Alaskan Adventures

Hey everyone,

Sorry this message was late in coming but I’m out of town for ten days in Alaska. I meant to let people know there wouldn’t be any new stories before I left and just ran out of time. Posting will resume at the end of this week.

In the meantime, in celebration of my trip, the next themed prompt will be Frontier. Interpret it as you will, but stories should have something to do with the edge of civilization, wilderness, or being out of bounds.

I’m excited to see your stories. Submissions for this theme will be open until the end of August and I’ll be posting them in September.

Assuming I make it back at all! So far I’ve been face to face with a black bear and a moose (not at the same time) with more adventures still to come.

That is all.

The Jewels

The jewels felt heavy on his body, the golden necklace pressing against his throat. The servants applied the rouge to the corners of his eyes before handing him a piece of mulberry paper.

He pressed his lips on the paper, letting it sit for a few seconds before handing it back to the servants.

Staring at the mirror, he felt as if the make-up had done nothing to change his weary face, instead emphasizing it.

The doors opened, and the servants scattered as his brother walked in.

“Father wishes to speak with you.” Those words made him sick.

“I see.”

From Guest Contributor July Segers

A Walk In The Woods

At the foot of a Hawthorn tree, I discover a pine cone sitting in a nest. I wonder how that got in there? A mother bird would surely like to fill this nest with her eggs. A fairy-wren? A thornbill? Besides, I am going to make a wreath for Christmas. Did it just move? Wow. Soft. Heartbeat. The young creature, a precocious master in camouflage and a guaranteed non-candidate for extinction, twitches in the palm of my sweaty hand. I caress its feathers. A teardrop lands on its woody back. I step backwards. Crunch go the leaves. Goodbye little one.

From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L

Isabelle is an Australian/French author and TEFL teacher.

Drunk On Power

Jason surveyed all that was his. Turning his head left to right, everything belonged solely to him to do with as he pleased. After years of hard-fought battles, defeat after defeat, he had finally claimed this territory as his own, and there was nothing that Janet could do about it.

He believed he would call it Casa de Jason.

"But if you don't keep this area clean, I'm taking it back from you."

His wife could threaten him all she wanted. This corner of the garage was entirely his domain, and he'd hang whatever heavy metal posters he choose. Bwahahaha!

Upon The Blasted Heath

The three witches planned a hell-broth for Macbeth. Their boiling cauldron was ready for the eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, tongue of dog…

“Wait a minute.”

Hecate, the main chef, added extra frown lines to her wrinkled face.

“Look at the flies on the newt’s eye and frog's toe.”

The dog’s tongue, lizard’s leg, and Howlett's wing were also covered.

“The recipe doesn't call for that many flies.”

So Macbeth passed, on his way to Duncan's camp, undisturbed by the Weird Sisters, but swallowing flies. The bulbous-headed insects were murderously thick that night on the heath.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

List

The Poland that I once knew is gone. I haven’t been back since the war and now that it’s over, I won’t stay. Too many memories. I came here for a purpose. Eleanora left the bottle with the list buried in the courtyard.

The building reduced to rubble and smoke made me gag, but I waded through the debris to the back and went to the spot where she told me it’s hidden. I used my hands to dig, and there the bottle lay in the dirt with the list of names that would reunite Jewish children with their families.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Wanting Something Is Not The Same As Something Wanting

Henry examined the brush strokes under his glass loupe. Everything suggested that this never-before-seen-or-even-mentioned Vermeer was a fraud. Yet even the finest details appeared genuine, from the composition of the pigments to the physical deterioration of the canvas, and Henry was beginning to have his doubts. Confirming its authenticity could bring Henry tremendous fame and many new clients; but a later retraction would be humiliating and likely end his career. He almost wondered if he should wash his hands of the whole affair.

Eventually, Henry trusted his method. The work was authentic. Vemeer had indeed painted Four Beagles Playing Pinochle.

The Not-So-Secret Letter

“It’s of voluminous importance,” grinned Clark.

“Of epic gutsy proportions?” Sam winked.

They surrendered an envelope containing sensitive information to the school library’s reception desk.

Soon afterwards the original recipient of the letter returned, darting to the health reference shelf. Not there? He wiggled discreetly to the employee on duty.

He explained what he had lost. Classmates peered from vantage points between bookshelves as an envelope landed in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said, “Got to go!”

As he fled collective laughter erupted.

He held the letter closely to his heart—words from his girlfriend who commiserated with his unpredictable diarrhea.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Repetition

George, thanks to his frequent flier status, was able to skip the line and go directly to the review board. His personal attendant was by now on a first name basis with him and seemed genuinely happy to see him, despite the circumstances.

"I'm sure you'll get it right eventually, Mr. Smith."

The questions were mostly perfunctory and George was on his way back straightaway. He was fully determined this would be his last failure. While he'd been assured he had as many chances as necessary, after being so close so many times, he finally wanted to experience the afterlife.

The Tomb At Starocel

The silence around the Thracian stones was so intense that Jamie could hear his footfalls on the sandy soil. What rites had taken place up here, to cast their memories down the future so? Magic tingled in the very air, the landscape not brooding, but waiting to be awakened once more, holding its breath in expectation of life restored. Climbing carved stone steps scaled to something slightly more than human, he approached the dark profundity of the beehive tomb lurking in the heart of the hill. Seeking to understand, he wondered if he could be more than just another tourist.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar