I can feel my heart jump and sink when I look back on this day July 21, 1951, when I was 14 years old. Her name was Francine, and she was the most beautiful girl I ever laid my eyes on. We met at Timber Lake Camp in upstate NY. She was a late arrival to our campground. She wore a stunning light green sundress that made her striking blue eyes shine like diamonds. I knew the moment I saw her glide across the grass at the camp I was smitten. But I wasn’t the only one who took notice as Jimmy Lorenzo stopped in his tracks to gawk at her.

As quick as she came into our line of sight she was gone just as fast. I had to find out more about her, so I ran up to the head camp counselor and asked who my future wife was. He told me her name was Francine McDougal and this was her first camp experience. She was staying in cabin 14. I knew I had competition as Jimmy overheard the conversation and bolted over to her cabin in search of her. Jimmy thought of himself as a ladies’ man around the campsite and would pursue her just as did other girls over the years.

I arrived at her cabin door just behind Jimmy and heard the conversation between them. “Hey there gorgeous, my name’s Jimmy and I am kinda the man around here. I know all the good hotspots and what and who to avoid in camp. What’s your name?” Jimmy said She started to rub her neck and avoided looking right at him. She stuttered out, “Hhhhhiiii Jimmy, mmmyyy naaaammmee is Francine.” Jimmy at 6’3 was a towering figure even more so to Francine who couldn’t have been more than 5’4. Jimmy continued the conversation while Francine looked at the floor the entire time.

I stood outside the doorway while Jimmy rolled right by me without saying a word. I was frozen, petrified and didn’t know what to do. I took one last whiff of her scent, a mixture of strawberries and lavender, before she shut the door without seeing me. I walked back to my two buddies and told them I fell in love with the new girl, Francine. They took the news just like any other fourteen-year-old boys would. ‘Francine and Billy sitting in a tree K I S S I N G first comes love then comes marriage then comes a baby carriage.’

I didn’t care what those guys said, I knew what I felt even at that young age. I was gonna marry this girl one day and I didn’t care how. Lunch time arrived as I sat at one of the long tables with my two friends while Jimmy worked the room with a couple of girls he was always flirting with but they kept rejecting his offers.

I scanned the room looking for Francine amid the chaos of teenage boys and girls running amok. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her. She was sitting at a table by herself, and nobody seemed to notice or care. This was my perfect opportunity to introduce myself.

I walked toward the table she was eating at but when I got there I chickened out and made a right turn. I slinked back to the table where my two buddies teased the hell out of me.

Wallowing in self-doubt I blew my chance to meet the girl of my dreams again. As I sat there pitying myself, I saw Jimmy sitting at her table. My teeth clenched, my stomach turned as I got angrier and angrier at myself.

I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he has an uncanny knack of sweeping numerous girls off their feet over the years at camp. Jimmy is always persistent and never gave up until he got the girl. Looking over five minutes later Jimmy was gone but Francine remained eating her chicken salad sandwich. Fate gave me a second opportunity and I wasn’t about to blow it. I gave a quick pep talk to myself and marched over.

Francine looked up from whatever she was reading to a trembling 90-pound kid ogling her. “Hello, can I help you?” she said I froze for a split second before I uttered “Hi I’m Billy.” Well, I think that is what I said.

“Hello Billy, my name is Francine,” she answered.

She extended her beautiful, well-manicured hand waiting for me to place my hand in hers. I paused and lifted my arm shaking all the way.

“It’s ok I don’t bite. Would you like to join me?” she said My heart felt like it was riding one of the horses in the Kentucky Derby and sweat dripped into my right eye.

“Yes, I would,” I said trying to sound cool and calm.

We sat and talked for the whole entire lunch hour until it was time to resume our camp activities. I stood up, walked over to where she was sitting and pulled the chair out for her.

“Wow what a gentleman,” she said She leaned over me to grab her jacket off the back of the chair. “Bye Billy see you tonight down at the lake at 8 o’clock,” she said I smiled and nodded my head as she breezed by me while Jimmy and his friends watched her in horror.

Jimmy’s head flew around, and his eyes glared right at me. I smiled which seemed to enrage him even more. He always got the girl and wasn’t going to go quietly.

I sauntered back to the table like I just won the Super Bowl and saw the look of astonishment in my buddies’ eyes. My smile stretched as wide as a six-lane highway.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Francine and our date on the lake for the rest of the day. Time was moving so slow, and I thought the day would never end.

I went through the motions during the activities that were planned in the afternoon and a few of the kids knew it. During a game of capture the flag I wasn’t paying attention and got knocked on my ass by one of my teammates. I don’t know if he did it on purpose because I was daydreaming.

Dinner time came at 6:30 and I inhaled my burger and fries as fast as I could so I could go back to my camper to get ready for the date. I knew I had plenty of time and didn’t have to rush.

I jumped in the shower and washed my hair body three or four times. I didn’t want to miss a spot and be embarrassed if she noticed or smelled something foul. I wasn’t taking any chances.

It was a quarter to eight and I walked out the front door of my cabin. The moon shone off the dark lake water and provided a light so I could see if she arrived yet. She was there but wasn’t alone.

I could hear them talking aloud and stopped dead in my tracks when I heard his voice.

Jimmy. I picked up my pace and could hear her say, “Leave me alone Jimmy. I’m not interested in you.”

“Oh, that’s right you’re interested in that nancyboy Billy. What’s he got that I don’t?” “Well for starters he’s not an asshole like you.”

Jimmy kept tugging at her sweater asking her for a kiss as she was able to push him away. But he persisted until he saw me coming.

I froze like a deer in headlights as he had the most menacing look I ever saw on a human being. He turned towards her, waved his hand like he was swatting a fly and said, “You ain’t gonna do anything anyway.”

He marched over to Francine, pulled her in tight and tried to lay a big smooch on her again. She turned her face away but couldn’t get him off, he was too strong.

She stomped on his foot with her right shoe which made him jump off her. She tried to run, and he tried to grab her by the arm. She was able to pry him off, but she slipped and lost her balance falling over the side of the dock into the water.

I ran over to where she fell in but didn’t see her. I ran over to the other side of the dock hoping for a glimpse but nothing. Panic set in as I yelled at Jimmy to help me look for her. Jimmy just stood there expressionless and didn’t offer to help.

I dove headfirst into where she fell and swam as far as I could to towards the bottom. It felt like I was underwater for days, but I wasn’t gonna stop until I found her. When I came up for air, I saw Jimmy was gone.

Time was quickly running out and my desperation kicked in. I swam around the dock grabbing and reaching for any piece of her but came up empty. I heard voices when I came up for air and saw many faces looking down on me.

“Billy the cops and ambulance are on their way,” one of the camp counselors said

“I have to keep looking,” I said just about to go back under. I glanced at one of my buddies who pointed to the side of the dock.

I looked over and saw the sweater hanging from the spot he pointed to with her lifeless body dangling.

I pulled myself up from the water right next to where she hung. I don’t remember exactly what happened right after that. All I did know is the love of my life was gone. My parents came to get me the next morning.

The incident was ruled an accidental death and there was nothing I could have done to save her.

Every year on this day I relive that horrible nightmare again and again.


There they go again , Lance thinks to himself. The empty but giant halls of the massive house echoes his steps from all sides, walking in a slow pace, seemingly all by himself as the other occupants are nowhere to be found. The question of “where are they?” doesn’t leave his lips.

He has only been a resident for a month. A full month since his adoption, since the wealthiest family in the city took one look at him and said “Yes, you’ll do nicely.” Clad in all black when they stood on the doors of the orphanage, he briefly questions if they just got back from a funeral. He doesn’t know what to feel when they merely laughed when he asked.

“You are something else, Lance.” They said, he caught a glint in their eyes that he can’t explain but startled him enough for him to take a small step back.

“Would you like to go home with us?” They have said, warm expressions in contrast to their cold demeanor. Lance hesitated, a tingling in his neck when he saw the outstretched hand covered in a black glove that waited for his. But wracking through his mind of how his days go, he decided it’s better to go than to stay in a place where everything is awful. The orphanage treated him kindly, does not mean the people did.

It didn’t take long for him to pack a bag and got in a black car that took all of them to a place outside city limits.

“You’ll love it there, Lance.” The man said, a warm smile on his face that definitely didn’t creep him out. Maybe he should be calling him dad now? They took him to a mansion, a manor as they called it on the way, surrounded by electric fences and a giant stonewall. Lance jokingly wonders what they have to hide from that elicited a wall that rivaled the Great Wall of China.

Lance doesn’t know how to describe it properly; the manor has a gothic feel to it, come to consider that it’s been around since Queen Victoria reigned the country, the architecture and the overall structure screams old. The inside doesn’t look better. There’s a touch of modernism, but parts of it are still kept traditional. An odd mix if you were to ask him.

The particular thing that catches his eyes is the giant staircase in the middle of the room. He doesn’t understand why that would excite him, amaze him.

Lance briefly considers asking if the manor is haunted, but he doesn’t want to get sent back to the orphanage any time soon.

His brand new father and mother introduced him to his “siblings” and other occupants on the estate when they arrived. Three older brothers, a younger sister, two cousins who live there now, and one maid and a butler.

“This is Lance. He’s your new brother.” The woman, mother, introduced.

They seemed nice , Lance had thought, when his “siblings” all group hugged him to welcome him to the manor and to the family. His new sister gripped his hand tightly in hers, eager to be the one to give him the tour around the manor and the forest behind it while his new brothers followed closely behind them. His sister talked his ear off, Lance listened intently to everything she said.

“The house is built on a hill, there’s a nice forest outside.” Lance laughed at her words, “Yeah, I figured.” They gave him the room next to all of theirs, insisting that their sister likes to keep her brothers at arms length, and helped him unpack the few things he does have. He liked it.

“Welcome to the family.” said the eldest brother, before they are all due to their rooms for sleep. They are the only two in the hall where all their rooms are, theirs are next to each other. The eldest pats him in the back, giving him a smile, “Try not to get lost.”

The first week went along swimmingly.

He was always woken up by his new parents, pushing him to the shower so he could join them for breakfast. They would have breakfast together out in the gardens, Lance feels underdressed in his simple shirt when they all look like they are ready to have tea with the Queen, talking about plans and gossip of the week. Lance tried to be silent during them but it’s hard when they try to include him in everything he doesn’t know. Eventually, he lets loose with a few stories of his, he’s encouraged even more when they become engaged in what he’s saying. Some left before they could even finish their meals, with a solemn nod at one another, but Lance would be too wrapped up in a story about a thing he did back at the orphanage or a book he liked to notice. Or he did, but doesn’t mention it. Then they would spend the afternoon together as well, they’d read books from the massive library in the manor, watch movies in the movie room they had, all kinds of things in a matter of one week. They'd sit on the staircase and talk. They’d do all kinds of things in the garden, but never out in the woods. If it all goes well, maybe Lance could suggest they do some fun activities in the forest, it looked like a good place for hide and seek.

Dinner is chaotic, but Lance liked it. It’s the first time he has witnessed the dynamic between this powerful family. He has witnessed first hand how they’re like a normal family, one that teases and mocks each other and still stays together. It’s like they never shut up and always had something to say about each other. There are some topics he didn’t understand, but he ignored it and continued with his own meal.

And, at the end of the day, everyone retreats to their respective rooms and, one thing that he notices is that they basically lock themselves in there. But then again, with a family chaotic as them and a room as big as theirs, who wouldn’t? It was a very memorable week. A great first week with his new family. He likes this family, he likes to think that he’s starting to find a place in it--and it hasn’t been that long. Lance likes to think that this is it , they’re the ones he’s looking for.

That is, until the second week mark hits and Lance can no longer deny the little things he’s starting to notice.

Breakfast used to consist of all them, but his “foster” parents are nowhere to be found anymore. When asked, they tell him that they are off to work in the mornings.

“They didn’t look like they were going to work last week.” He said. “Of course,” The eldest brother said, “They wanted to be here for you, so they took a week off.” “One that they need if you were to ask me.” The second eldest said. Which is fair. “Have to make a living for the family. Keep the business alive.”

And he understands that. He’s seen the family’s massive empire in tabloids and news before, he understands. They would come home in the middle of the afternoon and he would welcome them as they hugged him. It’s when he would notice the faint smell of dirt on their clothes and glove-covered hands. He asks himself, “Does their office have a garden?” but smacks himself when he realizes that, duh, of course they don’t. He doesn’t have an answer for that. He lets it pass.

With the parents retiring to the room after they come home, afternoons are now spent with the cousins, his new siblings are nowhere to be found. He’d search for them at first, the cousins telling him they went out.

“I didn’t see them leave,” he’d told them. “Where would they go?” “They were in a hurry.” The cousins would reason. “They’ll be back.” And they did, and when they did, he’d ask where they went. He doesn’t ask about the wet spots in different parts of their clothing.

“To the mall. Our sister was itching to be out of the house. We’re sorry we didn’t tell you.” The second eldest brother answered. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you come with us next time” But they didn’t. They make no mention of that after. To be fair, he has forgotten the first time. But then the second time. “Our eldest needed someone to take him somewhere, his license was revoked. We all decided to tag along.” The third eldest explained, “You were busy with the cousins, so we didn’t ask. That was our mistake.” It’s a different excuse every time. Lance lets it past, but doesn’t forget. He’s suspicious, even though he doesn’t want to be, but doesn’t say anything. Again. It’s fine. He doesn’t mind afternoon with the cousins, they’re fun to be around.

Dinners are with the family, the parents and the siblings, but the cousins are apparently “busy” with their own things. They’re not around as often. Surprisingly, they don’t give him a reason as to why they are busy, they just say that they are. If that isn’t more suspicious than it already is.

“The cousins may live under our roof, but they are not entitled to leave everything out in the open. They can do what they want, let them have their own secrets.” The mother said when he asked.

Lance could list at least a hundred reasons why there’s so many things wrong with that. If he had another week, it still wouldn’t be enough.

They do come back though, in the middle of the night at least. He sees them enter through the front door, but he doesn’t leave his hiding spot.

It continues and it continues and it continues. Until he doesn’t ask anymore, he just ignores an absence. He ignores a lingering smell on their person that doesn’t make sense. He ignores the nonsensical reasons they give him.

And it’s only been a month. A month and the manor is feeling way too big for him. The halls he walks on, the giant staircase he sits on… he’s only realizing that it’s way too big. Lance thought nothing of it--not anymore--a wealthy family must equate to a busy one, right?


“Nefarious. N-E-F… Could you use the word in a sentence please?” The spelling Bee pronouncer nods affirmatively. “Of course Miss Spangler. Devon was nefarious for being a bully.” Jillian Spangler nods and replies, “Oh yeah. Thank you. Nefarious. N-E-F-A-R-I-O-U-S. Nefarious.” “That is correct Miss Spangler. Please take your seat. Mr. Henry Waldrop, please come to the microphone,” the pronouncer says, while Jillian goes back to reoccupy her folding chair onstage. A face she’s known since kindergarten awaits her in the neighboring chair. “Wow Miss Spangler—I mean Jilly. At first I thought you were going to blow it!” Roddert Hardley whispers as she retakes her seat. “Me too Roddert. For a minute I couldn’t remember if the word had one F or two in it,” she whispers. “Yeah, me neither. But you got it right Jilly. That’s all that counts,” Roddert whispers back. “Yeah Roddert. I’m just glad they don’t ask us what these big words mean. The words they give us are tough enough for us sixth graders to spell as it is.” “You got that right Jilly.” “Oh. Shhh,” Jilly warns, with her index finger laid perpendicular across her lips. “Merissa Ogglemeyer is up now. People say she’s the best speller in the whole city.” Merissa Ogglemeyer stands at the microphone, glaring down at the pronouncer. “Miss Ogglemeyer, the word is prerequisite.” Merissa sneers in contempt. “Prerequisite. You’re kidding me right?” she says flatly, then lectures. “In case you haven’t heard, this is a City-wide spelling Bee. And I’m a championship speller. And all you can come up with is… Nevermind. Could you give me something harder?” The pronouncer unconsciously stiffens her back then draws her glasses closer to her eyes. “Uh, pardon me? Miss Ogglemeyer. I don’t believe you really heard me. Your assigned word is prerequisite. And I must warn you. You now have only forty-seven more seconds to spell it, or you will be disqualified,” the pronouncer says, sliding her glasses back down the bridge of her nose. “Are we clear?” Merissa had gotten as close to the line of gross insubordination as she dared. But declined to cross it. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to get so touchy lady. Prerequisite. P-R-E-R-E-Q-U-I-S-I-T-E. Prerequisite.” “That is correct Miss Ogglemeyer. Please kindly return to your seat. Roddert Hardley please come to the microphone.” Merissa’s chair is one over from Jilly and Roddert’s. She takes her chair with an air of superiority, and whispers covertly to Jilly and Roddert as she seats herself. “You two snotty nose C+ spellers might as well give up now. I’m the best speller in the city and everybody knows it. It’s down to just me, you two, and that Waldrop kid sitting over there. So why don’t you two go home and save yourselves some cry-baby tears.” Roddert tenses, but doesn’t take the bait. “Don’t listen to her Jilly. She’s just trying to psyche us out,” he whispers his reply. Merissa nods her head once, and again whispers. “Yeah Jilly. Listen to Ro-dirt. I’m just trying to psyche you out. Especially since you almost blew that last word you just spelled.” The pronouncer intrudes via the amplification of her microphone. “Excuse me children. We’re on a schedule. Talking, or talk-whispering while on stage isn’t really encouraged,” she says in a discouraging voice, and then re-invites. “Mr. Roddert Hardley please come forward.” “Yes ma’am,” Roddert swiftly acknowledges. Once Roddert settles his feet in front of the microphone stand, the pronouncer immediately pronounces Roddert’s challenge word. “Mr. Hardley, the word is pompous.” “Yes ma’am, Pompous,” he says and freezes, with his eyebrows nettling up as though his mind were stuck in the middle of what to do. The pronouncer notices and asks, “Mr. Hardley. Do you need me to repeat the word?” Roddert shakes his head no, and with firm resolve gives the pronouncer his spelling. “Pompous. M-E-R-I-S-S-A O-G-G-L-E-M-E-Y-E-R. Pompous.” The pronouncer takes a split moment to stare at Roddert and consider what she had just heard. Or thought she heard. But recovers quickly. With a sympathetic tone she begins to inform Roddert of his error. “I’m very sorry Mr. Hardley that is incorr…” One of the judges, to the pronouncer’s left, cuts her off by holding a finger up in the air to signal her to wait. She wonderingly does so, while all of the judges huddle inwards towards each other to debate. The buzz from the audience is deafening. In as little time as it takes to peel two ripe bananas, all of the judges turn to the pronouncer raising up their thumbs in proud approval. The audience gives their blessings as well, in a pandemonium of clapping and cheering! When the pronouncer can speak again, without shouting, she vocalizes the judges’ ruling. “Mr. Hardley. I believe you have just broken some very new ground in a spelling Bee contest. Because the judges unanimously agree with your altered spelling of the word pompous. Congratulations. You may take your seat.


This was my secret santa story for u/zetakh! This was really fun to write and I hope everyone likes it too. Constraints: 1. Something derails a holiday celebration. 2. An unlikely alliance. 3. Food is used as a weapon. 4. Bonus: use the following words: "Defenestrate" 5. "Kerfuffle" 6. "Bamboozle" \ A little boy sat at the banquet table that his grandmother had set out in the living room. He glanced around at all of the family members that surrounded him, many of which he didn’t recognize that well. Aunts, uncles, great-grandparents… Christmas was the only time of year that he saw them, so who could blame him for not knowing them? The only two people he recognized were Dad and Grandma. At the very least, though, he wasn’t the only child here. There were a few cousins around his age here, too. Maybe he could play with them after dinner? Speaking of that, when were they gonna eat? He glanced down at his plate, which was empty. He turned to his father, who sat beside him, and whimpered, “Dad, can I pleaaaaase eat now? I’m so hungry!” “Not yet, Buddy,” Dad replied as he gently patted his son’s head. “We have to wait for Grandma to pray.” “But why?” “Grandma will get upset if we don’t pray. Just be patient, okay?” Buddy crossed his arms and pouted, but otherwise didn’t reply. There was no sense in arguing with Dad, after all. Especially not if it concerned Grandma since she was much taller and much more terrifying than Dad could even dream of being! He watched as a few more people sat down. After what felt like years to him, Grandma finally chirped, “I think that’s everyone! Let’s pray, then.” The whole family seemed to bow their heads synchronously, except for Buddy. He stared at the food once more, before his eyes gravitated to one of his cousins who sat across from him. She stared right back at him, with a somewhat unsettling smile on her face. Was she planning something? Grandma began to hum, “Bless, O Lord, this food to our use and us to thy service, and keep us ever mindful of the needs of others.…” The cousin’s grin widened at Buddy as she picked up her spoon and placed it in the bowl of mashed potatoes. “For this and all we are about to receive, make us truly grateful, Lord…” Buddy squinted at her, before putting his own spoon in the stuffing. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he certainly wasn’t one to back down from a challenge! “In Jesus' Name, Amen." As the adults lifted their heads, the cousin flicked the mashed potatoes, which landed directly on Buddy's shoulder. He could hear one of them shout, "Lucy! That's not nice! Apologize!" but it was already much too late. This was war! He flicked the spoonful of stuffing right in her face, making a laugh as it splattered. Dad shouted, "Buddy! What are you doing?!" Alas, it fell on deaf ears as Buddy decided to pelt even more stuffing at Lucy. A splash of cranberry sauce came from a different direction and landed on Buddy's cheek. He whirled around to see one of his aunts, preparing to slam him with more cranberry sauce. In response, he began to pelt her with stuffing right back. From there, the situation devolved rapidly. Every single member of the family was now involved. What was once just a little kerfuffle between two cousins was now a full-on battle between everyone! Food flew with such force and speed all across the room, with no signs of the war slowing down or stopping. After a while, Buddy began to run out of food to throw. He scrambled to find more ammunition but instead got pelted by several others whose ammo was plentiful. He stopped in his tracks as he realized there was nothing he could grab. Everyone else was hoarding their food! He whimpered, before laying down on the ground and accepting his fate. Unfortunately for him, Grandma soon towered over him, a scowl on her face as she tightly held a couple of family-sized chip bags. "Do you know just how much trouble you're in, mister?" she asked, the fury clear in her voice. Buddy sat up, and yelped out, "I'm sorry, Grandma! I won't do it again! I didn't mean to start this!" The throwing of food slowed as everyone saw what was happening. Grandma smirked as she tossed one of the bags to Buddy. She scoffed, "Hah! I bamboozled all of you! My turn!" and opened the remaining bag. Soon, potato chip crumbs were flying everywhere, and the battle ramped up again. Buddy opted to hide behind Grandma and helped her throw chips at the family members who had barely gotten hit. She seemed the safest, after all! She was intimidating, strong, and clearly on his side despite the scare she had given him. Why wouldn’t he decide to have an alliance with her? Finally, after what felt like forever, everyone ran out of food. The battle was now over, and all that was left was the disastrous aftermath. Food covered almost every part of the house now, from the ceiling to the floor. It had even gotten outside, where some of the food had gotten accidentally defenestrated out of an open window. Buddy surveyed the massive mess that was now in the living room and felt a pang of guilt. Grandma was going to have to painstakingly clean this up, wasn’t she? He was at least partially responsible for this, so this was his mess to clean. The presents and celebration could wait until after this mess was cleaned up. He decided to grab a towel from the bathroom and began to scrub out the carpet. Soon, the rest of his family followed suit and began to clean up the disaster they caused. The war was over, and now they had to clean up the mess. Buddy didn’t mind much, though.


This whole flaring potato thing started about a week ago. You see, my wife had been eyeballing the bone-in, spiral cut ham that had been floating around in the bottom of my garage freezer since two Christmases ago. Hell, it could have been five Christmases for all I know--time sure does seem to fly by these days. Anyway, she's eyeballing this frosty ball of pig flesh and decides she’s got a real hankering for honeyed ham. Not just sugar coated ham--mind you--but bee juice glazed ham and flaring garlic mashed potatoes. Now, the only problem is that we ain’t got no flaring potatoes. And--I don’t know if you’ve been living under a rock for the past couple of months--but we got a real motherflaring pandemic on our hands, here. Next thing you know, the wife and I are smack dab in the middle of a little argument about the necessity of root vegetables during the apocalypse. And I gotta say, I think I did pretty good. So there I was, dumbdeffer me all masked up and covered in hand sanitizer like I found a surplus of Drakkar Noir, roaming the aisles of the local discount grocery chain in search of tubers. I searched high, I searched low, and I couldn’t find a single tater anywhere I looked--skin red, brown, or even canned for Sol’s sake. That was, until I turned a corner and found the holy grail. Sitting on a pallet far off in the corner was a single cardboard box with a glowing red word: Idaho. It called to me like a message from the sun god, himself. I strode up to that coveted box, placed my hands upon the sides of it, and lifted with all my might. Fueled by the thought of a happy wife and the happy life that went with it, I hefted that box all the way to the register and slapped it down on the conveyor with a flourish. I think I might have even slapped the top of the box and tossed the cashier a wink. I can’t be certain--adrenaline was coursing through my veins like Monster in a Twitch streamer. I paid, hauled the box home to my fortress of quarantine, and proudly presented it to the mother of my children. I was filled with joy! My innate manly need to provide filled to the brim by the most epic of quests and the bounty received from it. I waited for her reaction. And waited. And waited. She looked at me for the longest time, expression blank, clearly overwhelmed by my success. I stared back, patiently waiting for the recognition that was due to me. The seconds stretched to minutes, and the minutes to an eternity. When she finally spoke, she said, “I’ve decided that I don’t want potatoes anymore. Too many carbs.” So anyway, that’s how I wound up with a fifty pound box of potatoes. I microwaved one for breakfast today, with a little sour cream and black pepper. It was pretty good. Forty-nine more pounds to go...


Anything Else?            “It’s tough, Mom. My career hinges on getting 80% on the exam day after tomorrow.” Immediately regretting comparing exam results to doomsday, Rhondi continued. “But I’m sure I’ll do fine, and by the way, the kids are doing great; all three like their teachers this year.”            “Well, I don’t see how you’re doing this on your own. If I moved down there, I could...”            “Mom, it’s okay. Anyone in health care will always have a job.”            “It won’t be easy. My two nurse friends are always exhausted. Not to mention the politics that go along with…”            “Politics are everywhere, Mom, no matter what field you’re in. Anyway, I need to get the kids organized for homework and bed, but I’m glad you called.”            “They’re such sweethearts. Do they talk about Jack? You’re so much better off without…”            “Sometimes.” Rhondi gave herself a mental high five for not reacting. “Okay, I really need to go. We’ll call soon. Love you.”            How can it be eight o’clock already, Rhondi wondered. “Seth, April, Jon. Everyone to the kitchen – quick. Guys, I’m super tired, so what if April reads Jon a story while I go over Seth’s homework with him? After a little ice cream, of course.”           When April and Jon were in bed, Rhondi could hear Seth in the shower. At 12, he was more mature than most of his friends. She worried that he felt responsible for his brother and sister - and for me.

           She heated a cup of tea and headed upstairs.  Always thankful for a few minutes to relax after the kids were in bed, tonight was an exception. Books were spread across the bed for another hour of study.            “Mom?” Rhondi looked up to see Seth in the doorway.            “Hey buddy, come in.”            “I know you have a test, but do you have a minute?”            “Of course. I knew something was on your mind earlier. What’s up?”            He sat down in the rocker. “First things first. I don’t like that guy you go to school with.”

           “Brent, the one in my study group?”            “Yeah.”            “Seth, he’s just part of the group, nothing more. These classes are hard and going over this stuff together helps me a lot. I’m not exactly a spring chicken, you know.”            “Huh?”            “Never mind. Something more?”            “Alright, the other thing is, there’s a science project due next week.  Today Billy and Mason said they’d pay me if I write theirs for them.”            Rhondi put her cup down. “They asked you to help them or to actually write it?”

           “They want me to do the whole thing.”            Oh, God, help me handle this right she silently prayed. “You guys have been friends for a long time, haven’t you?”            “Since first grade.”

           “Well,” Rhondi said slowly, “those kinds of projects are easy for you, and you enjoy them.” She smiled as he rolled his eyes. “If you do it, you’d still have your friends – and some extra money.” She stayed silent for a moment. “Would there be a downside?”             “They’d probably ask me to do it again,” he replied thoughtfully. “And I wouldn’t have time to get my own stuff done. And I might get caught.”            “Hmm, those things could happen.” More silence. “Anything else?”             He looked around the room and then looked her in the eye. “It wouldn’t be right.”            “Bingo.” “Now what?”  “So, what if you told them exactly what you told me and see what happens. It’s called ‘letting the chips fall.’ Check it out online and see what you think.”            Pulling into the hospital parking lot the next morning, Rhondi tried not to stress about the day ahead for Seth. She was also concerned that her lunch date, now just four hours away, may not be  a good idea.  I can’t think about either right now she decided as clinicals began.            Several weeks of treating patients on her own had instilled confidence, and this whole nurse thing was actually starting to feel real. She started three IVs , needing help with only one. Rhondi’s supervisor complimented her bedside manner as she adeptly inserted a needle while engaging the patient about his new grandson.

           After three hours of rounds, Rhondi eased into the seat next to Sylvia as Legal Aspects of Nursing class began.            “How’d your IVs go?”  Sylvia asked.

           “Pretty good. Right now, though, I’d like to skip this class and go study.”

           “I almost did. By the way, Brent and Carly want to eat at Jose’s right after clinicals around five and then study at the library. Brent will drive. You up for that?”

           “Yes.” Rhondi closed her eyes.  “This exam just has me spooked.”            “It has everyone spooked. Can you get your sitter, Elsa, right?”            “Yep, I’m texting her now.”

           The instructor launched into various legal pitfalls of nursing, including horror stories of career altering consequences of negligence. Rhondi had little patience for such anecdotes. Weren’t IVs and wound treatment procedures enough to assimilate in one morning?

Wanting class to end but anxious about lunch, Rhondi knew that an emotional upheaval today could scuttle passing the exam. She wondered what her kids and everyone else would think if they knew who she was meeting.

           “Doing anything for lunch?” Sylvia asked as they gathered their books.            “Errands. See you after clinicals at five.”

Rhondi checked the time and headed to her car.  Arriving a little early, she decided to go ahead and get a table when the hostess approached her. “Rhondi?”            “Yes.”

           “Right over here.”  Looking where the hostess motioned she spotted him by a window in the corner. Wow, she thought, taken aback.

           He stood when he saw her and pulled out a chair. “You still look great in scrubs,” he said with a half smile. “I figured you probably wouldn’t have much time, so I’ve already ordered  Pellegrino’s and our usual pasta.”

           “I have about an hour.” She sat across from him keeping her expression neutral. “You look good, Jack.”            “What did you expect, greasy hair, grubby clothes and stubble?” His smile softened the words.

           “Something like that.” She returned the smile. “But last time you were at the house I could tell you’d made progress. About six weeks ago, right?”            “Yeah.”

           Their food arrived and small talk about her classes and his rehab workshops followed. It seemed so normal, and Rhondi had to catch herself again from the pattern of hoping for a reboot that would make everything fine.            “How are the kids?”

           “They’re good. Still unjaded enough to be excited about school – and life.”            “I love those kids – our kids.”            “That was never an issue, Jack. Everyone knows you do.” They ate in silence for a few moments. “April wants you to come to her birthday party in three weeks.”            “I can’t believe she’s almost 11.”            “Eighteen in her mind. She’s Jon’s self-appointed keeper since he’s four years younger, which of course includes telling him what to watch, what to eat, when to go to bed, etc.”            Jack laughed.  “I’d like to see them sooner than the party if possible.”            “We could probably arrange that.” She briefly thought of cancelling Elsa and asking if he wanted to stay with them tonight. Instead, she recounted her conversation with Seth about his science project.            Jack looked down at his plate. “I’m proud of that kid.” Then he met her gaze and said softly, “you’re doing a great job.”

           “Thanks. So, how’s everything going?”

            “We have classes each morning on diet, relationships, boundaries, a bunch of stuff. Afternoons are for exercise and workshops. I’m staying at a glorified halfway house for professionals who screwed something up. Anyway, if you’re wondering if I’m ‘clean,’ I am. I report to a sponsor, who I hated at first, but now I’m kind of liking this accountability thing.”

           Rhondi looked at her former husband who’d been a leader, funny, full of energy. “Has anyone said anything about ever practicing…”            “Possibly clinical psychology - not psychiatry. Psychologists can’t prescribe medicine.”            “How are you with that?”

           “Getting used to the idea.”            Her fingers brushed the bottle of unopened anti-anxiety medication in her scrubs pocket as he continued disclosing details about his present life. Several of her classmates claimed these pills were getting them through school.  I don’t want to be a martyr, but I don’t want dependency, she had decided. Prescription medication had destroyed Jack’s medical career and their family. She often wondered what would happen if she got hooked.

           More small talk until Rhondi looked at her watch. Tossing a virtual coin to decide who would take care of the kids tonight fell on the side for Elsa.  “I have to get eighty percent on a tough exam tomorrow, so I’ll call in a couple days and we’ll figure out a time to come over.”

           Instead of pressuring her for an exact time, he simply said “thanks.”

On the way to her car, she once again almost decided on Jack over Elsa for tonight, but she smiled and waved instead.            Afternoon Clinicals went well, and by the end of the day, she was more than ready for supper at Jose’s and her group study session. She started to call Seth for an update but decided to wait till she could see him in person.            Arriving at the parking lot, she saw Carly and Sylvia waiting by Brent’s car. They were a safety net, they all looked out for each other.  Rhondi wasn’t even sure she would still be here without their encouragement and late-night study binges, usually at her house so she wouldn’t need a sitter. She suspected Brent would’ve liked a closer relationship, but she had never encouraged it.

            “Going to be a productive evening,” Brent said getting in the car. Sitting in the back seat, Rhondi felt her tension ease and began to relax.            “I have to pass this test,” Sylvia announced. “No repeating classes. No more school loans. I need a job.”            “Me too,” Carly said. “I can’t imagine going through this class again or delaying graduation. I just have one older kid. Rhondi has three young ones.”            “Not sure how you two are surviving nursing school with kids,” Sylvia said. “How are yours, Rhondi?”            “Better than I could have hoped, considering the ‘single mom in school thing’.” She was about to recap Seth’s friends issue but decided against it. “Overall, things are good.”            Brent had remained silent during the short ride, but he caught Rhondi’s eye in the rearview mirror and winked as they arrived. She smiled briefly in return.

           After everyone ordered, Rhondi realized she was anticipating an evening for the first time in ages, even though it was just for study. The kids were in good hands, there’d been no major incidents during morning rounds, and Jack seemed better, much better actually.            “Why’d you bring your briefcase in, Brent?” Sylvia asked. “Can’t stay away from the books even during supper?”

           “About that,” he said pulling a packet out of his briefcase. “I have great news for us all.”  Small talk ended as he had everyone’s attention. Dramatically opening the packet, he announced, “right here is a copy of the test we’ll all be taking tomorrow.” He looked around the table, eyes lingering a bit longer on Rhondi. “And for a mere twenty-five dollars – each, of course – we’ll study it this evening.” A stunned silence followed. “What, no takers? We all want, we need, to pass don’t we?”            “How’d you get that?” Sylvia finally found her voice.            “Who gave it to you?” Carly was indignant. “That’s it?” Brent looked at each one.

            “How do you know it’s the real test?” Sylvia demanded.            “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to…” Smiling mischievously, he uncovered the top portion to reveal the school insignia and the title. Carly and Sylvia leaned forward to read the small print. More silence.            “Let me think for a minute,” Carly said slowly.            “Me, too,” Sylvia shot a glance at Rhondi.            “Cat got your tongue, Rhondi?” Brent asked with a friendly smile.            Right in front of her was a gift, a free pass to a career that would support her children. But all she could see was Seth’s face as they had discussed options. Then she heard her voice. “Sorry, guys, this probably isn’t my thing.”

           They stared at her. “What do you mean?”  Carly was obviously torn. “We need this. It’s not like we’re slacking.”            Sylvia nodded in agreement. “We’ve been killing ourselves. This isn’t that big a deal.”            “Which, passing the test or buying a copy?” Rhondi asked. Sylvia glared at her, an expression Rhondi had never seen.            “The world won’t end if we use it,” Carly pointed to the test.

           Their food arrived but was ignored.

Brent watched Rhondi but spoke to the others softly. “Take it easy, you two. Give Rhondi some space, a chance to look at the upside. It’s not like we haven’t been learning this stuff all term.  This just allows us to focus on key points.  How can there be a downside? She deserves to get through this just like we do. And she knows her kids would benefit. Nothing more to consider. Anything else?”

            All eyes were on her again.  Rhondi looked around, aware that she was expected to respond. Once again she heard her own voice.  “Look, you guys go ahead. Consequences aside, it’s not right. I’ll just head on home after we eat.”            Rhondi maneuvered through light traffic on her way home. There had been small talk in Brent’s car on the way back to the library, none of it directed toward her.

           Nearing the house, she considered going to the public library to study on her own.  Her energy was depleted, though, and she needed a welcoming atmosphere, she needed to see her kids.            As she turned on to her street, her heart nearly stopped. Whose car was in her driveway? Elsa lived only a few doors away and always walked. Was that Jack’s car? Expecting another blow, Rhondi rushed through the door. “What’s going on?” she could barely speak.            Laughter? Sitting at the dining room table were Seth, Jon, April and Jack, playing Monopoly. All four looked at her.             “Mom, why are you back so early?” April asked.            “We’re having fun, Mom,” Jon said grinning.            “Whoa, everybody, hold on,” Jack commanded. “One at a time.”

           “Everything’s fine. I just decided to study here instead. Where’s Elsa?”            “Her dad was rushed to the hospital, so she called me,” Jack said.            “She had your number?”            “She said you texted it to her when she agreed to stay with the kids tonight – in case anything ever came up.”            “Oh, that’s right, I did.” Rhondi stood watching them, still holding her books.            “Are you okay, Mom?” Seth had a concerned look.            “Of course she is,” Jack assured them, taking Rhondi’s books and setting them on the sofa. He looked at her for a long moment. “Why not have dessert with us and then go study in the den. I’ll clean the kitchen and make sure everyone’s ‘on task’.”

All three kids chimed their approval.            “By the way, Mom,”Seth said, “I did what you said and let the chips fall. Billy said he wants to do his project himself anyway, but Mason’s still a toss-up. It’ll work out. It’s good you’re back. Dad got ice cream sundaes.” The background sounds of Jack cleaning the kitchen and supervising bed-time provided a calming atmosphere as Rhondi went through several practice exams online.

           “Doing okay?” Jack asked from the doorway.            “I think so. What time is it?” She realized the house had grown quiet.            “Ten. So, what happened earlier?”

           “The guy in my study group got a copy of the exam, and for twenty-five dollars each, he said we could all study it together.”

           Jack sat down in the chair facing her. “Wow. So, you’re the boy scout. How do you feel?”            “Still processing.”

           “What if I quiz you on chapter summary questions? I’ve got a couple of hours till curfew.”            “Okay.”            The next morning, after the exam, Rhondi walked quickly to her car and drove to the café where she’d been twenty-four hours earlier. The same hostess guided her to the same corner table where Pelligrino’s had already arrived.

           “So?” Jack asked.            “So, it was a killer. Results popped up immediately online. Only three people passed with over eighty percent.”            “Your study group?”            Rhondi nodded.             “What did you get?”            “Seventy-eight point nine.”            Jack took a sip of water. “You may not remember when I failed that final in my third year and had to retake the class. Anyway, it proved helpful because the material was repeated in a few other classes. At first I thought it was the end of the world, but it wasn’t. Neither is this.”            “I want to believe that.”            “We - you need a plan. Elsa and I can alternate watching the kids. You know this material. Seventy eight point nine with all that was going on; you’ll ace it next time.”            Rhondi nodded.            “What are you doing after lunch?”

           “Probably just take a break and maybe a nap before the kids get home. If you’re free later, maybe you could help plan April’s party.”            “Sounds good.” Jack handed her a menu. “What would you like?”


_I might start turning these little story starters into actual stories. I'm going to just give a sample of one, and you can tell me what your thoughts are on it, deal? Thanks! First up!_ **19. Rose Garden** *A soft humming tune filled the air, as a petite figure busied herself with watering the large garden of red, golden yellow, and pink roses. As she hummed, and the water can went spraying all over the petals and leaves, she thought to herself, 'What a wonderful morning for gardening.' A soft giggle followed, as her strawberry blonde hair bounced from the joy in her step, as she pranced over to refill the can.* *"Quite a wonderful garden you have there, Cherilee!" a male's voice rang out, catching her off guard, making her nearly drop the can of water.* *"Oh, um, good morning to you too, Mr. Finner! I see you're admiring my garden," she replied, running over to the gate to open it up for the 30 year old man.* *He wore a dark blue and black suit proudly, with a spectacle covering one eye, and a top hat sitting upon his mop of brown hair, combed nicely. With a smile, he looked upon the roses of many colors, and walked in with his hands behind his back.* *"My, my, you sure have been busy, haven't you Miss Cherilee," he commented, taking out his pocket watch to check the time briefly, before putting it away.* *"Why yes, Mr. Finner! Getting up every morning to make sure my beautiful children get their water is what I live for!" Cherilee spoke proudly, giggling as she pranced back over to a bush she hadn't attended to yet.* *The man watched her in silence, keeping his hands behind his back. He wondered how such a petite young lady managed a garden like this all by herself. Walking over to watch her water the red roses, he raised an eyebrow with curiosity.* *"So, how did you manage to work on this garden of yours? It's pretty exquisite to be one of such talent."* *Cheriliee gives a dark smirk for a moment's glance from the Professor, before giggling lightly. "Oh Mr, Finner, you flatter me. I've been working on this garden for years. It's one of my greatest achievements! To keep the garden fed, and the leaves trimmed, it's one of my greatest pleasures."* *"Oh really? Well, that sounds absolutely splendid. Oh my, look at the time! I must be off. History won't teach itself. Have a wonderful day, Miss Cherilee."* *The man quickly left her humble garden, only to hear a whisper in his ear speak softly to him.* *"Help us!"* *Hearing the sudden sound of a whisper calling for help, the Professor turned his gaze back towards Cherilee, who was busy pulling up some weeds for the moment.* *"Did you say something, dear?" he asks, scratching his head lightly.* *"Pardon? I don't believe I said anything, but I hope your day goes well!"* *"Yes...uh...you too..."* *Once the gate was closed behind him, it locked automatically, making Cherilee stand slowly with the weed cutter held tightly in her grip. Giving off a dark aura of anger, she turned to the rest of her garden with a wicked grin, "Who spoke up? Who?"* *The garden stayed silent, making her eyebrow twitch with impatient, "Speak up now! Who was it?!"* *A small rose bud peeked out of the corner of one of the bushes, showing off a pair of bright blue eyes full of fear. "I-it was me..." it spoke in a soft tone.* *Cherilee walked over slowly to them, and fell to her knees, before taking the bud gently within her fingers. She could feel the rose bud shivering, rustling up their leaves and wanting to hide their face with its petals.* *"So, what made you think you can go around asking strangers for help, hm? Did I give you permission to speak? DO you want the others to pay for your disobedience?? Must I always be so patient with you??"* *Without waiting for a word, she used the weed cutter to snip the rose from its stem, making a dribble of blood pour from the bush. The rest of the garden whimpered and gasped as Cherilee mercilessly crushed the rose bud.* *Standing to her feet, she growls, "Let this be a lesson to you, lot! I will only keep you here for as long as I want, and you will never defy me, or you'll all end up with the same fate! I gave you a home, I keep you well fed, and this is the thanks I get?!" She threw the rose on the ground, and stomped it to pieces. "You will stay silent, unless I give the order to speak, understand!?"* *The garden fell silent, making her chuckle, as she went back to her pretty cheerful tone, "Good. That's all I wanted to hear. Silence."* *~~* A pile of papers were placed inside of another filing cabinet, as Bennett did his best not to complain. The work pile up was ridiculous, his coworkers were off on other duties, and he still hadn't been able to capture the one causing so much trouble for the city. There have been many cases of children going missing in the nearby areas, as of late, and still the only clues the man has found, were pictures with info of whom was missing. The parents were becoming devastated, and some even began thinking of moving to a different state or another city. None would think that their children was dead, since it has been a few years that these cases have come about. Just where is this captor, and why children under the ages from 5 to 9? Sighing deeply, Bennett plopped down into his seat, running a hand over his tired face. Working late night hours again, just for this; it was slowly driving him nuts. Who knows what those children were up against? What was the captor trying to say? Opening up a cabinet underneath his desk, he took out the files of the recent missing children of this year. Mattie Williams. Age 8. Kasey Jockins. Age 9. Peter Alleck. Age 6. Raven Yorkshire. Age 9. And Thomas Dilsworth. Age 7. 5 children in a span of a few months. How did it get so bad, and what was this captor’s motive? For all Bennett knew, this captor was interested in gingers and dirty blondes, but why? It was already creepy enough, but to be specific, the girls were the red heads, and the boys were dirty blondes. Why? Just why? Groaning in frustration, he bends over the folders and paperwork. “Ugh.” A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, making him nearly jump out of his chair, only to see one of his friends grinning down at him. “Hey Ben, what’s going on tonight? Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya.” Groaning again, Ben turned back to his friend with a light smirk, “Very funny, Kyle. I’m just going over some more paperwork.” “Business is still booming?” “For the most part, trying to solve this case without any leads is getting me nowhere.” The tall man gives a chuckle, placing a platter of food next to the detective, while taking a seat next to him. “What are you doing here anyway, Kyle? I thought you were banned from coming to see me,” Ben joked, taking the can of soda from his friend, who gives a soft laugh. “I just wanted to check up on my buddy. Can’t have you staying overnight again, can I? You do have a bad habit of letting your work get to you. Can I see what you got working for ya?” Sliding the files over to him, Kyle studied the children’s profiles, humming lightly in thought. “Hm. Seems like a pattern to me. Why do you think they are interested in children, anyways?” After taking a swig from his drink, Ben gave a shrug, placing it onto the table, “Who knows? I’m not getting anywhere like this.” “Oh, that reminds me, I brought you this too,” Kyle mentions, placing a file down onto the table. It was a brand new kind of envelope that was black, with white letters written on it: Classified. “What’s this?” Ben asks, opening the file carefully, so as not to rip anything. Usually files like these meant whatever profile was behind it, the person was seriously dangerous, or just mentally insane. “You know that mansion up on Blue Hill, Ave?” Kyle asks curiously, watching as Ben looks over the file. “The one with that huge rose garden you mean?” Ben frowns in thought, while Kyle nodded. “Yes. Lovely garden, isn’t it?” Ben nods, now concentrating on the file. There was a girl with long dark brown hair on it, with a wide smile that looked a little too forced to be real. She had pale skin, and light green eyes, and was wearing a prisoner’s outfit. Her name was Muriel Josephine Kinley, Age 24. Her reasons for imprisonment were blotted out, and her history wasn’t there either. Ben couldn’t get much from this, if anything at all. “Just thought I’d give you another file to add to your suspects list,” Kyle mentions, sipping his soda, before crushing it and throwing it far into the trash bin. “Have you ever seen this girl? Why would she be a suspect? Isn’t she in prison?” “Nope. Word got out that she’s escaped, and is on the run, apparently. But, it’s been a few years, and no one’s seen her since. Think she could be out there wrecking havoc?” “Could be. I’ll keep an eye out for the time being. I think I’ll call it quits for tonight, my head hurts.” Ben placed all of the files back into his drawer, locking it with the key, before planting it into his pocket. Getting up and grabbing his jacket, he turns back to see Kyle cleaning their food and placing it into a bag. “Are you crashing at my place again, Ky?” he asks, while he looked over the office, before turning out the lights. “Yes man, if you don’t mind. My roommate was having friends over, and I wanted to get some air anyways. While you get some rest, I might watch some footage we had gotten that may confirm who the perp was that robbed the city’s museum again.” “Don’t they usually have the Eagle Agency working in that department?” Ben led them both to his car, quickly getting in and turning the engine on. “You’re forgetting that I had to go undercover as the museum manager, while he was on vacation to keep a lookout. Sadly, the perp got away with the find, and the police are on the case. The Agency though I heard, has hired another to get on the case. Black Phoenix is the name.” “Black Phoenix, huh? If heros are taking lightly to such petty names, I’d say that one is unique, but you know, who cares nowadays?” “Haha, you got that right.” “What was stolen again?” “The Egyptian Sphere. Says it can grant anyone any wish, but it’s limited. Some say others who have sought after it, and used its powers, ended up dead in the long run.” Ben chuckles, “Guess they couldn’t handle the rules, huh?” To be continued...


##Good Morning ShortStories! Cody here to formally announce a few changes to the sub. We aren't making any titanic shifts in how we do things or cracking down on content. What we do want to do is make this place look a bit more polished. This is a sub more for readers than writers. After all, our authors post stories here with the intent that they will be read. With that in mind we want to make the reading experience a bit more pleasant. This entails a few things:   1. **Present your story as a story.** This means in your post title, use proper titling rules: capitalizing first letters appropriately. The good rule of thumb is 'important' words - nouns, action verbs, adjectives, and adverbs - are capitalized while transitive verbs and articles stay lowercased. Look to any published book for an example of this or go and let it do it for you. This will help make a post standout in a feed as a short story and make prospective readers more likely to open your post. Plus, it just looks nice when scrolling through. 2. **Keep it to the story**. Please don't treat your story like the front half of a recipe online. We don't need to know the origins and circumstances of it's creation. If you want to share it, please make it a top level comment, but keep the body of your post to the story, a link to the subreddit, and a feedback request if you are looking for it. 3. **Format your story itself.** Don't post a single block of text. Very few people want to read that. A few common mistakes we see and will be reasons for removal: * The aforementioned wall of text. Break up your paragraphs. Besides making it easier to look at, those breaks make it easier to not get fatigued. Our brains take a small breath of air at the ends of paragraphs. * Make new paragraphs when speakers change in dialogue, and use the correct punctuation - quotation marks - to indicate dialogue. We aren't going to remove because you didn't follow the minutia of English grammar. We understand everyone is at a different level, but we do have a base standard that we are going to hold you to. * Codeblocks. These are basically textboxes inside the post that can stretch on into infinity. These happen because you wanted to indent your paragraphs. 4 spaces = "This section is in code" to reddit markdown. We recommend just not indenting. Reddit is weird and we are used to reading without indents. If you really want to include them copy and paste this: >\ \ \ \  There may be a narrative reason to use these such as actually showing code in a software espionage thriller story. If they fit the narrative that is fine, but 99% of the codeblocks we see are in error. * We know getting used to Reddit's markdown quirks can be difficult. If you are on new reddit with the fancypants editor, many of these things are handled for you and you won't notice a problem unless you specifically enter markdown mode. Old Reddit and mobile reddit though still have to contend with the markdown. The moderation team recommends getting the Reddit Enhancement Suite extension and viewing from old reddit. It offers a live preview of your post so you can see what it will look like before posting. If that isn't for you, or you are on mobile apps - which it looks like about 70% of you are - you can also go and preview your post. * A lot of this can be boiled down to one simple imperative: post polished work. It shouldn't look like a rough draft. Have pride in what you are putting out there for people to read. In turn readers are far more likely to enjoy what you spent time and energy making.   We know there is a lot of legacy content that does not follow these rules, but we have to start somewhere. So please do not come to us saying, "But I saw it here" and link to old approved stories. This is the now, and the rules on the sidebar clearly state our new expectations. We are one of the larger repositories of stories on reddit.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Media Prompt: ** ***Bonus Constraint (worth extra pts.): Use of an **: A reference, typically brief, to a person, place, thing, event, or other literary work with which the reader is presumably familiar (e.g. I wish I could just click my heels. - a passing reference to Wizard of Oz) See the link for additional explanation and examples. If the allusion isn't obvious, be sure to include a note at the end of the story so you don’t miss points.* This week’s challenge is to use **the above song as inspiration** for your story. You can use the song itself, the name, the images in the video, or . The bonus constraint is not required. You may interpret the media prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you **follow all sub and post rules**.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/DmonRth   - - Submitted by u/ktril89   - - Submitted by u/gurgilewis   *** ###Subreddit News - Our sister sub, r/WritingPrompts, now has a ! - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


(Implied violence) The pump is dry—or broken. It has probably been that way for a long time. It is also quite possible, the man considers with some degree of annoyance, that it has never worked at all. That it has always existed in this state. One not unlike the town of its residence, or the land surrounding; empty, restful,

wanting.

He swears under his breath. He doesn’t typically enjoy doing so where the sun can see him, but his current situation certainly warrants it. He knows his car is on its last legs. The fuel light on his dash has been worrying at his peripheral for an uncomfortably long time and this is the first small slice of civilisation in what was a half day sized cake of sweet fuck-all. He replaces the nozzle to its original position, where it will likely stay for another two or three lifetimes, until the arrival of yet another poor soul shit out of luck and unleaded who would find themselves equally as disappointed.

He wipes what is either rust-dust or red-dirt from his palm to the denim of his thigh. It’s possibly both. This specific shade of copperhead orange is a familiar sight around this part of the country. Everything here—when there was anything here at all—is either dirtied or deteriorated to the point where no other colour dare remain. And as a man of many shades of black, this and the sun make for a rather unfavourable pairing to say the least.

Finding a means of escape is imperative. He checks his phone for reception. If he can’t find fuel here, he can at least scour his map app for the closest alternative. His phone gives him nothing, not even enough bars to make an emergency call lest he be approached by a psycho with a shotgun or a cannibal from the distant hills; irony be damned.

He wields his phone to the sky, a beacon of betrayal that offers him nothing in return for his extended efforts. He will change providers—if he can ever reach a town where such a change can be provided. He lets his arm drop. “You’re in the country now, boy.” A voice calls to him, thickly accented, each word halved in size, incomprehensible if one aren’t fluent in this very particular brand of local drawl. The man feigns nescience, offering the voices wielder a leisurely wave, careful not to let his irritation show.

No shit.

He thinks but does not say.

I never would have guessed.

A secondary survey of his surroundings offers up not much more than his initial had. Beyond the functionless pump there is a functioning carpark, occupying a series of cars and carcasses whose differences are indiscernible to the naked eye. Along with this, there is a single large building that likely once operated as separate businesses but is now connected by wooden panels and rusted corrugated pieces to form a single beast of a thing that no doubt housed primarily the motel-servo monster that is this town’s only lure.

Everything is rust and ruin, dirt and detritus; ancient relics of times gone by. No wonder they didn’t have phone reception, they probably didn’t even have indoor plumbing.

In an odd way it is both charming and eery. With too much time here one could easily fall prey to red dust homey quality unique to inland towns, as inconvenient as their services might be. Withdrawn from the reach of the rest of society, townships such as this often maintained an air of timelessness. Whether it is the eighteen-hundreds, nineteen-fifties, or the same day he left the place before this one, he can’t tell. He’s unsure whether the locals would even know themselves, stuck in their perpetual state of desert-town dormancy—listless things they are. He won’t allow himself to fall into this trap. In-and-out. Fuel and finis. He will give himself twenty minutes at most.

He makes his way to what he presumes is the front door, letting himself in with a jingle and sway of waterlogged veneer. The heat of the day follows him, only to make a hasty retreat the very moment before the door clammers shut. Looking around, he can’t blame it. The scent of distilled spirits and the zestless air of dying ones is his only greeting. He knows then why vacuity is worn so boldly from pump to patio—no one would want to stay amongst this energy of the damned for long.

So many eyes, not one of them friendly. He hardly looks like anything worth such open, unmetered hostility, surely.

He smiles, inoffensive. He is good at inoffensive. It’s a trademark of his. Inoffensive and preferably invisible.

Dissolved of the heat’s company, he ventures alone, making his way past the bar’s testy occupants and through a connecting archway eloquently labelled simply as

‘STORE’.

Time continues to evade him. The classic, soulful sound of FM radio makes love to his every step; the mellow, acoustic twang of country diluted through with the gapping nothingness that is the store’s lack of patrons.

It’s been a lifetime since he’s listened to the radio.

Why would he?  It’s difficult to trust someone who enjoys midrolls in their music. Only a real weirdo vetoes Spotify in exchange for the skipless prison that is public broadcasting.

No DJ you may not spin him a pretty little number that only half the audience will actually enjoy, whilst the other half graciously suffers through it in hopes that the next song just might be their

jam.

He will play what he pleases, thank you. What would be the point of a premium subscription otherwise? Possibly this is the pitfall. The radio is fiscal liberty whose true cost lay in theft of choice. To each their own.

He approaches the counter, hands pilled with packaged foods past their expiration date, that he will not eat, but will make him look at least purposeful.

He addresses the cashier, “Are you the king of this fine establishment?”

Nothing. Silence.

Humour is lost on the sequestered. His nametag reads

Glen. “You see,

Glen . I was having a little trouble outside. Is your fuel pump—?”

“Working.” Glen amends but elaborates no further.

“Right.” “That tank’s been dry as a nun’s nasty since the yanks drained in back in forty-five.” The man didn’t believe the United States was likely to have drained this particular tank in this particular province of Nowhereland at any given point of time, but this wasn’t his problem.

“But the pump works?”

There’s a beat of nothing. Nothing but FM and smoker’s wheeze. He needs to leave. “It’s cracked. There’s a spare out back. Hand fill. Rhody will fill ‘er up. You’ll pay here.” He isn’t sure what a

Rhody  is and how it would fill his car when the pump is debunked and tank dry as a Prioress’ privates, but he’ll take what he can get.

He upturns his expired confectionary upon the counter, shuffling each item into some semblance of order more for the benefit of his own amusement then Glen’s convenience. He spots them then, the pile of newspaper’s stacked just shy of the counter’s edge. Local rags from the look of them, maybe regional, but with definitively no further reach than that. It is the front page that strikes his eye: in clear and imposing block letters.

“Terrible.” He comments, with some level of casualty, tapping a sole finger to the paper’s edge. Glen says nothing, but does with the briefest of movements, drops his eyes momentarily to the newspaper. Face-up the headline reads, ‘ANOTHER MISSING IN ONGOING DISAPPEARANCES IN REGION.’ “Coppers will sort it.”

“That they will.” The man agreed, “Do you take card?”

“Cash only.”

Smalltowners are a simple people: cash, caution, and Hits Top 100.

He slips his presumptuously attained debit card back into his wallet alongside half a dozen others, near identical in all but name. He hands Glen a hundred.

“Donate the change.” He proclaims, gesturing to the ambiguously labelled charity tin, “Can never be too charitable.”

When he re-enters the bar, not much has changed, but now he is once again invisible at least. No one turns to him as he steps back in, too intent on eying their drinks, or the TV, or each other. He is no one to them. A passer-by, a blip, a stranger. This is how the man prefers it.

He observes them: a room full of people that have probably been here since before the room was even constructed. The type of townsfolk that had fallen here as seeds—carried on the wind or shat out by a bird or propped up from the very crust of the earth itself—settling their roots exactly in place and then never budging for a lifetime. They’d all know one another. By name, by birth, by the grace of the limited available space. They are both a tragedy and an inconvenience.

He needs to

leave . Yet for now, he has no choice. Glen had mentioned around a half hour wait for

Rhody’s

fuel services and as enticing as the prospect of standing outside under the direct rays of the peak-hour sun is, he thinks he at least deserves a drink and a short reprieve.

He orders a beer. He assesses the room once more. Wariness, hostility, and flannel. There is so much flannel. There are two distinct groups of people that wear flannel in public unabashed and they are generally the same two groups that frequent establishments such as these. Sadly, neither of these groups are generally his opted choice of company.

Then he spots the girl. Tucked in the deep recesses of a corner table, curled in upon herself as if hiding or hibernating in the shadowless crevice that seems to protect her from the oppressive air of the surrounding environment.

She’s reading a tattered paperback. A strangely old-fashioned gesture for her presumed age, with a mobile phone and the endless void of social networking resting in such close proximity to her hand.

Probably dead.

He thinks.

No,

definitely

dead.

There is no flannel in sight. He approaches. He greets her with a smile: inoffensive.

She gives him her name: Toni. He gave her one of his.

She invites him to sit, having clearly assessed him against the bars other occupants and finding him to be of a more agreeable variety. It’s probably his lack of missing teeth.

They tell their stories. He, a man on his way cross-country to visit a Great Aunt on the verge of cardiac collapse. His childhood caretaker, he explained, like a mother. Though men like him didn’t often have mothers and if they did, they weren’t the good kind.

Her, a young woman on run from an unspoken responsibility like something out of a coming-of-age novella. Vague, clipped. He doesn’t prod for details.

How did you end up here? Car problems.

How long have you been here? Too long.

Though her situation is a tad more complicated as

too long

was two days rather than less than an hour, and

car problems

was that she had blown some sort of hose that fed some sort of important fluid to another sort of important mechanism that was beyond her mechanical understanding. Leaving Toni and the vehicle at a deadly ultimatum: divorce or a joint suicide. In the end the car and Toni had parted ways. The lack of a prenup and sufficient arm muscles meant that it kept all her belongings bar her phone, wallet, and a one-point-five litre bottle of Evian.

Somewhere along the line she had been whisked up from the roadside by a pair of middle-aged women who had been either cousins or a couple and had done nothing but bicker between themselves until they’d reached this point. Toni, desperate to salvage her sanity, had bailed from the vehicle with promises of safety and cell service that she had not realised to be falsehoods until long after the women were out of sight.

And here she is.

Her phone: dead.

Her book: borrowed.

Her plan: Dicey. Maybe she would come up with one tomorrow. Maybe she would finish the book first. She’ll take things as they come. What’s the rush? She has nowhere to be. And nowhere she is. “Chatty bunch, aren’t they?” He mentions partway in, two drinks down, Toni’s book forgotten by her deceased phone’s side. A crime novel. The kind that’s vivid attention to detail and vaguely concerning insider knowledge oft leaves readers unnerved enough to scour online criminal records with the authors name in mind, or at the very least leaving them questioning their sanity. They aren’t his preferred choice of reading.

With a pointed gaze towards the bar, she nods in the direction of a specific man. Long, gangly, hair the desaturated, dying yellow of the rooms artificial light, “He definitely keeps human skins in his wardrobe.”

“One for each day of the week.” He agrees.

“You would make a mighty fine Sunday best.”

This draws a hesitant laugh, “I’ll steer clear.”

“So, how long for your wait?” She is sipping a coffee. Black. Like his clothing, like their corner.

“ Rhody

has to fill me up from the tank out back. Apparently, the American’s drained the other one.” He explains. “Tale as old as time.” “Would you like a lift somewhere when I’m done?” Hesitation, justifiably. There is always hesitation. She wears it as the other’s wear their flannel: dated, with practice. The hesitation of a young woman alone, speaking to a man she does not know and can not trust. Smart girl.

“I promise to keep your skin intact.” Her expression is thoughtful. Her mind weighing the virtue of one relatively unassuming man against a room full of hostile, sentient flannel, swiftly finding one marginally preferable to the other. Not so smart after all.

“Well with an offer like that, who could refuse?”

The tank is full. The windscreen is washed. The mysterious Rhody is neigh to be seen.

They are off.

Toni does not settle immediately, though her demeanour had shifted slightly to the left of caution when she had spotted his car. Something small and Japanese. Silver. Inconspicuous, but not too inconspicuous as to become conspicuous simply by the way of human assumption. It is just a car. The type of car you would expect an older gentleman to drive on the way to visit their moribund maternal figure.

She flicks on the radio, drowning the car in sound. Yet another action odd only for her youth. He had not known this car was even tuned for the radio. The song is something crass and pop-y, strategically designed to be beloved by adolescents and algorithms alike.

“This is my jam.”

Of course, it is. God bless streaming services.

He allows her the three or so minutes of electronic mayhem, then an extra forty of equally, if not more intolerable, musical free reign. Then he pulls out the gun.

The man likes guns. They are his natural opposite. The bad cop to his good cop—or either or. Flashy where he is subdued; boisterous where he is muted. The irony of his weapon choice isn’t lost, just misplaced. It’s likely somewhere out in the desert, probably making friends with Toni’s car. The silencer brings them back to equal footing. A stabiliser that is both a precautionary measure and a modest attempt at maintaining his inoffensive image. Not that there is much of an imagine to be had. No one lives long enough to question the authenticity of his character, so he supposes it matters to none but him. This includes Toni, whose death—although not as silent as his gun’s attachment had promised—cares for nothing now as he closes the boot of the car upon her body, gagged and bound for a shallow grave somewhere amongst the barren expanse of desert and nothingness, his driving companion for just a short while more.

Much like his friend the fuel pump, he isn’t running. Running would require he believed himself to be obtainable in the first place. He is simply moving. Albeit at a faster pace to those on a different side of the law. He’s convinced himself of this, facts be damned.

He isn’t running, but he would keep moving.

And move he does.


Another group exercise to help build moral like they actually care about us and the hours as put in, good grief . I hope they’re going to at least feed us this time I mean mandatory overtime and request for the need or urgency would be much more fueled  off free lunch . As I grabbed my chair to take to the meeting room , I noticed a new face in the break room. Now typically fishing from the company dock has been a moral no for me , ok I did was at 18 but I was young and well hot and ready so to speak . But this woman was different someone I’ve never would’ve thought would catch my attention in such a manner . As she looked up at me , she did a double take not only did it make me embarrass myself and turn obviously red I managed to utter out what I was hoping a hello , was in fact the coffee in my mouth that I had foolishly taken a sip of . “Here we go again”  I whispered as I reminded myself how  I always tend to do something so dumb because of nerves . Needles to say I walked away in shame and upset because I had just bought this shirt . I’m fair on the eyes some would say average build has some sense of care to self present ability and by the chance the luck of knowing how to match and coordinate . My thought once she took that second glance like well I guess this color (shirt) paid off after all , but who was this woman where did she come from I’ve been here a solid 5 productive years , as far as to know the levels of management and the staff coming in so to speak .  We weren’t a big company but financially at the time beneficial .  As the meeting gathered an all personnel required to be in attendance finally sat in their leather chairs in their sloppy suits and boasted on how activities for us going forward were on our way and even got to go over process management skills and the benefits of production like break downs etc…. Very beneficial information but I’m not here to do this I’m a student with no money who unfortunately is not rich or expecting to inherit large money in the future . I have to pay for my college right now where is the lady from earlier and why is she here was all I cared about as I mentally took notes k the message trying to be given . Finally! time for introductions , end of every group meeting we go over birthdays etc one being new hires . I sat up out of my chair finally without the slouch and tapped my co worker sitting next to me . Kumar was my long time co worker /turned friend who started at the time with me so guess you can say a strong force was built there , and both dedicated to accomplishing goals set forth. Dynamic duo and at times the gruesome twosome when off the record . He looked up at me with his goofy smile and Un even goatee he had been trying to grow all year. I whispered that’s her that’s the woman I told you about , as his smile diminished and looks of disappointment sat in first let me be clear and say the act of sexual harassment and speaking of individuals in vulgar manners is not condoned here or trying to be oddly justified if it comes across as such. As a woman myself I am not for maltreatment especially because of my gender. Back to the meeting , Kumar I guess expected someone younger more in our age group and voiced how he thought he was gna see Ariana grande the way I described this mystery beautiful woman I ran into and made a fool of myself in . He assured me I was ok considering I’ve done worse . She was older clearly but something about her stuck me , as she introduced her self and made eye contact yet again quite a few times during the meeting mind you . Now I’m not foolish to think they were all meant for me but it happened a lot and the eyes , they don’t lie .  She was part of a wave that came from another company whom specialized in what we do as well along with a few others brought in by new boss . My new boss Kathy was an interesting character , upon meeting her a month prior she introduced herself but remained seated in her chair and didn’t even extend a hand shake . Now I’m not the upmost moral citizen but in such circumstances I feel that is necessary. Here we go again  Strike one , fast forward turns out her and this mystery woman we are going to call Red  for now are long time colleagues turned friendship as well . One not so good considering Kathy was also a lesbian who favored the more butch looking side like myself. I however don’t consider myself that nor any other label I’m more feminine than I appear some would say , still tbd. One lesbian in someone’s life is all you need sometimes we can tend to be alot just kidding . Here go again a new crush it’s been so long since I declared “hoe-atus” and chose to live in a weird sense of celibacy no contact nor want or desire to . My luck in the love train department tends to well not exist and I’m an expert at choosing those who are entirely wrong for me when doing so . Here we go again how is she different from the others cause you need to pick better as I told myself cleaning up after the meeting . I tend to like to stay behind process and gather the information received and this new gut punch that was consuming me all the sudden . As the next coup em of days went on she came into my area of the lab frequently mostly to understand our operation and mostly help manage and perfect our processes . A flirtation ship oddly enough built , now mind  you my  I didn’t appreciate what looked back at me in the mirror so constant wondering if she meant otherwise when she flirted was in fact that  or possibly just in my head. I’m not one to make the first move in rare cases I will but that’s why their rare. Friday morning as I rolled into work hungover and wondering why I thought it was a splendid idea to stay up dancing and drinking all night with a girl I forgot her name and lost the number she wrote down for me .  Here we go again another day another dollar I said as I walked in grabbed my coffee said hello to some colleagues and checked my email which I new was going to be a long day due to so many unread emails needing my attention. One sent that morning from Kathy congratulating the team and myself for hitting record quarters and goal accomplishments being at an all high . Special thanks was given to myself and colleague Kumar for our long hours invested and skills to get product out in good standing was bold and clear where the message was going as far as celebratory actions are to be in order “TONIGHT WE WILL BE GATHERING AT THE LOCAL BREWERY TO CELEBRATE QUARTER END, birthdays new hire etc” holy crap this is it this is my chance to step outside the office with red and relax a little , we both took our jobs serious at times and needed the stress relief. immediately scheduled my hair cut grabbed a new shirt and went to this event. It was a low key celebratory “group exercise “ newly given for recent accomplishments  designated for after hours out of office fun. Till this day I wonder why I was so eager to go, till this day I question why I felt red was such a mystery . Till this I ask myself why I didn’t walk away when red finally made her advance , here we go again…. What started as a innocent work flirtationship turned into a web of sex , lies , drugs life altering decision making ,to a sad ending of friendship possible love all to total deception. Red was hiding a lot that was about to come on to me and have me so entangled no reasonable voice in my life made sense ,when it came to the seduction the sex and the lies and to keep it all under radar was even too much the manipulative  Red . Here we go again , all from that group exercise