders. The large cylindrical feeder hanging from the shepherd’s hook over there claims to be squirrel-proof. Ha! Ha! My friends, there is no such thing, but I shouldn’t laugh. I must confess it caught me off-guard the first time I encountered it. The circular perch at the bottom of the feeder spins like a merry-go-round when triggered by a squirrel’s weight.  It flung me to the ground, but not to worry, I didn’t hurt anything except my dignity. Ever since that first time, when I make a flying leap at it from the fence, I make certain to stick my landing higher up on the tube itself. I then do a 180 and stuff my cheeks while hanging upside down.  Shall I show you how I do it? Wee! Wee! Here I go!
	Sometimes the birds – bless their hearts – make such acrobatics unnecessary. They do the work for us. Let’s go next door to Mrs. Lindley’s and you’ll see what I mean. I am stationing myself beneath the bird feeder hoping for  a sloppy eater to come along. Here we go, a tufted titmouse is showering me with sunflower seeds. How I do love my life!
            Most of our human neighbors seem to have made peace with our appetite for their bird seed. I dare say, some of these kindly, wild-life loving people are even as happy to feed us fuzzy creatures as our feathered friends. Others do chase us away when they catch us in the act. No harm done! We simply hop on the fence and go to the next yard or come back later when no one is looking. 
            Mrs. Burton  in Unit 54 is another story altogether. This tiny, silver-haired grandma has armed herself with a BB gun to keep us from feasting at her expense. I generally avoid her yard, but the other day, I succumbed to the temptation of peanuts and meal worms. I thought the coast was clear, but she was perched just inside her patio door with her rifle at the ready.  Luckily, when she fired, she missed me, but not by much. I heard the BB whiz by and felt its velocity part the fur on top of my head.  I kid you not.
	But I digress.  As I was saying, winter, spring, summer and fall, a feast always awaits.  I store food nonetheless – just in case – because it is a squirrel’s nature to do so. You humans made a verb out of our name for that very reason. My cupboard is brimming over. When rain keeps me in my nest or if I am simply feeling lazy, I have a smorgasbord within reach. 
	We are a chubby lot here at Ashton and proud of it. We wear our wealth around our bellies. I am so rotund you may have mistaken me for a pregnant female. Don’t worry, I am not offended. Au contraire!
	While we were cruising the neighborhood, did you notice that I don’t scurry? I scamper! And you won’t see me or any or my fellows doing that robotic, pop-and-lock sequence of motions – you know – those rapid movements punctuated by freeze-frames. A form of camouflage, this routine is meant to confound and confuse our enemies. Standing stock still, our brown fur blends in with the background and they question whether they actually saw something move. Not necessary in Ashton! Barring Mrs. Burton, it is a safe neighborhood ­– the safest a squirrel could hope for, I firmly believe so– and a great place to raise a family. I have raised several. 
	Signs posted along the streets remind drivers of the 15-mile-per-hour speed limit. Lest, they forget, periodic speed bumps forcibly slow them down. I am happy to report there have been no automobile casualties here.
	The Homeowners Association requires all dogs to be on leashes when not in their fenced yards. I’m grateful for that rule since many of my ancestors met their demise through a swift jerk to the neck in the jaws of a dog.  Here comes Mrs. Perkins with Roscoe her Rottweiler. He sees me – he’s straining at his leash – and now the barking has started. I admit I delight in his frustration. It’s cruel I know, but I’m going to twitch my tail to taunt him. It worked! That drove him crazy and by golly, he dragged poor Mrs. Perkins 10 feet trying to get at me. 
	Some of the neighborhood cats like to think of themselves as a threat and have been known to stalk and attack. Our size makes it impossible for them to subdue us. We always get away, though we sometimes incur a scratch or two. No big deal!
	 The only real danger we face here are the hawks that cruise overhead on occasions. I spy one now. He is flying low enough for me to hear him talking to himself:
            “Yum. I swear Ashton Place is hawk heaven. A veritable all-you-can-eat buffet, it is teeming with squirrels – plump ones!”
","July 21, 2023 22:57","[[{'Jessie Laverton': 'I had fun reading this', 'time': '08:23 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Caroline Tuohy': 'Same.', 'time': '18:15 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for reading and giving feedback.', 'time': '01:35 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Caroline Tuohy': 'Same.', 'time': '18:15 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for reading and giving feedback.', 'time': '01:35 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'Very cute. The circle back at the end is perfect!', 'time': '05:38 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': ""I love the voice of this story! The squirrel is all smug and satisfied – until he's reminded that life is a food chain, even on Aston Place. Fun reading."", 'time': '19:42 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you! I appreciate your comments.', 'time': '01:36 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you! I appreciate your comments.', 'time': '01:36 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Caroline Tuohy': 'I love this! It’s so well written and fun, quick paced, great humour. I loved “we wear our wealth around our bellies”. The dark hawk at the end is perfect, and suits the prompt exactly. It reminds me a lot of The Fantastic Mr Fox. It would make an amazing illustrated story book.', 'time': '18:14 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for sharing your reaction.', 'time': '01:37 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for sharing your reaction.', 'time': '01:37 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jorge Soto': 'Love the twist at the end! Makes it that much more tragic because the voice of the squirrel was so childlike and innocent :,)', 'time': '04:16 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts.', 'time': '01:38 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joy Allen': 'Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts.', 'time': '01:38 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,etj0sx,"THEIR LIVES, (HIS LIFE)",Lily Finch,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/etj0sx/,/short-story/etj0sx/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Drama', 'Funny']",14 likes,"
GENITAL TALK/SEX TALK/UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP/HUMOUR FOR A DARK SUBJECTTheir lives, (His Life)Clearly, whoever decided that unicorns and rainbows always mean good things had no idea what they were talking about. They were so wrong it's almost funny! She has it all, and her world is magnificent. She triumphantly paid off the house at the age of fifty, leaving no room for those pesky mortgage payments to rain on her parade. And she was the talk of the town, with a career that commanded respect from all quarters. Her children were thriving like a swarm of overachieving child prodigies. They are healthy, and they accept themselves as they are! Seriously, what else can she ask for? She has many answers, but she unwinds them like a knitter unwinds her yarn from the skein. It's like watching a master knitter untangle a jumbled mess of thoughts! She tells stories about her husband and their non-existent marriage. Prepare for a brutally honest account of her emotions and the hilarious way she dealt with her situation. She's about to rip her friends and her partner's hearts out. However, it is too late. She committed suicide, leaving no notes behind. Rainbows and unicorns transform into monstrous creatures and hideous pills before swooping in to save her on her adventure. ""Nobody heroically rescued her from her agony; it was the pills,"" yes, ME, ""that finally allowed her to rest in peace."" So here's how it works.For twenty-two years, they lived a life straight out of a fairy tale. I am ecstatic and overjoyed. We took care of everything important, but budgeting? There are no complaints there, my friend! The house and vehicles were paid off, and life was like, ""OK, let's keep moving!"" They were always loving and joyful, spreading happiness like a pair of mischievous unicorns frolicking through a rainbow field. Their children are like little superheroes, effortlessly and awesomely conquering life. They kept saying, ""I love you,"" as if it would magically change the world. With this phrase, however, these two found themselves in a bind.They had strange sex. Isn't hygiene always a source of contention? He's been hogging the pickleball court like it's his full-time job since he retired! That meant spending a lot of time away from home and dealing with a lot of sweaty days. It all started when he showed off an uncircumcised penis, and the rest is history. He never cleaned his penis, and it stank so bad she thought she'd puke. She didn't want it around her. He also stinks like body odour and has a scent that makes her sick. Her stomach was like a wild storm, causing all kinds of havoc, and it was nearly impossible for her to relax in his presence. He was constantly emitting an odour, and his breath reeked. He didn't respect her enough to control his eating habits for her sake. But who needs self-control when there are extra fries? When you combine that with his erectile dysfunction, you have a recipe for disaster! And it RUINS! She was beside herself and didn't feel well. So she decided to talk to herself and told herself, ""Hey, self, let's not feel bad anymore, okay?"" Let's flip that frown around and get back to feeling fabulous!"" And then she was back in the game, feeling as good as new. She deteriorated into a shell of the person she once was. She begins to wonder why this is happening. She truly desires sex every night, but it's disgusting in her mind with him. Everything about it felt as soothing as a root canal. He never takes his time; he's rough and only there to satisfy himself and get on with his life. It was a cold, animalistic desire. ""Nah, we're not coming to this party,"" said romance and alluring detail. It's always been a ""wham bam, ma'am, thank you."" Which is even worse than having no sex at all! She's got a whole universe in her head. She wanted finesse, but she got rough and tough, as well as a power struggle that screamed dominance. He needs to practise his lovemaking, but she wasn't interested in being his teacher.They live as siblings rather than as a married couple. He was emotionally detached to the point where it harmed her self-esteem and brought her down like a deflated balloon. She began to feel like a potato with no sexual allure or appeal. ""I'm going to talk over you, girl!"" he said. She was speaking for herself, but her words were so eloquent that they almost spoke for her. He never gives her time to consider anything before responding. She's like a prisoner in her own house, but now she's a prisoner in her mind. ""Yo, this relationship is totally screwing me up, bro,"" she exclaimed. Her throat tightens at the prospect of another night in her bed with him. She's been lying about everything to sleep alone.""You look fabulous!"" or ""You look drop-dead gorgeous!"" he'd say, but those words would bounce off her like the icy ""I Love You"" they used to exchange. He'll find any reason to get his hands all over her. And when I say any excuse, I mean any excuse. She grew to despise being within his reach, as a mosquito does a giant swatter. He takes Viagra when they have sex, and it's like a meticulously planned night of anticipation. He pounds her like meat in need of tenderizing, his spontaneity gone. Worst of all, she used to adore him like a squirrel adores nuts. His insensitive attitude and approach have taken hold over the years, and they're now hanging by a thread. But hey, at least their arms are getting a good workout! He lacks sexual prowess and is only concerned with himself, so she finds it difficult to arouse him. In essence, she feels like a big, fat, wet, old vagina that he abuses whenever he feels like it. Nobody ever asked her if she wanted to have sex or not. Without a bond, the relationship dissolved—she took pills, fell asleep, and never awoke. He only realized his mistake after she vanished into thin air. He sobs uncontrollably as he places freshly cut flowers on her grave.Oh, boy! Her version of what happens behind closed doors is quite a story! In public, however, they were the church-going couple who smiled and attended public events where they appeared to be very happy and in love. It's amusing how everyone says, ""Oh, what a delightful individual!"" I can't help but wonder why she would pull such a stunt."" And the answer, my dear Watson, will remain a mystery. Since she vanished into thin air, leaving no trace of her existence. She didn't think the trouble was worth it. Life was like, ""See you later, alligator!"" and went on without her. Rainbows and unicorns quickly transform into the monsters and hideous pills that are about to save her as she commits suicide. I swoop in ""and rescue her from her torment, allowing her to finally kick back and relax in peace."" So, picture this: unicorns and rainbows are like two peas in a pod, representing the ultimate combination of happiness and good vibes. But the unicorn playing was too preoccupied to hear the call and became extinct. And rainbows always appear after a storm, establishing their dominance over the next one. Relationships, she believes, are like a roller coaster ride: thrilling, unpredictable, and occasionally making you want to vomit. Sex is the thread that runs through every partner's relationship, keeping things interesting and spicy! When you and another human being choose each other, your love becomes physical and begins to work! My friend, it's going to be a blast and a half! Stop and reflect on your own relationships, but only if you're interested. When the sex is good, the relationship becomes a legendary epic tale! Oh, okay, it's true. ""Love and Happiness,"" by Marc Broussard, is all about spreading joy and good vibes. It's like a musical prescription for happiness and laughter. So, if you're feeling down, turn on the music and let the love and happiness wash over you. It's a guaranteed mood booster! If you dare, listen to it!
","July 23, 2023 06:51","[[{'Michelle Oliver': 'Quite a disturbing story, with elements of pain sprinkled with the delivery. \nLove this line, “Relationships, she believes, are like a roller coaster ride: thrilling, unpredictable, and occasionally making you want to vomit.” But we still go back and ride that roller coaster don’t we?\nIt’s true that on the surface so many things look perfect to the outsider, but on the inside things are crumbling and deteriorating or are actually dysfunctional. Don’t judge a book by its cover.', 'time': '07:30 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Yes, unfortunately too many people want to appear better than they are; picture-perfect if you will. ""I think they do protest too much!"" Making it become the best-kept surface lie going. So sad. The couples who always show affection the most may be the ones who are hurting the most.\nThank you so much for reading. I always respect you and the comments/feedback you provide. LF6', 'time': '14:36 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Yes, unfortunately too many people want to appear better than they are; picture-perfect if you will. ""I think they do protest too much!"" Making it become the best-kept surface lie going. So sad. The couples who always show affection the most may be the ones who are hurting the most.\nThank you so much for reading. I always respect you and the comments/feedback you provide. LF6', 'time': '14:36 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'OMG! Love seeing you bust out with some great fiction, and this one is epic! You bring every raw, malodorous, painful, frustrated sensation and image to life. I truly love that you spared nothing and no one here — it’s about as honest a story as I’ve read, holy crap in a great way! Congratulation, and thanks! Looking forward to the next and next and next…', 'time': '15:45 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Martin. You are so kind and generous with your comments regarding my writing. Thank you so much. LF6 D)', 'time': '17:07 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Thank YOU!', 'time': '17:17 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Martin. You are so kind and generous with your comments regarding my writing. Thank you so much. LF6 D)', 'time': '17:07 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Thank YOU!', 'time': '17:17 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Thank YOU!', 'time': '17:17 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': 'A dark and engrossing read.', 'time': '19:47 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': ""Hi Ellen, yes. Frightening and sad. Thanks for reading and commenting. I cannot imagine the hell she went through that we don't know about. LF6"", 'time': '15:32 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': ""Hi Ellen, yes. Frightening and sad. Thanks for reading and commenting. I cannot imagine the hell she went through that we don't know about. LF6"", 'time': '15:32 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Whoa! Dark, Lily. Very dark. What makes it all the more chilling is that shit like this happens all the time. We wonder why so-and-so committed suicide. I think you provided some insight on this question.\n\nGood, emotional writing, Lily. It hurts a little to read, and I bet it was difficult to write. Thanks for sharing.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '11:43 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Very profound, Lily, but actually true to behind the scene lives. At times I felt like I was on a merry-go-round, but I appreciate that, because of the fact that your writing made me feel deeply. Who knows what lurks beneath the surface.', 'time': '00:56 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Hi Joe. I hope it made you feel deeply in an ok sort of way. \nSometimes I wonder if people feel anything so I am always glad to see someone write that they felt something deeply. Thanks, Joe, I appreciate the time taken to read my story. LF6', 'time': '07:23 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, Lily, your story made me feel deeply in a much more than ""OK sort of way.""', 'time': '16:54 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Hi Joe. I hope it made you feel deeply in an ok sort of way. \nSometimes I wonder if people feel anything so I am always glad to see someone write that they felt something deeply. Thanks, Joe, I appreciate the time taken to read my story. LF6', 'time': '07:23 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, Lily, your story made me feel deeply in a much more than ""OK sort of way.""', 'time': '16:54 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, Lily, your story made me feel deeply in a much more than ""OK sort of way.""', 'time': '16:54 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Very real and raw. The husband comes across as such a toxic self centered ass. The mentions of his unwashed stench were visceral.\n\nSome great prose in here Lily, I seen your comment about some of this being real, that realness shines through here as a strength.\n\nSorry you had to experience that lose.', 'time': '17:26 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate your reading my story and commenting.  LF6', 'time': '18:18 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate your reading my story and commenting.  LF6', 'time': '18:18 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Quite a deep one this time Lily. Lots of difficult subjects touched upon. Quite dark but an important read', 'time': '14:47 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Thanks, Derrick, I appreciate your reading and, as always your commentary.  So true and so often times the sad truth about more couples that we know. But at least we ended on a great note with a great song! Thanks again for reading. LF6', 'time': '15:01 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '0'}, {'Derrick M Domican': 'Yes I understand it and have some firsthand experience Also sadly', 'time': '06:01 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Lily Finch': 'Sorry to read that. Writing about it makes you feel better somehow. Try it! It does something to you. LF6', 'time': '07:24 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '0'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Thanks, Derrick, I appreciate your reading and, as always your commentary.  So true and so often times the sad truth about more couples that we know. But at least we ended on a great note with a great song! Thanks again for reading. LF6', 'time': '15:01 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '0'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Yes I understand it and have some firsthand experience Also sadly', 'time': '06:01 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Lily Finch': 'Sorry to read that. Writing about it makes you feel better somehow. Try it! It does something to you. LF6', 'time': '07:24 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '0'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Yes I understand it and have some firsthand experience Also sadly', 'time': '06:01 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Sorry to read that. Writing about it makes you feel better somehow. Try it! It does something to you. LF6', 'time': '07:24 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '0'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Sorry to read that. Writing about it makes you feel better somehow. Try it! It does something to you. LF6', 'time': '07:24 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '0'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Some of the information is true but most is fiction as someone dear to me took her life over issues in her life that she could not reconcile herself to. I miss her tons. \nNot the greatest story. Sorry. LF6', 'time': '06:53 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '0'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,clgwzd,"""Isn't this lovely?""",Jessie Laverton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/clgwzd/,/short-story/clgwzd/,Dramatic,0,['Coming of Age'],14 likes,"
The blood trickled down from my knee, in a dark red line, towards the top of my sock. It was about 1987, so it was a high lacey sock, pulled up nearly to the top of my shin. Instead of pushing the sock down to safety, I stared as the blood ran towards the white cotton. Then I looked up to find you. You were blurred through my tears, sitting on a bench on the other side of the playground, very far away beyond the roundabout and the seesaw. I bravely made my way towards you.“What is it, dear?” you said as I approached.My sister was sitting next to you in a pushchair, so I can’t have been any older than four, but I remember your beige jacket, and matching beige handbag. You would have been wearing beige tights too, you always did. You whipped out an embroidered handkerchief as soon as you saw my knee.“Here, hold that on there. I will get my magic cream.”You quickly wiped your hands with a wet wipe, you were never without those, then from your bag you took a rather big pale yellow plastic bottle and squeezed cool white cream on to my wound. You rubbed it in soothingly with your bony hand. I stared at your blue veins and the ring on your finger, with its pretty arrangement of diamonds.“Grandma, the diamonds on your ring are like a flower,” I said. The cream was working its magic already.“Yes. Your Grandad gave me that just before we were married. Lovely, isn’t it?”I did, indeed, find it lovely. Lovely was your favourite word. No, it was more than that. Loveliness was what you lived for. You squeezed so much loveliness into every day that there was no room for anything else. I never saw you sad. I never heard you complain. I don’t think I even ever saw you bored.Your love of loveliness was contagious. For me as a child, doing even the simplest of things with you was a treat.“Isn’t this lovely?” you would say as the waitress set down your teapot and toasted teacake. “This teacake is just perfect. Golden brown and still warm enough to melt the butter.”“Isn’t this lovely?” you would say, as my mother poured red wine into your glass. “Listen to that sound. Gloup, gloup, gloup.”“Isn’t this lovely?” you would say, as you sat on the sofa with your tea, waiting to hear the sonata I was learning to play on my violin. You always asked, after listening to every complex piece of classical music I was so proud to play, if for next time I could learn the Fascination Waltz.“It’s just lovely, you’ll see,” you insisted, and then you would prove your point by humming the first few bars, looking at me expectantly, hoping I would hear the loveliness too.I was above learning that corny tune, and I’m sorry now, but it’s too late.“Isn’t this lovely?” you would say, as we sat in the open air on the top floor of the boat, cruising down the river Thames, the guide announcing the price of each celebrity’s house, and all the passengers looking suitably impressed.You noticed a red wine stain on your pastel blue blouse that day as we admired the film stars’ riverside residences. I’ll never know if you really believed it when you exclaimed “Oh, somebody in an aeroplane above us must have spilt their drink.” You must have been joking, but you sounded so earnest, so I’m still not sure.“Isn’t this lovely?” you said again years later. You sat in your wheelchair now in the gardens of the sheltered accommodation you had been moved to, eating the picnic that I, now twenty-six, had prepared for you. “Just lovely. A picnic with the rhododendrons in bloom.”It was true, they were quite beautiful. Whole bushes ablaze with pink, red and purple flowers. Then, quite unexpectedly, you turned to me and said:“When are you getting married?”“What?” I replied. But I’d heard, and you knew it.“You’ve been carrying on like this long enough. It’s high time you did things with a bit of propriety. Besides, a wedding is a lovely thing, and to have a baby is a lovely thing, why ever would you not want to do all that?”We sat without talking after that for a while, chewing on egg mayonnaise sandwiches with crunchy pieces of little gem lettuce, your favourite, and cherry tomatoes.Then you broke the silence: “Could you pass me my handbag, dear? My hands are a little dry.”I took your beige bag from where it hung on the handle of your chair; the same one you had carried with you to the playground in the summer of 1987.“Thank you, dear,” you said, as you retrieved a big pale yellow plastic bottle. Vaseline Intensive Care Hand Cream, the label said.Of course, I had seen bottles of this hand cream a thousand times since 1987. Every mother and grandmother in England kept a bottle by the kitchen sink, on the bedside table, and in their handbag. I don’t know what was different about that moment. Maybe it was the fact that you pulled it out of the same bag. I was sent back in time with a jolt, leaving me stunned in the playground, watching you look for your magic cream as my knee stung.How the mechanisms of my subconscious mind took me back there I don’t know, but I did know, now, what you had spread on my bleeding knee all those years ago.I watched as you rubbed your hands together, even bonier now than they were then. You carefully avoided the diamond flower.“That’s not magic cream, Grandma,” I said. “It’s not even antiseptic.”“What?” you asked. Your old ears were used to not hearing everything I said.“Nothing.”I pushed your chair back to your flat. That night, I heard you cry out in pain several times. You cried so sharply once that I rose to check on you. I stood in your bedroom doorway. The landing light lit up your face, just enough for me to see that you were sleeping, not crying out anymore, but whimpering softly on each exhale.The next morning at breakfast I asked you what had been wrong in the night.“Wrong?” Your lips pursed slightly, “whatever could have been wrong? I slept soundly all night.”“So you weren’t in any pain?”You didn’t reply. The newspaper was open in front of you on the page with the pictures of the queen, spread across the table next to your china teacups, the ones with gold rims and dark pink roses on them. There were jars of marmalade and jam too, pink grapefruit halves sprinkled with sugar, and hot buttered toast.“Isn’t this lovely?” you said. “Breakfast together before you go.”
","July 26, 2023 14:54","[[{'Kevin Logue': 'Such a nice wholesome piece Jessie, the idyllic grandmother and granddaughter relationship captured in so few words. It has great poetic flow. My gran had magic cream too, sudacream, its funny now cause its what I tell my daughter.\n\nGreat submission, and welcome to Reedsy. I look forward to reading more of your work.', 'time': '13:18 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jessie Laverton': 'I’m so glad you liked my story. Thanks for welcoming me on here. I’m excited to be here!', 'time': '12:33 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jessie Laverton': 'I’m so glad you liked my story. Thanks for welcoming me on here. I’m excited to be here!', 'time': '12:33 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lionel Le Guen': ""Très honoré de l'avoir lu en avant-première 🙂"", 'time': '11:59 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jessie Laverton': 'Toi ici ! Merci pour ton très grand soutien ❤️', 'time': '13:35 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jessie Laverton': 'Toi ici ! Merci pour ton très grand soutien ❤️', 'time': '13:35 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rabab Zaidi': 'Beautiful  ! I love it ! The characters are so well etched!  Well  done , Jessie !', 'time': '04:08 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jessie Laverton': ""Thank you so much for your encouragement! It's my first story on here."", 'time': '08:33 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jessie Laverton': ""Thank you so much for your encouragement! It's my first story on here."", 'time': '08:33 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,qzdiew,The Talisman,Cecilia Englishby,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qzdiew/,/short-story/qzdiew/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Coming of Age']",13 likes,"
The sun shone with wholesome radiance over the Royal Gardens. 
 In the east, a glade of Weeping Willows hugging a lake greeted the light with shimmering shades of dark and emerald green. Towards the north, flower beds blossomed vibrantly with purple Violas, butter-yellow Sunflowers, scarlet Bee Balms, purple Lavender and a grand assortment of Roses. Facing west, apples glimmered with sparkling flashes of ruby as dewdrops clung stubbornly to their crimson skin. Finally, to the South; a wild garden of Birch and Ash shaded all manner of creatures not ready for the sun’s embrace.
 The lawns surrounding the grounds were elegant and neat, in the center stood a grand marble gazebo trellised with spiraling Ivy and lilac Wisteria.
 Underneath the gazebo lay a spacious table bedecked with triangle-sandwiches, croissants, scones, juice and every other delicacy a brunch-setting deserves.
 At the head of this table sat Princes Kestra; dressed in official shades of black that matched the long ebony braid hanging halfway down her back perfectly. 
 She didn’t like her outfit. The black shoes, trousers and cardigan shrouded her, leaving nothing but a light grey V-shape around her neck; the only flash of light in an otherwise lifeless outfit. Kestra beheld her bright surroundings and longed to disappear within them in one of her summer dresses. 
 At either side of her sat her very best friends. Her father, the King, had introduced them when they were but babies; they have been inseparable ever since. 
 To her left sat Lord Unicorn Purplefeather, master of the Clouds and the Night. He was pale silver with void-black eyes and hooves. His horn was a translucent spiral of prismatic elegance that occasionally caught the sun and darted rainbows into conversations. 
 He had kindly reduced his usual grand size to no bigger than a small pony today, wanting to join her at the table. Kestra smiled at him, grateful he had foregone his usual routine to be with her; to sit like humans do and to expertly hold a china cup of coffee between practiced hooves.  
 On her right sat Lady Bear Honeymead, ruler of the Forest and Day time. She too had reduced her mighty size to take a seat at the table with Kestra. Her fur was a deep chocolate, glistening with gold and copper flecks in the sunlight. Her eyes sparkled with a sharp amber intelligence that felt like it looked right through you. She held her teacup with more familiarity and grace, the steam trailing smokily past her nostrils as sipped. 
 “Princess, why are you all in black today?” Lady Bear asked kindly as she reached for a scone, covering it in honey and cream. 
 “We had to attend a ceremony today. A while ago, father commissioned the creation of a magical Talisman that would keep his Spirit safe.” She gestured casually at her outfit. “For it to work, it first required a somber ceremony. That occurred this morning. The Talisman currently waits in the castle...” Lord Unicorn had helped himself to some cake whilst Kestra was talking, having swallowed a hasty bite he asked. “What happened at the ceremony?” 
 “I don’t really understand it.” She frowned, crinkling her nose as she thought. “There was an old magician with black robes, he recited some words and sent smoke plumes into the air with a small ball at the end of a chain.” Her friends nodded with interest as she explained. “Then there was this large box that my father had to enter, and many of his closest friends and colleagues were there to support him as he waited within…” She took a sip of her juice, her throat feeling dry. 
 “After that, my father had to leave and the magician brought us all together to watch a grand fire… Father told me beforehand that only then could the energy of his Spirit travel freely and join with the Talisman.”
 “Why did he wish to keep his Spirit safe?”
 Kestra frowned again. “He said I had to keep him close, no matter where he was or how far he had to travel.” She stared at her empty plate with distant eyes. “He’s been talking about how King Oma of Carcin’s territorial expansion was a threat to our Kingdom, and that he had to leave to stop King Oma before it was too late.” She shook her head, still too young to really care about such intrigues. “I think he left me his Spirit so I could remember his wisdom in the trying times to come…”
 “That seems like a rather important artifact.” Lady Bear said seriously. “Should you not have it on you already?”
 “I should...” She grabbed a triangle-sandwich from the platter and took a shallow bite, using her chewing time to think. “It has some instructions I need to memorize first, and once I’ve done that, it will never leave me.” She flashed a cheerful smile at Lady Bear, then turned it’s warmth to Lord Unicorn. “But not today.” 
 Lord Unicorn returned her smile, understanding it was her cue for him to change the subject. He took another long and delicate sip of coffee and asked evenly. “Has her Lady the Queen provided any instructions for the day?”
 “Uggh… No. Other than the ceremony, my day is Wide open.” Kestra replied disdainfully, unable to not be annoyed at her Queenly Mother for not providing her with a full schedule. She also regretfully knew that if her day had been packed full of activities, she’d likely have been just as annoyed…  Her mother, for all her magnanimity, simply didn’t understand her. 
 “Then it sounds like we should hatch our own plan against the fiendish king Oma.” Lord Unicorn said with narrowed eyes, his long lashes fluttering with mischief. Kestra couldn’t help herself, she smiled and nodded.
 Lady Bear chimed in. ”That… is an excellent idea Lord Purplefeather!” her golden eyes pinching almost shut in her delight. 
 “Why thank you Lady Honeymead!”
 Kestra loved how they always last-named each other with such warmth.
 
They sat together, laughing, enjoying each other’s company and the plans they hatched in the sunshine; when from a great distance a whistle stilled their lively conversation. 
 The whistle grew louder… Much Louder.
 “TAKE COVER!” Kestra yelled, having looked up just in time.
 She dropped low, ducking her head between her knees, covering it with her arms. She was enveloped by layers of silver and chocolate as her friends grew to enormity, shielding her with their bodies.
 With a thunderous Booooom! The earth shook with a solitary wave as the whistle abruptly ceased, sending a 360° spray of pebbles, roots and dust everywhere. The silence that followed this mighty hammer blow provided Kestra with enough courage to raise her head and open her eyes. 
 It was as though the sun had been erased. 
 The light wasn’t just obscured, it was gone. In its place, a bed of stars greeted the trio with pale light. As her friends parted, the curtains of Kestra’s immediate world flew open; the devastation shook every negative emotion she had, violently, within her frame. 
 Not far away, a large crater had appeared next to the lake, the waters within sloshing ominously as the rim was very close to the shore. A ring of earth and stone had risen around the crater as the dirt within was now the dirt without. 
 Further in the east, destruction reigned as more whistles filled their ears from further away. One, two, three craters appeared as Red barrels in flames crashed and exploded the impeccably maintained landscape into dirty tatters. Kestra smelled steamy sulfur and charcoal on the white smoke that billowed around them.
 On either side of her, her friends stood firm, watching the devastation of their Kingdom unfurl before them as two more barrels gouged holes from the face of the earth.
 Kestra started running towards the carnage, but was stopped short by Lady Bear; looming largely beside her on her hind legs. 
 “First; we find shelter.” Lord Unicorn spoke, now a sturdy and magnificent silver stallion. “Then we go and save the Kingdom, okay?”
 Kestra didn’t want to listen, but saw no alternative. Lord Unicorn and Lady Bear were right…
 They headed west and took refuge in the Orchard. Lord Unicorn and Lady Bear both helped themselves to plenty of apples whilst Kestra paced, making plans out loud as they munched and listened in silence. 
 “We must get to the castle.” She concluded. “I must know that mother and father are alright!” She held her braid tightly in her left hand; her eyes trained at the ground a short distance ahead of her marching feet. 
 “What will we do when we get there?” Lord Unicorn asked. 
 “We will face whatever waits.” Kestra replied solemnly, she knew they understood as they nodded. 
 “For now…” Lady Bear added dramatically. “We Fight!”
 As if her words were some sort of catalyst; Lord Unicorn whinnied with ethereal echoes, inciting a raucous roar from Lady Bear in response. Kestra felt the chemistry of the moment envelope her as she yelled as loud as her lungs would permit alongside her friends. 
 All battle-cried out, they stepped from the orchard to find their battered garden had settled. The pale starlight bathed silvery light on craters wider than her father was tall. Kestra gazed down at her outfit and smiled, feeling content that she blended with her environment at last. 
 They stopped shy of the first crater. At the very center, a small black dot popped and grew. Kestra tilted her head to get a better look. It popped once more and grew again. Within seconds it had started bubbling; growing into a sloppy being of dripping tar extending an arm towards her. The ooze collected at the bend of its elbow and dripped, forming a puddle at its knee. As it moved closer towards her, it dragged the drippings within itself. 
 The bubbling stopped and its growth ceased; yet it kept crawling towards her, assuming a shaky solidity as it stood on two legs.  
 She had once asked her father to describe a Carcin soldier’s appearance; he had simply replied with: 
 A demon made of tar. She recalled she had laughed at him…
 To her left; Lord Unicorn stood tall and powerful, shining brightly in the starlight. He snorted and lowered his head. Kestra noticed the tiny hints of rainbow within the prism of his horn.
 To her right, Lady Bear took a solid pose, her gold and coppery tones had been replaced with silver on a mass of thick black fur, making her look imposing as her teeth glittered sharply. 
 Kestra clicked her fingers and a sword appeared on her back; she reached up to pull it out but it was too late, the creature had launched itself at her. A high pitched Skree escaped its gaping mouth and Kestra closed her eyes. Lady Bear grabbed it in a hug, tackling it to the ground; Lord Unicorn charged in and stabbed it through the chest. It fell limply, leaching into the ground.
 Kestra stared intently as Tar-Demons lurched with ungainly bounds towards them from the east.
 She took a stand, bracing herself with her sword held high.
 They slew Demons for hours, gradually making their way further east, closing in on the castle doors. Lord Unicorn was covered in black blood running down his muzzle and up his legs. Lady Bear’s paws, face and chest were slick and sticky in the starlight as she too was covered in tarry blood. 
 They entered her mother’s Maze. The lecherous tide of Tar-Demons had begun to ebb, and they all welcomed the bouts of reprieve. 
 Kestra felt restless. “Mother says there is a shortcut somewhere, perhaps we should find it.”
 “No.” Lady Bear said kindly. “We have reasonable cover right now. Besides, it would be good to know this Maze… if the Kingdom ever faces another threat like this, you may want to know it.”
 “But I can come back later, I promise I will.” She argued.
 “I don’t think you will.” Lord Unicorn declined her oath steadily. “Now is the time to learn this lesson.” 
 Kestra crossed her arms in annoyance, but chose to remain with her friends. 
 They faced four more Tar-Demons before they cleared the Maze, each one twice as large as the last. The final Demon gave them quite a fight. Lady Bear had wrapped her whole body around its throat, biting furiously as dark blood fountained from the wounds she inflicted. Kestra wailed at it with her sword, ducking lithely between its arms and legs, cutting and stabbing everywhere her blade found purchase. 
 Tired and aching; Lord Unicorn ran a short distance from the fight and turned to face the giant creature head-on. He craned his head backwards, raising his horn high; the night grew darker and the clouds gathered. Once it felt like the sky could handle no more, a ray of bright red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet burst forth; lancing the monstrous Tar-Demon through its skull. It stood still, as if locked in a moment in time, then fell to the ground. As it landed it sloshed out in a wave of soft black water which covered and filled Kestra’s shoes, then drained away into the soil. 
 As they exited the maze the clouds parted; the doors to the castle lay before them. 
 In the large stone archway with heavy doors, stood two guards crying loudly. Kestra ran, recognizing them as her father’s guards, Sprocket and Bangs.
 “What’s wrong?” She asked urgently.
 They looked at her with sympathy, Bangs replied. “M’Lady Kestra. We are truly sorry…” They cried again, unable to contain the sadness that welled within them. She felt their depression mingle in the air, and a single tear escaped down the plains of her cheek. 
 “What do you mean?” She asked again, now frantic.
 “The King’s been taken Princess. And no one can enter the castle without answering the riddle” Sprocket blubbered the words through sharp, shallow intakes of breath.
 Kestra’s head spun inside her skull. The axis of her reality had been forcefully misaligned and she wanted to throw up. 
 Father’s gone. I need to get in but there’s a… riddle? Wait… What?
 “Who’s Riddle?” She asked.
 “We don’t know my Lady; all we know is that’s what we’ve been told.” Sprocket continued, more tears streaming down their faces. 
 Bangs pulled himself together. “The Queen’s trapped inside and her sadness fills us M’Lady. It’s her that’s making us weep as she cannot stop crying herself.“ Kestra sighed, surprised she hadn’t recognized the distinctive pall of her mother’s tears.
 “What’s the Riddle?” She sounded tense. 
 Bangs recited it, as if by rote. “My Life can be measured by hours. I serve by being devoured. What am I?”
 Kestra scoffed, her father had taught her all his best riddles, and this was one of their shared favorites. 
 “A Candle!” 
 As the castle doors flew open, she felt her brief sense of victory get swallowed by grief and sadness. The chamber within was dark. Within its gloom, on a small marble table in the middle lay an envelope. On top rested a small silver necklace with a clear gem bedded firmly into a socket. 
 She recognized it instantly as the Talisman.
 Lady Bear and Lord Unicorn, who had stood back whilst she spoke with the guards, joined her in the room. 
 She stood before the Talisman and picked it up delicately. The small crystal contained a treasure within. She examined it fondly for a moment, then dropped the chain around her neck. She opened the envelope and pulled out her father’s written instructions, hoping he had left a clue as to how she could save him.
 
My Kestra, 
This is the first of many letters I have prepared for you. 
 No doubt you’ve destroyed the backyard trying to avoid this moment. Knowing you, you’ve probably visualized a grand battle to prepare for it. 
 So just this once, I will be brief.
 
 My darling, we need to be real for moment. 
 We both know you are only reading this because you had to go to my funeral today. Your amazing mind helped us forget about it many times, imaging grand adventures with Lady Bear and Lord Unicorn… I honestly never knew that stuffed animals could live such vibrant lives…
But we both knew this day would come.
 
I know you want to be angry at your momma right now, but that’s only because she survived while I died. I’ve left her just as much as I left you. It’s not her fault. And it’s not yours either...
 You need each other.
 
Think of me when you wear your necklace, oh sorry… the Talisman. It contains just enough of me to keep me close.
 
Kestra blinked; fat tears ran down her face. Her father had sent a small drop of his blood to a gem lab to be encased in crystal. She’d known the details beforehand, but they held new meaning for her now, her tears dripping freely on the paper.
 
I Love you my little Adventurer!
 Dad.
 
Kestra’s mother had watched as her grieving daughter wreaked absolute havoc on their back garden. 
She’d sat quietly in her little sheet-fort, chatting away with her tattered plush toys as she sipped some juice. 
 Like a switch had been flipped, she started throwing her plastic chairs and digging small holes. She pulled fruit from their only apple tree, swung a stick around, moved pot-plants and crawled under bushes. Her concern actually receded once she spotted her daughter hugging the gardens gnomes outside the backdoor, crying loudly. She’d lost sight of Kestra once she entered their home, and felt better knowing her husband’s letter and that macabre necklace they’d agreed upon would be in plain sight, and therefore unavoidable. 
 Her mother found her later, fast asleep. Lord Unicorn and Lady Bear providing plush cover as she clutched the letter and crystal tightly in her slumber.
","July 28, 2023 21:48","[[{'Ronel Steyn': 'Oh, I really like this one. I love the visual stimulation and I love the names you used. The development from the battle to the truth is a magical transformation that was done really well!', 'time': '12:55 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'I am so frikken happy you liked this one! \nI poured a fair bit of myself into it. 🙃\nAnd I loved writing it. 🤓\nI really appreciate that are always supporting me. 😊❤️\nThank you.', 'time': '18:31 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'I am so frikken happy you liked this one! \nI poured a fair bit of myself into it. 🙃\nAnd I loved writing it. 🤓\nI really appreciate that are always supporting me. 😊❤️\nThank you.', 'time': '18:31 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,g070bj,On Pink Earth,Keelan LaForge,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/g070bj/,/short-story/g070bj/,Dramatic,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Science Fiction']",13 likes,"
Perfect, perfect, perfect; that’s how every day of our lives is. In this world of pink, I am a humble member of the cast. I have the luck to wake up to it every morning. Everything appears in different hues of pink. That’s my favourite colour. It’s everyone’s favourite colour here. When the pink is pure, we know that all is well in our world. It’s like a barometer of what’s going on. Pink is perfection.I get up every day and step out of my veiled bed. I walk across the plush carpet that feels like velvet beneath my feet. My nails are perfectly manicured, and I have a dressing table with everything laid out in a perfect kind of parallel symmetry. I go through my morning routine. It never becomes monotonous. I take my time over everything and there is nothing to worry about. Life is a holiday. I just make myself up, style my hair and get ready for the great day ahead. Breakfast awaits me on the table. No one has a servant because no one needs to work. Everything we need falls in front of us, as if by magic. When I arrive at the breakfast table, there is a stack of waffles or pancakes awaiting me. Freshly brewed coffee fills my favourite cup. It has steam that rises and forms a heart shape in the air, directly above the centre of the cup. I drink it at the speed I choose. I’m alone but that doesn’t matter. We are all alone in our little bubbles. When we step outside our front door, that’s when we interact with the rest of the people in our world. I have a dog called Sippy. He likes to accompany me on walks. He isn’t much work to look after. The machinations of our world take care of everyone and everything. He satisfies my need for companionship. It just works better being apart from others. We have visitors whenever we want – lovely little parties where we are all delighted to see each other.I walk down the street with a bounce in my step, my ponytail dancing in the light breeze. The sunshine is predictably glorious, and there is only ever a soft breeze, so it never gets too hot. The park is filled with smiling citizens, and I am one with them. We are all in this together and there is a feeling of camaraderie that I couldn’t imagine existing in another world. I take Sippy for a walk around the park, and we greet everyone we pass. We all know each other on a first name basis, and we call each other friends. There aren’t too many of us, so nowhere is ever overcrowded. Waiting isn’t something we are ever forced to do. The trees are all the same shade of pink with bark that is smooth and lacks texture. No one could get a splinter if they tried to; in fact, injuries don’t exist here -- nothing unseemly does. I’ve never even had a crease in my clothing, and I never have to iron – unless I want to, of course. We only do the things that we feel the desire to do. There are special surprises around every corner. Predictability gets boring when there’s too much of it, so there is always plenty of novelty here.A beautiful bunch of flowers awaited me whenever I got back to my house that day. There was a card attached to them. An admirer had sent them. I couldn’t think of a possible admirer of mine. I only knew people on a friendly basis, so I was truly perplexed by the flowers' arrival. The bouquet was an exotic mix. They weren’t pink, which was strange. They stood out in stark contrast against the pink backdrop. My eyes weren’t used to the sight of them, and the brightness almost stung them and activated my tear ducts. They were exciting in a way I’d never experienced before. I put them into a pink vase filled with pink water and they looked like they weren’t really at home there. They didn’t match anything in the house, but they intrigued me.I’d been told tales of items that weren’t pink, of how they could enter from the outside world. I’d been warned not to get too close to them. There was poison behind the colourful exterior – or so they said. I didn’t know anyone personally that had seen anything that didn’t follow the rules of pink perfection, so there was no way to know for sure. I just knew that the multicoloured flowers had an allure I couldn’t deny. I wanted to know the source of them. It was just natural human curiosity. When things are perfect, we aren’t supposed to question them. It would be like being in the garden of Eden and tasting forbidden apples. I don’t put a lot of stock in cautionary tales though; especially whenever you can’t find a real example to back them up.I touched the petals of the flowers and looked dreamily out the window at the beautiful scene outside. A pink waterfall ran over smooth baby pink rocks and pooled in a lake that was so still even the water’s movement didn’t disturb it. I’d been looking at all the shades of pink for a lifetime and I had never tired of it. I had no reason to look beyond it. I’d been told that we had the perfect world. No one outside it lived like we did. There were shades of colour that I was lucky not to have seen, or so I was told. It was hard to believe what anyone said when they acted informed but they hadn’t seen it for themselves.I was satisfied with the way everything was, but I couldn’t completely silence my curiosity either. It ate away at me at night, when everything was still and I was lying with my head in the perfect dip of my pink pillows, fluffed up like two marshmallows.I didn’t toss and turn for too long. That doesn’t happen in our world. Discomfort doesn’t exist, so it can’t, even whenever you have a head full of questions.Morning came and I went through my breakfast routine. That day, I had a stack of fresh pancakes, strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate chips, and I would never gain a pound from it. I devoured it with relish and drank my coffee, looking at the straightness of the pictures on the walls. Nothing ever sat askew. I got myself up whenever I’d taken my repose and the dishes vanished from the table. There wasn’t a crumb to clean up; everything had always been that neat, but I never took it for granted for a second, because appreciation is also important in our perfect world.I went for my morning shower, took my selected outfit from the rotating wardrobe and touched my cheeks to bring make-up to my face. I felt energised, like I did every single day. I couldn’t wait to see what lay ahead. Before I had time to run through my planner and see what fun activities awaited me, I heard a strange sound. I’d never heard the doorbell ring before – not unless I was expecting guests and it was their arrival time, (right on the dot.) I walked downstairs, unsure of how to approach the situation. It was a complete unknown.Whenever I got closer to the door, I could see a tall figure’s silhouette behind the glass. Whenever I pulled the door ajar, there was a man standing in front of me. He was striking because he was dressed from head to foot in a colour I’d never seen before. It looked like it was all one shade, but I just knew it wasn’t pink. He winked at me and smiled. I opened the door wider, considering inviting him in. He looked pleasant, even though his clothing was foreign to me. I knew he wasn’t from our world, but I was curious about him.“I sent you some flowers,” he said. “I was going to remain anonymous, but I wanted to talk to you.”I could feel myself blushing, but I doubted it changed my complexion. I was as pink as could be, in different tones, but as pink as anything else around me. His face was a different hue, and his lips weren’t pink, but I didn’t know what to call the colour of them.“Would you like to come in?” I asked. It felt like I was breaking every rule I’d ever been taught, but he seemed harmless too.“How did you find me?” I asked, leaning towards him.I thought of how lovely it would be to have afternoon tea to offer him and it was immediately before us – tiered cake-stand, and everything. He didn’t look surprised by it. He just took a cup and a plate like it was all completely natural to him. He winked at me again. I didn’t know where to begin to talk to him. I had no idea who he was and what he wanted from me; but I suddenly wanted to ask him a million questions.“I saw you from afar,” he said. “I came here by mistake, but I couldn’t leave again. I had to get your attention, but then, I was worried you would avoid me because of everything you’ve been told.“Where are you from?” I asked him.“I’m from outside your world. You don’t want to know about mine.”“Why not?”“I’m sure you’d like to know what exists there, but once you know, you can’t regain your naivety.”I looked at him confusedly. I had no idea what that meant. No one had ever said that word to me before.“I really do want to know,” I said.“The more I tell you, the more it affects your world.”“What do you mean?”“I can’t explain it to you – it’s just better if you stay with what you know now.”“Tell me one thing about it,” I said, nearly spilling my tea in anticipation of what he’d tell me. I’d never done that before. Spillages weren’t something I’d ever seen occur. I didn’t make a mess, but he nodded at my hand.“See,” he said, “Even my presence changes things.”“Then why did you come here?”“Because I was transfixed.”“Transfixed by what?”“Your strange beauty.”“Why is it strange?”“I’ve never seen anything like it before.”“But you have been in our world for a while?”“Just for a few days.”“You must have seen others like me.”“No, it has nothing to do with the pinkness. It transcends that. I’ll tell you about how I got here.”I looked at him. He was spellbinding. I’d never seen anything like his looks before. His facial expressions were completely different too. He had furrows in his brow and his lips fell whenever he looked serious. He didn’t look perpetually pleasant.“I was playing around with some voodoo stuff at a friend’s house. It was a game that sends you to different realms, but we thought it was just a laugh. We were playing it together and my friend got creeped out and left the room. I decided to keep going. As it turns out, curiosity does kill the cat.”I didn’t know what he was talking about. It made perfect sense linguistically, but there were so many concepts I didn’t understand. I’d never heard of someone being “creeped out” or of curiosity killing pets.I crossed over here, and I thought I was dreaming at first – one of those lucid dreams where you can’t differentiate between being awake and asleep, but now I know that game somehow brought me here.“Will you leave again?”“I don’t know how to, but I don’t want to now either. It’s a beautiful place. Lacking in colour – but it’s lacking a lot of other bad things we have too.“What like?”“Crime, unkindness, poverty.”“I don’t know what those are.”“That’s what’s so beautiful – that naivety.”I shook my head at him – letting him know I didn’t understand again, but he didn’t seem to mind, and he smiled at me. His smile was warm, but it lacked something the other smiles I’d seen in my life had. There was something hanging behind it that I couldn’t express in words.“What’s your name?” he asked me.“It’s Serenity.”“Of course it is,” he smiled.“I’m Chris… Can I stay here with you?”“I don’t see why not,” I said. “It’s just me and my dog, Sippy. I haven’t lived with anyone since I moved out of my family home.”“Not with anyone?”“No, we don’t live with anyone – unless we decide to get married.”“I wonder why. Does no one ever break up?”“Do you mean leave each other? No, I’ve never heard of it. Everyone that gets married is happy together. They’re happy when they’re on their own too. They’re happy in general.”“That’s what’s so interesting about here.”“I want to know about what else there is outside.”“Trust me, you don’t,” he said. He offered to sleep on the sofa. I didn’t know sofas were for sleeping on, but he didn’t seem to mind. There mustn’t have been real comfort where he came from. I didn’t know what his world was like, but I knew there was a huge amount of information I didn’t know. I went to sleep, but I had a bad dream. I woke up with a feeling I’d never had before. I saw colours I had never seen before. My body was violently shaking.When I got out of bed and went to complete my usual routine, Chris was there. The breakfast table was messy but there was still food on it. It just wasn’t how it usually looked. I took a waffle and offered some more to Chris. He had finished eating and he waved his hand at me, like he was telling me he was busy. He was rolling something I hadn’t seen before. He put some straggly bits into a piece of paper and rolled it up. Then he lit it. It smelled strongly and it made me cough. He exhaled and I asked what he was doing.“Smoking – I’m addicted, sadly.”“Is it a bad thing?”“It can kill you.”“Why does anyone do it?”“Stress, probably – and other reasons.”“I don’t know what stress is.”“Aren’t you lucky?” he said with a smile that didn’t look completely well-wishing.As I looked at him, I noticed that something strange was happening to my eyesight. The pristine pink furniture looked like it was covered in dark blotches. I rubbed my eyes, but whenever I removed my hands, it had spread even more. The pink was changing to a different tone. It didn’t look perfect anymore. I saw my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t either; I had stains on my skin. Chris didn’t say anything. He didn’t appear to see it. I didn’t feel good, but I didn’t know why. There was a new feeling spreading all over my body and I wanted to lie down.A sharp sound came at the door. The wood of it cracked; the glass window shattering into tiny shards. I jumped. Some people barged through the door wielding a weapon. They were wearing a lot of heavy armour. I couldn’t see their faces. They were still dressed from head to toe in pink. They seized Chris by the arm and pulled him onto his feet, twisting his arm behind his back. They put some metal rings on his wrists and snapped them shut.“What’s happening?” I managed to whisper. I got a feeling I’d never experienced before. It felt like my stomach was suddenly sitting in my throat.“They found the portal – thanks to him,” someone said. “Everything has been contaminated.”I didn’t know who “they” were, but I just saw a look of disappointment spreading over Chris’ face. The room was changing colour. The pink was all but gone. The colours looked ugly to me. They didn’t resemble the exotic flowers he’d given me one bit.“I guess we won’t get our happily ever after, after all,” said Chris.Then, they roughly led him out the door.I stood in the dim toned room, feeling strange to be alone. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what on Pink Earth to do with myself.
","July 23, 2023 20:38","[[{'Kevin Logue': 'I really needed to know what was going on, totally engrossed Keelan. The overdose of pink was making me nauseous, perfect to one is horror to another I guess lol\n\nLoved when Chris showed up, dialogue was really free flowing. I just wanted more, is it a separate world or dimension, how are ""they"". Like all great stories I\'m left with questions and a desire for more.\n\nExcellent work.', 'time': '17:52 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw I’m so glad you found it engrossing, Kevin. That amount of pink would make me feel nauseated too! Thanks for taking the time to read and share your thoughts :)', 'time': '20:32 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Aw I’m so glad you found it engrossing, Kevin. That amount of pink would make me feel nauseated too! Thanks for taking the time to read and share your thoughts :)', 'time': '20:32 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'This reminds me of a song: ""I\'m a Barbie girl, in the Barbie world, Life in plastic, it\'s fantastic.""\n\nThis was a fun tale with serious undertones. Nothing gold (or pink) can stay. One bad apple spoils the whole bunch. Perfection, we see, is so fragile and uncompromising. This may be a spoof on the Barbie movie, but it feels like the tale is sending a message. Protect what is good, no matter how alluring anything else is. \n\nI found one possible mistake:\n""The trees are all the same shade of green with bark that is smooth and lacks texture."" S...', 'time': '10:34 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thank you so much for pointing out that mistake! It’s weird how easy it is to miss stuff like that when you’re too close to it so I appreciate it! \n\nI actually hadn’t seen the Barbie movie when I wrote this so it’s interesting to hear you say that. Thanks as always for your helpful and honest comments :)', 'time': '20:29 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thank you so much for pointing out that mistake! It’s weird how easy it is to miss stuff like that when you’re too close to it so I appreciate it! \n\nI actually hadn’t seen the Barbie movie when I wrote this so it’s interesting to hear you say that. Thanks as always for your helpful and honest comments :)', 'time': '20:29 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Pink perfection has its pitfalls.💓', 'time': '22:18 Jul 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment Mary 🥰', 'time': '07:23 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment Mary 🥰', 'time': '07:23 Jul 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,ybwezm,Isle of the Pink Lotus,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ybwezm/,/short-story/ybwezm/,Dramatic,0,"['Adventure', 'Fantasy', 'Mystery']",12 likes,"
The Artic cyclone howled with the unquenchable contempt of a wrathful Viking god—a sentry at the gates of Eden! I could have never known that just past the gale was an island Shangri-la so beautiful, that if it were possible, it could draw envy from the City of God! As I steered around the eye of the storm, I took no thought of turning back—the success of the mission was everything.The murderous storm heaved the sea upward and upward into a rising mountain of icy breakers that pulled on the creaking frame of our ship as if an angry giant were dragging the hull over rocky terrain, stretching and deforming the metal beams and joists with each bump. At every moment the tension of the movement of the raging walls of water threatened to snap the hull in two. It hurled boulders of ice the size of buildings down at us. It caked the portholes in blinding droves of hail. The storm drew up a curtain of foaming ice caps that blotted out the sun and blackened the world before us, dark as pitch. It screamed at us, producing huge gusts of frigid air that pitched our ship on severe angles that nearly capsized us.Gilda Margraf was the first to lose her shit. Then Chase Langley. Then myself. For three vicious days and three vicious nights we emptied our stomachs and groaned in pain. We held on as the rolling surges dropped our mighty icebreaker Atlas’s Spear down into valleys, and then tossed it upward again. My spirit broke so many times that terror became my comforter, for the tremors of anguish confirmed I was still alive. “She’s going down,” I finally commanded, “get to the lifeboat.”“Yes Admiral Wint.”There were no other survivors, just us three. Chase Langley was the First Officer and Gilda Magraf was the Chief Engineer. Gilda and I had been carrying on together for a few months. But we were sane people--scientists. We both knew that an expedition romance never outlasted the voyage. Unless of course, the voyage ends in death. Chase was a practical man and diligent in his duties. He ignored our love making and the occasional affections we showed each other, and never spoke a word about it or showed any jealousy. I wondered now that we faced annihilation if his silent envy would reveal itself.Just an hour after we huddled up in the small lifeboat, we reached the edge of the storm and suddenly found ourselves on smooth flat seas bathed in a blanket of fog. “Halleluiah,” I exclaimed. After momentary jubilation, we huddled in silence in our puffer shells and goose down outer jackets shivering for warmth, as we all knew being stranded in the arctic meant a certain, cold and painful death.Then, as our lifeboat rolled through a belly of low-lying fog, spears of sunlight penetrated the veil and drew a vivid rainbow that unfolded like a fluorescent carpet across the surface of the sea, drawing us into a strange realm sitting in between worlds. In an instant, the sky was clear and bright, and warm temperate breezes hugged our faces and melted the frozen icicles from my beard, returning a shade of color to my pale, ice-stained brow. Before us gleamed a tropical paradise with swaying palm trees and lush foliage—a pink oasis in a vast desert of ice. The three of us looked at one another afraid to speak, lest we break the spell and find ourselves transported from this dream back into the throes of the nightmare.* * *“I will search ahead to get a lay of the land,” Chase said, leaving his heavy down jacket and making his way into the dense foliage.“We need to find a way to contact another ship,” Gilda said. Her features were hard and sharp. Her body taut. Behind the rocky exterior though was an inner warmth and resilience. Holding her bony torso on freezing nights, she would look at me with a gentle mirth that revealed a child’s curiosity for the frozen expanse, for the undiscovered countries we sought, for the answers to the riddles of existence, and even for my unrelenting need to risk life and limb to discover the undiscoverable.“We haven’t slept in days. We will get to the high ground and signal for help once we are rested and well,” I said, pointing at the Satellite Phone Signal Box I had brought on the lifeboat with its GMDSS distress frequencies and radio beacon.“But Admiral,” Gilda said, “every hour we stay on this island is an hour closer to being lost forever.”I took in the lush pink lotus flowers that sprung up among the crags in the palisades along the coastline. The flowers filled the little ponds and murky wetlands along the shore and bordered the banks of winding tributaries cutting through the landscape and emptying out into the sea. I plucked some red and purple berries from the stalk of one of the plants and put it to my lips—it melted like butter on my tongue and tasted like a rich fig jam. I felt light and rejuvenated.“Gilda, try these.”The two of us feasted on the lotus berries and waited for Chase to return. My cares faded and the urgency of rescue subsided. I felt a tingling in the back of my head and saw trails of fluorescent pink dancing in the clouds. Delight. Liquid satisfaction. Nirvana. The moment was dreamlike and my eyes filled with vibrant colors after weeks of nothing but grays and whites. “I think I’m high Admiral,” she said. And she pointed to a pink palisade sill with a series of pink patios carved from the rock. She laughed, and said, “It is like a Barbie dreamhouse. Come on Barbie, Let’s Go Party!” Her sudden goofiness was out of character. And she dashed off twirling and cavorting in the beds of the lotus plants.While we were eating, we heard the snort of a large animal just behind the brush. The brush shook and an animal appeared in the clearing—a regal beast over ten feet tall faced us with the body of a moose, and giant, dead black eyes. This magnificent beast had a coat of inky black fir with red and white piebald layers. Its mane shimmered with stripes of gold, pink and vibrant red, and the heads of its hooves were adorned with little tassels of the same colors. Its mien was a feast of contrasts. A single curved and pointed horn emerged from its forehead, gleaming in the afternoon sun.“It’s a unicorn,” Gilda said.“More like a Nag Ox,” I said, naming the beast.It scuffed its enormous front hoof and lowered its head before giving another guttural snort and turning and galloping back into the brush.“What is this place.”“Whatever it is, this is like no place else on earth.”* * *Walking along a forested path in the twilight, the three of us heard the sound of human voices. We reached a clearing ahead. Set out among the forest were a series of small straw huts. Little men with walking sticks scuttled back and forth. These gaunt creatures were but four feet tall, and resembled African pygmies, common to the Congo Basin. These diminutive, little dwarves were collecting and preparing lotus flowers and had a great bonfire going, with smaller bonfires in a circle around it. Pots and pans were perched on rock cairns, assorted lotus dishes were being prepared by small squatting women. The lot of them were naked except for waist aprons. The boys and girls around the fire beat small bongo-styled drums and blew on bamboo flutes.Our approach startled them and two men with spears approached us and began speaking in a strange language, “Baaka mibu neg rayaka ick will attootoo.”I waived my hand and held it out in an attempted greeting, but two spears pointed toward my neck in response.* * *We sat watching from a special guarded hut as the villagers danced and sang and ate. Despite our situation, my stomach was full of the berries and the sweet dishes, and I did not care for anything.The pygmy we were calling the “pug dwarf”—because he had the same wrinkled brow, round head, and sparkling oversized eyes—came over with his spear and waved us to come with him, saying, “Mabikiki rep ick att ribibu.”He led us through the jungle to a little cliff. We stood up there wondering if he was going to throw us down on the ragged cliffs below.He pointed a finger down at the phosphorescent waves filled with sparkling baby blue and white pebbles, shimmering like liquid stardust. It was not clear if he was saying, this is where you came from or this is where you must go.“Look at that,” I said, pointing to the fluorescent trails of the rainbow road, which led from the island cove out into the dense fog at the border of the oasis.* * *As we emerged from a clearing and arrived back at the settlement, the pygmy settlers were scuttling about and screaming in shrill shrieks and clicks and arming themselves with shields, spears, and small scimitar blades. A group of men in the shadows, with fluorescent war paint giving away their locations, were twirling some kind of sling weapons and hurling projectiles at the settlers. The settlers swarmed chaotically as they were stung by the little missiles, which seemed to be made out of something resembling an acorn, dipped in a thick tar paste. Suddenly, two of these attackers ran into a clearing with a huge hemp throw net and tossed it over one of the settlers, and as they snared him, they pulled a cinch and began dragging him back in the forest. As he was being dragged, another attacker appeared with a huge neolithic looking hammer and began beating him, cracking and crushing his bones, so that the hammer dripped red with blood.The settlers also had men with hammers. And snare traps by the perimeter. When the attackers got caught in the snares and were pulled upside down, they approached and beat them until their bones were broken. Then cut them down and pulled the limp bodies into a pit of stones near the settlement. A cacophony of screams and traumas descended on the settlement.The entire confrontation lasted less than ten minutes and perhaps eight men in total were killed in this time and reduced to pulp and bone by the respective warriors. The frantic dance was like the movement of hurrying ants breaking their military parade to scramble chaotically around an obstacle.About an hour later, a new war dance started around the fire, and a great canvas tarp was laid out by the pit. The bones and flesh of the dead attackers were piled onto the tarp. The men began chanting, “Gachi Gachi… Gachi Gachi… Gachi Gachi.” The men gathering the fresh bones wore red silk brocade bags from strings around their neck.There were prayers and ornate white flowers etched in white paint on the surfaces of the bags, which seemed to contain some kind of luminescent amulet inside, giving off a faint glow at the middle of the bags in homage to the full moon overhead. Not one of the settlers attending to the tarp was missing one of these charms, and they clearly believed the charms had the power to protect them from some unknown threat. I noticed that there was a word written on the bag in red: “Gashadokuro.”A man who appeared to be an elder or witch doctor approached the warrior assemblage. He was dressed in a purple robe that was tied around the midsection, into a second section forming an apron, and then flared in a third section midway between knees and ankles, with two flaps, giving way to ornate fluffy leggings painted with all kinds of intricate symbols. In his hand he held a baton, and on his head was a tall hat with a flap trailing behind. He led the group, and us, deep into the thick underbrush of the forest. The assemblage dragged the dead bones behind them as we went.At length, we came to an eerie clearing, with palm trees whose long drooping fronds dripped with the phosphorescent blues we had seen on the waves earlier, and the red spots of dripped blood. It was an elephant’s graveyard with huge pink tusks and mammoth skeletons strewn along the ground, forming a corridor leading to a stone alter, beyond which was a huge dug pit. The stone alter also had “Gashadokuro” written in red on its surface. In a flash of realization, I realized this was a sacrificial rite like the Aztecs where they were offering these bones to some unknown deity—or devil.* * *Beyond the pit, in the shadows of the huge twenty-foot tall Borrachero Trees, which shone in the night with their luminous hanging orange trumpets the size of parachutes, there was a rumbling along the palisades. An enormous human skeleton emerged which reached at least fifteen feet in height, each of its bones a composite of the bones of several men, its back hunched and its giant yellow eyes fixed on the alter. The pug dwarf pointed at the figure and said, “Gashadokuro!” And as it moved, the bones shook loosely, making a sound like a bag of bones. The pug dwarf stomped his feet to demonstrate and said, “Gachi Gachi.” So this was the monstrous overlord of this seeming paradise, an island that eats its own young.A dozen of the Nag Oxs we had seen earlier appeared around the clearing of the elephant graveyard, snorting and stomping their hooves and neighing fearfully. The black eyes of these enormous beasts glowed orange as they beheld the Gashadokuro.* * *Days led into weeks, and weeks into months. In the early days, I travelled to a small mountain of a few thousand feet located near the Borrachero Trees where the Gashadokuro would loom once a month on the night of the full moon to inspect his sacrifices. I left my radio beacon on this mountain and came there to send out distress signals. There was no answer. “I think there is something about this foggy dome that is distorting our transmissions,” I told Gilda.“So, are you saying we should travel back into the icy seas and the shuga, and take our chances?”“I don’t know.”We laid out on the beach on blankets we had made of hemp and luxuriated in the warmth of the aftereffects of the berries. I breathed in the palm trees—and was aware that the palm trees themselves were breathing back in a slow rhythm—and I felt certain that I could communicate with the ocean breezes themselves. Poems and music seemed to ride on the light beams. The waves and the trees and the sun seemed to be engaged in a conversation, amid the pesky eavesdropping clouds. The wind held all knowledge up like an open book for all. Gilda’s taught body seemed an extension of my body, as self dissolved.“Will we ever leave this place, my love?” Gilda asked me.“I’m worried that if we leave, we may be stranded at sea.”“We could stay. It is so beautiful. But this is not our world.”* * *On the second night of the Gashadokuro, during our two months stay on the island, Chase Langley was struck by one of the bone crushers during the melee and suffered a compound fracture of his left arm. Gilda and I attended to him and stabilized the wound.“My love, we will have to leave if Chase is going to live.”“I know.”“We will let him rest and regain strength for three days, then we must go.”“I fear if we stay any longer, I would be so far gone that I’d sooner leave Chase to die than travel back beyond the veil.”* * *On a sad evening, after a meal of lotus berries and small game, we boarded the lifeboat and travelled off along the rainbow’s lane, back into the frigid seas beyond the fog. We kept a watch on Chase as we found ourselves back among the sea ice and the frigid deep.It was only hours later that an arctic expedition picked up our signal and transmitted back its coordinates. The huge cradle arms of the cruise ship hoisted us up onto the deck. Gilda and I sat around a table in the captains’ quarters and discussed our voyage over strong coffee and a breakfast of eggs and pancakes that gave energy but did not satisfy our angst—not like the lotus berries had. We had lived, so why did we feel dead?“You say you were on an island a few miles out?”“It was through a bank of fog, like an oasis.”“There is nothing out there.”“We were there about two months. Like I said, it was an inhabited island, and I kept a log.”“Admiral, I understand. I’ve read your log. But you must have been hallucinating—there’s nothing out there—look at these charts—look at the sonar signals bouncing back without disturbance.”“Maybe so. Maybe so. But how did two of us, let alone three hallucinate the same thing, dream the same dream.”“I don’t know. But, come on man—unicorns, giant bone monsters—do you know how it all sounds?”“And Chase’s injury, it is consistent with a hammer blow, the doctor in the med bay said as much. There was no hammer on our lifeboat. How do you explain that?”“I guess some things are just too marvelous to be real.”“Look there, Captain,” I said, pointing to a blotch on the sonar images, “it is there! My personal theory is that there is some magnetic disturbance which holds the dome of fog and gives resonant heat or radiation, probably rising from deep below the earth. Possibly the remnant from an ancient asteroid impact. This explains its absence from your images and all of the characteristics of the land.”“I see that spot, Admiral. I hear what you are saying. It could be, could be. But bone monsters, sir?” His eyes considered the possibility, the amazing possibility, that there are more things in this world than eye has seen or ear has heard or the human heart has conceived. Things of God, and things of the Adversary. Things the Spirit searches and things searched out by the Spirit. Who could say what purpose this spot held in the grand design?I held Gilda’s hands under the table, already planning our return—which would break my rule about expedition romances—but I was restless and longing for more.
","July 27, 2023 05:31","[[{'Aaron Tippit': ""The story is complex and it feels like a longer story but is wrapped into a short story, I like how you did that. If you dont mind a critique: Your pacing was a little choppy zipping by and then going really slow. And Chase disappears. It felt like you foreshadowed a conflict with him but then he disappeared. He scouted but that didn't get revisited and then suddenly he is a plot point. \nGreat work"", 'time': '12:18 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank you for the thoughtful commentary!!  I was having difficulty with getting everything in with 3,000 words on this one.', 'time': '20:09 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank you for the thoughtful commentary!!  I was having difficulty with getting everything in with 3,000 words on this one.', 'time': '20:09 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Oh, my! You are a deep thinker. Your writing beautifully scripted. A superb world builder. You should fair well in this Reedsy land.\nThanks for following my humble offerings. They don't compare to your craft."", 'time': '21:30 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank you!', 'time': '20:10 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thank you!', 'time': '20:10 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'When I was thinking up this story, I was inspired by the haunting quote from Rumplestiltskin when he says, ""All magic comes with a price, dearie.""  I believe this line is only from the show, ""Once Upon a Time.""  But the original story is one of my favorites.  A lot of these old Brothers Grimm tales involve a trade with a mythical being, that the protagonist can have what they urgently want and need at the price of their firstborn child.  Rapunzel has the same plot device.  And in many of these tales, there is a way to break the curse, by dis...', 'time': '19:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,y23xt4,Horse Girl,Cassie Gibson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/y23xt4/,/short-story/y23xt4/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",11 likes,"
Even after all this time Kiara thought Antoinette was was the most beautiful thing she had ever seem. Her coat gleamed silver-white in the sunlight, her mane flowed like silk, like movement made liquid and the mother of pearl gleam of her horn added a frisson of awe. Kiara’s breath caught a little in her throat as Antoinette tossed her head and whickered softly in greeting.
 
She gave her nose an affection stroke and marvelled at the soft warmth, you could feel the energy flowing through her, anticipating a race. The warm smell of horse and hay filled the stall as she stepped inside and picked up a curry comb. She rested one hand on Antoinette’s shoulder, “hey beautiful it’s going to be a big day,” she sang softly, bringing the comb and brushing in sweeping circles. She moved through the brushes methodically, burnishing the already gleaming coat before moving on to picking out her hooves.
 
She flicked a brush through Antoinette’s mane, combing out the elf knots til it was ready for braiding. Antoinette fidgeted a little in her stall, she knew braiding meant a competition day. Kiara’s fingers moved methodically twisting the wool into the braids. She loved this time, her mind occupied with the quick movement of her hands, the golden light of the early morning seeping into the stable. This was when she felt most at peace. The braiding took her the best part of an hour but when she was finished she felt the glow of a job well done, not a hair out of place. A touch of oil over the horn for a final touch and voila. Her own toilette took rather less time. She scraped her hair back into a bun and put on a soft woollen tunic.
 
She patted Antoinette affectionately on the nose and lead her gently over towards Danny’s station. Danny was built like a warhorse himself, 6’4” with a booming laugh. He shook his head when he saw Antoinette, “You two are going to get flattened out there. She’s pretty as a picture but that won’t bring home any prizes.”
 
Kiara felt a stab of annoyance but tried to keep her voice casual, “she’s the best on the circuit, no one’s touched her yet.”
 
 
Danny grimaced, “Damon will be the one to beat this year, have you see that thing he’s riding? Vicious it is, I’d swear it was part dragon.”
 
Kiara pulled her lips into a tight line, “Antoinette will do just fine.”
 
All the time they had been talking Danny had been hard at work. She might not care for his opinions but there was no doubt he was an excellent craftsman.
 
He held up something silver in his hand “final touch - you want to do it yourself?”
 
Kiara grinned and he tossed it over, she slotted the sharp silver spike over the top of Antoinette’s horn and tested the edge with her finger. A drop of blood ran down her hand, staining the edge of her tunic.
 
Antoinette was fully armoured with heavy steel plate, though most of it was hidden under her colourful silk caparison, but you could see the chanfron over the head to protect her muzzle and eyes. It cast a shadow under across her eyes that suddenly made her look dangerous.
 
Kiara smiled, satisfied. “Ok, me next Danny” she said stepping forward ready to be armoured.
 
The stables were a hive of activity now. Stable boys ran back and forth, Unicorns were being brushed, armoured, exercised. Men - and it was mostly men, in armour paced nervously. Kiara swallowed her nerves as Danny helped her into her armour. The smell of hot metal, made her feel slightly sick as her helmet slotted into place. No going back now.
 
It wasn’t til she and Antoinette began moving towards the arena that she saw Damon. Kiara drew in a sharp breath, Danny hadn’t been kidding. Damon’s steed Shadow was a giant, black as jet and powerfully muscled with a bony, raptor like skull showing through his shining coat. Antoinette skittered sideways, sensing her tension. 
 
A woman in a tall pink hat threw a flower under Antoinette’s hooves ‘good luck’ she called, kissing her fingers towards Kiara. From here the way was thronged with spectators in an array of gaudy outfits, impractical hats and shoes that curled like a unicorn’s horn.
 
Kiara ignored them; thinking about who was watching would only break her focus. A thin sheen of sweat coated her brow as she entered the arena. She knew she had to face Damon first. It was a hotly anticipated match and the stands were already filling fast.
 
It seemed like only a second, though it must have been at least a quarter of an hour, before the stewards were announcing the competitors. Damon was poised at the other end of the lists, somehow Shadow seemed to have grown even larger, the sun sparked off the horn on his forehead and Kiara felt a frisson of fear.
 
She lowered her visor waiting for the bell, trying to hold the lance steady in her suddenly trembling hand. Antoinette had her head down, poised for action, then the bell rang out and they were flying. Hooves pounding as the distance between her and Damon disappeared. She aimed for his helmet, hoping desperately to end the match but her aim was off. He caught her slightly in the shoulder but she kept her seat as they wheeled around for another charge.
 
Antoinette plunged forward eager for blood, her aim was better this time, she caught Damon in the chest and he fumbled and fell back, but his legs stayed gripping tightly to Shadow - who pushed forward head scything from side to side, horn ripping into a gap between the plates of Antoinette’s armour. Blood gushed onto her silver coat and Kiara gasped in dismay. She wanted to dismount and tend to Antoinette but Damon was already ready for their final run, his eyes red with the thrill of blood. 
 
Antoinette plunged forward for a final time but Kiara wasn’t ready, she tried to pull her lance up but the timing was all wrong, everything was in the wrong place. Damon caught her on the helm and she fell half stunned from Antoinette, with her last effort she tried to pull her around but it was too late. Wild with rage Antoinette sheared through the weak neck seam in Damon’s armour. Blood filled the air as Kiara’s vision went dark. 
","July 28, 2023 22:54","[[{'Cecilia Englishby': ""I really enjoyed this. I love the Whole Battle-Unicorn vibe.\nDon't mess with the Unicorns!"", 'time': '23:26 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'I was not expecting the story to turn the way it did, so great job following the prompt! Learned a lot about unicorn care and wear for combat. Well done. :)', 'time': '05:00 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Cassie Gibson': 'Thanks for taking the time to read and comment I really appreciate it.', 'time': '09:29 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'J. D. Lair': 'Any time!', 'time': '14:36 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Cassie Gibson': 'Thanks for taking the time to read and comment I really appreciate it.', 'time': '09:29 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'J. D. Lair': 'Any time!', 'time': '14:36 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Any time!', 'time': '14:36 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kaelyn Klaus': 'Wow... thats all i can say. It is amazing! As someone who loves dark endings this story is perfect. But i have questions.. Did Kira die? What happened after Antionette killed Damon?', 'time': '19:27 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Cassie Gibson': 'Thanks so much for your comment - glad you enjoyed it. I think I rushed the ending a bit but if I was going to continue it I would say Kiara probably survived but Antoinette died and she had to learn to live with the guilt of feeling like she pushed her too hard.', 'time': '09:28 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Kaelyn Klaus': 'I really like that. It is a very unique tale. Thanks for liking my story!', 'time': '22:19 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Cassie Gibson': 'Thanks so much for your comment - glad you enjoyed it. I think I rushed the ending a bit but if I was going to continue it I would say Kiara probably survived but Antoinette died and she had to learn to live with the guilt of feeling like she pushed her too hard.', 'time': '09:28 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kaelyn Klaus': 'I really like that. It is a very unique tale. Thanks for liking my story!', 'time': '22:19 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kaelyn Klaus': 'I really like that. It is a very unique tale. Thanks for liking my story!', 'time': '22:19 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,hx8at4,Under the Yum Yum Tree,Michael Pollock,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hx8at4/,/short-story/hx8at4/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Funny']",11 likes,"
THIS STORY CONTAINS PROFANITY AND REFERENCES TO VIOLENCE, DRUG USE, AND PORNOGRAPHY.It was a rainbow-brightened day as Kitty the Cat was strolling through the forest of Sparkle on her way for a surprise visit to her old friend Mr. Hoot. The lovable owl was always happy to serve tea in his little home at the top of the Yum Yum Tree. She walked along the trail, thinking about how grateful she was for the Yum Yum Tree, for it provided all of the inhabitants of the Sparkle Forest with whatever they desired. All you had to do was request it at the base of the tree, and from the benevolent roots it would spring forth. However, that was not Kitty's goal today, for she was stocked up on milk, mice-flavored muffins, and catnip. She was wearing a pink callico-print dress and she sang a happy tune she had been taught by Ms. Unicorn a few days before. It went as follows:""Here in the Sparkle Forest, we're happy as we can be!Everything we want or need is under the Yum Yum Tree!Come and join us round and round! Forget the penny have a pound!All of us on hallowed ground, here in the Sparkle Forest!""Kitty enjoyed the song so much, she sang it a second time, but this time at the final words a deep voice joined her in perfect harmony. It was Sydney the Snake, one of her best buddies in the forest (for indeed everyone was a friend or someone you hadn't met yet!).""S-s-such a nice s-s-song,"" hissed Sydney. ""S-s-so good to see you, Kitty!""""You as well,"" replied Kitty. ""That was a beautiful harmony just now. I always forget what a lovely singing voice you have. And you look very handsome in your green beret.""""Thanks-s-s. I have been performing for s-s-seven months-s-s in Mr. Murgatroyd's-s-s choir. You should join us-s-s, we could use another alto.""""I just might do that. I have been looking to expand my hobbies,"" said Kitty. ""Sydney, I am on my way to the Yum Yum Tree to visit Mr. Hoot for a surprise tea party! Would you like to come along?""""Why, Ms. Kitty, I would love to accompany you! Nobody brews tea quite like Mr. Hoot!""The two friends marched and slithered happily along the trail, passing by the Gumdrop Waterfall and the Shimmering Sands that led to the docks of Dilly Dally that bordered the nearby ocean of Zanzibar. The Island of Isolation was in that vast ocean, but Kitty didn't know anyone who had ever gone there. She brought it up to Sydney on their walk, but he didn't know anyone either, though he did offer to introduce her to Roger Raccoon who piloted the ferry to the Island of Isolation, as well as the Calm Coast, the Nests of Nirvana, and the Clever Cliffs where puns uttered were echoed and multiplied so they could be heard and enjoyed in a thousand-mile radius!""I've always wanted to go the Clever Cliffs!"" purred Kitty.""Are you good with pun-s-s?"" asked Sydney as they passed an apple tree. The fruit was so shiny it looked like red gems glistening in the sun.""Oh yes,"" replied Kitty. ""The only reason I haven't taken an ocean voyage is because I can't fathom one. It's totally out of my depth.""""My that is-s-s clever! I've been to the Clever Cliffs-s-s a number of times-s-s, but I can never think of any puns-s-s once I get there.""""Next time we shall go together then,"" announced Kitty, gazing up at the apples glittering seductively on the tree.""Would you like an apple?"" asked Sydney.""No, thank you,"" replied Kitty, ""I'm trying to cut back. The skin of an apple makes me feel rotten to the core.""""You truly are a gifted puns-s-ster!"" Sydney said, laughing heartily. ""Look, here we are at Mr. Hoot's treehouse!""The Yum Yum Tree stood before them providing glorious shade from the rainbow- bright sun beaming over the forest. Sydney slithered up while Kitty took the ladder and the pair met on the perch at Mr. Hoot's front door. The ornate door was carved with squares and intersecting lines, reminding Kitty of a maze that ended on the large wing-shaped knocker.Kitty knocked at the front door as Sydney would have had to use his head or tail to do so. There was a rustling sound, then a scratching noise, then the voice of Mr. Hoot, ""Who-o-o is it?""""It's Kitty the Cat and Sydney the Snake. We came to surprise you for a tea party!""""Oh, how nice.... Wait just one moment,"" Mr. Hoot responded. There followed a series of loud bangs, crashes, and doors opening and slamming, as well as a jangle as though someone was dropping fifty thousand keys on the floor.""Everything okay?"" Sydney asked.""Yes, yes, yes, yes, just a bit of a mess! Ouch!"" cried Hoot. ""Ooh that smarts.""""What 'smarts'? asked Kitty, looking quizzically at Sydney.""Nothing! Nothing at all! Almost ready!"" There were three loud slams, and then Mr. Hoot opened the door. ""Who-o-o! So good to see you both, and such a surprise!""A bead of sweat dripped down Mr. Hoot's forehead and was caught by his red bow tie, and he seemed to be out of breath.""We aren't interrupting anything are we?"" asked Kitty.""No!"" shouted Mr. Hoot. ""What would you be interrupting? I wasn't up to anything!""""No one s-s-said you were,"" said Sydney. ""Is this-s-s a bad time for tea?""""Bad time?"" cried Mr. Hoot. ""No, never a better time than the present, isn't that what they say? Please come in and I'll just get the tea!""Mr. Hoot waddled swiftly past the table and chairs and up to the potbellied stove. The late morning sun glinted off his dazzling spice rack (it was rumored that Mr. Hoot had over five hundred different spices!), and he began to rattle about preparing the tea. Kitty admired the three large cabinets made of a fine cedar that filled the room with a majestic scent mixed with an undercurrent of mulberry (from the tea no doubt!).  Mr. Hoot gestured for them to sit at the oaken table that managed to be grand and cozy at the same time. The room was lit by candelabras and a roaring fire in the stone hearth, giving the room a cheery glow.Mr. Hoot returned with a tray of tea, but when he passed by the first of the three large cabinets, he stumbled, spilling the tea all over the floor. The first cabinet swung open, and an avalanche of weapons fell out: daggers, swords, maces, morning stars, polearms, halberds, and spears.""What are those?"" Kitty asked, her eyes wide with surprise.""Weapons-s-s,"" hissed Sydney.""That's for my personal protection!"" shouted Mr. Hoot, slipping into the second cabinet due to the tea all over the floor. Plastic bags of white powder popped off the shelves, covering the owl up to his ankles.""What's that!"" cried Kitty.""Baking powder!"" screamed Mr. Hoot, trying to grab the bags and force them back into the cabinet.""But they all say 'cocaine' on them,"" said Kitty.""It's a very special baking powder!"" snapped Mr. Hoot.""I'll bet,"" replied Sydney.Mr. Hoot tried to shove the bags back into the cabinet, but his talons snagged the plastic and several bags burst open. They covered him in white powder, making him look like a ghost owl. Mr. Hoot's eyes widened, and his pupils became the size of saucers. As he leaned for support on the third cabinet, its doors opened and out fell DVD's, magazines, and novels.""What are all those?!"" yelled Kitty.""That's-s-s porn,"" whispered Sydney.""Reference material!"" screamed Mr. Hoot. The items were all over the floor, and the materials had titles like: Treehouse Tryst, Fowl Fouls, Breast, Wing, and Thigh Part 4, Flappers, Avian Humpers, For the Birds Part 3, The Nesting, Migration Initiation, Flock Me Part 5, Porno Perch, What the Partridge Saw, Soaring to Desire, Wing Man, and Beak to Butt.""Wherever did you get all these things, Mr. Hoot?"" Kitty gasped.Mr. Hoot replied, ""You'd be surprised at what the Yum Yum Tree can cough up, sister.""The owl looked at the incriminating evidence all over the floor. Then he lifted his head, smiled at his guests, and said, ""Well fuck me flying! Anyone feel like a nice game of strip poker?""
","July 24, 2023 23:54","[[{'Tommy Goround': 'It looks very biblical despite the wiki article I just read. \n\nYum yum tree = tree of life\nSnake = a snake\nKitty = Eve\'s middle name\nGumdrop waterfall = Medea\'s cauldron, fountain of youth with multivitamins. One should not live forever if they are decrepit.\nShimmering sands = Sinai desert\nRoger raccoon = Satan\n\n\nOh. You made direct reference to the apple. This is totally spiritual. \n\n""Weapons-s-s,"" hissed Sydney"". :) Laughing\n\nCocaine = mana\nPorn = kabal\n\n\nHmm. Yes. This is not nearly as pornographic as Song of Solomon ( a man with 800 wive...', 'time': '11:31 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Very porny.', 'time': '23:06 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,znnerb,Memoir of a Muse,Zena Rachelle,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/znnerb/,/short-story/znnerb/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Speculative', 'Thriller']",10 likes,"
The Muse. The biggest event of the year. The place where diplomats, social media influencers, pop singers, and all the elite come together for one night of transcendence. No one really knows what The Muse is for, but we all take a long weekend and enjoy the upbeat music and watered-down drinks. Everyone wears all-white and makes sure to smell edible. Cotton candy is the most common, but whiffs of whipped vanilla and tart cherries fill my nostrils as I walk through the crowd. The amount of glitter and sparkles in the flamingo archway is unmatched. It beckons for selfies as people are lined up, waiting their turn. The summertime sun shines brightly through the floor to ceiling windows, giving a golden hour effect in every corner of the room. There are hundreds of peonies and petunias lining the halls and hanging from the ceiling. Walking through the crowd, I can’t help but wear a smile of gratitude to be in this space. Passing by the citizens of this wealthy society, their gaze softens as they turn to look at me. I’m meeting so many of my entertainment heroes, and they are all exactly who they portray themselves to be in the fan world. I’ve never felt so lucky to be invited to a party. I stop at the bar to get a watermelon punch martini. I’m such an introvert, but immersing myself in this scene is helping me be more outgoing. I’ve never had a guy flirt with me, but the bartender is talking to me like he is actually interested in me. The gleam of his eyes captivates me and takes me deeper into the spell that The Muse has put me under. The atmosphere is a blissful nirvana, and I feel as if I’m walking on a sugar-coated cloud on my way up to Gallería. 
 
Gallería. One room. One piece of art. One look per person. One person to view at a time. Gallería holds the silent auction for the most coveted artwork of the season. The only rule is that the piece must be a statue of a human that fits the theme of the event. Last year’s piece sold for $762,000. That’s pocket change to these people, and even though I’m not fully there yet, I’m just happy to be included in that category now. This year, the statue was carved by Lemuria Hill, the current most prominent artist in the industry. As I stand on the curved stairway in anticipation, I quiet my smile and close my eyes to calm my nerves. I think of past statues - what they may have looked like, the pride people felt as they stood there in awe looking at the piece, what thoughts ran through their head as they viewed the cunning design, and how they took in every chip and curve, knowing they would never see it again. I finally make it to the top and walk through the rosè frosted glass door. I look up and freeze in my tracks.
 
Eurielle. The statue is an 8-foot-tall iridescent blush marble carving of a full-figured woman with wide hips, large breasts, a broad nose, wavy hair, and an oversized crown dripping in bubble gum paint. The most stunning part of the carving is the upturned wings that surround the statue. The measurement of the wingspan doubles her height. The sheer size intermingled with the beauty of the statue is absolutely breathtaking. I know my time at Gallería is limited, but I need to scan the artwork one last time before I walk back into the heart of The Muse. I start from her feet, glancing upward past her hips to her shoulders, and I slow down as I get to her chin. Her stone lips seem as if they are starting to part. She draws me in, and I’m staring straight into the mouth of Eurielle. I instantly sense that I’ve made a horrible mistake I can’t pull away from. My smile fades and my pupils dilate as sweat forms on my brow. Feet planted. Knees locked. It feels like a sharply pointed ray of light is entering into my chest and tearing away the core of my being. No one else is in the room, but I hear subtle sighs of relief as I am being lifted from the ground. My peripheral vision slowly fades, and I almost slip away into a virtuous void of emptiness. 
 
Anima. The word that I always repeat when I need to bring myself back to the present. The word that keeps my soul intact. I can’t speak, but with what sanity I have left, I silently scream Anima. Over. And over. And over again. Finally, I break the trance and fall to my knees. My kneecaps and wrists crack as I hit the ice cold floor. Her allure keeps increasing, but my feeling of euphoria is long gone. I heave and pant. Cough and choke. Scratch my limbs and slap my face. Tears flow down my cheeks and spit drips out of my mouth. Thick, dark blood trickles out of my nose and drips onto my silk white dress. I blink violently until my sight starts to come back. Eurielle hasn’t moved, but her lips have curved slightly into a smile. My legs are lead, but I stumble out of Gallería as quickly as I can. When I burst out of the door, all attendees of The Muse turn toward me. Their expressions immediately change from bliss and excitement to the most stomach-churning look of disgust and hatred I have ever seen in my life. They start to mumble. The whispers get louder, and the group starts climbing up the stairs faster than I can object. As they run toward me like zombies deprived of their life force, their facade disintegrates. 
 
Damned. The only word I can use to describe my fate. The hunger in their eyes is stifling. Time slows down. I’m not really invited. I’m not one of them. I’m not experiencing the best party of the year. I am the sacrifice. A young, naïve pariah with dreams of becoming their equal. They’re preying on me. They’re using me. Their yells and screams claw at my spirit until it is completely crushed. I can’t move, I can’t speak. All I can do is moan and cry. Muffled tears of regret pool on the floor as they carry me back into Gallería to be handed over to Eurielle. Two men to the left and right of me hold me up by my arms while a woman behind me grips my waist to keep me steady. I try to muster up the tiniest bit of strength to run away, but my body is completely limp. Eurielle’s sharp light enters back into my chest. I hold my mouth open and let out a huge… nothing. My existence is slipping away. Anima is nowhere to be found. Eurielle has siphoned enough of me to make the building shake when her crystallized crust shatters and crumbles away. Her ominous angelic aura projects into the room. Somehow, I am outside of my body and see everyone around me smiling, relieved, and satisfied with rosy youth back in their cheeks. Eurielle bends down on one knee. I am small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. I see my eyes sunken in, my skin gray, and my muscles withered away. My white dress has turned brown from the tears, dirt, bruises, and blood-stained fingers that were frantically presented to me. She lifts me to her face so quickly that the force of the wind makes my head spin. Her eyes are only sockets still partially covered by the dripping crown, but I can feel her staring a hole in my flesh. Without saying a word, she communicates with me and thanks her martyr. She tilts her head back and releases her grip on me.  I am now the feather of a raven floating down a dark road longing for my body. Her wide mouth closes. Muted cheers ensue. Soft claps commence. The burning begins. I allow the rancid liquid to fill my lungs. Damned. Eurielle is the source. And I am The Muse.
","July 27, 2023 23:16","[[{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Quite the nightmare-ish scenario toward the end. I liked the idea of splitting the story into five parts as a way to add suspense. Your world building and sensory input took me from a place of lavishness to one of terror. Really good stuff.\nAt the end of the Eurielle part your narrator says she was carried out away from the statue, but at the beginning of the Anima part she actually walks away (albeit with difficulty). Seems like an inconsistency there.\nOverall, I enjoy this hidden, disturbing world you created.', 'time': '13:41 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Zena Rachelle': 'Thank you so much for your kind words and your feedback, Jarrel! \n\nAt the end of the Eurielle part when she is lifted from the ground, I was meaning to say that she was suspended in the air by the light of the statue, and then dropped to the ground before she walks out at the beginning of the Anima part. I see where that is confusing, so I will be sure to make that more clear and concise in the future. \n\nThank you again, I really appreciate it!', 'time': '18:26 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Zena Rachelle': 'Thank you so much for your kind words and your feedback, Jarrel! \n\nAt the end of the Eurielle part when she is lifted from the ground, I was meaning to say that she was suspended in the air by the light of the statue, and then dropped to the ground before she walks out at the beginning of the Anima part. I see where that is confusing, so I will be sure to make that more clear and concise in the future. \n\nThank you again, I really appreciate it!', 'time': '18:26 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Vivid writing and a harrowing tale. I enjoyed it immensely. Thank you for sharing.', 'time': '16:29 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Zena Rachelle': 'Thank you so much! I really appreciate that.', 'time': '22:17 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Zena Rachelle': 'Thank you so much! I really appreciate that.', 'time': '22:17 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,5oc3ve,Retro,Raven West,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5oc3ve/,/short-story/5oc3ve/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Contemporary', 'Fantasy']",9 likes,"
 
	Jenny Reed and Johnny King had once been the top radio personalities at KKTM in Los Angeles. For four decades their on-air partnership and eventual marriage were the talk of the industry. But what was the top 100 hits in the 70’s had become a faded nostalgic memory to their ever decreasing listening audience, so when the network offered to buy them out, they both agreed it was time.
	After collecting all her memorabilia from more than forty years co-hosting Red Wine for Breakfast, Jenny took one last soulful look around the control room and closed the door for the last time.
	“C’mon Jenny,” Johnny put his arm around his wife’s shoulder as they made their way to the car. “Retirement won’t be so bad. We had a good run. Now it’s time to celebrate our success and forty years of legal cohabitation with a great anniversary party. The kids really worked hard to make this perfect. All our family and friends will be there.”
	“I guess you’re right, Johnny. I just hope they have a good band for us old folk and not the garbage they call music today.”
	“I’m sure they’ll have plenty of your favorites, even if they’re only cover bands of Neil Diamond, Blood Sweat and Tears, and Three Dog Night.”
	The hotel banquet room was festively decorated with “40th” balloons, a banner with Jenny and Johnny’s wedding photos and a slide show highlighting the 70’s. Jenny was enjoying the momentary trip down memory lane when her oldest daughter, Michelle, approached the microphone to deliver the first toast, and a surprise for her parents.
	“Mom, since we were little all you ever talked about was how great the 70’s were. To celebrate your anniversary the three of us pooled our money from the sale of KKTM and bought you a three bedroom, two bath home in Groovin’ Town.”
	As she spoke, the photos of the town appeared on the slide show behind her.
	“We  know you never wanted to move to a traditional retirement community, but I think you’re really going to love this place. We did some research. A very wealthy nostalgic Boomer purchased the town a few years ago, for people who loved everything from that decade. It’s located just twenty miles from Las Vegas, but it’s million years from today.”
	Jenny was shocked. She’d heard of nostalgic resorts for vacations, but never heard of an entire retro town. Michelle continued.
           “The contract is for a two week trial period before the sale is final.  The only requirement is that you leave all your twenty-first century electronics with us. We’ve packed your things and set up your house. It’s all ready for you to move in.”
           Michelle left the stage and handed Jenny the keys.
	“They sent a VW bus for you. It’s parked outside Are you ready for an adventure?” 
           “Absolutely! This is going to be wonderful!” Jenny replied enthusiastically.
           “Really Jenny?” Johnny asked. “I’m not so sure. You know I’m not as big a fan of that decade as you are. I’ve told you not to try to relive the past, you know the best is yet to come.”
           “I think that best came and went a long time ago,” Jenny sighed. “I’m so ready, let’s go!”
            The bus drove through the gates, passing several one and two-story houses with impeccable front yards. All the cars parked in the driveways were Fords, Chevrolets and Cadillacs. Jenny noticed how easily she could tell the difference in the styles. Unlike the present day cars that were indistinguishable from each other, she thought.
           When the bus pulled into what Jenny and Johnny guessed was their driveway, they were met by a man wearing bell bottom jeans, a floral shirt with open collar. His hair fell just below his ears. He greeted the pair as they exited the bus and handed them a large manila envelope. 
           “Welcome to Groovin’ Town,” he said. “I’m Jason, the mayor. Everything you need to know to make this yours is contained in the envelopes. Come inside, I’ll give you a tour.”
           When Jason opened the front door, it was as if Johnny and Jenny had traveled back in time. Psychedelic paintings hung on the walls. Shag carpeting covered the floors in the living room and bedrooms. A console television and stereo combo unit stood in front of an oversized couch. Mad magazine, Cosmopolitan, Playboy and a TV guide were on the coffee table.
           “Your daughter didn’t say what your reading preferences were, but you can choose whatever you like from the list in your packet.”
           Curious as to what shows were on television Johnny looked around for the remote. Jason tried to suppress a laugh.
           “This is the 70’s, Johnny. Television sets didn’t have remotes. “There’s no cable either. We only have the three major networks and PBS, of course.”
	Jenny ran through the house like a kid at Disneyland. 
	“Did you see the office, Johnny? There’s a TRS-80 on the desk, and a real land-line push-button AT&T telephone!”
	Jason picked up a newspaper that was on the counter. “Here’s the local newspaper. “The Groovin’ News”. It’s delivered every day. I’ll leave you two to get settled. Oh, I almost forgot.” Jason walked to the far end of the living room and opened the door on the cabinet to reveal a fully stocked bar.
           “I’m not much of a drinker,” Johnny said, “But I could get used to this.”
           “One more thing before I leave. Here are the keys to the car in the garage. Enjoy your new home, or should I say enjoy your old home?”
           As soon as the front door closed, Jenny and Johnny went to the garage and discovered much to their amazement, a brand new Cadillac Eldorado convertible. Jenny immediately got behind the wheel, Johnny sat beside.
	“I can’t remember the last time I was in a car with a full front seat. Let’s check out the rest of the town.”
	Jenny found the control and lowered the top. She instinctively reached behind her for the seat belt, and was surprised, for a second, that there wasn’t one. She laughed as she cautiously left the driveway, feeling freeer than she had in years.
	They drove by a very active bowling alley, and the only movie theater in the town, which was showing The Godfather Part 1 and 2 and a few miles down the road was a huge mall. 
	“I have to go shopping Johnny! The last time I was in a mall, most of the storefronts were empty. I went into Nordstrom, but all I found were old lady clothes for women over 60. Then I realized I was an old lady over 60, and ran out of the place.”
	Johnny laughed. “You look young in anything, Jenny. Or nothing at all.”
	She smacked him playfully. 
           After picking up a few items at the grocery store, they returned home to find several couples waiting to meet their new neighbors. Although a bit tired, Jenny invited them into their home. If they were planning on making this place their permanent residence, she might as well make some new permanent friends.
	While Jenny put away the groceries, Johnny went about getting to know his guests. They were more than thrilled when he offered to mix them some drinks. Even though his bartending skills he acquired working during college were a bit rusty. Johnny was amazed how the recipes were still fresh in his mind as if he’d been bartending his entire life.
	With manhattans, martinis, and a few scotch on the rocks in their hands, the group introduced themselves. One woman was thrilled to talk up her great success selling Avon door to door and mentioned to Jenny that she would make a great Avon Lady.
	Jenny smiled politely and tried to change the subject. 
	“I’ll have to think about it, thanks. What work did you do before moving to Groovin’ Town?”
            Her question was met by a blank stare.
	“You know, I can’t recall. My husband is an insurance agent. I think at one time I thought about doing that, but his company doesn’t hire women agents, only secretaries.”
           “Really?” Jenny was stunned. “I thought that was ended when State Farm settled the class action case in 1988. Strange your husband’s company is allowed to continue that policy.”
           Her comment was met with stares from her guests.
	 “Remember, Jenny. This is the 70’s. That case hasn’t even been tried yet.” Johnny whispered.
	“Oh, I’m sorry. Never mind.” Jenny tried to cover her embarrassment. “So, what do you do for entertainment here?”
	Seemed to lighten the mood. 
	“The ELKS are hosting their annual clam bake next Sunday. Johnny, maybe you’d like to join us? We’re always looking for new blood in our lodge.”
	“I’m really not a joiner, maybe Jenny would like to.”
	“That would be the day. The ELKS are men only. The women host the public events, you know the cooking and charity work, but we’re never going to allow women to join. They’d ruin the whole reason we have the place so we can hang out and be men. You know what I mean.”
	“Hmm,” Johnny pondered his statement. “Now that I think about it, I kind of like the idea of hanging out with just the guys.”
	“It’s getting a bit late, how ‘bout I pick you up tomorrow around noon. We can have lunch at the golf club and we’ll talk about it. The ladies can go shopping, or whatever they do. You do play golf, right?”
	Johnny never picked up a golf club in his life, but for some reason he answered in the affirmative.
	“Great, see all you guys tomorrow.”
	 Jenny was stunned. 
	“Johnny, what the hell are you talking about? Since when did you want to “hang out with just the guys” and what was that b.s. about you playing golf?”
	“I don’t know, Jenny. It’s something about this town. All those years you preached how great the 70’s were and now that I’m seeing things your way, you’re upset? Typical female. I’m going to see what’s on television.” 
	Johnny manually turned on the set, but all that was on all three channels were the Watergate hearings. Frustrated, Johnny decided to take a shower and go to bed. Not having her cell phone to check her email, Jenny gave up and joined him. 
	Over the next few days,  Jenny adapted to the retro environment. The radio played all her favorite songs. She was enjoying reading an actual printed newspaper without being constantly interrupted by pop-ups and video ads that were so annoying on-line. actually well written. The 70’s were definitely  the best decade, she thought. Maybe we will decided to make this their new home, she thought. Even Johnny was beginning to warm to the idea.  
	After playing round of golf at the club, Johnny invited a few of his new buddies over to watch the Dodgers win another World Series. Jenny was a bit surprised to see him so involved with the game. In all the years she had known Johnny, she never recalled him ever have any interest in sports. 
	“Hey, honey, can you bring us some cold beers?” Johnny called from the living room. 
	HONEY? What the F? Johnny knows I HATE being called honey, or dear or any other pet name. 
	“I think you’re more than capable of getting your own beers, HON.” 
	Johnny got off the couch and joined Jenny in the kitchen. She was visibly upset with the headlines she read in the Sunday edition of the newspaper. 
	“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” he stared. “You’re in the kitchen anyway, what’s the big deal?”
	Ignoring his comment about the beer, Jenny held up the newspaper for him to see. 
	“THIS is why I’m so upset. Did you know there was a town council meeting last night and they voted to amend the residency rules. Specifically, not allowing any mixed-race or gay couples to move in. This is absurd!” 
	“Jenny, remember we’re living in the 70’s. Federal laws prohibiting housing discrimination didn’t become law until 2021. Don’t worry your little head over it, we don’t know any gay or black people anyway. I’m going back to watch the game.”
	“Johnny, what’s gotten into you? I know we’re living in town that’s LIKE the 70’s, but to totally negate the rights that women, Blacks, gays  and other minorities fought for years to obtain is a travesty. How can you be so cold?”
	“I think you should calm down – let me make you a martini.”
	“At 11 o’clock in the morning? Are you crazy?”
	“Jenny, I think you need to have a drink and calm down. I’m going to tell the guys we’re going to watch the rest of the game at the club. You really should do some housework, this place is a mess.”
	“Something wrong with your arms?”
	“Don’t be silly, men don’t clean.” He gave her a patronizing kiss on the forehead. “Now be a good girl and clean up the place before I get home.”
	Johnny notice the game was interrupted by a news bulletin. Images of casualties of the Vietnam war were being shown next to bloodied anti-Vietnam war protestors.
	“Damn hippies – they should all be shot.”
	“JOHNNY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! YOU WENT TO CANADA when you were drafted – now you say you should have been shot!!?”
	Johnny was silent for a moment – he thought about what Jenny had said, and for a brief second seemed to remember. Then, his eyes went dark.
	“Jenny, I finally agree with you. The 70’s were the best times. We have the best music, the best television shows, the best movies, and MEN are MEN. I don’t understand what you’re complaining about – it’s perfect, just the way you always wanted.”
	“Yes, I thought that was true, looking back from where we are now. I was so excited to see gas prices at 38 cents a gallon, but  when I took the caddie to the gas station the line of cars was several blocks around the corner! It took me over an hour to get to the pump, but I didn’t realize my license plate ended with a 7 and this was an even number gas day. They station was out of gas anyway.”
	“Walking is better for you. I’m going to tell the guys to leave so we can finish this argument.
	“THIS ISN”T AN ARGUEMENT, it’s a DISCUSSION! You used to be able to tell the difference.” Jenny shouted.
	When Johnny returned to the kitchen, Jenny handed him a piece of paper. “I went to the library yesterday to catch up on some classics now that I have the time, and the librarian gave me a list of BANNED books. Here, read this.”
	Johnny read the list aloud. “Slaughterhouse Five, Judy Blume’s Forever, The Scarlet Letter, To Kill a Mockingbird, Lord of the Flies. I don’t see anything wrong with these books not being available. I think there are way too many controversial books being printed today.”
	“Today? What are you talking about, today? It’s 2023 in the real world, don’t you remember?”
	“I’m sorry Jenny, I really don’t. I’ve been talking to the guys, they don’t seem to remember their lives before they moved here. Maybe there’s something in the water, or maybe it’s just you were right about the 70’s being so great no one wants to think about any other time.
	Men were treated a lot better in the 70’s. We had our male-only organizations and women respected us. We didn’t always have to be careful with everything we said, or did to avoid being called a sexist, or get fired – I tell you Jenny, it’s exhausting in your world.”
	“So, what you’re telling me, is that you’d be happier living in a time fantasy all alone, than in the real world with me?” Jenny was on the verge of tears. 
	“Of course not. I’m trying to convince you to change your mind and stay here with me.”
	“Sorry, Johnny. I do love you, but I’m going back to our reality.  Even with all the problems, the politics, the violence and horrible music we have, I’m realizing there was also a lot about the 70’s that wasn’t all that great now that I’m reliving it.
	Our generation lived through the Vietnam war, Watergate, worked to improve social injustice and inequality in the home and workplace for women, Blacks and gays. It might not be perfect in 2023, but I’d rather work to make our present better than live in the not so perfect past.”
	Jenny put her hand on the doorknob – when she turned around, Johnny was gone. She opened the door and was about half way through it, when she heard him run up behind her.
	“We can’t go without this…. In his hands was the TRS-80. “Never underestimate the power of Basic,” he grinned. “Let’s go home.”
	Jenny and Johnny walked through the door and returned to the present.
	           And the future. 
 
","July 28, 2023 00:53","[[{'Kelly Sibley': 'Phew, they escaped! I really enjoyed reading your work well done!', 'time': '22:52 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,1ivpfz,Sugar Dreams ,Adrianna Pizza,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1ivpfz/,/short-story/1ivpfz/,Dramatic,0,['Fantasy'],9 likes,"
The sun spread its golden lashes down upon the gummy hills of Candy Island. The tips of the frosted cream puff mountains stood as mystical sentries to the weaving sugar forests below, casting a blanket of shade over the sleepy woods. A chocolate cottage, sat in the clearing of the great marshmallow highlands at the edge of the forest, festooned vines of jelly bean lights. Soft vapors of chocolate smoke spouted from out of its bricked chimney and high into the morning sky. 
Inside the cozy shack, delightfully carved caramel colored furniture lay spread throughout, and a strawberry fire which refused to burn out its last embers warmed 4 snoring cots in the center. A cuckoo clock on the wall struck the hour, and sputtered out a mechanical jingle, bringing rise to the day all the merry shapes inside. Dr. Bubblegum was first to rise, being a habitually busy body by nature and practice. He warmed a pot of hot coco on the stove for himself and his housemates, shaking off the last remaining effects of his deep slumber with a deep yawn. Coco was a necessity on candy island, as its inhabited shared the common experience of bewitchingly pleasant dreams throughout the night, making it that much more difficult to awaken to the day. Sugar supported the ecosystem of everything alike on the island, and was the basic building block for life.
“Be a doll and make me a cup won’t you Dr.?” Peeped lady licorice from behind her maroon blanket. She never let any of the creatures see her without her rosy makeup applied, and only ventured outside on rare occasions. Her slender twisted frame clad in a hooded shawl, she floated like a red specter along the icing meadows with a basket to pick cotton flowers and Carmel apples for use in her perfume alchemy. Around the homestead, her self obsession was harmlessly manifested through rigorous spa sessions and lengthy beauty treatments which occupied most of her day. None of the others seemed to mind though, she was remarkably beautiful after all, and a cheerful presence at dinner. Coco cups were distributed around neatly, and the cottagers went about beginning their tasks for the day. Gumdrop Boy gulped down his cup, and hurried away out the door and into the forest to cut more strawberry bark for firewood. Disappearing into the thick forest wall, he sang his gay Celtic songs as he kept beat with his leaping footpace. The sparkling forest grass was littered with beaten “pig-trails” where the sprightly young man’s rabbit-like legs had previously trampled. His days were filled with circuitous pathways and interweaving trails which he kept a memorized catalog of as he sprang along them, moving as electricity would down a circuit, taking only the shortest and most efficient turns as he went. Though lighthearted and immature, he worked the hardest physically out of the group. As a result, when it came time to bed down he slept soundly like a log in his humble bunk, a pipe wedged between his lips accompanied by a straw hat tipped downward. None of the others moved in the forest without his guidance. None of the others would even step foot in the forest. Dr. Bubblegum warned them against its dangers.
Mister Candy-Cane was in charge of repairs and maintenance in the nest. Dawning a long work coat, he roamed the clearings and brooks surrounding the chocolate cottage, carefully gathering materials in a wheelbarrow for his projects. He passed cursory remarks in pertaining to the weather or ancient philosophy with the Dr. and Lady in a casual tone as he moved in and around the property, while in the afternoons he carried on games of Crazy Eights with Gumdrop boy (who hadn’t firmly grasped the rules of the card game as of yet). The inventor’s resourcefulness knew no limits, and if he wasn’t building one of his structures or machines he was drawing up plans for the next. His machinations included a vanilla-bubbler water heater, a self-sustaining whip cream generator, a pretzel geared winch and the chocolate cottage itself, which he designed to accommodate for even the harshest of seasons on Candy Island. He loved his friends, though he sometimes felt intellectually stranded. Lady Licorice would tease him with a comedic tune and make him blush a bright red and white hue at dinner while Gumdrop boy giggled away rapturously. Still, he reserved no contempt. The Dr. could reciprocate conversation relating to certain professional subjects, being a fellow man of learning, but Mister Candy-Cane felt topics of love, art, or existentialism were lost on the methodical man’s scientific mind. He respected Dr. Bubblegum nonetheless, and respected the rules the group’s chief had etched in stone at the beginning of their acquaintance. He did reserve a sliver of trust against the Dr. though, as he felt slightly suspicious of his secret activities.
The medical man kept a study of his own, separate from the rest of the cottage, tucked into the far back corner. It was no bigger than a broom closet, and had its own door fitted with a dark chocolate bolt and lock which Mister Candy Cane had been asked to design. None of the other candies went in the room, but they hadn’t felt it necessary to ask about its contents. The doctor assured them that the ingredients for mixing medicines could become extremely volatile if mishandled, and it was best to keep his equipment and paraphernalia out of reach. The doctor kept a close correspondence with the gumdrop boy through a note basket outside the lab door. He would request certain flora or natural substances to be gathered along the laborers route and delivered for the mixing of specialty medicines. At the end of the day, he would retire from his studies, and hang his coat and glasses on the door before locking it with a skeleton key he kept around his neck. Medicine was distributed nightly to aid with individual ongoing treatments and ailments each candy required. Lady Licorice had been diagnosed with a rare color blemishing disease last winter, which was thankfully treatable, although she still inquired three times a day with the doctor about any new remedies which might possibly have been discovered. Gumdrop boy had itchy feet, and although an ice-cream rub might have normally done the job, the doctor found ingested medicine to have a more impactful effect combating the fungus. Mister candy cane suffered from an acute swirling of the stripe stick which made it difficult to work with his hands. Although medicine had also been regularly taken for his diagnosis, the keen mind felt he was making no headway, and reserved a shadow of doubt against the Doctors credentials. 
The grand sun began to set over the tall sour ferns when all members of the cottage had trickled indoors, all except young Gumdrop. Mister Candycane was boiling a cinnamon stew while the Lady and Doctor set the table. The front door flew open, and gumdrop boy kicked the fudge from his boot heels as he entered. He had a wild look which caught Candycanes attention, and he seemed to move noticeably slower than usual to the table. When all were settled and dining had begun Gumdrop Boy broke the accustomed silence. “I saw smoke, at the edge of the forest!” All turned with incredulous faces to the lad. The doctor was first to question, he returned his calm gaze to his bowl, slurping as he spoke. “A forest fire it is then. What were you doing at the forest edge anyways?” 
His Irish “Tehk a shartcut I did, by the chocolate river, when I spotted the smoke. Shot up she was right-asa bloody beanstalk… like our chimney does, see?” Here he gestured with his head at the chimney.
Mister candy cane had been listening attentively and took his turn of questioning.
“Was there any color to the smoke?” 
“Oh I think the blueberry bush burns such a splendid color smoke!” Exclaimed the Lady who was happy to get her two cents in.
“Nay, aye canno remember the color, but she went rightup aye tell ya!”
Candycane continued,
“Did you see anyone else, something moving maybe?” 
Gumdrop boy shot a suspicious look at the inventor without an answer which the doctor took note of.
“We’re lucky the fire originated on the far side of the river. Not a worry for our woods, but we’ll keep a firewatch tomorrow.” Interjected the Doctor in a matter of fact tone, relaxing the mood. The lady nodded and smiled, though she too looked very confused in her simple way. Not a word more was spoken of the anomaly. The dinner was completed and cleaned while the cottage returned to its night time habit. Colorful medicine flasks were passed around by the doctor to the corresponding candy, to be swallowed in a hefty gulp, all but Mister Candycane. He said he “hadn’t the stomach” for it and would take a double dosage the next day, which wasn’t an unusual request from the weak stomached inventor. As the medicines were downed, their resplendent glows danced crystal apparitions off the walls of the dim cabin. The pink coals died away to a low simmer and the cottage slid under a deep sleep. 
The next morning life sprang out into the world as usual. Lady licorice set out her menagerie of makeup in front of a mirror, to start painting a portrait of beauty on her face as she hummed. The doctor locked himself in to start his trials, and gumdrop boy sped to the forest like wind. He wasn’t to go near the river this time, and Dr Gumball reminded him the morning’s coco of its forbidden status. Mister Candycane was out at the far end of the clearing gathering scraps for his next invention, or so he told his friends he would be. Where was he really to be found? He had ditched his wheelbarrow in a low creek and begun moving swiftly along the outer edge of the forest wall, with a makeshift compass in hand. He came to where the forest edge met the bordering chocolate river and paused in a moment of reluctance. Gathering his courage with an affirmation of breath, he strolled onward. He was just ready to turn back when he spotted something through the tree line, the last burning wisps of a weak smokestack, meters or so behind a thick brush line on the far end of the river. As he stood there, mouth agape, he squinted past the thick chocolate brush to try and spot the source. Suddenly a percussion of snapping twigs erupted from behind him in the forest, gumdrop boy was gaining on him like a bat out of hell. He quickly laid on the ground and covered himself with leaves and fudge just in time. The boy’s gummy legs jumped out of the forest in front of him and landed inches from his face. Mister Candycane held his breath as the hurricane of a runner walked slowly to the rivers edge and sat down, crisscrossed, his eyes fixed on the same line of smoke on the other side of the river. The boy sat there for a minute then plucked a peanut butter stone to skip across, whistled a jingle, and hopped to his feet, speeding away back down the forest trail as fast as he had arrived. Mister Candycane sighed in relief, and brushed himself off. It was now or never, and the uniquely curious part of him rallied his ambition to uncover the source of the smoke. He got to work wrapping bark off the trees and twine from the frosted grass into a makeshift bridge. He crossed without looking back and made his way through the thick canvas of trees. When he immersed on the other side some minutes later, he had come to a clearing with a beautiful meadow, and a quaint chocolate cottage in the center. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief. It was one of his designs, he was sure of it, a drawing he drafted that he decided to eventually scrap. He approached it in the unnerving manner a parent might approach the apparition of a dead and buried child, and squeaked open the door. The fire was burning out its last rosey coals from the night, but was otherwise unmolested. Four beds lay unmade around the room and a stack of neat plates sat on the window sill. Mr Candycanes hand shook as he moved about the details of the room everything was of his own design. He steadied it to the closed study door, the lock was broken off on the ground. He twisted the bolt open with a clank and opened it. Inside the work closet, stacks of vials and tubes were shelved between books and encased specimens. Everything had been thrown about in a great mess. He opened a logbook which was placed on the desk at the far end. It read as follows: “Spring, day 540, problematic event. M. Candycane has wandered off task and spotted an anomaly at the forest's edge. A gumdrop boy from district East 12 had risen too early and seen the still lit morning smoke stack. Local M candycane made visual contact of the Eastern Gumdrop Boy from across the chocolate river. His suspicions couldn’t be calmed, and fear roused into action. He has broken into the study and read the logbooks, the truth has been revealed to the other 2. I’ve warned them against the possibilities of ‘together’ in a last desperate plea to recover the site, to recover our life. In a democratic solution, I’ve offered two options. One: to brew tonight’s medicine as usual, and forget the day’s anomaly, and awaken to a new day. Two: to brew the mixture for oblivion of mind, and soul. To never awaken.
1935, It’s been decided, they’ve chosen the latter. I’ll prepare the medicine immediately.
2100, a final meal, and medicine has been distributed before bed. All cottagers have fallen asleep.
0700 day 541, I’ve buried the other members of west cottage 112 in the garden out back. My dosage of euthanasia has been treated with a delayed effect, allowing me to bury myself last. God help us, if you find this. 
‘Together is a dream we can’t remember’”.
The sun set on the sugar valley as the misty rays of sherbert fog draped over the low chocolate forest. All 4 members of the East cottage 112 were set about eating their night's dinner, a lovely roasted taffy. Medicine was distributed by the doctor as the friends made their racks for the night. Mister Candycane took his in hand with an unusually long gaze at the doctor. “Your medicines, they’ll always work, right Dr?” He smiled nervously, the glimmer of a tear in his eye. The doctor understood the imploring genuinity of the question, and nodded his head in the affirmative with a warm smile. They drank their dazzling potions to the last drop and snuggled into their blankets, letting sweet vapored dreams pull their worrying minds into a candy coated stupor as the coals burned a warm pink haze.
","July 28, 2023 17:42","[[{'Luca King Greek': 'This one has stayed with me!  I really like it.  If I had one suggestion it is that the volume of sugary adjectives did clog up the arterial storyline (for me) just a bit, but I think reasonable minds can differ on that opinion.  Great submission, I hope you win.', 'time': '14:16 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Smart use of the prompt Adrianna. Welcome to Reedsy! :)', 'time': '05:54 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,azfn4z,What Do You Wear To An Affair?,Ken Cartisano,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/azfn4z/,/short-story/azfn4z/,Dramatic,0,"['Funny', 'Romance', 'American']",9 likes,"
The tiny little plastic phone rang. He picked it up.
 
“Ken?”
 
“Speaking.”
 
“It’s me, Barbie.”
 
“Oh. Hi Barbie. What’s up?”
 
“Have you got a minute? It—it sounds noisy. I called at a bad time, didn’t I? I should just…”
 
“No, no, no. Don’t be silly. Hold on a sec.” After a minute of mumbled confusion he came back on the line. “Okay, that’s better.”
 
“Really Ken, if this is a bad time…”
 
“No, no. It’s just, I’m, I volunteered to help coach the Lego team in the upcoming Toy-Olympics, and…”
 
“Really! That’s wonderful Ken. What are they competing in? The Balance Beam? Water Hockey? Triathlon?”
 
“Tobogganing. I think. It’s what they’re best at.”
 
“Really. Well, I wouldn’t expect them to enter the high jump, or pole vaulting, of course, but…”
 
“Well I don’t expect them to win either, but I expect them to give it their best shot.”
 
“Of course you do, and I’ll be pulling for them too.”
 
“Well, thanks, Barbie. I’ll be sure to let them know. So. Uh… what did you call about?”
 
“Mmm, it’s funny that you’re coaching the Lego’s because, well, my agent called me a few days ago, and told me I’d be doing a movie with Batman.”
 
“The’ Bat Man? Wow. So you’re calling to rub it in? Jeez, that’s harsh as…”
 
“No, you don’t understand, Ken. They want me to do the movie with the Lego Batman, not the real toy.”
 
This news presented Ken with an amusing mental image that might have made him smile, those long lithe legs standing next to that tiny little Lego bat creature. He kept his amusement out of his voice as he asked her, “What’s the problem with that?”
 
“Oh come on, Ken. I’m a foot tall, what’s he, about six centimeters?”
 
“Ah yes, the love scenes, could get awkward.”
 
“The love scenes? The whole notion of putting me in a movie with a bunch of Lego toys is humiliating. But my agent says I can’t opt out.”
 
“That’s what contracts do.”
 
“And that’s what lawyers are for, Ken.”
 
He wondered why she was suddenly consulting him. What her real motives were. “What happened to Blaine? I thought you two were ‘besties.”
 
“Ooooh,” she said, “You didn’t hear about his leg?”
 
“No.”
 
“Got bitten off by a Great White Shark while surfing off of New Zealand.”
 
“Is that a big deal?”
 
“His leg is gone, Ken.”
 
“Doesn’t he know any plastic surgeons?”
 
“Well sure, but you know how it is, it’s part of his new persona.”
 
“A one-legged persona? What’s he gonna do for a living?”
 
“He’s a para-olympic athlete, and quite an inspiration to all the kids and a lot of adults, too.”
 
“No doubt, no doubt. It figures. What’s he training for?”
 
“Cross-country skiing.”
 
“With one leg?”
 
“No one said it would be easy. Besides, he says there’ll be less friction on one ski.”
 
“No. It would be easier to have someone snap his leg back into place, but…”
 
“Now you’re just being spiteful, Ken. You obviously haven’t gotten over our breakup…”
 
“I’m not being spiteful. Honest, I’m not.”
 
“Really Ken.” She shook her head. “The way you hold onto things, it’s absurd.”
 
“You mean things like my legs? Yeah.”
 
“No.”
 
“I should give my legs up?”
 
“No. Stop being ridiculous. This is serious. And I broke up with Blaine ages ago. Don’t tell me you’re still carrying a grudge over that little fling?”
 
“That wasn’t a fling. You left me flat—for a beach bum. I didn’t see you for three years…”
 
“Well, what can I say, Ken? I wanted something different, something more, something…”
 
“Like an Australian beach bum,” Ken finished for her.
 
“He was a surfer.”
 
“Now he’s a skier with one leg. How original.” Before she could answer he added, “Who broke it off, you or him?”
 
“What?”
 
“You heard me.”
 
“The shark, Ken. I wasn’t even there.”
 
“I meant the relationship, not the leg.”
 
“Oh. I broke it off, Ken. And you know that.”
 
“That’s not what I heard.”
 
“That’s… Oh, you’re just trying to unnerve me. You know how it works, Ken. I date, I flirt, I fling, but I don’t marry and I don’t have babies. I’m not that kind of doll.”
 
‘Ken was smiling. Ken was always smiling. Maybe that was what was so annoying about him. G.I. Joe never smiled.’
 
As if reading her mind, Ken said, “How’s everything working out with G.I. Joe?”
 
“Ucht.” She groaned. “Like you care.”
 
Ken sat up a little straighter. “I do care. You know I do.”
 
Barbie sighed. “It’s exciting…No. I take that back. It’s exhilarating, not exciting. In fact it’s boring. Every time we go out, he ends up killing someone. Always a bad guy, for sure. But it’s always the same goddamned mele, different address. And it’s invariably a bloody, gory, mess. I’ve lost or ruined so many outfits it’s not even funny anymore.”
 
“What did you expect? He’s an action figure.”
 
“And the eye patch. It’s so stupid.”
 
“Why? What’s under there?” 
 
“Nothing, except his eye.”
 
“You mean he can see?”
 
“I don’t know, Ken. The point is, he never washes it.”
 
“His eye?”
 
“His patch, for God’s sake. It stinks to high heaven. He refuses to take it off, even when we’re trying to…”
 
“Trying to what?”
 
“Really, Ken. It’s not—let’s not go there.”
 
“Go where?” He said, innocently.
 
“Down to that tired, old, pointless—place.”
 
“It’s not a place, it’s an activity.”
 
“That we can’t really engage in.”
 
“I’m not sure if that’s true,” Ken said, “I don’t know if it’s you, or if it’s me, or both of us, but we seem to lack imagination in this….”
 
“Are you serious?” She said. “Have you seen some of my outfits?”
 
“In this particular area.” Ken continued. “No, yeah, of course I’ve seen your outfits. Maybe we could transfer that creativity to a different kind of activity.”
 
“Ken, please. This is, so difficult, for both of us. You simply lack the equipment, for reasons that still escape me, after fifty years…”
 
“Yeah, I know but…”
 
“It’s so frustrating…”
 
“Yeah, I know Barb, but listen to me.”
 
“Ken.”
 
“Barbie listen.”
 
“Ken.”
 
“Barbie, shut up and listen. I discovered an online site that sells toys.”
 
“Ken, we’re a little old for toys.”
 
“Miniature toys, Barbie.”
 
“Miniature toys? What would we do with miniature toys, Ken?”
 
“These are adult toys.”
 
“And?”
 
“Think about what I’m saying Barbie.”
 
Several seconds passed as Ken waited, patiently. His attraction to Barbie was molded into his PVC soul. The clock ticked off several more seconds.
 
At last she said, “Oh! Adult toys! Oh my God. That’s brilliant, Ken. But—wait, how is this, will they work?”
 
“Who knows. Who cares? We’ll try ‘em out. Have fun. See what happens.”
 
“You may be dumb, Ken, but you’re amazingly resourceful.”
 
“Are you free tonight? Or spending another crime scene with G.I. Jack?”
 
“Oddly enough, my calendar is suddenly wide open. Nothing on it for days.”
 
 “Then there’s only one thing left to settle.”
 
“What’s that?”
 
“Your place or mine?”
 
 
 
","July 28, 2023 19:50","[[{'Dakotah Brinegar': 'Ken Cartisano I enjoy some of your stories almost too much,you definitely throw the comedy in there as drama just starts to climax,and I love it because thats how you keep the story going! Please continue writing these amazing stories!', 'time': '22:03 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thank you so much, Dakotah,\n\nYour comment pleases me very much. However, you cannot enjoy a story too much, unless it makes you drool, and you're drooling on your keyboard, and it makes the keys sticky, and then when you want to type 'drool' it comes out 'droooooooooooool.' That, as far as I know, is the only downside to liking a story too much. We don't want that to happen.\n\nSeriously, thank you so much for your encouragement. It's always good to get that from someone other than my mother."", 'time': '18:10 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Dakotah Brinegar': 'Of course Ken! after all no one wants to drool over their keys....and especially not on themselves...that would definitely be worse :T...', 'time': '18:48 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thank you so much, Dakotah,\n\nYour comment pleases me very much. However, you cannot enjoy a story too much, unless it makes you drool, and you're drooling on your keyboard, and it makes the keys sticky, and then when you want to type 'drool' it comes out 'droooooooooooool.' That, as far as I know, is the only downside to liking a story too much. We don't want that to happen.\n\nSeriously, thank you so much for your encouragement. It's always good to get that from someone other than my mother."", 'time': '18:10 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Dakotah Brinegar': 'Of course Ken! after all no one wants to drool over their keys....and especially not on themselves...that would definitely be worse :T...', 'time': '18:48 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Dakotah Brinegar': 'Of course Ken! after all no one wants to drool over their keys....and especially not on themselves...that would definitely be worse :T...', 'time': '18:48 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': '“Doesn’t he know any plastic surgeons?”\n\nLaughed too hard at this line and the whole exchange over the shark was just marvelous.\n\nEverything flowed so well Ken, really great job 👍', 'time': '11:15 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thanks Kevin,\n\nI thought that was one of the funniest lines in the story. (That, and the 'who broke it off' joke.) I read the story to five of my closest sharks and none of them seemed to pick up on the humor of that line."", 'time': '05:09 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Thanks Kevin,\n\nI thought that was one of the funniest lines in the story. (That, and the 'who broke it off' joke.) I read the story to five of my closest sharks and none of them seemed to pick up on the humor of that line."", 'time': '05:09 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'This was fun. Great dialogue and you pulled off a whole fun story in the barbie world. I really liked the who broke it off-shark joke. Barbie and Ken dont fit together like legos, so the ending was a happy one for them🤔', 'time': '05:08 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Thanks Scott. I liked that \'who broke it off\' joke too. ""I wasn\'t even there."" It just kind of fell into the dialogue. Thanks for reading and commenting Chris.', 'time': '05:02 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Thanks Scott. I liked that \'who broke it off\' joke too. ""I wasn\'t even there."" It just kind of fell into the dialogue. Thanks for reading and commenting Chris.', 'time': '05:02 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Ah, yes. Ken and Barbie as characters in real world. With real problems.', 'time': '21:17 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Didn't like it, eh? That's a bummer. I'm surprised. Where else do you run across a bevy of shark, plastic and missing leg jokes? Eh? In Canada? Oh. I had no idea what those Canadians were up to. Shark jokes eh? That could spell trouble for guys like me, plastic, shark and leg- joke guys. I'll be looking for a new schtick soon. I'm looking for one right now, actually. I'm thinking head-phone, goggles and mosquito netting jokes. (It has promise.)\n\nBut seriously, now that everyone else has quit reading. What was the source of the name for the s..."", 'time': '07:16 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': ""Ok, Ken. For one thing I always like your quirky sense of humor. Did I forget to press the like button? Sometimes I comment first then forget if I committed to a like. Maybe I press it 15 times. I am an old lady, give me a break. With that established let me congratulate you on the longest comment I have ever received. Be prepared for an equally long response.\nIf your story about the comatose woman walking into your home is true I can't believe your first response wasn't calling first responders. She could have been having a stroke or petite..."", 'time': '16:26 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': 'Hi Mary,\n\nYou are trying to make your comment longer than mine, and I simply cannot have that. I see your comment, and raise it.\n\nPersonally? I didn’t think my ‘Barbie’ story was contest material. My wife Kim insisted that I enter it into the competition. She even gave it the title. In retrospect, the story sounds simplistic and misogynistic, which was not intended. It was an attempt at lampooning the whole Barbie mystique. And I know so little about the phenomenon, (and its apparent resurrection) that I felt the story was funny, but clumsy....', 'time': '21:22 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Didn't like it, eh? That's a bummer. I'm surprised. Where else do you run across a bevy of shark, plastic and missing leg jokes? Eh? In Canada? Oh. I had no idea what those Canadians were up to. Shark jokes eh? That could spell trouble for guys like me, plastic, shark and leg- joke guys. I'll be looking for a new schtick soon. I'm looking for one right now, actually. I'm thinking head-phone, goggles and mosquito netting jokes. (It has promise.)\n\nBut seriously, now that everyone else has quit reading. What was the source of the name for the s..."", 'time': '07:16 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Ok, Ken. For one thing I always like your quirky sense of humor. Did I forget to press the like button? Sometimes I comment first then forget if I committed to a like. Maybe I press it 15 times. I am an old lady, give me a break. With that established let me congratulate you on the longest comment I have ever received. Be prepared for an equally long response.\nIf your story about the comatose woman walking into your home is true I can't believe your first response wasn't calling first responders. She could have been having a stroke or petite..."", 'time': '16:26 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': 'Hi Mary,\n\nYou are trying to make your comment longer than mine, and I simply cannot have that. I see your comment, and raise it.\n\nPersonally? I didn’t think my ‘Barbie’ story was contest material. My wife Kim insisted that I enter it into the competition. She even gave it the title. In retrospect, the story sounds simplistic and misogynistic, which was not intended. It was an attempt at lampooning the whole Barbie mystique. And I know so little about the phenomenon, (and its apparent resurrection) that I felt the story was funny, but clumsy....', 'time': '21:22 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Ok, Ken. For one thing I always like your quirky sense of humor. Did I forget to press the like button? Sometimes I comment first then forget if I committed to a like. Maybe I press it 15 times. I am an old lady, give me a break. With that established let me congratulate you on the longest comment I have ever received. Be prepared for an equally long response.\nIf your story about the comatose woman walking into your home is true I can't believe your first response wasn't calling first responders. She could have been having a stroke or petite..."", 'time': '16:26 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Hi Mary,\n\nYou are trying to make your comment longer than mine, and I simply cannot have that. I see your comment, and raise it.\n\nPersonally? I didn’t think my ‘Barbie’ story was contest material. My wife Kim insisted that I enter it into the competition. She even gave it the title. In retrospect, the story sounds simplistic and misogynistic, which was not intended. It was an attempt at lampooning the whole Barbie mystique. And I know so little about the phenomenon, (and its apparent resurrection) that I felt the story was funny, but clumsy....', 'time': '21:22 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Hi Mary,\n\nYou are trying to make your comment longer than mine, and I simply cannot have that. I see your comment, and raise it.\n\nPersonally? I didn’t think my ‘Barbie’ story was contest material. My wife Kim insisted that I enter it into the competition. She even gave it the title. In retrospect, the story sounds simplistic and misogynistic, which was not intended. It was an attempt at lampooning the whole Barbie mystique. And I know so little about the phenomenon, (and its apparent resurrection) that I felt the story was funny, but clumsy....', 'time': '21:22 Aug 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Wendy M': 'I think you could have recounted the story of your life with your cat, possibly making it a rosy pink cat to ensure you met the prompt, then recounted the story of the less than rosy, cat-atonic (see what I did there?) woman entering your life. Look at the time you could have saved yourself by not inventing something new. Or was this story always bubbling under waiting to be written? Great fun.', 'time': '18:56 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Hi Wendy M.,\n\nThank you. I think the most important take away, is that cats make everything rosy.', 'time': '05:17 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Hi Wendy M.,\n\nThank you. I think the most important take away, is that cats make everything rosy.', 'time': '05:17 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'So much fun ! Who broke it off indeed! \nLovely bit of playfulness bringing a bit of adult humour into the mix! Good luck to them!', 'time': '10:25 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'So much fun ! Who broke it off indeed! \nLovely bit of playfulness bringing a bit of adult humour into the mix! Good luck to them!', 'time': '10:24 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,a3e0uj,Rare Meat,Michael Mackenzie,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/a3e0uj/,/short-story/a3e0uj/,Dramatic,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense']",9 likes,"
***Language, Violence, and Gore*** When Nick arrived at table six sweat had dripped and dried on the back of his pressed white button-down shirt, and he was only one customer complaint away from getting fired. Chandeliers lit up the dining room. Voices of the other customers echoed behind him, the exhaustive conversations about New York City politics and the desire to help those less fortunate, spoken over steaks and wine and liquor that neither Nick nor any of his fellow servers could afford after weeks of working at this pretentious and pompous establishment. Then there was the smell. The smell didn’t seem to bother anyone else. The smell, like old copper, that made Nick want to vomit.              He placed the plates down on the white table cloth. A man and woman sat across from each other in silence. The man’s gray and black chest hair blossomed like a bouquet of dead flowers over his shirt, and the woman’s tits and lips looked like they were in competition for how much money could be wasted on plastic surgeries.              “I ought to have you fired.” The man slammed his fist on the table. The dining room went quiet. Nick stared at the two rings worn on the man’s finger. One on his index finger and one on his middle finger. “You even listening to me? You know who I am?”              “I do apologize – ”             “You are trying so very hard,” the woman said sitting across from him, in some exotic accent that was either Russian or some other Eastern European.              “No one cares how hard you damn try in this world. Either you got it or you don’t and you clearly don’t. I order the same damn thing every time.”               “Sir, I do apologize.”              “Your being too harsh,” the woman said.                “And you can shut-up too. Just sit there and look cute. That’s what I pay for you anyway.”              Nick excused himself and headed back toward the kitchen. The New York City skyline stared back at him, the skyscrapers mocking him as though they were a signal of the success he’d never have. The China. The custom tailored dresses and suits and gold cufflinks and gold watches. He didn’t care that other people lived like this. He just didn’t want them to pretend that they actually cared about people like him. He didn’t expect their sympathy. Didn’t want it either.              He knew after this complaint it would all be over for hi.  Sure, the kitchen was slow. His section was busy. The orders got overwhelming. But there would be no explaining all of these away. His chest tightened. He tried to calm his breathing but nothing worked. He thought of all the reasons he had hoped that this job would work out and all the reasons he needed it to work. But he knew it was over. He was done. 	The hostess, a woman with blonde hair in her early twenties, who had flirted with Nick when he came his interview., handed him the house phone. She looked and acted like she still lived at home with her parents because college had been just too damn stressful. She flashed Nick her perfectly white teeth as she walked away.	The restaurant manager’s voice came through the receiver like a high pitched squeal. Anthony, the prick, wore a bowtie every day to work and shouldn’t be responsible for managing anything.             “You have any idea who you’ve pissed off?”              “I brought that man exactly what he ordered. The kitchen’s been late all night”             “You did something he didn’t like it.”              “What?”              “He said you looked at his girl.”              “She was a hooker. The hell does he care?”                 Nick didn’t want to think about having to apply for another job. More endless hours on the couch clicking ads on indeed. Ruminating where and when his life had gone wrong, but there may be too many correct answers for that question. Temptation calling him in the form of cheap bottles at the corner store.              “Use the elevator when you leave.”               “I thought we weren’t supposed to use the elevator?”               “Just don’t go to the bottom level.”               He placed the phone back on a small mahogany table that led back to the kitchen and called the elevator. Ever since he’d accepted the job they had told him about the elevator. Only executive staff and VIP guests were allowed to use it. Everyone else had to use the stairs. What the hell was so damn special about the elevator?             After waiting for 10 minutes, the elevator arrived at the top floor of the restaurant. Knowing this was his last time here, he selected the bottom floor, entitled “Private.”              At first, the elevator wouldn’t budge, but after clicking several times it finally moved. It rumbled down to the “Private” floor, and with each floor, the smell of copper and old blood filled the elevator like water. When he arrived, the doors remained locked. A notification appeared on the panel, asking for a password.                                                                                       2. What password?  He  thought to himself. He tried his employee ID. He tried the numbers in the address. He tried the year the restaurant opened. He tried until he received a notification that he had one more attempt.              Perhaps it would be better if he just went back up. What was he trying to prove anyway? What did he have to gain? Nothing.              He tried one more time, playing the numbers on that man’s golden rings from upstairs. Perhaps it had been just dumb luck, but when he was done entering the numbers the doors opened.               The rumors of a place that served exotic and illegal dishes had filled the city ten years back when those that were extremely wealthy were no longer sure what to spend their money on. They paid not only for the food, but for secrecy. There had been reports of a place like this, but the Mayor and the police commissioner and several congressmen had all promised a complete investigation and not found anything.	The summer that report came out Nick fell three stories while working on his construction site, leaving with his left leg broken, his right shoulder and arm broken, and parts of his lower back needed multiple surgeries. Even after recovering, at 33, he couldn’t work long hours at a construction site anymore and needed to find another job.              His search yielded nothing, and worse, left to raise a three year old Sophia after his girlfriend  left him that fall, he needed help. Relief had come, he thought, in the way of his Mother moving in with him. Though it was apparent after Nick had taken her to doctors’ appointments all week and asked him to go the pharmacy in between pickups and drop-offs that Nick would be taking care of her more than she would be helping help with Sophia, who she showed only a vague interest in anyway              So he accepted this job when the manager, that prick, told him the hours were from 8pm until 3am.  That would be perfect, he thought. Long after his Mother and daughter had gone to bed. He’d be gone to work his shift and if anything happened to his little girl his Mother would be there to handle it.              He pressed the elevator button to go back upstairs, his chest tightening and tears dripping down his eyes because he was realizing that everything they said about this restaurant was true. He thought of little Sophia and what would happen to her if something happened to him. A dark shadow moved across the room.                                                                                      3.             Nick tried the elevator button again. His fingers felt heavy and dripped in sweat. The smell of old copper filled the elevator.  Whatever that smell was upstairs in the dining room, it seemed like Nick could taste it down here.             The buttons in the panel of the elevator went dark. The lights light inside shut off. Nick pressed and pressed again but the elevator didn’t move. C’mon you son-of-a-bitch, C’mon! Nick thought to himself as he pressed the buttons frantically.              “Those buttons won’t work now. Not till I send it back up,” A voice said, deep in the far corners of the room.              In the distance, footsteps walked slowly toward the elevator. Toward Nick. Darkness filled the room, and the smell of stale sweat filled the already rot-filled room. Nick felt as though he were being hunted. His predator is taking its time. But he wanted so desperately to explain that this was all big one mistake. He doesn’t belong here. Just let me go back upstairs. Please, let me go. Let me go.              “I need to go back upstairs. This is all one big misunderstanding,” Nick said, the desperation filling his voice like a hungry beggar.               “I really don’t like my job. Do you like your job?” The voice said, filling the dark room.              “I just care about my family. I want to go back to them,” Nick said.  	“I have family. I have a father.  But I don’t like what he makes me do. I am sorry. I supposed that won’t help you.”	The sight of the dark figure appearing from the dark shadows stole the air from Nick’s lungs. The figure was fat. Fat and obscenely tall. He wore a plain beige shirt. Sweat stains dripped from his armpits down his shirt. He wore blue-jean shorts that didn’t fit, as his belly pressed on the waist band. The shoes were missing laces and the leather was falling off at the seams. Still, he looked gentle. Harmless.	In the corner of the room was a locked box. Nick kicked himself for not seeing it before, though perhaps in the darkness what could you expect. 	“I didn’t get many presents as a kid,” the man said, as he walked over to the locked box. He entered a code on a lock panel and the box snapped open. He laughed as the door opened, like a child opening up a brand new toy. “I like it when that box opens. Gives you a nice a big snap!” 	The baseball bat was metallic, shining in the moonlight he pulled it out of the box. The man gripped the bat and squeezed the handle. Nick could feel the tension in the man’s hands. The man smiled at the bat the way you might smile at old friend. 	“My father only let me play baseball for one year until he sent me down here,” the man said. “I had hurt too many people. I don’t mean too. I just like to play with them. Would you like to play with me?”	“I don’t want to play. I just want to go home to my family.”	“My father won’t let me out of here. I’m almost 30 and I have been out of here since I was fourteen. Do you have a father?”	“My father left when I was small.” 	“I hate it down here. I god-damned hate it,” the man said, smacking the baseball bat against the wall. “Anyway, its time to play.”	The bat made a crisp and clean clinging sound as it swept across Nick’s legs. The pain in his lower body traveled through every fiber of his body. He crushed Nick’s leg with such pounding force that it sounded like the snap of a twig was being repeated over and over again. The man’s hands were calloused by the time he was done breaking both of Nick’s legs.              “I used to let them run, but I don’t run so good anymore,” the man said.               Nick rolled over. The pain so intense he couldn’t breathe. His body trembled. He spat blood, rolling from his chin down to his chest. Tears dripped from his eyes. There would be no getting out of here, Nick knew. This basement. This man. The bat. The bloodstained bat. Here, it ends.              “My Dad said that pain is an important part of life. He’d make me eaten certain things, but I never liked the things he made me eat. He said I’d consume the strength of others if I ate them. I’m not sure it ever worked. Its my bat that makes me strong.”              Nick crawled towards the edge of the wall, dragging his legs and body across the cold floor. He sat up against. The wall. He looked down. He couldn’t recognize his legs. Blood smeared against the floor. The bat lay on the other side of the wall, covered in blood.             “Just let me go. Even now I won’t say anything. You don’t need to do this.”             “I can’t. Daddy would be mad at me. Daddy would hurt me.”                                                                                   4.             On the third day, the fat man came in through the same opening in the wall. The man reeked of sweat and there large bags beneath his eyes.  In those three days, he’d heart the man weeping while also hearing the sound of the tv going on and off, mixed with the sound of crying. By the time Nick saw him, he felt more pity for this man than he did for himself. The fat man threw him a bottle of water.             The fat man smiled and started clapping. “He’s alive, he’s alive. He’s alive. More playtime for me.”              “Please, before we play again. Can you answer one question for me,” Nick said, the words taking all the remaining strength he had.              “I’m not sure I like this game. I want to play my game. Wait, where’s my – ”              “Just one question,” Nick said.              “Fine,” the fat man said, his eyes now darting across the room.               “Is your father the man upstairs? The one with the rings?”             “I don’t want to talk about him. No, I won’t do it. I didn’t like when we did it last time and I won’t do it now.              “What’s your name?” Nick said.              “You said one question. Now you’ve asked two.”              “Tell me what your name is.”             “Why are you doing this to me? Stop make it stop, please make it stop.”              “What is your name you fat fuck!”              The man charged at Nick with everything he had. That gentle face that he had seen only a few days ago disappeared, and now, he saw nothing but rage. Blind rage. He was only a few steps from Nick, but still had enough time to reach behind him and grab the handle of the bat.              It took him a day just to notice that the bat had gone missing, and a better park of the second day to drag himself over to the bat. All morning, he had practiced his movements, like a basketball player working on his free throws. When the time came, Nick knew it would just be muscle memory. It wasn’t a guarantee. Nick was weak, dehydrated, and losing blood. But this would be his best bet. His only chance to get the hell out of this building.              When the fat man got within striking distance, Nick reached back, pulled the bat that stood upright behind his back, and slammed it against the man’s upper arm. It wasn’t a powerful hit, but shocked him enough to force him backward.              A look of confusion. Of betrayal ran across the man’s face. It dawned on Nick that he’d probably never been in a fair fight before. But still consumed by rage, the man charged back at him. Nick used the bat to support himself. Just as the man came within range again, Nick struck once more, hitting the man’s neck and sending him to the floor.               The elevator door was still open.  He grabbed the baseball bat, still dripping with blood, and crawled into the elevator as though he were a soldier traversing an open battlefield with bullets whizzing past his head.              Work you damn thing, for fucksake, please work, Nick thought to himself. He thought of seeing Sophia again, For the first time in three days, that seemed like a real possibility. Telling her and telling his mother that he was so sorry. Hugging Sophia and feeling her little hands on his neck and back. Telling her that he loved her and I’m so sorry that Daddy’s been gone. But he had one item of business to handle first.              He pressed the elevator back to the top floor. The elevator hesitated for a moment, as though it were shifting into gear. With no warning, the doors closed and elevator was on his its way. Nick gripped the baseball bat, unsure what time it was, or if he’d see who he wanted to see. Perhaps it would be better if he just went home now. What was the point of staying now? The longer he waited the more likelihood of him dying or being sent right back down.              When the doors opened, dinner service had just begun. He stood up, leaning on the baseball bat for balance. The room had never looked so beautiful. The chandeliers had just been shined. Nick could see his reflection in the buffed marble floors. There were live violinists filling the air with calming music. But it was the same guests he’d seen before. And sitting in the far corner of the bar, he saw the man with the shiny rings.              The music stopped, and people stared as Nick walked across the room, spilling blood as he made his way over to the man’s table. Behind him, he could hear other guests. They were scrambling away from him, pushing their tables in. Some screamed. Get him out of here! Who the hell is that!              When Nick arrived at the old man’s table, he saw thing rings on the man’s finger. He saw the family reflection immediately. How he hadn’t seen it before, he didn’t know.              He raised the bat in the air and said, “I have a message from your son downstairs.”         
","July 25, 2023 01:12","[[{'Rose Lind': 'Well written', 'time': '22:08 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,q8x425,Thwwaacckk!,L J,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q8x425/,/short-story/q8x425/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Historical Fiction', 'Suspense']",9 likes,"
TTHHWWAACCKK! RRRRRRRR pop!  the familiar sound of Mademoiselle le Guillotine when her blades land on her intended target. The basket always at the ready to catch the thief.
 
These are my days now. Watching the executioner clean the blade, sharpening it until it gleams in the sun, like a diamond on the Kings crown. He slowly moves the blade back into its home, making sure the bindings flow smoothly. 
 
""We do not want an accident"", he says, ""It is important that everyone who is sentenced to Mademoiselle live their last day in dignity.""
 
Aye, we have witnessed all too often, when the blade was not prepared properly. Ohhhh, I shudder to think...
---------
The kingdom wasn't always like this. We had unicorn season when the herds would appear; always coming to drink in the water trough, after it had been filled with rainwater. The successful crops were celebrated under the rainbows; dozens and dozens filled the sky with prisms of color, the stars reflecting each color as they began to shine. We danced, we sang, we drank in the glow. 
 
My family were important in this town; my loving husband was the town blacksmith; everyone came to him, including his Majesty. 
 
I was the town baker. Everyone came to me for bread and cakes. I was never so pleased as when the elders would pay me in gold coins. 
 
Now, our village is in hard times. I had to give out the loaves for free. We are hungry and dirty now; the gold coins no longer have a value. There is no further need for blacksmiths; the unicorns no longer roam free. 
 
We had many mouths to feed; our young ones had been going to the royal academy for schooling. Now, the academy has closed down. We do not know where our children   are. I long for a message from them. I pray every day but to no avail.
 
My husband was taken from me long ago. He was forced to fight in the King's army. He begged and pleaded with our new King. He had no choice but to run away. We both knew that if he were caught, his head would end up in the basket.
 
Three months ago, he was found. The soldiers dragged him back. He was sentenced to wearing a Hairshirt and had been dipped in tar, but he still lives. He is in the tower and has been charged as a traitor.  He will not be there much longer. He grows weaker every day. He is allowed gruel and a small flagon of wine which had soured long ago.
 
As a traitor's wife, I have been sentenced to help the executioner. I clean the stone; I help to mend the linen covers and help the victims dress in the simple overshirts they wear as they are loaded onto the executioner's wagon. I try to clean the prisoner's before they are put on the wagon. As the executioner said, they must have their dignity. 
 
Six months have passed. It is a routine now. I awaken early. I go to the dungeon with the list of the prisoners who are meeting the guillotine and prepare them for their journey. We are calm, quiet and exchange sympathetic glances carefully for if we are found to be communicating with the prisoners, we will be next. 
 
On the second day of this week, I awoke as usual. I finished my gruel and tea and put on a clean chemise. I picked up my list of prisoners for the day and as I got to the bottom of the list, my heart sank. I dropped the list and began to cry.  The guards came over and asked me why.
 
""I, I am sorry, your honors' I stammered "" Today is the day my husband must go to La Guillotine, and I was not prepared.""
 
The guard stated"" You will suffer the same fate as he if you do not cooperate. Go and do your duty or I shall report you to the king.""
 
""Yes, yes. I shall do my duty..forgive me. I meant no harm."" I staggered down the long dark corridor, being careful not to get bitten by the rats that had made the dampness their home; nibbling on the toes and fingers of the prisoners who were too weak to step away. Ages later, I reached my husband's cell. We glanced at each other. I handed him a clean wet rag through the bars of the dark cell. He took the rag and weakly kissed my hand. 
 
""I shall always love you, my dearest. "" He said weakly. He removed the hairshirt and replaced it with a clean, linen overshirt I gave him. His hair had been shaved off by the executioner earlier in the morning so as to have a clear view of how he should be angled so the blade can pierce with one pull.  As he was led out of the cell by the guards, I had to remove anything the prisoners left behind. I removed the waste in a bucket and put the hairshirt in the bin for the next prisoner. The hairshirt was not allowed to be cleaned. The hair that was shaved from the prisoners' heads were added to the hairshirt each time. It got heavier and became a burden to each one that had to wear it.  I looked around; the guards were not looking so I placed some of my husband's hair in a locket I had hidden in one of my pockets.  When I finished tidying the cell, The guard came to inspect. When he was satisfied, I was allowed to go back to my dreary little chamber. I threw myself on the sleep pallet and began to cry softly. One of the house maids took pity on my and brought me a cup of tea. I was very grateful  as she could have been locked in the tower for that. 
------------
The executioner came to me and said ""You will not have to assist me today. I will do the preparation myself. Rest, lass. Know in your heart that it will be done mercifully and quickly. I must go now. "" I thanked him and tried to stop crying.  
 
I looked at the crowd. They were booing and shouting 
"" Traitor! Traitor to the king. Long live the King"" they chanted. I saw, for a moment, the way our kingdom used to be. I saw the unicorns and the rainbows and the good king that had been taken away from the kingdom. I saw all of our children playing in the fields after the rain. They were laughing as they tried to chase the rainbow prism that kept changing colors when the sun shown on it.  I sighed. I felt dizzy and tired. I looked at the crowd. They had the blood lust in their eyes. I tried to speak but no words were made. I tasted the salt and the warmth and suddenly I could not breathe as blood filled my nose. I saw the executioner look down at me to make sure I was not in pain. I looked at him and tried to say ""Thank you for your mercy"" but no words came. 
 
The last sound I heard was ""TTHHWWAACCKKrrrrpop"". I saw my head in the bucket and slept as the darkness descended.
 
","July 25, 2023 20:04","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Hey LJ. This is a powerful piece in very few words. Ending caught me be surprise, a nice shock! Very good stuff. Followed so I can check out more of your tales.', 'time': '09:31 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Great story LJ. Loved the ending where she is looking up at the executioner after being beheaded. Eerie.', 'time': '20:14 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""My thoughts are like Delbert's. Thanks for addressing that. Striking story to be sure."", 'time': '18:23 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'L J': 'thanks for taking time to read my entry: much appreciated!', 'time': '21:01 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': ""Thanks for liking my 'Don't Mean Nuthin'"", 'time': '21:31 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'L J': 'thanks for taking time to read my entry: much appreciated!', 'time': '21:01 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Thanks for liking my 'Don't Mean Nuthin'"", 'time': '21:31 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Thanks for liking my 'Don't Mean Nuthin'"", 'time': '21:31 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""A really poignant tale about how things can change in one's life. Oddly enough, this is the second guillotine tale I've read for this week's prompts, and even more oddly, that story was a response to another guillotine tale written several weeks ago. I never knew that guillotine tales would be so popular on Reedsy! LOL\n\nThe last bit was a little confusing. I'm not sure of the wife is dead via guillotine or if this is a figurative death. It works either way. Maybe your intent was to make it work both ways. A good tale, my friend. \n\nCheers!"", 'time': '13:56 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'L J': ""Thank you so much. I can always rely on you to read my entries. Thanks for taking the time to do so. It was a little confusing but, I guess it does work either way. It was actually her death after her husband.  My intent was to describe what a head thinks about once it's removed. The brain doesn't die suddenly... I wonder why guillotines are so popular??!! lol"", 'time': '18:04 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""True, the brain doesn't die suddenly. There's an account of a French scientist that was to be beheaded, and he had his students watch his head after it was cut off. He told them that he would blink as long as he was able. Crazy, right? Apparently, he blinked for twelve seconds."", 'time': '19:47 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'L J': ""wow..that's along time....."", 'time': '21:00 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'L J': ""Thank you so much. I can always rely on you to read my entries. Thanks for taking the time to do so. It was a little confusing but, I guess it does work either way. It was actually her death after her husband.  My intent was to describe what a head thinks about once it's removed. The brain doesn't die suddenly... I wonder why guillotines are so popular??!! lol"", 'time': '18:04 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""True, the brain doesn't die suddenly. There's an account of a French scientist that was to be beheaded, and he had his students watch his head after it was cut off. He told them that he would blink as long as he was able. Crazy, right? Apparently, he blinked for twelve seconds."", 'time': '19:47 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'L J': ""wow..that's along time....."", 'time': '21:00 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""True, the brain doesn't die suddenly. There's an account of a French scientist that was to be beheaded, and he had his students watch his head after it was cut off. He told them that he would blink as long as he was able. Crazy, right? Apparently, he blinked for twelve seconds."", 'time': '19:47 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'L J': ""wow..that's along time....."", 'time': '21:00 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'L J': ""wow..that's along time....."", 'time': '21:00 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,cpheen,Complying in their Strangeness,Luca King Greek,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cpheen/,/short-story/cpheen/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Speculative']",8 likes,"
TRIGGER Warning: This story contains every kind of horror, ancient and contemporary, including sexual violence, violence to children, bestiality, incest and more. I hang my head in shame.GenesisTheir creator reimagines the world before time, before good and evil, when men were chattel of the Gods, living in awe and constant fear, and when stories were carved in stone.At birth they will be helpless mammals by his design, protected by coats of fur or hair, feathers or scales, but in the third moon they will transmogrify, revealed in their various and unique forms, complying in their strangeness to morsels of instruction that he has curated from branches of the tree of life. These creatures were once honored in great halls and tombs, their images were etched in gold, formed in clay.Only now he must protect them; the Modern is crowding in and with it the great insipidity, where everything is known and mastered, where the arc elevates man to Godhood and conflicts arise over petty interests, history is dying. These infants will be alien in this world, misfits, without place. They will be studied, abhorred and destroyed. He lifts two creatures from their cots – a male, a female - swaddles them in cloth and steals away from a sterile place. He will raise them as if they were his own.On a remote island, he feeds them, and they grow. He teaches them, and they learn. By late summer, there is nothing more that he can freely give them, and they know this.Osiris heaves at the chain, his muscles taut beneath his green skin, and he strains until the wood beam splinters, and he is free. The old man pleads, but Osiris slams him against the side of the cabin, snapping his spine. He thrusts his beak at the dying man’s face, stares at him with eyes that glow like embers.“We did not choose to be here”, hisses Osiris, “For the sky and the ocean, for the sun, stars, and moon, we thank you. For your learning, we thank you, but we are not part of this place, we do not belong in this time”. Still chained to the cabin, unable to open her wings, unable to fly, Isis shrieks with rage. Her ribs are visible like the corrugated carapace of an insect, her lower abdomen is distended. Osiris releases her from bondage, and she pounces on the corpse, gorges upon it. His bones will be tools, his teeth will be amulets, and his cranium will be a vessel from which they drink, and his flesh is fuel for her body.   Isis is pregnant with the first litter. Pine Trees grow thick at the perimeter of the island. The canopy is dense, the trees leach the soil, and shed needles that do not feed the earth. The arctic air is frigid, sea smoke drifts across the bay, the mist sticks as skeins of ice on branches and twigs, snow hardens into ice-rock on the ground. It is a barren place, and only two of this litter will survive the hard winter; Horus and Seth, the other children succumb to hunger, cold or death at the hands of the brothers.Horus is the favored child, he devours the weak milk that issues from Isis’ breasts, he grows strong, fierceful like his mother. He smothers the weakest siblings, breaks their necks with his beak, and the mother eats her own. Seth, the second son, is born in the image of the creator, a naked, vulnerable creature, pitiful, unloved, and to whom she denies sustenance, but he is resourceful, the urge to live prevails; he feeds upon urine and feces. The Story of SethOsiris cracks the child’s skull with a moon-shaped stone, and leaves the limp blue body exposed on the rocky beach, to be borne out to the ocean by the incoming tide that night, to sink into depths, forgotten, but the incoming waves, instead of sucking him beneath the surface, bear him aloft and blessed by the full moon, cured by the rich salt, his supine body starts, his stilled heart beats again. The healing ocean deposits him on a bed of bladderwack and sugar kelp at the mouth of a small river that spills sweet minerals into the sea. Cured salt, balmed by the weedy crib, healed by earthy elements, he crawls onto the land where he kills and eats insects, kills and eats amphibians, worms, squirrels, small birds. Kills and eats, kills and lets things rot. He kills the hermit in the hovel on the pond, and equipped now with a rifle, steel traps and knives, he rampages further afield, encroaching as a man-beast onto farmland, into gardens and the town itself, where he is feared as the feral mad man with a cratered brow.   Gods walk among us.Osiris bows his massive head to Isis, his Queen, in the small glade amidst the pines. She is emaciated, skin stretched across her ribs, her breasts are empty, her wings seem dull and missing feathers; she is depleted by another winter and by another litter, survivors of which – Unut the rabbit, Hathor the cow, Ammit the lion, Thoth and Re – are grazing on green shoots. She cannot survive another winter, or another litter. She leans into his body, and he embraces her while progeny forage in the sunlight. “This place is safe, but there is nothing left to satisfy our hunger. The foxes, the deer, the songbirds; they are all gone”, she says, “We need the rich earth beyond the pines, away from the ocean, where they harvest the plants, butcher the meat, where the soil is easily burrowed, and where there is the shelter and warmth of their dwellings. The humans will protect and nurture the young ones”.“Until we change, he says, alarmed.“Maybe the creator was right?”, suggests Isis, “We have to live among them, or we will die apart.”A young family in a farmhouse on the edge of town. Twin daughters, so alike that the parents cannot tell them apart. The girls scream, the parents rush to their side, and they laugh with joy when they find that the children are frozen in fear by two small furry creatures that have ventured on to their lawn from the nearby woods. The mother sees baby rabbits, the father is confused by the long limbs and hunched backs, and he thinks they might be wild hares. On a quiet lane that goes down to the shore, a pup stops, lays on its tummy, ears back, then pounces on a ball of fluff. It’s owner, a young woman, rushes up to snuff out the puppy’s waywardness but stops short. It’s a tiny brown guinea pig or kitten, jumping to and fro, side to side, and the puppy is pouncing around it playfully. “Oh, how lovely! she exclaims, hands to her face, and she calls her boyfriend over to join her.  She looks around the hostas, under the hydrangea and lady ferns, for the animal’s mother, but she is nowhere to be found.  In and around the small village on Wheelers Island, the discovery of these tiny little creatures portends a beautiful day, augurs the beginning of an enchanted summer. Some old timers - lobstermen, farmers, retired quarry men and millers – mumble disapproval and even disgust – but they are outnumbered by the younger families, the summer people, transplants from away, people with money, and so mostly the citizens of town embrace this gift of nature. Bunnies, kittens, cubs, foals and hatchlings, all are adopted, nurtured and loved. In time, the old timers relent, leave the island, or disappear.In the post office, in the general store, at the Harbor Inn bar and grill, at summer camp, over kitchen tables, in the parking lot, everyone is sharing stories about the loveliness of Wheelers Island, this magical and blessed sanctuary.Across the causeway, on the mainland, America is a land divided, dystopic and ugly, raging at itself.Seth’s Return.Osiris and Isis are lovers, they slide from one another’s arms and slowly circle, moving to the rhythm of their own heart beats. They sway and they swoon, and in a moment of ecstasy, beneath the stars, beneath the wan moon, she flies above the tree tops, beats her blue and gold wings, restored to magnificence, and she noiselessly glides to the earth, where Osiris bends his giant hawk-head towards her and bows to his queen. They are abominations thinks Seth, who squeezes the trigger and thrills as the green-hued hawk-man’s shoulder explodes with the impact of the bullet, black blood spraying in the feint light. It’s a kill-shot, he leaps into the clearing, and clubs the female with his rifle butt, stuns her, ties her taloned hands with wire. Indigo clouds steal across the sky, snuff out the gentle light of the moon, and the darkness is total. Burial and OathOsiris, the king lies dead upon the ground. Isis kneels by his side, rocking back and forth, she is silent, her wrists are bleeding.“We will avenge your death”, roars Horus, staring at his father’s corpse. Basted, crouched like a cat, hisses, “and the violation of the peace” Hathor paws at the ground with her hoof, excavates a grave at the edge of the pine forest, where you can smell the salt in the air. Isis wraps the body in moss, Hathor lays a carved sawyer beetle upon his chest, and they lower him in the grave. Horus retrieves a smooth round rock, shaped like the moon, from the shore, and he lays it on the grave as a headstone. On this Isis inscribes eternal love for Osiris in a once lost and forgotten script, using a stylus of honed granite that has been shaped by Unut with his teeth.“Kill them all”, says Isis to Horus.TransmogrificationIn the town of Wheeler Island, in the third month since their arrival, the creatures are transforming into strange and wonderful forms, nurtured, nourished, and sheltered by their host. Some families are impoverished by the cost of their upkeep, some lose a child, a household pet or an elder to a beast, owing to carelessness or neglect. The beasts outgrow their cages and enclosures, cannot be captive, so mostly they live freely among their host, eating their food, living in their shelters, sharing their beds at night. They are caretakers of the children, companions for the lonely, secret lovers, they protect the weak and they nurse the sick. They appear domesticated.In the UnderworldThe earth cracks apart, Osiris falls in darkness, lands in a sorrowful place, where he is met by the jackal-headed god, Wepwawet, who wields a wooden key and brandishes a golden mace. Ghosts and spirits flee into shadow as he guides Osiris forward. They pass through a thousand doors and portals, guarded by a thousand gods, until Osiris is brought through a pylon into the blinding presence of Ra, who eclipses even the sun. Osiris is seated in a vacant throne below those of Geb and Nut. Resplendent in their finery, the gods bear witness to the land which expands in every direction. A river runs through the desert; there is famine, there is plenty, there are lush pastures and there is broken stone. Humans are bent to the plough, bent to mill stone, pulling, heaving, digging, fighting. They are supplicants, petitioners, they are peasants and slaves.“Where is Osiris? Where are your children”, asks Webwawet.The Garden of Earthly DelightsWheelers Island is a worldly bliss, a fickle phantasy.  People come to town paired with their beastly companions, drawn along by the energy of the growing crowd. They congregate around the pond, around the fountain, on the field near the elementary school, near the town hall. The children are laughing, shouting, singing with hippos and lions, birds and snakes, they go hand-in hand, hand on hoof, hand-in-claw with great naked man-beasts of fantastic hues, ride upon their backs, jump into their arms. The beasts grunt, they purr, and they howl.  They assemble into a ring, and dance gaily around and around. The cacophony increases as they hasten their pace.The adults run to the pond, disrobe, mostly naked and aroused, they are mad with desire. They leap into the water, splashing, laughing like the children, and they gather into tight groups like mating frogs, coupling up randomly fellows and beasts alike. The children jeer.The scene is a battlefield, bodies strewn about in the mud, on the wet grass, only it is a frenzy of a different kind; it is a chaotic orgy of limbs, tongues, tails, mouths and tumescence. Wheelers Island is abandoned to sensuous pleasure in a world of dreams. “We are blessed to live in this beautiful place, where nature bestows its great gifts”, exclaims the pastor to nobody, running his hand over iridescent scales, along the hip of body of the beast with the abdomen of a woman and the head of a snake.From the forest, two figures emerge. Horus carries a studded shield in one hand, a sword in the other. Basted carries a spear, she flexes her claws.“What of the innocent?” asks Basted, turning to her brother.“Kill them all, let god sort them out”, growls Horus, a refrain that has been heard down the centuries.They roar and they charge toward the circus.Day turns to night, the pleasure is unending and continues even as the beasts withdraw, even as Horus and Basted start killing the children, then the adults.  They seek the man that killed their father, the man that violated their mother, but any human will do.They kill the men, the women, the children too. Wheelers Island is a cursed place.Transcendence.Hathor is prone on the grave, Isis keeps vigil, their prayers bend the trees toward the grave, draw the waves towards the shore, the wind across the ocean, and the clouds are sucked down from the sky. Lightning strikes, hits the grave, tossing the mourners aside, the moon rock flies into the ocean.  From a fissure where the grave lay, Osiris arises healed and renewed. He is bathed in Ra’s light which illuminates the underside of the trees, the underside of the clouds. He is awesome.Isis runs to Osiris, and they embrace, and in the moment of touch she is transformed a second time, from a creature of the earth, into a God. She is transcendent and fearful no more; there is another world, outside of time, separate and apart from this place, a home for immortals, separate and apart from mortals, separate and apart from the demigods that are forming in her womb. She will eat her own and their story will be written in blood, her story chiseled in stone.
","July 28, 2023 16:30",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,cmb9pf,Cupboard Love,Jane Andrews,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cmb9pf/,/short-story/cmb9pf/,Dramatic,0,"['Teens & Young Adult', 'Coming of Age', 'Fantasy']",8 likes,"
Trigger warning: references to abuse
 
Lucy was six when she first discovered the secret of the cupboard under the stairs
She had been trying to hide from her father when it happened – Daddy always said he didn’t mean to get angry, but he still hit her anyway. She stumbled into the cupboard, hoping to squeeze herself behind the vacuum cleaner, and found herself in a world of rainbows and unicorns. Everything glittered and sparkled – including Lucy herself; and after a while, she realised that she could unfold the gauzy wings that grew on her back and join the other beautiful fairy creatures she saw as they swooped and dived in a game of chase around the lollipop trees and gingerbread buildings. She was having so much fun that she almost didn’t hear her mother’s voice calling her for tea.  
	The memory of under-the-stairs kept her calm for almost a whole week afterwards, although she didn’t mention it to anyone: she just assumed everyone had a secret place in their understairs cupboard. The next time she visited, the candyfloss clouds and sparkly unicorns had been replaced with an equally idyllic setting with fields and a river and rabbits – lots of rabbits. She spent a peaceful and very happy afternoon playing with the cuddly creatures and felt much better when she left and went back to her own world. 
	Every week, there was a fresh adventure to discover in the cupboard. No matter how horrid the real world was, the lands she discovered when she ran to hide under the stairs were always delightful. In true Disney fashion, birds sang and tweeted above her head as they dropped daisy chains around her neck, and squirrels scampered up to her bearing gifts of berries so sweet and juicy they were better than any ice cream or chocolate she’d tasted before. She sometimes wondered why no one else mentioned their own understairs cupboard at school - maybe she was the only one with a special place like this; and then she read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and felt a thrill of recognition when her namesake, the storybook Lucy, stumbled through the back of a wardrobe and found herself in Narnia. It must happen to lots of children, then, if people wrote about it in books. That gave her the confidence to talk to her friends at school about the secret land she visited every weekend, but they all stared at her as if she was mad. The teacher said she had a vivid imagination; and after that, Lucy resolved not to tell anyone else.
She must have been visiting cupboard-land for several years when she realised that she was not alone. Often, when she was walking through a wooded park or paddling in the sea, she would feel an awareness of someone watching her. If she turned round quickly, she would glimpse something not quite there. Eventually, she was quick enough to catch sight of a boy her own age with dark curly hair. She waved to him and he waved back; and from that moment onwards, they were friends.
	Henry became her constant companion, exploring the mountains and lakes with her and pointing out birds and flowers as they walked through countryside that was always sunny. As the two of them grew older, she began to notice how handsome he was; and her heart fluttered every time he took her hand in his. It was a source of great sadness that he could not leave the cupboard and visit her in her own world.
The land inside the cupboard changed as she grew older – sometimes it was reminiscent of Venice with canals and gondolas; and there was one particularly romantic evening when Henry played a small guitar and sang her a love song (in Italian, naturally) as they floated along on a moonlit boat ride. Another time, she found herself in a French chateau complete with bewigged servants and a breath-taking ballroom lined with hundreds of mirrors that reflected the waltzing couples over and over again in a kaleidoscope of decadence. The chateau was gorgeous, but when she and Henry explored further, they heard the screams of tortured prisoners in the dungeon and found the emaciated corpses of the ones who’d been too weak to withstand their maltreatment – that was when she realised that not all the lands under the stairs were nice. Sometimes the cupboard was downright scary: after reading ‘Dracula’ and ‘Frankenstein’, Lucy found that the landscape took on a Gothic quality and she constantly felt as if she was being followed as she roamed desolate heaths and dark forests, searching for Henry, with the sounds of wolves or maniacal laughter echoing in her ears. She tried not to stay for long if that was the land she found when she opened the door.
After a while, Lucy began to wonder if she was somehow subconsciously influencing what she found inside the door – after all, the first land she’d visited had looked very much like the drawings in her My Little Pony picture book, and her mother had been reading her Watership Down at the time Lucy had discovered the fields of rabbits. She was currently studying Romeo and Juliet at school and could not help visualising herself and Henry in the titular roles. So far, he had not declared his love for her; but she had just finished the scene at the masked Capulet ball and her mind was already dreaming about Henry wooing her with word play and clandestine kisses.
	Sure enough, the world she entered when she slipped into the cupboard that Friday evening was definitely Elizabethan in nature. For one thing, her own clothing had changed as it so often did when she entered a different time or culture – she was in a full-length gown in dark green with a brocaded bodice and long, pointy sleeves; and Henry himself was dressed in doublet and hose, looking for all the world like the Romeo of her fantasies. For a moment, she simply stood and looked at him, her heart anticipating the moment when he would place his lips on hers and gently awaken her with a kiss.
	It was only as he began to berate her cruelly, accusing her of being a strumpet and then pushing her away, that it dawned on her that she had recently read Hamlet too and that Henry was channelling the Danish prince’s madness.
	Returning to the ‘real world’, feeling shaken and scared, she decided that Shakespeare was too risky – after all, the plays she knew were all tragedies. Perhaps the Victorian era was a safer place for her first kiss – at least there, the strict societal rules meant that gentlemen were courteous to their ladies; and although Mr Rochester had seemed surly at first, he had wooed Jane Eyre passionately and asked her to marry him. (She decided to ignore the fact that he had a secret wife stashed in his attic at the time of his proposal.)
	This time, as she entered the cupboard, she found herself wearing a long white nightdress, which puzzled her since the only heroine she could think of thus attired was Cathy at the start of Wuthering Heights – and the ghostly apparition had been desperately weeping for Mr Lockwood to open the window and let her inside. And then she found herself once more on the wild and rolling heath, as night closed in around her and the wind whipped her face and a hand reached for her and thrust her to the ground. Henry/Heathcliff loomed over her, his dark curls and gipsy eyes  now taking on a menacing quality. As he held her struggling body down, she suddenly recognised her father’s features and remembered why she had entered the cupboard – but it was no longer a haven of safety but a place where he could continue to terrorise her.
 
After he had left, she lay still for a while, her bruised and battered body trying to make sense of it all. There was now nowhere left to hide. The imaginary land she had retreated to ever since the abuse started was part of her nightmare; and as the key turned in the lock, she knew it had become her prison.
 
","July 28, 2023 21:32","[[{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Amazing story. Thank you for writing ❤️', 'time': '23:16 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Perfect story for prompt.', 'time': '03:05 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,toyqc1,"""Down Home Delights""",E. M.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/toyqc1/,/short-story/toyqc1/,Dramatic,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Sad', 'Drama']",7 likes,"
Donuts were the best part of Sunday school. They weren’t exceptional donuts. They weren’t fresh or colorful or inviting. They weren’t coated in decadent gluten-free Nutella or dressed in neon sprinkles. But there they were, nonetheless. Glazed donuts. Chocolate donuts. The mysteriously-filled-with-who-knows-what kind of donuts. My job was arranging them into neat little rows on the foyer table, and I did so with tender loving care. 
 
I imagined myself the Lord’s deliverer, a disciple acting in the prophet's name to procure bread for the masses. Of course, if the Lord had a deliverer, it probably wouldn’t be a gangly-legged kid, and He probably wouldn’t pick my father to be his prophet. I doubt God preferred donuts over unleavened bread or manna or whatever Bible characters ate back then. But none of that came to mind Sunday mornings. Once the elderly, poor, and sick filled their plates, I’d get the leftovers. 
 
I once asked Father why he brought donuts to church. 
 
“People need a little sweetness to coat the bitterness of truth,” he said. He was a modern-day Jesus with his ambiguous phrases and unrestrained generosity.
 
Everyone else thought so, too. 
 
“Oh, that, Mr. Clark! He’s just so thoughtful, buying us all those treats with his own pocket money,” exclaimed members. 
 
“Amen. Lord knows this church doesn’t give the man a decent salary,” responded others. 
 
Father’s meager wages never stopped him from giving money to Mother whenever she wanted to sew new dresses for us girls. I favored donuts over frivolities but never kept outfits stain-free long enough to shift Mother’s priorities. 
 
“You’ve got an awfully important job, Gracie May,” she’d say with pins between her lips and a measuring tape in hand. “We must look our best when we perform acts of service for the Lord.”
 
And so, on Sundays and in the name of God Almighty, I’d deliver donuts in a fresh dress. I’d smile with a head held high, even as the skirt’s stiff material chafed my Kermit-the-frog kneecaps. The good old Southern Baptist biddies soaked it up like they hadn’t seen the sight a hundred times before. They’d coo whenever my threadbare Father and Mother entered the church towing two doe-eyed kids. They’d whisper and giggle as I organized donuts according to size and color.
 
“What a lovely family,” Geraldine would say. 
 
“And such well-behaved children,” Betty would add.
 
My sister and I behaved in the name of donuts. We crossed our bruised shins and folded our hands in our laps like picturesque porcelain dolls. Ignoring the ceaseless irritation of my lace socks during Father’s long-winded sermons was a test of sheer will. Occasionally, my sister would sneak a jab at my ribcage, and I’d resist the urge to flick her ear. Mother often pinched the rough skin of my elbow, casting warning glances from her peripheral as she did so. 
 
“You stop now,” she’d say, with a smile playing at the corner of her lips.
 
The congregation bore Father’s long-winded sermons with grit. He’d stand at the front of the modest church and pace across the floorboards, dramatically pausing to address members by their names and afflictions.
 
“Benjamin,” he called, slamming a fist against the ancient wood podium. “Last week, you were in the hospital, and this week you sit among us! Is that not a sign of the Lord?”
 
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
 
“And Martha, yesterday you prayed for an end to the drought. Just listen to those drops on the windowpanes!”
 
A few claps and “amens” followed.
 
I wondered if Jesus acted like Father. Did the white of his eyes show when He called for God’s judgment? Did the hearts of His disciples swell with pride as they watched Him shower wisdom and truth upon sinners’ heads? How happy I felt, wedged between my pretty Mother and little sister. Sometimes Father stopped to smile at us, and I knew he loved me the most because I was his chosen disciple.
 
Although I found Father’s performance entertaining, my mind always wandered back to the donuts. They were omnipresent, and my stomach would growl when their sweet scent inevitably wafted to the front row. In the summer, the emphatic swishing sounds of Geraldine’s fan dulled my belly rumblings. In the winter, the guttural roar of the church’s furnace drowned the noise entirely. Aside from my acute awareness of them, my hunger pangs remained unnoticed. 
 
One spring morning, after a particularly long sermon, Father directed us to bow heads and pray. A reverent hush fell across the pews. My stomach abruptly snarled like a bear disturbed from slumber, and, to my horror, a few church members snickered. I willed my stomach quiet, but the image of donuts filled my head and spurred a second growl, which was somehow louder and more demanding than the first. More laughs followed. I timidly raised my eyes and glanced around. Geraldine chuckled into her handkerchief while Betsy candidly snorted with her head back. Benjamin slapped his knee and guffawed. Mother stifled her reaction before it left her lips, but my sister giggled until tears streaked her cheeks.
 
Embarrassed, I muttered, “Sorry, I’m a little hungry.”
 
“Let’s get this kid a donut,” said Benjamin. The audience called “amen” and applauded. 
 
Church members broke from their rows without dismissal. The commotion of grannies and farmers crowding around the donut table distracted me from the looming presence of Father. The group hustled my sister and me to the front and offered us the first choice. 
 
“What about this one,” said Geraldine, pointing to a plump Boston cream donut. 
 
My mouth watered. It wasn’t a sin for disciples to participate in feasts, right? Even Jesus shared bread and fish with His followers. After justifying why it was okay to eat before the sick and elderly, I picked the Boston cream and sank my teeth into its decadent, chocolate-glazed body. A yellow glob splattered onto my new dress, inciting more laughter and a few cheek pinches. 
 
The hullabaloo lasted a few minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime to an eight-year-old. The stiffness of the two-hour sermon gave way to frivolity so shameless it felt like a sin. It wasn’t until I was crammed in the backseat of our old Buick, struggling to buckle the seatbelt over my bloated belly, that the weight of my actions dawned on me.
 
Father chose silence instead of turning the radio dial to a cheerful gospel station. He didn’t roll his window down to welcome the warm spring breeze. Before long, the Buick grew stuffy and humid. There existed a sudden atmosphere of prodigious captivity. Mother focused her gaze on the road’s double yellow lines while my sister twirled a piece of string between her fingers. Nausea bubbled in the pit of my stomach. When we rolled into the driveway of our small ranch home, Father shut off the engine and ordered everyone inside.
 
“Except for you,” he said, addressing me through the rearview mirror.
 
Mother protested but clamped her lips when he glared at her. She and my sister clambered from the car while Father lingered momentarily.
 
“Don’t take off your seatbelt. Don’t roll down the windows or open the door. Do not move from this position until you’ve thought long and hard about your actions today,” he directed. “I’ll pray the Lord grants you clarity.”
 
He slammed the driver’s door and left me alone.
 
Afternoon sunlight immersed our old Buick, and the backseat morphed into a greenhouse. If I had been a rose, I would have flourished. But I was a kid overstuffed on donuts, sweating and feeling immensely claustrophobic. The more I scrutinized my rowdy behavior in the House of God, the more I wanted to puke. Judas had betrayed Jesus, hadn’t he? Peter had denied His name. Thomas had doubted His power. Hadn’t all of the disciples tested Jesus? Hadn’t He forgiven them?
 
I vomited half-digested bits of donut onto my lap until all of the shame and sugar left my body. My diaphragm ached, and I stared in horror at my new dress. The heat became unbearable, but I remained frozen in place, terrified to move. And then the clarity for which Father had prayed fell over me. I was not like Judas or Peter or Thomas. Jesus predicted and expected their sinful actions and used their shortcomings to teach his followers forgiveness and faith. But my frivolous and rowdy actions had distracted the Lord’s people. 
 
My actions hadn’t enhanced Father’s image. They had tarnished it.
 
Just as I analyzed the degree of my failure, the front door flung open, and Mother stormed onto the driveway with my sister. She yanked the car door open, and cool air rushed over my damp skin. She didn’t notice the vomit marring my dress as she unclipped the seatbelt and pulled me into her arms.
 
“You listen to me,” she whispered, cupping my tear-stained face. “You ain’t done nothing wrong. Not one goddamn thing.”
 
Her left eye appeared swollen, and a purple welt had started to spread over her flushed cheek. 
 
“We’re leaving and going to Granny’s, okay? It’s a long walk. Can you do it?”
 
I nodded, dumbfounded. Jesus didn’t hit his followers. Jesus didn’t lock them in hot cars.
 
We walked for hours. My sister began to drag her feet, but she didn’t cry or complain. I watched the expressions flit across Mother’s face like thunderheads moving on a summer horizon. Her petite chin jutted at a defiant angle, and little beads of sweat pilled above her lip. I wondered how long the road meandered. There were too few farmhouses to count, too few birds to serenade our journey. I imagined myself an Israelite, cursed to wander the desert and eat manna for forty years. I wondered what manna tasted like but then pushed away the thought. Eating the stuff for forty years would take away its novelty. 
 
“Just a little longer,” said Mother.
 
The sun dipped low across the fields, backlighting the crops with an eerie orange glow. Somewhere in the distance, an old car rumbled over potholes. The noise grew louder, and I recognized the hum of the Buick’s engine. Father pulled alongside our weary caravan and rolled down the passenger window. 
 
“Come on, everyone,” Father said with a big smile. “Let’s head on home and clean up. Sunday evening service starts soon.”
 
Mother narrowed her dark eyes at him.
 
“No,” she said.
 
Undeterred, Father lifted a large box labeled “Down Home Delights.” 
 
“I got ya’ll something sweet,” he said, skillfully lifting the lid while steering the car with his knee. Specialty donuts peeked out from bright tissue paper. These were special donuts reserved for Easter and Christmas services. No one, not even the devoutest church member, ate Down Home Delight donuts on a normal Sunday.
 
“Mama,” whined my sister, tugging on Mother’s dress. “I’m hungry and tired.”
 
Mother hesitated. Streaks of green and yellow now accented the purple on her face. Her eyes flitted between us girls. My sister began crying, but I remained steadfast. 
 
“Please, mama. I’m so hungry, and my feet hurt.”
 
Father parked the car and leaned over to unlock the door. 
 
“Get in,” he said. The words hid a forceful edge. 
 
We piled into the car. Father kept the windows down, commenting on the way we smelled.
 
“It’s like ya’ll wandered the desert for forty years,” he said, watching me from the rearview mirror. I stared back.
 
“Have a donut,” he insisted, passing the box to the backseat. My sister indulged in a neon pink donut with star-shaped sprinkles, but I shut the box and pushed it away.
 
“Guess ya had a bit too much earlier then?”
 
No, I thought. I’d rather have unleavened bread or manna or whatever Bible characters ate back then. At least it wouldn’t be emptiness dressed in sugar.
","July 27, 2023 21:25","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Hard hitting stuff Em. A tough read as I really wanted them to keep walking, afraid what awaits them at home. A sad common reality for many. \nVery well done.', 'time': '21:43 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'E. M.': 'Thank you for the kind words! I debated giving them a happy ending, but like you said, the reality of this particular outcome is far too common still. Thanks again for the comment!', 'time': '17:42 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'E. M.': 'Thank you for the kind words! I debated giving them a happy ending, but like you said, the reality of this particular outcome is far too common still. Thanks again for the comment!', 'time': '17:42 Jul 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,kt8yo9,The Loss Of A Perfect Life ,Sade Eatton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/kt8yo9/,/short-story/kt8yo9/,Dramatic,0,"['Funny', 'Horror', 'People of Color']",7 likes,"
""I am the luckiest woman on the planet!"" Most people would never live the way I'm currently living. I feel so happy to be thriving and deep diving into all the endless opportunities I've been given. Not only am I wealthy, but I dwell inside a two story mansion, I bought me a brand new 2024 Toyota Innova, I'm married to the best husband in the world; along with our two beautiful daughters. I also have the pleasure of traveling wherever I want,    which means: more shopping and pampering for me! I couldn't ask for anything more..yet, I always seem to want more.My name is Riley, I am a 34 year old wife and mother living my best life! My husband Levi owns his own marketing business that has remained successful over the last 5 years. Our oldest 17 year old daughter Tina, who recently graduated with honors from high school, is now embarking on her new journey to college. Our youngest 12 year old daughter Tan'iyah, who is storming her way through 7th grade, also has a vision on becoming a future dentist. They grew up so fast, I was nothing but 17 myself when I had Tina, and 22 when Tan'iyah came along. Levi and I were high school sweethearts. I wasn't married before having Tina but growing up ""old school"" my parents threatened Levi and forced the two of us into instant marriage. Gracefully, I still had a wedding ring on my finger 5 years later when Tan'iyah came along, we did it the right way that time!I just wonder, how did I become so fortunate? The current life I'm living would be the dream of so many people in the world who may not be as fortunate. Don't get me wrong, my husband and I put in a lot of hard work to reach the heights we've gotten to. Furthermore, there were some blocks in the road to our success, but we got through it together as a family. Earlier, I admitted to always wanting more even though my family and I have everything we need in addition to our wants. I know I should always be thankful, in which I am, but sometimes I feel as if I'm never satisfied, like I'm missing out on the next big thing that is out there...""Tan'iyah, time to get ready for school!"" ""Tina wake up! We have to get ready to finish your admissions for college!"" While I'm yelling for my girls to get ready, I meet face to face with my handsome husband.""Good morning my beautiful lady,"" Good morning my handsome man."" The softness touch of his lips stickered against the face of my cheekbone. ""Honey you know I love you so much."" Levi exclaimed ""Of course baby I know you do."" ""Riley, there are few things I got to let you know about,"" the horrible expression on Levi's face left me feeling uneasy about whatever information he was going to convey. ""What is it honey? What's going on?"" ""Well, number one, there's been a decline in sales for the marketing business, profit gaines aren't looking too good for the company, and two..."" ""And two..what? What is the second thing your hesitating to tell me about? ""I made an awful mistake a few months back that you never knew about"". ""An awful mistake like what Levi!"" ""I sort of messed around with someone for a short time at work"" I-""You what!?"" Hearing the two words 'messed around' from my one and only husband automatically took me to pissed mode. ""I didn't mean it, I was drunk, I don't have any dealings with her no more!"" ""I can't believe you Levi!"" We've been married 12 years since Tan'iyah was born and you go and do some dirty unfaithful crap like this!"" I can't believe you!"" ""Babe look- ""Don't you dare call me babe when you built up the nerve to go and cheat on me with your work woman! When were you going to tell me Levi?"" I'm so disappointed in you!"" The girls enter downstairs walking into a kitchen full of fury with puzzled looks on their faces. ""Mom, dad, what is going on down here?"" Tina asked in concern ""We're ready to leave, but I see we won't be leaving anytime soon,"" Tan'iyah added. ""Girls, just know that right now is not a good time for us."" Your father has gotten himself in a world of trouble and won't be staying with us for a little while."" ""Uh-oh!!"" the girls exclaimed simultaneously. ""Dad whatever you did to upset mom, it wasn't worth it, but I hope you both can still love each other and move past it in due time.."" the mature knowledge of Tina replied in a moment of rupture. ""It will definitely take some time, but your father and I will always love each other, just not right now!"" I said sarcastically out of frustration. ""Girls, of course we'll always love each other; daddy made a big mistake and I got to work hard fix it.."" explained my cheating husband Levi. One moment I was on top of the world, then next thing I know, my dream life comes crashing down abruptly with no warning. First, my husband's business is declining and now I learned the truth of his infidelity. Good grief! What's next?Here we are 2 months later, my daughter's are doing wonderful in school, staying out of trouble and behaving well (especially with the boys!) We had to move into a regular house, trade in my Toyota Innova for a cheaper older vehicle while coping with my husband and I not connecting the way we use to. The marketing business closed down, my marriage is broken, my husband I are currently moving through a divorce although we've both agreed to co-parent and still raise our daughters-just in separate households. I now have to become the glue in order to piece my life back together... I guess this situation has taught me to never brag, be greedy, and to always show gratitude for what I have in the moment, because I could lose it all in the blink of an eye. But, my life could be much worse..so for now, I'll enjoy the lessons on the way.
","July 24, 2023 23:33","[[{'Sade Eatton': 'I wanted give insight on this non fictional short story to show that even though a person is currently living the good life, it can all change in an instant. It is always good to appreciate what you have whether small or big.', 'time': '20:23 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,26ljvd,Big Trouble in Pink Town,Jed Cope,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/26ljvd/,/short-story/26ljvd/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Drama', 'Mystery']",7 likes,"
“Hi Brian!” said Janet in her cheeriest voice.
 
Brian snorted. 
 
Janet liked to think that was a greeting of sorts, and so she rolled with it accordingly, “have a great day!”
 
She didn’t hang around for a response, for today she was busy. For the first time in her illustrious career as a detective, she had a big case. A huge case. A case so big that maybe now she would show what she was all about and get noticed for all the right reasons. 
 
As Janet lumbered through the doors of the Rainbow Club, Brian shook his noble head and muttered, “what is the world coming to.”
 
Brian’s disdain for Janet was evident from a mile off. To Brian, Janet was all wrong and she just didn’t belong. It was bad enough that Janet was a donkey. Donkeys were so far down the equine pecking order Brian wondered what the Creator must have been thinking, Her quality control must have been on holiday on the day Janet was made, and not just because she was all out of proportion or because she had no horn. She wasn’t even a horse and horses were decidedly substandard as far as Brian was concerned. But the worst of it was that Janet was not pink.
 
Janet liked to say that she was salmon pink. The word salmon sounded made up and was in any case redundant. Pink was pink and that was all there was to it. There were no alternative versions of pink.
 
No, Janet was red. Only she’d faded in the constantly shining sun of Pink Town. The sun that always shone in a blue sky decorated with multiple rainbows and the silhouette of birds that made a curvy M with their wings. There was also a crescent moon that was there for bored cows to jump over. The cows took it in turns to get bored and once an hour, on the hour the next cow would take a graceful flying leap over the moon. This was how milkshakes were made, the flavours coming courtesy of the cow’s diet. The chocolate eating cows were the largest of the cows and they needed a good run up for the moon jumping, and yet they still pulled it off with a wonderful bovine grace.
 
As well as not being pink, Janet was also grubby and ruffled. Brian the door-unicorn dreaded to think how it was that she got that way. Not in Pink Town she didn’t, not in his Pink Town at any rate.
 
“You must be the detective,” Tallulah the Exotic Dancer drawled.
 
“That I am,” replied Janet puffing out her chest in what she hoped was a detectively manner.
Tallulah smiled, “we don’t get many detectives in this joint.”
 
Janet nodded sagely at the shapely flamingo. There was a very good reason for that. Janet was the only detective in Pink Town and there was no way she could afford to step over the threshold of the Rainbow Club, let alone buy a drink. A cheeky sideways shimmy from Tallulah would cost Janet her life savings, if she actually had any savings, which she didn’t because she was a detective and detectives were supposed to be in debt.
 
Janet knew all about detectives. She’d had plenty of time to study them. She took her vocation very seriously. So seriously that she had a seriously large tab at the Pink Lion and another seriously large tab at the Pink Distillery. Pink bourbon was Janet’s drink of choice, not that she had a choice. Detectives drank bourbon. It was what they did.
 
“You’ll want to see the body,” Tallulah told Janet.
 
Janet didn’t answer immediately. Instead she pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. 
 
Tallulah marvelled at Janet’s pinching, “you’ll have to come up and see me some time,” she drawled, “you’ve got some skills.”
 
Janet blushed, but nodded curtly and coughed in an attempt to clear some congestion from her throat. Congestion that wasn’t there until Tallulah had drawled those suggestive words. 
 
Then Tallulah winked.
 
And Janet staggered sideways. 
 
“What did you do to my knees!?” she cried from her awkward position, propped against the bar at an uncanny angle.
 
Tallulah smiled, “I have skills too.”
 
Janet managed to push herself away from the bar and get her knees working again, “the body?” she asked as casually as she could with a voice gone all wobbly and strange.
 
“Over here,” Tallulah said before walking over to a door to the left of the stage.
 
Janet tried not to watch Tallulah’s shapely legs doing their shapely thing, which was to say she stared at the magical legs and her mind supplied both a commentary and a backing track. She dared to dream of a time when she had enough money to visit the Rainbow Club so she could give it all to Tallulah in the impossible hope of a meaningful interaction.
 
The thought of a meaningless interaction with Tallulah made Janet blush again. She ignored the heart-breaking punchline of that exotic adventure. Janet was used to that sort of thing. She was a faded red donkey in a town of perfect pink after all.
 
Or rather, a town that had been perfect until death came a-calling.
 
“Here he is,” Tallulah said as they entered the manager’s office, “I’ll leave you to it, detective.”
 
Tallulah exited the small office, the feathers of her wing brushing Janet’s flank. Janet suppressed a whinny. She instantly regretted this suppression, having never whinnied before. She really wanted to know how it would sound.
 
She blushed again as she realised there was only one way to find out.
 
Now Tallulah had left the room, Janet took a look at the body.
 
Janet threw up.
 
“Must’ve been the egg and bacon roll,” she muttered to herself as she wiped her mouth on the back of her leg.
 
She pulled a half bottle of pink bourbon from her pink detective mac and took a donkey sized swig to replenish the bourbon she had lost on the floor of the office and to steel herself against what was to come.
 
Laying on the floor of the office was the owner of the Rainbow Club, Sidney Centaur. Rumour had it that Sidney had started life as a common horse and had undergone extensive surgery ever since. Whatever the truth of it, Sidney had managed to sully his centaur status with a sleazy and unsavoury edge that was really quite off putting for all and for sundry.
 
The centaur club owner was even less attractive in the state that he was now in. His mangled limbs were bent at unnatural angles made all the more unnatural by the fact of their not being attached to him anymore. 
 
The amputations of his limbs had led to extensive blood loss. His pink blook was all over the show and the colour had drained from the body rendering it off-white. The most disturbing element of the gruesome tableau was the expression on Sidney’s face.
 
“Is that a smile?” Janet said quietly as she canted her head to the side to observe the corpse as a detective might.
 
“Yes, I think it is,” said a familiar voice from behind her.
 
Janet jumped.
 
The owner of the voice laughed and squealed. The laughter being due to the comical nature of Janet jumping, the squealing being a feature of the owner of both the voice and the laugh.
 
Janet, having landed and calmed down, turned her head to face Percy Pig. 
 
“What are you doing here?” she said in a dull monotone. 
 
She was not at all pleased to see Percy. Percy was what passed for police in this town, but what he really was, was a thuggish tax collector with a truncheon he was far too fond of wielding.
 
“Arresting you for the murder of Sidney Centaur,” squealed Percy.
 
“You can’t…” Janet began to explain, but her explanation was cut brutally short by the wielding of a truncheon by a copper who hit first and didn’t bother asking questions later.
 
“Got you bang to rights!” cried Percy to the unconscious form of Pink Town’s only detective, “come on boys, to the cells with this one.”
 
Two almost identical pigs entered the small office and immediately threw up.
 
On Janet.
 
As Janet was dragged from the building, Brian shook his majestically pink unicorn head and wrinkled his nose. Just when he thought Janet couldn’t look any worse, here she was bedraggled and covered in The Creator knew what.
 
The three pigs threw Janet into the back of a pink van and squeezed themselves into the front. Telling the pigs apart was difficult unless they were entertaining at home, their homes being made from pink straw, or pink wood, or pink brick. 
 
Percy’s home was made of pink straw, which helped explain the slab of bacon on his shoulder and his propensity towards violence in order to solve all of life’s problems. This violence did not blend well with his fragile domestic surrounds, which only made him worse.
 
In the back of the van, Janet came to. The warm interior was doing horrid things to the vomit she was coated with. Smelling salts weren’t a patch on the aromas assaulting Janet’s oversized nasal passages. 
 
“Not again,” sighed Janet.
 
“Did you hear something?” Percy asked his pink and porky companions.
 
The two bacon flavoured police officers shook their heads. They made it their business not to hear things.
 
The noise Percy had heard was Janet exiting the back of the van.
 
Again.
 
This was a piece of pantomime that had played out so many times that Janet wondered whether there were forces at play in Pink Town. Forces that made a mockery of free will and indeed the life of the maverick detective.
 
Well, thought Janet, now there’s a sinister force in town and it’s killed a prominent figure of the Pink Town establishment. 
 
But what next?
 
Janet needed to think. She scrunched her oddly symmetrical face up, but to no avail. There was only one thing for it.
 
Pink bourbon.
 
Tis a little known fact that salmon pink donkeys can drink a considerable quantity of pink bourbon. This was why Janet was in so much debt. More so as her tolerance to pink bourbon was now reaching legendary levels. 
 
“Got it!” she remarked from her stool at the bar of the Pink Lion.
 
“I hope it’s not catching!” said Brian from the other end of the bar as he nursed an interesting cocktail with a pink umbrella poking out of it.
 
Brian was on his fifth such cocktail and he was nursing this one because he seemed to be warming to Janet. There was something very appealing about her that he couldn’t quite put his horn on.
 
Brian was experiencing the pink booze effect. The effect to which none was immune. The change in perception exemplified by the scallywag’s quip; what’s the difference between a donkey and a unicorn? Five cocktails!
 
Janet was oblivious to Brian’s increasingly amorous gaze. She was in the zone. This was when she was a detective, and then some. 
 
This was the life!
 
Janet walked sideways out of The Lion, crashing through the doors, which was impressive as the doors were propped wide open, “gotta go!” she called to the contents of the pub.
 
“What about your tab!” shouted Barry the Pink Goldfish.
 
“What tab?” replied Janet.
 
“Oh…” said the forgetful landlord. Thankfully, he had Janet’s tab written down and eventually he would remember where he had written it down.
 
Bleurgh!
 
Janet puked.
 
“All part of the process,” she reminded herself as she wiped her mouth with the back of her leg, before trotting across town.
 
At the back of the Rainbow Club, Janet rummaged.
 
This was a staple of Janet’s detecting and as far as she could tell, this was how it was done. Looking in the places that everyone else would rather ignore and forget. This was how Janet got grubby and she wore her grubbiness as a badge of honour. 
 
Her rears legs waggled as she over extended herself in the industrial bin. The waggling was comically reminiscent of swimming strokes, not that Janet could swim. In the dumpster itself, Janet nosed and nosed around until her nose was coated and soaked in the fermented juices of unidentifiable refuse.
 
Those rear legs of hers pushed against the side of the bin and with a strangely odd POP! she was propelled from the bin and to the dirt coated floor.
 
“Wow!” she sighed, “that’s some wicked shit!”
 
Janet was off her face on garbage fumes and as she sat there in the dark her head traced random curves as though she were tracking a rollercoaster’s trajectory. In her heightened state, her unfocused eyes saw beyond the glitz and the glam of Pink Town, and no wonder. She was behind the scenes. She was in the place where no one would go. Janet was looking at things from a different perspective and suddenly she knew.
 
And then she knew some more as she witnessed the awful and gut wrenching murder of Henry Hippo, the pinkly portly mayor of Pink Town. 
 
Literally gut wrenching.
 
“His guts!” gasped Janet, “pulled from his belly like they’re so much spaghetti…”
 
Bleurgh!
 
No one could blame Janet for that one. No one should see such a hideous and callous crime.
 
Janet scrabbled to her feet. 
 
This took Janet quite some time. Her feet weren’t where they were meant to be and neither was the floor. Bringing the two together was a feat of feet and floor that took quite some effort. Janet may have fallen over several times in the attempt. One of the falls may have been quite spectacular and involved her laying on her back and kicking her feet around in an amusing impression of an upended tortoise. Not that Janet knew what a tortoise was. Pink tortoises avoided Pink Town, more so since it had gone to the dogs. Even some of the dogs had moved away.
 
Moved.
 
Disappeared.
 
All a matter of perspective was that sort of thing.
 
Eventually Janet found her feet. Then she stood on them. Taking a moment to compose herself, she then very carefully and deliberately conveyed herself deeper into the dark underbelly of Pink Town. Here the pink of Pink Town was no longer pink. It was ruby red.
 
Blood red.
 
Boldly, Janet stood in the place that pink angels feared to tread and she turned her gaze upwards. Janet dared to look up into the killer’s face.
 
“Aren’t you a bit old for all of this?” she asked the killer.
 
The killer’s face creased in something like consternation and surprise, the sort of unwanted surprise that leads to much embarrassment and the requirement for a deep clean of certain undergarments.
 
The creasing then subsided as the killer’s eyes fell upon the grubby and worn donkey, “oh it’s you! I thought I’d lost you!”
 
Something like a memory tapped Janet on the shoulder, but she was so enraptured in the moment that she ignored it. Being picked up by a huge, pink giant will do that to a donkey, even if that donkey is a detective.
 
“What’s this that you’re wearing?” said the giant as he held her before him.
 
He then took Janet’s detective coat off and discarded it many leagues from Pink Town. Janet looked off after it and her heart broke in two. Without that coat, she was no longer a detective, she was just this beaten up old donkey with no purpose.
 
“Here you go,” said the giant, and he placed Janet in the pocket of his shirt, “a ringside seat for you!”
 
Janet watched on in fascinated horror as the giant cast aside a house made of pink straw as though it were, well, straw. He plucked the owner of the house from what remained of his abode, “you’re right Janet,” said the giant, “but then you’ve always been different. Insightful. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re special.”
 
I’m not sure I want to be special, thought Janet, I just wanted to be a detective. I wanted to find things out…
 
She stopped that train of thought, but it was too late. Suddenly she didn’t want to be a detective and she didn’t want to be here. But what choice did she have? What choice did any of them have. There were forces at play here. Forces beyond their comprehension. They weren’t meant to even be aware of these forces, but Janet was. Janet was all too aware.
 
“I am too old for this,” the giant told her, “so it’s time for a change. Pink Town isn’t going to be pink anymore. And there’s no need for this annoying little pig!”
 
Percy’s squeals pierced the sky of Pink Town and all the inhabitants saw him die. Janet wished she could close her eyes, but she had no eyelids so she saw it all. 
 
It turned out that Percy wasn’t made of bacon after all.
 
One by one, the pink residents of Pink Town were torn apart.
 
Brian’s demise was particularly sad. His horn went first and without his horn he wasn’t him. His majesty fell to the bedroom floor and his eyes conveyed the deepest wells of sadness.
 
When it was nearly done, the giant paused.
 
“You like her, don’t you?” he asked the little donkey as he pointed at the fragile form of the flamingo.
 
Janet wanted to say yes. She wanted to save Tallulah, but something inside her had broken when Brian’s horn had been snapped from his face. 
 
Gone.
 
The magic was gone.
 
This brave new world wasn’t a place for the exotic pink flamingo that even now the giant was bearing aloft.
 
“Janet?” Tallulah said quietly as she was brought eye to eye with the threadbare donkey.
 
That’s when Janet understood. 
 
They all thought she was to blame. 
 
And maybe she was…
","July 25, 2023 13:30","[[{'L J': 'Hi. I Was asked to look at your story as part of the competition. I think it is remarkable! All the fantasies rolled into one. It was surprising that these were not human characters. \n\nI liked it but I Think it should either be a dark comedy (as Janet portrayed) or a tragedy. Centaurs, flamingos, donkeys, giants. I liked the characters but I felt like they should have been more limited; it was slightly confusing. Perhaps you could do a part 2 as a ""look back"". I would like to see why Janet and Tallulah don\'t like each other. Could they be re...', 'time': '21:47 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': ""Wow! I'm glad you liked it! \nI'd love to give you what you ask for - that would be a novel or even a series. As a taster, this really works. I'd like to read more myself!\nI'll try to get around to reading your story later."", 'time': '22:07 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': ""Wow! I'm glad you liked it! \nI'd love to give you what you ask for - that would be a novel or even a series. As a taster, this really works. I'd like to read more myself!\nI'll try to get around to reading your story later."", 'time': '22:07 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'And the forces at play were too old to play?', 'time': '23:30 Jul 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jed Cope': 'They were playing a different game now...', 'time': '08:21 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jed Cope': 'They were playing a different game now...', 'time': '08:21 Jul 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,17142r,Rainbow Unicorns and Cool-aid,Aaron Tippit,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/17142r/,/short-story/17142r/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Suspense', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
	Pike stood at the edge of the sprawling valley, covered in an endless carpet of lush green grass that caressed his bare feet. Romping and prancing in the meadow was a technicolor herd of unicorns. They were prancing, flouncing, and romping together. Binoculars appeared in Pike's hand, and he looked through them to better admire the creatures. There were green, orange, yellow, purple, aqua, and less spectacular colors like gray, roan, white, and black, but their purity made them just as magnificent. A dark blue unicorn, the biggest in the field, bent to eat grass. Then he looked up through the binoculars into Pike's eyes. The magical equine looked at the herd, blowing glitter from its snout. They started cantering his way.
	Pike dropped the binoculars. They vanished before touching the ground. The herd of a dozen unicorns surrounded him. This close sparkles like stars could be seen in the dark blue coat. A fire-red mare stood next to him. They all came in close to nuzzle Pike with noses softer than anything he could ever fathom. Their horns all hummed with a unique melody that came together into a perfect orchestra.
	Finally, as the sun passed midday, the unicorns left for their next grazing land. Pike reveled in the relaxing thrum that they left behind them. After a beat, he decided to go to his own grazing land. He started up the rise behind him. A perfect breeze wound around and through his linen shirt and pants. His hair was dark and had a slight curl. It was starting to touch low on his ears. He needed a haircut. His head began to feel cooler, lighter. He no longer felt the tickle of strands on his ears or forehead.
	At the top of the hill was an orchard full of lush, grand trees heavy with fruit. Apples hung alongside pears, peaches, oranges, avocados, cherries, and pomegranates. All of them were perfect and ripe. Pike looked and a particularly handsome apple tree. In the high branches glittered a perfect red apple. It shown in the light like a precious stone. Pike was looking for a low-hanging branch to grab with excitement and anticipation building in his chest. Then an apple, the apple, appeared in his hand. He looked at his hand, then up at where it had been, high above the ground. A sigh began to slip past his lips.
	""How is your day?"" A large, broad-chested man in a pressed suit asked as he walked by.
	Pike gestured to the apple, ""It's perfect as always.""
	Giant, white teeth showed in the man's mouth. ""Fantastic!"" He boomed and walked away.
	Pike watched the man walk away and took a bite of the apple when he was out of sight. It was too tart and didn't have much juice. He took two more bites before tossing it away. The remains vanished before they could hit the ground.
	Once again, Pike stood at the base of the apple tree, looking up at it. He shook his head slightly and sat against the trunk. He wondered what to do with his afternoon while taking in the beautiful weather and fruity scents. A sudoku puzzle book and pencil appeared in his hands. He started doing the puzzle and got halfway through when he got stuck. He glared at the stubbornly anonymous square preventing him from moving on. He tapped the pencil on his chin, then spun it. The pencil was absently traveling towards his mouth when the square filled on its own with a nine. Pike's eyebrows knitted. The pencil broke in a clenched fist.
	""I like your haircut,"" It was a dreamy tinkling voice. The girl it came from wore a pastel pink sundress. Her hair matched it for now. The light pink made her green eye stand out despite their blank, unfocused gaze. ""What are you up to?""
	Pike's pencil had mended itself as he stood. ""Hi, Marley. I was doing a sudoku puzzle.""
	""Those look hard,"" she said, grabbing a low-hanging pear.""
	""Not when they get done for you,"" Pike muttered. ""What are you doing?""
	She held up the pear. ""Eating,"" she said deadpan.
	""I see that,"" Pike waited for a punchline that never came. ""What do you plan on doing? Ya know, after you eat?""
	""Maybe play with the unicorns,"" her dreamy voice drifted through the branches.
	""Yeah, that's always fun. They went to their second field last I saw them."" Pike said, trying to hold up the crumbling conversation.
	""OK,"" Marley started wandering toward the valley.
	""See ya later,"" Pike called to her back. She was already gone.
	Pike tossed the puzzle book to the ground and watched it vanish.
	He walked through the orchard to the town of modest huts surrounding a square with a stage. People drifted aimlessly around the square, and through the huts, sedate docile expressions drooped on their faces. Around the square were stalls for merchants. There was no money, bartering, or trading. People set up things to give away here. Pike went to Bill's stand, where he had cold juice available.
	""Hey, Pike,"" Bill was a short, stocky, lively man. He was quick with a smile and a laugh, and they tended to be contagious.
	""Hey, Bill, you got any cherry left?"" The cup was in his hand before the sentence finished. Pike's jaw began to clench.
	""How is your day?"" A different man, same build and same suit asked him.
	Pike pulled air into his nose. Deep and slow. ""Perfect, like always."" the words were short and clipped. He barely kept his teeth from clenching.
	""Fantastic!"" echoed through the square with another rictus smile.
	""Those guys are always so happy,"" Bill said. ""It's creepy."" He switched Pike's cup for one from his cart.
	""Thank you,"" Pike saluted with the cup and pulled deeply, relishing the burn as that flowed down his throat and blossomed in his gut. Bill's was the only place to get this special juice. The stuff that appeared suddenly was just juice.
	""You good?"" Bill asked, looking around conspiratorily.
	""Have you ever wanted a challenge?"" Pike asked. ""A chance to do something on your own?""
	With mischief in his eyes, Bill nodded to the cup in Pike's hand, ""What do you think?""
	Pike took another sip. ""Point taken. There's just no way to challenge myself. I even tried a puzzle and wasn't allowed to finish it.""
	""Maybe you need a hobby, or make something, or have a hobby of making something,"" Bill provided as he refilled Pike's cup.
	""Yeah,"" Pike tipped his cup to the bootlegger. ""That's a great idea.""
	""I have those occasionally,"" Bill said.
	""I appreciate it, Bill,"" Pike left the stand. ""Have a perfect day.""
	Pike left the group of huts and went into a copse of trees that afforded some privacy. He looked around and then thought about what to do next. A breath of wind caressed his face. He looked up to see a small shed, like the one he imagined as a workshop. Pike entered the shed to find it stocked with tools to work wood and stone, spin wool, and even a forge. 
	Pike wasted no time sitting at the workbench and grabbing one of the pencils provided to begin sketching plans for his first project. Before his pencil touched the paper, the toy car that had been a ghost of an idea appeared on the table next to him.
	Pike rolled the car, watching it tip over the edge of the table. There was no sound of impact or shattering parts. He tried again. This time he just put the pencil on the paper and let it direct itself. A vague outline of a bird was forming. A toy plane filled in the outline as soon as the lines connected.
	Pike turned from the paper and the new toy. He grabbed a wrench, some nuts and bolts, and a few steel bars. He laid the materials on the floor and turned to grab a file when a gentle, metallic ring filled the space. Pike turned around to see that the frame for the table he was going to assemble was already together.
	""Ragh,"" Pike threw the wrench toward the wall. Upon leaving his hand, it appeared neatly on the nearby counter. 
	Pike was startled from his frustration by pounding on the shed door. 
	Pike opened the door to the two tallest, broadest suits he'd ever seen. 
	""Hello?"" He greeted the enormous visitors.
	The two men in suits were identical, and they simultaneously bared their teeth in menacing smiles. ""We're here to take you to a fantastic day,"" the one on the right said.
	""But my days are always perfect,"" Pike said, taking a half step back.
	The one on the left stared at the discarded wrench and reached out with an open hand to shovel Pike out of the shed. ""We're here to take you to a fantastic day,"" he repeated.
	Pike couldn't resist the humungous hand. He resigned himself to go with them.
	The suits took Pike farther into the trees that led to a proper forest. Each of the giant men flanked Pike, ensuring he couldn't break in any direction without getting snatched in their meaty grasps. The woods gave way to a clearing surrounded by the herd of technicolor unicorns. All of them had their heads drooped low, too low. Their horns were digging into the ground. A still was in the center of the clearing, surrounded by smaller men in suits.
	The still sat on a burner. The steam coming from it changed colors, shifting through the entire rainbow. The drops coming out at the end changed colors as well. The steam and drops were the only things moving in the clearing. Everything else was stone still.
	""All you had to do was play along,"" a rough voice filled the space. ""Take the easy life and be happy like everyone else.""
	Bill shouldered his way past the oddly postured unicorns. ""I even gave you extra juice."" He had to look up at Pike, but it was clear who was in charge. ""I give you everything here,"" Bill gestured around them. ""I ask for nothing in return. Did you know that's how things normally work? When people give you things, they expect things in return. Of course, you do. You weren't wiped totally blank."" Bill paced away, inspecting the still. ""I make a frickin' utopia where no one has to want anything. Hell, I even put unicorns in it!"" He kicked the navy blue unicorn in the side of its bowed head.
	Pike winced at the violence. But the unicorn didn't react. None of them did.
	""Do you know how hard those were to make?"" Bill asked, voice cracking. ""How much power they need?""
	Pike thought about answering and opened his mouth.
	""And that isn't even bringing up the mind reading to know what everyone wants and needs or the intuitive teleportation or materializing that needs to happen with that information."" Bill snatched the collection bucket from the still, some of the liquid sloshed out. Where the drops hit the ground, new flowers sprouted immediately. Bill drank deeply from the bucket, then offered it to Pike.
	Pike nervously took the offered vessel. There was no sweet juice in this. It was all burn. Pike spluttered into the bucket and pulled out to cough.
	Bill laughed. ""Yeah, that's the real stuff, no mixing yet. I should have warned you."" He took another pull himself. ""So now that you want things, I have to figure out what to do with you. What do you think I should do with you?""
	Pike was surprised by the question. ""What do you usually do when this happens?""
	""It's happened a total of twenty times."" Bill waved around.
	Twelve unicorns ringed the clearing. Eight suits encircled the still.
	""Oh,"" Pike said.
	""But, like I said, The unicorns are taxing. And these guys,"" Bill slapped one of the motionless suits. ""If I lose a resident, I don't really need another guard. That would be a ridiculous ratio.""
	""So, what's the third option?"" Pike regretted asking as soon as the words left his mouth.
	Bill stared at the still. He watched as the steam rose into the sky and the vibrant colors dissipated. ""You said you wanted to be challenged, right?""
	""That's right, everything is just given to us, and we never get a chance to do anything on our own,"" Pike said sincerely.
	""OK, Then you can go somewhere that will challenge you,"" Bill walked away from Pike, snapping his fingers.
	""Hey, buddy,"" Pike was lying on a cold metal bench, staring into a severe face with a blue hat on top. ""You gotta get outta here."" The man in blue said. ""Ordinance says you can't sleep in the park overnight.""
	Pike shook his head, trying to catch his bearings. Long, stringy hair spilled from a hood. Scruff on his face and neck was itchy and rough. The rest of him was clad in multiple sweatshirts, and he had holes in the knees of threadbare jeans. His feet weren't bare, but his shoes had holes big enough to see the holes in his socks.
	Pike felt a grumble in his belly. He held out his hand, ready for an apple. Nothing came to him.
	""I'm not giving you cash or anything else, guy. Move it."" The man shooed him away.
	Pike looked around himself as he walked. Trees rose around him, but they were anemic and bare. Brown, brittle Grass flanked the path he was on. Greasy clouds clogged the air around him. Cars filled with people belched out the acrid fumes as they moved inches at a time.
	Pike left the area where brown grass flanked the path. Now, only hard grays and blacks were everywhere. Someone bumped into him hard enough to knock him into some trash bins. They just kept going. 
	""This will be your challenge,"" Bill's voice hissed from nowhere. ""Survive.""
","July 27, 2023 03:34",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,i7p17d,Shiny Existence,Emma Winnicutt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/i7p17d/,/short-story/i7p17d/,Dramatic,0,"['Crime', 'Horror', 'Suspense']",6 likes,"
(Sexual violence, physical violence, gore, or abuse)
 
 
Bobby is not your ordinary eighteen-year-old boy. Beautiful deep blue eyes and blonde hair he looks like your typical all-American boy, but nothing is ever as it seems. Delicate in his stature, Bobby is smaller than all the other boys his age and does not quite fit in. Quiet and shy, he observes his peers without ever engaging in order to keep the others from discovering who he really is. This timid creature sits upon a deep well of torment and dissociation other children of his age could not begin to comprehend. 
 
Bobby reflects on his story beginning when he is four. Living in the standardized American version of what family is, he lived with his mother, father, and older sister. His sister Annie, aged nine, was a brutish little girl carrying a chip on her shoulder Bobby could not quite yet understand, but he soon would. Annie, with her flowing locks of curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, is cold and distant to the point of being unapproachable. Frankly, Bobby fears her. 
 
One day while Bobby and Annie are playing in the yard independent of each other, Annie seemingly disappears from the face of the earth. This is the day Bobby’s life and his understanding of the world change forever. Countless hours of fruitless efforts to locate her leave Bobby’s parents in a permanent state of denial. To this day Bobby has no idea what happened to Annie. In his parents’ abdication of her absence, they turn their sights to Bobby.  
 
Bobby’s mother, Alice, thrusts him into his sister’s role without skipping a beat. Etched in his mind, he hears Alice say, “Now remember this is special playtime with Mommy…it is our special secret.” Alice begins curling his hair, painting his nails, adorning his face with intricate make-up akin to that of Tammy Faye, and dressing him in Annie’s demure dresses. Bobby feels odd, but not in the way you would think. At four years old he now feels whole, complete, in a way he did not know anything had been missing before. 
 
Nevertheless, he also senses the reasons for Alice doing these things to him are not quite genuine. There is something about the look in Alice’s eyes that makes the hair on Bobby’s arms stand on end. Alice had always been very insistent her “playtime” with Bobby take place in Annie’s bedroom. He had never been allowed in her room before so his first time in there he felt out of place. Immediately upon crossing the threshold into her room, he felt uneasy and unsafe being in her room and yet he could not pinpoint why. 
 
Her room is painted a lovely shade of pale pink, like the shade of a young girl’s blushing cheeks. The stuffed animals are placed just so as though they are for decoration and not for play. Then Bobby notices Annie’s vanity station containing an obscenely large mirror that takes up almost the entire wall. He remembers how out of place this mirror looked and how every time he looked into it he felt as though part of him were being siphoned through it. In fact, the whole room felt like an entirely different world from the rest of the house.
 
Bobby shudders at the recollection of being in this room and the discomfort that came from his mother’s love and affection he received there. From all outward appearances Alice was a kind and loving mother who cared for and provided for Bobby in every way imaginable. Revered in their community, Alice portrayed this gilded image of the perfect mother and wife. But what no one knew, including Bobby, was that Alice’s glistening shiny exterior hid her twisted core like the cover page of a play. Alice used her children as living dolls for her husband’s amusement.
 
Harry, her husband, had groomed Alice as his own personal plaything since she herself was eighteen. A tawdry sad excuse for a man, Harry controlled his world hidden behind the tacky mirror peering into Annie’s bedroom. Controlling his wife and children as though he were a master puppeteer and their only existence in this world is for his entertainment and amusement. Being a failure at everything else in his life, Harry had finally “won” a commanding presence in his own real-life play. It was not until Bobby happened upon the hidden room behind the mirror that this young boy of four instinctually knew the reason for his uneasiness…daddy has been watching him and mommy all along.
 
Snapping himself back into reality, Bobby puts on his starched pressed collared shirt and chinos and heads to his first day of Psychology 101 at Timber College. He sits in the back row away from everyone else observing them as he had once been observed. Watching and listening he begins daydreaming. Writing the most sinister of plays in his head, his classmates become unwitting characters in a contorted scene of the cruelest sort. Torturous scenes of bondage, rape, flaying carnage to peel back the skin of those around him to uncover what lies beneath the surface of a person.
 
Then he hears it; a voice he thought he would never hear again. It is Annie. Sitting in the front row engaged and full of life, she is no longer the cold and distant child he remembered. He comes to attention on the edge of his seat and glares down at her from above with overflowing rage and an amalgamation of emotions. He smiles the most menacing of smiles as he now has a real-life play to direct.
 
When class ends, he stalks her like a wolf hunts prey. As Annie turns down the alley to head home, Bobby creeps up behind her, covers her mouth, and drags her to a place no one knows. He slogs her down a set of stairs through a musty corridor and opens a creaky iron door. He sits her down in the darkness and she screams when he lights the flame. It is a perfect rendition of Annie’s bedroom, right down to the obscene mirror. Bobby comes into Annie’s view, and she is horrified to see he looks exactly like their mother. 
 
 All those years ago when she snuck off into the woods at the age of nine, changed her name, and enrolled herself in school Annie thought she had escaped her hell for good. She could not have been more wrong. Now as she sits here in the damp musky recreation of her childhood hell, she scowls at Bobby knowing she will meet her end here and will never be found. Bobby unsheathes his knife and begins twirling it in the flickering light of the flame. 
 
Annie looks at him and says, “I am not going to even bother begging you for my life nor attempt at commiserating our pain together. All I ask is you understand why I disappeared. I would have taken you with me if I could have but I barely made it on my own. I am sorry I left you there for them to use you in the intimate ways I know they did, but I could not bear it any longer. The plastic gilded cage of an existence our parents weaved for us was going to kill me, as I see it already has you. Just know you can escape them too if you so desire, but you must want to just as I wanted to.”
 
Bobby chews on her words as the knife performs acrobatics in his hands, he sets it down, and he approaches Annie. For a brief moment she believes her words may have touched him, but all it took was one look in his eyes to know they did not. She has seen that look before in her mother’s eyes and resolves herself to the most harrowing last moments of her life. Bobby snarls his lips at her knowing by the look on her face she knows what is coming to her. He turns, retrieves the knife, and skips toward her in a way that makes one’s blood curdle. 
 Bobby takes the knife and inflicts small cuts as he continues to skip by her singing the song he wrote special just for her on repeat. The song he wrote her goes a little something like this, 
 
	“Oh, little Annie where have you gone? 
	  Mommy wants to play but you fled at dawn. 
	  Now it’s my turn and I want to cry.
	  Instead, I’ll settle for watching you die.”
 
Annie tries to swallow the tears welling in her eyes but to no avail. Bobby is inflicting an ancient Chinese form of torture and execution upon Annie known as Lingchi, or death by a thousand cuts. As she sits there bound in the flickering darkness, she lets out a wailing scream that stops Bobby in his tracks. He looks at her and says, “Oh poor dear Annie, am I hurting you? Tsk, tsk, tsk, I thought you were stronger than this. It’s no matter though, I have another class so you can cry and scream here in the darkness. No one will hear you.”
 
Bobby meticulously removes his mother’s dress and cleans his face. He reemerges from behind the mirror as the same picture-perfect all-American boy who sat behind her in class. He skips through the doorway and snuffs out the light creaking the door shut behind him. Annie hears a loud clank and thud of the door being bolted and locked as she hangs her head and cries. Now that Bobby is gone, she collects herself and tries to figure a way out of here; she’s escaped this hell once before and she is determined to do it again.
 
As Bobby sits in calculus, a pretty-little thing catches his eye. She has brown hair and emerald-green eyes and a petite tiny frame. He smiles a shy smile at her being mindful of his demeanor and facial expressions so as to not give away his dirty bleeding little secret in the tunnels under the school. She introduces herself after class, “Hi I’m Mary.” Bobby hangs his head blushing responding, “Hi I’m Bobby. It is a pleasure to meet you.” “The pleasure is all mine. You’re kinda shy, aren’t you?” Mary replies. “Just a little,” Bobby says with a smile. “If you will please excuse me Mary, I have a previous engagement I cannot be late for. See you next class?” Mary retorts smirking slyly, “Not if I see you before then.” Bobby smiles and hurries away.
 
Slinking off to the tunnel, Bobby unlocks the creaky door and opens it. He lights the flame and finds Annie to be exactly where he left her, as he anticipated. Try as hard as she could, she could not break free from the restraints Bobby had her in. He walks behind the mirror and adorns himself in his mother’s dress and makeup. As he reemerges though, there is a shadowy figure standing in the doorway just beyond the reach of the light.  Bobby stands there without saying a word clutching his knife in his hand. The figure approaches. He is stunned to see it is Mary.
 
Mary saunters over to him, looking behind her over her shoulder at Annie, and looks back to Bobby in his regalia. Bobby still speechless, Mary looks at him and says, “I knew there was something special about you. No boy who is as handsome as you are is as shy as you are.” Frozen where he stands, Bobby does not know what to do. Annie is looking at Mary yearning and pleading with her eyes for help, but what happens next shocks them both. Mary takes the knife from Bobby’s hand and walks over to Annie inflicting a cut upon Annie’s shoulder. Annie yelps and Bobby becomes filled with lust. He pulls out another knife from behind the mirror and they both skip around Annie inflicting cuts as Bobby sings his song.
 
When the last drop of life has dripped from Annie’s body, Mary and Bobby turn to one another and begin to ravage each other next to her lifeless body. Bobby and Mary now bonded to each other with a mutual understanding, put themselves back together in the flawless way they each do, and emerge from the tunnel and slip back into society unnoticed. Inseparable from that moment on, Bobby and Mary wed after they graduate college. They have earned the respect and admiration from their classmates and professors as being the perfect couple and perfect individuals. Now it is their turn to master the living puppets they create in their world.
","July 27, 2023 18:18",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,pjiizf,Rosehearth,𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pjiizf/,/short-story/pjiizf/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Mystery', 'Teens & Young Adult']",6 likes,"
NOTE: Contains depictions of corpses.
 
In the heart of Rosehearth Abbey, where the sun's warm rays bathed the lush green surroundings, lived a young squirrel maid named Hazel. 
 
Hazel Runwhistle was a spirited and curious creature, known for her boundless energy and mischievous escapades with her various friends.
 
Rosehearth Abbey was a haven of tranquility, a place where peace reigned and the soft glow of contentment enveloped every corner. The abbey itself was nestled in a serene valley, surrounded by rolling hills and vibrant wildflowers that painted the landscape with hues of gold and pink half the year.
 
As another day began, Hazel found herself perched atop a sunlit tree branch, her tail swaying playfully in the breeze as she read another note from a mysterious admirer who had been sending her poetry all Summer. From her vantage point, she could see the abbey below, with its stone walls gleaming in the noonday sun and the courtyard bustling with activity.
 
Technically, she was supposed to be helping gather fruit in one of the abbey’s many gardens but ‘words were just as valuable as food,’ according to the Abbot, and so she stayed.
 
The sound of gentle laughter along with an unseen lute somewhere in the distance echoed through the air as the abbey's residents went about their daily routines, tending to the gardens and sharing stories over hearty breakfasts. Hazel's bright eyes danced with excitement as she watched the joyful scene unfold.
 
“Hazel!” A shrill voice shouted. “Hazel, where are you?”
 
The young squirrel peered down from her perch and was chagrined to see the plump body of Mistress Oakgut - one of the Abbot’s highest ranking nuns. She was glaring up at the mischievous squirrel, tapping one of her great black furry feet on the grass.
 
“You’ve got some chores to do young missy!” The badger bellowed up the trunk of the huge, spreading oak tree.
 
Hazel smiled to herself and shook her head.
 
“Alright, m’lady - I’m comin’ right down,” Hazel said, putting one of her little paws on a nearby branch and turning about to get a better position.
 
She stopped suddenly. For an instant all noise ceased as she saw something in the far distance. She dropped the new poem from her secret admirer and couldn’t even hear it flutter through the branches below. She looked to and fro, trying to see if anything was out of the ordinary.
 
Her squirrel instincts had reacted to something, right? She scanned the hills all the way to the edge of the forest.
 
“Come ooooon, missy,” Oakgut called. “We’ve got the Summer Dance tonight: we’ve got food to collect!”
 
Slowly the other noises: the laughter, the songs, the conversations, filtered back into Hazel’s long fluffy ears.
 
“Y-yes mistress,” she said, finally climbing down. When she had reached the bottom, she considered mentioning it to Oakgut. She licked her lips. She had perceived something... maybe not saw it, per se, but...
 
Oakgut walked alongside her, rambling as usual about the importance of Hazel taking her duties at the abbey seriously. After a few moments, the young squirrel maid had relaxed and had sunk slowly back into her warm, relaxed routine.
 
She had reached the garden and began plucking vegetables and stone fruits while gossiping with the other young maids and lads in the field when she remembered something.
 
“My poems!” She gasped, standing up straight.
 
Wildthumb - a hare friend of hers - smiled. “You still gettin’ love notes from that secret admirer o’ yours?” She asked.
 
“Yes! And I left his latest note up in the Ol’ General,” she said, referring to the great spreading Oak Tree near the South Wall. “Tch, I’ll be right back Thumb,” she said, setting her basket down and sprinting.
 
“Oi! Missy!” Oakgut yelled across the busy abbey, but the squirrel was determined. Hazel looked up at the General and saw the parchment halfway up the tree.
 
Hazel - being a squirrel - hopped and skipped up the tree as easily as if it were a game. Slowing to the note, she bent down to reach it slowly. She grabbed it easily, then looked upwards.
 
Taking each branch carefully now, she reached the top of the ancient tree and peered over the vine-covered wall into the distance.
 
There! No... THERE! 
 
She let the wind bend her branch slightly as the sounds disappeared once more. Was that a tree or a figure in the far distance?
 
Hazel gulped and squinted. When she focused her eyes, she couldn’t see the ‘tree’ anymore at the forest edge. 
 
“Hallo up there!” Came a voice from below. “Having a good one are ye?” Oakgut yalped.
 
Hazel stared and stared into the dark forest at the edge of the territory in the far distance. Every branch that twitched and every shadow that moved heightened her senses.
 
“Hazel?”
 
The young squirrel maiden shook her head and the sounds of life from below filled the air once more. She gulped and could feel her heart slow down as she took trembling steps back down. This time, when the squirrel touched the ground, Oakgut could tell something was wrong.
 
The old badger swept Hazel in a half hug and sat next to her.
 
“What’s wrong my little one?”
 
Hazel sat next to her caretaker and cuddled. “I... I thought I saw something in the forest,” she said. “But I don’t... think it was anything.”
 
Oakgut grinned. “Ah, a young fancy turns many tales in their head, but just in case, we’ll send a few scouts out there. Would that be good?”
 
Hazel smiled and nodded. “I’m going back to the garden, mistress. I think distracting myself is the best thing to do right now.”
 
Oakgut and Hazel stood as the old badger gently swatted Hazel’s rump. “Well then get back to it, lass!”
 
Hazel skipped, poetry in hand, back to her labors as Oakgut, slightly worried, made her way to the abbot’s office in the main hold to make a report.
 
***
 
The young hare explorer stepped up to the main wooden gate of the ruins. It was rotted, and so she used her long stave as a winch to creak it open. She was technically a mage, and so her offensive magics could help if things... spiraled out of control.
 
Her primary occupation was archivist for the Tyrian Library in New Nottingham: a job she took with gusto. 
 
Immediately she could tell that the old stories were false. The buildings themselves were a little unsteady, but that was normal for a thousand years of nature reclaiming the land.
 
She admired the craftsbeastship of the keep and continued. Making notes as her white tail tittered in anticipation, she noted the gardening tools in the shed, the weapons in the barracks all hung nice and neat...
 
...There was no attack of searats, here.
 
Taking another glance she noted that the place was deep in a thick forest: it was not surprising that other creatures had extreme difficulty finding the place.
 
Carefully opening the door to the main hall, the young hare’s bright green eyes darted from shields on the wall to moth-eaten flags hung over the main stone staircase. She gulped: it was as though ghosts were still here, setting up a Summer’s eve festival for a thousand years.
 
The stone staircase didn’t creak, but the wooden floor on the next story did. She reached into her backsack and pulled out one of the tomes on the Seven Vile Vermin.
 
An eighth was speculated upon, but no evidence had ever been found. The author of the tome she had in her hand disappeared a decade ago in search of evidence and was never found again.
 
The second story had slight stone windows that let in the cheery Summer air, but the hare archivist could feel something was wrong. At the end of the hall was her prize: the door to the childrens’ dormitory.
 
Initially, when she tried the door, it was stuck. She rammed against it and heard a rustle as it eventually gave way after a few more thumps.
 
The air that hit her delicate nose was the most foul she had ever dare dreamed, and it smashed into her nasal cavity like an irate ex-lover.
 
“Goodness! Lord Tyr, what is that smell?” She said to herself, covering her delicate white nose in her gloved paws. When she took a peek into the slim opening she was met with a face.
 
She jumped back and ran as fast as her hare-legs could carry her back down the staircase to the lower floor, priming her spells in case whatever horrible creature was up there decided to visit.
 
After a few minutes, she collected herself and made her way back up the stairs: She wasn’t going to let a ghoul dissuade her from the archaeological discovery of her career.
 
Going back to the door, wand at the ready, she carefully slid her way in front of the door. There was the face again - although it wasn’t quite a face. It was loose skin sagging on top of a very, very old skeleton.
 
“Goodness,” she said, her green eyes opening wider as she kicked the door. There was a clattering as more skeletons were brushed aside in the millennia-long darkness.
 
“Goodness...” she said softly, stepping back slowly. The skeletons were all against the door for some reason. She looked down at one of the corpses: a female squirrel - eyeless and mouth agape, just like all the others.
 
“No, no, this was no attack by searats,” she wrote in her notebook. “The militia was not assembled, and Rosehearth had been attacked many times before by various vermin, barely losing a soldier to them.” 
 
“...The army... or entity... that destroyed this sacred place was something else entirely.” 
 
","July 28, 2023 16:55","[[{'Luca King Greek': 'Well you certainly did a good with the 180 degree assignment.  FWIW, I think I would have liked just a bit more of a hint regarding the characteristics - or motive - of the invading entity... something that takes gives some sense of why...\nA couple of minor quibbles... use of the word ""technical"" didn\'t really belong to the place/time, Use of ""some reason"" is better left out, because it begs the question (the why)?  All that said, I thought it was pretty damned good, made me care, and hence - I would like to know the why.   BEST!', 'time': '01:31 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': ""Thank you so much for your feedback Luca! Hope you liked it!\n\nThank you for the wording advice - I agree to an extent on those. I also kind of like using anachronisms in fantasy settings for some reason XD\n\nYes, uh, that entity is the big big bad of my setting that my cowriter and I play around in. I kind of imagine this as the first chapter in a long series, so unfortunately it's vague on purpose :)"", 'time': '16:23 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Luca King Greek': 'Yes I liked it!', 'time': '21:58 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': ':D', 'time': '23:31 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': ""Thank you so much for your feedback Luca! Hope you liked it!\n\nThank you for the wording advice - I agree to an extent on those. I also kind of like using anachronisms in fantasy settings for some reason XD\n\nYes, uh, that entity is the big big bad of my setting that my cowriter and I play around in. I kind of imagine this as the first chapter in a long series, so unfortunately it's vague on purpose :)"", 'time': '16:23 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Luca King Greek': 'Yes I liked it!', 'time': '21:58 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': ':D', 'time': '23:31 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Luca King Greek': 'Yes I liked it!', 'time': '21:58 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': ':D', 'time': '23:31 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': ':D', 'time': '23:31 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'M B': 'Looks good to me', 'time': '20:56 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,osques,Reprogramming Needed,Aster Parks,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/osques/,/short-story/osques/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",6 likes,"
My world was perfect. Everything I did was successful. I was popular. I was rich. I was what everyone wanted to be.
           “Good morning, Dollie!” My neighbors greeted me as I walked down the street with my perfectly groomed poodle, Ollie.
           “Good morning!” I smiled and waved back. My morning was routine as usual. It was a sunny day, like always, and I had started the day with a healthy breakfast. I was taking Ollie for his morning walk and greeting all the neighbors who were out on their lawn as I walked past. I stopped when I noticed that my best friend was not sitting on her patio eating her own breakfast like usual. “Annie is late to breakfast.” I said to Ollie. “We better go wake her up.” I smiled as Ollie, and I made out way up to her house. I noticed that the bright pink house had no signs of Annie’s presence. I knocked on the door, only for it to swing open. “Oh Annie! You are late for breakfast!” I laughed as I entered her house. While the house was bright pink on the outside, the inside was completely grayscale. I looked around for Annie and made my way to the back of the house, to her master bedroom. “Wakey wakey, sleepy he-?” I stopped when I saw Annie, fully dressed and laying on her large gray colored bed. Her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. “Annie?” I asked as I approached the bed.
           “Hey!” I jumped when two men in black suits appeared suddenly. “You are not supposed to be here.” They yelled at me.
           “You need to leave here and forget what you saw.” The other instructed.
           “Y-yes sir.” I nodded my head and frantically ran out of the house with Ollie. For the first time in my life, I felt afraid. “Ugh.” I felt an awful pain shoot through my head. The brightly colored neighborhood before me flashed from colorful to grayscale a few times before returning to full color. I looked at my hands then at Ollie. “Time to go home.” I said to Ollie. I rushed home, ignoring all the neighbors who waved to me as I walked past them.
           “Hi, Dollie!”
           “Where are you rushing off to, Dollie?”
           “Why the hurry, Dollie?”
           “Whoa! Slow down, Dollie. A lady should never run in heels.” Everyone who addressed me made the fear inside of me grow more and more until I was finally running with Ollie back to my house. Once I reached my house, I slammed the door shut and tried to lock the door.
           “Why are there no locks on the door?” I asked aloud. I began to panic. I released Ollie from his leash and began to search my house. I could not find anything to use like a weapon. “Wait…why do I need a weapon? Why do I need to defend myself?” I asked myself as my head started pounding again. My house flashed from colorful to grayscale repeatedly. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” I screamed until everything was color again. I ran around my house, trying to lock the windows and doors that lead outside. “There are no locks! Why are there no locks?” I screamed. I ran to my bedroom and closed the door. I could not even lock my bedroom door. I ran to the bathroom and saw that I could not lock the bathroom. I had the overwhelming need to have a weapon. “Why do I need a weapon?” I started to pull at my luscious blonde hair, eventually yanking out patches of my hair. “This is wrong! This is wrong!” I screamed repeatedly.
           “Alert! Alert! Glitch Recorded!” A loud voice blared throughout my house as red lights descended from the ceiling and started flashing. “Reprogramming required!” The voice shouted as bars shot up over my doors and windows.
           “Make it stop!” I screamed as several men in black suits swarmed into my house.
           “She was the one who saw the other reprogramming.” One man said.
           “It must have triggered a fear response. Let us get her to the lab so the doctor can reset her.” Another instructed.
           “No!’ I screamed as they grabbed me. “Let me go!” I struggled against them as everything turned grayscale and my head felt like it was going to explode.
           “It is okay, miss. We will make the awful feelings go away.” One of the men reassured me as they dragged me through the back of my house. A door I had never seen before was opened and I was forced through it. My sight was once again able to process color as I saw the wall the door was in. A large wall with flashing lights and wiring that went on for as far as the eye could see.
           “Where am I? Why are you doing this to me?” I began to sob.
           “Oh dear. Another one, and so soon.” An older woman with long blonde hair came over to me. She had on a white lab coat.
           “She saw us putting the other one away.” One of the men said to her.
           “I told you to be careful.” She scowled at them. “Bring her to the chair.” She told them.
           “What are you doing to me?” I screamed as they forced me into a large metallic recliner chair. They strapped me down as I struggled against them.
           “Do not worry, Dollie. I am going to fix you.” The woman said as she smiled softly at me.
           “What is wrong with me?” I asked her. I watched in horror as she brought a large needle over to me.
           “You just suffer from the human condition.” She said as she stuck the needle in my arm. “My job is to fix that in you and all your friends.” As she spoke, a wave of calmness came over me. “That is a good girl.” She smiled. “Set up the helmet.” She turned to the men in suits. I stayed calm as they attached a helmet to my head and put strange stickers all over my body that had wires coming out of them.
           “All set, doctor.” A man said as he gave her a thumbs up.
           “Wonderful. Now, Dollie, tell me what happened.” She asked me as she stood next to me with a notebook.
           “I saw Annie, then the men in black suits. The neighbors were all strange. There are no locks on the doors or windows. And nothing I can use as a weapon in the house.” I answered slowly. She wrote in her notebook as I spoke.
           “Typical fight or flight response. That is an easy fix. Two jolts should be enough to reset her.” She turned away from me and made a strange hand motion.
           “Stay clear!” A man yelled. A moment later I felt an excruciating pain shoot through me. Once it stopped my mind became fuzzy. “Stay clear!” I passed out…
 
           “Good morning, Dollie!” My neighbors greeted me as I walked down the street with my perfectly groomed poodle, Ollie.
           “Good morning!” I smiled and waved back. My morning was routine as usual. It was a sunny day, and I had started the day with a healthy breakfast. I was taking Ollie for his morning walk and greeting all the neighbors who were out on their lawn as I walked past. I stopped when I noticed that my best friend was sitting on her patio eating her breakfast.
	“Good morning, Dollie!” Annie waved at me with a smile.
	“Good morning, Annie!” I waved back.
	“It is such a lovely day today!” Annie said.
“I agree! We should have a picnic!” I laughed. Annie’s smile drooped a bit.
“Do you have something in your eyes?” She asked me.
“Why?” I asked as I lifted my hand to my eye. I had tears flowing from my eyes. 
“Huh?” I said to myself. “I wonder what that means…” I looked at Annie as the color faded from around me.
           “Alert! Alert! Glitch detected! Reprogramming needed!”
","July 22, 2023 23:13","[[{'Kelly Sibley': ""Barbie meets Westworld! This was just so easy to read and I totally loved it! To my mind, you should develop it further as it's a really great seed for a really great horror story. Well done, loved it!"", 'time': '22:44 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Aster Parks': 'I had to look up what Westworld was. I can see the similarity to my story. However, the people in my story are not being abused or used. It is supposed to be an inhumane attempt to control humans. The idea is that in order to live in a perfect world, people must be under absolute control. But we are not meant to be controlled, so the attempt to control us will always fail. I guess I could expand this story into a novella, though I am not adept at writing horror, it would be more of a suspense or thriller story. Thank you for the feedback.', 'time': '00:19 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Aster Parks': 'I had to look up what Westworld was. I can see the similarity to my story. However, the people in my story are not being abused or used. It is supposed to be an inhumane attempt to control humans. The idea is that in order to live in a perfect world, people must be under absolute control. But we are not meant to be controlled, so the attempt to control us will always fail. I guess I could expand this story into a novella, though I am not adept at writing horror, it would be more of a suspense or thriller story. Thank you for the feedback.', 'time': '00:19 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,76blz7,Me and Jeff,Zack Herman,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/76blz7/,/short-story/76blz7/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Horror', 'Speculative']",6 likes,"
This story includes discussions of violence against children. Me and Jeff are having a real good day. Of course, all of our days are pretty good. We live out in the country and we have a big back yard that goes into the woods. My daddy says this is a perfect place to raise a son because there’s a bunch of room for me to explore. We have been exploring back there for almost and hour and the pocket of my shorts is full of stuff for my treasure box. I need to go inside now and put the new treasures away!Me and Jeff finally get to the back of the house. We run around to the front porch. Before we go indoors, I look at my shoes. There’s dirt all over them and Mommy will yell at me if I track that dirt into her clean house. I get yelled at a lot for stuff like that. So, I kick the off and leave them out there. It’s too warm to wear shoes anyhow! Now, I’ll get yelled at for leaving shoes on the porch.I don’t know what she expects...I’m only four years old!I walk through the door. “Hey, Mommy, I found new treasures!”I made a mistake. Mommy is on the phone.“OK, Dinty,” she says. “Go put’em in your treasure box. I’m on the phone with your Grandma.”My grandma moved away after my Grandpa passed away. They used to live on the farm next door to us. Before she left, she asked me to keep an eye on the old place and I do my best.I walk to my bedroom. I hear Mommy talking.“ Another one? That makes six? Seven? Oh, lord, Mom, what is this world coming to?”I know what Mommy and Grandma are talking about. I heard about it on the TV one day. The guy on the news told about somebody who is killing kids around here. When Daddy saw me in the room, he got up from the couch real quick and turned off the TV so I wouldn’t see any more. Sometimes, I see Daddy and Mommy whispering and they stop when they see me. They are talking about the dead kids and they don’t want me to know it. They are afraid that I’ll be scared.I’m smarter than they think I am. And I ain’t scared! Jeff is with me and he won’t let anybody hurt me!Me and Jeff walk into my bedroom. I get on my knees beside my bed, reach under there and pull out my treasure box. I got the box from my Daddy. He had bought a pair of running shoes and I asked him if I could have the box to keep stuff in. Stuff me and Jeff find around here and stuff people give me. Today, I have some new treasures in my pocket. I found a dead ladybug, some really cool rocks, and a quarter. I take the top off the box and put the new things in. I look at the other things that are in there-my favorite things.There’s a dime and a half dollar to go along with the quarter. There are some other cool looking rocks. There are a few arrowheads. There’s a four leaf clover, a shotgun shell, and a bird nest. There’s a matchbook from Molinaro’s Bar & Grill. Mom says that Angelo Molinaro, the man who owns that place is the biggest crook in the state of Ohio. I don’t believe her. He always tips his New York Yankee cap when he sees me and says, “Hello, my good man.” I think he’s a nice guy.Then , there’s my best treasure. Jodi Nelson, the prettiest girl at our church, maybe the prettiest girl in America, gave me one her senior pictures. It is a really great picture. I take it out of the box and look at it for a few minutes.Jodi has long, blonde hair and big blue eyes. She has the prettiest smile I have ever seen. Daddy said her smile would stop traffic and told me not to tell Mommy he said that. I promised. The picture was taken on the bank of Cold Creek. She is sitting on a rock in her cheerleader uniform. Her shoes and socks are on the rock beside her and she is dipping her toes into the water. When she gave me the picture, I told her that I like wading in the creek. She said sometime we would have to wade together. I bet we will. She’s really nice to me.I put the picture back in the treasure box and put the lid back on top. Then I scoot the box back under my bed. I have thought of something else to do.“Hey, Jeff,” I say, “let’s go over to Grandma’s farm and look around. Last time, I was there, I saw some baby rabbits!”Since it’s hot outside, I pull my socks off and go barefoot. I put the socks under the bed. If Mommy finds them under there, she won’t be happy.“Dinty, there’s a place for everything and everything should be in it’s place!” she always says.I don’t know what she expects….I’m only four years old!“Jeff, you can go barefoot, too,” I say.Jeff keeps his hiking boots on. He never takes them off.Me and Jeff leave the house. We run across the front yard and the field where my Grandpa used to plant tobacco before he went to Heaven. I saw the rabbits in the back yard. We go back there and look around. The mama rabbit must have taken her babies into the woods. I don’t see them anywhere.“Well, shoot, they ain’t here, Jeff!”Jeff doesn’t say anything. Jeff don’t talk much. I guess that’s the reason Mommy and Daddy don’t think he’s real.I look around the back yard. I am hoping I find some treasures back here. I guess Grandma didn’t leave anything behind because I don’t find anything. That’s when I hear somebody driving into the driveway.“Jeff,” I say, “we better tell whoever that is that this is private property!”We walk around the house to the front yard. There’s an old brown van parked in the driveway. It’s in bad shape, lots of rust. Daddy would say that a man who doesn’t take any pride in his vehicle probably doesn’t take any pride in himself.“Hey! Who are you?” I holler. I’m trying to sound like I’m older than I am.The strangest thing happens. The driver’s side door opens and a clown climbs out! I’ve never seen a clown in real life, only on TV. My cousin Millie is 16 years old and she says clowns scare her to death, but they don’t scare me! I like them!The clown bows and does a cartwheel. I laugh and clap.“ I am Chuckles the Clown!” he says. His voice is funny. “who might you be, my young friend?”“My name is Rex David Stoneking,” I tell him. “My mommy and Daddy call me “Dinty”, ‘cause Daddy says I can eat my weight in Dinty Moore beef stew.”Shoot, I forgot! Mommy always says never to tell a stranger my name and I forgot! She’ll be mad!I don’t know what she expects...I’m only four years old!“Dinty, would you like to go see my circus?” Chuckles asks. “I have lions, tigers, bears, and the eighth wonder of the world, Elmo, the Dancing Elephant! Hop in the van and I’ll take you!”“No! My mommy says not to go nowhere with strangers and you are a stranger!” I am yelling. Even a clown should know that little boys can’t go away with people they don’t know!“C’mon, Dinty,” he says. He has lost his funny voice. Now, he sounds rough and mean!Chuckles grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward his van. He’s hurting my arm and as he pulls me, my bare feet get pulled onto the gravel and that hurts, too!“Owww! Jeff, he’s hurting me!”“C’mon, you brat! Don’t cause trouble! And stop yelling!There’s nobody here!”He’s wrong...Jeff is here and he looks mad! Jeff walks over and grabs the clown by the front of his clown costume! Chuckles lets go of my arm! Jeff lifts the clown over his head and throws him into the windshield of the rusty van! The glass breaks and chuckles slides off of the front of the vanand falls down on the gravel.That’s when Jeff starts stomping on the crazy clown! I hear a cracking noise as Jeff stomps up and down on Chuckles! It almost looks like some funny dance, but I don’t laugh because I think maybe that cracking noise is bones breaking! For a minute or two, the clown squirms around like a worm on a fishing hook. Then, he stops moving. Jeff stops stomping and backs away. He reaches out and takes my hand. Me and Jeff walk back to my house. I start crying. I don’t know what else to do. All I know is that crazy clown was trying to hurt me and I want my Mommy.Jeff and me go back home. By the time we get there, I’m crying so hard that I really can’t tell Mommy what happened. Mommy makes a phone call. After that, she takes me over to her rocking chair and holds me in her lap. She rocks me and kisses me on top of my head. She keeps calling me “my sweet, brave boy.”Jeff sits in a corner of the living room. He’s sucking his thumb. He’s too big and strong to be doing that, but if that’s what he wants, I guess it’s okay.The men in suits come not long after that. The white guy is older and bald headed and doesn’t seem to be very nice. His name is Detective Lannigan. He acts like he doesn’t talk to kids very much. I bet he isn’t a daddy. The black guy is Detective Givens. He’s nicer and I’ll bet he has kids. He calls me, “little buddy” and I like him.I try to tell them what happened, but when I get to the part where Chuckles grabbed me, I start crying again. I feel like a baby, but I can’t help it! Mommy holds me tight and tells me it’s going to be just fine.“Look, can you at least tell me what happened to the clown, Rex David?” Lannigan says. “ He looks like a train ran over him!”“It was Jeff! Jeff gave him a big old bodyslam and stomped him with his hikin’ boots! Jeff protected me!” I yell the words.“Ma’am, can you tell me who Jeff is?” Given asks.“Well, he has an imaginary friend named Jeff,” Mommy says. I can tell she doesn’t believe my best friend is real.“He is too real!” I say and I point at Jeff. “See him over there?”Lannigan makes the noise that Daddy makes when he’s unhappy, like air going out of a balloon. He doesn’t even look over there. Givens walks over to the spot I point at and looks around or acts like he is. Jeff acts like he’s shy and puts his hands over his face. Givens is right beside Jeff. He could reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t do it.“Don’t ya see Jeff?” I ask the detective.“I’m sorry, little buddy, I really don’t see anybody!”Daddy comes home after that. He hugs me and keeps asking if I’m alright. I keep saying that I am. He says “I love you, Dinty!” over and over.Honestly, I believed him the first time.The detectives stay around for awhile. I get tired of listening to them and lie down on the love seat in the living room. Jeff isn’t around. I’m not sure where he went.I can hear Lannigan speaking to my parents.“Look, we have enough evidence in that van to prove he’s responsible for the rest of the kids. I do wish we know exactly what happened, but, the main thing is that no more children will die.”Givens spoke up: “Yeah, that piece of trash has made his last killing! He got what was coming to him. If God is good, he’s frying like a hot dog in hell right now!”“I heard that!” Daddy says.“Still, I don’t like loose ends,” Lannigan says, “I do wish I had a more reliable witness!”I don’t know what he expects...I’m only four years old!
","July 29, 2023 01:45","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Thank goodness Jeff saved the day!\n\nThanks for following my stories.🙏', 'time': '02:35 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Zack Herman': ""It's always good to have a friend to watch your back, especially when you're a little fella!\n\nThanks for reading!"", 'time': '21:27 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Zack Herman': ""It's always good to have a friend to watch your back, especially when you're a little fella!\n\nThanks for reading!"", 'time': '21:27 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Zack Herman': 'A self indulgent autobiographical comment. My mother tells me that when I was a toddler and an only child, I had an imaginary friend named Jeff. When my younger brother was born, Jeff suddenly disappeared. This story is dedicated to Jeff, wherever he may be...', 'time': '01:49 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,o6jig9,I Know the End Draws Near,Zach S,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o6jig9/,/short-story/o6jig9/,Dramatic,0,"['Drama', 'Sad', 'Speculative']",6 likes,"
CW: death, mental illness, climate disaster
Every night I lay awake thinking about new disasters in a faraway land - heatwaves, cold snaps, floods, droughts, wars, plagues, famine, death, wildfires - and every day my chest tightens and my breath shortens as I wait for the disasters to reach me. I can’t explain that last part. I really can’t, but I know deep in the pit of my stomach that something in the world has shifted and will break. I don’t know when it will happen but I can’t help but feel it will be far sooner than I can anticipate. How do you plan for something like that? How can I live with this? I don’t know. 
Granny Smith tells me it’s just my nerves, just like she tells Mama. Reddy and Goldy tell me I’m too soft. That I bruise too easily. Doc McIntosh simply tells me that I need to lose weight and exercise more, when he’s not hiding from me and his patients at his secret fishing spot, I mean. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe they’re all wrong. It doesn’t make any difference to me, though. It’s not like knowing that I’m anxious or sensitive or fat lulls me gently to sleep or wards the fear away. All it does is make me feel like a bad apple that’s spoiling the bunch.
Not to say that Granny Smith or the twins or Doc or any of the folks of Orchard Grove treat me poorly. They’re all real nice to Mama as well. That’s because, in Orchard Grove, we all look out for each other because we’re all we have. We all pitch in to make our mushy elders comfortable until they transition to seeds and to keep the ancestor trees healthy as they provide us with shade and sustenance, as well as more little ‘uns. Some of us, like me and Mama, are not as big a help given our spells, but I try to pitch in however I can. 
Most days I can’t help at all because I feel like I’m suffocating and on those days I hang out with Busy. I sit in the shade of the trees that haven’t gotten the message that it’s getting pretty late into autumn. I close my eyes to focus on the cool breeze that cuts through the unseasonal heat as I pet Busy’s yellow and black fur as she sleeps, careful not to brush off the pollen clung to her butt like golden pixie dust. Busy likes to lay her head on my lap as I give her scritches on the black fluff between her antennae. We call her Busy mostly as a joke, but she admittedly gets more done than I do even on her most lazy days where her wings don’t buzz for more than ten minutes tops. I try not to think of how her tiny cousins have poofed into thin air all over the faraway world that’s so very far yet still too close from here.
Other days, after I get some help in at the daycare or the schoolhouse, I go and play by the creek with Bailey and Jonathan so the vastness of our combined fantasy of sail boats and mermaids scares the smaller, sadder thoughts out of my head. The fantasy shrinks every day, though, as I bring freak hurricanes and stealth bombers into our flights of fancy. The boats are blown to pieces by torpedoes and the marooned sailors become refugees cut off from their homelands. I made Bailey cry the other day when the mermaids choked to death on oil from a burst pipeline. Granny Smith laughed and said I reminded her of my mama and her “overactive imagination”.
“Opal, girl, you need to put those thoughts to bed. Ain’t no navies or pipelines in Orchard Grove.” Granny Smith’s smile was warm and her skin reminded me of emerald fields glistening in the midafternoon sun. “So quit worrying so much. You and your mama always make up reasons to worry.”
Words. Nothing words that left me guilt-ridden rather than comforted. The more folks compared me to Mama, the less I would share. Except there is so much to share that one stopped leak in my head will just give way to another. I try to talk around it as much as I can, but my mama is what less accepting bushels would call a “village idiot”. She’s neither ignorant nor slow, she just said things that made no sense to folks and they would rather laugh it off than listen. I never laughed.
On the nights where my thoughts are so intense - usually the nights where I see nothing but fire as smoke burns my nostrils - I get out of bed and wander Forebearwood just along the rim of the village. I listen out over the rustling fall leaves for any crying babes who need to be picked before they’re yanked from their bough to the hard ground below by that crooked Old Man Gravity. There are fewer piles of colorful leaves to cushion the poor littles’ falls nowadays. My neighbor Jonagold says that the ancestors’ confusion is nothing to lose sleep over, not that I sleep anyway. What Jonagold wouldn’t notice, or at least wouldn’t mention, is that there were fewer newborns ripening this year than ever before. Maybe the disasters had reached me. This thought shook me to my core so strongly I almost fainted right there in front of Jonagold.
On a dark, windy night, I go out after my thoughts bring images of death and war. Of the assassination of a leader of a land far away planned by folks even further away so they and their friends can abuse the land and the folks on it. Those same folks then watch the leader’s folks, desperate to escape their war-torn land, sink into the sea and they refuse to save even the children. Even the babes. 
I go out and I see my mama as I walk the dirt path to Forebearwood. She faces away from me, standing motionless in the dark and staring at the forest as her butt-length brown hair blows in the wind. I can just make out the vibrant reds and yellows of the mottled skin of her neck in the darkness, glimpsed through winding thatches of tangled hair. I walk up beside her and she doesn’t react. I grab her hand and rub the back of it with my thumb, squeezing every now and then to get a response. We stand hand-in-hand for what seems like hours. I close my eyes and listen for wailing as the wind attempts to drown out all sound. I don’t hear even the faintest cry.
“Rotting,” Mama says. I nearly jump out of my skin. I still hold her hand tight.
“I see them all rotting,” she continues. “Bloating out and bursting with maggots. Every one of them.”
“The trees?” I ask. A sudden thought hits me so I ask it differently, almost whispering: “The babes?”
Mama looks down at me and gives me a look like I’m an alien she can’t make sense of. 
“No no. Look harder. To the faraway lands,” she says. I shiver. She sees them, too? 
“Those lands are rotting. They rot from inside out and from outside in and the folks out there suffer as the flies and their maggots feast on the putrid flesh of their land. Oceans boil. Skies blight. Orchards burn. Folks starve. They are starved. Can you imagine starvation, Opal? I can’t. We have everything we could ever need thanks to the ancestors. Whatever starvation is, it looks painful. It’s not fair to them folks. It’s not fair to anyone.”
I try to take in her words, but she squeezes my hand so tight my fingers feel like they’re gonna snap like twigs. 
“Mama, you’re hurting me.”
“Where will we be when it all reaches Orchard Grove? Has it already reached us? I think about the heat and the trees and the bees and the babes a lot.”
“I think about them a lot, too,” I say. I think back to my conversation with Jonagold and I almost feel like puking again. “What do we do?”
“It’s a beautiful night, Opal,” she says, like she didn’t hear my question. “Look at the moon!” She points in the general direction of where the moon should be. I squint hard, but can’t see nothin’ through the trees. I don’t doubt the moon’s there, though. 
“It’s the same world. The faraway folks and their lands. The bushel and Orchard Grove. It’s the exact same one. I don’t think them folks are so far away neither. We’re practically kin. None of us fall far from the tree. There’s beauty in that, I think. We’re all in it together.”
I notice Mama’s whole body relax like whatever she’s holding in was now all out in the air at the mercy of the wind. The air between us even feels crisper than before. Her grip softens. I look up at her face and I think I see a faint smile.
“I think I hear crying,” she says. (I hear nothing.) “I’ll be right back. Gonna go pick some ripe ‘uns ‘fore they fall and get hurt. They shouldn’t feel hurt. Not that early. I picked you ‘fore you fell and I feel good about that and I hope you do, too. I’m sorry I did it, though. I think you’re sick with what I’m sick with, baby, and that won’t do you any favors as the faraway world draws near.”
My eyes well up as I struggle not to cry. “Don’t say that, Mama.”
She becomes silent for a time and then lets go of my hand, gently stroking it with her thumb as she releases it from her grip.
“I definitely hear crying,” she said. “I’m gonna go check it out.”
“I can come with you, Mama,” I pleaded. Tears stream down my cheeks. There’s a sense of something coming to an end, but I’m not sure what.
“That’s alright, baby.” She turns to me, stoops down, and kisses my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”
Mama then struts off into the darkness of Forebearwood. Her hair and dress blow in the wind. The dark makes her look small somehow. Her path is straight and true, though. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing. Strength and weakness were two sides of the same coin for my mama. She was strong in her weakest moments and weak in her strongest. This is Granny Smith talking in my head now, not me. For me, Mama was the strongest person I know, especially now that I know she’s gone through what I’ve gone through for as long as she has. Dread folds over me like a blanket and it quiets the roar of the distant fires that usually keep me awake, so I sleep that night.
The next day is the Equinox Festival. I awake to Fuji hocking his candy and hand-crafted toys. The other kids and I run out to greet him. He gives us all honey candy, but he runs out quickly because the worker bees in one of his hives up and disappeared last winter. Fuji says the bees are having more trouble foraging and that’s taken its toll. As he talks, I think of Busy’s tiny faraway cousins and pesticidal fumes fill my breath so I leave before he even gives me a toy. I think he shouts something after me but I can’t hear him over the hiss of chemical sprayers.
I sit in the shade behind a house. As my lungs struggle to find the clean air of the village only to find smog, which is at least more familiar than the poison, I hear Paula Red calling for help. Later, from what I gather from the adults’ chatter, I learn that Paula Red went picking this morning and heard a babe crying. She found the babe swaddled in Mama’s rust-red headscarf. When she didn’t find my mama near the babe or back at the village, she took Braeburn and Shizuka to the far side of the forest to look for her. Mama was found sprawled at the bottom of the ravine on the far edge of Forebearwood as Old Man Gravity must’ve dragged her there. Paula Red ran back while Shizuka and Braeburn stayed behind to go down and get her body.
All my thoughts stop and the world goes quiet as my senses go dark. Even the smell of burning dinosaur slurry leaves my nostrils. Orchard Grove is getting so small nowadays that when one in the bushel dies, it feels like the whole bushel is dying with it. With Mama dead, all of us might as well be, too.
The bushel chief, Rome, holds a service later that afternoon. Everyone in the village is there. Even Doc, who was called back to check if Mama was really gone. They tell me and the other kids it was an accident. I believe them because it was so dark and windy. No reason to believe otherwise, really. Too much to think on as is.
“The bushel is getting so small nowadays. When one of us dies, it feels like all of us died with them.” Damn, I thought I came up with that. It’s been a while since the last funeral. “We all knew Ambrosia. We all loved her for all her quirks. We’ll all miss her dearly. Doc and I will make sure her seeds are planted in Forebearwood….”
As he keeps on, I ask myself if Mama would want her seeds planted. I’m not sure I’d want mine to be. What if my littles think these thoughts? I don’t want them thinking of the droning flies who would raze the forest and even the whole village if it meant more rot for their needless feasting. I’m lost in my head when I notice Rome is staring at me. In fact, the whole bushel is.
“Huh?” I ask.
“That’s alright, Opal, I know you’re feeling a lot right now,” says Rome sheepishly, like he rudely woke me up from a nap. “I just asked if you’d like to say something on your mama, is all.”
“Ok,” I say, but I have no idea what to say because… what is there to say?
 I walk in front of the others anyway. I try to make myself as small as possible. As small as one of my toy boats. But when I get to the front and look at all the others, my mouth starts going before my brain has time to check the words for blemishes:
“Not much to say on Mama. I loved her more than anything and I don’t know if I accept she’s gone… but she would want y’all to hear what I have to say. Mama and I got something. Dunno if it was given to us as a gift or put on us like a curse, but we see things you can’t. Smell things you can’t. Hear things you can’t. Know things you can’t. Mama didn’t know how to get y’all up to speed - she may have given up before she even picked me from a branch - but she knew how to get to me. And I think she knew I could get y’all to listen. 
“Things are happening far away, but not far enough. It may already be here, given the heat. We don’t have any control over what’s going on, but we got each other. Our bushel’s smaller than ever before and that means we gotta work twice as hard to care for each other and the ancestors and the little ‘uns. I don’t know how. I’ve thought so much on the future that I never thought on what’s here now. We’re here now. We gotta be adaptable. We gotta give folks even more grace than we gave my mama. Because I think my mama and I are only the first. The littles we pick will just get softer and more bruised over the years. But that don’t mean they’re getting rotten. I’ve seen rotten. It just means we gotta be gentle. Real gentle. I don’t know what I’m saying now. I’m scared and I hope you see that my fear is real because it is. And what I fear gets more real every day as the seasons get more screwy and the bees disappear. I hope you see that….”
I trail off as my mouth runs out of things to say. There’s a silence– a great wall of it between me and the bushel. I look out into the crowd. I can’t get a read on most folks as they look at me like I’m an orange. I imagine them taking this in for just the funeral, but then going right back to ignoring me like before. The mushier folks like Jonagold, Rome, and Granny Smith, however, look me over, trying to polish me in their minds until they can see my shine. The young ‘uns, too, are giving me a second bite as they absorb my words. I helped Ginger Gold give them lessons at the schoolhouse, so maybe they see this as another lesson. Maybe some of them even know more than I think they know. I was wrong about Mama, after all. 
Little Cameo, whose little red face stood out more than the rest, raises her hand high, standing on her tippy toes. She must’ve been doing it for a while.
“Yes, Cammy?” I say.
“Y’all smell smoke?” she asks. 
I take a deep breath through my nose, mostly to stifle oncoming tears. I smell nothing.
“I do,” says Granny Smith, to my surprise. A few others nod as well.
We all turn our heads and look up, down, and all around. None of us see anything, but all I can think of is what we would even do if there was.
 
 
","July 29, 2023 02:03",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,npwfou,Directly on the Selvage ,Seauphi Heather,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/npwfou/,/short-story/npwfou/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Urban Fantasy', 'Romance']",6 likes,"
V. For all intents & purposes, we will start in the middle.Albeit strange to live alone,  it does have it’s promises.A square in the hole, where food & trash may go. I usually let it all go, where the socks disappear into the terra firma,beyond the dryer.My socks are always shell-pink. I save them closely, until I can’t anymore. There’s a far better place for them, where ransacks of things that aren’t lonely, until you leave them alone, go.like I said before, there are dividends, to being alone.I don’t know how many times I secured or procured these perfect, red, not crimson, but pearl dotted socks. The next time I would acquire them, would hang in the in between sighs, between turns in the heat;before the dryer would,slink the jewels, straight off the cuff,or the heal,like time would erase their identity,in a heated argument,without mentioning why the fight began,in the first place.Before this,They were all there.In perfect pairs.I never asked where she got them,Because truthfully,I didn’t really care.IV.My Aunt developed this perfect timing for these perfect socks to appear in my life. They would show up, unaltered, without any suggestion of leaving, in a bright red box,with tinsel on top.Like it was Christmas, but it wasn’t. I said so many times how much I loved them, which seemed to embroider them with words on the spot, and a bright red box, would show up,without a lock.without a knock.the spotted, pearl/diamond like socks would show up for me, again & again.Without warning.I have started running out of room, which is why, the room beyond the dryer must beEXPANDINGall the time.Like a renovated duplexterra cottaOr townhouse,Or goldenrod, light leaked flowers,in bloom.IV.I’ve been to that place beyond the dryer you know. The constitution of material is miraculous,jadeamaranthcoralcerise;nonchalantly suggesting their piles, widths, arches, seams & sides, stretches, stitcheslike directly on the selvage,like you are supposed to, salvaging piles & piles of missing socks, that weren’t missing at all.They were perfect.And exactly as they should be.until they were gone.IIV.When you enter into the necromancy of charming piles, beyond the dryer, in the further, you must know your place. This is a perfect place, that requires nothing short of a miracle on your part.A miracle to be kind. To sit upon these locks,like the princess & the pea,and sew your way into a triumphant finish,Where you have accurately put the socks back together. The ones whom have lost their square heals, pearls & diamonds.I know it is dark, but there is a moon inside the further. A wonderful moon, made of crimson georgette, and it hangs like a sweet melting orbover the clout.When you sit on this moon, please see the instructions for aligning said socks. One on top of the other.I. Engage them, find what finesses their inseams.II. Acquire them a mate, that is the perfect opposite, but the same, nonetheless.III. Check for ridges in the stitches.IV. Ask them what their purpose for being found is.V. A song of sweet nothings will do.VI. Red or white, night light, or shade. Ask them that.Before you curl them into a ball, look at what you have done, to create such a thing.A beautiful comfort within the silence of the darkness of the further.A perfect pair brought back from the perfect place. Beyond the dryer.it will seam like a small feat at first,but question yourself not,as merino wool, that has been sewn, sang to, engaged, married to its half,couldn’t possibly have come from anywhere but the further. You have done well, and everything you could,until you stopthe dryer.VIII.Quickly begin again, as clouds will only form outside your window, but never, in the further. It only hangs the moon, so luminescence, and shimmer,can shine brightly over the hillsof socks waiting to be laid, but already in their perfect, position.She’ll pink.VII. I know what you’re thinking.What if some of these socks, want to be alone?I thought there were perks, to living alone.You promised.I did promise. Here it is:VIII.There is another room behind another door in another area within the otherness of the place beyond the dryer.This is where the unmarried socks lie.Something seams to happen, to the mid calf & the crewThe mute That don’t speak &That barely cover the toes;That it may be certain why the choice is to live in the room where the singularity dwell.To roll them is to barely see them,And they always turn in the heat of the dryer,After the bleach That was accidentalHas cast them to be the same color as The pearls that once hung from The ankles of the Socks that have gotten married again, already.They were all pink, remember?Well they WERE, all pink.But change happens.An especially pleasing Plangi and tritik,A batik jumputan For the cotton mutes,That were always a bit too unique To really,Stay the sameAs the wayThey came.But in the night of the further, when the rayon Flageolet moonHangs brightly & insights the cotton to dance & blanch the plangi through their insteps with pearls spurting out because it’s so hot And the heat turns in on itselfUntil you see nothing but a vast wastelandOf newly dismembered knee highs Remember that nothing short of a miracle was needed,On your part In order to get everything backIn orderWith the stacks lying, one on top of the other,Unless they have moved into the furtherFurther, beyond the hot hot heatUnderneath the silence,Of a nacreous moon.A full blown,volcanic,mustard & cornflower,Solar, eclipse.
","July 25, 2023 01:04","[[{'Michael Pollock': 'Excellent very dream like quality and a nice mysticism.', 'time': '04:57 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Seauphi Heather': 'Thank you so much Michael! That was exactly the point, hoping people don’t try too hard to “really read it,” if you get what I mean. 🪞✨ all blessings to you & your writing & reading escapades! 🤍🌬️', 'time': '08:19 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Seauphi Heather': 'Thank you so much Michael! That was exactly the point, hoping people don’t try too hard to “really read it,” if you get what I mean. 🪞✨ all blessings to you & your writing & reading escapades! 🤍🌬️', 'time': '08:19 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,8xqdke,Red River,Lyndz Yahn,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8xqdke/,/short-story/8xqdke/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Mystery']",6 likes,"
Rita woke up to literal rainbows and unicorns every day of her life. The sun shone and it only rained when it needed to. The world was prosperous. There was no war and the once mythical and fairytale creatures peacefully coexisted with the everyday humans. Half-breeds were no longer looked down upon and it was common for species to fall in love with each other. With the help of some of the races that were previously in hiding, the world was rid of trash and pollution and the once crowded world was thinned out with the brief war that occurred before there was peace. The population was now 3 billion and was lightly controlled by the reigning councils which were elected. 
Rita was the daughter of one of those councilmen and her father was training her to be an enforcer of the rules that all races were held to. The problem was, she had never left Council City. So most considered her naive and sheltered and tended to look down on her. It was true, too. She saw the world in black and white and never questioned things. 
As usual, Rita floated out of her giant mushroom house, passing the unicorn shifter's house and the Goblin councilmen's house with her fairy dust fluttering to the ground and sprouting flowers.
She felt ready, and, in preparation for the test for the enforcer trainees, she had trained with her father the entire week after his shifts in City Hall. Her father said she had improved and would do well and she believed in his belief in her. It was not pride or arrogance that made her believe, it was her knowing that her father had never lied to her, never let her down, so she simply trusted him.
The test was in three parts. The written which was both essay and multiple choice, opinion and fact were included in the answers. 
The oral test in which she would have to give a presentation, her subject being the classic rivalry between wolf shifters and blood drinkers. She had compared them and with some history research had discovered that the shifters were created to be guardians of those weaker than them. The blood drinkers, however, were created to be the Cullers of Evil. In other words, they killed whereas the shifters maimed and made sure they never did it again and being guardians disagreed with the killing. She argued that with the world now being peaceful, the fight between the two races was pointless seeing as blood drinkers now did not have to kill to get sustenance. Then the physical test included an obstacle course that would push the trainees to their limits.
Finally, if they passed all three tests at above an A rating they would be assigned to a district as shadow training.
Rita was hoping for River District. It had a beautiful river running through it and a waterfall at both ends of the city.
It held all the so-called city slickers that had street credit. She wanted to learn what she did not already know by going to the high-end Cloud District that her father wanted her to go to.
The Training Building was a tall eight-story building that was white, strict, and concrete. It looked like nothing would make it fall. 
That was what she thought until, when she was probably fifty feet away, it blew up. Literally, it blew up from the inside out into a million little pieces. Shrapnel from the building reached her and she was blown off her feet from the force.
Rita stood up from the ground and started running towards the burning remains of the building without even thinking. Her father had been in the building, he had to be there for the tests as one of the councilmen to watch over the trainees. She could not lose him though. He was her last family, all his family, and her mother and her family were all dead. Her dad said that it was an accident at a family reunion. It had wiped them all out except her and her dad because they had been running late because of an outfit wreck from her playing in the mud right before they left. Rita had never asked any questions about it. Whenever she had thought about it she would think about her father’s haunted face when they arrived at the burning field where their family had gathered.
Now, as she started rummaging through the crumbled concrete that burned her hands, she regretted not asking. She regretted not saying goodbye early morning to the last one in her life, to tell him that she loved him, tell him that she would see him soon. 
As she frantically dug she noticed there were sounds around her that were very faded. Then she felt hands on her shoulders. Surprised she turned around, hitting the person that was trying to pull her away from finding her father. It was the goblin councilman's son Korvak. They had been childhood friends until she had completely immersed herself in her studies. Looking at his face she saw tears in his eyes. His father had been in the building as well. Seeing her friend crying when it was instilled in him as a goblin not to show tears or weakness she realized she was not the only that suffered today. Turning around on her knees she threw her arms around her old friend's neck and cried with him. She cried not only for her father but for all the others who had been lost.
Standing up, dragging Korvak up with her, she looked around and let the world fade back into focus and saw the medical vehicles and personnel running towards her and some were already rummaging themselves. One approached her and wrapped a blanket around her and she felt instant relaxation realizing it was a magic shock blanket. She wrapped it tighter around her. Touching her face she noticed that she was crying and bleeding as well. Rita was guided towards the van, she allowed the cleric healer to look her over and heal her. All the while, she plotted, she plotted to spill a red river of blood of those who had ruined her fairytale ending
","July 26, 2023 06:15","[[{'L J': 'Hi, I was asked to review this for the competition. It was very well written. I suspect(hope) there will be a part 2.  I like to use dialogue as much as possible because it makes the characters real. We can feel sympathy, sadness, anger for them and with them when we hear them speak. I Think this story would be very powerful with dialogue (both past and present)\n\nOne small comment: try not to use the same word in a sentence more than once: ""dad because they had been running late because of an outfit wreck.""\nIt doesn\'t read smoothly.  I have ...', 'time': '22:25 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,jmomfm,Home Sweet Home,Vincent Stankiewicz,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jmomfm/,/short-story/jmomfm/,Dramatic,0,"['Lesbian', 'Happy', 'Drama']",6 likes,"
Staring at my bedroom door. Shut. The light pink paint looking back. I don’t even remember closing it. It’s never closed because Bubba likes to go in, jump up and sleep on the bed when nobody’s home. In fact, the last I remember it was ajar like always and I was in the hall standing on the opposite side.
My heartbeat is slowly becoming steady, my cheeks feel sticky and wet from my eyes. The soft cotton of the covers underneath me is bringing me some sort of comfort akin to calmly falling back to sleep after that initial panic of waking up in the middle of the night after you’ve experience one of your worst fears, only to realize after your initial panic, in a discombobulated state, that it was all just a dream. 
One big horrific dream. 
 
I never knew there could be bad dreams until today, and if it wasn’t for my brother Chaz giving me this metaphor, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what I’m going through right now.
Scrunching my toes against the now stained white carpet under my feet, damaging my socks even more, I glance to my left seeing the heart shaped clock telling me it’s been an hour since I arrived home. Given the circumstance the thought that its lunch time feels weird to me. Even as my stomach grumbles. My watery eyes trace further left to the pink trimmed window where Chaz, in a checkered black and pink button-up with black pants down to white shoes, leans against the windowsill, arms crossed, meeting my gaze.
 
“So, how are you doing Kendall?” he says with a slight smirk.
Looking back at the bedroom door I pick at one of my painted nails of my coated hands. I don’t even know how to ponder an answer to what he says or if my face even let him know that I acknowledged he was speaking to me. But nevertheless, his question becomes a loud echo in my head, like a constant pounding of a drum. The words started as soft beat I faintly heard registering in the back of my brain once my ears received them and quickly, like a freight train full steam ahead, the louder the words charged, banging repeatedly to the forefront of my mind, repeating without a trace of an ending in sight, leaving me unable to avoid it.
 
How am I doing?
 
Earlier, as I open my eyes, I am greeted by sunshine and chirping of birds outside the window welcoming me to a brand-new day. But what really puts a smile on my face laying closely behind me, under the silk white and neon pink covers every morning is the embrace in the arms of Maxine, the love of my life since, honestly, I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been together, but you know the saying: time doesn’t matter when it’s something or someone you love.
After the morning routine of giving her a kiss that conveys what words can’t, a quick tinkle and fixing the bed hair, I go to the kitchen, whip up various flavors of pancakes and brewed coffee just how Maxine likes it while she showers and when she eventually makes her arrival, wet messy short hair and all. To say we were thoroughly satisfied when the plates were licked clean would be an understatement. 
I believe the aftermath went a little bit like:
“Oh my god, I don’t know how you make food taste better each day. I’d kiss you but I don’t want to move.” Maxine says leaning back in her seat rubbing her belly.
“A magician never reveals her secrets.” I reply motioning my fingers across my lips sealing them shut before going over and kissing her myself.
 
With the plates, forks and knives tucked away in the dishwasher I shower myself, because who doesn’t like to feel refreshed every morning before going to meet the world, especially given the plans I had today: I’m going to my ninth session of unicorn flying! Yes, unicorn flying! Like a unicorn but, with wings and I saddle it and shortly after I’m in the sky!
 
I open the closet full of hanging vibrant and flamboyant colors and soft fabrics and shoes on small rectangle shelves embedded into the wall. I pick out a blush shirt and denim jeans and black Chukka boots, brush my teeth, throw on some perfume and go to find Maxine in the living room, sitting on the leather recliner in front of the tv, drinking another cup of coffee looking at her phone.
 
“Hey! Wanna braid my hair for me?” I ask. 
“Always.” Maxine replies setting her coffee down and scoots to the edge of the chair as I sit cross-legged in front of her. Her fingers gently rake through my hair and begins twisting and knotting. 
“So, love, how’s the flying going? I mean, I know you tell me everything, but what are you going to be doing this time?” she asks.
“Honestly, now that you mention it, I don’t know. You know last time I got to ride one by myself so, maybe I hope I get to do that again. Alejandro says I’m making good progress.”
 
Alejandro is a horse trainer of all kinds. But he loves horses first and foremost. He sees them as one of the greatest creations to exist. He is also what my friends, and even Maxine at times has referred to as ‘A real manly man” or “A hunk of meat.” 
 
One time when Maxine picked me up after one of my earlier sessions as we drove off and he faded into the distance, she looked at me, looked back to the road and put two fingers to the throat taking a deep breath.
“What’re you doing, babe?” I watched in confusion.
“Making sure I’m still gay.” was her answer. I lost it. I literally laughed out loud. I was howling.
I hope I get another alone ride this time. I mean, I am making progress according to Alejandro.
 
“All done, love” Maxine finishes. I get to my feet check the mirror on the wall giving myself a once over before turning,
“How do I look?”
“If you weren’t going out, I’d take you right back to our bedroom. In fact, I might do it anyway.”
I couldn’t hide the smile from escaping across my face, not that I ever tried or would ever try. It’s the words she says and how she speaks to me that warms me inside, like a fire I’d never want to go out even on a hot day.
 
Seeing my reaction, her own smirk spreads and I see that familiar look in her eyes. It’s the same I feel myself giving back to her even in the reflection. The passion conveyed through simple sight reading into each other’s mind, heart and soul. I turn and skip over to meet her for another kiss before she pulls me down sitting across her lap. I could stay like this forever. This is my happy place. My home.
I don’t know how much time passed before she pulls back. Her hands on my face, her stare back at mine and her grin returns.
‘You need to go. You’re going to miss your session if you don’t head out.” She utters.
“Wait, what time is it?” I ask, looking at the clock, I had thirty minutes to get to Alejandro’s farm and it’s at least that amount of time to get there so I’m going to be cutting close.
I jump up, give Maxine a peck, grab my purse and out the front door I go uttering to her: “Love you.” And as the front door pulls shut behind me, I hear the words: “Love you. Have fun flying.”
 
 I rush to my car, only to be greeted with a friendly wave by the neighbors; Karen and Brad Jefferson, who are tending to their front lawn. Brad wearing a blue shirt, perspiration leaking through, and shorts that have seen better days, sprinkled in paint stains, carrying a bag of mulch heading to the backyard and Karen’s blonde hair tied into a ponytail under a hat, face dirty and shovel in her gloved hands as sweat droplets running down her arms.
“Howdy, neighbor!” I greet.
“Look at you! I love it. I love all of this.” She motions with her hand at my appearance.
“Thank you! The garden is looking great. How much more are you doing today?”
“Oh, we’re about to wrap it up. Brad is carrying mulch to the back shed and I’m going to fill up this last hole and we’re calling it quits for the day. Where are you heading?” she asks.
“On my way to horse flying.” I reply with a bright smile.
“Oh, well that’s exciting. Maybe one day we can go together sometime. But you go and have fun. I got to check on him, to see what’s taking him so long, because I desperately need a shower. Have fun Kendall.” She says, waving before heading in the direction of where Brad vanished.
I get behind the driver’s seat, start the engine, reverse and pull away.
 
When I arrived at Alejandro’s farm, I was greeted by one of his fellow instructors, a bulky man named Brock who told me Alejandro was in the stable. I journeyed my way around the farm. I noticed there was a lack of people right away, but I didn’t think anything of it. Maybe everyone is just busy or has other plans. Maybe I’m not the only one taking flying lessons today. 
 
When I arrived in the large stable to find other instructors tending to various horses. Alejandro had quite a variety: Pegasus, Hippogriffs, Hippocampus, Sleipnir, Unicorns and Winged-Unicorns, and even regular horses. 
I found him feeding a stallion in the back. Hair slicked back, tan skin glistening in a ray of sun, tight purple shirt grips his chiseled muscles and white denim pants tucked into cowboy boots. He looks like he should be on the cover of romance novels or a poster for a movie, a commercial for a new cologne. Maybe all the above. 
When I approached him, he had this look on his face I haven’t quite seen before. Pale and wide eyed like he narrowly escaped the clutches of a monster pulling him to the depths of an abyss. I voiced my concern. He then proceeded to tell me my session would have to be rescheduled for a couple days. Rescheduled? When I asked for the reason, he explained that on an earlier session one of the instructors ran into a black cloud and almost fell off. When he heard the news, he decided to see for himself. When he checks, at first, he saw nothing and as he was flying through a large cloud it almost immediately turned dark, causing him to feel grim, lightheaded and almost fell himself. 
In his words: “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
I told him I was glad he was okay. He did seem a little shaken up. So, I reassured him it was okay to reschedule. I’m just glad everyone was safe. I gave him a hug and took my leave back to my car and pulled out of the parking lot trekking back home. Hey, now I get to spend the day with Maxine. So, maybe we can do something fun before lunch.
 
 I make a right turn at the stop sign at our corner and look ahead. I see the unmistakable neon blue with pink racing stripes in the driveway. Maxine’s still here. Thank God she didn’t run errands today. 
I pull beside her sports car and head up the porch steps opening the door and shutting it behind me. 
I take my shoes off, leaving them by the door. I call out. No response. I venture forward into the living room to the vacant recliner and couch. Sunny and clear skies display on the weather forecast. I call out again. Still, nothing but my own voice. 
I stride ahead pass the kitchen as the dishwasher cleans. Pass the dining room and glace into the backyard. No sign of life anywhere, not even Bubba. 
Backtracking to the living room and ascend the stairs only when I reach halfway do I head a faint noise, a voice, or maybe it’s just my ears. Given recent events it wouldn’t surprise me. 
 
Proceeding upwards, reaching the hallway. An imposing sense of vacancy hangs in the air. I’ve never felt such an awareness of isolation before. Its as if I’m the only living thing in the world. I see the bedroom door ajar, more than usually. Maybe Maxine’s is showering again or sleeping. I stride to the door and glance inside. Clothes scatter below leading to the bed where Maxine lays under the covers sound asleep. Her arms wrapped around a bare torso attached to blonde wavy hair pushed aside behind an ear revealing the closed eyelids and sleeping face of Karen Jefferson.
 
Time stood still. 
The blood feels like it completely drained from my body. I feel the onslaught of oncoming trembles and shakes. 
Sweat forms down my body. 
A cold chill engulfs me. 
I feel a tightening pain in my chest sweeping down to my stomach. My hands clammy. 
Nausea fills my stomach. A dry-heave surfacing accompanied by vomit closely behind. 
My throat tightens and air evades me as I claw for a single breath. 
 
I don’t remember moving, but I stare looking down the stairs, gripping the banister and wall. My brain seemingly malfunctioned. No thought to be heard. Just vacant space. I hear nothing except the watery and soapy sound of the dishwasher below. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth fighting the anger and dread beginning to take hold before I feel myself slip away into the darkness.
 
And alas, here we are. Again. Sitting at the edge of the bed. 
Welcome back.
 
As I ponder the day’s events one final time. I glance back over to the window. My view no longer obstructed from the world outside. Chaz, now absent, like he was never here, as he likes to do during my most crucial times. 
I can sense in my bones the motionless dead weight that lays behind me. 
A wet tickle causes me to look down at my leg. The same red liquid on my hands and clothes leads a trail down the pink sheet and comforter underneath me and drips down to the floor next to my foot damping into a dot. 
I watch the red below slowly spread into the carpet beginning to form a small puddle. 
Looking back out the window. A bird lands on the roof of the Jefferson’s house and quickly flies away. Again, I ponder the question Chaz spoke to me.
 
How am I doing?
 
I think I have an answer. The only optimistic answer that can be found.
Well, at least it’s a beautiful day.
","July 26, 2023 19:44",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,yz7v8l,Lands Above,Nicole Nunez,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yz7v8l/,/short-story/yz7v8l/,Dramatic,0,"['Speculative', 'Contemporary', 'Fantasy']",5 likes,"
	It was time for my life to take flight, going to a faraway place that only fantasy knows. They say it is a place of magic. My heart beats faster and my body shakes back and forth against the quick winds. It is like a roller coaster, only with no harness and a much higher drop if I were to fall. As my body is whipped from side to side, I try to swallow, but my throat is closed and the pressure of the speed has risen to my ears. Suddenly, everything stops. I look beneath my feet and see intertwining shades of white, blue, and green. My stomach settles, as does my journey, as I float amongst the vast area around me. I see glistening lakes and rivers wrapped around patches of fuzzy green. The sun shines bright, but I can see clearly- more clearly than ever before. The shining light makes the grand scenery shimmer and sparkle and I feel safe, yet I have never been here before.  
	Then comes the wind. Giant gusts, twists and turns, and I do a dance in the sky. My body is twisting and turning, as if I am inside a tornado. I close my eyes, afraid. My chest is tight and my heart is beating at an untraceable speed. I feel that my heart might explode from the shell of my body. The breath is suddenly taken from my mouth and everything falls silent. 
	 I open my eyes and see nothing but white. The world around me was filled with swirls of cotton and fluffy air. It looked as if I was inside a cloud, comfortable yet trapped. Where am I? Did I die and was this heaven? There was no one around. “Hello?” I yell. 
	I take a step and slip, the ground slides beneath my feet as I sit upon the swirls. I look beneath me to see some of the swirls have become a pastel pink, like the color of a beautifully decorated baby shower. I place my hand beside me and touch a swirl- it also becomes pink. I start tapping the space around me, and suddenly my world changes from white to pink. I stand and begin to walk, to where? No idea, but I didn’t seem to care. At this point, I was more fascinated than afraid. With each step, I look behind me and I see that I leave a trail of pink footprints. I start running and turning, seeing a trail of pink leaving my body. I was sprinting now. The smile on my face was wide and my heart was racing. In the distance, I see a dark blue figure. I stop to catch my breath and try to make out what it is. It looks like a silhouette of a person. “Hello!” I yell. No answer.  
	“Hey!” I start running again, this time to a destination. I pick up my pace to reach the blue image, but it doesn’t seem to get any closer. As I run, I slip and fall on my bottom. I can see the figure more clearly now, I see the features of a person. I try to stand, but I slip again. This time I roll, as if I fell down a steep hill on an icy day. I try to slow down, but I roll faster and faster, seeing nothing but white and pink surrounding me. I feel as if I am rolling through clouds and they are suffocating. I feel my throat begin to close and I attempt to scream for someone, something, anything to answer. But no sound leaves my mouth as the clouds enter my lungs and I close my eyes. 
	When I open them, I see my clothes are wet. Around me, I see nothing but blue. I look down and see that I am sitting in a shallow pool, but this pool goes on for what looks like forever. Am in the ocean? I touch the water around me, it is warm. I’m soaked, but somehow comfortable. I can’t be in the ocean. The water is only a foot deep, so I stand. As I begin to walk, my feet are tickled by the sand between my toes. The water is navy, with shimmering lights. It looks like a lake in the evening with the moon’s reflections present on its surface, but the sun is out and it is definitely daytime. “Hello?” I yell. No answer. I look up and see a beautiful starry sky. The sun and other stars are all out, but the sky is a light blue, as if it is 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Where am I? 
	I continue walking and feel the sand beneath my feet become thick. Walking is suddenly exhausting as I struggle lifting each foot. My left foot sticks and I am immobile. I pull on my leg with all of my might, but no budge. I wasn’t sinking, and this wasn’t quick sand. The sand begins rising all the way to my knee and the water begins to drain, as if I was in a giant bathtub.  The sand continues to rise to my waist, as I continue struggling to move. The sand surrounds me as it reaches my throat. My chest tightens and I scream, but no sound escapes. The sand reaches my nose and I can’t breathe. I can still see around me, somehow I am not dead. The water is entirely gone from my view, and I only see sand, the bright sun, and the stars. I look in the distance and I see the blue figure again, it comes towards me. I try to focus on it, as it comes closer and closer. But then, sand covers my eyes and all I see is black. 
	My eyes begin to open, as I see a second pair of eyes staring directly at me, very close. I scream and pull away, as my body falls a few feet below. My back crashes into the hard yet fuzzy green ground. The pain is true; my lower back feels broken and my shoulders throb. I lay there still. Maybe I’m not dead. Looking up, I see green. Trees? I manage to stand, but realize there is no place to walk-the only way is up. I am surrounded by trees with protruding branches coming from every angle. I try to step over a branch next to me, but I am hit by a branch and flung backwards. I hit the fuzzy, yet painful ground again. I try turning around and walking the other way. I am then smacked in the face by a different branch. My eye is throbbing from the pain. 
I decided to climb. I find myself out of breath very quickly, as I move my legs and arms in ways I haven’t before. I make it a few branches up and hear leaves rustling behind me. I turn around to look. Nothing. I turn back and I am met with eyes again. They are bright green and belong to creatures vaguely resembling a monkey. I stand very still, hoping the creature will move. The monkey howls like a wolf, and the trees are then filled with these creatures. I stay very still, holding onto the tree in front of me so hard my hands begin to sweat. The creatures all stare at me, silent. The monkey I have locked eyes with starts jumping, shaking the branches that are keeping me from falling. All the monkeys start howling, like they are cheering me on to fall. Then, the branch beneath my feet snaps. I fall down into the green abyss, hearing nothing but howling and I see a faint blue figure in the sky.  
	I wake up in a bright, white building. My back was still throbbing from my numerous falls from the trees. I am surrounded by identical blue leather seats, like the one I’m sitting in. There were probably over 50 seats in neat rows. This is the first place I recognize, but I don’t know how. The carpet was gray, with lots of stains and the lights were almost blinding. I start walking. There are signs everywhere. All the signs look like directions. Am I in an airport? I get closer to a sign on the wall labeled “Arrivals.” I was expecting to read cities like Chicago or Orlando, but instead I saw pictures. The first in the list said “just landed” with a picture of a green tree. Below it was a picture of a blue lake or puddle. These all seemed familiar. Below that picture was a pink cloud. On a second list, labeled “Departures”, there were pictures of fire, a purple flower, a black hammer, and a red chair.  I wondered what these all meant. The red chair seemed familiar also. 
	I kept walking towards a large sign above my head labeled “DEPARTURES.” Maybe this is how I would get home. I started running and then I saw someone walking towards me. I picked up speed. Another person! I stopped next to them, “Hello?” He is a tall man with a slim figure in a suit. One hand held a briefcase and the other a cell phone, and his eyes were locked to it. Either he couldn’t hear me or he was ignoring me, because he kept walking. “Excuse me!” I was yelling now. Still no response. I tapped his shoulder, but he just kept walking. I ran up and stood in front of him. He kept walking, and walked right through me. I whipped around to see him keep walking. What was happening? Then there was another person walking towards me now, looking down at their phone like the last. It’s a young woman in leggings, a sweatshirt, and earbuds. She was also entranced in her technology, but I still screamed, “Excuse me! Ma’am?” No response. She just walked right past me.
	Another person came walking towards me, and another, and another. All of their eyes were locked to their cell phones. Heads down, walking in a straight line, each at the same speed. They were acting like robots, not like people at all. There was a mother pushing a stroller, her eyes looked tired, but she stared tirelessly at her phone. There was a boy on a skateboard (I didn't think this was even allowed in airports), somehow keeping a straight line, looking at the phone in his hand. There was an old woman, she was hunched over with a cane in one hand, and her phone in the other. Yet, she was somehow still walking at the same speed as everyone. The people filled the entire hallway, walking and coming from both ways. I started feeling claustrophobic. else. I tried yelling again, “Hello? Does anyone know where this is?”
	A young girl, probably around the age of 7 came up to me. She was half my high with a dark blue dress. She was the only one that looked somewhat normal amid the cluster of everyone else. She looked up at me with big brown eyes and beckoned me to kneel down. I did as she said. She said “I have to tell you a secret.” She cupped her hands, and leaned into my ear. “Go to departures and choose a door.”
	“What door?” I asked. 
	But when I pulled away from her hands, the little girl was nowhere in sight. I turned, doing circles around myself. Where could she have possibly gone? I started running. Running through the lines and flow of what might be people.
	“Little girl! Help! Where are you?” My heart began to race again. I felt the blood rushing to my head and tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, but sit on the ground, as everyone kept walking by me. I pulled my knees to my chest and sob. I sat for what felt like hours, with my head buried in my knees, and my closed tightly. Eventually I look up to see everyone gone. Except what seemed to be the same little girl again in the distance, but all I saw was blue. 
	I stood up and headed towards her, wiping my eyes and shaking off  the anxiety my body went through. The little girl starts walking towards departures, I follow and begin to pick up speed. When I reach her, I see 4 doors, each with a symbol from the previous departure signs. The little girl stood there, staring at me. I looked back at her for guidance. “ I just want to go home,” I said to her. 
	She nods and points to the door with the red chair, without saying a word. The red chair looked oddly familiar and I had nothing to lose, so I walked towards it. “Thank you.” I said to the girl, and walked through the door. 
	It was a long gray hallway, very narrow. The floor seemed to be temporary or moveable, yet familiar. I have been here before. Then I realized I was walking towards the entrance to an airplane. As I keep walking, I see lines of strollers, wheelchairs, and luggage. It all seems to be somewhat normal, except there was no one else in sight. I looked behind to see if there was anyone there, no one. When I looked back forward, I was looking right into the eyes of the blue figure, and it was me.  
	I had locked eyes with a person that looked exactly like me, but blue. Almost like the bubblegum girl from Willy Wonka. She is smiling, an evil smile. “Welcome home,” she says. She steps closer and hugs me. My heart began to race and my breath quickened. I began to cry, I felt safer than ever before.  I close my eyes and sob into the chest of this other me.
	I begin to breathe normally. I hear a baby crying and a man snoring. My vision is blurred and I wonder where I am. Suddenly, my body slams into something beneath me, as if I fell from the sky. I rub my eyes and see a red leather seat. I look up to find an array of knobs. I hear a woman’s voice asking for people to keep their seatbelts fastened. I look out a small window next to me and I see pink clouds in the distance. I rub my eyes and look again to see a green monkey floating on a large navy lake. The blue figure was in the distance, waving. I was entranced and so I kept staring and I felt like I could stare out of the window forever.  
 
 
 
","July 21, 2023 17:45",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,zkje4y,The Blind Child,Dilshan Singh,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zkje4y/,/short-story/zkje4y/,Dramatic,0,"['Sad', 'Suspense', 'Kids']",5 likes,"
The Blind Child
 
 
A boy named Justin was born blind according to his mother. His mother loved him dearly and disregarded his disorder; she told him stories before bed, fed him with her own two hands, and gave him aplomb. One day Justin asked his mother “Why can’t I see the word you talk about before I sleep and why can’t I go outside to play with the others.” His mother tells him “Son you are special and the world abhors special people.” As she said that she said that she fondled Justin while hugging him and wiping his tears. She taught him how to read braille and homeschooled him while never letting him go outside due to her qualm of what others will think about him. He learned the periodic table when he was 11 and left his mother amazed. Sometimes though she would do a painful surgery on him which she said was for his betterment but he never knew what she did. Justin knew the layout of the house but he did notice that the door usually was locked and his loving mother hardly went outside. She told him that she worked in a stapler manufacturing facility and staple pins were all around the house. As Justin grew older he become more inquisitive about the outside world but he always remembered what his mother said. One day Justin peeked outside through a window and then in a trice, his mother pulled him away from the window. She elucidated to him the dangers of the outside world and said to him “Promise me, for what all I have done for you, never go outside I don’t want you to get hurt.” Justin spent all day playing with his toys but one day he heard his mother speaking on the phone which was rare. In a trice, she cut the phone and said to Justin “Son quickly pack your things because we need to go.” Justin replied, “Why, what happened mother?” She replied, “I can’t tell you that but keep your head down, remember our promise.” Both of them packed their things and got in their car meanwhile outside Justin could hear enigmatic police sirens. They both drove to a warehouse and his mother said to him “Son, I have always done the best for you but today you must cooperate, we need to sleep on the cold floor.” Both hurdled and hugged each other to sleep, while tears drove down poor Justin’s face. He slept thinking how his life was changing. The next morning Justin’s mother said to him “Don’t go outside the warehouse and stay here while mommy will look for a nice commodious place to stay.” Justin hid in the warehouse and grew bored, he started jumping and bouncing with zeal when something preternatural happened. He saw a beam of light somehow he could only see some light not all from the corner of his eye. He looked under himself and saw a stapler pin but his mother quickly come inside and said “I need to do the surgery again.” He replied, “Mother I could actually see for a second!” She replied, “It’s just an allusion and I am sorry to tell you that you are still suffering but Mommy will try her best.” His mother the next day took him to a different neighborhood to a different house. Justin frowned as he was flummoxed and worried. Seeing this, his mother bent on one knee and said to him “Feel what’s in my hand.” Justin felt his favorite toy and hugged his mother with a smile. One week after that day he still wondered to himself how he could see or what the sirens were. In the new household as he grew older he saw his mother becoming shrewder. She didn’t tell him bedtime stories or hand feed him, she was showing great apathy towards him. He thought it was a way to wean him off his baby ways in a way that would help him in maturing. She was constantly busy with phone calls and random emergencies. Justin grew tired when he was fifteen and self- contemplation consumed him. What if he was not blind or what if this was all a dream? The isolation was too much for him and so he touched his eyes whiling to peel back his skin in an act of desperation. When he did so he started to see a little bit and it was causing him anguish. He looked under himself and saw many stapler pins. One by one while his mother was gone, in front of the mirror he started peeling off the staplers. He could see again. At that moment a sense of self-realization hit that he was blinded but his eyelids were stapled to his skin. His mother used to install new ones which means his mother blinded him all his life. She fed him, gave him a roof, and gave him so much support but why would she do this to just ruin his life? That day when his mother came home and Justin went to open the door he heard uproarious sirens howling in the background. Outside some police officers had put his mother in fetters. He ran to his mother clinging to her knee desperately crying but the officers took her. The officers said to Justin “Don’t worry we will take you to your real mother, hop in the car.” Justin replied, “She is my real mother.” The officer said to Justin “You were kidnapped from the hospital when you were two by a mental Asylum patient, who tortured and blinded you so we wouldn’t know about your condition. I can’t imagine the situation you are in.” Before Justin could reply the police officer dragged him while he was shedding tears and thinking about how his whole life was a lie and as he sat in the back of the police car, he watched his mother be taken. The officer took Justin to the police station where he met his real mother who hugged him but he didn’t accept the hug as he couldn’t believe his eyes. He ran out of the police station on a stormy night on the highway. He ran trying to find answers. Lost and confused a truck came on the highway and ran the poor boy over in front of his mother which splattered all of it over her. His mother watched in tears as the murder of her son happened in front of her. How everything Justin knew crumbled from small signs which insinuated at his mother blinding him to finding the truth and killing himself.

“All that glitters is not gold.”

 
","July 28, 2023 18:08","[[{'Ken Cartisano': ""Very funny, Laura.\n\nDilshan.\n\nI once allowed a young fellow to pilot my boat. \n\nDespite motors and rudders, the fellow kept allowing the craft to veer much too close to the shoreline, raising the risk that we might run aground, while all the other boats traveling the same river kept a discrete, distinct distance from the shore.\n\nI pointed at the line of boats 30 meters away and said to the boy, 'Why do you suppose all the other boaters are over there, when you are over here? Is there something you know that none of those other boaters know?'..."", 'time': '03:22 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,d2mphu,Greater Dawn,Asa Conroy,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d2mphu/,/short-story/d2mphu/,Dramatic,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Urban Fantasy', 'Drama']",5 likes,"
           Many years ago, a young girl danced in a home of light and love. She twirled but in a strange way. She tried to focus her reflection. She could not look away. So enamored by her costume, and no one could blame her. The child wore a pink chest plate with intricately carved streams of light swimming throughout her midsection. Every stream meets in the center of her chest, where a glowing emblem rests. A tulle skirt that sparkled like all the great stars in the sky rested around her waists.With the gloves and boots to match, the child wore a truly effervescent uniform of mirth and masterful tailoring. The first time she tore herself away was to look at her mother, “Oh, I look beauuutiful, Mama!” The young girl, Lucy Lumen, squealed.           “You wear it well, my little star!” Her mother, Liora Lumen, clapped. A bright smile and kind eyes appreciated her daughter’s excitement. The tall, gorgeous woman kneeled, and her daughter’s dancing stopped. She trotted up to her mother, her curious expression partially concealed underneath a domino mask. Liora adjusted the cape that hung so delicately on her daughter’s soldiers, the shimmering, translucent fabric swayed without the assistance of a breeze. She ran her hands down Lucy’s arms, taking in an outfit quite like hers. “Are you ready?”           “I was born ready,” Lucy shouts, “C’mon, Mama! We’ve got a city to save!” She runs to the window, swinging it open with full force. She’s about to jump before her mother stops her.           “Before we go, remember Lucy, I’m not Mama wearing this,” Liora gestures to her costume, “I’m Daybreak!” She places her hands on her hips, striking a confident pose.           “And I’m Greater Dawn!”           At that very moment, the superhero-side-kick team that Rose City long needed was formed. Every day the city knew that Greater Dawn and Daybreak would only be a call away to save the day if they ever needed them. Or at least that’s what the billboard says.           Greater Dawn stood next to Daybreak, looking at that billboard weeks later. The two stood together in superhero poses and sparkling smiles, looking over their city from the rooftop of an office building.           “Get ready, Greater Dawn,” Daybreak commanded, her fists glowing a bright yellow. Greater Dawn followed suit. They waited, but only for a few seconds before robbers burst out the bakery door. In their arms were duffle bags full of sweet goodies. This was the fifth bakery they robbed this week, and now it was time to stop them. The two superheroines took flight.           “Stop right there, you custardly criminals!” Greater Dawn commanded, flying high above the goons alongside her mother.           “Not a chance!” One of the bakery thieves shouted back. He wound up a cupcake and threw it at Daybreak.           The superheroine spun out of the way with grace and ease. She corrected her position and launched a day bolt at the duffel bag, resulting in a sweet explosion that covered the criminals in cream.           Now blinded, the criminals could not avoid Greater Dawn’s lasso of light. She extended her hand, and a rope appeared from the glow of her hands. She spun it around her head, once, twice, and then thrice, she let go. The lasso fell around the three criminals, and the young girl pulled tight with seemingly little effort. Greater Dawn dangled the thieves above the ground, then pulled them up with a twisting flare. They spun up. Then down. Up once more. And then yo-yoed down one last time. The rope disappeared, and the thieves fell into a heap on the ground.           “That’ll teach ya to follow the recipe of justice!” Greater Dawn said with a smug grin. Their whines of defeat were suddenly drowned out by uproar. Only now did Greater Dawn realize a crowd of civilians had gathered around the crime scene. She floated gently to the ground with a blank expression.           Daybreak, on the other hand, took this in stride without hesitation. She smiled brightly, shaking their hands and signing autographs, “Civilians of Rose City, once again, your sweets are safe!” Daybreak threw her hands up in the air, eliciting another cheer.           “Daybreak! Daybreak! I’m your biggest fan!” Greater Dawn noticed a preteen girl in Daybreak cosplay, holding her Daybreak journal with the matching pen, shove her way to the front of the crowd. She bounced, unable to keep still around her favorite hero. Greater Dawn thought her smile was so broad that it could split her face in half.           “Well, thank you! I love your outfit.” Daybreak winked. The girl fainted almost immediately, fortunately caught by the fans behind her.           “Excuse me! Ex-CUSE ME!” A voice from the other side of Greater Dawn shouted. She looked over and saw a reporter standing in a somewhat dispersed crowd with crossed arms. When he noticed the young sidekick staring up at him, he adjusted his coat and tie, “Ah, wonderful. Greater Dawn, is it?” She nodded, “Perfect! What is it like saving the city at such a young age?”           “It’s…um…fun”           “Fun! How absolutely remarkable!” The reporter replied, his eyes bulging out of his head in shock. Like he’s never heard the word fun before. He opens his mouth to answer another question before a slight cough interrupts. Greater Dawn felt a tug at her sleeve, and a young boy held her arm.           “Um.Miss…um, Greater Dawn. I just wanted to say thank you. You really helped my family.” He sniffled. The boy’s eyes glistened with tears. He was smiling, but the tears caught Greater Dawn’s attention the most. A weird new feeling swirled around Greater Dawn’s heart, different from stopping the thieves.           “Greater Dawn. It’s time for us to go!” Daybreak announced. Greater Dawn nodded, offering the baker’s son a grin as a silent welcome. She flew away alongside her mother. Daybreak grinned at her daughter once they were alone, “It is fun, isn’t it?”           And that’s how things often were. Every time there was a cat stuck up a tree, Greater Dawn or Daybreak would fly up and bring it down. Any time someone’s car lost control, the superheroines would appear in a flash and carry the vehicle to safety. Whenever a family heirloom went missing, they would scour the city if that’s what it took to find it. Greater Dawn always felt that same warm sensation. Helping others always felt good, even when the situations were small.            But the situation grew. The presence of superheroes attracted supervillains. Lucy Lumen noticed the shift when The Artist, a villainous artist who wanted nothing more than to paint the town red, began interrupting her school days.           At their first battle, her gaze fell on yet another one of the city’s Daybreak and Greater Dawn billboards. There was no sparkle or promise of hope. Just splattered red paint.           “HAHAHA! C’mon, Greater Dawn,” He taunted with maniacal laughter, “Let me paint a smile on that face” The Artist flicked his giant paintbrush in her direction. Big globs of paint hurtled toward her, but Daybreak flew in front to block before she could even dodge.           “I can handle him. Get something to clean this mess up.” Daybreak quietly ordered. Greater Dawn nodded, and, in a flash, Greater Dawn disappeared from sight.           The young sidekick flew through the sky, leaving a light trail and the sounds of battle behind her, with one goal in sight. Just outside the city, there was a lake. Greater Dawn raised her hands, and light poured out into the form of a watering can. She guided her construct down to the water and filled it. Greater Dawn then flew back to Rose City and sprinkled water. As she passed, the paint dripped off every building, billboard, and window. The whole city was cleaned just as The Artist went into custody.           In the streets, as usual, people cheered. Many danced in the falling water. Greater Dawn lowered herself to stand next to her mother. She waved at the crowd, taking in all their praise and thanks, feeling that warmth again.           Daybreak stood, a strained smile that Greater Dawn could barely see from where she was standing, “There were other ways to handle that.” She reprimanded coldly.           “Huh?” Greater Dawn asked with raised eyebrows.           “We’ll handle this in training.” Daybreak flew away after that. The crowd did not seem to notice that Greater Dawn was left behind. They kept cheering that, once again, their town was saved. The child followed her mother, a strange chill entering her heart.           Then came Snow Storm, a woman who wanted nothing more than let the whole world feel her frozen heart. Lucy Lumen first met her during one of the most unbearable heatwaves in June. The school year had not yet finished, so she was there. She was preparing to graduate from elementary school when an icy beam struck the playground. It was covered in ice before anyone could even blink. The clouds rolled in, blocking the sun, causing a chill in the air to make the civilians forget about the sweat that slicked their skin. Instead of fear, everyone was…happy.           Except for Lucy. Her mother had already arrived as Daybreak then, and Greater Dawn was not supposed to be far behind. She spun on her heels in the direction of the door. She had just touched the door when her friends called, “Lucy? Where’re you going?” She turned around again to find her three friends watching her.           “Sorry, Mckinsely. I just realized I have to…do something.” Lucy scrambled for an excuse with a pathetic laugh. Mckinsely blinked, her face a confusing mix of disbelief and hurt.            “Really? You couldn’t even come up with a good excuse?” Her other friend, Alexis, rolled her eyes. She seemed the angriest.           “Yeah, you never want to do anything with us anymore.” The last friend, Johnny, frowned. Lucy knew he was not angry. He was sad. And somehow, that was worse.           “I’m sorry I’ve just been busy,” Lucy said, defensively raising her hands, “I really have to go.” They all spoke up against her leaving, but nothing they said could stop her. She just ran straight out the door. Once hidden, she became Greater Dawn.           She met Daybreak outside, “Time to bring in the heat?” Greater Dawn asked with a cheeky smile. Daybreak responded with a similar smile as the two began their rehearsed procedure for dealing with their icy foe. In a matter of minutes, the heat of the sun-powered superheroines melted Snow Storm’s plans.           Greater Dawn observed the crowd as she always did while Snow Storm was taken away. People were cheering as usual, but many others were still playing in the remaining snow. Alexis, Johnny, and McKinseley played without a care in the world. They weren’t even looking for lost Lucy Lumen.           “Miss. Lumen, I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but I’m very concerned for your daughter’s grades.” Lucy listened to the teacher’s well-rehearsed ‘apology’ as she sat next to her mother in a parent-teacher conference two years after that battle with Snow Storm. It’s been two weeks since they’ve last seen their frozen foe.           “Really, I should be apologizing. Lucy has some extracurriculars that have apparently been getting in the way of her studies,” Liora Lumen responded without hesitation, “I will help her manage her time better so we can avoid this issue in the future.” The lie came so effortlessly to Liora. She lied straight through her teeth with the most perfect and dazzling smile.           “Well…is there any way she could, perhaps, maybe..um, be persuaded to end those extracurriculars.” Despite being taken in, the teacher still trembled under the uncompromising gaze of Liora. He noticed that Lucy’s mother was already unhappy with that suggestion, “Well…it’s just. This slip is extremely concerning, and Lucy doesn’t appear to have any friends or free time to-” Liora held up her hand, and he stopped.           “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Lucy cannot abandon what she needs to do.” Liora lowered her voice, leaning forward close enough for the teacher to notice the fire in her eyes. He nodded nervously. Liora’s frown flipped into her typical smile. “I’m glad we have met today. I will address this issue immediately. Thank you.”           “I’m sorry, Mom.” She mumbled.           “Enough apologizing. You will study the moment we get home, but it better not get in the way of your training.” She spoke in a harsh whisper, walking away from her daughter.           Lucy Lumen got in the way of Greater Dawn. After being unable to raise her grades in a public setting, Liora took her out of school to be tutored at home, where she would have no distractions, no need for lies, or for friends. The only time she left her home was to save Rose City. Even after that, they never stayed for long. Lucy could remember the cheers from a distance. No one ever had the chance to thank her again.           This went on for years. Lucy Lumen longed for that joy of helping others, even if it was short-lived. The villains kept coming, and Greater Dawn kept fighting back. She does not even remember when she went from second-string to quarterback. All she remembers is feeling things breaking from the force of her power.           Daybreak and Liora’s pride grew with every battle. Greater Dawn knew that. She longed for that too. It was the only warmth she ever received from her mother nowadays. Aside from the occasional body block from a glob of paint or ice beam. Daybreak would say, “I always knew you had potential from the moment I first laid eyes on you on that horrible day.”           Aside from The Artist and Snow Storm, there were many other villains, but they have all washed away from Greater Dawn’s mind. Not that they weren’t memorable in their own ways. It’s just that there was no reason to remember them. Because they never held a candle to Thorn.           Thorn arrived when Greater Dawn was fifteen. It seemed so simple, thinking back to it all. A villain from god knows where who could create and manipulate thorns. Thorn caused standard property damage, ruining several buildings, streets, cars, et cetera.           “Lay down the spikes, Thorn. We’ve had enough of this.” Greater Dawn threatened, her hands glowing blindingly bright. Thorn did not even squint. She just smiled.           “Oh, not yet, we haven’t,” Thorn replied, the corners of her solid black eyes crinkling in malicious pleasure, “I’m just getting started.” She stamped her foot down, causing the earth to tremble beneath her. The rumbling continued, and out from the ground shot out a humongous thorn.           Greater Dawn and Daybreak were lucky enough to dodge, but Thorn was relentless. She just kept making more. Moving forward faster than any villain either hero had ever seen. They kept up their song and dance for quite some time. Greater Dawn began to laugh, shooting a day bolt in the direction of the villain, “C’mon, can’t you do better than some stupid twigs?” She taunted.           “I guess I have been going easy on you,” Thorn taunted back while Greater Dawn’s back was turned, “I could always..make things more interesting.” She grunted out that last goading phrase. Effort. A strangled cry forced Greater Dawn to whirl around.           It was Daybreak. She had Daybreak. Thorn had her across Daybreak’s body, pinning her close. She turned her hand into a claw of spiny thorns, threateningly holding it over the superheroine’s throat.           Daybreak struggled, but she couldn’t move.           “Please, Thorn, think about this.” Greater Dawn pleaded, depowering. She met the villainess at her level, hoping that she could see the emotion behind her pleading.           “You don’t know how long I have,” Thorn growled, ripping Daybreak’s throat, only allowing her a strangled, wet cry instead of any final words. She let go of the body. Daybreak was dead before she even hit the ground.           Greater Dawn didn’t scream or cry or call out her name. She couldn’t. A white-hot blinding rage burned through her body, lighting every cell on fire. A sound did come out of her mouth, a roar. People don’t roar when they mourn. They do it as a call for bloodshed.           Greater Dawn launched herself a Thorn, throwing aside her mother’s body as if it was nothing. She landed one hit, then the next, and countless others after that. To fast to give any sort of estimate. She could feel bones shattering beneath her fists, blood pouring over them.           “Help.” Thorn tried to call out, but her voice was silenced by Greater Dawn’s hand tightening around her throat. She raised herself in the air, dragging along Thorn’s body. They reached the clouds, and the air was too thin for Thorn to say anything. She just stared defenselessly into the seething glow of Greater Dawn.           Wordlessly, she turned up the heat. No more quips, just the sound of Thorn choking on the smell of her burning flesh. Evidently unsatisfied, Greater Dawn peeled one finger off Thorn’s neck at a time. Feeling herself slipping down, the villainess tried to grab onto her arm. She missed.           Thorn fell a couple hundred feet from the ground, she waited for impact, but it came from the wrong side. The first impact she felt was the collision of Greater Dawn’s fist against her chest. Shattering every rib in the process. Thorn could only take one more painful breath before slamming against the ground.           Greater Dawn lowered into the crater that was once the bakery. Thorn lay dead in the center, underneath her killer. The once cheerful street was reduced to rubble. It wasn’t long before Greater Dawn felt the presence of a crowd forming. Everyone she once knew and saved stared in horror at the carnage. There was no cheering. No praise. The only warm feeling was the blood rolling off her body.           There was no going back from this.  
","July 23, 2023 04:12",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,fe0dm0,Happy Day In Her Cove,H.e. Ross,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fe0dm0/,/short-story/fe0dm0/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Romance']",5 likes,"
I don’t know where to start. I guess the boat would should be the way to start the story, sir. See, my boat was my life and well, let me begin.
 
The day could have been better but with hopes for a breeze we set out under power. The water was grey, the sky was that kind of somber grey that sort of blended with the bay waters and it just didn’t look good for a sail, but I wanted to impress her, so off we went chugging along. Not even a swell, so the boat moved steadily without any yawing or anything like that. It was like we were driving a car, ya know. Flat. The only wind was generated by the engine pushing us forward.
 
Well, I headed for the island, Angel island, thinking if no wind we could at least go for a swim. On the lee side there is a cove, called Her Cove, for some unknown reason and it was protected by lots and lots of eucalyptus and fir, and fern. Perfect for romance and maybe perfect for no clothes. Unfortunately, there was another boat there already so I just anchored on the far side away from them. She was smiling at the setting and I was smiling at her.
 
Now what happened next was the thing. She said she didn’t have a swim suit but didn’t want to be naked with that other boat there. Binoculars were in the conversation. I gave her my undershirt that would cover her panties. She thought that was funny and took her shirt and bra off, to my surprise, right there in the cockpit. I told her what I thought of the beauty of her body. She smiled and I thought life was great. Then, she took her trousers and panties off. I must have been just standing there again surprised and in awe of her boldness and embarrassed at my timidness. She had to ask for my t-shirt, which I stripped off quickly and handed over. She slipped it on gave me a smile, climbed up on the cockpit seat and jumped clean over the life lines into the cove waters with hardly a splash. 
 
When her head bobbed up with a wide smile I got my shorts off, went to the stern and dropped the swim ladder over. Then giving it a moment of thought I took my underpants off, sort of hiding my manhood in a subtle way. I don’t know, with my hand kind of acting like my elbow was stuck to my ribcage or something. Then I stood on the coaming, not looking to see if she was looking at my privates. There is nothing wrong with the size or anything I just got really shy. I jumped hearing part of her laugh as my head went underwater. When I came up she was there, right next to me. She put her arms around me as we slowly kicked to stay afloat.
 
I looked to see if there were binoculars trained on us as I took her in my arms and her legs wrapped around my midsection. The other boat was not where I thought it was. I told her to wait a minute as I looked around the cove. I thought maybe they were on the other side of my boat, so broke away from her to swim over to my stern. They weren’t on the other side of the boat, so I thought, maybe while we were going through the undressing they took off under sail or had a very quiet engine. I swam back to her and explained the boat was gone and said, we have the cove to ourselves. The t-shirt was making an impression on me.
 
We got back aboard with the stern ladder and I found her happily laying down on the starboard cockpit seat. I looked down at her fullness and felt soft in the heart. That’s when I heard the noise, a clanking noise and saw a grey military ship anchoring where the other boat had been. There were about four or five sailors walking around on the ship and one was pointing at our boat. I was sure they couldn’t see us down in the cockpit but I could see a couple of pairs of binoculars with the muted sun flashing reflections. The ship turned a bit with the current and they were getting hidden in the turn. I told her but she had already raised her head to see.
 
I was almost angry in my disappointment at the intrusion. She seemed almost astatic with a face of joy. She said let’s go see the boat. I said, hunh? Are you crazy? Why don’t we just go below and enjoy ourselves? She said she wanted to see that boat. I said, it’s full of sailors. She said, correct and with that pushed me away, climbed out of the cockpit exposing the wet t-shirt and waved to the sailors, who naturally waived back with accompanying catcalls and whistles and a whole bunch of gestures I was familiar with. But, she seemed to like it all. I started getting angry with her but calmed myself down and offered her a drink. I had some fruit juice below. She quickly turned to me and said that would be great. I went below and before I reached the bottom I heard a splash. I ran up the stairs to see her swimming toward the ship and the crew were throwing a boarding ladder over the side of the ship.
 
I stood there in the companionway not quite believing what was happening and even pinched my arm to see if I was awake. I was awake. She climbed up the ladder like an old hand and was met by real hands as I heard the chatter and laughter and then she just melded into their crowd as they all disappeared into a hatchway that was left open with only a rounded top blackness to show me. I waited thinking she would emerge and want me to motor over to rescue her but a couple of the guys came out shaking their heads in conversation that I could only hear a mumble of and I thought the worse that they had taken advantage of her but there was something about the way they sauntered around the boat checking on things, I guessed. They noticed me and waved sort of like a thank you kind of friendly wave.
 
I was now very angry with her, them, myself, the boat, the ship, the breeze that now sprung up. I went below and poured myself a tall glass of rum and gulped it down as what I thought I was supposed to do when so hurt. I heard clanking again and saw the ship pulling up her anchor and looked at it moving out of the cove. She was up at the wheelhouse hatchway, waving at me as they moved out on the bay. Then she blew me a kiss. The t-shirt was dry now.
 
I pulled up my anchor and set the sails and went out on the bay but could not see them anywhere.
","July 23, 2023 11:08","[[{'Tricia Shulist': 'Oh, well poor guy, right?  It’s a pretty funny story if you think about how he really didn’t know the girl, but was thinking about the same thing that the sailors probably were.  Thanks for this.', 'time': '15:59 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,ei414w,Picture Perfect,Melodie Fierro,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ei414w/,/short-story/ei414w/,Dramatic,0,"['Crime', 'Fiction', 'Thriller']",5 likes,"
In the small town of Oakley, everything was perfect. The place was surrounded by lakes and people would come and go as they would like. Some people would see it as a place to start a family, or a place to settle down after having lived the American Dream. People would stay up watching the stars or the sunset and others would awe as they saw a rainbow form in the sky. It was known as the next silver spoon gated community. The next Beverly Hills. Everything was perfect. Until one day, everything shattered. 
 
There had been a murder, and in the idyllic town of Oakley, it was unheard of. The victim was seventeen year old Kelly Donovan. She was found murdered in her home and in horrible stab wounds. She had been stabbed over thirty times in the chest, back, and lower waist. Blood was everywhere, on the floor, the whitewashed walls, and even on Kelly's clothes. Detective Denise McCarthy arrived at the scene almost immediately, shocked to find out that a murder had rocked the sleepy town of Oakley. It was her tenth case as a recently hired detective, and just looking at the crime scene, she's reminded of her sister Olivia. It was because of her that Denise chose to become a detective. The more she looked at the scene, the more something seemed off. When she looked closer, she noticed a small, black heart carved in Kelly's chest. 
 
The third call came in a week later. Sabrina Hayes was found dead with forty stab wounds. It wasn't until then that Detective McCarthy realized she was dealing with a serial killer. All the victims had a black heart carved in their chest and they were all found dead in their homes. Same MO. Same black heart on all the victims. They needed to catch him before it was too late. Denise held a meeting in the conference room. 
""Three victims. First one is Kelly Donovan, 17, stabbed to death. The second one is Gianna Porter, 20, also stabbed to death. Third one is Sabrina Hayes, 18. Guess how she died. All were found dead in their homes. No ID or connection to one another. All of them were found with a black heart carved in their chests. Murdered by the same person. All young adults."" 
""Is that all, Detective?""
""That's it for now. I'll let you know if there's any new updates.""
""Okay. Thank you for your time, Denise.""
""So...what happens next?"" Officer Gray asked.
""We take matters into our own hands. We investigate."" 
 
The next day, officers went to the victims' houses. They talked with parents or siblings to see if they knew something the police didn't. Everyone's statements were the same and their alibis checked out. They were either at home or with a friend. Nothing useful. When questioned about enemies or possible suspects, everyone said the same thing. They didn't know who could've done it. With only three dead bodies and no sign of the killer, the police had nothing. They were about to give up when the fourth call came in later that day. 
 
""The fourth victim was called in today. Jane Baker, age 19. She was found in her home with twenty seven stab wounds and a black heart carved in her chest. No sign of the murder weapon and no fingerprints.""
""He's getting better. We need to find this guy. What did McCarthy say?""
""She has a potential lead. Kurt Webber. 34. Lives in Portland. She found him out through an eyewitness.""
""Thank God for Denise. Is he our guy, though?""
""Only one way to find out. Bring him in tomorrow.""
************
He sat in the waiting room of the police station. They were going to question him. They were on to him. But how? They didn't have any evidence. They couldn't legally arrest him. They would say this was a big misunderstanding and let him go. 
""Did you know Sabrina Hayes?"" Detective McCarthy asked him.
'No,"" he responded plainly.
""Gianna Porter?""
'No.""
""Kelly Donovan?"" 
""Look, whatever it is you're trying to accuse me of, just say it.""
""Okay then. We think you did it. We think you killed them.""
""You can't prove it. You don't have any evidence.""
""How do you know that?""
""I followed the case on the news. You don't have anything. No fingerprints, no weapon, not even witnesses. No leads.""
The sudden realization hit. As much as they didn't want to admit it, he was right. They had nothing. They couldn't legally arrest him. So, they had no choice but to let him go. 
""Well then. Sorry about that, Mr. Webber. You're free to go.""
And just like that, as quickly as he arrived, he was gone. 
**********
He went back home after they let him go. He felt good. He didn't lie to police, just told them the mere truth. They didn't have any evidence and they couldn't arrest him, no matter how badly they wanted to. He was a free man. Free to do whatever he wanted. Free to kill just one more victim. 
 
He had already killed four people along the Brentwood-Oakley area, so who's to say he couldn't kill one more? This one was going to be different. More thought out. He had a plan. First, he needed a note. A suicide note. He needed to make it believable. Like they were struggling and lost their sense of living. When he finished writing it, he mailed it to the police station, directly to Detective McCarthy.
 
Now came the suicide part. How would they die? Stabbed? Shot? Overdose? Falling? Yes. That was the safest option. The most believable one. It was the most dramatic one, and everyone would fall for it, including the police. He drove to a nearby bridge that had a lake. Perfect. He parked his car in rear and got off. Before jumping off, he did one last thing. He drenched his car in gasoline and threw a lighter in it. The car blew up, and without another word, he stepped off the bridge and fell down into the lake. 
************
The police got the suicide note the next day. It was all over the news. Serial killer Kurt Webber, also dubbed The Black Heart Killer, jumps to his death after killing four people in the Brentwood-Oakley area. They read the note in their office. It stated in graphic detail everything he did to each victim and how he did it. It was signed with his name and a black heart at the bottom. 
 
His body was never found. 
","July 23, 2023 15:47",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,14i0c6,Cherry Syrup Mania,Jarrel Jefferson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/14i0c6/,/short-story/14i0c6/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Horror']",5 likes,"
tw: violence, murder of unicorns, suicide
 
There she is, standing still amongst a sea of unicorns passing her on the street like a steady current, her mind scrambled from an unexpected journey to this strangle land. She stands there, wide-eyed like she was forcefully awakened from a dream where she was a ballerina or elementary school teacher or something equally palatable. In actuality she is Mariah; Mariah the Maniac. Mariah the Menace. Mariah of the Macabre. Mariah the Human. Marinara Mariah. Too Fiya Mariah. Mariah Vacher. 
She is all of those things, or none of them. But she’s unaware of that right now. All she knows are the sounds of click-clacking from the hoofs of the pink unicorn people walking around her. Pink unicorns with rainbow-colored manes, most walking along the street on their hindlegs like they’re humans while others fly wingless past rooftops and among rainbow-colored clouds with sparkles trailing their booties. Why aren’t all of them flying? Who decides which unicorns fly and which unicorns walk? She’ll never get the answers if she doesn’t ask the questions. 
CLICK-CLACK-CLICK-CLACK-CLICK-CLACK-CLICK-CLACK!
And then there’s Tom Goroum (human). He’s a few feet away, staring at the back of Mariah’s head. He hums “Hedonists” by Dreamgirl to himself. He’s swaying from side to side. Now he’s lightly bouncing in place. He spies with his little eye a particularly plump, pink unicorn wearing glasses and a Letterman jacket. It walks past him. Probably named Travis. Travis is a freshman in college, Tom fabricates in his mind. Has a full ride from playing football. But his pink unicorn dad raised him to study hard, keep his GPA high. Dad wants a career-oriented overachiever. All Travis wants is to party and get his horn polished by his economics professor, Mrs. Gre—
Hold that thought. Travis is two inches past Mariah. Tom reaches behind him (from his…back pocket? From the back of his waistband? From out of thin air?), pulls out a .45 Colt and shoots Travis in the head. His gun is put away as soon as he fires it, then he runs off because he knows what happens next.
Blood splatters from the entry wound onto Mariah’s face. She blinks a few times. A little of it enters her mouth—it tastes like cherry syrup. It’s the cherry syrup that snaps her out of her trance so she can hear the high-pitch screaming from one of the unicorns next to her. Then the mumblings: “Wut happened ova here?” “She killed dat kid.” “She’s shootin’ people.” “I think I’m gonna be sick.” “We can’t let her shoot anyone else.” They speak in Brooklyn accents. Some of them walk with Brooklyn aggression toward her. 
Panicked, Mariah pulls out a wooden baseball bat with nails sticking out of it (from her butt or something) and starts swinging.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est ? Qu’est-ce qui se passe ?” she cries. She’s French, by the way. She runs while she swings the bat. The unicorns make way to not get struck, except for one poor thing who isn’t quick enough. The swinging bat smacks it in the face. Mariah tries to pull the bat out but one of the nails is stuck through the eye socket. The unicorn falls and dies.
“No! Not Samantha!” cries one of the unicorns. “She was a pilla to da community.”
A unicorn throws a wild right hook that Mariah ducks. Another unicorn charges Mariah horn-first but she sidesteps out the way. She pulls out nunchucks. She spins the nunchucks like helicopter blades and the unicorns hesitate. They know they can’t handle her if she’s a kung fu master. Mariah tries to do that thing with the nunchucks where you swing them into your other hand from behind one of your shoulders, but she ends up whacking herself in the back and drops them. She’s exposed as a kung fu fraud. One of the unicorns takes the opportunity to smack her across the face with the back of its hoof. She falls to the ground. Other unicorns start stomping on her, like a band of hoodlums from Brooklyn. One of them gets shot in the chest and falls over. The others back off when Mariah stands up, badly bruised on her face and arms, holding a smoking .44 Magnum revolver. No, wait, TWO smoking .44 Magnum revolvers, and although she has one eye swollen shut, the other one squints so she looks like she’s about to do something dangerous, and there’s a slight breeze that moves everyone’s hair slightly for dramatic effect, and the perspiration dripping down her chest, nay, her cleavage, nay, her visibly pronounced F cups, is very…titillating. Scratch that, no F cups. Giant breasts weigh protagonists down. But her hair is disheveled, which looks quite sexy on her. 
Okay.
She starts blasting aimlessly with her two revolvers. Her eyes are closed and she’s screaming. The angry mob of unicorns shoot multicolored laser beams from their horns at her. The revolvers explode in her hands. Pieces of metal fly in different direction and she’s startled. She runs away, still screaming. “Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu !” she cries. The unicorns chase her, at least the ones already trying to kill her—others either yell obscenities or ignore the chaos completely. Lasers beams surround her. Some connect with her and feel like stiff smacks to the back, although not stiff enough to knock her down. Horn beams are only meant to be as painful as a human slap.
Her left butt cheek vibrates. She reaches behind her to pull out her cellphone, with a number on the screen she does not recognize. She answers it.
“Au secours ! Au secours !” she cries. “Les licornes, ils sont racistes ! Je vais mourir !”
“What? Sorry, but I only speak English,” says the voice on the other end. It’s Tom Goroum. 
“Tu peux m’aider ? Je suis en da—”
“Look bitch, I just said I only speak English. Now list—”
“Va te faire foutre ! Je me battaient pour ma vie !”
“Listen to me. You’re approaching a deli. To your left. Go in there. It’s a safe place.”
Mariah, who conveniently understands English, sees John’s Deli to her left. It has a line going out the door. 
When she turns toward the deli, one of the flying unicorns speeds up to try to gore her with its horn. Luckily it misses, but it still collides with Mariah, who ends up flipping onto the unicorn’s back. The unicorn flies in wild zigzags to get her off its back. She’s holding on to its mane for dear life. She manages to use a free hand to pull out a knife and stab it in the neck. The unicorn screams in terror while covering its neck with a hoof to try to stop the bleeding. The wound is too severe. It falls from the sky. Like, straight down from really far up. Like, so high you can make that falling whistle sound and it would be appropriate. You don’t have to make a splat sound, though. Mariah and the unicorn make the sound effect themselves with their bodies.
 
It just so happens that Mariah lies dead on the ground right next to the booty of the unicorn that fell with her. The dead unicorn’s muscles are loosened, so it releases poop that its bowels were holding. Glitter poop, actually—poop made entirely of glitter. The glitter poop sprays from the dead unicorn’s booty onto Mariah’s face. It is an awful fate to befall on someone by unicorn standards. But by human standards it’s the best thing that could happen, because the glitter poop magically brings Mariah back from the dead! 
She springs to her feet in shock from being alive, but her aches and pains and bruises are still intact. 
“There she is!” a unicorn cried from a distance. It’s the angry mob still after her head. She landed near the deli, so she hobbles toward it.
“Excusez-moi, laisse-moi entrer, s’il te plaît,” says Mariah when she approaches to the entrance from which the extended line sticks out like a tongue. She manages to squeeze her smaller frame inside John’s Deli past the unicorn standing in the entrance way.
“Fuck outta here!” the line unicorns are saying. “I smack you in da face!” “Who does dat?” “You kiddin’ me? Line cuttin’? Wi’ dat fuckin’ hair?” They wag their hoofs in the air as they speak. Those already seated and eating harass Mariah in the same manner. “You buggin’, ma.” “Fuck you doin’, bitch? They been waitin’ in line fo’ hours. Hours!” 
“Je veux pas un sandwich. On n’est pas en lieu sûr ?” 
“You mad corny wid dat ‘menage-a-twa’ shit, mami.” “No one fuckin’ wichu.” “You a fuckin’ dub. Fuck outta here!”
The jeering comes from all directions. One unicorn wearing hoop earrings even stands up to confront her. Mariah panics. She pulls out a hatchet and swings it at the approaching unicorn. The blade slides off, so she cracks it in the nose with the handle. Then the angry mob chasing her forces its way in, shoving the unicorns in the deli line. The deli unicorns feel provoked and swing at the mob unicorns. John’s Deli quickly devolves into an all-out melee. Hoofs smacking teeth. Horns stabbing guts. Tables and chairs summersaulting. 
Mariah pulls out her knife but it gets knocked out of her hand. She gets punched in the face. She attacks with a chancla. It is not very effective. She gets punched in the face. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe ?” she cries. “Pourqoui suis-je ici ?!” She tries to use a bow and arrow when given enough space, but the bow drops to her feet when she pulls the string back. A unicorn wraps an arm around her throat and puts her in a chokehold. She is loss to the chaos, likely to not survive. It’s hard to keep track of her at this point.
 
Tom Goroum skips toward the deli, as if everything is going according to plan. He manages to avoid getting sucked into the madness and makes his way up to the front counter. The unicorns working behind the counter start to put away their meats and breads and toppings for the day when Tom calls for their attention.
“Don’t you see the fuckin’, uh, battle royal going on in here, pal? We’re closed,” says the cashier.
Tom pulls out his .45 Colt and aims it at the deli workers. “Lemme get a Johnny roast beef with a side of gravy.”
“Okay, but dis da last fuckin’ sandwich today, ya heard?”
Tom watches the violence out of the corner of his eye. He takes great care not the make eye contact with anyone. He steps out the way of a pair of unicorns wrestling each other near him. He allows himself to watch one of the cooks operate a meat slicer to cut pieces of savory blue roast beef, then layer the beef and circular cuts of rich green provolone on top of a yeasty red hoagie roll pre-sliced down the middle. He scoots further to the side when the violence spills over onto the counter. The cook places the sandwich in the oven for three minutes. Some unicorns run out the deli when they can no longer handle the fighting. Other unicorns lie unconscious or badly injured. The melee rages on. One of the cooks take the sandwich out of the oven. God, it smells like Thanksgiving. The toasted sandwich sizzles like a siren’s indie rock concert. Another cook tops it off with a generous amount of golden onions and a lathering of gravy that’s practically pornographic. Tom wonders how they can do all this without fingers, but does not wonder long. 
The sandwich is complete. Tom catches himself before falling into a trance by the sandwich’s aroma, yet a little drool still drips down his chin. He pays. The sandwich is wrapped and bagged along with a plastic cup of extra gravy, which feels like it had been giftwrapped with a pink bow and a card that says happy birthday, or Merry Christmas, or I love you, son. Tom reaches for the sandwich, but then a gray-haired unicorn wearing a nose ring and a hentai hoodie snatches the bag with its mouth and begins to devour it all like a savage. Tom watches this, this lowlife, limp-horned, piece-of-shit hipster consume his hopes and dreams right in front of him. The unicorn’s mouth is stuffed with tender roast beef and gooey cheese and hearty bread and soggy paper, and its lips and chin are soaked in delectable gravy.
Tom, with a tear rolling down his cheek, pulls out his gun once more and shoots the hipster between the eyes. It poops glitter in seconds.
But the pain of losing his Johnny roast beef is too much to bear.
“I’ll see you in hell,” he says. Then he raises the gun to his temple. “Do I really have to shoot myself? Just like that? Can’t I have a cup of coffee instead?”
You wanna flip a coin, Tommy?
“Sure.”
Tom pulls out a coin with his free hand. Heads he shoots himself. Tails he buys coffee. He flips it, lets it land in his palm. It lands heads. He corrects his posture. “I’ll see you in hell,” he says again, this time with more flair in his voice. BANG! He dies before he even hits the floor.
The cashier looks at the pair of dead bodies in front of him, then the mess everyone else is making, and shakes its head. 
“Only in Brooklyn,” it says.
","July 28, 2023 23:34","[[{'Tommy Goround': ""Oops. I missed that you had a new one. \n\nOk. So this is how you get into the front of the line at John's Deli. Good.\n\n1) Create something titillating, but not with F-cups.\n2).Bring in a big and shiney pistola for compliance. \n\nBrilliant. \n\nLet us analyze the French rainbow unicorns. *Only one was horny? (Travis)\n\nThe rest are pink and rainbow-liscious. They are not trans unicorns. They may be drag queens wanting salami with john (maybe not)... Why do some look like humies, others fly, and some are classical? \n\nGot it.\n Please prep by watchin..."", 'time': '16:27 Aug 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Ambrose Bierce. Got it. Thanks, Tommy.', 'time': '00:43 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Ambrose Bierce. Got it. Thanks, Tommy.', 'time': '00:43 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Jarrel, I think you may have a twisted horn in your head. 🦄', 'time': '16:06 Jul 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Thanks, Mary. I reeeeally enjoyed writing this one.', 'time': '13:57 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jarrel Jefferson': 'Thanks, Mary. I reeeeally enjoyed writing this one.', 'time': '13:57 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,uyf28p,LAST LEGS,Cliff Avery,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uyf28p/,/short-story/uyf28p/,Dramatic,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Romance']",5 likes,"
LAST LEGS
 
By Cliff Avery
 
           Lamar looked younger than his daughter when he arrived at her birthday party, but that was her own fault. She could have chosen a 25-year-old body, too; she was the one that decided a hot-shot CEO had to look hot, but a little MILFy.
           “Daddy, you look great,” Rana said as Lamar approached. After almost 200 years of conversations with her, he translated it as “I love you, but get away from me as soon as you can, old man.” She was surrounded by a half-dozen executives from companies that she did business with and by one waiter who was juggling flutes on a tiny silver tray. The glasses were empty, designed only to be hand totems for those who had been uploaded.
           “Happy Birthday, Fuzzybottom!” Lamar’s voice filled the Grand Hall of EverLive’s corporate headquarters. The waiter watched with dismay as one of the flutes, jarred by Lamar’s volume, committed suicide and plunged over the side of the tray.
           Rana steered her entourage away from the broken glass on the floor. She glared at her father, “Of all the nicknames you’ve given me, that is my least favorite.”
 
Halloween, 162 years ago. Rana comes down the stairs with cotton balls taped to her butt. “Can I be a rabbit this year?”
 
           “But you were so damned cute, Honeymuffin.” Lamar laughed, grabbing one of the surviving glasses from the waiter. He shifted it to his left hand and plunged his right generally toward the crowd around his daughter. “I’m Lamar Renfrow. I’m Rana’s daddy. Who you?”
           The crowd offered their hands and their names, and Lamar immediately forgot them.
           One decided to brave a little chit-chat. “You have one of the newer models, don’t you, Mr. Renfrow.”
           “Yep. This is my third. I was one of the first uploads in 2045. I was 94 then, and my little girl persuaded the company to save me….”
 
Lamar’s bedroom, 103 years ago. Lamar, with large brown blotches on his milky skin, struggles to breathe. Rana hisses into his face: “I couldn’t save Mama, but I’m not going to let you go yet, Daddy. My company has a way.”
 
           Lamar continued, “…Wore that one out, then another one. I think that one was a lemon. Made on a Friday, probably.”
           Rana threw her shoulders back, a sure sign she was pissed. “Daddy, we don’t make ‘lemons’ at EverLive. You breached the warranty when you drank that bottle of Jack Daniel’s.”
           Lamar sighed and stared into his empty glass. “It was just a pint. Seems to me that’s a design flaw. If a man can’t put a little sippin’ whiskey in the pit without burning circuitry, what the hell good is it?”
           One of the executives, with thick black glasses, turned a laugh into a cough to keep from offending his hostess. Another, less socially sensitive, chose to pursue the topic, “But surely you understood that, with all we can do to upload – and thereby perpetuate – our consciousness in our new ‘bodies,’ we still can’t duplicate the processing of ingested organic material?”
           “That’s not an R&D priority for us right now,” Rana used her best exec-speak as if addressing Wall Street analysts, “We can map a human brain and put it in a vessel that can outlast flesh and blood and look and act remarkably like an adult human. In the early years, the Government paid for this research to find a way to send human consciousness on hundred-year-long journeys to habitable planets. Eating enchiladas and knocking back a quote-enquote ‘little sipping whiskey’ in that context is not only nonproductive, it adds unnecessary burdens that might threaten the success of a mission.”
           Lamar nodded. “Maybe so, sweetheart, but, until I started wearing one of these man-suits, I was never threatened by an enchilada.”
 
            Lamar decided he’d poked the she-bear long enough. He excused himself and moved toward the food. “Just because you’re on a diet don’t mean you can’t look at the menu,” he tossed out as he departed the crowd.
           There were small portions of lobster and steak and flutes with golden champagne for those who hadn’t been uploaded. For those who had, there were the taste-strips that stimulated flavor receptors in the central processing unit, but were not eaten. They were arranged with elegance to please, if not satisfy, the Uploads.
           He considered a lobster taste-strip but rejected it when he realized how thoroughly unhappy the whole concept made him. Instead, he considered a young woman who poured sauce on the steak on her plate.
 
Broken Bow, Oklahoma, 173 years ago. Lamar scrambles eggs in his apartment and decides to add a touch of A-1 sauce. A beautiful woman emerges from his bedroom wearing one of his T-shirts and a smile. Her legs are long, and she is bare-footed. She looks at the eggs and scolds, “You better cook those eggs longer. They’re too snotty to eat.” Lamar decides he loves this woman.
 
           “Eat a couple of bites for me, won’t you?” Lamar said to the woman as she turned away from the real-food buffet.
           The woman, maybe in her late twenties, turned toward him, and her green eyes blinked with surprise. “You’re an Upload?”
           “I am.”
           “Wow, they’re really making you lifelike now, aren’t they?”
           “Kinda depends on how you’re defining ‘life,‘ but I guess we’re passable.”
           “I’ve seen pictures of some of the first ones. You could tell they were artificial. They looked plastic.”
           Lamar tried to act insulted. “Hey, I was one of those. This is my third.”
           “Your third!? Wow, you must have a lot of money.”
           “I have some, but it helps that my daughter runs the place.”
           The woman considered him and his position in the cosmos of the Great Hall. She tilted her head to the gaggle around Rana. “Wow, I came with my dad. He’s over there. His company makes the solar transpacitors that gives them­—you —energy. He said I might meet someone interesting. Sometimes even he can be right.”
           “Broken clocks,” Lamar said.
           “What?”
           “You know. The old expression: ‘Even broken clocks are right twice a day.’”
           “What does that mean? How can broken clocks be right ever?
           Lamar started to explain then realized that this young women with the auburn hair and the green eyes and the GIF tattoo of a humpback whale breaching – over and over –embedded in her shoulder would never understand the analog reference.
           “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “Do you mind if I watch you eat?”
           She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Why don’t we take it to-go? My place is close.”
           “What’s your name?” Lamar returned the smile.
           “Leah.”
           “I’m Lamar. Let’s go celebrate my daughter’s birthday.”
           “Mind if I blow out your candle?”
 
           The next morning, Lamar sat at the kitchen table in Leah’s apartment, waiting for her to wake up. He was naked, but he really didn’t think of himself that way. The body was as much an ensemble as the suit that had been on the body the night before.
	He sighed. Even after all these years, he wished for a cup of coffee, longed to feel his fingers curled around the warm mug between healthy gulps. He’d sit and drink the coffee and paw through a newspaper. A real one. Ink on paper. And after you got through reading it, you’d find some of the ink had come off on the kitchen table. The last time he saw a printed newspaper was before the second upload.  
	When the refrigerator compressor began running, it startled him out of his memory. There was no refrigerator in his apartment. No need for one.
            “Good morning, you stallion.” Leah glided into the kitchen wearing a robe that barely made it to the top of her thighs. She leaned over and kissed him generously, allowing her tongue to dance briefly with his.
	She saw he was naked and looked to his penis. There was no coy sidelong glance, but a joyous ogling that Lamar found refreshingly honest.
	“Good God!” she said, “You’re ready to go again? Don’t you want a breather?”
	“Sorry. I’ll wind it down,” Lamar said.
	Leah continued to stare.
	“It’s one of the good things about being uploaded,” Lamar said. “They fixed the design flaw that was in what the EverLive marketers call ‘the original organic version’ — basically the body you’re born with. Now, with this new-and-improved body, I can move it just like I’m pointing my finger.”
	Leah nodded. “That explains why I’m walking bow-legged this morning. But don’t put it away just yet.” She wrapped her fingers lightly around his penis and pulled him toward the bedroom.
 
	One hour and twenty-four minutes later, they were lying on their stomachs across Leah’s bed. The sheets were moist with her sweat. Both were breathing hard.
	“Wow.” After all these years, Lamar found it difficult to be impressed by lovemaking. Usually it was nice; sometimes better than that. But Leah was…well, the only word that came to him was “spectacular.”
	“Wow indeed,” she said. She turned on her side and looked at him, her head propped up by her left arm. “But you didn’t come.”
	Lamar grinned, head and arms still hanging over the edge of the bed. That was usually the issue that got raised at this point. “I didn’t ejaculate, if that’s what you mean. They don’t give me bodily fluids, remember? But you blew my mind, sweetheart. And everything else. I didn’t even have to adjust the settings on the control app.”
	He pulled his body fully onto the bed and looked at her, hoping his face reflected the seriousness in his heart. “You’re amazing,” he said, almost in a whisper.
	She allowed herself a satisfied grin.
           She thought for a minute, still trying to bring her breath under control. Then she asked, “So how do you spend all this extra time they gave you?
           “I look after my investments. A feller’s gotta keep a roof over his head, you know,” he said.
           “Any tips?”
           “Buy as much AppleSoft as you can when it’s an IPO and then live another hundred years. That’s the easy part. I’m also a history professor. That’s hard”
           “No kidding? I would have guessed it was easy for you since you lived all that history. All you have to do is remember.”
           He snorted. “Right. The problem is that most of my students are Uploads, too. Most not as old as me. I was an ‘early adapter.’ But they still only want to talk about their favorite sit-coms from the ‘70s and ‘80s.
	“Like Thunderpants and The Lunar Hotel?”
	“The NINETEEN ‘70s and ‘80s,” Lamar said. “Cheers or Friends. I had one guy who wanted to do his thesis on A.L.F. Do you know it…?”
           “Alf? Like Alfalfa?” Leah’s face was twisted in confusion.
           “Alien Life Force. It was a surly puppet from outer space.”
           “Oh, yeah. Wasn’t there a reboot?”
           “Set on the Mars colony. The Earther was the A.L.F. Anyway, that’s how I spend my classtime. Deflecting shit like that. What do you do?”
           “I’m a farmer.” Leah nodded to confirm the fact.
           “What?”
           “I have a master’s in Agricultural Engineering. I’m raising sweet potatoes on three floors of a building in Manhattan.”
           “Bless your heart! You’re a Reoccupier!”
           When the water rose and corporations had to head for higher ground, the Manhattan skyscrapers, already pretty empty after workers were sent home for the scales outbreak, were abandoned. Now a hardy breed of urban pioneers were converting floorspace into farmland.
	“Proud to say I am. I have the 37th, 38th and 39th floors of a building once known as the Time-Life Building. Do you know it?”
	“I do. I saw some shows at Radio City, across the street.”
	“They’ve put up new booms. Better ones. It won’t be long until we can actually walk on Sixth Avenue. That’ll make it so much easier to get to the farm,” Leah’s words were coming fast now, spilling out of a special place. “My floors are above and to the west of what used to be Radio City, before they turned it into an outlet mall. So the external mirrors on my floors can get some good sunlight into my acreage. A good crop this year and we’ll be looking at more floors, spreading out to romaine lettuce next year. I do love Caesar salad.”
	Lamar admired the way her face came alive when she talked about her dream. It was as if the sun was shining directly into her face, and she reflected it onto her crops, giving them life, watching them thrive, nurturing them to be good things the world needed. Any of her energy that had been sapped by their lovemaking had been replenished and multiplied now. Lamar considered that Leah may be the most alive person he had met in the past 103 years.
	He exhaled, suppressing a sigh, as the realization creeped around him, the way the water had creeped around the Time-Life Building and the huge edifices that once dominated Manhattan. 
 
	“I guess I better put on my clothes and let you get on with your day,” Lamar said.
	“I can fix you breakfast,” Leah said.
	“Thanks, but I can’t have it.”
	“Oh, right.”
	After a brief hug, Leah wrapped the tiny robe around herself and headed for the kitchen. Lamar put on his shirt and slacks. He slipped his feet into the loafers he’d worn. He put the socks into the coat pocket. He realized his movements were wrapped in an awkward silence. He knew what he had to say but hated the words had to come out.
	She was sitting at the table. Her face was troubled. Lamar thought that they might be reading each other’s minds.
	“I’d love to see you again, Leah,” Lamar said.
	She nodded. “‘But’….”
	Lamar shook his head. “But. But I don’t think it’ll work between us. You’re alive. You can have lobster and coffee and and grow crops and make babies with somebody. I can’t.”
	“The sex is great. Isn’t it?” Leah said.
	“Oh, definitely. Even better because I like you. I probably could love you if I let myself….”
	“Why can’t you let yourself?”
	Lamar looked to the top of the table. “Because, at the end of the day, I’m just a six-foot-two somewhat sentient vibrator.”
	“You’re more than that,” Leah said. “You have a mind and thoughts and a great sense of humor. You make me laugh. There’s more to you than a dozen of the guys I know who are still on their ‘organic original version.’ And, by the way, I really despise that term.”
	Lamar sighed. “I’ve done a lot. Seen a lot. Loved a lot. Read a book or two. But there’s a lot you still have to do for the first time. And you should share that with somebody else who’s doing it the first time.
 
A hospital operating room 167 years ago: The long-legged woman, Lamar’s wife, is on the operating table, her leg sprawled under a blue cloth. A doctor is performing a C-section. Lamar sits on a stool near the woman’s head. He holds her hand. 
           “Here it comes,” the doctor says.
           Then: “It’s a girl.”
           The woman lurches a little with excitement, and Lamar tries to soothe her by patting her shoulder. Both Lamar and his wife beam with broad grins that don’t seem nearly wide enough. There are tears as they look in each other’s eyes. 
 
	“With me, it’d be like your father or grandfather or great-great grandfather watching and clucking and saying ‘how cute.” That would diminish your experience.”
	“No, it wouldn’t.”
	“It would and don’t you argue with me, Missy: I’m old enough to be your great-great-grandfather. I’ll put you in Time-Out ‘til you’re as old as I am.”
	Leah rolled her eyes.
	Lamar put his hand on her shoulder. “And, Leah, I’m tired. Don’t get me wrong: I loved being with you last night, and I hate having to say good-bye this morning…”
	“Then don’t.”
	Lamar pressed on. “I have to. Darlin’, people get tired when they get older. I was tired and ready to go before the first upload. Hell, my wife was dead; all my friends were dead. Well, except one; he had dementia. Although I thought he might be fakin’ it because he owed me money.
	“I’ve said good-bye to so many people I’ve cared about. Not just the ones that actually died, but the ones I outgrew or that outgrew me. After a while, you don’t want to start up with anybody, because you’re know it’ll end.
	“The world changes on you. Just as soon as you find a new favorite restaurant, it closes and turns into a nail salon. They pave over the park you liked to walk in. You lose places and things and people that mean something to you. When enough of those things go, you lose the moorings that kept you tethered to whatever body you’re in.
	“Your mind can get uploaded into a new damn body, but the heartbreaks you’ve had come with it. I don’t want to carry you around with me that way.”
	He looked into her eyes. “Let me go. Please.”
	She shook her head in an expression of puzzlement, then rose to accompany him to the door.
	At the door, he leaned in to kiss her, and she let him, even though she knew she probably shouldn’t have.
	“I don’t have much left to do in this so-called existence,” he said, “But there’s one thing I am going to work on.”
	“What?”
	“Trying to find an off-switch for this thing.”
 
 
 
","July 24, 2023 16:22","[[{'Keelan LaForge': 'I really enjoyed reading this Cliff. It kept me hooked from start to finish and it was amusing too! Well written :)', 'time': '05:54 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Very interesting concept and response to the prompt Cliff! I enjoyed this bit of Sci-Fi. :)\n\nA first submission that leaves me eager to read more from you in the future. Welcome to Reedsy!', 'time': '00:20 Jul 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,bzhef2,What happens when the world breaks,Naomi Woods,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bzhef2/,/short-story/bzhef2/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Drama']",5 likes,"
“You can’t catch me!” Jabier shrieks as I chase him around the room. His skinny little legs carry him under the table, through the living room, and over the couch, all the while dodging my outstretched hands. Knowing he can do this for hours, I switch tactics. I crouch with my hands on my knees, breathing with great heaving motions.
“Oh, Jabi,” I moan, “I think you are just too fast for me.”
My little brother cautiously peeks out from his hiding place, his brows knotted in confusion. “I am?”
I nod so vigorously that one of my braids smacks me. “Oh yes.”
He comes closer and pulls one of my arms. “You catch me, you can do it, run Esme, run!”
Perfect.
I lunge at the unsuspecting boy, scoop him up in my arms, and tickle the snot out of him. 
“Now I got you!”
Jabi screams with laughter, which makes me laugh.
“Hey, you two giggle monsters,” Mama calls from the other room. “It’s time for dinner! Jabi, go tell your brothers and sisters to come eat. Esme baby, tell your daddy. I think he’s in the basement.”
I put down the giggling kindergartner and watch him run up the stair, hollering. I made my way to the basement door and cracked it open.
“Daddy?” I call down the steps. I stop midway down and lean over the railing to call him again. The door to his workshop is cracked.
“One moment, baby girl!” He appears a few minutes later in overalls and his carpentry belt.
“Mama said to tell you it’s dinner time.”
A smile lights up his handsome face. “Ahh, well then, let’s not disappoint your Mama after all her hard work.”
Almost everyone is already at the table when we enter the dining room.
“Took you long enough,” Gilberto grumbles, leaning back in his chair. Ever since he turned fourteen, I suspect my brother had become part black hole, consuming everything in sight.
“Yeah,” Rapha chimes in. “I am sooo hungry.”
Gloriana grins. “We had to fend them off with carrot spears.”
“Yeah, they were gonna eat all the food, but we stopped them.” Connie sat up straighter with a triumphant smile. Daddy leans over and kisses her forehead with a smile. “There’s my good girl.”
 “There you two are,” Mama smiles as she puts Jabi in his booster seat. Once we all are seated, Daddy bows his head and says grace.
 
 
Mama had already left for the store that afternoon when I found my two brothers arguing in Daddy’s office, the floor strewn with papers.
“You have to help me,” Gil whispers fiercely. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t called me.”
Rapha fumes, sticking out his chest. “Nah, huh, it’s not my fault; you’re the one supposed to be watching him. Mama put you in charge!”
“Well,” Gil shoots back, crossing his arms. “I would have been if someone hadn’t called me over to look at that new video game-“ 
I march into the room. “Alright, what are you two yelling about?”
“Nothing, I did nothing!” Rapha shouts, then scatters. I grab Gil to make sure he doesn’t. He avoids eye contact, which means he messed up.
I sigh. “What happened, Gilberto?”
The words tumble out. “I was watching Jabi, but then Rapha called me to show me something, and Jabi got loose in Dad’s office, and he messed with a bunch of Dad’s papers, and now they are all over the floor-”
I sigh again and hold up a hand. “Fine, I’ll clean it up; just watch Jabi, like you were supposed to be doing.”
Gil’s body relaxes with relief. “Thank you, Esme. I owe you, big time.” And he runs off to find Jabi.
I shake my head, then start picking the papers up. It takes me only five minutes to make it to the last slip of paper, which is actually an envelope. I reach for it but make the mistake of picking it up the wrong way.
Five pristine slips of paper flutter to the ground.
“Dang it!” I cry, then quickly pick the closest one up.
It was an adoption certificate. Listing Lucinda and Jeremy Jimenez-Mama and Daddy- as the adoptive parents.
Of Jabier Sanchez.
The paper slips through my fingers as the realization crashes into me.
No. No, no, no, no, no!
I tear through the next, then the next, then the next. My siblings’ names pour out before me, all with unfamiliar last names, last names that burn themselves into my brain until I know I will never forget them. Gloriana Thompson, Raphael Pavel, Consuela Law-Gomez, Gilberto Aces. Finally, I come to mine, I am cold all over, and I know I’m not breathing, but there doesn’t seem like much I can do about it. I unfold the paper, my hands shaking so much I barely make out the name.
My name.
Esmerelda Willow Johnson. 
 
I throw up later in the guest bathroom while Gil plays dinosaur with Connie and Jabi, their laughter ringing in my ears as I flush the toilet.
 
My window for the truth comes the next day. Once I am sure all my siblings are busy in or outside the house, I look for my parents. I found them in the den, writing and watching tv. Like everything was normal. My stomach knots with so many emotions I take several deep breaths before entering. I stepped in and pulled the pocket doors shut. Seated at her desk behind the couch, the desk we had given her for Mother’s Day, Mama-or-my adoptive mother, glances up from her writing. Upon seeing my face, she sets down her pencil. “Esme, is there something wrong, honey?”
I grate my teeth and clench my fists so tight my palms hurt. “Yes.”
Mama jumps to her feet, knocking her pencil to the floor. “Is someone hurt? What happened?”
 By this point, Daddy-or-my adoptive father had turned the tv off and came over to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders. “What’s going on?”
I take a shallow breath, focusing on a small birthmark above Mother’s left cheek. “No one is injured. I just need to talk to you now.”
Adoptive Mother sighs and relaxes somewhat.
 “Ok, we’re listening,” Adoptive Father soothes. “What do you need to talk to us about, baby girl?”
Their concern temporarily loosens some of my anger because I know it is genuine. For a moment, I imagine what it would be like if I didn’t say anything about this. Would everything go back to normal?
In my heart, I know it wouldn’t.
Holding back a sob, I yank the paper I had taken from his office from my shirt and shake it at them. “This, this!”
The color drains from Mother’s face, leaving her a pasty brown color. Father opens and closes his mouth like a fish. They stare at me, then at each other with wide eyes.
 
I jerk awake the next day as my alarm blares. I groan, then swat at it till it turns off. I had just got one leg out of bed when I remember. My breathing intensifies, and I grasp my pillow like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling. Remember is a nice way to put it, more like the memory almost knocked me senseless of how my parents-my heart tightens-or whoever they are- their lies.
“You were all adopted.” Mama had said, her face twisted in pain and tears.
“No, No, NO!” I jabbed a finger at her, my voice, my heart breaking. “I-I-I remember, I remember you pregnant with Rapha, then Connie and-and then Jabi, and everyone saw you, and we have pictures! You were pregnant for nine months with Jabi, then-then you went to the hospital for three days and then came home with him! And you were pregnant with Connie for-for-for- only seven because she was a preemie, you had to be rushed to the hospital, and Grandma babysat! And I, I, remember before Rapha was born, I laid my head on your stomach, and you told me I was going to have another brother! We have pictures!! We have pictures!!” I grabbed my head, the tears ripping out of me.
“Esme, honey,” Daddy walks toward me, his face full of sorrow and shame. “I am so so sorry for everything-”
Avoiding Daddy’s arms, I rush from the room. Seventeen years. Seventeen years of lies and deceit. Seventeen years of being someone I am not, someone I never was. Seventeen years of Esmerelda Willow Jimenez are now gone.
 I squeeze my eyes shut, holding back a sob, holding back a scream, holding myself together. I count every breath that enters and exits my lungs until my grip on the pillow loosens. Opening my eyes, I see Gloria snoring, her pink and black braids splattering across her peaceful face.
I think about letting her sleep, about letting them all sleep just a little longer while their world is still together. Suddenly, jealousy hits me hard. My…parents had begged me to not tell anyone before they did, to give my siblings one more day. I never got one more day.
I never got eased into it.
I leap out of bed and lumber over to her bed.
“G, it’s time to wake up,” I growl, shaking her.
A soft snore answers me.
“Gloriana, I said it’s time to wake up!!”
Nothing. Relief and guilt flood my body. What is wrong with me? Screaming at my younger sister for no reason. I wipe my eyes, then try the one thing I know will work, the one thing she hates.
“Sorry about this,” I whisper before moving to Connie’s trundle that Father had separated from my bed to give me some privacy. Connie always sleeps hard, but the only thing that wakes her is Gloria’s shrieks.
I half carry half drag the slumbering eight-year-old across the room, dump her on my other sister, and wait. And wait. And wait.
Neither girl even stirs, let alone wakes up.
“Gloria. Connie. Wake up!” I shout into their ears. Both continue snoring with
 Panic trickles into my mind. They never sleep this hard.
I hurry to the boys’ room. After navigating toys, smelly sports gear, and dirty clothes, I arrive at the bed with the biggest lump.
“Gil?” no response. I try shaking him this time. “Gil? Gilberto, wake up. I need your help!”
He doesn’t stir, and I would’ve thought him dead but for his covers’ steady rise and fall.
I try Rapha, then Jabi. I try blasting music, shouting in their ears, and even as a last ditch effort, flicking cold water them. But just like the girls, nothing works on any of them.
I back out of the room, my heart pounding. I don’t know what else to do, so I call the two people who will know.
“Mama? Daddy? Mama!” I shout as I fly down the stairs, shoving my anger inside me. “Where are you?!”
I stumble into the kitchen to see if they left a note when I hear Daddy’s voice.
“We’re downstairs, Esme.”
His voice sounded distant, like when Gloria had pneumonia, and they didn’t want us to worry. “Everything’s alright,” he told us cheerfully. “She’s going to be ok.”
I sprint to the basement door and rip it open. Charging down the stairs, I take them two at a time.
“Something’s wrong with everyone,” I pant, on the second to last one. “I tried waking them up but-“
I freeze on the last step. It takes my eyes a bit to adjust from the brightness upstairs, but when they finally do, I wish they hadn’t. Mama and Daddy are seated in folding chairs in the middle of the basement, away from Father’s workshop. Mama’s beautiful dark eyes are puffy, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, her usual loungewear replaced with a dark green suit. Daddy’s mouth is twisted into a tight line, his hands are balled into fists, and his expression emotionless. Right before them sits a small round brown-haired woman in a blue suit dress. On either side are masked individuals dressed in black outfits and carrying guns.
“There you are, Esmeralda darlin’,” the brown-haired woman raises from the folding table in front of her and extends a hand. “why don’t you join us?” Her smile, while bright, doesn’t reach her foggy blue eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask my parents. “How does she know my name?”
“Don’t you worry your head, now please come down and join us?” She gestures for me to come.
My first thought is robbers or thieves, then I think kidnappers. One thing’s for sure whoever the heck these people are, they don’t belong here. I spin around and dash back up the stairs, phone in hand, ready to dial 911. I just make it to the top when a man appears.
I see him too late, so I smash right into him, then stumble back down a few steps. The man doesn’t even flinch but tasks and wags his figure at me like I’m some naughty puppy.
“Now, now, little one,” he scolds in a surgery voice. “I do believe the nice lady asked you to join them.”
I open my mouth to scream when he withdraws a knife. The words dry in my throat, and my mind blanks. I look at my parents. After briefly glancing at me, Daddy leans forward, eyes on the man.
“Ms. Greenstone,” He growls softly. “I’d advise you to remind your man of the dangers of drawing weapons in our home.”
A tense moment follows before she flicks her hand and the man. Sighing, he sieves his knife.
“That would not have happened if she had listened when I first asked,” The woman criticizes coldly. “I thought you raised her to respect her elders.”
Silence ensues. Finally, Mama speaks.
“Esme, honey,” Mama’s voice is chock-full of restraint. “just do as they ask. Please.”
Seeing no viable option, I grasp the rail to steady my shaking limbs and walk back down.  
Two goons materialize from behind the stairs when my foot touches the concrete. I dodge one, but the other grabs me.
“Let me go, let me go!” I cry, twisting and flailing. “Daddy, help me!”
“Ericka, she’s just a child!” Daddy shouts, advancing toward me. Two goons block his path, and he starts knocking them out of the way.
“Yes. I know!” the woman snaps. “But,” “she is compromised. The research calls for its subjects to be unknowing about their situation. She,” she points to me, “knows. I don’t need to remind you how much was invested into this for it to go wrong now.”
Mama crosses the room and faces her, her chin jutting out. “You don’t have to do this,” She demands. “We had one more year with her; you promised we had until she was eighteen. You can’t take Esme away from us, not now-“
The woman slams her hands on the table, cutting her off. Then, she jabs her finger into Mama’s face.
“You signed up for this, Lucy, you and Jeremy both! We told you repeatedly know what would happen at the beginning and end! You know what would happen if she became compromised! You knew the rules! If you were so concerned with this outcome, y’all should’ve kept those papers in a safer location!” The woman sighs and rubs her temples. “Now, you have your other children to think about, and I suggest if you want it to stay that way, y’all should stop being so dadgum difficult.”
Mama’s hands, which were balled into fists, flop to her side. Daddy stops fighting the men and collapses in his seat, his head in his hands.
“Mama? Daddy?” But they don’t look at me.
Ms. Greenstone snaps her fingers. The goons tie my hands together with silk, which I know from class is incredibly hard to break.
“Take her to the van. Let’s get out of here before-”
“Wait!” I shout. She stops and stares at me. “Wait. What if we pretend I didn’t find the-the papers? I-I won’t say anything to anyone about this, I won’t say a word, just let me stay here with my family-“
Ms. Greenstone holds up one hand. “You, young lady,” She says softly. “Are in no sane position to be negotiating.”
I glare at her, straining against my captors. “My siblings will know. They’ll know I am missing. And so will my grandparents, and the rest of my family, and my friends and teachers-“
She laughs and shakes her head. “Oh, bless your heart, you poor naïve girl. They’ve all been taken care of, trust me. Your little sedated sibling and everyone else will go about their happy little lives, thinkin’ you’re safe and sound in whatever story your parents make up.”
“No.” I tremble. “You’re lying!”
She exhales, clearly exasperated. “Now, why would I lie?”
I open my mouth as a million answers fill my brain. Not one comes out.
“That’s what I thought. Miles, Charleston, take her.”
The woman’s eyes burn holes into my parents. “I am coming back in three years for the second girl. Now y’all best prepare yourselves for that itty bitty fact. And if you don’t wanna repeat of today, I suggest you take better care of your effects.”
I start struggling again, screaming my parents’ names. Mama doesn’t move, her head tilted back, tears dripping from her eyes, Daddy’s face covered by his hands.
They never look up.
“Ma’am,” says one goon. “I don’t think she’s going to cooperate.”
Ms. Greenstone sighs heavily. “Well, then, I guess you better sedate her.”
A thick white cloth is pressed to my mouth. The chemicals mix with my tears.
The last thing I see is my parents.
The last thing I smell is chloroform.
The last thing I taste is metal.
The last thing I hear is my own sobs.
","July 29, 2023 03:51","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Hey Naomi. This is fascinating. It kept me intrigued the whole way through. I came across a few misspellings / incorrect words (figure instead of finger, sieves instead of sheathes. And there\'s a line that is missing something it just reads ""continued snoring with..."" ) But these are cosmetic issues easily fixed. The story is compelling and mysterious and I need to know more! Who are these people! Who are the kids??? I need to read the continuation please!! :)', 'time': '21:44 Aug 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Naomi Woods': ""Thank you so much, Derrick, for your words of encouragement! \nAlso, thank you very much for pointing out the errors; having a second pair of eyes certainly is helpful. Sometimes I am busy writing that I don't notice, haha. I will be more vigilant with my grammar in the future! I am glad that the mistakes did not ruin it for you. \nDefinitely stay tuned for the continuation! ;)"", 'time': '16:23 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Naomi Woods': ""Thank you so much, Derrick, for your words of encouragement! \nAlso, thank you very much for pointing out the errors; having a second pair of eyes certainly is helpful. Sometimes I am busy writing that I don't notice, haha. I will be more vigilant with my grammar in the future! I am glad that the mistakes did not ruin it for you. \nDefinitely stay tuned for the continuation! ;)"", 'time': '16:23 Aug 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,tkh3eo,THE LAND OF ROSES,Melinda Madrigal,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tkh3eo/,/short-story/tkh3eo/,Dramatic,0,['Fiction'],4 likes,"
Welcome to the Land of Roses, where everything from the mountains, to the sky, to the homes, to the trees, to the animals are covered in pink. As far as the eye can see the Land of Roses is a dreamland for those who live here.
 
The unicorns, magical and beautiful are the protectors of the land. Gentle and kind they possess great power used to protect the Land of Roses. Mystique greatest of the protector's flies high over the land, to those down below their smiles are bigger than ever.
 
The Land of Roses is filled with smiles and laughter. Playful as ever, dancing with grace are the little fairies. The fairies led by their queen Cassia are the gentlest, most kindness creatures in all the land.
 
Today in the Land of Roses a happy celebration is taking place filled with all the roses in the land. Cassia the fairy queen will summon the protectors to join the happy celebration.
 
The fairies dancing along to the music are hanging up the decorations, setting out all the games and who can forget the food and dessert.
 
Fairies from throughout the land are making their way to the castle. As they come into the castle they are greeted by Cassia. The fairies enter the castle and begin to dance. Some of the other fairies begin to play the games. Everyone is having so much fun. Now it's time for Cassia to summon the protectors.
 
Cassia stands in the middle of the castle grounds. She lifts her wand in the air and says ""Mystique, greatest of all the protectors honor us with your presences, fill the sky with your beauty.
 
A show of magnificent beauty appears. Mystique and the protectors appear. They descend form the sky in wonder leaving behind beautiful rainbows.
 
Cassia and the fairies watch in awe at their beautiful protectors. Mystique and the protectors land in the castle grounds. Cassia thanks for coming.
 
The fairies line up to touch Mystique and the protectors. Their essences flow through the fairies and fills the castle with love and hope.
 
The fairies and the protectors are having the time of their lives when all of a sudden a loud scream fills the castle. Cassia and the protectors run to see what's happening.
 
One of the fairies name Melody points to the sky. Cassia, Mystique and the protectors look up to the sky. They see a darkness coming from the east. Mystique sends the protectors to the castle to protect the fairies.
 
Mystique in all her gracefulness bends down for Cassia to get on. Cassia gets on top of Mystique. She holds on tight as Mystique begins to run. Her beautiful wings open and up into the sky they go.
 
Mystique flies over the Land of Roses to the east where the darkness is taking root. As Mystique is flying, she suddenly stops. Cassia almost falls but she gets back on. Cassia pets Mystique's head calming her down.
 
In a hear-beat of a second Mystique turns around and flies away from the darkness. She flies high into the sky trying to out run the darkness. She flies and lands in the protector's realm.
 
In another heart-beat of a second Mystique begins to talk which stuns Cassia. ""Fair queen Cassia a terrible darkness has descended over your kingdom. My power alone and that of the protectors are not enough to defeat the darkness. I will need your power and that of the fairies to defeat the darkness.""
 
Cassia in all her grace as queen tells Mystique ""We will defeat the darkness together.""
 
The darkness came like a storm enveloping the Land Of Roses. The darkness took everything and everyone turning the once beautiful land into a dark black world.
 
The castle is the only light in the land and the only light being protected by the protectors. The protectors surround the castle throwing light at the darkness. It only works for a short while then the darkness returns attempting to get into the castle.
 
Inside the castle the fairies are watching the darkness take away their beautiful land. They watch the protectors fight the darkness but the darkness returns more stronger and powerful with each passing minute.
 
In the sky above Mystique and Cassia are making their way back. The darkness is trying to reach them. Mystique uses her great power and in a flash she lands on the castle grounds.
 
Cassia gets off and runs to the castle. She is greeted by the fairies. Outside Mystique and the protectors form a barrier to keep the darkness away.
 
Mystique enters the castle leaving the protectors to guard the castle. Mystique begins to tell Cassia and the fairies about the darkness. The fairies are awe when Mystique begins to talk.
 
""Long ago when the Land of Roses began to become inhabited by the fairies and other creatures, We swore an oath to protect the land and its residents. But there was among us who was selfish and greedy. She wanted the land for herself. She wanted to wipe out the fairies and the creatures. She unleashed the darkness and wiped everything in the east. It was with our combined power, fairies and protectors that we were able to save this land. Now we need to save this land once again.""
 
Cassia and the fairies are left stunned. Cassia turns to the fairies and tells them ""Our land is in danger. We must fight to protect our home.""
 
Mystique looks out of the window. She sees the darkness creeping closer and closer. ""We need to act fast. She's coming."" Cassia nods. Cassia task Ember with gathering the fairies in the great hall. Meanwhile Mystique and Cassia are going deep into the bowels of the castle.
 
As they are walking Mystique bends over in pain. Cassia goes to her but she stops her. ""I'm okay. Let's keep moving."" They continue on. ""I didn't know this existed."" Cassia says. Mystique guides Cassia to a hollow door. Cassia carefully opens the door. Mystique is too big to fit through the door so she instructs Cassia to go down the narrow steps and into a hollow room. In the room is the wand of the realm.
 
Cassia does as Mystique tells her to do. Cassia goes down the steps and enters the room. She grabs the wand and goes back to Mystique.
 
Mystique and Cassia hurriedly head to the great hall. Ember has gathered the fairies. The protectors are battling the darkness to no avail.
 
The darkness has broken through the barrier. Mystique calls the protectors. They come rushing into the great hall. The darkness is engulfing the castle.
 
A piercing voice is heard. ""Mystique, you can't stop me. This land is mine and so are you."" Cassia and the fairies look at Mystique.
 
""She's close Mystique."" Mystique nods. She takes the wand and instructs Cassia to spread the fairies throughout the great hall. Mystique does the same to the protectors.
 
Mystique lifts the wand of the realm in the air. She instructs the fairies and the protectors to do the same. Cassia and the fairies lift their wands in the air.
 
The darkness is outside of the great hall. ""It's coming in."" One of the fairies screams. Mystique yells ""Is everybody ready?"" They yell back yes.
 
""Lift your wands in the air."" Out of the corner of her eye Mystique sees the one who betrayed the protectors. ""Repeat after me.""
 
""Light of light protect this land from the darkness. Protect those that are kind and generous. Rid the land of darkness and bring light to where the darkness has taken root.""
 
In one swift move Mystique points the wand of the realm at her betrayer. She tells Cassia, the fairies and the protectors to do the same.
 
The hall lights up. Swirls of light flow throughout the room and straight into the betrayer destroying the darkness once and for all. ""It's done. The darkness is gone for good."" Mystique huffs out. Cassia and the fairies jump for joy. The protectors join in the celebration.
 
The Land of Roses to the west and east is lively once again. Singing and dancing, laughter and smiles engulf the land once again.
 
Mystique is in the castle grounds, she looks up into the sky as her eyes slowly turn dark.
","July 26, 2023 23:37",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,6mae5b,The Dimming of the Light.,Jo Boyle,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6mae5b/,/short-story/6mae5b/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Contemporary', 'Lesbian']",4 likes,"
It was the strangest thing. All the lights in the house had blown, all at the same time.Lexi Banks stood before the bathroom mirror. Her reflection reminded her of a zombie spawned from one of those gruesome video games. Her ghastly appearance may have been due to the low wattage of one of the only spare globes she could find, but it seemed more likely she’d aged a lifetime overnight. The shadows under her eyes, the onyx of her dim bulbs, the black trenches that ran across her brow and under her bottom lip. It might not have been her reflection at all, but rather a vision of her corpse.The silken sleeve of her nightgown slid to her elbow as she opened the cabinet. Inside were two kinds of pills: one a ginger concoction marketed to pregnant women who weren’t enjoying their bouts of morning sickness, the other a sleeping aid. It was too dark in there to tell which was which, and though she was suffering from both nausea and insomnia, Lexi decided against medicating. She closed the cabinet, then smoothed her hands over her belly. “We love you, kiddo. We both love you… so much.”Lexi shuffled to the bed, slid under the covers, and cried herself to sleep.***“Hey, lovely lady.”Lexi opened sleepy eyes. Red numerals cut through the dark, alerting her to the time: 01:02. A warm body was pressed against her back, and an arm was slung around her waist. The familiar scent of peony and jasmine prompted a smile.Without lifting her head from the pillow, Lexi said, “You’re home already?”“The meeting was cancelled.” Tyler’s soft lips tickled her lobe. “Did you miss me?”“I barely noticed you were gone.”“You lie.” Tyler pecked her temple. “Are you still mad?”Lexi considered further teasing, but her heart wasn’t in it. The truth was, she felt awful about the way they had left things. She switched on the bedside lamp and rolled over. Facing her was a thirty-two-year-old brunette, whose recent shorter cut was just as becoming as any previous length she’d donned. Her light brown eyes carried a guilt that Lexi wanted to dispel.“I’m not mad, Tee.”“You know I would never have left if it wasn’t important.”Lexi nodded. She’d known it from the moment Tyler had mentioned the impromptu trip, but she’d overreacted nonetheless. “I got a little crazy. I’m sorry.”Tyler touched soft fingertips to Lexi’s jaw. “It’s okay. I should’ve been more sensitive.”“It wasn’t your fault. I just… I’m sure it’s the hormones, but I had this overwhelming dread that something bad was going to happen.”“What do you mean? What kind of bad?” When Lexi didn’t answer, Tyler probed. “Lexi, sweetheart, please tell me. Are you alright? Is it the baby?”“We’re fine.” Lexi whispered, “We are fine.”Tyler gave her the side-eye. “Ah. This is about my flight.”Yes. “No.”“Yes.”“No.”“Yesss.” Tyler chuckled. Lexi wished she thought it funny. Qantas was the safest airline in the world, but knowing that hadn’t dispelled her sudden, atypical fear.“Hey.” Tyler snuggled close. “This was my last trip away, okay? I’m here now. You are stuck with me, Lexi Banks. And I have a surprise for you.”“A surprise?”Tyler jumped out of the bed, wearing white coveralls conspicuously splashed with pink. “Come on.” She took Lexi’s hand. “Come and see.”One minute later, Lexi had been directed to Baby’s room, albeit with eyes closed. Tyler hugged her from behind and rested her hands on Lexi’s swollen belly. “Okay,” Tyler said. “You can open them now.”What Lexi opened her eyes to, was a dazzling display of colour. At the centre of a wall of hot pink, were two frolicking white unicorns with yellow horns. They were facing each other, cheek to cheek, both on back hooves that were sunk into splashes of emerald. Their rainbow tails were swept in an imaginary breeze that could only have belonged to spring, and Lexi could almost smell the cherry blossom.“Oh, Tee. You finished it.”“What do you think?”Lexi turned in Tyler’s arms. She was so ill-practiced at verbalising her emotions, she wasn’t sure she could convey adequately, those feelings that had only ever been inspired within her by this woman who held her so tight. Not that Tyler had seemed to mind. The disparate communication that Lexi had forced upon their relationship – the same reluctance of hers that had most assuredly driven others away – had solidified the pairing into one that had outshone any other, had brought Tyler so deeply into Lexi’s heart that at first, she was terrified. How did people do this? How could it be considered at all sensible to allow someone such open access to the innermost sanctum of one’s heart? It seemed to Lexi like a kind of insanity, and so she had kept to a minimum her own use of those three little words, which, after all, must have formed the most overused expression of any language. She had never wanted to discourage Tyler with her outward dispassion, but at the same time was afraid of the vulnerability that Tyler had so manifestly and endlessly evoked. Not that Tyler had ever betrayed it.While Lexi was grappling with her thoughts, Tyler said, “I can paint over it if you like.”There was a sadness in the offering that Lexi had not meant to invoke, and had not the heart to ignore. She planted a palm on Tyler’s chest. “No, you won’t, Tyler Devereaux.”Tyler replied with a wisp of a smile, “It’s okay?”“Are you kidding? It’s wonderful.”Tyler grinned and slipped her hands over Lexi’s hips. “I really wanted to do this for her. And you know, there are still three more walls begging for inspiration. Maybe the two of us could—”Lexi blurted, “I love you.”Of course, Lexi loved her. She and Tyler had moved in together, had planned a family together, had planned a life together. Those words should not have been foreign, and Lexi in that moment felt a panic born of shame that she hadn’t made herself more familiar with the lexical representation of her inner landscape, which without Tyler would have been barren.Lexi repeated, “I love you, Tee.”“My darling Lex, I know that.”“I’m so sorry I haven’t told you more often. I… I don’t know why I haven’t.”Tyler folded her arms and tweaked her eyebrow. “Okay, what is it? Are you having an affair? It’s the OBGYN, isn’t it? Those titillating exercise machine commercials of her flamboyant youth. What was it now. Oh, Ab-Strict? Easy Buns? Although, I suppose I can’t blame you. She did look pretty hot.”Tyler’s mischievous grin did not alleviate Lexi’s panic. “I feel… I feel like I’ve failed you.”“Lex, no. I promise, you haven’t.”“I…” Tears rushed her cheeks. Air left her lungs.Tyler gripped her shoulders. “Listen to me, Lex. Do you think I would be here, do you think I would be having a baby with you, if I didn’t know?” She cradled Lexi’s jaw with both hands. “No matter what happens, sweetheart, always remember: I know, and I love you.” She placed a delicate kiss on Lexi’s lips. Lexi returned it with passion.Lexi’s heart was pounding. But it wasn’t the pleasant overarching beat of arousal. It was a sudden, maniacal tremor of terror. Oh please, God, don’t let it be too late.There was a popping sound, and the room went dark.***Lexi woke to her phone vibrating against the bedside dresser. One eye was buried in her pillow, the other she directed at the alarm clock. 10:06. Lexi never slept past eight.She dragged herself upright and pressed her back against the wall. Tyler’s side of the bed was made, and the curtains were still closed.“Tee?” Lexi threw the covers aside and climbed off the bed. “Tee?” Her limbs felt like lead, and when she stood, the room swayed like a ship in high seas.Lexi slipped into her gown, palmed her phone and shuffled through the hallway to the kitchen. There was no coffee brewing, no note on the bench. The Samsung vibrated in her pocket. Lexi checked the screen. There were two missed calls from a number she didn’t recognise, but more importantly, there was a missed call from Tyler. She was about to check the voice message when the doorbell rang. Feeling entirely unpresentable, Lexi considered not answering.The doorbell rang again.On the stoop was a young, uniformed police officer, who removed his hat and placed it under his armpit. “Ms Banks?”“Yes.”“I’m Officer Kyle Lamprey of Knoxfield police.”“What… what is it I can do for you, Officer Lamprey?”Officer Lamprey’s Adam’s Apple bobbed, as though an unpeeled lychee was stuck in his windpipe. “You’re listed as…”Lexi’s heart was pounding. She only ever remembered it pounding like this the once, and it had happened just that morning, in Baby’s room right before the lights blew. She had considered she might’ve been having a heart attack.“Ms Banks?”“I’m sorry, what… what did you say?”“You’re listed as Tyler Devereaux’s next of kin?”Yes. But why on earth should he be asking her that? Maybe he wasn’t police at all. Lexi studied the navy-blue uniform, then looked over Lamprey’s shoulder at the marked car with the mounted lights, parked at the curb.She reluctantly nodded.“Ms Banks,” he said, “Ms Tyler Devereaux was involved in an accident just after one a.m. this morning. It seems she was enroute to her hotel, after landing at Sydney airport at around 12.30. Her taxi was hit by another taxi. Emergency responders arrived shortly after, and Ms Devereaux was transported to the Royal Prince Alfred hospital. Ms Banks, it’s my sad duty to inform you that Ms Devereaux passed away from her injuries. An investigation is underway, and those officers will be in touch with you soon. Ms Banks, I am…I am so sorry for your loss.”***Lexi hadn’t argued with Lamprey. She’d simply thanked him and watched him leave. Clearly, there had been some horrendous mistake. A mistake of identity, or perhaps some galling administrative error. She felt terrible for the family who would at some point rightly receive the news, but it wasn’t Lexi’s family. It wasn’t Lexi’s news.She took the phone from her pocket and checked on Tyler’s call.Thursday, 27 July 202315283548.amr101 MessageBankTyler tapped play and pressed the phone to her ear.‘My darling Lexi. I guess you’re sleeping. I just… I wanted to apologise for us leaving things the way we did. This trip seemed so damned important, but now that I’m here, I wish I’d stayed home. I wished I’d just… crawled into bed with you. I know I’ve told you this before, but you and Baby have made me so incredibly happy.’A man’s voice Lexi didn’t recognise: ‘Looks like we need to make a detour, Miss.’‘Oh, okay. Lex, I’m almost at the hotel. I’ll call in a few hours. And I’ll be home as soon as I can. And then I’m going to make it up to you, starting with a pair of unicorns. Lexi, sweetheart, I love—”An explosive din – a ruckus that made no sense – abruptly ended the message. Stunned, Lexi checked the time of the call: 1:01am.***What are you waiting for?You know she was here. She was here.Walking into that room was one of the hardest things Lexi had ever done. She did it with her eyes closed, and once inside, immediately pressed her back to the door.She could feel Tyler’s arms wrapped around her, could smell her perfume.Oh please, God, don’t let it be too late…Lexi opened her eyes.In the first, paint tins lined against the wall.A pile of drop-sheets, clean and neatly folded.Paint trays and rollers, and a collection of brushes with the bristles still sheathed in their clear plastic sleeves.A neatly folded pair of white coveralls.There was no hot pink, only a lifeless pale yellow. One wall displayed a pencil outline of two equine beasts, each with a long thin triangle protruding from a bold forehead.On unsteady feet she approached. Then with a shaky finger, Lexi caressed the familiar grey outline, from noble crown to sturdy hoof. She noticed beneath one of them, a discretely scribed dedication: For our daughter. LB+TD.***It was the strangest thing. All the lights in the house had blown, all at the same time.Lexi shuffled to the bed, slid under the covers, and cried herself to sleep.
","July 27, 2023 20:08","[[{'Kiera Lawley': ""Awww, Jo.  \n\nLexi isn't the only one in tears at the end of your story..."", 'time': '06:35 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jo Boyle': 'Thank you for reading. 💙', 'time': '06:40 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jo Boyle': 'Thank you for reading. 💙', 'time': '06:40 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rob H': 'As usual, Jo, your writing is crisp and has sharp edges. Reader beware. This one shifted so quickly into tragedy, and after we broached those three little words. :-(', 'time': '22:59 Jul 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jo Boyle': 'Thank you as always, Rob, for enduring. :-)', 'time': '03:51 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jo Boyle': 'Thank you as always, Rob, for enduring. :-)', 'time': '03:51 Jul 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,5kogk0,Painted Yellow,Steffen Lettau,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5kogk0/,/short-story/5kogk0/,Dramatic,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Horror']",4 likes,"
Amongst Tholan's friends, Trentil was the most excited for a ""last hunt"", albeit the most nervous. He actually came over to Tholan's home and, after knocking until Tholan answered in mild miffiness, Trentil invited him with a few other males for a personal hunt:""Tholan, friend, how are you?""Tholan inhaled, allowing the miffiness to dissipate. ""Good.""""Nice, nice, is Lindia home?""""She is assisting Garrold; they're brainstorming for future festivities.""Trentil clapped his hands. ""Goody-good! In fact, Garrold had granted my request, a last hunt for the fall season. I got Merchen and Hommock, and I just need the best among the rest.""Tholan sighed. He knew the history between Lindia and Merchen, and Hommock had a reputation for sporadically trying to appear more tough during dilemmas. Then, there was Trentil, a good patroller but easily exited. ""To drag you back alive?""Trentil laughed. ""Oh, Tholan, you kidder! Listen,"" he whispered and leaned forward, ""there's a good spot to hunt, not far from the mountains.""Upon hearing this, Tholan backed up. ""No, NO! No way! That...that Abomination* we had to deal with during summer is probably near the mountains. We should find a different spot!""""Tholan, relax! It's a different spot,"" assured Trentil. ""From your description, the Abomination went between the mountains, probably west. My spot is east, off the slope. We'll be far from that thing, trust me! The only things you'll find near the eastern mountain, aside from my suggested spot, is a former town from centuries ago...abandoned, of course!""""Really?"" Tholan inquired suspiciously.""Well, there were dark-haired wolves in that town, but that was from my last two patrols. No doubt they made that place a temporary den, but winter will drive them to the plains where prey might be easier to attain. Besides,"" he patted Tholan's shoulder, ""we're not going to the town! We go on a good morning, scout, and if there's nothing there, we go home! Trust me!""Tholan grimaced; somehow, a seemingly good morning every couple of months made his life more exciting than he wanted.The next day, Trentil did as promised, once more knocking until Tholan opened the door, irritated like before. Trentil was made to wait until Tholan was dressed and hydrated, kissing Lindia goodbye and promising to come back before dusk. Trentil then led him to two other males; tall and lanky Merchen, and broad-shouldered barrel-chested Hommock.""We're bringing the lucky-boy with us, Trenty?"" mocked Merchen, winking at Tholan.Tholan restrained himself from rolling his eyes; every community dealing in beasts of burden was bound to have asses. ""Yes,"" he responded, ""and I would like to get this over with.""""Ooh, in a hurry?"" asked Merchen. ""Trying to get back home to warmth and comfort?""Tholan indicated for Trentil to lead the way, doing his best to not let Merchen get under his skin. Merchen, in turn, turned away from Tholan and walked behind Trentil.""Merchen really doesn't like you,"" Hommock whispered to Tholan. ""If he disrespected my woman, I'd knock him down.""""Merchen had his chance; Lindia chose me, and that's the end of the matter.""Hommock smirked at Tholan's remark. ""Regardless, don't screw this up for us. This is supposed to be a special hunt, according to Trentil. If it's anything but fulfilling, it's his ass on the line.""Tholan started walking forward, but Hommock's big hand suddenly reached out and stopped an inch away from his chest. ""One more thing; I've torn apart a bear with my own claws last year. Don't give me any flack, and don't try to stop me.""Their path was definitely heading to the east, keeping inside the forest before it would lead to the plains where bears and wolves and even mountain lions had been known to stalk the herds of deer, elk, and even moose grazing upon the grass. The morning sun seemed to be beckoning the squad to follow its glowing path set atop the trees and raining down through the foliage. A golden sheen set before a neon-pink sky, cast upon a healthy-green forest...giving way to a clearing ahead.Trentil quickly turned to him and indicated silence, using his index finger to then point to the edge of the clearing. Tholan's eyes followed the direction and beheld a magnificent animal.Tholan remembered stories from his childhood, passed by word of mouth from his mother and father unto him every night before his Year of the New Phase (basically puberty, but for him and his community). They involved creatures created by Hunters as part of legends and myths, from tall immortals with pointed ears to long-haired fish people prowling the oceans and luring sailors with songs and trinkets. The most wholesome were the stories of the Horned Horses, the herd animals of which were rumored to hold the most pure and potential magic amongst the mortal creatures. He had seen the pictures and the drawings, but neither would do justice for him in this place and at this time. The large animal had reared up its head to look around for the source of the confusing noise and, seeing no culprits, it turned and started walking through the trees.Trentil signaled the group forward, keeping to the trees and going around the clearing so as not to be easily seen. He stopped near the tracks of the Horned Horse and inhaled deeply; ""Can you smell that?""Tholan surveyed the area, wondering if the animal was close. Seeing nothing, he inhaled deeply and took in the scents of the area; grass, trees, hair, flowers, hooves...Moisture?Trentil indicated forward, but with more speed. The four of them ran, their trek almost upon the roots of the Eastern mountain. Tholan not only smelled the moisture, he could hear it! A waterfall was nearby, which meant drinking water was within their grasp!What's more, he could smell more beings in that area. More Horned Horses. The answer came before them; more Horned Horses! It was like a painting from the collage of children's dreams and adult's fantasies, played out amongst a scenery of a pool flowing forth from the aforementioned waterfall, a wonderful resource from the Eastern mountain that was attracting and hydrating the animals.Tholan took this all in, a dream he prayed unto his patron deity that would not be forgotten, only to be shaken back to reality as he noticed Hommock sneaking around the pool, going behind the waterfall, heading to one of the unsuspecting Horses. Moving downwind, he shifted to his more bestial nature, the sound of the waterfall covering up for his transformation. Trentil saw him, and whispered, ""No! Hommock, not yet!""Too late came the message, as another Horned Horse came upon the large Hommock in all his predatorial glory, and cried out a whinny that alerted the herd. Hommock bolted, but so did his quarry, and the two ran in the direction of the mountain's base. Trentil, Merchen, and Tholan turned in turn, and clawed in haste after their overtly ambitious member.Admittedly, Tholan missed this; the glorious day shining through a pinkish sky and raining gold through green canopies, a clearing in the forest with a waterfall and strips of grass running alongside the water, a great mountain providing a perfect backdrop to an otherwise clear sky, and the thrill of the hunt to cap it all off! He was grateful for this, and he hurried in happiness alongside both his companions as they continued chasing after Hommock and the future meat for the community. This was what he had wanted, a time of peace and normalcy. No Hunters, no Abominations, no ultrantulas, but plenty of sunshine and Horned Horses and-A fog?The frightened Horned Horse barreled through the appearing mist with a determined Hommock not far behind. Merchen followed suit, but Trentil slowed down alongside Tholan. They were practically on the slope of the Eastern mountain and the trees were still a continuation of the forest, but there was something eerie here. The forest itself had dark places and even felt like a crushing hope for any unfortunate enough to be lost, but this environment was different, like a foreboding mansion just springing up in the middle of nowhere.""Trentil,"" asked Tholan, ""you've been here before. What is this?""Trentil looked around. ""This way will lead us to that abandoned town I told you about. It was never this...dense before.""Tholan nodded. ""Well, you were here before, so lead the way.""""Yeah,"" Trentil nodded assent, ""let's just be careful.""Entering the mist, Tholan noticed how quiet it was inside this region of the forest. Such was not uncommon even on his own patrols, but this quiet had him hearing more noises coming from within his own body than anywhere outside. And if that wasn't enough, his sense of smell was also muffled; he had to hover his nose barely an inch off of the ground to locate the direction of the others as well as the Horned Horse.""We're in the town,"" Trentil quipped, and no sooner was this said than a house stood before the two, the wood darkened from exposure and time with moss growing in patches upon the walls. Tholan turned and found another house, this one partially collapsed. Both of them moved between the houses, making out more buildings that were either destroyed or rotting in appearance. Dried leaves littered the dark dirty ground under their clawed feet as they came to the middle of the former town.""Merchen! Hommock!"" called out Trentil. Tholan whirled in his direction, being caught off guard. Trentil noticed, and said, ""Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump. Listen, I'll go on; there's a field of stones ahead, maybe they went there. You go back and check the houses."" Tholan nodded, and Trentil went ahead calling out, ""Merchen! Hommock!""Tholan didn't feel that they should be announcing themselves, but headed to the houses regardless. Though his sense of smell was still muffled by the fog, he was quite sure he could pick up a lingering scent in the air, almost obliterated in the open air. Inside the houses, though, the scent was a little more prevalent, adding to the fungus and mildew. Amongst these airs, none belonged to either of the other community members, nor the Horned Horse (though no herd animal would willingly enter a house without either being coaxed or being provoked).He had checked on three houses that were still holding up, noticing that these places appeared as if abandoned in an instant, with blankets still on beds and plates still in cupboards. One even had children's toys still in its chest, though such were also subject to the decay of time. Dark spots were littered upon the floorboards, and one house had what appeared to be the remains of a trap door, almost as if it was chewed up. Tholan leaned in close and inhaled the wood, expecting the usual putrid smell.Rotting eggs! He pulled back immediately, almost dry-heaving on the spot. Something else had caught his eye, and he went back to pear into the small room under the trap door. Sure enough, there were stairs, suffering from the same rot, but he looked closer and made out scratch marks upon the stairs. Almost like...claw marks.Something was dragged out.The sudden silence caught his attention; why wasn't Trentil calling out the names? He quickly moved away from one mystery and headed to another, to the field of stones Trentil mentioned heading towards. Sure enough, there they were, but now he could make this place out not as a field; instead, it was a cemetery littered with many a tombstone. Shockingly, the fog had alleviated here, and he could even make out the names on a few tombstones. That rotting egg smell was back, stronger than at the trap door. But a stronger and fresher scent was suddenly before him, and he fell upon all fours to see the familiar red liquid sprayed upon the graves. He had a path, he took it, and the red trail led him further into the graveyard.He stopped. He had found the Horned Horse and Hommock.Both lied before a tall obelisk-shaped tombstone standing alone and apart from the other, and both were surrounded by blood. The culprits were chewing upon their necks, the last amount of red liquid spilling out and wetting the ground. One of them looked up, staring into Tholan's eyes with fiery-yellow eyes swirling around white pupils. It opened its blood-stained lips and growled at Tholan; despite its recent chewing upon Hommock's neck, the mouth remained untainted beyond the sharpened white teeth and pinkish gums. As it opened its maw, a yellow tongue poured out, and the foul scent of rotten eggs hit his nose once more, an eruption of what he now identified as sulfur. He knew it by another name:Brimstone.Here were the Black Wolves that Trentil had mentioned, but they were not like regular wolves; they were twice the size, with talons like sickles and, possibly, just as sharp. Their fur was the most captivating; it appeared like thick fur, yet it almost seemed like a fluid, reminiscent of a shape moving in the darkness like a deep-sea predator moving in the abyss before striking. There were five of them and, one by one, they shifted their attention from the recent dead lying upon the old dead to the future dead now backing up slowly.Movement came out from behind Tholan, and he felt the clawed hands of Trentil and Merchen enveloping his arms. ""Run!"" yelled Trentil. ""Don't look at them! Run, both of you! Run! Now! RUN!""Their padded feet and hands hit the ground, nails digging into the dirt and throwing it behind their retreating backs. They dared not to look behind themselves, not that they needed to; the harsh barks and deep growls indicated enough proof of them being chased, along with the heavy thuds of more limbs of large animals pursuing them. They burst out of the town, the fog still around them as they followed the slope back to the waterfall and the stream. Behind the waterfall they went, the sound not nearly enough to drown out the howls of the Black Wolves. The fog continued to follow them, almost as if it went where the monsters were.Further they went into the forest, and Tholan was worried that they would lead the Black Wolves back to the community when he saw the red cruxes. They were his, set up after his encounter with the group of Hunters from months ago, still standing uninterrupted. ""Head to the red cruxes!"" he yelled out, and almost balked as the sound of jaws whiffed near his ankle with the crashing of teeth echoing in his ears. He pushed harder, and finally launched past his barrier.He was still running, with Merchen at his side, when the cry of Trentil caught their attention and they stopped, scraping the ground as their momentum continued for a few feet. Turning, they witnessed Trentil swarmed upon the ground by the Black Wolves, gripping his limbs and the back of his neck. He fought as best as he could, but even his transformed self couldn't fight the large predators for long. Sinking their large fangs into him, they started dragging him away. Trentil screamed in pain, but when he saw Tholan and Merchen start to bolt back to him, he shook his head and cried out, ""No, don't!"" Another bite, another scream, and he was pulled into the fog and the forest by three of the Dark Wolves. The other two turned back to Tholan and Merchen, growling and barking but unable to move beyond the red cruxes. In fact, they backed away, their white pupils glaring spitefully at their former prey.Tholan looked from the retreating Black Wolves to the red cruxes. There were only three set up, yet the monsters treated this like a cursed wall. Finally, they turned and ran back, presumably from whence they came. Again, a silence surrounded Tholan, but this was more like the quiet after a fierce battle; the notion of never seeing his friend again suddenly washed over him. Falling to his knees, he mournfully howled to the sky, now falling victim to clouds rolling out of nowhere. Tears rolled down his face, and Merchen came over to him and placed his clawed hand upon Tholan's shoulder. After a minute stretched to nearly forever, Merchen finally broke the silence: ""We need to go. We need to return and report this.""The day had been too good to be true, and Tholan pushed his exhausted self, alongside Merchen who now supported him with an arm under his shoulder. They got back to the community, noting every red crux around and near their home. Members ran up to them, and the questions poured; what happened, where was Trentil and Hommock, why were they exhausted? Finally, Garrold stood before the two. He approached them, and looked upon Tholan, inquiring:""Are you two all right?""Merchen nodded, and Tholan did the same. Before Garrold asked anything else, Tholan found his voice; ""Trentil...took us....clearing...Horned Horses there... chased... Black... Wolves...""Garrold immediately grabbed both sides of Tholan's head. ""Where is Trentil and Hommock?""""Dead.""Garrold's mouth hung open, and he looked to Merchen. Merchen nodded and added, ""We were hunting the Horses, and we went into an abandoned town. There were Black Wolves there, they...oh, heavens!"" At this, he turned away, and Garrold looked upon Tholan. ""How many times did you see the Black Wolves?""This confused Tholan and, when he didn't answer, Garrold shook him. ""How many times did you see them?""""Two-two times!""Garrold stopped shaking him. ""How many times did Trentil see them?"" At this, Tholan thought back to the patrols his friend told him about yesterday. He held up three fingers, and Garrold pulled Tholan closer and issued a warning:""Never go back there again.""
","July 28, 2023 20:42",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,t4v0dm,Killer Darbie ,Lora Morel,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/t4v0dm/,/short-story/t4v0dm/,Dramatic,0,"['Crime', 'Thriller', 'Suspense']",4 likes,"
Kent walked into the Darbie dream condo, he was ready for their day out, sporting a pair of yellow swim trunks with the red polkadots and sang out. “ Come on, Darbie, let’s go to the party! Darbie yelled from upstairs, “I’m almost ready!”Kent walked into the fabulous sunken living room with green carpeting and sat down to wait. Darbie's cat Callie sat high up on his magnificent purple cat condo, looking down watching Kent. Kent smiled and sang to Callie while snapping his fingers to a familiar beat, “ Come on, Darbie, let's go the party ah ah ah yeah. “ Callie didn't move, he was not impressed as he continued to sit in his lap of luxury and watch from above. Kent heard Darbie coming down the stairs, she was humming the tune that Kent was just singing. Darbie entered the living room with her hair, pulled into a high ponytail, wearing a green and white polka dotted swimsuit. “Hey Kent! Do you like my new Gem Beach bikini?” Darbie stepped down into the sunken living room and started spinning in circles with her hands in the air, smiling. Kent said “ who wouldn’t like it, you look great!”Darbie continued her fashion show by spinning around the room and smiling at Kent. She started singing the song Kent had sang, “ I’m a Darbie girl with my Darbie hair curled. I’m so bombastic and super classic, ha ha!”Kent smiled and stood up. “OK Darbie, are you ready?”Darbie said as she walked out of the living room. ""Let me go grab a beach towel and my beach bag! I’ll be right back.”Kent was excited, today was his new friend Sirad’s birthday party and he was having it out on his famous yacht. Sirad Wheeler has had several parties in the past, but Kent had never been invited. Kent had heard many exciting stories from others on how fabulous Sirad’s parties were. Kent was excited because he finally made the distinguished guest list and Kent was ready to party!He walked over to Callie and danced around singing. “Come on, Darbie, let’s go to the party!”Callie was still not impressed. He just laid there without moving, just staring at Kent. Kent asked Calie, “ did you want to come with us to the yacht?”Callie yawned, still not moving an inch, just staring at Kent.  “Well, have it your way cat! Darbie and I are gonna go and party!”Kent raised his voice higher and sang out “Come on, Darbie, let’s go to the party!”Kent heard Darbie say, “I am on my way!” Kent looked closely at Callie and said, “Let me know if you change your mind and we can get you one of those new Gem Beach swimsuits too!”.Callie didn’t blink, but just sat on his purple carpeting, staring at Kent.Darbie poked her head into the living room and sang out, “Life wrapped in plastic, It’s super fantastic!”  Kent noticed Darbie had changed and now she had on some sort of psychedelic terry cloth dress on. Kent asked, ""what happened to your cool bikini you just had on?” Darbie said, “ This is a swimsuit cover-up, I still have my swimsuit on underneath the dress. “Kent shook his head and said, ok, cool!”Kent said goodbye to Callie and followed Darbie out into the foyer. Darbie had her beach bag, and towel, as they headed out the front door.Kent couldn’t stop singing in the familiar beat, “intimidation, life is your temptation. Come on, Darbie, let’s go to the party. “ Darbie danced around and spun around to Kent’s singing, they were both super excited for the festivities today.Kent walked over to his new blue Ford bronco, but Darbie said, “hey Kent, let’s take my car. You can drive!”Kent shrugged and said, “OK!”Kent danced over to the hot pink convertible mustang, and opened the passenger side for Darbie, he continued to sing the phrase over and over, “ come on, Darbie, let’s go to the party!”Both in the car, they drove out of the Darbie compound, and headed towards the pier. The mustang top was down and it was a beautiful day. Darbie and Kent smiled at each other, and continued to sing the same phrase over and over. “Come on, Darbie. Let’s go to the party. Come on, Darbie. Let’s go to the party. “Driving into the parking lot, Kent parked and then scrambled out of his side of the car, running over to open Darbie's door before she could. He opened her door and bent at the waist halfway and said, “ we have arrived at our destination, Madame.” Darbie laughing got out of the car and Kent closed the door. They saw the yacht ahead and started approaching, still singing the familiar tune, “Come on, Darbie, let’s go to the party, Come on Darbie, let’s go to the party!”They sang it all the way up to the yacht smiling at each other, while Darbie spun around. Walking up the wooden passerelle to the yacht, they could already hear the music and see all the white lighting hung all about on the yacht, it sparkled like a dream come true!Up on the yacht they were greeted by the butler, “good evening friends, your host has requested that I show you to your rooms”Darbie and Kent followed the butler down the grand hall of the yacht, the outside area covered with hanging white Christmas type string lighting and crystal candle lanterns. Darbie looked over at Kent and giggled quietly in excitement behind the butler's back as they walked down the stairs.The butler paused at one door and turned to Darbie and said, “this is your room, miss.” The butler opened the door, and Darbie walked in.The butler said. “Dinner is at 7 PM sharp in the downstairs dining room, Mr. Wheeler does not like waiting. Please wear your bathing suits to dinner. “Darbie said, “You want us to wear our bathing suits to have dinner?”The butler responded, “yes miss.”Then the butler turned to Kent and said, “OK, sir, I’ll show you to your quarters now. “Kent's room was a few doors down from Darbies. The butler opened the door and said, “I’ll head back if there is nothing else sir?” Kent thanked the butler and went into his room and shut the door.Kent looked at the clock hanging on the wall in his room. It was 6:30pm, so he had 30 mins before dinner. Kent opened his door and looked both ways down the hall to see if the coast was clear, making sure the butler was gone. Then Kent tiptoed down to Darbie's room and knocked on the door. “Hey Darbie it’s me Kent!”Darbie opens the door and lets Kent inside. Kent asked Darbie “ what are we supposed to do for the next 30 minutes? “.Darbie said, “ you invited me to this, I don’t know!”Kent said, “ why don’t we just go down to the dining hall now?”Darbie said, “That sounds good! I’m going to use the restroom and then I’m ready!” Darbie unzipped her swimsuit cover-up and tossed it on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door.Darbie came out after a few minutes and announced, “ok, I’m ready!” and slipped on some very spiked high heel sandals before heading to the door. Kent and Darbie walked out of the bedroom and started walking down the hall. Unfamiliar with their surroundings, they peaked around corners looking for the dining room. Approaching some stairs that lead up, they decided to venture upstairs in hopes of finding the dining room.At the top of the stairs they came across some French doors that were closed. Darbie looked at Kent and said, “I’m pretty sure that’s got to be the dining room. “Kent opened the doors and what they saw was not a dining room at all!Kent looked at Darbie and said, “this is definitely not the dining room!”Darbie said, “oh my gosh. I want to leave right now!”Just as Darbie and Kent turned around to leave, the butler appeared out of nowhere. “ I’m sorry folks, this room is private and off-limits to guests. I’ll have to ask you to return to your rooms and I will let master Wheeler know that you have discovered his private room. “Kent said, “ Actually, we both want to leave this boat immediately and I’m going to call the authorities as soon as possible!”Darbie said, “What is the meaning of all of this? I am shocked! I demand to leave right now!”The butler said, “I think that might be impossible, miss, we have already left the dock. “Darbie looked at Kent and said, “I want to leave right now Kent!”Kent grabbed Darbie’s hand and said to the butler, “ Take us to the top of the boat I’d like to see for ourselves!”As the trio turned around to walk away, a man showed up at the end of the hallway. He was a tall man wearing a white lounging outfit. Kent said, “Hey Sirad, what’s going on here?”Sirad ignored Ketn and said to the butler, “ What is the meaning of all of this, Frederick?”Sirad looked angry, he had both hands on his hips as he waited for an answer from the butler.Frederick said, “I’m sorry, sir, they found your secret room on their own.”Sirad walked closer to them and said “why wasn’t the door locked? “The butler shrugged and said, “I’m not sure, sir. “Sirad looked at Kent and said, “ well I guess this means you will be my guests here for quite some time. Unfortunately, since you found a room you weren’t supposed to, you will now be locked in your rooms until I decide what to do with you. “ Darbie started screaming at the top of her lungs, Kent still holding Darbie's arm bolted towards the stairs and yelled to Darbie, “let’s go!”As Kent and Darbie bolted down the stairs, they could hear Sirad laughing. Kent and Darbie managed to find the main deck and saw that the boat had indeed pulled away from the shore.Kent said, “Well, we can jump and swim to shore!”Darbie said, “no, I’m not jumping!”Kent and Darbie turned around and saw 2 men walking towards them. Darbie said, “I really hate to do this, but I’m going to have to get Mira out!”Kent, looking confused, said, “what? Who is Mira?”Darbie pulled her ponytail out and let her long hair down, shaking it out.Kent said looking confused at Darbie, “These men are going to kill us and you want to let your hair down?”Darbie looked over at Kent and said in a deep angry voice, “Mira is mad!” Darbie then rubbed her eyes,deliberately smearing her black eye makeup. Kent’s eyes widened in fear, he had never seen Darbie look like this, she looked like a mad woman!The men stood watching Darbie and were laughing. “What happened to your girlfriend, she looks like a wild dog.”Darbie bent down and slowly took off her high heels, without looking down she managed to take the black ends of her heels off and tossed them on the deck. Never once taking her eyes off the 2 men still laughing. Kent wondered what Darbie was doing, he watched in horror as she turned into a crazy mad woman! Darbie abruptly bolted towards the 2 men. Kent watched as this played out so quickly, watching Darbie stab one of the men in his neck and then the other. The men pulled out the shoes that were stuck in their necks and started to run the other way, holding theri bleeding wounds. Darbie ran behind them and quickly pulled one of them by the back of his shirt, pulling him to the deck floor and like a mountain lion, pouncing on his chest. Her hands flew around his neck and Darbie started hissing as she choked him. Kent was frozen and unable to move. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was in shock. The man fought, but was no match for Darbie and eventually his body went limp. Darbie stood up and looked at Kent with a wild rage in her eyes, then she ran past him and jumped off the deck into the water below. Stunned at what he just witnessed, he watched as Darbie swam away, but she wasn’t headed towards the shore, she was swimming out to the open water!Kent turned around and saw Mr. Wheeler running towards him, yelling something that Kent couldn’t understand.  Kent had no choice, so he jumped overboard too. As Kent came up out of the water, he saw a helicopter flying over where Darbie was, then a ladder dropped out the helicopter door and Darbie grabbed onto it. Kent was puzzled, where did a helicopter come from so quickly?Kent yelled, “hey Darbie!” Kent watched Darbie climb all the way up and sit down inside the helicopter, as it hovered over the water. Then the helicopter came around and put the ladder in front of Kent to grab hold of. Just as Kent grabbed on, the helicopter took off, leaving Kent dangling at the bottom of the ladder.The helicopter flew quickly, leaving Kent dangling from the ladder and unable to climb up. Kent watched in terror as the helicopter left the water area and started flying over the shoreline and headed directly towards a building! Just as the helicopter approached the building, Kent looked up and saw a Darbie, leaning out of the helicopter, laughing wickedly and looking down right as Kent smashed into the side of the building.   
","July 23, 2023 04:26",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,4c6xk1,Undeserving of Love,Carina Caccia,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4c6xk1/,/short-story/4c6xk1/,Dramatic,0,"['Fiction', 'Romance', 'Sad']",4 likes,"
Nora knew not to seek refuge in others, and yet this stranger—we’ll call him Louis—provided some kind of solace lying there beside her, shoulder to shoulder, each of them with their arms wrapped around a blue pillow. 
She was happy to lie here in his company, in his bed, for there was no family to hold her, no friends, no partner, and the only semblance of love she’d ever found was in the arms of men with ulterior motives; and so, she willingly mistook mud for chocolate, weeds for flowers, and blood for wine. 
But this time, she mightn’t have to. Louis, still very much a stranger, seemed genuinely fine with just her company, her conversation, her kisses.
Sorry, she’d said an hour earlier, when she hadn’t wanted to take it further.
Don’t apologise for that; not to me, nor to anyone.
And now he lay there—safe, sensible, sweet—fidgeting with a plush toy from his childhood.
“The green Power Ranger was your favourite, then?” asked Nora.
“Yeah, and the red, but it’s in the home I grew up in. Whenever I visit my parents, it’s there on the desk in my bedroom.”
Nora studied his cheek squashed against the pillow, the asymmetrical pout of his squished lip, the silver scar across his stubble.
I was glassed in Uruguay, he’d explained.
“What about you?”
“My parents rented out my childhood home,” said Nora, “but I’m always home; I’m at home in my own skin.”
He leant over and kissed her shoulder, withdrew and waited attentively.
“I do have a monkey, though. His name’s Monkey.” He was in a bag in a box in a garage somewhere.
“How original,” smiled Louis.
“I was three.” 
“That’s no excuse, Nora.” 
She liked how much he used her name. It felt familiar; he felt familiar.
“Well, I named him that ironically,” she said, and feigned a sip of wine. 
“My, my, what a clever three-year-old,” said Louis, adjusting an imaginary pair of glasses.
“Exactly.”
Louis kissed her nose, her forehead, and then gathered her up in his embrace.
She didn’t deserve his affection and was unsettled by him dishing it out so readily; and yet she savoured it, she savoured this foreign familiarity, this sweet semblance of love.
***
Nora had just removed her jewellery, and a large, clean T-shirt awaited her on Louis’ desk chair. 
“By the way, we have to get up at nine.”
It was already five.
“I think I might go home, then,” said Nora, and she put her earrings back in, her rings, her necklaces. He should have told her earlier; had she known, she wouldn’t have come.
“At least take an umbrella,” he said, rummaging through his wardrobe.
“It’s fine, it’s just sprinkling.” Not that she knew; she hadn’t even known it was raining.
She snubbed the green umbrella in his open hands, and slung her bag over her shoulder. 
Louis followed her down the hall and into the stairwell, barefoot and shirtless.
“Good night,” smiled Nora, already descending the stairs. “This handrail needs painting.”
“What about a kiss?” asked Louis, his bare chest glowing yellow beneath the dim light.
“Oh, right!” said Nora, ascending the stairs. She dodged a kiss on the lips, and kissed both his cheeks. “Good night!”
She squinted as the rain hit her face. Asshole. She’d heard him close the door before she’d reached the street. Where was she? She turned a corner, and in the distance was La Place de La Comédie. How convenient, it was no wonder he’d chosen to meet there.
Nora revelled in the rain on her face; it might cleanse her of those foreign lips, those foreign hands, that sickening sweetness of a stranger. She’d done nothing to deserve all that affection.
And why would she have wanted his umbrella? She wouldn’t grant him that nobility, that deep sleep, while she dodged puddles on the street in short shorts, a tank top, and a chin reddened by his stubble. It would have been noble to have told her in advance, to grant her an informed decision. At least now she wouldn’t be obliged to see him again. She’d walk in the rain; she’d already walked a lifetime in the rain, and there was no shoddy umbrella binding her to anyone.
Men did that; they exploited the principle of reciprocity. They gave her stupid trinkets and put their own cheap rings on her fingers, only to forget about them and later demand another date. Tying their five-dollar bracelets around her wrists like cuffs would guarantee seeing her again; and when they explained that these bits of string held sentimental value, she’d groan and capitulate, granting them that slimy second date.
“Mais t’es toute seule.” A crow’s black beady eyes met hers for an instant.
Nora shot her head down—the wet cobblestones stretched out like a glittering game of Tetris—for she’d already learned that her safety was contingent on silence, that a reaction meant game over. Surely Louis knew, too, as he kissed her goodbye, shut the door, and returned to bed; he knew she’d not only be dodging puddles, but also the unwelcome advances of grimy men. He lived here, after all; he couldn’t claim ignorance.
Nora was careful not to slip as she entered the plaza, the red neon lights of the Gaumont cinema glowing on the wet tiles.
The principle of reciprocity also applied to drinks; a beer was never just a beer. She had her own money, she’d buy her own, but after rejecting a man’s offer five consecutive times, she’d still find herself with a free pint in her hands that felt more like an obligation than a favour. She’d be twisted into reciprocity, for she now owed them something: her company, a smile, tolerance of their misogynistic compliments, laughter at their crass humour, the stroking of their fragile ego.
Nora turned up another cobblestoned street. She was right to have refused the umbrella, despite her damp hair, clothes, skin.
“T’es très belle.” 
Nora’s spine crawled. It was another slimy eel with blank eyes and a cavernous smile, pointed teeth like stalactite. She stared into the Tetris blocks glimmering beneath the streetlights; they piled up and up and up, and home felt farther and farther and farther away: somewhere far beyond this infinite street.
She thought of Louis an instant, in bed and fast asleep; but she also thought of his semi nudity in the stairwell, the surprise on his face.
A light in the distance. A small bakery. It got closer, closer, closer like an approaching lantern, an approaching lifeboat in this dark sea of creatures. Its warm, orange light pooled into the wet street, and as Nora crossed the glowing cobblestones, she peered in at a white coat and toque blanche leant over a silver surface and balls of dough. This little glimpse of life made her feel a little safer.
Louis had seemed so genuine, but Nora had long been surrounded by the disingenuous. And perhaps this is why she’d felt the need to find fault somewhere, to spare herself the disappointment? not that she had any hopes to disappoint; she was already hopeless and disappointed, already disillusioned and world-weary.
She turned onto the darkest road, the streetlight flickering, a moth fluttering. Zap.
Maybe she’d found Louis’ kindness disarming and she felt insecure if unarmed. When she self-destructed—say, via hedonism—she could at least feign strength; but that was hard to do when honest and open, when vulnerable, when restored to a child, wide-eyed and filled with wonder.
To be vulnerable was scary. There was no family to hold her, no friends, no partner. The only semblance of love she’d ever found was in the arms of men with ulterior motives; and now, in the name of self-preservation, she willingly mistook chocolate for mud, flowers for weeds, and wine for blood. It was, after all, familiar.
Nora prodded for the keyhole in the darkness, and the door clicked open; she was home—safe, sensible, sweet—and the sun would rise as she fell asleep.
","July 29, 2023 01:20",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,ah7s8u,Fire and Flame ,Emilie Bufford,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ah7s8u/,/short-story/ah7s8u/,Dramatic,0,['Fantasy'],4 likes,"
	The clouds were pink, to begin with. Emperor Posy of Peony had made sure of that. But, they hadn’t always been. Much to the Emperor’s alarm, they had turned black the day of his daughter’s birth. 
	“Change them back,” the Emperor told his sorcerer after taking one glance at the mewling newborn in the nursemaid’s arms. “All was fine and pink until she came into this world. Nothing good will come of it.” 
	The sorcerer, Aflyn, clad in a rose-pink robe with a red sash, quickly removed a vial from his breast pocket and blew across the top of it and out the window. Shimmering dust bloomed into the air, turning the clouds, and a passing flock of pigeons, a pale shade of coral. 
	“Better,” Emperor Posy murmured. 
	The Emperor’s wife, Delilah, sweating, pale, and barely conscious, lay in bed amongst mounds of pillows and furs. Her ladies-in-waiting hurriedly wiped and brushed and dabbed at her face with pale creams, rouges, and powders that bloomed into a great cloud. A sweet aroma, mixed with the smell of too many bodies in one room, filled the air. The doctor sneezed. One servant furtively, and unsuccessfully tucked the Empress’s damp strands of black hair back under her amaranth tinted wig. The doctor poured an elixir into her mouth in between tentative swipes of lipstick from a child servant. 
	The headmistress shooed the servants away, fluttering her puffy lace sleeves as the Emperor turned away from the window. 
	“I must see to my dogs,” he said, walking blindly past the servants as they fell into a line of deep bows and curtsies. “I’ll have the armory restocked,” he murmured, Aflyn trailing behind him. “Spears sharpened, new swords forged…” 
	The servants exchanged nervous glances when he closed the door behind him. The only sound was the fussing newborn. The sorcerer paused at the door. 
	“May I?” he said softly. The nursemaid holding the baby hesitated, looking to the doctor. The doctor, arms folded, gave a subtle nod. Aflyn took the babe gingerly into his arms. He waggled his long, slender fingers in front of the child’s face, and her eyes opened wide for the first time. Quiet gasps erupted as she stared up at the sorcerer’s tanned, gently lined face. 
	“Gemma,” he whispered to her with a smile. “Like the sun-kissed honeysuckle within the briar, like the gentle kiss of fire...you shall make all evil things burn.” He flicked his fingers, and a rosy bloom glowed within the baby’s cheeks. Mouths wide, the servants watched the sorcerer tenderly return the babe to the nursemaid’s arms. He took one last look at her before closing the door behind him. 
⤋
	Balthus stared at the flames reflected in his wine; wine the color of the blood he had once walked through on the battlefield. It had been moonlight winking back at him that day. 
	Balthus drank the flames and lifted the letter off the scarred oak table once more. His black eyes were too bleary from the wine to read it anymore, but he had already memorized the scribbled ink: “It’s true. It’s all true - down to the very last creature in those ancient, dusty scrolls. - Aflyn.” 
	Night had long since fallen over the watchtower. Snowflakes swirled past the frost-marred windows on either side of the mantle. The wind moaned through the chinks in the chimney and poorly-patched cracks in the door. There was still snow melting on the firewood his servant had just laid beside the hearth. Tendrils of black smoke wafted from a smoldering log on the fire like worms trying to escape the earth after heavy rain. Balthus stirred the fire. 
	The wind faded to a mutter. Balthus peered through the windows, seeing only the pale whorls of snow against the black. He drained his goblet and reached for the jug again. The gold thread of Emperor Posy’s sigil on his chest, a pink peony, glittered faintly. 
 Nine years, Balthus thought. Nine years since that gypsy-worshiping fool sent us to war. The great Emperor Posy. And what good did it do? Hundreds of good soldiers slain, and the evil forces now stronger than ever. They drank those men’s blood like mothers’ milk, they did…The gypsy had failed to mention that. 
	The fire popped, and Balthos flinched as he poured, spilling wine over his large, calloused hand. He cursed and licked it off, eyeing the door. 
 Clancy, Gowain, Faustus, Balthus recalled the names and faces of his friends, broken and crushed to the point where even their dear mothers could not have recognized them, bless their souls… And so cold, they were. Colder than tree roots in January. The kind of cold you carried with you in the marrow of your bones. 
	He stood and staggered to the mantle. He looked up at his sword hanging on the wall. Candlelight glinted across it like light across water. He watched the light caress the blade and rubbed the coil-shaped scar that wrapped around his forearm. He saw the faces of those creatures again: decaying flesh clinging to bone, teeth that gnashed, teeth that tore. They had come like the shadows themselves, stepping from the gloom between the trees, between the stars. 
	He grasped the hilt of his sword. Carefully, he brought it down, set it on the table, and rang the bell for his servant. After a moment, a trail of light climbed across the tapestries lining the top of the spiral stairs in the far corner of the room. A withered man clad in a long, white tunic and nightcap appeared within the glow. 
	“You rang, Master?”
	“Fergus. Tell Atlas to bring more firewood,” Balthos said. “We must keep the fires blazing for Aflyn’s arrival.” 
	Fergus bowed hesitantly, spilling wax on the floor, and scampered back the way he had come into darkness. 
	“And to keep the night where it belongs,” Balthos said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “God willing…”
 
	Later, a soft shake of his shoulder jarred him awake. Panting, he pointed his sword into the dark. The fire had dwindled to faint embers, and he was shrouded in darkness so thick it would have smeared him like ink. He peered into the murk. A sinking feeling filled his belly while he wondered why Fergus had not kept the fire burning. 
	“Aflyn?” Balthus whispered. Quiet breathing emanated from beside the hearth. It was slow and raspy. The sound fixed Balthos to the spot. He clutched his Lady of the Light talisman hanging from his neck. An icy chill slid down his back. 
	“Be you man or beast…Show yourself,” he could only whisper. 
	The breathing stopped. 
	Darkness crept from the corners of the room, twisted into crouching figures. The gloom dropped from the rafters on wings of smoke, silent as breath stolen by the wind. A hulking, crooked form slowly stood up in front of Balthos. 
	Balthos, his sword still pointed out in front of him, groped for his servant bell. “Balthos,” the thing breathed, its voice like the stale air within a tomb. The form took a step closer.  
	“The prophecy was wrong,” Balthos told it, his voice trembling. “The princess’s birth reversed it all.” 
	Something like smoke swirled around him, clouding his vision. He ducked and stood, his chair scraping along the floor. 
	“We killed you that day!” he said. Something tapped him on the back. He whirled around, sword slashing at nothing. The shadows around the windows grew horns and fangs. He reached for the servant bell. 
	“The prophecy was wrong!” he yelled, his voice ringing through the rafters. 
	Outside, a raven croaked at the smell of dawn buried far below the frozen horizon rimmed with white trees. The raven took to the sky and flew over the tower below. 
	A faint bell rang in the distance. 
	⤊
	Gemma let the lavender raven fall from the rooftop of her dollhouse into the heap of other puppets. The raven’s ebony-beaded eyes glinted in the early morning light. Gemma picked up the Toad King puppet lying partially hidden beneath the ogre and a farmer wearing a dusty-pink-tunic and straw hat. Gathering all three, she climbed up one of the thick bed posts and onto the sturdy canopy above. Her favorite tapestry, a silver river running along a craggy mountainside, hung on the far wall at the head of her bed. She had picked out the previous pink threads her father had ordered sewn over the original colors. Her father had always said pink was the color of purity - pink would keep the shadows at bay. But Gemma loved the original colors. They were bold and true. 
	She placed the puppets below the river and smiled. 
	A shout came from outside far below the window, followed by the beating of hooves across the drawbridge. A steady murmur of voices and harried footsteps grew outside her door. Her door opened. 
	“Princess,” hissed her nursemaid, Helena. Her voice held a sharp tone of panic. Gemma could just see her head poking into the room. Her usually-impeccable wig was off-kilter. Gemma found herself slumping further down into her canopy. 
	“Princess?” Helena said. After a moment, she left. Gemma crawled to the foot of the canopy and looked down out the window. The rolling pink hills and lavender river running away from the palace could be seen. The farmers bundled the strawberry-pink wheat in the fields. Goose girls strolled down the main road herding their magenta-colored geese. Milkmaids wore their yokes, their buckets brimming with fresh milk, along the path from the dairy barn. Nothing seemed amiss. And yet…
	The murmur of voices outside her door had grown louder, sending a cold shiver across her skin. She clutched her puppets tight against her chest and waited. The sounds from the hall grew more and more terrifying. She had begged the gods to bring Helena back to her. The murmur had turned to a roar of screams and clamoring footfalls. Gemma shivered against the breeze through the open window tickling her exposed ankles beneath the frilly pink hem of her gown. She pulled her slippered feet closer and peered at her puppets’ faces. Their despondent faces provided no solace to her when the voices outside turned to wails. Strange bumps  and sloughing sounds against the walls followed. 
	Her door opened slowly. Gemma held her breath. She breathed shallowly, hoping to smell Helena’s perfume and hear her voice. Soft footfalls on the thick rug entered the room and padded around to the other side of her bed. A foul stench caught her nostrils. Gemma dared not breathe, lest the canopy move. Then came a fervent snuffling as if a large dog or bear had entered. 
	Chills like spiders crept across Gemma’s skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and held the Toad King tight. All sound coming from outside her door had ceased. The sniffing came close, so close Gemma felt the vibration through her sleeves. Gemma forced herself to look. 
	Thick, black fur, as one would expect of a bear or beast, poked up just below the edge of her canopy. It slumped over, searching beneath her bed. The spider chills became tarantulas, fat and heavy; racing across her skin, trying to flee. The sniffing drew nearer, just beneath her now.   
	Gemma flung her puppets against the wall. The creature grunted, a gurgling, choking sound, and lunged after it. Gemma jumped off and scrambled out the door. 
	Bodies were strewn throughout the wide hallway: servants, ladies-in-waiting, gentlemen she recognized. Their silk and gossamer sleeves and gowns were spattered with blood, and pools of it made the floor slick as Gemma ran. The creature from her room tore after her. Gemma heard its heavy, rasping breath, and what sounded like heavy claws scraping the flagstones. Terror ripped through her. 
	Gemma rounded the corner, but slipped and pulled down a large vase that shattered around her. The creature ran on all fours, skin like jerky with patches of dirty fur sprouting through like mold, and the head of a large, decaying deer skull. Its hands were like those of a human with long fingers and long, black nails like rose thorns. Five more just like it, some smaller, some larger, followed.  
	She rolled out of reach of one, its claws snagging the hem of her gown. It tripped on someone. Gemma ran and threw herself around another corner and squeezed herself into a dumbwaiter. 
	The ropes and pulleys squeaked terribly as she clumsily lowered herself down. Involuntary whimpers and her breath choked her. A creature stuck its head through the tunnel and yowled a blood-curdling wail like a cross between a gasping human and a wounded animal. Gemma flinched and lost hold of one of the ropes. 
	To her horror, the beast threw itself down the chute after her, landing heavily on the top of her box. The dumbwaiter ceased to move, leaving her dangling in mid air like a bird in a cage. The thing croaked and screeched and dug its long fingers through the space between the dumbwaiter and the wall. Gemma crammed herself as far back in the box as she could, but not far enough to avoid one of its long claws. 
	She felt something digging into her leg and remembered having seen a servant pull a lever that released the bottom. Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt for it and pulled. 
	 She fell through the bottom and painfully slid down the ropes until she met the bottom. She lay on her back, gasping for air, staring up at the dim light at the top and the box shaking and jarring. She cast about around her, and dragged herself through a dark tunnel littered with rats and trash. The sounds of the beast faded behind her. 
	At the end of the tunnel was a wooden cover. Gemma peered through a knothole and saw her father’s portrait hall. She pushed it open, quietly crawled through, and peered out from beneath a side table. All was silent. She picked up a fire poker from a nearby hearth and began walking quickly toward the end of the hall.
	A terrible stir sounded behind her. The creatures were bounding toward her. She bolted for the bookcase at the very end of the hall and started yanking out books, searching for the one that would open the secret door. The creatures closed in, foam dripping out the side of their mouths, snarling with each step. 
	A man jumped out of a painting on the wall, hurling great orbs of bright orange fire. 
 Aflyn, Gemma thought with relief. The beasts howled and scrambled backward, clambering over one another, bunching up the rug behind them. Aflyn sent orb after orb in rapid succession. One orb glanced off one of the creature’s shoulders and it dodged the next. It screwed up its face and spat at the sorcerer. Aflyn cried out and clutched his chest. Holes fizzled and burned through his tunic. He sent another succession of orbs. Keeping low, one of the small beasts crept up and spat in Aflyn’s face. Aflyn wailed and groped at his eyes. The others jumped on him. Gemma watched their jaws open…saw the number of teeth therein… jagged edges nearing Aflyn’s throat…
	Gemma held up her hand. 
	Blinding light filled the corridor, engulfing the beasts in white flames. They roared and writhed. The beasts crumpled into heaps of black, seared flesh. Gemma wanted to cover her ears, wanted to scream from the noise and the hot pain coursing through her chest. The creatures twitched and jerked before lying still. Gemma wheezed through her hands covering her mouth. 
	The stark afternoon light shone through the window at the far end of the hall once more. 
	Aflyn groaned and slumped to his knees, cradling his face in his hands. 
	“Come, Aflyn!” Gemma said. “There will be more of them.” 
	She led him back through the dumbwaiter tunnel. Aflyn, still blinded, held her hand and shuffled behind her. Groans and creaks emanated through the floorboards above them, along with strange bursts of movement and scuffles. Men shouted. 
	“How was I able to do that?” Gemma asked. Aflyn bumped his head on a low-hanging rafter and winced. 
	“I’ll tell you soon,” he said. “Right now we need to get you out of here.” 
	“Where are Mother and Father?” 
	Aflyn rubbed his eyes and was quiet. 
	“You’re not safe here anymore, Gemma,” he said. “Your father will blame you for all of this…all over again.” 
	Finally stepping outside, Gemma and Aflyn blinked against the intensity of the sunset. Radiant shades of pink, cream, and white robust clouds floated on the horizon. The rosy hills of the outer bounds of the palace lands spread out before them to meet with the marshy lowlands. The peach sunset shimmered across the water. A breeze rippled through the tall grass. 
	Behind them, shadows lurched past the windows high above and flitted along their edges like black flames. A mournful, high-pitched call like a hooved animal emanated from the palace. Aflyn, now able to see through squinted eyes, looked down at Gemma and took her hand. He offered a smile. 
	“Into the forest we go.” 
	⤋
 
","July 29, 2023 03:21","[[{'Ty Warmbrodt': ""Beautifully written and you have a knack for suspense - a heart pounder throughout. It needs an ending though. It feels like it's part of a bigger piece and that was just a teaser. But what I read I greatly enjoyed."", 'time': '14:05 Aug 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Emilie Bufford': 'Wow, thank you so very much for your kind words! They mean a lot. I always welcome constructive criticism, and I agree! Thank you very much again, and happy writing!', 'time': '01:32 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Emilie Bufford': 'Wow, thank you so very much for your kind words! They mean a lot. I always welcome constructive criticism, and I agree! Thank you very much again, and happy writing!', 'time': '01:32 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,2xu2yz,The Pop in Greyscale,Ijana Loss,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2xu2yz/,/short-story/2xu2yz/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'LGBTQ+', 'Middle School']",4 likes,"
“Have a great first day of being 14 Dylan!” Amma called after me as I walked out the sparkly pink door. It was the Monday morning after my birthday, and I was to walk to the bus stop at the end of my colorful block to be picked up by the school bus. Our pink house sat next to a purple house, which sat next to a yellow house, on the other side of which was my stop.
 
“Just think, high school is coming soon!” added Mam, her blue eyes sparking as she turned to wink at Amma.
 
I cringed and turned to look at them before splitting off from my siblings and turning off my driveway to the left. “Geez guys, it’s not that big a deal!” I called in response, before hiding my head of orange hair under my hood in fake shame and beginning to walk down the street, ignoring my moms calling after me from my front door.
 
This was the last year I would walk alone to the bus stop, as next year I would join my older sister to be picked up for high school at their stop down the street in the other direction, in front of the Unicorn Days corner store. My younger brother was in elementary, which picked up in front of Unicorn Days as well.
 
I rounded the corner of the yellow house, meeting my best friend Calvin who walked from a different pink house down another street.
 
Calvin was from my moms’ donor family. He had two dads. Every few years when they all had decided to have a new kid, both of Calvin’s dads would donate the necessities to my moms, then both my moms would have a baby and one kid would go to Calvin’s family. Not every family was matched up so formally like that, but our families went way back and found it easier to work out the logistics with their friends. Calvin and I were donor-recipient twins, as were our older and younger siblings. None of them were as good of friends as Calvin and I were though.
 
“Yo Dylan, what’s up?” Calvin greeted me.
 
“Hey Cal! I can’t believe my Amma and Mam, they shouted embarrassing stuff my whole walk down here because yesterday was my birthday.”
 
“I’m so lucky I got dads instead of moms,” Calvin replied with a laugh.
 
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “Think about Zach’s dads. They’re worse than my moms!”
 
“I just never want to be with anyone who wants to be loud and annoying,” said Calvin. He switched to a quieter voice. “Honestly, the colors have been getting brighter for me lately.”
 
The bus pulled up, a sparkly rainbow contraption glittering in the sun. The doors opened, and bright pink smoke and glitter puffed out for a moment. As it calmed, the driver waved us onboard.
 
“New paint,” the driver muttered.
 
Calvin and I slid into our usual bench, and I spoke to him in a low tone, “What about the colors??”
 
Calvin turned a bright shade of pink and craned his head to whisper in my ear.
 
“Dylan, I think I really like Max,” Calvin confessed. “I never really noticed him, or anyone else before. But all of a sudden it’s like I can see everything in ultra color. That purple hair of his, I just can’t help but stare at it. I feel like he just glows.”
 
“Max is nice,” I said in response. “I think he’s a great choice if you want to date somebody.”
 
“You think so?” Calvin asked. “I don’t even know if he knows I exist though.”
 
I shrugged and suggested, “Why don’t you try to talk to him?”
 
“No!” Calvin exclaimed. “There’s no way my stupid yellow hair could possibly pop to him.”
 
I thought about telling Calvin that yellow was a complimentary color to purple, and that I had English class with Max and he had actually told me that he was quite fond of yellow. But I was glad the bus pulled up to the school at that very moment, because I didn’t want the conversation to drift any closer to a secret I had – that the colors weren’t getting brighter for me the way it was supposed to be happening during puberty. They were getting more faint.
 
****
 
Calvin and I didn’t share any classes on Mondays until geography, our final class of the day. So during my other classes, I texted Cal motivation to talk to Max, and practiced squinting at some of my classmates, contorting my vision to try and make some of their colors pop.
 
Henry had very pleasant green hair. He did a great job matching his outfits to it, so it was very aesthetically pleasing. But it was just an observation on my part, I didn’t feel anything except to notice that the color was nice.
 
Donovan had bright pink hair and he knew he’d won the jackpot. People couldn’t get that color from a box if they tried, but it came naturally on him. But did I think it was special? Not really, at least not any more than the admiration I would give any natural pink-head.
 
I scrunched up my eyes, trying desperately to see some of these glowing colors that some of my friends had started seeing. I kept my eyes away from the girls, because everyone knew that girls weren’t supposed to be what got glowy.
 
As I looked around, I found myself defeated when not only did it seem like the colors weren’t popping, but my world was becoming even more greyscale. Even the bright blue double doors at the front of the school building hadn’t looked the way they usually did when I walked in.
 
I sighed and turned to my schoolwork. I would reconvene with Calvin later. Maybe if he’d had the courage to speak to Max then talking with him could convince my brain to do what it was supposed to do.
 
****
 
On the way to geography class towards the end of the day, I ran into a classmate named Melanie who had geography as well.
 
“Hi Dylan! Mind if I walk with you?” she asked.
 
“Sure,” I responded, not expecting what would happen next.
 
As I looked at Melanie’s face smiling at me as she fell into step, everything changed. The colors faded away, and Melanie’s dark body was silhouetted against the light walls of the hallway. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. There were no colors, but it was unmistakably a pop. I just didn’t know what it meant.
 
I could barely concentrate, but luckily Melanie didn’t ask me any questions on our walk to geography. The black and grey and white world around me had never seemed so beautiful and in focus.
 
I impatiently waited out the class, hating the fact that the colors were gradually returning throughout. I liked the absence of color, it made everything seem so striking.
 
As Calvin and I finally got out of class and headed to our return bus, I whispered to him under my breath.
 
“Calvin!” I hissed. “This really weird thing is happening to me and I don’t know what to do.”
 
“What is it?” he asked as we slid into our seats.
 
“There might be something wrong with me,” I said. “The colors haven’t been popping for me.”
 
“You’re still really young though,” Calvin replied. “My Papa said he didn’t want anything to do with my Dad until they were out of high school.”
 
“No it’s not like that,” I explained impatiently. “The colors are actually going away for me. Things aren’t getting brighter. They’re getting fainter. More black and white. And I was walking to geography with Melanie, and I felt something weird. I don’t know what it was but it’s not normal.”
 
Calvin pondered what I was saying. He took a breath and asked, “Dylan, why do you think it’s something wrong? Maybe not every person gets the bright colors.”
 
“But Melanie seemed to pop, even though it was in black and white!” I whispered urgently, throwing my hands into the air. “That’s only supposed to happen with boys.”
 
“Look it up!” suggested Calvin. “Maybe that’s how it works sometimes. And guess what!”
 
“What?”
 
“I talked to Max today!” Calvin told me with a grin. “You’re right, he’s really nice. He said he thinks my yellow hair matches his really well. I had luck today. So I think you’re gonna have luck too.”
 
****
 
I raced through my homework that night so I could jump onto the computer for as long as possible. I searched for instances of people losing their colors when they got older instead of their colors getting brighter.
 
I had never heard of such a thing before, but the internet delivered. I found report after report of people who had started seeing their colors fade around the same age that I was. It wasn’t common, but it turns out that lots of people had experienced this before. And what was different about all of them, was that every boy who experienced the loss of color, didn’t turn out to be interested in another boy.
 
I clicked on the bio page of an author who had written some children’s books. His name was Nathaniel Holland, and he had three kids. But he didn’t have a husband and a recipient family. He had a wife.
 
I couldn’t believe it. That’s what my experience with Melanie must have been. I wasn’t interested in boys at all, that’s how I was different. I felt like there was something wrong with me, but Nathaniel Holland seemed to live a happy life. Other people like him seemed to have happy lives.
 
I happened upon a forum where lots of people who experienced the colors going away could chat about it. One female user had posted, “I was trying so hard to be someone I’m not. I tried to appreciate my girlfriend’s beautiful blue hair, I tried to make her glow so hard in my vision. But I couldn’t live a lie forever. Eventually the colors disappeared forever, and I found my wonderful husband in greyscale. I’ve never been happier, and I have the most fulfilling life.”
 
I knew what I had to do. I may be a little different from the other boys around me, but I wanted my moms to know the truth. As embarrassing as they were, they always supported me, and so I hoped they would this time too.
 
I walked into the living room. My siblings had retreated to their rooms. Amma was putting leftovers from dinner in the refrigerator, and Mam was on the couch reading a book. They noticed me coming in and smiled at me.
 
“How’s it going Dylan?” Amma asked. “You seem a little nervous, is something going on?”
 
I took a breath and nervously twisted my hands together. I briefly wavered in my decision to tell them, but as I stood there looking at them, the pink countertops faded completely into a soft grey. Amma’s light blue hair turned a lovely bright white, and Mam’s purple pixie cut turned black and framed her light face. Neither of them had ever looked better. I smiled in resolve.
 
“I’ve heard all my life that one day all the colors will get brighter and glow more, and I’ll start to be able to see other boys differently.”
 
Amma and Mam just looked at me, waiting.
 
“Well, that hasn’t happened for me,” I continued. “And it’s not because it hasn’t happened yet. See, the world is actually going greyscale for me. And it’s beautiful, I love seeing the world that way. And guys, the thing is that it’s not boys that pop for me when things are black and white. It’s girls.”
 
There was a moment of silence, and then Mam stood up and came over to where I was standing, with Amma close behind.
 
They wrapped me in a hug, then they pulled back to look me in the eyes.
 
“Dylan, we love you just the way you are,” Amma told me.
 
Mam nodded and said, “Yes we do. Whichever way you see the world is perfect for us. And we don’t care if you find yourself a boy or a girl to be with. All we want is for you to be happy.”
 
I ducked back into their arms, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. My moms loved me even though I saw in greyscale. I could like girls. There were so many possibilities I could feel opening up to me.
 
Calvin had had good luck today talking to Max. I started planning out the next time I could talk to Melanie. Calvin was right; maybe I could have luck too.
","July 25, 2023 04:10",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,y51v2r,Dick and Dora,Rose Lind,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/y51v2r/,/short-story/y51v2r/,Dramatic,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Contemporary', 'Drama']",4 likes,"
Warning Sensitive information, sexual references, physical abuse, subtle question defaming racismI would like to tell you an elementary reading book I and others learnt how to read, in grade one, Australian primary school, over 50 years ago.Dick, the boy, and Dora, the girl, mostly ran, and Nick, their dog, mostly fetched their ball.****************************************See Dick run. See Dora run. See Dora throw the ball. See Nick run. See Nick fetch the ball.I was four years old when I mouthed the letter sounds of those above sentences. My finger pressed heavily on the page. ""I do not understand the words..."" I thought. ""...Perhaps I can ask the teacher, the pastor's wife, to explain this to me."" Her thin stoney figure scared me. Her hair was pulled back, so her facial skin stetched her eyes far apart, like the aliens who visited me in my dreams. She smelt horrible - wore no make up. Her daughter once sat in front of me, i did not like her and was glad she went away as a result of HER behaviour. One day, a short time ago, her mother left the classroom, she would stripped off her school uniform and the older grade 7 boys yelled, whistled and heckled her ' ""Take off her panties off."" Yuk!So Dick and Dora were words not naming nouns because i was afraid to ask that cruel woman. That pastor's wife who would not let me go to the toilet till recess. I would hold and hold till I was wiggling and trying not to think of a tap running. If I asked, I would be hit with the ruler! Corporeal punishment was real in my days! I did not know ""discipline"" was really a passive-aggressive adult behaviour, wanting power and energy from a small, small child. The striking pain would sink into my lower limbs, cuts, bleeding and swelling, and something about Jesus and God. When my parents were called to the office, they were terrified- cowering- ashame- they would be ostracised because of their demon child - me, who only wanted to pee! I loved them then, and with my adult comprehension, I love and forgive them now.****************************************Once upon Dick and Dora were happy in the grown up world. ""Hi, I love you,"" Dick said to Dora. Ahh, we are the perfect couple... my friends are jealous of me,"" said Dora. Dick laughed. Dora laughed. I, the narrator, laughed! Yes, Dick and Dora were as happy as Barbie and Ken! So, We all laugh together. But then I realised that Barbie and Ken were copyrighted. They belonged to Hollywood, not to Australia, so I had to be careful of that! Our upside down country of Australia with its genetically disfigured animals, such as kangaroos, koalas, and platypuses, was good marketing and good money, but we needed to know our place. Ken and Barbie were plastic, toxic, white, and reinvented to create new social norms, so they sold.Our toxic  White Dick and toxic White Dora were old schools struggling to be noticed on the world stage, and poor Nick was the stereotype small middle-class dog of the sixties. So they grew up in us but were scrapped by the next generation.Then, see Dora put on her heavy make-up in front of her seven angled mirror. See her look at her tight curved ass leotards sideways and be happy. See Dora throw the ball over the play field. See Nick run after the ball, whilst being videoed. See Dora post on Facebook, Instagram, and Threads. See, Nick gets 157 likes; see Dora. She thinks she is important.See Dick's loss of weight after going to the gym. See Dick repress his emotions to gain power over Dora's intuition and nagging. See Dick pump up his muscles to find other women on app Binge Social. Oh dear, what a shock to my poor boxed in soul, scrambling to get out of the ridiculous religious structures called normal!Dora says,"" Dick you love Barbie."" See Dick puff up with grandeur, forgetting his bosses, overbearing nature to him anf dominate poor Dora. ""Oh Dora, I love you, but America calls."" Dora reeling in pain as her tears wash off and a false eyelash sticks to her face. See Dora slaps Dick's face yelling, ""I love you, but I also love Ken, and America calls ME too, so we can stay in touch on the internet.""See Nick curl up in the corner, whimpering, ""Will I go with my beloved Mum and Dad and suffer six months quarantine, or will I be a pound puppy?"" See Dick and Dora's neighbourhood here the fights. ""Poor Nick,"" they said.The next day, see Nick play with his friends in the park. ""What's going on?"" said Peanut the Doberman. ""I don't know where America is?"" whispered Nick. Peanut looked around, seeing Dora pointing her phone camera at both of them. ""Watch me,"" Peanut muttered as he walked in veiw of the phone and let out a big fart followed by crouching and wandering around with his hind legs partially bent to poo. "" Oh yuk,"" said Dora, deleting her video. See Peanut's owner apologise and pull out of a plastic bag from her hip pouch and scoop up the poo. See Peanut's owner think, ""Something stinks about Dora. ""... pet telepathy.Later, see Nick bump into a recently homed Gypsy. ""Hello, Nick,"" purred Gypsy's new owner. Nick wagged his tail and dropped his ball, waiting for a pat. ""Nick,"" said Gypsy, who was psychic, ""What's wrong, you look sad?"" Nick stopped wagging his tail and sunk to the ground, ""Gypsy, my friend, They are separating. "" See Gypsy bee line, bearing her teeth to poor Dora's camera and then sink her teeth into the leotards. See Dora screaming, ""That bitch bit me"". See, the owner pick up Gypsy and apologise whilst looking at Dora winding up her pants leg. ""Dora, Im sorry, luckily, you have no wound- ah, your leotards are wrecked I'll pay for them, sorry."" See Dora take details and threaten legal action. ""GYPSY, what is wrong with you? You are seeing the psychologist as soon as I can get you in, sorry, Dora!"" Gypsy pushed her head through her owner's armpit, yelping, ""I'll miss you Nick! You were worth it when I am muzzled"" woof growl woof See Dora phone Dick without him answering. See Dora know her husband's Red Ferrari at the gym next to the park! ""Dick must have just finished his workout,"" she thought, seeing Nick, her honey, with female bees swarming around him. See Nick run to Dick.****************************************So I decided to bring Dick, Dora, and Nick to my world now and ask why their story did not have a cat? I would have read better if there was a cat name Priscilla, or Mona, or Ishtar!
","July 25, 2023 10:06",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,dm0qx7,Case Closed,Danielle Azoulay,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dm0qx7/,/short-story/dm0qx7/,Dramatic,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Mystery']",3 likes,"
My life was perfect until I met the new boy in town.
Summer vacation had just begun.
When the seasons changed, our landscape transformed almost overnight, from crisp, cool blues and the spirited aroma of pine trees to warm ambers, pink skies and campfires wafting through the air. 
No matter the time of year, one thing stood true in Celestia; there was always a sense of cheer.
Our slogan wasn’t “The World’s Happiest Town” for nothing.
Everybody knew everybody, and we all got along like milk and cookies.
The day I met the newcomer, I had been at the park. 
My three girlfriends and I all got strawberry ice cream cones and played tag in the spacious, flourishing fields.
Just a typical, carefree summer day in Celestia.
I was wearing a rosy-pink sundress and brown sandals. Annie had put my blonde hair into a french braid.
We were picking flowers when I saw him.
He was probably close to sixteen-years-old like me, and he was sitting on a bench, watching people walk by. I thought he looked interesting, tall with reddish hair and little speckles on his face. 
At one point he and I made eye contact and I smiled at him, as most Celestians do.
A few minutes later he walked up to me when I was saying bye to my friends.
“Hi,” he said.
I waved.
“Hello. You’re new in town,” I noted.
He nodded.
“I’m Opal.” I looked down at my fragrant collection. 
 “Would you like some flowers?” I asked, holding out my newfound bunch.
His eyes lit up, studying me with a sort of interest.
“Thank you, Opal. That’s a pretty name. I’m Bryce.”
A unique name, like mine. 
“Your name is very pretty as well!” I exclaimed.
Bryce turned the color of a fresh beet, and smiled. He had a nice smile.
“So, where do ya go to school?” he asked.
“School? Oh, we don’t have that here.”
He looked perplexed.
“No school? I’ve never heard of something so odd. How do ya learn?” 
“There’s lots of ways. It’s all about the experience in Celestia. Those flowers you’re holding are called Taffy flowers.”
Bryce held the flowers carefully up to his nose.
“They smell just like candy!” he noted.
“That’s because these flowers are special. My dad invented them.”
I explained a bit about my father to Bryce, in case he hadn’t heard of him yet.
 
My father, Lazlo, invented unbelievable things, things you wouldn’t believe were possible.
He helped our town become what it was.
We had special chutes that helped our mail get delivered almost instantaneously. 
Large mirrors at the mall showed customers exactly how an outfit would fit before they made any purchases.
He was even responsible for the absence of school. With a monthly subscription, you could have “Intelli-yum” delivered to your door. These hard candies were somehow ingrained with an entire subject. They came in sour, tropical and cream flavors.
Bryce found this fascinating. He started asking a lot of questions. 
Time seemed to fly by quickly.
I shot Bryce an apologetic smile and glanced over at my friends who were politely waiting for me.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. It was nice to meet you,” I said cordially, walking away.
“Wait.”
He grabbed my hand gently. 
My fingers tingled from the touch and I turned towards him; confused. I felt something strange in my stomach, something I think I had felt before but wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what to call the feeling.
“Could we meet up tomorrow, same place? Maybe you could give me a tour of Celestia?” he asked bashfully.
I was brainlessly counting the cinnamon-colored freckles on his cheeks, but then realized he was waiting for an answer.
I smiled. His eyes were a clear gray, seemingly endless when I looked directly into them. That strange feeling came back.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
I had gotten distracted again, and now it was me who blushed.
“That is a definite yes.”
“Great! How does four o’ clock sound?”
I told him that was perfect, because my painting class ended at two, and we parted ways.
 
That night I had my first nightmare. 
I usually only had one specific dream. I would be riding up a green mountain on a majestic black horse. This dream had a mountain too, except it was bare and covered in jagged rocks. I was running, then I tripped, right towards the dark abyss.
My body jolted as I fell, trying to wake up, but I couldn’t open my eyes. Eventually everything faded to black until my alarm sang its happy morning song and I took in my pastel pink room.
 
“I had a bad dream last night,” I told my parents over breakfast.
My dad paused by the counter, his perfectly-stacked tower of toast teetering. He set it down on the table and peered at me through his thick, trapezoidal lenses.
Mom just sat there with her usual calm smile, gently taking a bite of her pancakes.
“A bad dream?” he repeated, “Did you remember to brush your teeth?”
“Yes, of course dad.” 
I could tell he was gearing up into invention mode and that was because nobody in Celestia really had bad dreams. Another one of dad’s inventions, “Peri-Dream.” It prevented any nasty, ghoulish thoughts from entering your brain.
“Hmm, that is curious. Did anything else out of the ordinary happen yesterday?” he asked, scratching his wild, long brown hair.
I shook my head. Wait-
“Well, I did meet the new boy, but I don’t think-”
“New boy?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Yes, his name is Bryce. He just moved here from…well, I forgot to ask where, but we’re going to hang out today so I can ask him then. He was very nice.”
Dad looked perplexed. Mom continued to smile.
“Oh honey, that’s lovely,” she said.
Dad shook his head.
“I don’t want you to see him today, Opal.”
I nodded.
I didn’t need an explanation. My father had reasons for everything he did. I never questioned it. 
“Since I’ll be free after my painting lessons, I can take a walk to the store and pick up some groceries for the house.”
“Oh honey, that’s lovely,” Mom said.
 
I tried to avoid Bryce, and did exactly as I was told. For painting class my instructor, Mr. Acrylic, had me construct an outdoor landscape. I decided to paint in the nightmare mountain, to see it better in front of me.
When I stepped out to get groceries at five-thirty I saw him, walking in the same direction as me on the opposite side of the street.
“Opal! Hey!” Bryce called, running over.
“I’m sorry about today,” I started, “My dad doesn’t really trust-”
I tried to think of a better way to word it and failed.
“It’s okay, Opal. I completely understand. He probably thinks it's strange that some kid decided to move alone to a small, quiet town.”
I shrugged.
“He just doesn’t like not knowing things.”
He nodded, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite construct.
Bryce held my shoulders tenderly, struggling with his words.
“Listen, Opal. You’re not who you think you are.”
I stared at him, baffled. But the growing suspicion in my stomach wanted to know more.
“I came here to rescue you.” 
“Rescue me? But there’s no danger here,” I laughed, attempting to reassure myself.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why? Look around, everything’s perfect. Too perfect.”
“I-I have to go,” I said quickly.
“Your family misses you! And so do I.”
I backed away.
“I barely know you. My parents are waiting for me to come back with the groceries.”
He nodded, defeated.
“Think about what I said. Really look around. If you change your mind, meet me at the park tomorrow at five.”
 
I walked towards the store, gazing up at the evening sky. I realized I had never seen it without a bright, blinding sun, even in winter.
How did that make sense? 
There was no school here. Nobody grew older. My mom, she spoke the same line everyday. Why did she speak the same line?
My friends...were all named Annie.
How had I never noticed?
I raced towards the grocery store. Everyone had matching, joyful expressions. Despite the massive selection, they all had the same groceries in their cart; milk, eggs and bananas.
Dashing to the closest shelf, I picked up the only gallon of ice cream. My stomach dropped as the empty spot regenerated a brand new gallon.
“The ice cream isn’t cold,” I said out loud. 
I found an associate and held up the container.
“Excuse me, shouldn’t this-”
They turned towards me with an overbearing smile, silent.
It frightened me, and I quickly grabbed what I needed and left.
 
I didn’t brush my teeth that night. The nightmare returned. This time, I heard tires screeching, like someone driving dangerously close to the mountain’s edge. 
 
I sat quietly at breakfast, my sunny-side up eggs smiling patiently back at me.
“Everything okay, Opal?” Dad asked.
I nodded.
“Oh honey, that’s lovely,” Mom crooned.
I held in my thoughts and took a bite of my eggs.
“Delicious,” I squeaked.
Dad looked leery.
“Any more interesting dreams?” 
I shook my head.
“All gone. I actually have plans to meet up with Annie like, right now, so I have to go,” I said, getting up from my seat and rushing to the door.
“Opal, wait-,” Dad called, but I had already stepped outside. 
As soon as I did, I froze.
Everything around me was made of miniscule squares. The house, the sky, even the bunny hopping through the front lawn was pixelated.
I raced to the park. Bryce had told me to come at five, but if it was really an urgent matter, I hoped he would be there already.
Thankfully, I was right.
Bryce sat on the same bench he had occupied when we first met. Once he saw me, he jumped up and grabbed my hand, beginning to run.
“What’s happening?” I yelled.
“I’ll explain later, we need to go to my house,” he urged.
I followed blindly.
When we reached the little brick hut, I realized the inside was glowing green, and hesitated.
He noticed my expression.
“I’ve been working on this since I arrived.”
“What’s inside?” I asked.
“The truth.”
Though I did want the truth, I was afraid. 
A familiar voice bellowed behind me.
“Opal!” 
It was my father, racing towards me, concerned. 
“Let me just tell him-”
“No, we have to go! Now!” Bryce shouted, pushing me into the house and slamming the door shut.
Immediately, we were immersed in the green light, which prickled against my skin. Everything blurred, and I closed my eyes, feeling my mind drift off like I was falling asleep.
 
 
My body shook as I gasped for air. Finally, my eyes flew open. For the first time in a long time, I was awake.
My limbs thrashed in shock, immediately met with a searing pain, like I was being branded. Black wires ran across my body, inserted through the ends of my fingers and toes. 
How was I only now feeling this?
A metal brace was wrapped tightly around my head.
I screamed, but no one responded. I was trapped in a glass case, like a museum exhibit. In the distance, I made out the silhouettes of similar cases spread throughout the dark room. A large streak of light from the open door across from me caught my eye. 
I tirelessly loosened the wires on my fingers. Eventually I freed one hand, then the other, trying to ignore the blood running down my arms. 
I ferociously and repeatedly kicked the glass. My body was weak and nearly drained of energy but I pushed through. Finally, I heard a crack and glass shards rained down. With one more kick, the case shattered, but my head was still stuck in the metal contraption. Every time I tried to pull myself out of the helmet, my neck screamed in opposition.
My fingers searched the outside of the case until they hit a small switch. I pressed down and felt instant relief as the helmet released my head. 
Amongst the blood, fresh bruises and glass that sprinkled across my body, I realized I was wearing a white sheet, like a hospital gown.
Like a newborn deer, I stumbled out of the case, holding the edge to steady myself.
The other cases were empty. Slowly, I walked towards the illuminated room.
A giant screen stretched across the wall. My mouth parted in horror as I realized the image on it wasn’t a screensaver. It was Celestia.
People I was familiar with strolled across, conversing. I felt nauseous, realizing that these people weren’t real.
“What is happening!” I shouted.
Tapping noises echoed from the corner of the room. 
Standing in a vertical glass case was Lazlo. Except this version of him was shorter and rounder. He still had wild hair, but it was white, and only present on the back of his head. Still, I recognized him by his trademark lenses. 
His eyes were closed, head attached by the same helmet I had been wearing. Only his fingers moved. They were attached to some sort of keyboard. I watched him type letters and numbers, forming codes at the top of the screen which disappeared as the environment shifted.
There was silence as his fingers halted. His case lit up, and began opening. I stepped back as Lazlo came to life, untangling his bindings. 
“I see you’ve woken up,” he smiled a toothless grin.
“Y-you kidnapped me,” I mumbled, backing up as he started hobbling towards me.
He shook his head.
“Oh Opal, only because I had no other choice. You were going to die.”
He said this almost sarcastically.
I stared back wildly.
“Your dream of falling off the mountain was actually a real memory.”
“What does that have to do with whatever this place is?”
He chuckled.
“You were walking on the mountain trail and must’ve slipped. I happened to be driving close by and found you wrecked at the bottom. Emergency services would’ve been too late.”
He motioned to the screen.
“Luckily, I developed a new technology, a virtual reality, if you will. During your comatose state, my machines worked on bringing back your consciousness while you continued to live.”
“I woke up on my own,” I argued.
“You didn’t do it alone, Opal. Unfortunately, there was a hacker involved. As soon as you came in contact with him the coding started to disrupt.”
“Bryce saved me!”
Lazlo sighed.
“Opal, you stupid girl, the truth is, my machines saved you. My marvelous inventions! I am the world’s greatest inventor.”
How long had I been inside of that glass case? I was afraid to ask.
“Were any of the families real?”
He shook his head.
“We were the first human residents of Celestia. It was quite a success, I’m sure you’d agree.”
My clouded memory was beginning to come back.
“I was on the mountain that day practicing for my track meet.”
He watched my expression carefully, holding a hand up as though to protect himself.
“You drove me off the road.”
The revelation sent me to tears. It felt good to cry again.
His expression shifted, his lips curved into a simpering smile.
“Do you understand what this technology can do for people? I’ve discovered a way to allow people to live virtually in the perfect world!”
“You tried to steal my life,” I whispered.
“I saved your life. In Celestia, there are no daily, mundane problems, no hardship. I even took away school!”
It’s like he expected a round of applause, or a thank you.
“You threw me off a cliff! You kidnapped me and wiped my memories so I could be your experimental puppet!”
“Look at how upset you are. Wasn’t it better when you didn’t have these feelings?”
I glowered at him.
“Let’s forget this ever happened. I’ll remove these memories, get you set up in one of the other cases, and-”
“No.”
Lazlo looked shocked. I never disagreed with him in Celestia.
Before I could move he grabbed me, with surprising strength for an old man.
I screamed as he pulled me towards the other room, trying to push me into an open case.
A loud, startling bang interrupted this. Lazlo suddenly released his grip on me, staggering backwards.
Bryce stood behind him, wielding a rusty crowbar.
“You found me,” I breathed.
Together, we shoved Lazlo into the glass crypt, sealing it shut.
I leaned into Bryce and we shared a kiss.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Wait. I have an idea.”
When police asked me where I had been for four months, I told them I had suffered from amnesia and that my courageous boyfriend had gone to the ends of the earth to find me. My parents were overjoyed to have their daughter back, and I finally had my life again.
 
Summer vacation has just begun. I excitedly throw on my favorite blue sundress, and give my mom a goodbye hug.
“Have fun, text me when you get there!” she calls, watching me get into my car from the open window.
Life isn’t as perfect as it was in Celestia, but I have never been happier.
The drive took about thirty minutes.
I pick out the proper key from my keyring and quickly open the door.
I felt a rush as I descended the three flights of stairs into the basement.
“Good morning, Lazlo,” I said cheerfully to the unconscious man in the case.
I had installed a few chain locks around him, to ensure he wouldn’t be able to play any tricks.
Giddily, I strolled into the viewing room and tied my hair back as I entered what once was Lazlo’s enclosure, attaching my hands to the keyboard.
With a smile, I pressed the button to close my case.
 
 
","July 27, 2023 19:38",[]
prompt_0036,Set your story in a rosy-pink world where everything is rainbows and unicorns… until it isn’t.,3xh8ll,Sunny Days,Jade Rose Collette,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3xh8ll/,/short-story/3xh8ll/,Dramatic,0,['Fiction'],3 likes,"
	I can feel the sun shining on my face before I even open my eyes.  I know its going to be a beautiful day but I savor the morning warmth for a few extra minutes.  I open my eyes when I hear Spencer walk in and I can’t suppress a grin.  He has a tray with breakfast, some orange juice and a vase with a flower he must have picked from the front yard  this morning.  What a swell guy.  
	“You didn’t have to bring me breakfast in bed,” I say, sitting up on the pillows and grabbing the tray. 
	“I know I didn’t, but you looked so peaceful this morning I wanted to allow you to sleep a few more minutes, and I thought this would be a pleasant surprise. Besides, I would do anything for my best gal.” Spencer says as he leans down and kisses my forehead.  He is dressed for golf, which means I have most of the day to myself.   
	I can’t help but smile watching him walk away.  How did I get so lucky and end up with such a perfect life? When I finish eating my breakfast I move the tray to the side so I can get up and start my day.  After washing the dishes I decide to take the sheets off the bed and put new ones on.  As I am tucking in the blankets to make the bed look just perfect for Spencer when he gets hope my hand brushes against something. I try to lift the mattress a little bit more to feel what it is, but I can’t quite get it on my own.  I will need to grab something to help me knock whatever it is closer.  
	I head to the parlor thinking that I can get a magazine or something to help reach it  when there is a knock on the door.  
	“Oh dear,” I mutter to myself.  I am not even properly dressed yet.  I am still in my robe after breakfast.  How perfectly uncouth of me.  “Who is it?” I call out. 
	“Its me! Open the door!” a familiar voice yells.  I go and open the door to find Robert standing on my doorstep.  He smiles when he sees me, the sun shining behind him creating a perfect halo around him. 
	“Now I know Spencer is gone for the day, but I wanted to stop by and check on you, little lady.  Spencer is my best pal and I would do anything for him, and also for you.”
	“Gee Robert, that is so nice of you.  I thought that you would be playing golf with him today.  But it is so good to see you.  Can I get you a drink or anything?” I ask, feeling slightly apprehensive as to why he is here without Spencer.  What if the neighbors saw him? What would they think?  
	“No little lady, I think I am alright for right now.  But do you mind if I use your washroom?” 
	“Of course, you know where to find it.”  He walks towards the restroom and I can’t help the nagging feeling that there is something off about this visit.  I go back to the kitchen and busy myself which he is occupied.  
	After a few minutes I hear a noise and look up.  Robert is not coming out of the washroom but it looks like he was coming from our bedroom.  It seems odd but I am sure he was just helping Spencer plan a surprise for me.  I smile thinking of what he is planning and wave as Robert drives off.  
	I decide I better get dressed and do my hair and makeup before I complete the rest of my day.  I choose a pink skirt with a matching cardigan that I know Spencer loves.  I chose my favorite satin ribbon to do my hair.  I just want to look perfect for Spencer when he gets home.  
	As I go on with the rest of my chores I hum along to the radio as I get the house in order.  I go outside and pick flowers to put in a bigger vase on the table.  It is such a lovely touch to such a lovely day.  
	Just before dinner time I hear Spencer’s car pull into the driveway.  I am giddy thinking about what surprise he had Robert help with.  I am standing in the doorway ready to meet him with a kiss when suddenly a cloud floats in front of the sun making what was a bright cheerful day seem dark and dismal.  Spencer’s smile fades and a look of fear crosses his face and I don’t know what’s changed.  
	Suddenly I feel a hand over my mouth stifling the scream I feel coming.  Another hand grabs me around the waist from behind and a rough voice whispers in my ear “Move!” as he shoves me down the steps. Was this man in the house all day?
	 A car speeds up the street as I am pushed hurriedly to it.  I see someone with a mask get out and point a gun at Spencer. It feels like everything is happening in slow motion but I can't comprehend what is happening.
	“Where’s the money Clark?  You knew we would come to collect!” the man says.  What in the world is he talking about?
	Spencer, looking terrified, says “Please, I’ve got some of it.  Just let her go and I will get you the rest! I swear, just let her go!” I feel another shove towards the vehicle.  The man’s hand is still covering my mouth so I can’t call for help or even ask what is going on.  
	“We are just going to keep her safe with us. That will maybe help you find the rest of what you owe faster.” the man holding me says as he shoves me in the car.  He pushes me to the other side of the back seat and slides in beside me.  
	I am finally free and turn to look out the rear window at Spencer as we speed off.  I can see him running after the car screaming.  I turn back to my captor “Who are you? Where are you taking me?” I demand.  I immediately feel a stinging pain across my face.  He slapped me. I had never been hit by a man before I realize, bringing my hand to my cheek in shock. 
	“We’ll be asking the questions here. Shut your mouth,” the man next to me snarls.  I am shaking and trying not to cry.  Why would someone do this to me?  “Do you know where he keeps his cash?” I shake my head, tears starting to fall.  I have no idea what they are talking about.  
	The man in the front seat, the one who had the gun, turned around and asked “Did you even know how much he owed the boss?” I shake my head again, too terrified to speak.  I don’t know who the boss is, or that he borrowed money.  
	We begin slowing down and pull up to what looks like an abandoned warehouse.  The car stops at a loading dock and the man in the backseat with me grabs my wrist roughly and pulls me out of the vehicle. I am quickly hustled inside.  
	When we get inside it takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dim light.  I see a man standing in the corner.  There is something so familiar about him, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.  I feel a nudge in my back and start moving forward towards the man.  As I get closer he turns around and I gasp.  It is Robert. 
	“Well hello little lady. Twice in one day. What a privilege.” he sneers.  Nothing like the congenial fella who dropped in to check on me earlier today.  “You know Spencer owes me quite a bit of money.  But I think if you cooperate we can work out some kind of a deal.”  I have no idea what he is talking about.  
	“Why does Spencer owe you money?  You guys are friends.  What is this even about?” I ask, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them.  
	Robert barks out a laugh.  “You think that we are friends? That loser likes to follow me around like a lost puppy” he comes up and puts his hand to my cheek where the other man slapped me.  It still stings and I try to not flinch away from his touch.  “I do hope that Marty here was good to you. Was he good to you dear?”
	I nod, thinking that was the answer that he wanted.  The next thing I know his hand is gone, but quickly replaced by another blow that knocks me off my feet.  “What were you doing in our bedroom this morning?” I ask, struggling to get up to at least my knees.  
	“You caught that, did you?  Well I was looking for something.  Something I think Spencer has hidden from me.  If he won’t give me my money I am going to get something out of him.  Unlucky for you I couldn’t find what I was looking for, so you will have to do,” he says.  “Tie her up,” he orders as he walks away.  
	I feel Marty grab me by the wrists again and a rope tied tightly around them.  He grabs me and pulls me to a different corner of the room where there is a large hook.  He turns me around and I can feel the hook secured through my bindings.  He turns to face me and shoves a cloth in my mouth and covers it with tape.  I try to scream but it is so muffled.  I try to fight but I am tied too tightly and the hook makes it so that I can not move.  
	As I am struggling I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye and stop fighting so hard trying to focus.  I try to turn to look but whatever I saw is just out of my line of sight.  I could have sworn it was Spencer, but it is too dangerous for him to be here.  
	I watch Robert and the men and see that they are huddled around a table on the opposite side of  the warehouse and try to figure out a way to get out of here.  Suddenly I feel the hook removed and someone is cutting through the ropes around my wrists.  I turn around and it is Spencer. I knew he would come rescue me.  
	He puts a finger to his lips telling me that I should be quiet.  He starts leading me towards the door walking at a slight crouch.  I notice he has a knife in his hand with an ornate handle.  I suddenly realize that this is likely what I felt when I was making the bed this morning.  I got so distracted by Robert’s visit that I forgot all about it.  I wonder if this is also what Robert was looking for.  It looks like the pommel is made of emeralds.  That has got to be worth a fortune.  
	I have so many questions, but I want nothing more than to get out of this building.  Right as we get to the door Robert shouts out “STOP!”  he sees us.  Spencer pushes me gently out the door and turns around.  The last thing I hear before the door slams shut is Robert screaming that he’ll get him.  
	I am frozen where I stand for what feels like eternity.  Once I snap out of it I look around for the nearest store or place that I could use a telephone to call the authorities.  Spencer needs help.  And I am the only one who knows where he is.  I start running towards some buildings, eventually losing one of my shoes.  I make a note of the street signs to hopefully be able to tell the police where to find them.  
	I keep running and eventually kick off my other shoe.  My feet hurt from running in just my stockings and I finally find a store with an open sign.  I walk in and realize it is a hardware store.  I run to the counter and the older gentleman looks up at me with a startled expression on his face.  “My word.  You look a sight.  Can you tell me what happened, Miss?”
	“Phone.  I need your phone,” I pant.  “I was kidnapped and just escaped.  They have my husband over in the old warehouse on Hanover.”   My heart feels like it is going to beat out of my chest and I am having a hard time catching my breath. 
	The man nods, “I’ll call. Have a seat. I’ll bring you some water once the authorities are on the way.” I can’t do anything but nod and I sit on the stool the man pointed to.  “What’s your name Miss?”
	“I’m Barbara Clark. But my friends call me Barbie.  And right now sir, you are my very best friend.”
	The man smiles, holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear as he rummages for something behind the counter.  “I’m Bill.  And I don’t want you to worry Barbie.  We’ll get you taken care of and get someone out to check on your husband.” He trails off and then “Hello, yes, this is Billy Waters down at the Main Street General Store.  I have a young lady here who says she was kidnapped and taken to the old warehouse on Hanover and that her husband is still there with the captors.”  He pauses and then says “Yes,  I understand.  We will see you soon.”
	Bill hangs up the receiver and walks out from behind the counter with a bottle of water and a bag of frozen peas.  “Here, drink this.  It will help you feel better. At the peas should help the bruising on your cheek.  Sorry I don’t have something stronger at the store.”
	I grab it gratefully and take a drink, “Water is perfect right now. Thank you.” I wince as I hold the peas up to my cheek. I didn’t realize it was already bruised.  
	“The police are on their way.  They are going to send someone here to take your statement.” I nod.  
	It feels like forever before there is another car that pulls up.  I look and it is a police car.  The officer gets out and walks around to the back to open the door.  And out comes Spencer.  As soon as I see him I let out the breath I didn’t know that I was holding.  He looks like he might have a black eye, but I can’t tell for sure.  
	The officer walks in before Spencer and says “Mrs. Clark? We need to get your statement before you can see your husband. But I wanted you to see that he got out alive and mostly unhurt.”
	“Thank you, Officer.  I am ready to give my statement.” he takes out a notepad and a golf pencil and I start talking about what happened.  He doesn’t stop me to ask questions, but takes notes.  When I finish talking he has a few clarifying questions for me but nothing too outrageous.  “Can I go see him now?”
	The officer looks over at Spencer talking to another policeman.  He looks back at me and says “I will go check.  He is giving his statement now, I want to make sure they have given an uninterrupted statement before we connect loved ones together.”  I nod only slightly understanding. The police officer steps out and talks to his partner who was interviewing Spencer.  He holds up a finger to signify it will be another minute.  I sit and lay my head against the shelf behind the stool and close my eyes.  
	When I open them again Spencer is right there.  I don’t need to know what exactly happened today, right now, I need some sleep.  “Take me home Spencer.” he puts an arm around me without a word and helps me to my feet.  
	“Its over Barbie.  It’s all over” I feel so relieved that we get to go home tonight.  Tomorrow he can explain more, but for tonight, I just want to go sleep in my bed next to my husband. And may tomorrow start a new chapter of our lives, just as bright and happy as it seemed when I woke up this morning.  
 
","July 29, 2023 02:10",[]