Writer Wars! (Sorry, That's the Most Creative Title I Could Come Up With This Week.)
REALLY, BUTTS?! I ask you to write a short story about attempting the impossible, and NO ONE WRITES ABOUT SKIING THROUGH A REVOLVING DOOR?! Color me disappointed (mostly because I purchased a set of skies AND a freestanding revolving door in anticipation of your responses, and now I have no idea what to do with them. And believe you me, freestanding revolving doors do not come cheap). But my inconsequential complaints aside, you all produced yet another stunning crop of short fiction, and I couldn't be prouder. Here are last week's top-shelf stories!
Sparklers' Choice (with 20 Votes): PlathAddict16! Girl's got mad rhyming skillz, y'all!
Dagger's Choice: agentoboe! Witty and suspenseful—and I never saw the ending coming! LOVE IT! (And also love that asit2 posted a pic of herself achieving the impossible feat from the story!)
Light filtered lazily through a dusty window. The night was thick with the smell of barbeque smoke and mischief, if mischief had a smell. I’d like to think that it would have a pleasant but spicy aroma, not unlike Old Spice.
Strewn on the floor of the warehouse were empty candy bar wrappers and the occasional pile of guano, which we were more than careful to avoid. Other than the periodical clap-your-hands-over-your-ears moments when a plane would fly over the warehouse, it was a peaceful and somewhat cozy meeting place. And here we were, sitting cross-legged on the floor as Brandon passed around “sin in a bottle,” as my grandmother would say. I imagined her wrinkled face in front of mine, her eyebrows furrowing as she prepared to chide me on my imperfections. I took a swig. Imaginary Nana clutched her saggy bosom in distress.
“Whoa now! Easy, tiger,” Heath laughed, clapping a hand on my back as I coughed up half a lung.
“E-explain to me exactly how you can stand swallowing that bottle of elephant piss,” I wheezed. Imaginary Nana crossed her arms, her point made.
“Oh, come now, Dyna. It’s just whiskey…” Brandon chuckled. He snatched the bottle away from me and downed the whole thing. I often asked myself why I continued to hang out with Brandon. Lately, the excuses I had been making became few and far between. As I opened my mouth, prepared to reply with a snappy retort, Sylvia rubbed her hands together and cleared her throat.
“It’s time.” Her voice, however small, resounded in the abandoned warehouse. Heath looked at her, his expression softening.
“Yeah—Sylvia’s right. It’s time,” he echoed. I rolled my eyes.
Brandon reached into his pack and withdrew a long dagger in a glittering sheath. Eyeing us excitedly, he pulled out the dagger…and laid it on the sooty floor.
“Tonight,” he whispered for dramatic effect, “we achieve the impossible.” With a flourish, he spun the dagger. The sharp tip trailed slightly on the concrete, leaving a circular etching into the thin layer of grime. There was a plethora of similar circles around the warehouse.
The blade began to slow down, and it finally stopped with its point in my direction. The others hooted. I wrinkled my nose.
“Alright, Dyna! Let’s do this!” Brandon hopped up from his sitting position and proceeded to do a little jig around the circle. I might have been able to utilize my snarky attitude, had I not been so nervous.
“I don’t know…maybe I’m not ready for this,” I protested, remaining in my sitting position.
“Nonsense!” said Sylvia. Heath scooted closer to her, placing his arm around her thin shoulders. I shook my head fervently.
“I can’t do it. I don’t know how,” I said weakly.
Brandon squatted in front of me and held my face in his hands. My heart seemed to stop. Maybe this is why I still hung out with Brandon.
“You can do it. I know you can.” He tugged me to my feet. Something inside me stirred. I can do this.
“Here I go,” I said, raising my arm above my head. I bent it at a painful angle, the elbow jutting sharply forward.
“Go! Go!” chanted Sylvia and Heath. Brandon simply smiled.
My arm ached. My shoulder felt as if it were going to rip. I strained forward, harder, harder, and then…
I did it. I licked my elbow. The impossible had been achieved.
Lizadizdiz--OMG I HOPE YOUR STORY HAPPENS IN SEASON 3 OF SHERLOCK!
JazzPanda--HAHAH, love it! HELLFIRE!
This week's prompt was inspired by hammncheese94 (aka the radiant Lord Mayor Hamm), who asked: