# June 2016 - LM - Picture Prompt (1 Viewer)



## kilroy214

*LITERARY MANEUVERS
*
*Picture Prompt
(see below)*​
The winner will receive a badge pinned to their profile and given a month’s access to FoWF where you’ll have access to hidden forums and use of the chat room.  

This is a Fiction writing competition, and the prompt is this picture that should, in some way, relate to your work. 

 The Judges for this round are: *PrinzeCharming* , *squidtender, kilroy214* and * midnightpoet*
 If you want to judge and I left you out, send me your scores by the deadline. If you're listed here and don't wish to judge, let me know at once (please).

 All entries that wish to retain their first rights should post in the *LM Workshop Thread.*

 All Judges scores will be PMed to*kilroy214*. 

All anonymous entries will be PMed to *kilroy214*.


*Rules*








*All forum rules apply.* The LM competition is considered a creative area of the forum. If your story contains inappropriate language or content, do _not_ forget add a disclaimer or it could result in disciplinary actions taken. Click *here* for the full list of rules and guidelines of the forum.
*No Poetry!* Nothing against you poets out there, but this isn’t a place for your poems. Head on over to the poetry challenges for good competition over there. Some of us fiction people wouldn’t be able to understand your work! Click *here* for the poetry challenges. Play the prose-poem game at your own risk.
*No posts that are not entries into the competition are allowed.* If you have any questions, concerns, or wish to take part in discussion please head over to the *LM Coffee Shop. *We’ll be glad to take care of your needs over there.
*Editing your entry after posting isn’t allowed.* You’ll be given a ten minute grace period, but after that your story may not be scored.
*Only one entry per member.*
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.* If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word is the standard for checking this. If you are unsure of the wordcount and don't have Word, please send your story to me and I'll check it for you.







*There are a few ways to post your entry:*








If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *Workshop* which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights, in case you wish to have the story published one day. Note: If you do post it in the workshop thread, you must post a link to it here in this thread otherwise your story may not be counted.
You may post your story anonymously. To do so, send your story to the host of the competition. If you wish to have us post it in the workshop thread then say so. Your name will be revealed upon the release of the score.





Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score. Please refrain from 'like'-ing or 'lol'-ing an entry until the scores are posted.

Judges: In the tradition of LM competitions of yore, if you could send the scores one week after deadline it will ensure a timely release of scores and minimize the overall implementation of porkforking. Please see the *Judging Guidelines* if you have questions. Following the suggested formatting will be much appreciated, too. 

*This competition will close on:*

Wednesday, June 15th, at 11:59pm

Scores would be appreciated by Monday, June 27th.

Click here for the current time.


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## Boofy

*Sally, Mittens and You.*

   If you wanted to, you could walk for about five minutes in that direction and wind up in the spot where the road disappears beneath the loam. Hell, if you do it soon our paths might cross. We could exchange a glance or a word of greeting. I’m wearing a black sweatshirt and tired blue jeans.

   But for its few fading urban scars, this forest is devoid of the markers of humanity. Long since disconnected from the grid, the lamps that once watched over the roadside are no more than benign skin tags. The earth looks restless, dirt rallying in mounds at the edge of the tarmac. 

   I’m heading back to town. I ignore the urge to take my hands from my pockets and rub my fingers together instead. The sensation is dull, like when I decorated my room with Mum. There was paint coating my hands before I’d even finished the skirting boards. It had a thicker consistency than Sally’s blood, but I have no other basis for comparison. 

   There’s a light up ahead. Is that you? Maybe I’ll wave as I pass you by. 

   Well, if that _was_ you, you weren’t very forthcoming. I grinned and you made eye contact for a brief moment before giving your attention back to the road. Not a flicker of a smile nor a tilt of your head. I’m sure I’d have noticed. It’s dark but your features were illuminated by the torch in your hand. Then, maybe you’re just distracted. I was distracted a few hours ago, when I was heading that way. Where are you going?

   You actually look a little bit like my neighbour. You could be him. That’s unlikely, though. The guy doesn’t leave the house without that dog trailing along in his wake. I’m certain you wouldn’t like it. Yappy little thing.

   You know what? I’m gonna keep you company. I stop and close my eyes. I want to savour this. I shift my weight and swing on the ball of my foot, a clean 180 degrees. I suck in great gulps of air through my nose. I open my eyes and you’re a dot in the distance, but it’s enough. 

   I take my hands from my pockets. I don’t feel compelled to look at them at all, any more. I take a step towards you. Then another. Then six more. My pace quickens with my breathing. My arms are pumping, a blur of red. You’re still a bobbing light, but you’re expanding rapidly. I can see the reflection of the torch beam on your waterproof duffle coat. You’re turning, perhaps to greet me. You turn away, _again_. That kind of pissed me off the first time but I’m over it now.

   I can see your expression, or lack thereof. You’re rooted to the spot right where the road dissolves into nothing. Now you’re on the ground beneath me. Your eyes are wide like Alex’s were when those bastards tried to brainwash him. How are they staying open like that on their own? 

   I don’t think we’ve ever spoken before. I want to find the perfect words for you. The first words you hear me say will be the last words you ever hear. Don’t blame me. You could have just said hi. 

   “I buried your dog next to Mrs. Hinkleys Cat, in case you were wondering.”

   Well, I always did have a flare for the dramatic.


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## kilroy214

A Well-Traveled Road
by anonymous
 (650 words)

http://www.writingforums.com/threads/166068-June-2016-LM-Picture-Prompt


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## rubisco

Fitbitten (643 words)
by Rubisco




A sharp chill wind blasted through the bare trees lining a sad road during the autumn dusk. Some lone leafs still hanging on for dear summer gave up the ghost and listlessly drifted upon the wind to inevitably clot together and clog some gutter further down the broken road.


Marvin hurried down the road, walking as fast as he could, not even noticing the shadows darting between the trees. He was running out of time. Waving his arms like a maniac, pushing against the horrible headwind, he powered forward. 


After all, his coworkers would kill him if he arrived to work tomorrow 5,000 steps short of his activity goal. 


He lifted his right wrist to check on his progress. It was the wrist with his watch on it.


“Gah!” Marvin said. He had a fifty-fifty chance, and it seemed like he always forgot which hand had his Fitbit on it. It was stupid moments like these that made him feel his coworkers always expected him to fail. Well, fail he might some days, but not today!


He lifted up his left wrist and checked in on his Fitbit. 2,227 steps. he needed to make 7,000 before work tomorrow, and the sun was already setting. Well, there was nothing he could do but put one foot in front of the other along the broken and worn dotted line in the middle of the road. 


“Just wait until Emily and Pete see how far I walked today!” he whispered to himself, as to not disturb and anger the wind threatening to push him backward.


He smiled and pumped his arms back and forth in rhythm as his legs carried him along. A hairy blur darted across the road in front of him. 


“What was that?” He looked around and seemed to see the naked trees for the first time. “Or a better question . . . where am I?” Another hairy blur darted across the road behind him.


“I’m sure it was just a bear,” said Marvin. He kept walking. Bears were friendly and nice. All they did was eat honey all day. Sweet, soft, and cuddily-wuddily. Two more shadows ran between the trees to his right side, kicking up crunchy leaves into the air. A harrowing howl reverberated through the forest.


“Where did that come from?” Marvin stopped walking and stared up at the darkened sky. The moon was faintly visible above the horizon. “It sounded like that sound came from the moon.” He shrugged and continued to walk. 3,000 steps, boo-yah.


Then he heard the growls. “Odd,” he muttered as he rubbed his protruding stomach, “why would my stomach be rumbling? I ate just two hours ago.” He pulled a candy bar out of his pocket and started eating it just in case. He was so prepared for this walk his coworkers would be impressed for sure when they heard about it.


He hummed to himself as he ate his candy bar as he walked on and on. 3,500 steps, oh yeah!The hairy shadows started to circle around him and close in.


***
One week later the police arrived to Barry’s Furnishings. Emily stood when they walked in the door and rushed over. “Did you find him?”


“Mam, we have some bad news. We found has wallet, watch, and step tracker, nothing else. We’re sorry.”


Pete walked out from the back room. “Did I hear that right? You didn’t find Marvin? Oh my God, where did you find those things?”  


“A forest ranger found them about five miles off the forest road in a wolf den.”


Emily took Marvin’s Fitbit. “He didn’t get to finish our competition.” She looked at the number of steps logged on it.


“Pete, Marvin took 6,995 steps his last day!”


“Pay up, I told you he’d fail.”


Emily went to get her purse. Indeed, Marvin had failed her again.


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## StoneFrog

The Raven's Road (637 words )

Among the looming shadows of the weakening day, from the same black cloth, another was made. Rising and falling, a current against an ebony sea. The fluttering of wings, the only sound as it lands, perched near the road. The tree’s round mass between the fading light, shroud-wrapped, waiting for the task set.

A unique time, laid out in tales and folklore of this region, though now mostly died out with the eagerness of the modern life.  Generations distorting the landscape and details, such a mark which snakes through the trees. One that has not always been there, but by now has been there a fair time. The observer still holding his watch, he too made of this moment.

Tapping - tenderfoot down a dirt path, a girl just past the gates of adulthood. She’s lead by the tales, of which variant I know not. Was it a wish to be fulfilled, or a trial of youth that drove her here? At the roadside she stopped, the low light casting shadows hiding her features, long red hair curled down her face.

The blue glow of her phone surrounded her hand, her attention absorbed. Soon the colour drained from her silhouette, leaving a blue glow to distinguish her from the trees. A slight mist had settled in the trees, the winged observer unsettled. Breaking the anonymity of the shadows, he rustled his feathers and squawked. Soon after he darted through the shadows, diving in protest at the girl. He broke his task of a spectator, now a participant. A quick turn in the air, the broad flight feathers spread out wide. Again he releases a lance toward the girl.

“What the hell?” Her arms flailing.

The blue glow now left her hand, her absent feature sat on the ground.

“Was that real, where has it gone?”

The black assailant found itself back among his shroud, I felt he was still not eased.

With a hesitant surveillance of the trees, she knelt down, picking up her phone. Brushing off the dirt and leaves, she checked for lack of functions in the device. The sky getting even darker – so she would believe. In fact, the truth is that there towered another by her side. Without a single sense being triggered, a tall slender woman now stood but a breath away.

Finally, the new presence noticed by the girl, she launched her legs out, an effort to gain some distance; instead causing her to stumble onto her side. Dressed in a white gown adorned with gold embroidery, the slender woman stood unmoved.

“Where did you come from?” A wisp of panic still in her voice.

Before any response could be made, the squawking shadow leapt into action again. Instead of the girl, jabbing and clawing at the woman. More ferocious than the efforts before, every possible effort being made to lunge. My hand forced, a spirit of my binding would attack a Noble; It had to stop.

The black spirit turning its wings to once more lash out, feathers under the strain of flight suddenly fell limp. A single black feather bound by a red ribbon circles in the air - all but it remains of the winged shadow.

The slender woman raises her voice. “Who is the master?”  

A pulling sensation gripped my chest before I knew it, I was no longer in my study. Cool air and crunch of dead leaves now under foot.

“Forgive me, your Grace!” Quick to my knees I fell, though the effort hollow.

“Your lack of respect shows, to bind a spirit native to this area – pathetic. Anyone half worthy would know better than to risk it.”

The girl inching ground under her body, unable to move more than that, out of fright. The trapper and the bait, now destined for the same fate.


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## Rookish

Fallen Leaves (643 words)


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## kilroy214

Hm
by anonymous

"Hm."

"Hm? Is... that all you're going to say?"

"Hm? No."

"Oh. I see." She reached a long, slender finger outwards from the hem of her dress. Gently, she brought the tip of it to bear against a dry wooden thorn, attached to the stem of a rose, itself growing off of a vine, crawling this way and that up a million tiny cracks in the road, the pavement warm, bathed in the yellowish glow of the autumn sun. The thorn pricked her finger. A bead of blood welled up. "So pretty."

"Don't touch that." He said. His voice cracked with concern, but she took it for irritation. Biting her lip, she reached out and upwards with her arms, stretching out and meowing like a cat. She lay back onto the pavement. Thorns and brambles scratched and bit into the fabric. The loose gossamer of her dress did nothing to prevent their stabs, and they tore at her skin. She made herself comfortable. The man cursed, and spat. "Stop that." he said, coming over to her.

She looked up at him from atop her bed of thorns. He stood above her, his feet north of the crown of her skull, his brows furrowed. "Why should I?" She purred. "It's actually not that bad, the pain. It feels good. You should try it." She brought her finger up to her face, and slowly wrapped her lips around it. They were moist and red, and in the drafty, yellow haze, one could not distinguish flesh from blood. "You'll never feel it." She said.

"Why is that?"

"Because you're always standing. And you never take off your boots." She said.

He shook his head, and walked away from her, until he was alone a little further down the wood. The road had broken up into chunks. Large sections of asphalt lay scattered here and there, conquered and claimed by the invading brambles and vines. Off to the side of it, the ground sloped suddenly downward, and was covered in all manner of leaves, and underbrush. He found a spot on the pavement, right at the edge of the slope, and sat down.

There was something in the air. It stilled and made sleep all manner of things in the forest, but the insects were immune. They crawled in the underbrush, chittered with each other via the vast, dense network of roots and colonies. They slithered and wriggled, and climbed, and jumped and hopped, crept and croaked, and loved, lived, laughed, died. The sound was deafening.

"It's... so... quiet..." she placed her arms around him, having followed him up the path. Having caught him in her embrace, she leaned in, and kissed him slowly, passionately, on his neck. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" She asked. Her voice was warm, caring, though he took it for mischief. It did not matter, as gently, and slowly, he untied the laces on his boots, and with some effort cast them aside. He did the same with his socks, until his feet and legs lay bare in the mulchy undergrowth, touched and tickled by the cold and brittle breeze. She saw him do this, yet remained quiet for some time. "You're going to get hurt." She said at last.

"Hm."

"Hm? ... is that all you're going to say?"

"Hm."


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## kilroy214

Serendipity
By anonymous

http://www.writingforums.com/threads/166068-June-2016-LM-Picture-Prompt?p=2006270#post2006270


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## kilroy214

What Did You Expect? (mature content warning)
By anonymous



Scott ran as fast as he could, glancing behind his shoulder in fear. 
The road was wisened, cracked and weathered. The trees were ancient towering braches, puckered and wrinkled with age, that curled, leefless, around the heavy fog, casting shadows on the dark road. It was ghost-quiet, not even a bird dared open its beak for fear of disturbing the heavy silence. 
Scott kept running, his feet kept scrambling over potholes and roots. He would prefer to face this creepy forest than turn back. This place was far more pleasant that the group of his classmates who were chasing him with malicious intent. The sixteen-year-old picked up the pace when he heard hyena laughter echoing though the forest.
“Oi, faggot, get back ‘ere!” a gruff voice yelled.
Scott kept running, looking behind him again. His foot caught in a pothole. Scotts ankle jerked and twisted, and he fell to the ground. He felt his knee scrape off the tarmac.
He heard thundering footfalls and a collective whoop of glee.
Get up, he told himself. Get the fuck up.
Scott shot up, his ankle throbbing. He needed to get out of here. He needed to run.
But it was too late.
Jeremy Smith and his crew began creeping out of the trees, identical sneers plastered to their faces. Jeremy, a tall, thickly built guy lead the way, flanked by his cronies. For some reason, Jeremy and his little group were the only people in Searoad High who had a problem with Scott.
Dickheads.
The gang grouped in a circle around Scott, closing around him, using their thick muscular bodies to trap him. They were cackling with malice, cracking their knuckles in preparation.
“Alright, Blowjob?” sneered one guy. His name was Kyle, a guy who’d failed everything since first year.
“Faggot,” blurted Finn, a guy who had been to a total of ten days of school that term. 
“Gay boy.”
“Wanker.”
“Queer.”
A chorus of slurs streamed from their mouths. Scott glanced around wildly, his heart thumping. Spying a gap in the circle of bodies he made a run for it, shoving past the smallest guy in the group with all of his strength. There was an uproar of yells as he ran.
“Get him!”
“C’mere, cocksucker.”
Scott’s legs pumped faster than before as he sprinted down the road. Loud, crude yells followed him. He could hear their footsteps following in pursuit. One by one they gave up, until Scott was once again surrounded by silence.
His heart was thundering in his ears, and he slowed to a stop. Bent double, he gasped for breath.
“Tossers,” he muttered under his breath. 
Suddenly something barrelled into Scott’s legs. He was tackled to the ground and off the side of the road. In a daze of dark colours, Scott felt like he was rolling down a hill. Actually, he felt quite ill now. Not to mention bruised. He cracked his eyes open, to see Jeremy Smith straddling his waist. They were, indeed, at the bottom of a hill. Adrenaline was pumping through Scott’s system, spiking through his palpitating heart.
Holy –
Jeremy’s mouth crashed onto his. Scott squirmed and tryed to pry himself away. Jeremy sat up.
“Sent them the other way,” he said, smirking.
“What the – you’re?...” Scott couldn’t find words.
Jeremy just grinned. Scott gaped at him, shaking his head in confusion. That was unexpected, but not altogether unwelcome. Jeremy was fucking fit, and Scott had no qualms about his current position.
“Jesus, I should have known,” said Scott, flopping back onto the ground. Jeremy laughed quietly, and leaned in again, but Scott stopped him, his eyes narrowing.
“Jeremy,” he began, sitting up. “You can’t just treat me like a piece of shit everyday, then just, do, whatever you just did.”
“C’mon, Scott,” Jeremy almost purred, grinning again.
Scott sighed. He was a teenage boy, what else was he gonna do?
“Fuck it.”


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## Ibb

*The Irritating Benevolence of the Vegan New Age Nature Bitch / 647 Words / Language*

I wanted to die. I at least wanted somewhere to cool off. I scuttled from leaf to leaf, flittered from branch to branch, cowered inside any and all pools of shade, even plopped down onto the earth and dug out my own little trench in the soil, pressing my legs and belly as far down as they’d go in search of a sweet air conditioning-like sanctuary; all of it, ultimately, to no avail. Alas! It was just too fucking hot.
 
Finally I smashed into a screen door and fell between patio cracks. Hallelujah! Sweet darkness enveloped me and laid me on my back. I was happy; I could die here; I waited to die. 

Wafts of the coolest most delicate air changed my mind and spurred me into frenzy. I rolled onto my stomach. What was this? A tickling of cool sensations rolled over my head and back. I traced the ephemeral stream back to its sacred source. My head bumped into glass. Sweet Jesus! I bumped it again. Then I bumped it a_gain_, backing up and resuming the butts until at last I hit not glass but open air, falling face-first into oblivion and landing with a thud onto my back onto the surface of a cardboard box. I wiggled until I was upright. Left; right; left-right; left-right left-right; leftrightleftrightyoufuckingmotherfuckerleftrightleftrightleftfuckingright―aha! Upright. Cool at last. I reveled in my new domicile. 

I had a sudden craving for light. I flew up the stairway towards an open window, landed on the sill, and basked in my new retreat. Voices bickered in the nearby room. 

“Why is it always about _money_, though?”

“I’m just saying the electricity shouldn’t be that high.”

“Well if we have the _air conditioning_ on, then of course it’s going to be_ higher_.”  

“We had the AC on last year for the entire summer and it wasn’t this high.”

The voices grew gradually closer.

“I just don’t think we should _argue_ about it.”

“Who’s arguing?”

“I feel like we’re always talking about _money_.”

“_I’m_ talking about the electric bill.”

Listening to them made me want to kill myself. I scuttled along the windowsill in search of a silent section. 

“Ah!”

“What?”

“John, look!”

John looked. I kept scuttling. 

“Okay,” he said, and I sensed he wanted to kill himself, too. 

“Hold on.”

In the next moment I was engulfed in darkness, entombed in folds, and borne across invisible plains. 

“Just kill it,” I heard behind me.

The ceilings of my prison peeled away. I faced the open world of outdoors. Oh fucking Jesus.

“Be free, little bug!” I was trapped on a napkin and the napkin undulated as she shook it. I clung to it and beat against the current with my wings. “That’s it!” she shouted. “That’s it! Fly!” Just kill me, I thought. Just fucking kill me. The currents won and took me spiraling towards the grass. I cursed the vegan new age nature bitch before crashing into the field. The door closed behind her. I appeared ten minutes later at my same spot on the windowsill.

“Another one!”

“It’s the same one,” John said. 

I flew away, but she chased me with a cup. “I’m not going to hurt you!” I bounded through the air, desperate and confused, then spiraled helplessly into the craftily maneuvered cup. She made a roof of her hand, preventing my escape. I watched in horror as we approached the door and as the world was upended. Out I went; into I returned.

“Where are they coming from?” she finally inquired.

“I told you,” said John. “There’s a _crack_ somewhere.”

“I am _done_ talking about this.”

She left the room. 

“Ally,” John said. “Ally, come _on_.”

He sighed. I scuttled extra tiredly. He tore off a single paper towel, then turned to me.

“Time to go,” he said.

Time to go, I thought.

Goodbye, sun.

Goodbye, summer.

Goodbye, air conditioning.

Goodbye!


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## CJL4307

[FONT=&Verdana]*Saturday Stroll 
(650 words)
*
My eyes were captured, a winding and twisting expanse of battered and war torn pavement lay before me. Framed with fallen leaf, haunted by looming branch. I wondered aloud to myself at the destination. Exercising everything within me to pull my eyes away from the decrepit trail, down to my GPS and back again. The wind continued to howl. Beating down on my already broken frame. My simple Saturday stroll had morphed into a jaunt of despair and I swore then that I would never listen to this blasted device again. The hollow voice taunted me, [/FONT]

“In 500 ft please continue for 3 miles.”  

How on earth had I gotten here? I couldn't help but extend my greatest grimace, fist to the sky. Cursing the blackest of all clouds. Yes, Google itself, directing me and my unsuspecting persons to the “middle of nowhere, USA.” 

There was no choice. My eyes studied the dimming screen in the palm of my hand. Yes for the umpteenth time, this was the ‘fastest route,’ the most direct for sure. But why it had lead me down a winding path to the fiery pits of hell, I could only imagine! And my imagination, I could admit, was slightly wild. 

Was this some master scheme, breathed from within Google headquarters? I could see it now, their fiendish minds bent upon the sole purpose of building my trust, only to trap me forever for purposes unknown. How diabolical, crazy, unthought of. 

Phew, I began to sigh, panting in wild excitement and fear. Was this simply some imaginative conjecture, fueled by these towering tree like sentries. Or could I really be on to the truth?

 I pondered, maybe a little too deeply, stroking my beard and weighing the options. There was forward... I paused, looking ahead at the uncertain path, or hmmm forward….? The second time through I couldn't help but feel slightly more unsure. The uncertainty played my heart like warped strings on an out of tune harp. Even the accompanying eerie music playing in my head was very much like what you'd expect to hear from such battered instrument. 

The only option pounded away at the doors of my mind. My inner being chanting away at the stubbornness of my will. Knock Knock. Open sesame. Oh for the love of god would you make up your mind already! Strangely, I felt myself obliged to answer back.

 “To be quite frank, I began to retort aloud, a please would do wonders!” 

My answer had jolted me back to reality and I rejoiced silently that I had overcome my very first bout of insanity. Surely an early indication that I had wandered around these thicketed roads, far too long. 

The sudden break in silence propelled me and I began a steady pace forward. My thoughts circling around to my poor old grandmother, surely frantic at my tardiness.  I could hear her lecture now.

“Don’t ya know that pie don’t stay warm forevah!” The croak of her voice echoed around the inside of my head.

 I stopped myself, picturing my grandmother’s perfect apple pies. A sweet dollop of majestically creamy, vanilla goodness heaped on top. 

My stomach began to growl angrily, like a fox that had fallen into a hen house. I guessed that if I was preoccupied enough with my food loving daydream, maybe then I wouldn’t fall prey to the drooping whip like branches. Perhaps the winding road might just refrain from swallowing me alive. If luck would have it the tree wisps would stay far, far away. 

Gulp, alright. Headspace... headspace. Mountains of pie with clouds of peace and ice cream, lots of ice cream. It was astounding just what the power of suggestion could complete. If I could only repeat this little phrase enough times, why certainly I would arrive safe and sound just like Google promised me. And there’d be pie enough for all.


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## Greyson

Memories in Mist (642 words)

http://www.writingforums.com/threads/166068-June-2016-LM-Picture-Prompt?p=2006851#post2006851


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## Sleepwriter

Satisfaction Guaranteed 649 words


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## W.Goepner

*A Hunting Trip (645 words)*


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## kilroy214

The Bend in the Road
by anonymous


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## kilroy214

Restless
by anonymous

His daughter's screams woke him again.
He got in the car and drove to the decrepit street and parked near the broken light pole.
He walked through a stand of trees, to a bare patch of earth where nothing grew, and knelt.
"You have to be quiet, baby," he whispered. "Daddy needs his sleep."


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## Makili

The janitor (645 words)

Trevor Nelson’s day was busier than usual. There was a storm the previous night, so he started his usual patrol itinerary expecting to see some damage around the factory grounds. First two halls were fine, but in the third, the wind broke in and deposited mounds of leaves and debris. He took time to sweep them away and made sure the doors and windows were firmly shut. 

On his way to the communal kitchen, a fox crossed his path. It was staring at him for a while, showing no fear, then continued sniffing the faint scent of old lunches that infused the derelict building walls. He set off to the outer perimeter to search for the hole through which the fox could have entered. At the far end of the grounds, he found out that an old oak collapsed over the fence, so he spent some time cutting the tree and fixing the wire.

 In the turbine hall he discovered that the violent gust of wind had broken the window. His footsteps and the clinking of the glass shards he collected were echoing across the empty hall where once great turbines hissed and hummed and dozens of sweaty workers shouted at each other.

Trevor had another half hour of a workday left when he finished all the repairs. He entered the reception cabin, poured himself a cup of stale tea, and stared at the large clock above the door.  He waited for the clock hands to arrive precisely to the hour, and then sounded the siren. Its harsh sound expanded across the factory grounds, scattered from the facades of empty buildings until it faded away. Trevor opened the main gate. Its hinges, eaten by rust that no amount of oiling could have prevented, gave a creaking sound, and now before him lay the factory access road he had to walk home. 

He beheld the deserted road, just as he did every day. Its crumbling paving covered with leaves and overgrown with canopies of trees that were reclaiming their realm. The evening mist was gathering giving it a primordial feel. Fatigue was overtaking him, flashes came before his eyes, and the misty road in front of him turned into a memory lane. 

He remembered when all this was a swamp – a piece of land that couldn’t be cultivated, and was good only for him and his friends to catch frogs for scaring the girls. How one day his father came excited with the news that a new factory will be built here. “Finally some decent work, my boy", said he smiling while gently stroking Trevor’s hair. 

He remembered the town rush as workers were pouring in from all over the region, and the first shovel that stabbed the earth at the spot where the gate of the future factory was meant to stand. He thought of the wondrous machines that drained the swamp, cleared the land, poured tons of concrete and gave it form. 

He remembered the mayor cutting the ribbon. Father and his comrades entering the new factory on their first working day, their eyes sparkling with hope. How father was proud when soon after, still a boy, Trevor was offered to help around the factory sending messages from hall to hall and assisting the old janitor. 

And he remembered how one day, as he was waiting for the workers’ bus at the gate stop, Rosy drove in her dad’s car and offered him a ride...

At this point, he willed himself to stop the reverie, as he knew that beyond the last memory, there wasn’t much he wanted to remember. The road was getting darker, the mist was thickening, and he needed to hurry if he was to reach his lonely home before dark. With footsteps muffled by the fog, down the abandoned road walked the old janitor, a man who couldn’t let go...


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## rcallaci

In the Mist of Things (650 words)

My name is Sebastian Calabrand. I’m nothing special, an ordinary Joe, just a regular guy trying to live a normal life. I work at a toy factory as a tool and die maker. I have a girlfriend, whom I’m madly in love with, a nice apartment and ride around in a beat up old Volkswagen. I’ve been told, (mainly by my girlfriend, Ileana) that I’m a good looking guy. I stand at 6 feet 2 inches; have blond hair, blue eyes, and a muscular physique. I’m in my early thirties with no particular religious affiliations, somewhat of a science and history buff, with a mad passion for chess. As I said, I’m just an ordinary guy, well not a nondescript, run of the mill, ordinary, but an interesting and well rounded ordinary. I’m by no means mad, crazy, or a loony wacka-doddle nut-job, but a guy trying to come to grips with the impossible, or what I thought was impossible, until now. 

Let me start from the beginning... we felt the car buckle as my engine light came on. Smoke and flicks of fire started to pour out of the engine in the back. We both leapt out of the car and ran away from it as fast as we could. A minute later my old friend (Harry the Volkswagen) burst into flames. It was a sight to behold, and a frightening one at that. The smell of burnt rubber, oil, and gasoline filled our nostrils. We hugged each other tight as we watched the old Bug burn.   

As the sun set the mist started rolling in. It was thick and swirly. The chill in the air touched and scratched at our bones. On both sides of the highway, oak trees loomed above us. The trees branches bereft of leaves swayed back and forth in a dance macabre. We found ourselves stuck in the middle of a damn forest smack in the heart of the desert state of Nevada. We tried to call for help but the bars on our phones were at zero. We started to panic as the mist crept closer. Ileana let out a cry as a hand with sharp bloody claws came out of the mist and pulled her in. I ran in after her and tackled the thing that had Ileana in its filthy grip. The beast was hideous; it looked like an Ogre, a monster found in fairytales and storybooks. I pounded it on its head with my phone while Ileana, freed from its grip, started punching and biting it in his lower regions. It howled in pain and then started to cry. It definably was a hairy male monster.

_“I was only trying to get your female out of harm’s way.”_ said the monster.  _“A piece of astral debris from the wreckage was headed towards her head. I think you and your female gave me a concussion and a case of rabies. You earthen humans are quite vicious and rude. I should send you to the pits of hell, you ungrateful children of a lesser god.”_

I stared into his ancient eyes and said, _“Forgive us for hurting you. We thought you wanted to eat us.  Where are we? What is this place? Who are you? Have we gone mad?” _

He stared at us, sighed and said,_” You’re in the land of lost dreams and legends. To the right of you are the gates of Heaven and to the left of you, Hell. I am a Reaper, but I do not reap your kind. I inadvertently opened the wrong mist gate. You got in an accident and entered the Reaper road. Your Reaper is not here to claim you so I guess you get a second chance at life. Get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”_

We woke up in our apartment, full of wonder and belief...












The End
​






RC
06-14-2016
©2016 Bob Callaci​


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## joshybo

*And Miles To Go... (648 words, language)
by joshybo*​


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## Ultraroel

*Decisions (635 words)*

My eyes bulged in their sockets as I watched the warren from my vantage point. Rabbiets, Hundreds of them gathered in front of the bonfire.
Small houses, streets and something that resembled a child-sized church were scattered around the burrow. The mask made my breath sound like deep rasps. 
The air saturated with toxins and radiation, the filter protested with every breath. 

I tracked Johns trail only a few kilometers south, then it stopped. Other than scattered provision across the clearing, I didn't find tracks. I circled the surroundings for hours, 
when I spotted the fire-smoke above the trees. My heart skipped, once I recognized the bloody mess that was Johns face hovering above the almost boiling water.

His head stuck above the steamy liquid. His face a mask of horror, he struggled to inhale steamy, polluted air into his lungs. He would die and I could do nothing. 
The polluted air contained hardly any oxygen, the radioactive matter made it worse. He was doomed before I started my search. 

The toxic mist hid me from spying eyes. Sentries that should have spotted me, were not on their posts. The excitement of eating meat ruffled their brains. 
I observed John, his struggle, before I climbed down the tree. The ground was covered in high grass and weeds, but it wasn't hard to find a sizable stone. 
I gathered stacks of weeds and grass and piled them below the tree before climbing it again,.

The sling felt heavy, my hands leaden and shaky. I fumbled the stone, almost dropped it before I firmly closed my hand around it. It was risky,  I could end up just like John. 
If I were in his shoes, I'd beg for this kind of mercy. 

The filter rasped and protested as I forced air in and out of mylungs in a rapid fashion. If I were going to do this, now was the time. Before I lost my courage, I stood and flung the stone straight at the red mass above the seething water. Before it hit, I landed on the ground and rolled forward to lessen the impact. 

I sprinted few meters before a howling sound erupted from the burrow, which quickly evolved to a feral snarl. I kept running without looking back.
Squeaks and high pitched sounds urged me to force my legs to run faster, to take bigger steps. Ragged breath and more rasping sounds erupted from me and the filter as I tried to increase my lead.

My vision went black as I slammed into the ground, my foot twisted by a hole in the ground. Grunting, I forced myself up to continue my sprint. I ignored the pain in my ankles, but I could not go any faster.
 A fresh draft touched my lips and caressed my warmcheeks. A muffled whimper escaped my lips as I realized the mask was broken.

The big hill in front of me, indicated I was close to the cave that led to our underground hide-out. The place that had been a safe harbor for many of our race, a place where we could hide until we found a way to right what we had wronged.  I turned my shoulders towards the hill, I was almost home. Almost safe. 

A high pitched scream made me turn in surprise. I wasn't as fast as I would have liked, I had not expected them to catch up to me.
 The high grass waved with hordes of Rabbiets that made their way towards me. No way to reach safety, I could not betray our hide-out. 

Forthe second time in an hour, I made the heaviest decision of my life. 

I turned away from the hill and sprinted as far and fast as my injured leg could take me, before my lungs stopped working.


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