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" |
| I sat in a corner of the bathroom, wiping away tears, the messy evidence of my wrongdoing snuggled in my lap. How could I ever forgive myself after what I'd done? I had hurt so many people when I snatched the beautiful white teddy bear away from my little cousin Susie. It was a family reunion in my uncle's backyard. There must've been a hundred people attending, from really old grams and gramps to little squealing babies. Most of them were strangers to me. Mom and Dad seemed perfectly happy, hanging around with plates of corn and hot dogs, laughing and chattering and taking group selfies. I slipped in between people, looking for cookies. Dessert was served right against the speaker system. I snuck up and grabbed a handful of oatmeal raisin cookies. The music exploded with such throbbing power, I tried humming and couldn't hear myself! I got away from there super quick. The volume fell as I put space between myself and the source. As I tried to find a quiet place to sit down, my cousin Susie ran up to me, dragging a stuffed bear. The spotless white blouse and perfectly pressed pants she wore contrasted with my plaid shirt and worn-out jeans. I didn't know Susie all that well; I think her parents were my aunt and uncle who were hosting the reunion. “Mikayla, say hi to Pete!” She hoisted up the bear and waved its paw at me. I reached out and shook it, staring. Pete was a gorgeous, plush, silky white bear, with a pink velvet ribbon tied around his neck. His mouth was sewn with a cheerful smile, and his blue eyes twinkled like gemstones. I'd never seen anything like him before. “Good heavens, Susie, where'd you get that bear? He looks like a million bucks.” “He's an FAO Schwartz bear,” she said boastfully. “My dad bought him for my birthday. My dad's rich – he can afford to buy me whatever I want.” I sighed as I thought of my own dad, who'd just lost his job. Mom was working two jobs now, and Dad spent most of his time online, applying for new ones. This reunion was probably the first time they'd relaxed and enjoyed themselves in weeks. “You shouldn't be dragging Pete along on the floor like that,” I frowned. “He'll get all dirty and stained.” “That's ok, Daddy can get me a new one,” she chirped. My frown started deepening into a glower. The few stuffed animals I owned had been my best friends for as long as I could remember. Didn't Susie bond with Pete? She must be really spoiled! “Seriously? Money doesn't grow on trees. I don't think your dad would be happy if you ruined Pete.” “He won't mind.” Susie skipped along, hauling Pete after her without a care in the world. He winked like a mischievous polar bear cub. The next time I saw her, she had Pete in her lap at the kiddy table during dinner. I was appalled to see her ladling food all over his face, pretending he was eating. “Susie, stop that! How could you be so silly?” “Pete is hungry,” she scolded me. I groaned. This was too much. I bent down and pulled Pete up away from her. She let out a shriek and grabbed him back. And that's how the tug of war started. I wanted to take Pete and clean him off at the kitchen sink. Susie wanted to keep “feeding” him. We yanked and pulled and twisted, with Susie yelling and screaming. Some infuriated stubbornness made me give one last desperate pull, tearing Pete out of her chubby hands. “Look what you've done to him!” I snapped, holding the stained, dripping teddy bear aloft. “This is disgusting.” All she could do was sit on the floor and wail as if her heart was broken. At this point, I was so grumpy, I didn't think she even really cared. Let her daddy come distract her with some other fancy toys, and she'd forget all about Pete. But the adults descended on us, and I fled, clutching poor Pete, as they cooed with concern. I ran upstairs and locked myself in the guest bathroom, heart pounding as though I'd just stolen a… Teddy bear. Geez, how had it come to that? As the frustration of the moment faded away, the consequences of what I'd done sank in. Mom and Dad would be so ashamed of me. I'd picked on a younger kid and made her cry. I'd stolen her toy. I'd yelled at her in front of everyone. I sniffled. Pete's twinkling blue eyes stared up at me with a blank look, his smile obscured by the mac and cheese sauce splattered all over him. I patted his head and grimaced at the crusts beginning to solidify. With a heavy sigh, I got to my feet and turned on the faucet. “Looks like you'll be getting a bath tonight, Pete.” I grabbed some towels from the rack and started wetting and wiping. Maybe if I got Pete cleaned up enough, I'd be able to bring him back to Susie and apologize. Maybe I could explain to her parents I'd just wanted to teach her to take better care of her toys. But I figured nobody would ever want to see me again. I started making plans to quietly leave Pete all nice and clean in a corner and run away. Someone knocked at the door as I scrubbed and sudsed the teddy bear. “Mikayla? Are you there?” It was my aunt. She sounded worried. What could I say? “Mikayla, say something!” That was my uncle. He sounded worried, too. Did they think I was flushing the bear down the toilet or something? I unlocked the door and peeked out. “I'm washing the bear. Susie was spilling food all over him. She thinks she's feeding him.” “We understand, honey.” Auntie smiled at me. “That's very nice of you to want to clean it up for her.” “You should have told us what she was doing,” Uncle said gruffly. “We would've handled it. You acted like a little bully.” “Yeah, I know. I'm sorry.” I stared at my worn shoes, balanced over the threshold. “I couldn't stand seeing her trashing it like that. It's so beautiful. I was going to give it back to her. Really.” “I think you should go downstairs and apologize to Susie,” Auntie said. “We'll put the bear in the washer, ok? I'm sure he'll clean up as good as new.” “Are Mom and Dad mad at me?” “They're wondering where you are. They're upset, but if you go down and explain and apologize, they'll forgive you.” “Really?” “Of course they will,” Uncle said. “They love you. It's just a toy. You meant well enough, I suppose. It's not like you wanted it for yourself.” I went downstairs with them and apologized in front of everyone. I hugged Susie, telling her Pete was tired from all the fun and had to be put to bed early. Susie was tired, too, her eyelids drooping as she mumbled something about wanting to sleep with her teddy bear. Auntie carried her upstairs, promising she could hold Fido instead. I sagged into a chair, watching as Uncle brought Pete into the laundry room. He winked at me before shutting the door. I hoped he would teach Susie a thing or two about taking care of her toys. I didn't want that to ever happen again. notes ▼ |
| He asks if I've given my heart to Jesus – I stand tongue-tied, flustered. It's not that I'm an atheist – at least, not on a good day. Nor do I rebelliously refuse religion because it misaligns with my “morals.” I believe in Creator God, His Righteousness and Mercy, His Hand in everything, suffusing life with purpose – Otherwise, I would be a nihilist. I cling to faith, and yet… Jesus. Who is He? Do I worship a Man? Isn't that idolatry? Can someone die in my place? Didn't Jeremiah say “Every man's sins are his own?”1 Did He ever claim to be God Incarnate? Did he really rise again? Questions hold me back – I'll wait another day Afraid to take the risk of blaspheming the One who Exists By believing He has a Son who may never have existed. Yet it might be too late – I shouldn't linger forever on fences Avoiding theological discussions by sinking into trivialities. Someday, I may give my heart to Jesus. In the meantime, I'll strive for devotion to God Himself. 16 lines, 174 words, free verse. Written for "SCRIPTURE POETRY CONTEST" September 2025 Prompt: I am happy to say I gave my life to Christ sixty-six years ago. I remember it like it happened yesterday. Do you remember the day you were saved? Your prompt: Reflect back on when you gave your life to Jesus and write a poem about it. Footnotes |
| Kiya's Wonderland Prompt: Imagine a world where there are 25 hours in a day or 25 months in a year! • Write a short story (no more than 500 words) or a poem (no more than 40 lines) of such an event occurring. • Let the personification of Time be a part of your entry. • Your item should not exceed the 18+ rating. • Post link to your story or poem in the forum. Myra stared at the elegant piece of parchment in her hands. “Twenty-five months in a year,” she scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It's an experiment the government is running,” her brother Sam said, adjusting his lab coat. “We want to see how much more a person can get done if a year is doubled over.” “And whose great idea was this? I suppose it's being funded by taxpayers?” “Naturally,” he replied. “Actually, it was Father Time's idea. He's been hired as head of the National Institute of Chronological Efficiency, or NICE.” “Oh, indeed? I'll let him know what's nice. What could possibly be efficient about two cycles of seasons in one year? What happens to the holidays?” She gasped. “Sam! What about birthdays?” “Relax, Myra, it's just an experiment. If this one doesn't work out, the rest will be normal years.” “I guess I can't argue with skipping a year's birthday, if that's how it's going to work,” she said wryly. *** And so the days passed. At first there was a major upheaval as computer systems, banks and other things dependent on dating adjusted to the upcoming longer year. Then, after a few months, everything settled down and seemed almost normal. January 1st was no longer New Year's Day, but instead they celebrated “Halfway Through day,” much to Myra's amusement. Her first birthday was marked with the usual fanfare, but as her second one drew closer, she began to be concerned. What if something went wrong? What if there was a massive glitch in the system? What if she ended up being two years older – or worse? “Just treat it as you would any other day,” Sam assured her. “There's no need to celebrate if the year isn't over yet – you already had your birthday!” Myra tried to convince herself that the ways they measured time didn't mean anything – a day was a day, and a month was a month, and years were somewhat subjective, right? The night before, she sat up, waiting for midnight. When the clock chimed twelve, a knock sounded at her door. Myra looked out her upstairs window at the front porch. A guy wearing a long beard, a watch on a chain and a wizardly robe stood there, holding a book. “Seriously? Are you Father Time?” She opened the door. He smiled and handed her the book. “This is for you on your unofficial birthday,” he said with a wink. “Your brother Sam wanted me to give it to you personally. From all of us at NICE.” With that, he disappeared. Myra sat down and browsed through the pages, which held photos of her and Sam from childhood to the current time, along with handwritten notes and memories from family members. “Well, this is nice, isn't it?” Myra chuckled. “I'll have to thank Sam. This twenty-five month year isn't so bad.” Words: 480. |
| Dear Time, She scrawled upon a wrinkled page. You expect me to treat you respectfully? I'm not yet at a ripe old age Having zero knowledge of what I might become. I have no happy memories to thank you for Only puzzles, painful conundrums, burning questions, Untold motives, endless unanswered prayers. Past lies tangled, no wisdom to be drawn, Future fades foggy, unknown dangers hiding in shadows. You expect gratitude When all you do is suck lifeblood out of me. Another day down the drain, Another failure, another missed opportunity. You and I are enemies – I end up killing you more often than not. Yet there you are, standing in front of me, ghastly, beckoning. If you are a Father, you're a deadbeat: Never there when I need you, yet always lurking, haunting me. What point is there in addressing you As if you know anything? You are cold, insensitive, inexorable, impersonal. Why personify something so uncaring? I'm not your child. I have a long road ahead of me, And you are my enemy. Instead of killing you, I will make you my slave. Never to be, Yours truly. She threw down her pen Took scrawled paper in her hands Crumpled it up Flushed it away in the toilet. A brain drain, a reset, a deep breath of air: Life sprouts anew once exaggerated emotions overflow. Now, real work begins. 34 lines, 230 words, free verse. Written for "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Media Prompt Deadl..." |
| Captain O'Leary facepalmed at the mess in front of him. “Tell me we have security cameras here.” “We'd have to ask Brimley Stone, the head maintenance guy who wears a pirate's outfit all the time because he's an amputee with a fancy prosthetic that looks like a peg leg.” When they went looking for Brimley, they couldn't find him; no one had seen him around, even though he would stand out from the other people dressed as pirates, with his “peg leg.” This was highly suspicious: why wasn't the head maintenance available for the biggest gathering of the year? He would know how to hide the alarm clock, and he could have hauled the treasure off through the service door. Bingo screeched out, “Polly wanna cracka, Polly wanna cracka!” “Hey, isn't Polly-Wanda Kracka the name of the obsessive sword collecting actress?” “She could have been in on it: there was a priceless Samurai sword in the loot!” “But why is Bingo telling – they should have taken him with them – she's a parrot trainer, too!” “He would be too hard to hide – a kidnapped parrot – but where do we find the loot?” “Fake them out, fake them out!” Bingo squawked. “How can we do that, you silly bird?” “Hey, let's announce that the loss was no big deal at all, because it was only imitation treasure, and the real stuff is hidden away in a bank vault.” “Then we'll monitor the area for suspicious activity and see if Polly-Wanda and Brimley try to dispose of the stuff and pretend they never did it – brilliant!” The announcement made everyone who didn't know laugh and cheer; they were relieved the Founder's Day celebration wasn't ruined after all. A couple hours later, Brimley and Polly-Wanda were caught throwing the “fake” treasure in a dumpster behind the theater. Brimley needed a new prosthetic, which would have cost him thousands, so he decided to act like the pirate he'd been cosplaying for so many years and raid the treasure under his nose. Polly-Wanda had a crush on Brimley, she was obsessed with that Samurai sword, and she wanted to take Bingo with them when they ran away, but Brimley refused because the parrot never liked him. Screaming Nell turned out to be an accomplice, Polly's sister; she had to announce the presence of the “bomb” because no one might have noticed it otherwise. They were hiding the loot in dummy treasure chests in Polly's dressing room at the theater. When the people of Bardstown found out about Brimley’s prosthetic, they felt sorry for him and started a fundraiser so he wouldn't have to become a “real” pirate to get it replaced. He and Polly-Wanda later broke up because she wanted to use his donations to buy expensive swords instead! “Listen,” Captain O'Leary said to his crew. “I'm just glad the treasure is safe and our Bardstown semiquincentennial went smoothly after all – and would someone please give Bingo some saltwater taffy – he did help us solve this mystery!” “Happy Founder's Day, everyone!” Bingo squawked. Words: 507. Sentences: 25 (not including dialogue tags, where applied.) Written for "The Bard's Hall Contest" Prompt sets up a mystery and asks us to solve it in exactly 25 sentences. Characters and settings provided for us in an introduction, along with a list of clues and suspects. |