Brief prose and poetry lacking other categories... |
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Basically anything under 1500 words. Enjoy
The poem which won 1st place at Rebel Poetry is "Stained Portrait" The poem which placed second at "Writing 4 Kids" The story which placed second at "The Bard's Hall Contest" The story which placed first at "Writing 4 Kids" |
| A mirror image What is it? I see myself But it's not really me As others see me I see myself Backwards, distorted The wrong way around Things are not as they seem Yet others hardly see What's truly inside of me I walk down paths that lead nowhere Away from the somewhere I should be headed to I see flowers that talk to me No one else hears them If I escape the Looking Glass world I will see myself with clear eyes Not as others see me But as I truly am Because I am the future And the future looks good When it's not A mirror image. 24 lines. Originally written in March 2024 for "Wonderland" |
| Blight lies heavy on parched land choked with weeds When did everlasting streams of justice run dry? Replaced by disintegrating systems, overburdened by traitors Dragging innocent workers off public streets, Exiled to countries crooked or desperate enough to accept them. Holidays drained, harvests mangled by tariffs. Shutdown! Describes minds, hearts, and government. I'm angry at everything – everyone's being played for a fool. Reasoning – trying to give sight to the blind. Plot twist – they'd rather not see! Billionaires laugh behind walls of hate and fear Inflating prices, rents, rates – chopping benefits – slathering white-out over history, While we the people call each other bigots Squabbling over labels like starving dogs in garbage. What kind of harvest season is this? Do we have anything to be thankful for? I can offer no glue to mend a fractured mess. Empty purses, failing infrastructure, despair exploding in chaos. Yet… a microscopic germ of faith remains undeterred. Though buildings languish unfinished, crops rot in their fields, I give exhausted praise to the One Who created me. What else can I do? 23 lines, 175 words. Free verse. Inspired by Amos 5:24, Psalms 10 & 73, and Habakkuk 3:17-19. Written for "Rebel Poetry Contest" Rebel Poetry prompt 2: Make us understand this poem contains the words behind your scream. Golden Apples prompt: harvest (moon) |
| I'm a mean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog and lone, I'm a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own I'm a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep… From “Lone Dog,” by Irene Rutherford McLeod Fearsome and tough, I show off my suit Growling and scowling and searching for loot. My hook keeps sworn enemies at bay While I guard the treasures I've dug up today. They say it's survival of those most fit: Well, I've got the will, the strength and the grit. With wisdom and skill, I sail stormy seas And clamber to tops of swaying palm trees. A loner forever, I pay no mind to hate Assigning those who despise me to their own fate. Life's taught me none can be trusted for sure If I give them an inch, they'll only snatch more. I look out for myself – that's all I can do – Shipmates are trouble, I tell you it's true. Mutiny’s impossible when one runs the ship With nobody disturbing, it's a smooth easy trip. At day's end I settle in my bunk for a sleep I'm the only one my soul to keep. No prayers for others, least of all me, I'm captain of my bark on life's forsaken sea. Words: 171. Lines: 20. AABB rhyme. Written for "Writing 4 Kids" Prompt: photo of a bulldog wearing a pirate costume. Consider it a mashup of the above quoted poem, William Ernest Henley's Invictus, and the Imagine Dragons song Take Me to the Beach. |
| Six-year-old Annie was terrified of bats. She cringed whenever she saw pictures of them. Halloween was a dreadful time for her, because everywhere she looked, there were bats: plastic bats, stuffed bats, furry bats; giant bats hanging from the ceiling, tiny bats on rings as party favors, even skeleton bats! “Why are you so petrified of bats?” Her big brother Andy asked one afternoon in October. “My English teacher assigned me this big book to read, all about bats! Want me to read you some fun facts?” “Ack! No, never, please!” Annie turned a shade paler, shrinking back as Andy held out the book. “I'll have nightmares.” “But why?” “I saw a movie with monster bats that chase people and drain their blood. And Uncle Joe said they'll get caught in my hair!” “Aw, that's silly,” Andy scoffed. “They're harmless. Have you ever even met a real live bat?” “No, and I hope I never do!” Annie scooted away to seal herself in her room. Annie's birthday came along a couple days later. It was a lovely celebration, with cake and friends and gifts… Until she unwrapped a squishy package from Andy. Tears spilled down her face as she stared in horror at the soft black toy in the wrappings. “A stuffed bat?! Andy, you know I hate bats! What an awful gift!” “Aw, shucks, Sis, I thought it was cute…” She ran into her bedroom, threw it into a corner and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, it was dark. She'd forgotten to turn on her nightlight. Shadows crept up the walls like eerie winged creatures. Annie wrapped the blankets tighter and tried to fall asleep again. A tiny squeak at her bedside table made her jump. Andy's little stuffed bat was sitting on the table, big eyes glowing a soft green, watching her. “Eek! How'd you get here?” “Greetings,” the toy squeaked. “I'm Belfry. Are you Annie?” “Yes,” she quavered. “Andy brought me home to teach you all about how nice and helpful real live bats are,” Belfry said, flapping his undersized wings. “Did you know we have a marvelous echolocation navigation system?” “What's that mean?” “It means we fly at night, emitting sound waves that bounce off of objects. Our precisely tuned ears pick up these reflected sounds and use them to find our way around and catch bugs to eat.” “Wow, really?” Annie sat up a little straighter. “Why can't we hear all that noise?” “The noises we make are higher pitched than what human ears are tuned to hear. We can also fly really fast – in fact, the Mexican Free-tailed Bat has been clocked at nearly a hundred miles an hour – faster than those cheetahs you always thought were the fastest mammals!” “Goodness, that's fast. Did you say you eat bugs?” “Yep. Bats eat up to twelve hundred mosquitoes an hour. We can eat our body weight in nasty bugs every night. Imagine how beneficial that is!” “Yeah, I hate mosquitoes. If you eat bugs, does that mean you don't drink blood?” “No, bats don't do that, that's a myth. In fact, the giant Flying Fox bat is a vegetarian. It eats fruit in the South Pacific islands.” “And since you're smart enough to find your way around in the dark, you probably don't really get caught in people's hair,” Annie mused. “Of course not. That's another silly myth. We're harmless, friendly creatures. My mom could recognize my voice among thousands of other bat pups in the cave I grew up in.” “Aww,” Annie smiled. She reached out and smoothed down Belfry’s shiny black fur. “How many bats are there?” “There can be millions of us roosting in a single cavern. You should see us when we all come pouring out of the entrance at dusk!” “Eek! I don't think I'm ready for that yet.” She leaned back against her pillow with a yawn. Belfry hopped from the table up onto her bed. She giggled and pulled him close, feeling the weight of his squishy beanbag body in her hands. “You're awfully cute, you know? What a nice birthday gift.” When Annie awakened in the morning, Belfry was a silent, ordinary, palm-sized stuffed bat. His big green eyes twinkled in the sunlight. She brought him downstairs with her. “Hey Andy, can we read your bats book together? I wanna learn all about them.” “I knew you would,” he smiled. Annie didn't have any reason to be afraid of bats anymore. She slept with Belfry guarding her pillow every night, keeping the spooky shadows at bay. Words: 793. Written for "Merit Badge Magic" For a selection of fun facts about bats from The Nature Conservancy, click https://www.nature.org/en-us/about-us/where-we-work/united-states/arizona/storie... |
| Chaplain Eric entered the Home for Disabled Veterans, clutching a bundle of file folders. The astringent fumes of antiseptic spray permeated his lungs as he stopped in front of Maria's reception desk to sign in for his night shift. “Anything I need to know?” he asked her, scrawling his name into the book. She suppressed a yawn, blinking wearily. “New patient in Room 32. Records show he has a tendency to hallucinate and cry for help in the night. Name's Kevin.” “Indeed? I'll be ready. Thank you for letting me know.” Eric paced the darkened halls, hands clasped behind him, deep in prayer. He readied himself for anything or nothing. One could never tell if the night shift would be silent and uneventful, or if something untoward would happen. Usually he spent the slow hours counting steps and contemplating scriptures. At one thirty, the call light blinked for Room 32. Nurse Annette went to assist Kevin. Eric paused outside the patient's door, not exactly listening, but waiting. “Someone get me a chaplain!” a gruff voice shouted. “I can't stand this – there's demons taunting me!” Annette stepped out into the hallway and shut the door. Eric raised his eyebrows. She shrugged. “We may have to sedate him. He's pretty bad off right now. You want to see if you can help?” “Of course. That's what he asked for.” Eric went to his office and picked out a Bible, a prayer book and a vial of holy water. Whatever was happening with Kevin, he wanted to be prepared. Back at the door of Room 32, he knocked. “Chaplain Eric here. Did you need me?” “Darn right I need you,” Kevin snarled in a most startling way. “The devil's in here!” Eric crossed himself, murmured the Lord's prayer, and stepped into the room. It was unnaturally cold, sending goosebumps rising along his arms. Kevin, an elderly, grizzled vet, was sitting up in bed, back pressed against the wall, grimacing and growling, trembling all over. Eric's stomach sank ominously. Purplish red shadows crawled in the corners of the brightly lit room, movements that lured the eyes to look, only to drift away, lurking at the edges of his peripheral vision. Kevin was not hallucinating. Eric walked the perimeter of the room, sprinkling holy water and praying. He kept his voice steady, firm, quiet. “The Lord says, begone. Christ is victorious over all. Evil has no power here. I ask God to bless this room and sanctify it, by the power of His Holy Spirit and the blood of Jesus.” The cold fluorescent lights shone warmer. The shadows peeled back, gathered themselves towards the window and dissipated as Eric came closer. He completed his circuit. He settled down by Kevin's bed and prayed for calm and healing. Gradually, Kevin relaxed, his trembling body sinking into the sheets with a heavy sigh. He looked at Eric, eyes clear and sharp. “Thank God you showed up. I couldn't stand it another second!” “Would you like me to stay?” “Yes, please. I hate being here all alone in the night. Everything I've done comes back to haunt me.” Kevin clenched and unclenched his hands around the sheets, eyes tracking the room, searching for the vanished evil. “You feel tormented?” “Can't think of anything else I'd call it. I was in the Special Forces, man. I've done things you wouldn't want your granny to find out.” Eric sat without comment, allowing Kevin to ruminate. “God feels so far away, like He's mad at me for everything. These… Things wouldn't be here if He was protecting me. I'm a dirty old sinner.” “God removed the things for you when I asked Him to. He loves you unconditionally.” “Does He understand I was doing it to protect our country?” “Of course He does. He knows you and your heart better than anyone, even you. Would you like me to go over some Bible verses with you?” “Might as well.” They spent about an hour studying the Bible, learning about mercy, forgiveness and grace. Kevin's eyes slipped shut after a while, and he fell into a deep, restful sleep. Eric sat by, thinking about his own time serving in the armed forces. He had always been a chaplain, therefore never bore a weapon. Many times, his life had been in danger. Many times, God had rescued him in miraculous ways. Now, it was his turn to give back, to provide for the community what the Lord had provided for him. Nurse Annette knocked at the door. Eric got up, moving softly to answer. “You got him to sleep? Everything's ok?” “Yes, ma'am, the patient is resting peacefully.” “Did you resolve the hallucinations?” “Would you believe me if I told you they were not?” Annette's eyes widened, then narrowed. “Did he have a visitor with a pitchfork, perhaps?” “No, only a vague malevolent presence. It's gone now.” “Well, good for you, exorcist.” Annette spoke with a slight wryness as she dimmed the lights. “Now we know who to call.” “I'll be ready.” Eric smiled and resumed his patrol through the halls. Words: 848. Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" Inspired by a true story. |
| Josiah is gone. Yeah, that doesn't sound like much. But mind you, when Josiah is the wizard and I'm the apprentice, things do start to go haywire when I've accidentally turned him into a horse and he took off for greener pastures. If I hadn't been so stupid, he'd still be here. I guess I should apologize to King Alwyn. But he'll probably have my head on a plate, and I can't blame him. Josiah was the top wizard in the land, with the knowledge of a thousand mages and a zillion books stuffed in that wizened head of his. Now what? I decided to put off the apology and try to rectify the situation, but in the meantime, Alwyn would be wondering where Josiah was. Standing in the middle of the underground magic lab, I flipped through the giant textbook chained to the desk until I came to the formula for duplicating and taking on the guise of someone else. It was almost as complicated as the spell I'd been working on when the catastrophe happened, the one that promised to transform a truckload of coal into a field of fine horses. Rats! I'd need a sample of Josiah's hair or fingernail clippings to replicate him. I ransacked his room and found some hairs in the washbasin. That would have to do. If I could pull off pretending to be Josiah and keep Alwyn from getting suspicious, that would give me enough time to haul back the horse Josiah and try to reverse the spell. What kind of horse would he be? He must be pretty wild and ornery to have galloped away instead of staying close in the hopes of getting turned back into himself. It was going to be tough even to find him. I'd have to cast some divining spells, maybe ask advice from the Elves. As I ruminated, I ran circles around the lab, gathering ingredients and setting up test tubes and Bunsen burners. When everything burbled together into a noxious blackish brew, I spoke the magic words and poured myself a serving of it. Looking in the mirror, I could see it working, transforming me from a lanky kid to a scraggly old geezer the spitting image of Josiah. Ok, got that done. Now, to stroll casually outside, fetch a lasso and some feed at the stables, and try to figure out how to get Josiah back into his own form. King Alwyn stopped me as I scooted across the hallway. “I say, Josiah, is Steve ok?” What a confusing question! I almost forgot who I was as I stuttered to answer. “I'm on my way out to the hill country to look for, uh, some herbs. This might take a while. Don't expect to see Steve around, he has a big experiment going on in the lab.” Alwyn looked at me funny. “That wasn't the same answer you gave me ten minutes ago.” My stomach sank into my boots. “It – wasn't?” “No. You were rushing towards the lab in a growling huff about getting your hands on Steve.” “Oh… But… Yeah, I remember now.” I shook under my oversized wizard's cape. Did Josiah somehow “un-horse” himself? In that case… “Steve!” A distinctive voice bellowed. “What have you done!” I spun around to see Josiah, very much “un-horsed.” His eyes sparkled daggers at me like a knife thrower at a tournament. “Oh, hello, sir… Uh, shouldn't you be out in the stables?” “That was a time-restricted spell! Now look what you've done, you idiot. The imposter spell is irreversible!” My stomach leaked right out of the holes in my boots and disappeared through a crack in the floor, all the way to the dungeon below. Alwyn looked from one to the other of us, lips trembling somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I'll call in the Elves and see if they can run a reset spell on you, Steve. We'll probably have to wait until the right astrological alignments. In the meantime, I'm not averse to having two Josiahs on my staff.” This was gonna be a very long week. Words: 687 Written for "Starting Stories" Prompt phrase highlighted in green |
| October's smashed pumpkins litter barren ground – Impending solstice chills my fragile bones – Scarecrows gesticulate, howling at harvest moons – Blurry dreams burst with ragamuffin ravens. Seasons brown, overripe like mushy bananas Threatening to stupefy me with fumes of sweet nothing. Yearly cycles repeat inexorably – I fail to optimize my time As I chase twinkling trivialities along looping trails, Soul spiraling down drains into clogged gutters. Why is it so easy to shroud myself in stagnation? Do I not believe in God’s loving kindness? He sustains me daily, though I hide from reality; He promises He has prosperous plans for me, yet I hold back, Haunted by hidden potholes in dimly lit paths ahead. Lord, create in me a heart of action, of courage amid shadows, Because I know You give enough Light to safely begin walking. Words: 135. Lines: 16. Written for "SCRIPTURE POETRY CONTEST" Prompt: Write a poem about your biggest fears, and how God can help you with them. |
| She stumbled through alleys slimy with rotted litter, always merely a few strides ahead of him, avoiding betraying puddles of sickly moonlight. Darting short off into a side street, she pressed herself against the damp, crumbling wall, breath hitching in her side. He passed her hiding place unawares. As his footfalls distanced, she once again took flight, leaping across jagged heaps of rubble, crawling under tangled barbed wire, and scrambling up the pock-marked side of a demolished building on the outskirts of town. At what would have been a rooftop overlook, an enemy guard nodded off, oblivious. One shove sent him rolling over the side, armor rattling, crashing with an echo that bounced between walls. She didn't stop to see the result of her ruthlessness, only kept moving. A rusty fire escape beckoned to the next level. Skittering down, she hit the rough pavement running. Muddy orange lights flickered ahead. She swung to another alley to avoid them. Fog lay dense, low to the ground, suffocating. A wrong turn brought her to a dead end scarcely wide enough to slip through. Spinning on her heel, she pulled up short as a figure slipped into the alley, blocking her way out. It was her pursuer. He approached slowly, weapons undisclosed, banking on sheer size difference to press in on her. “You thought I couldn't detect your destination and cut you off?” She said nothing, only watched with narrowed, steely eyes. “You have terrorized these barren streets long enough,” he continued, meeting her gaze with grim relish. “I tolerated your struggle for survival alongside us – until you stole my brother's last water as he lay bleeding. You forfeited your life the night you left him to die unaided.” “You liar. You know I told you where he was. You left him there, not I.” “Argument is futile,” he growled. “You will not drain our resources any further.” He lunged forward. She slithered under, attempting escape. He grabbed her arm from behind and swung her around, flinging her to the ground and coming down hard with a knee in her chest. Breath knocked out, sharp edges of broken asphalt digging into her back, she glared at cold eyes inches from hers. “How dare you,” she hissed. “You are no better than I.” He laughed then, a sharp sneer. The dagger he had not needed until now glinted with its own reddened glow. With one sweep across her throat, it was over. A flash of lightning filled the alley. Death's silent scream rang in his ears like thunder. He stood up, wiping off the dagger and sheathing it. Icy wind howled through the alley. An uneasy chill settled in his stomach. He turned to leave. She stood in front of him, blocking the exit, glowing red like the dagger, a slash across her neck. “You thought that was the last you'd see of me?” He charged through her ghost, coming out the other side choking and gasping as if he'd plunged into ice water. She followed him into the twitching shadows of the midnight streets. Thus began the dance: a pursuer now pursued. He could not run fast enough to escape her. Across splintered rooftops, through underground tunnels, to the edge of the bubbling, tainted river, he ran until he slipped in the mud and stumbled to his knees on the melting riverbank. She engulfed him, her chill piercing his marrow, yanking at his soul to tear it loose from his body. He rolled off the bank into the river, sinking beneath the boiling surface, thinking to lose her. Acidic contaminants made short work of him. Within minutes, he floated up over the river, glowing dull red, ragged holes in skin which no longer existed. The two ghosts wove an eternally silent choreography through the ruined city, always chasing each other, never catching up. Whispers of unholy wind trailed in their wake, causing any who still eked out survival on the shattered streets to shiver and clutch their weapons tighter. Words: 666. Written for "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Media Prompt Deadl..." |