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 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 Contest"  is "Stained Portrait" . I don't usually write in such an overdramatic fashion   The poem which placed second at "Writing 4 Kids" is "Earth is Home" . That is more of my style  The story which placed second at "The Bard's Hall Contest" is "Peg Legs, Parrots and Samurai Swords" . I occasionally write something that might be considered funny...   First place (story) at "Writing 4 Kids" is "Duck Family Vacation"     Second place (poem) at "Rebel Poetry Contest" is "Sourdough Moon"    Honorable Mention (poem) at "Shadows and Light Poetry Contest" is "Faith vs Fear"    ![Merit Badge in Fantastical RA
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[Link To User greenwillow] ,
Congratulations on winning an Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #shadows] with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1095216].
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| He watches ghastly headlines unfold from sheltered nursing home Silently thanking God for preserving him from death on foreign soil. Fears gnaw inside: America, land he would have died for, Is nearly unrecognizable under tyranny's hobnailed boot. Where is freedom to exist, to live and work in peace? Why is tear gas unleashed recklessly on humans young and old? Did Big Tech fund East Wing wreckage for sinister reasons? (Duh…) What becomes of a country's conscience, overridden by a crooked constable? Nurse steps in, saying he watches too much news. None of that concerns you, she reminds him. You've done your part, your best. The Lord will handle the rest. Pray and give thanks. You're safe with us. Satisfied, he reaches for his Bible, nodding off in faith. 17 lines, 129 words Free verse Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" |
| Winnie the Pooh was awakened one morning by an urgent knocking at his door. He sat up, rubbing sand out of his eyes. His clock was stuck at half-past smackerel time, but it was too early for visitors. Stumbling to the door, he found Owl, still wearing a nightcap, his feathers tousled. “There’s an emergency on our hands!” Pooh checked his paws to see if they were sticky. “I don't see any Merjensee on mine,” he said, puzzled. “Is that like Marmalade?” “No indeed! A hurricane's coming. We must convene a consortium – formulate a plan of action.” “I'm sorry, Owl…” Pooh scratched his head. “I'm a Bear of little Brain. Big words confuse me. What is a hurry-cane?” “It’s a big whirling storm. We have to check on everyone.” Owl flapped his wings. “Come help!” “Certainly. But…” Pooh looked past Owl's shoulder at the bright sunshine filtering through autumn leaves. “The weather looks lovely. How do you know there's a storm coming?’ “It’s in my almanac.” Owl waved a thick, yellowed paperback in the air, taking off in search of Piglet. Pooh followed, pausing to snatch a honeypot from his pantry. One by one, they gathered their friends to Owl's treehouse for a meeting. “What's happening?” Piglet asked, ears quivering. “I knew it was hurricane weather.” Eeyore shook his head. “We're doomed.” “We'll be alright, dear,” Kanga soothed. “Hoo-hoo-hoo!” Tigger bounced on his springy tail. “Are hurricanes good bouncing weather?” “How absurd,” Rabbit grumbled. “I must prepare my home for the storm. No time to lollygag!” Pooh sat beside Piglet, not saying anything because his mouth was full of honey. Owl cleared his throat, perching on his front porch railing in the tree. He adjusted his glasses, flipped through the almanac and announced his findings. “According to expert calculations, a hurricane is scheduled to arrive tomorrow afternoon. Gale-force winds, torrential rains – an increased probability of rising floodwaters and downed trees. All precautions must be taken accordingly.” Pooh raised a sticky paw. “Where should we take the precautions to?” “Do they stay with us during the hurry-cane?” Piglet asked. “There is no need to fret,” Owl declared, authoritatively gruff. “Allow me to explain the accepted protocols…” Just when Pooh was dozing off while Owl lectured, Christopher Robin appeared. He raised an eyebrow at the group's anxious expressions. “What's wrong? Did Eeyore lose his tail again?” “There's a hurricane coming!” Rabbit harrumphed. “Tell Owl I need to go batten down my hatches!” “Really? I haven't heard.” Owl showed him the almanac. Christopher Robin studied it carefully. He laughed and ran a hand through Owl's head feathers. “Silly bird, this almanac is three years old! There isn't any hurricane at all. If there was, I would know.” Owl looked around, coughing awkwardly. “Oh dear me… Well, at least now we know how to prepare for one.” “We do?” Pooh sat up straight again, feeling important. “Let’s go play Poohsticks.” Christopher Robin waved everyone along the wooded path. “Remember, if there's a storm, I'll keep you all safe.” |
| How come he was always chosen for everything? Just because he's better-looking than me doesn't mean he knows how to catch jewel thieves. I've been a detective longer than he has. But no, they pass over me, Dave, the guy with the scar and the brains, and opt for Wayne, the guy with neither scar nor brains. He's the kind everyone will say when he dies, “oh, his smile lit up the room! He'd give you the shirt off his back!” Like having a golden retriever as a guard dog. “Hey Dave, what's the matter?” Wayne interrupted my grumpy reverie, leaning over my desk with a coffee cup. “You look especially sour today. Why, even your frown is wearing a frown!” I couldn't help laughing. He means well, I suppose. “I'm afraid you aren't smart enough to outsmart the guys behind these heists,” I said bluntly. No one ever told me I suffered from indirectness. He raised an eyebrow. “What, you thought I'd be going it alone? Your assistance is an indispensable part of the plan!” “Really? Now you're talking.” And that's how we ended up prowling the Louvre at about a quarter to one in the morning, dodging security lasers and sleepy guards. Our mission: test the system to ensure it was working optimally. A thrill of excitement slipped through my veins as I imagined this must be how thieves feel when they're about to make off with the biggest heist of the century. We stood at last in front of the national treasures, glittering under eerie red Exit signs. The AC hummed, maintaining perfect climate control. Wayne pulled a wrench out of his sack. The fact we'd gotten this far was alarming, really. I glanced around furtively, expecting a guard to come running with floodlights at any moment. Just as Wayne was about to shatter the glass and grab the goods, heavy footsteps sounded in the outer hallway. We ducked behind the display case. A flashlight's narrow, concentrated beam sliced through the shadows with dangerous precision. It was a guard in uniform… But holding a crowbar and a sack. The Exit signs winked out. I guessed by the sudden silence of the air conditioning, that someone must've shut off the electricity. This guard smashed his way into the crown jewels, swept them into his sack and prepared to leave. Wayne jumped to his feet, “Hey, boss,” he gruffed, “you forgot the most important thing!” Startled, the guy turned to see who it was. Wayne tackled him to the floor while I radioed for backup. Who knew an inside job was brewing under our noses? Back at the office, we shared a good laugh over things. I guess Wayne makes a good partner after all. Sometimes, it takes two. Words: 460. Written for: "Starting Stories" Prompt sentence highlighted in yellow. |
| Dear Mom and Dad, I'm writing from a Gardai station in Dublin. Abdullah is being detained, and as his younger sister I'm obligated to stay with him here. Our host parents, Professor and Mrs. Naik, are here with us, trying to get it straightened out, as, inshallah, it will be. They're wonderful, devout Muslims like us; alhamdullilah, you chose well. I've greatly enjoyed seeing Ireland's beautiful cathedrals and castles and emerald green countryside. It's so different from Minnesota, especially this time of year. Unfortunately, we've discovered some of the native Irish people are angry with us. It wasn't anything we did, dear parents; I can assure you we are entirely innocent of any wrongdoing. It all started when Mrs. Naik suggested we visit the Halal meat market in downtown Dublin, combining a shopping trip with some sightseeing. Of course I thought it was a lovely idea, and Abdullah agreed. We walked along, past booths of Moroccan foods and Persian rugs, and everything was going smoothly until we ran into a group of protestors clogging the streets. They waved signs and shouted in English and Gaelic, “Ireland for the Irish setters!” “Send the exotic animals back to Arabia!” “Save our heritage!” I clung to Abdullah as we tried to sidestep the throngs of people. “Why are they so upset?” “Someone set two hundred hungry camels loose in the Cathedral,” Mrs. Naik explained, shaking her head. “Emotions are running high.” “Oh heavens, that's terrible!” I gasped. “But they can't blame Muslims and immigrants for such a crime.” “It's easy to scapegoat those who are different.” A cluster of young men blocked our path on the sidewalk, yelling and jeering. “You're smuggling invasive species!” “Are we riding camels?” Abdullah demanded. “We're being taken over by Arabian dune mice with a penchant for Guinness. They're putting our pubs out of business!” “We have nothing to do with that. My sister and I are American exchange students.” “Oh yeah?” One guy jabbed his sign at me and Mrs. Naik. “You're hiding more of them inside your scarves! I can tell.” I shrank back, trying to pull my hijab tighter to show him there couldn't be any hidden creatures under it. Abdullah stepped squarely in front of him. “You stop harassing us. We aren't carrying any live contraband!” The men weren't convinced. Things escalated from there, until we got caught in a tangle of Garda officers trying to quell the rioters, who were throwing shamrocks and green glitter bombs. One officer skidded to a halt and grabbed Abdullah by the glitter-stained shirt. “Hey, I recognize you! You're the guy who's been scattering millions of petitions to outlaw pork all over the streets. We need to take you in for littering!” The Gardai hauled all three of us to the station, despite our protestations. When we arrived, I was so relieved to see a lady in a hijab sitting at the desk! I didn't expect Muslim ladies to be working as Gardai. Even with Fatima's kindness and understanding, each of us had to be interviewed in a separate room to get our statements and verify our identities. I waited a long while, alone in the lobby, for Mrs. Naik and Abdullah to finish. While I waited, there was this young red-headed Irish lad who tried to cheer me up, or at least I assume his intentions were positive. “Why so sad, lassie?” I told him what happened, and he shook his head. “Now who would suspect a pretty lass like you of being illegal?” He had such a charming brogue, and his eyes sparkled with the cheerful mischief of a leprechaun. He extended a hand. “Would you care to visit my favorite pub with me while the Gardai get your affairs in order?” I pulled back, dismayed at the idea of going to a bar with a strange man – how much would that offend Allah! I bowed my head and tried to think of something to say… “Sean O'Donoghue!” Fatima spoke sharply. “Remember what we discussed in the diversity workshop? You don't ask Muslim exchange students out to the pub!” “When in Ireland, do as the Irish do,” he mumbled. She rolled her eyes, shooed him away, and apologized for his offensiveness. While we talked, Mrs. Naik appeared from her interview, shaken and teary eyed. “I'm afraid Abdullah has been detained for further investigation. They say his name matched with a suspect who spray-painted inshallah five thousand times in the crosswalks. I tried to explain, but they won't listen. There must be some mistake.” “Oh, heavens! What will we do? We can't leave without him!” When you get this message, dear parents, please call the Gardai station ASAP (ask for Fatima) and assure them of our legitimacy. Professor Naik is here helping, but his absent-mindedness prevents him from providing an alibi for Abdullah, which the Commissioner thinks is as suspicious as corned beef and cabbage with a side of hummus. Indeed, he is now threatening to exile us all to a cloistered life on the Isle of Man – males to the monastery, females to the convent. Make haste, or it may be too late. My manuscript illuminating skills have never been especially good. Sincerely, Your beloved daughter, Layla PS. Just kidding, Mom and Dad! Abdullah and I will be home for the holidays… Inshallah! Words: 880. Written for "The Bard's Hall Contest" Prompt and AI Advice ▼ |
| I'm a vet, yeah, you know the ones I stood up for us when others were scared I dodged bombs in Afghanistan Watched my friends lose arms and legs Lost myself in what I did Never ran, never hid Never get offended By my actions, what I had to do It's over now, but the burden remains You can't see the hidden pains Inside my soul, those stormy rains Always there, nothing new Gotta keep going Y'all gotta be knowing I'm still fighting I'm still writing Keep on rapping Watching it happen Hoping for change But that's outta my range I pray every day That's my way Come what may Y'all know I'm ready Peace out, homies ✌️ Words: 117. Lines: 25 Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" And also for "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : 80's Media Prompt ..." |
| Twas the night before asterisk When all the apostrophes Go joyfully dancing In step with the commas! Ampersands scamper off ink-stained paper And full stops pepper floors instead of stories. In Santa's workshop, elves are busy Putting errant dots and semicolons to bed. Slashes and dashes, dollars and snails, All have their places to keep – Otherwise, what sense would written words make? Finally the last quotation mark is paired up and tucked in And sleepy elves leave for their bunkers. When everyone's gone and the workshop’s silent – Chaos! Dots break free from their I’s, Crossbars abandon T’s to become hyphens, And exclamation points leap to new heights! Oh my my… Ellipses, slow and steady, measure time While digits frolic free and colons do gymnastics. Where did the period at the end of a rather overly long sentence go – with no end in sight, I suppose a question mark will have to do? Brawling brackets, hashtags playing on the monkey bars And one lonely > points to a page devoid of meaning. Santa peeks into his workshop, shining a lantern, Golden glow bouncing off overexcited punctuation. “Settle down, you tiny sillies,” he rumbles. “How will children enjoy their books If you aren't playing your parts to keep the words straight?” Comma by colon, slash by dash, they stumble back Lining up neatly where they should be. He helps restore order out of chaos, Waving a warning finger at winking parentheses. “Dot your I’s and cross your T’s And sleep in your beds rather than jumping on them! Merry asterisks to all, and to all a good night!” Notes ▼ |
| Under velvet skies, a diamond twinkled, Guiding leaders of wisdom on a blessed journey To a humble home where a King lay in Mary's arms. Within that Baby, divinity's light shines Filling a searching world lost in shadows. O Lord, help us to see You in humanity, Your precious Face among those in need. You descended from on High to us In our poverty and filthy rags, Walked among those who did not recognize You, Spoke Truth to power, lived and died for us. It all began one velvet night in Bethlehem Heralded by a diamond in silent skies. 13 lines, 99 words. Written for "Wintry Writing Wonderland" |
| 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" , which required a mirror copy of the text alongside the original. I jumped through hoops and never actually inserted the text itself, only two foggy screenshots. This will now be remediated. To view the freshly clarified mirror poem images, visit Mirror Writing from Angel in 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" and "Golden Apples Writing Contest Forum" 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. |
| 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..." |
| In times of need, I know Who to turn to – My Savior holds my trembling hand. Jesus walks with me ev’ry dark night through – He never fails to understand. He came, he conquered, waters parted, And He's here to stay He won my loss, He paid my cost, He'll never, ever break. I am never going “downstairs” – I will praise, I will praise He saved me because He cares – I will praise, I will praise. Love me, take me and make me holy Wash me, enrobe me – you should see the view up here! Wake me when the circle is unbroken Wake me when misfortune is unspoken God's grace is more than sufficient for us all Trust Him when He says we are invincible… notes ▼ Inspired by ▼ |
| Lady in black, guards her heart so closely, People whisper she has none. Ghost of slender build, eyes cold, a stare to stop time. Terror is her everpresent shadow – they call her evil. Define evil, she says. Is it when I exact consequences on bullies? Should I bow to traditional values, giggle at pink unicorns, deny my nature? Is it evil to be different? To scorn artificial niceties? To use my power to fight what I believe is wrong? I stand unafraid against those in charge. I speak my truth. Lady in white, wears her heart on her sleeve, Guarding her icy touch with loving care. Smiling, calm, refined, a queen at every moment. Fear festered, spreading frozen curses – they called her monster. I'm not a monster, she says. I retreat from harming others, I seek to live in peace. I protect those dear to me – even from myself. Should I wear iron gloves, deny my nature? Is it monstrous to be different? To wield ice and snow? To lose control under pressure, to learn how to love? Are we not all human, bearing multifaceted powers and gifts? 22 lines, 188 words, free verse. Written for "Merit Badge Magic" Inspired by Wednesday Addams and Elsa from Frozen. |
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*^*TrophyG*^* Thank you for doing such a fantastic job with all your reviews for the September Challenge at [Link To Item #army] . YOU are appreciated!
*^*HeartV*^*
Webbie *^*Witch*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Fantastic.gif)
![Merit Badge in WDC Soundtrackers BoMB
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Congratulations on successfully completing the 2025 edition of [Link To Item #monkeys] ! Great work!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-WDC_Soundtrackers_BoMB-1979333_12.gif){kind=tracking}
![Merit Badge in Rock Star Dragon
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Thank you for participating in January 2024 [Link To Item #mbm] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Rock_Star_Dragon-2251413.gif)
![Merit Badge in Forum Posts 7
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Awarded for interacting with our community within message forums every day for a week . This badge can be earned over and over again. Each of these badges adds one (1) Community Recognition!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/achievements-Forum_Posts_7.gif)
![Merit Badge in DRAGON :: FULL-GROWN
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Congratulations for reaching the Full-Growth phase of your Common Dragon! [ [Link To Item #2312577] ]](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-DRAGON_=58=58_FULL=45GROWN-2309764_14.gif)
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Awarded for interacting with our community on the Newsfeed every day for a week . This badge can be earned over and over again. Each of these badges adds one (1) Community Recognition!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/achievements-Newsfeed_7.gif)
![Merit Badge in Coffee with Lilli
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Thanks for playing along and sharing about your muse on the Newsfeed game that [Link To User brennus] posted. Kindest Regards, Lilli *^*Floral5*^* "Most people wait for the muse to turn up. That's terribly unreliable. I have to sit down and pursue the muse by attempting to work." ~ Nick Cave](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Coffee_with_Lilli-2149524_15.gif)
![Merit Badge in Highly Recommended
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“
Writing is the painting of the voice
”
VOLTAIRE
Second Place | Round 22 [Link To Item #hook]
*^*Pencil*^* *^*Hook*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Highly_Recommended.gif)