Author: Spring Writing Contest

This story was entered in our Winter Writing Contest. You can read all the stories from the contest here.

The Warmth of Blankets

May 3, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Historical Fiction, Hot 0 Comments

At the end of every night, Celestine insisted that she comb her daughter’s hair.

She had good reason. As they braved the hot, sweaty bogs of the Deep South, stubborn bits of nature would stick to them as they hid from men and dogs in gnarled bushes and impenetrable dens of thorn and vine.

So as the moon fell that night and pink tremors appeared in the east, she took Winnie’s shoulder and said, “Let’s rest here.”

The girl’s face soured. She made to keep walking.

“I don’t wanna. There’s a station ahead.”

The mother shook her head and sat cross-legged on a patch of earth between two arching palmettos.

“No, it isn’t safe,” she said. “Come here and sit.”

Pearl’s Bucks

May 2, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Hot 0 Comments

When Pearl Diamond walked up to the soda fountain at Shelby’s for her Friday afternoon chicken-salad sandwich and iced tea, she stopped dead. The friendly smiles she expected from the citizens of Pleasantburg had gone missing. Instead, eyes turned toward her and quickly looked away, faces reddened, and Pearl faltered as she slid onto her usual stool. She checked her make-up and hair in the mirror.

Finally she spoke. “So who died?”

Silence. The waitress brought her tea.

“Pearl, we’re so sorry,” she said.

Arthur Went In

April 28, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Magical Realism 0 Comments

Arthur finally decided to go in. Having never been inside the adult toy store, this was going to be the day.

Arthur was twenty-two, in college … and still a virgin. He had a lean body, a headful of thick raven black hair, and a warm and inviting smile. He had a quick wit and sparkling blue eyes. By the simple odds alone Arthur should have already gotten laid. Unfortunately Arthur lacked self-confidence. As such he was painfully shy and inhibited beyond measure and that’s what did him in.

Being unlaid, the issue at hand became self-satisfaction. Eventually Arthur’s reliance on the basic procedure left him feeling unsatisfied. He yearned for something besides internet porn to help him finish the job.

Thus he often found himself parked in the lot of The Pink Cherry adult toy store, too timid to go in. Arthur looked at the dash and saw it was two o’clock. He had sat there for thirty minutes. He groaned, wrenched his fingers off of the steering wheel and finally got out of the car.

The Red Herring League

April 26, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Historical Fiction 11 Comments

Sir,

The following correspondence was discovered when a safe deposit box with a one-hundred-year deposit was opened upon the expiration of said deposit. As your firm originally established the account, I have forwarded it to you in hopes you may find a legal recipient.

If you are unable to find anyone entitled to it, as a member of the Board of Directors of the Victoria and Albert Museum, we would gladly accept this message from Sherlock Holmes’ arch nemesis Professor Moriarty. This recounting of his first encounter with Holmes, composed while en route to his final, and fatal rendezvous with him at the Reichenbach Falls, is a priceless piece of British history. Be assured we would proudly display his version of their first meeting with the public, which would grant The Professor’s wish that his voice be heard beyond the grave.

Respectfully,

HW

Still Friends

April 25, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Hot, Thriller/Suspense 9 Comments

He bolted upright in bed and peered into the darkness, listening. After a few seconds, he shook his head and started to lay back down, but the pounding sound came back.

He threw off his sheets t and hurried down the short hallway in his boxers, flipping on lights as he went.

The pounding grew more frantic.

He heard the wind howling against the house and sirens in the distance.

He put his eye against the peephole and jumped back when the door shook again under the pounding.

He looked through again, paused, sighed, and put in the code to turn off the alarm and opened the door.

Bread And or On Water

April 21, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Drama 0 Comments

I can’t see a thing. Maybe I’m dead.

I sigh. Nope. Not dead. I can still breathe. “Joel, are you here?”

No answer. I know he’s not here, can’t be here. Unless it was a dream—a bad dream.

Whatever drug they gave me, it’s worn off. They’ve moved me again. This place doesn’t smell so moldy. I sit up, slowly, then stand, cautiously. Don’t want to bump my head on something. Stretching out my arms, I gauge the size of this space. About 6-foot square, it’s the smallest room yet. But plenty of room to lie down. Curled into a fetal position, I try to go into meditation mode again. Sometimes I play old songs and movies in my head–anything to pass the time, to pretend I’m not who I am, where I am, to forget how I got here. Memories hurt, prayers have become hollow words. Consciousness gradually slips away; the line between reality and horrific dreaming blurs.

Up in Flames

April 19, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Hot 0 Comments

Grace had never lived up to her name, which was why she found herself whimpering in front of the house she had accidentally set on fire. She was still gripping the matchbook she had discovered in her husband’s jacket, along with Tracy’s address and an invitation for Ryan to come over anytime scribbled on the inside. Judging from the many hearts scrawled at the end, that invitation did not include Grace.

She was headed for jail, all because she had knocked over a candle. It hadn’t been on purpose, but that probably didn’t matter when arson was involved. There was a loud pop from inside and Grace recoiled. She drew a deep breath and decided she would have to do the responsible thing, no matter how unpleasant. She was a mature adult. In the distance, sirens began to sound.

She dropped the matches and ran.

Shovel of Souls.

April 7, 2017 by Spring Writing Contest 2017 Spring Writing Contest, Fantasy 0 Comments

Inside a grey cubicle over a period of time, your enthusiasm drains and your appetite for life dissolves. You have a squeaky chair, recycled air and plastic plants for forty hours a week. You need something to tax your brain as well as the body. Answering monotonous internet connectivity questions isn’t challenging.

Then a random ad in a free-sheet paper caught the attention.

“Applications sought for a gravedigger. Tools will be supplied on site. Applicants must be over eighteen, fit and healthy. Must be willing to work unsociable hours, including weekends. Salary will be consummate with experience.”

I sent off the email application. and got an immediate reply. I had an interview that very evening at St. Michael’s Rectory and advised to dress appropriately.