RESULTS – Microcosms 2

Hey everyone! Wow – what an awesome crop of stories we had! Great job, everyone who submitted. You should all be proud.

Huge, HUGE thanks to last week’s winners, AV Laidlaw and Steph Ellis, who sure had their hands full judging this week. I did not envy them at all! (Sorry I couldn’t give you extra credit, Jessica! lol)


A quick reminder: I could really use some additional volunteers to help run the contest. Need more details about what that would entail? I’ve got them for you! Please let me know if you can help. I’ll try to make it as painless as possible.


All right, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…


Honorable Mentions

Meadows of Deception – Emily Clayton (chosen by both judges!)

AV’s comments: Full of visceral description of battle, making the trauma and memories more vivid than reality. Really puts you in the mind of the narrator and how he sees the world.

Steph’s comments: Memories of war are powerful things. A peaceful meadow is still the battlefield, the gopher’s hole is where the enemy lay in wait. Evocative.

Adam, Eve and 5E+10 Spectators – DE Park

AV’s comments: An idea that really appeals to me; a war happening within our bodies.

Red Letter Home – Brady Koch

AV’s comments: I liked the central image of the dying man writing his final letter in the blood of his betrothed. Two people bonded together by something more than mere words.

Night Shift – Voima Oy

Steph’s comments: Tightly-written vampire story without even mentioning the creature. The comparison of the sugar craving with that for blood and the necessity of cutting down was clever and typical of many women in that they think about it after indulging!

Dining in the Donjon – Ed Broom

Vampires and comedy, doesn’t happen often so it was nice to see some humour. Love the idea of vampire bats adopting a fruit bat and trying to raise it in the traditional way. At least the parents love it regardless!


Runners Up

Beliefs About God – dazmb

AV’s comments: As well as the great images in this poem, there’s a sense of movement in the rhythm; the “bat’s” flight and finding of its victim mimicked by the lines getting shorter towards the end. And then the final lines that turn all the imagery of caves, whispers, darkness and echoes on their head – “is the iridescent radiance / of hummingbirds”. There’s a lot packed into these few words.

Crazy Making – Bill Engleson

AV’s comments: I loved not only the satire behind this, but the full-bodied word play – “We pamper rich, wilting, woebegone roses”. As well as being funny for its own sake, it really brings the character of the doctor to life, never easy when you’ve only got a hundred words or so.

Long-term Plans – Clive

Steph’s comments: The story starts of so calmly, an analysis of the association of colours with emotions, all done in a very ‘doctorly’ tone. So much control in the voice and tone of the person making these observations, until you get to the last line which delivers the twist that that person is the insane killer and the one being watched is the person in actual authority. Excellent writing.

The Clinic – Sal Page

Steph’s comments: This appealed to my darker side because of the sheer contrast in imagery. The patient goes from a world of lilac and pastel to a world of horror and blood. Gruesome carcasses and sheets of skin paint a disturbing picture, enough to put anyone off the idea of plastic surgery. It leaves me wanting to know what happens next. (Challenge to Sal: turn this into a short story, I’d love to read it). [Note from KM: Agreed!]


Favorite Lines

Before we get to our winners, here are my favorite lines from this week.

“There is a cave, where shadows gather.
It’s full of the things you cannot name,
a leather wing beat, a skittering echo,
skimming the pulse of the night.” – dazmb

““You’re a dashed fool, coming out here. There’s nothing to be done.”
“Quite so, ” he said, wrapping Petersen in his arms one last time. “Hush.”” – Dave James Ashton

“Jim was lying in a ditch in a pool of blood. He insisted he’d been dreaming of war.” – Holly Geely
Frank, however, wasn’t prepared to have his prizewinning rosebush, named after his wife, blown to smithereens by some relic from the past, so he snuck through the cordon to save it.” – CR Smith

“She tried not to think of her hunger, the irresistible urge that was even more addictive than the craving for sugar the nurses were always joking about.” – Voima Oy

“Such a pretty flush on his soft cheeks. When I escape, I’ll kill him last.” – Clive

“Here, at the Sunshine and Lollipop your Pills Retreat for the Temporarily Unhinged, we offer a gamut of creature comforts, unsurpassed pharmaceuticals, and the most soothing Muzak.” – Bill Engleson

“She put her hand to her sticky face. Something was very wrong.” – Sal Page

“They’re coming! Dragging twisted flesh and jagged bone, the rot, the sludge, the stink.” – Emily Clayton

“‘Is it wrong to hope for another war?’” – AJ Walker

““Corporal, meet the only other surviving civilization of the Romeo and Juliet War, about twenty five billion nano-enhanced lymphocytes—and their macro scale host, of course. Her name is Susan.”E.” – DE Park

“I chose my thirteenth victim poorly.” – Patrick Stahl

“She will save everyone. But once she’s done, people will ask questions – that speed, it’s inhuman. She’ll have to pack up and leave.

Again.” – Sonya

“I hear screaming. That’s promising. ” – Craig A

“Ahh! The smell of blood. It felt good as I rubbed it in.” – Firdaus Parvez

““But Mum, I can’t take any more blood. I might even be…” He pauses. “Vegetarian.”” – Ed Broom

“That time-folding of historical sites revealed the hydrology of war: bloodied soil transpiring to clouds which gather as blooddreams of setting suns.” – Jessica Franken

“His writing instrument, a thin shaft of wheat from the battlefield, fell back to the earth as his body released. The vial of his precious Molly’s blood that had been around his neck was now nearly empty.” – Brady Koch


And now, without further ado, I present to you the winners of Microcosms 2.

(insert drumroll here)


Community Pick

Night Shift by Voima Oy

It was a slow night in the ER and Dr. Bela Lukacks glanced at the clock. She tried not to think of her hunger, the irresistible urge that was even more addictive than the craving for sugar the nurses were always joking about. She went outside for a walk around the parking lot to calm her nerves.

The paramedic lounging by the ambulance was young and handsome. He had a taste for older women, too.

Tonight, the full moon would bring out the crazies, and there would be gunshot victims. There would be more blood. Dr. Lukacks wiped her lips and smiled. No question she had to cut down.

@voimaoy
109 words
doctor/hospital/horror


Judge’s Picks (there are two!)

Territory by Jessica Franken

AV’s comments: All the power in this piece comes from what it doesn’t explicitly say. Here we have a woman cutting herself, letting her blood fall on the ground. But within the story it all makes perfect sense; these are battlefields, scenes of war crimes and genocide. By focusing on the single character and her ritual, the story avoids becoming preachy. We’re never told what to think about it. And not forgetting the story’s full of great writing – “bloodied soil transpiring to clouds which gather as blooddreams of setting suns.”

TERRITORY
@jes3ica
doctor, battlefield, romance
110 words

Pit stop: Rosebud Battlefield. Lu’s muscles cramped from her pickup’s bucking hindquarters.

That time-folding of historical sites revealed the hydrology of war: bloodied soil transpiring to clouds which gather as blooddreams of setting suns.

Lu knifed her palm, brought it to the soil’s dry lips.

She watered battlefields across South Dakota. In Mankato, Lu cut too deep. She curdled with shame at her forearms, yardsticked with scabs. But the doctor cleansed each battlewound—a ritual creating a second tribute.

“Where’re you headed?”

“East. Backwards. My westward expansion didn’t go well.”

“So you’re…unsettling.” The doctor laughed hugely, unprofessionally. Lu fell in love with her, far above the thirsty ground.


Dazmb – Beliefs about God

Steph’s comments: Such a beautiful poem despite the darkness of its imagery. The language and pacing were perfect, evoking an almost claustrophobic effect with its cave ‘full of things you cannot name’. That sense of searching for something seeps through, that ‘blurring light sensed deep within the Earth’s arterial stink’, nudging at the edges of consciousness but forgotten when you wake the next day. Sometimes a response to a poem is a feeling rather than something you can absolutely pinpoint; I can’t say it was this line or that line, it was the whole that grabbed me – and that is what a true poem should do.

Name: @dazmb
Twitter: @dazmb
Words: 102 (Not including title)
Elements: Vampire bat, cave, poem

Title: Beliefs about God

There is a cave, where shadows gather.
It’s full of the things you cannot name,
a leather wing beat, a skittering echo,
skimming the pulse of the night.
And it’s not the dead it hopes to find,
but rather a blurring light
sensed deep within the Earth’s arterial stink.
and a juddering amnesia, to gently lull you
as it inches through a straggle of hair
to feed, blood warm, on echoes of pain and sweetness.
Gently unpicking the face of your fears
renewing their fabric,
until you wake the next day
and all you can remember
is the iridescent radiance
of hummingbirds.


Flashdogs : Solstice : Light: Volume II
Congratulations! Each of you will receive:

  • A winner’s badge on the site
  • An invitation for inclusion in the anthology (with a note that your story was selected as a winner)
  • A Kindle copy of Flashdogs : Solstice : Light: Volume II. If you already have the book, you are free to choose another book of similar value or donate the cost of the book to a literacy charity, such as World Reader or The Book Bus. Please contact me with the e-mail address you’d like me to send the Kindle book to.


Additionally, you are each invited to judge the next round of Microcosms. Please let me know if you are interested!

RESULTS - Microcosms 3
Microcosms 1 - Results

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17 comments for “Welcome to Microcosms!

  1. zwoodle
    26 December 2015 at 4:15 pm

    We’re going to do a soft launch on 1 January. We’ll be e-mailing everyone shortly. Stay tuned!

    1+
  2. 12 September 2019 at 5:20 pm

    What’s happened to all the stories from last week’s competition?

    0
    • KM Zafari
      12 September 2019 at 6:31 pm

      They’re all still in the system but not displaying on the front end. Part of the glitch I’m trying to resolve. :/

      0
  3. 13 September 2019 at 6:37 am

    Who is Stoner, please?

    1+
  4. 13 September 2019 at 11:20 am

    Ghost; Haunted House; Comedy
    298 words

    The Gang, Fifty Years On

    “Hey guys, it’s our anniversary. It’s fifty years since we got together and solved our first case.”

    “That’s right. Why don’t we do something to celebrate? We could stay the night in the old, haunted house.”

    “I’m not really sure. None of us are as young as we used to be, we’re all in our late sixties now.”

    “Yeah, and I’m not sure that I want to stay up past my bedtime.”

    “Oh, go on, it’ll be a bit of fun. It’s not as though any of us get much of that anymore.”

    “It just won’t be the same without the dog.”

    “You’re right about missing the dog. I even miss that annoying little one that accompanied us on some of our later adventures.”

    “OK, it’s a date then. We just need someone to drive us out there before it gets dark.”

    “I’ll organise some supplies. Some drinks, a snack, spare walking sticks, and a flashlight for each of us.”

    “I’m not sure that I see the point. We never managed to find any real ghosts or monsters, never in our entire career. It was always a scam of some sort, and always one carried out by ordinary, everyday losers dressed up in costume.”

    The overnight stay was uneventful until just before dawn when they heard someone moving about downstairs. Silently they crept down the stairs only to find a fat balding man dressed up in a sheet going, “Woo… woo…” As it was obvious something untoward was going on, they phoned for the police. When they arrived a few minutes later the police arrested the would-be ghost. As he was taken away the last thing the gang heard him say was, “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for those pesky pensioners!”

    2+
  5. 13 September 2019 at 11:52 am

    http://www.engleson.ca
    @billmelaterplea
    300 words
    Stoner; Ghost Ship; Comedy

    That’s Some Spooky Shit, Man–Sailing the Silvery Seas with Long Joint Spliffer

    Man, I had more wobbles than a bobblehead.

    Bobblehead?

    Bubblehead for sure.

    Or Stubble head.

    Like man, that cat had a gnarly beard. Facial hair all wiry and dense. I could feel it, man. Spikes shooting out of his face like fireworks.

    Bazooka hookahs, man!

    Reefer creepers!

    Maybe it was the Maui-Zowie? Or the BC Bud? Or, get this, the Alberta Muerta?

    Made that up, man. Killer weed, though.

    Whatever it was, it was some magic shit. Maui Cowie poop, eh.

    Hah! I don’t know what that is.

    Anyway, I’d been up all night zinging in the shower, tingling in the tower, baying at the full moon, a giant silver dollar beauty, when I got the urge man to go down to the waterfront, watch the river flow.

    You ever done that, man? The river! Love the river. Like its dark, man, and late. The taverns have all closed. Streets littered with the soulful. Sky’s storm ready. Clouds gathering like jumbled sheets on a bed that’s never been made. Guess you know where that metaphor comes from. Anyways, you can feel it. Something’s gonna burst. So, I go down to the river and I see it through the thick fog. Like its out of the movies, man, full masted, skull and crossbones flapping’ in the night wind, and that ain’t no Errol Flynn standing at the helm. Not on your booty. Its someone eerie as hell, with some yo ho hoing and a bottle of bong…and I’m thinking, Bong? James Bong?

    There I am, staring at this vessel, double o sevening away, and this dude starts walking the plank and says, “Sorry Mate, no gambling tonight. The Jolly Better’s closed tight. City ordinance.”

    “Bummer, man” I bleat, “and me with the munchies and a pocket full of pieces of eight.”

    0
  6. Geoff
    13 September 2019 at 7:32 pm

    Stoner, haunted house, drama
    295 words
    Gardening
    ‘Hi Pete. How’s it trucking?’’
    Pete blinked, hoping his neighbour was another bad trip.
    ‘Garden’s looking great. Not many weeds. Ho!’
    Pete sucked in air, disorientated by the lack of smoke. I need to cut back oxygen. ‘Hi Greg. You after a packet?’
    ‘I was just wondering how you get them so… leafy?’
    Pete licked the paper. ‘You planning your own? Take some seeds, man.’ He sealed another joint, willing him to go.
    ‘I don’t think so. What’s the secret?’
    Pete looked at the soil at his feet. ‘Peace and love, man.’
    ‘Seriously. We grew cannabis at college but that was inside in Cheltenham. You manage outdoors, in Scotland in January…’
    ‘I rely on my relatives.’ He kicked the dirt, exposing the head of a femur. ‘That’s Auntie Jane. The plants love her.’
    Greg’s eyes widened. ‘That’s your aunt?’
    ‘Think so. Hang on.’ Pete put down the Rizzla packet and bent to the bone. ‘Yeah? You sure? Right ho.’ He looked up. ‘Uncle Portius. They look the same at that age, don’t they?’
    Greg rubbed his eyes. ‘I must be passive smoking your product. Did you just talk to a bone?’
    Pete laughed. ‘Course not. Bone’s don’t talk…’
    ‘But…’
    ‘They’re ghosts. I you like I can do you some Mexican spicy and my second cousin’s torso as a starter kit…’
    Greg backed away. ‘Maybe later.’
    Pete started another joint and covered the bone. He’d need another dozen for the school run. ‘Thanks Ponti, I’ll get you that pint of Ruddles later.’ He looked down the rows of fecund and fullsome plants to a slightly saggy group by the hedge. ‘And I’ll pick up some dubonnet and lemon for Granny Emmaline. Wouldn’t do to let her crop get peaky, what with festival season nearly upon us.’

    2+
  7. 13 September 2019 at 10:25 pm

    http://www.engleson.ca
    @billmelaterplea
    300 words
    Stoner; Ghost Ship; Comedy

    That’s Some Spooky Shit, Man–Sailing the Silvery Seas with Long Joint Spliffer

    Man, I had more wobbles than a bobblehead.

    Bobblehead?

    Bubblehead for sure.

    Or Stubble head?

    Like man, that cat had a gnarly beard. Facial hair all wiry and dense. I could feel it, man. Spikes shooting out of his face like fireworks.

    Bazooka hookahs, man!

    Reefer creepers!

    Maybe it was the Maui-Zowie? Or the BC Bud? Or, get this, the Alberta Muerta?

    Made that up, man. Killer weed, though.

    Whatever it was, it was some magic shit. Maui Cowie poop, eh.

    Hah! I don’t know what that is.

    Anyway, I’d been up all night zinging in the shower, tingling in the tower, baying at the full moon, a giant silver dollar beauty, when I got the urge man to go down to the waterfront, watch the river flow.

    You ever done that, man? The river! Love the river. Like its dark, man, and late. The taverns have all closed. Streets littered with the soulful. Sky’s storm ready. Clouds gathering like jumbled sheets on a bed that’s never been made. Guess you know where that metaphor comes from. Anyways, you can feel it. Something’s gonna burst. So, I go down to the river and I see it through the thick fog. Like its out of the movies, man, full masted, skull and crossbones flapping in the night wind, and that ain’t no Errol Flynn standing at the helm. Not on your booty. Its someone eerie as hell, with some yo ho hoing and a bottle of bong…and I’m thinking, Bong? James Bong?

    There I am, staring at this vessel, double o sevening away, and this dude starts walking the plank and says, “Sorry Mate, no gambling tonight. The Jolly Better’s closed tight. City ordinance.”

    “Bummer, man” I bleat, “and me with the munchies and a pocket full of pieces of eight.”

    4+
  8. Angelique Pacheco
    14 September 2019 at 4:56 am

    Stoner; Ghost Ship; Comedy
    135 words

    Green Boo-ty

    I saw through the haze
    A ghost ship’s hallways
    Twisting and turning
    The maze was daunting

    A ghostly dancer beckoned
    “Get naked,” she reckoned
    My mind said, “Okay!”
    My body said, “Let’s play!”
    The scene was rearranged
    And the actors were exchanged.

    The captain wore coat tails
    He clung onto the rails
    He shouted for pirates
    And called us bandits
    Zombies took me to the ledge
    To walk the plank to the edge.

    When I came down
    We were back in Cape Town
    I found myself at the pool
    Standing starkers like a fool

    The mystical dancer
    Was a Trans performer
    Security was cuffing me
    No zombies could I see.

    Don’t ever take the green stuff
    It can be quite rough
    Make sure you buy local
    Not pirated forms of diabolical.

    4+
  9. 14 September 2019 at 6:19 am

    stoner/ghost ship/comedy
    WC: 365
    http://www.awalker.org
    @zevonesque

    One More Sausage

    Fred was hungry. It was his semi-permanent state. Always eating; yet as thin as a rake that had been split in two–his acquaintances assumed he was looking after some tape worms. His best buddy, Havant, had just as voracious an appetite. Being a dog it was expected.
    Their holiday to France wasn’t going well. The language was unfamiliar and the food was not as good as anticipated. It was four days before Fred discovered that they were in Hamburg. And, whilst it was just two letters shy of his favourite word, it wasn’t in France.

    Things began to look up when they went for a couple of currywurst after a big breakfast. They got chatting to a groovy guy by the wurst-stand about all things sausage related ,which had got them a) excited and b) hungry again. Being at the wurst-stand that had been easy to deal with. There was always room for one more sausage.

    They shared a funny cigarette with Groovyman, which made them giggle. He said he’d never seen a dog smoke before. Fred said it happened regularly, usually when he’d spilt cooking oil on Havant.

    Groovyman enquired why he was called Havant. Fred explained that it was short for Havant A. which left him none the wiser. He then told them about the sausage barge, where the price for a four hour trip includes an ‘All That You Can Eat’ buffet. They weren’t going to miss this opportunity, so they heading down to the docks with big loping strides and stupid grins.

    At the docks everything was a bit blurry. Clearly they were in danger of fainting from hunger. So they got onboard the SS Hamburger with expectant bellies and an aim to make the buffet their home. Havant A. realised something was amiss when their boat passed through a series of locks without the gates opening. The lack of taste to the buffet wasn’t an issue, but the lack of substance was. When the captain turned up minus his head even Fred thought something was amiss.

    Then they smelled the Sausage Cruise pass in the other direction. It was a good job Havant could swim and Fred could float.

    2+
  10. 14 September 2019 at 4:03 pm

    stoner; ghost ship; comedy
    287 words

    Oscar

    The USS Bronson departed the solar system on the first Wednesday in October, carrying 420 tons of prime marijuana for trade on the rim. Its wormhole jumps were automated.

    By the first jump, the crew, consisting of Oscar Slama, was baked. He sat in the captain’s chair with a bowl of chips in his lap.

    In front of him, he appeared.

    “Wha…?” he said.

    “Don’t freak out,” Oscar 4-6 said. “I’m just more you, in the fourth, fifth, and sixth dimensions.”

    “Whoa,” Oscar said.

    “Got a light?” asked Oscar 4-6.

    After a second wormhole jump, as the ship navigated n-space on its trip to the rim planets, Oscar 7-9 joined the others, who, using a bong, were now ozzy. He immediately commenced baking brownies, a smoking blunt held between his clenched teeth.

    Croned, the three talked about the meaning of life with others who joined them subsequently.

    “It definitely has something to do with this yup yup,” Oscar 64-66 said.

    “Dude, it’s like … like … life,” Oscar 90-92 said.

    “Having trouble finishing my sentenc… ” Oscar said. Oscar 99-101 refilled his bowl with organic, unsalted puffed peas.

    “How many are me?” Oscar said. “I mean, how many of dimensions of me are they …?”

    “Infinite,” said Oscar 19948892…

    More wormholes, more dank. Infinitely more Oscars, steetched.

    “Let’s all squeeze in together,” Oscar said. “Dudes, I am so fazed …”

    “Dude, not out here in n-space. You got to stay spread out in n-space.”

    “No, squeeze in,” Oscar said with the frown of the chonged.

    They burned the crops. They squeezed in, all infinity of them.

    The ship flew on, empty of Oscars and budda.

    The Oscars looked around.

    “Where are we?” they asked themself.

    “In this universe, we’re God,” said the part of Him most lit.

    “Dude!” they said.

    0
  11. Diego Piselli
    14 September 2019 at 5:04 pm

    THE BARGE
    Stoner, Ghost Ship, Comedy
    282 words
    The rumor had spread with lightning speed, fuelled by media coverage.
    A mahogany barge, loaded with Lebanese weed was floating somewhere in Amsterdam canals, unattended
    Smokers in coffee shops hotly debated the matter. Abe swore he saw it moored near Singel canal; Alwine claimed to be certain that the ship was far in the harbor; Rastafarian waiters fabled about an Iranian merchant, owner of the barge tugged along his princely yacht, vanished with a Circassian beauty.
    Eventually, on a warm summer Saturday night, the Quest had its beginning.
    Hordes of stoners, old hippies and weirdos of all kinds gathered in Dam square and started scouring all the canals, walking on the banks, boating or paddling in muddy waters: braver and youngsters went so far as to swim in the smelly current.
    The Quest was unsuccessful, but Saturday phantom barge hunting became a fixed meeting. If interest decreased, the press reported a new sighting and people got back to the endless hunting. Hunters set up groups and association named by famous weed smokers of the past. Each group had a leader, a hymn, a flag.
    And every Saturday evening Mr. Janssen, managing editor of “Amsterdam Today”, savored happily the silence of his flat in Central Amsterdam, a little nest in a medieval alley crowded with coffee shops. No more yelling, no more stoners’ noise. No more frantic strolling of excited people along the cobblestone street.
    All the smokers had gone away, searching for the barge.
    His little article full of question marks and drop hints about a mysterious barge had proved useful, and he could eventually savor domestic pleasures in peace. “Marijuana enthusiasts are like children,” he said to himself “they believe anything”.

    6+
  12. 14 September 2019 at 7:44 pm

    @the_red_fleece
    http://www.theredfleece.co.uk
    stoner/ghost ship/comedy
    Word Count – 260

    Clang! Clang! Clang!
    The sound reminded Midshipman Smythe of the death march if it was played badly by a toddler on kitchen pans. What was scarier was the lack of bodily panic symptoms. His heart hadn’t tried to explode. His stomach hadn’t emptied like a freshly flushed toilet. Nothing was doing nothing in fact. Peter, the welcome guy, had warned him about this but it took some getting use to.
    “Is that her Midshipman?” His Captain pointed at the blue haired girl hitting the ships pipes.
    “Yes Sir.”
    “Madam.” The captain pulled herself to the full height of her tall frame. “How did you get on board?”
    “I don’t know man.” She didn’t look at the captain. Instead she gazed off to the left, as if following an excitable fly.
    “Madam, I am very much not a man.”
    She blinked three times, each time she forced her eyes as wide as she could. “You are so pale…wo-man. Did I get that right? Wo-man.”
    She giggled to herself.
    The Captain did not see the funny side. “Madam! How did you get on board this ship?”
    “Space cakes.” Her hand becomes a rocket which follows the same trajectory as her imagined fly. She takes the same level of interest.
    The Captain groans. “Midshipman?”
    “Yes Captain.” He clips his heels together, disappointed at the lack of noise. Another thing he has to get use to.
    “Go find the Chaplin. Tell him to prepare for a bio-exorcism. I won’t have a breather on my ghost ship.”

    3+
  13. 14 September 2019 at 10:09 pm

    @EdenSolera
    150 Words
    Unmasked Villain; Spooky Location; Drama

    Inferno

    Flames flickered in the oppressive darkness, solitary among thousands. A tall woman strode around them, her high-necked red dress flowing dangerously close to the light. Watching her, bathed in the shadows, were hundreds of people, their breathing heavy in the air of anticipation.

    She spun to face them, her eyes flashing as they reflected the flames. Her voice thundered through the deadened space. Disdain blanketed the group, suffocating even the bravest of her followers.

    Weakness was unacceptable, this they knew, but they had still managed to disappoint her. All fell to their knees, bowing their heads to the shame brought on by her piercing glare.

    She reached down to grab one of the candles, holding it in such a way that her face was cast in a ghostly light. Swiftly, her fingers were enveloped in the burning wax. Everyone else hissed, shocked, yet impressed by her stoicism.

    Flames smoldered still.

    2+
  14. Lindsey P
    16 September 2019 at 9:48 am

    I guess mine didn’t get saved…oh well.

    1+
    • Lindsey Pittenger
      16 September 2019 at 9:51 am

      298 Words

      Bookworm; Mine; Mystery

      The Case of the Canned Canaries

      As they ventured further down the dimly lit tunnel, Miranda pulled her book closer to her face, squinting to make out the words, comparing them to her surroundings. Everything seemed to be just as she’d expected. The construction of the mine shaft seemed stable and matched the text, which eased her growing sense of claustrophobia, but there was something that still just didn’t seem right. She hadn’t noticed that she’d slowed to a stop until the man behind her nearly knocked her over.

      “Oomf—sorry about that. Need to watch where I’m going a bit more,” he said with a sheepish grin.

      “I’m fine,” she said, clutching the book to herself and waving him away. Ignoring the dismissal, he pointed at her treasured cargo.

      “So what are you reading down here that’s so important to gum up the traffic?” he asked jovially, lowering his pickaxe from his shoulder.

      “Oh, this?” She held up the book. “It’s just an old book about mines. I figured I’d bring it along for some good-natured analysis. This mine seems similar to the one in the book, but the thing that’s been concerning me the most is the canaries.”

      “Canaries?” he asked, confused, briefly glancing around the shaft as though he’d missed something.

      “There aren’t any,” she said matter-of-factly, reopening her book, “Here, they use canaries as a warning system for noxious gases to keep people from dying, but this whole time we’ve been here, I haven’t seen a single one.” The look on her face fell as he burst into laughter.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, pointing to a box on the wall. “I think this sensor is that canary you’re looking for. Don’t worry, we are monitoring the safety of the air down here. At any rate, hope you’re enjoying your tour!”

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