# 11/12/2011-Fall In



## moderan (Nov 12, 2011)

The contest has officially begun. Your mission is to "pen" 650 words or less about the picture below:





Entries or a link to entries posted in the workshop thread should be placed in this thread and this thread only. Anything that isn't a story or a link is subject to immediate removal. Please direct any questions to the Coffee Shop thread.
The close will be Midnight Eastern US, 11/25/11. There will be a two-week judging period, with the judges' scores due by midnight Eastern US, 12/09/11. The judges for this round are myself, Bruno Spatola, KarlR, and aVa.
The winning entries will have the opportunity to appear in the monthly WF newsletter. Please keep the language pg.
All clear? Happy writing!


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## seyelint (Nov 12, 2011)

Okay. I wrote one for the Fall Flash - Was mentioned to post a link here. 

http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/125985-11-12-11-fall-thread.html#post1483196

It was fun and am looking forward to reading others. Thank you for the challenge.

S


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## Jeko (Nov 16, 2011)

Here's a link to mine:

http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/125985-11-12-11-fall-thread.html#post1483837

I really enjoyed that - I'll probably get involved in these challenges more often now. Hope you enjoy it, and thanks for such a brilliant image.


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## ClosetWriter (Nov 17, 2011)

This is my first attempt at one of these: http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/125985-11-12-11-fall-thread.html#post1484005


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## Monkey Doctor (Nov 18, 2011)

Here is my story for the competition. Death Anxiety 632 words.

http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/125985-11-12-11-fall-thread.html#post1484096


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## candid petunia (Nov 18, 2011)

*After The Fall*

Removed. ​


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## Nacian (Nov 18, 2011)

here is my piece *BitterSweet and Melody 
*http://www.writingforums.com/newreply.php?do=postreply&t=125985


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## bazz cargo (Nov 18, 2011)

470 words.  Nutters.


 There was a rustle as something bustled about beneath the carpet of leaves. Up popped the head of  Spin, her sharp eyes keeping watch for Trouble. Yes, there he was, running down the wall of the old folly. “Hoi, Trouble.”
 He stopped. “Zat you Spin?”
 “No, I'm a field mouse.”
 “Very funny.” He jumped the last few feet and landed in a leaf explosion.
 “Hey, careful, your disturbing my piles.”
 “Tough. I'm off to the strange clearings, see what's on the weird trees.”
 “Everyday you go there, and everyday you risk your life.”
 “But it's worth it. Lovely stuff on those weird trees.”
 “And what about the cats and dogs... and hawks.”
 “There was a lovely pair of Great tits dancing about one of them yesterday.”
 “There is no fool bigger than a dead squirrel.”
 “Maybe, but it's your turn to keep an eye on Grand Paw.” And with that, Trouble bounced away.


 Grand Paw was old.
 “Iz that you Spin?”
 “Yeah, Troubles off to the weird trees, so I get a shift at watching you sleep.”
 “Don't feel sleepy.”
 “What do you want to do, tell me about the Nut Lore?”
 “No, you've heard me so often, I spect  you could tell me better than I could tell you.”
 “Yeah; a nut never falls far from the tree.”
 “Where's Trouble?”
 “Weird trees.”
 “I swear the stuff he finds on those trees is doing him no good.”
 Spin smiled. “I don't like what it's doing to his digestive system.”
 “You don't! The smell will be what kills me.”
 “At least it will keep the nest warm.”
 “What a way to spend winter, warm and smelly.”
 “Close your eyes and count your nuts.”
 Grand Paw smiled. “Long ago, before the strange clearings, there was a forest of hazel nut trees. Now so few are left.”
 “Then dream of hazel nuts.”


 Spin sat and watched the old one sleep. An age, a while and some more time passed.


 “Hey Spin,” whispered Trouble.
 Spin turned from her task. “What now?”
 “Fancy a little break?”
 “A very short one.”
 “Come out side and see the sunset.”


 They sat side by side high in the tree. Spin gave a little sigh. “It's beautiful.”
 “Red sky at night, sheepdog's delight. Red sky in the morning, more cows burning.”
 “You have no romance in your soul.”
 “Nope. Hey, what has a hazel nut in every bite?”
 “What?”
 Trouble leapt from the branch, legs spread, tail fluttering. He was aiming for the biggest drift of leaves, for the most spectacular landing. His voice dopplered  away. “Squirrel droppings.”


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## egpenny (Nov 18, 2011)

*The Stone Portal
*(636 words)

Sam was unhappy, his life was in a shambles and the gun in his pocket was the only way left for him. He walked the trail, waiting for just the right place to come. Normally he liked the fall, the weather was mild, summer's heat was gone and winter's chill had yet to show its face. The trail Sam walked led him through a forest of saplings, each with leaves shining gold in the sunshine, shimmering like coins in a treasure chest, but today, his eyes saw no beauty.

As he rounded a curve in the trail he came upon a doorway, a stone portal, straddling the path. Sam stopped to study this thing. There were no walls to breech, no fence to go through, just a stone built doorway to nothing.

He approached the stones and laid his hands against them, they felt warm , even though it was shady there. Sam closed his eyes and leaned his forehead between his hands and a scene came into his mind. People were dancing in a circle to pipes and drums played by short creatures with pointed ears. He saw a woman twirling around, laughing as her red skirts swirled around her ankles. Sam felt a yearning to be there with her, dancing and laughing, but he knew what he saw wasn't real.

Another woman danced like a mad dervish, her green shawl floating behind her as she spun, until a man caught her and carried her out of the circle laughing at her as she clung to him, as if her very life depended on him.

The drummers picked up the beat, the pipers kept time with them and the dancers danced, coming together with laughter and breaking apart with merriment. Sam felt happiness bubbling up inside and he longed to dance with them, but their steps were intricate and he knew he's fail and stumble.

The woman in red looked his way and smiled as though she could see him, she beckoned to him, inviting him to come through the door and join her in the dance. Sam stood still, unable to move. Suddenly a wild boar rushed into the circle, snorting and whipping his body around, tossing his head and threatening everyone with his ivory tusks. The music clashed to a halt and everybody fled the circle, leaving the boar to stand, snorting and trembling, rage filling his tiny eyes. The woman in red came back and spoke to the animal, lifting and moving her hands in delicate motions and the boar melted away into thin air.

The dancers and musicians came back, but the laughter was gone, there was no music played, it was over. Sam stumbled back from the wall, unsteady on his feet, he made his way to a nearby log and sat to collect himself. He stared at the doorway and wondered what had just happened. He could see through the space and there was nothing but the path and more trees on the other side.

He gazed at the doorway and saw a woman coming through. Her hair was the red of a maple leaf; her jacket was golden velvet and her skirt swirled red around her ankles. There was ivy twined in her hair and she smiled at him, handed him a strand of ivy and walked by him. Sam looked at the doorway and then back at the woman, but she had disappeared. He walked through the stone portal and thought he heard a faint hint of pipes and drums, he stopped to listen, but the forest was silent. He looked at the ivy in his hand and his spirits lifted, he smiled and then he laughed, spinning around on the path with joy. Still smiling, he walked away down the trail.


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## morc44u (Nov 19, 2011)

Here is my story, "Call Me Lucy"

http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/125985-11-12-11-fall-thread.html#post1484293


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## ChicagoHeart (Nov 19, 2011)

*The Woods *( 599 words)

I felt my heart racing and my chest ached a little with the urge to breathe heavily and loudly. But I kept my mouth closed and forced my breathing to slow while I lay prone behind the fallen tree trunk. Moments ago, the woods had been a chaotic mix of motion and sound, bodies running in all directions, slipping and sliding on the slick carpet of golden-orange leaves. Biding my time, I waited in silence and stared at the sky as the last of the recently disturbed leaves floated slowly downward and landed around my head. My pulse stayed quick with anticipation as I listened for footsteps. 
There! 
Slow, cautious steps, each accompanied by the crunch of dry leaves. He was approaching my position. I held my breath and attempted to flatten my body to the ground. He moved methodically closer, pausing after each heavy footfall to listen. I quickly calculated the risk of being caught if I were to make a run for it and decided I had better act quickly if I was to have any chance. 

Then the footsteps stopped. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for what was next. Seconds passed. The footsteps began again but now they were moving away from me, growing slightly fainter as they fell. I dared to lift my head and peek at the scene. 
He was about ten yards away, his back to me, walking deliberately in the other direction. Feeling bolder, I rose up on one elbow and turned my head to view the mysterious free-standing stone archway where this had started only a few minutes ago.

I had played here for years, imagining the mysterious structure was like Alice’s looking glass beckoning me into a whimsical world that lay on the other side. Often, I’d step through the mock doorway with elaborately exaggerated steps and carry on with that fantasy, pretending to be anything from a giant to a gnome once I gained entrance to the magical “other side.”

Father and I had taken countless walks through these woods and I’d listened attentively to his boyhood stories of hunting rabbit or quail with my grandfather in the clearing just beyond the trees. The archway had been present even then. He speculated that it was at least 100 years old and the only remaining part of a structure that had possibly seen fire or other natural calamity. I would sometimes run my hands across its cool, grey stones and marvel at how solid it seemed for something so much older than either of us. 

I smiled at the thought and braced myself for the run to safety. All I had to do was hug one of the curved stone columns and I was free! I heard others shifting around in their hiding places now and I knew my moment had come. 

I bolted upright and sprinted toward the welcoming structure that stood so oddly and beautifully within the woods of my backyard. Almost instantaneously, the atmosphere was alive again with sight and sound as other children sensed this was the chance to bolt from their secret spots and make a run for our treasured home base. The chase was on! Leaves whirled all around me again and stampeding footsteps fell loudly from all directions. The woods were filled with shrieks and laughter as some were flushed from their hiding places and “tagged”. Not daring to look back, I stretched my legs and ran the final few feet, wrapped my arms around the sturdy stones and sank to the ground, my chest heaving with breathlessness and laughter.​


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## Like a Fox (Nov 19, 2011)

You'll find my entry here:

*Your Last Autumn
By Kathleen Main*


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## Gamer_2k4 (Nov 21, 2011)

*Existence*

*Existence
(522 words, excluding title)*

I am alone.

Oh, I don't mean that I'm the only thing here.  Birds land on me, squirrels play around me, and people walk by me.  The trees surround me, and the breeze blows through me.  Presences abound, and there's never a quiet moment.

But these presences are all different from me.  They are not my kind.  My kind is long gone.  No gate rests under my arch.  No wall extends around me.  I am the last thing standing here - the last unnatural construction in these natural surroundings.

I am useless.

Which side is in, and which is out? Once upon a time, there was a courtyard that my brothers and I surrounded and guarded.  I served a purpose.  I alone granted access to this private area.  My brothers, the walls around me, directed travelers through me.  It was their presence that gave me meaning.

Now my existence is pointless.  I've no more use than the trees around me.  I am a minor obstruction, easily circumvented.  Without my brothers, and without my gate, I've lost my purpose.  I'm simply a relic of a bygone time, carrying on with no direction.

And yet, I remain.

The events that took my brothers did not take me.  I'm scarred and incomplete, but I survive.  My presence is undeniable, my existence unmistakable.  They are not here, but I am.  I have form and structure, neither growing nor diminishing.

The ravages of time have dashed themselves against me, but they have failed.  Rain and wind attempt to grind me down, but they cannot.  Nature and humanity have taken their shots at me, but they remain unsuccessful.  They will continue to attack, and I will continue to resist.

I am strong.

Where my brothers have failed, I have succeeded.  Time has taken its toll, and I am the only remnant left.  It has taken my brothers, it has taken my gate, and it has taken my meaning.  But it has not taken me.  I alone have stood against this foe, and I alone have held off its siege.

I know I won't last forever.  Nothing does.  The day will come when I am only dust in the wind.  All substance and purpose will have left me, and I will return to the earth.  But that day is not today.  That day is not tomorrow.  That day is not even visible to me now.  All that matters is this day.  All that matters is my continued struggle for myself.

I have hope.

My fight brings new meaning to my existence.  Each passing day increases my value and magnifies my resolve.  I am greater than I once was.  Once, I was nothing without my brothers' presence.  Now, I am everything because of their absence.

I have transcended my old purpose.  In surviving, I have become more than a stone arch.  I have become a symbol of the past and a beacon of the future.  The world will forget the role I once played and the meaning I once had, but it can never deny my continued existence.  It can never deny that I am here.

I will be immortal.


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## Gardening Girl (Nov 22, 2011)

Autumn’s Magic (636 words)

As I awaken, in what I consider to be a make-believe world, far, far from here, a deep, golden light surrounds me.  An autumnal crispness permeates the air; a friendly stillness adds to the ethereal effect that I am feeling.  As I rest a while, the wooden bench that I am sat upon emits a chilly dampness that penetrates my core, even through the thick, outer jacket that I am wearing.  From this vantage point, I sit drinking in the environment; a feeling that has activated all of my senses which are now on high, but calm, alert.  I close my eyes for a minute, soaking in the immense beauty surrounding me, which only seems to heighten my senses.  More so now, I am aware that all is quiet and not a soul is stirring, or so it appears.  For a few moments, I feel transported to another place, an unreal, different, dream-like world.  It is a quiet, unhurried, peaceful place; a haven that we all need to discover at some point in our lives.  Perhaps it is a magical place that I have happened upon, that for just a few seconds is mine, or so it seems.  

A doorway just ahead beckons me.  I am happy to remove myself from the bench now.  I am, however, reluctant to have the moment end, nor do I want to shatter the beautiful tranquility.  I am fearful that if I disturb anything, the spell will be broken and the gorgeous, amber surroundings will vanish.  

The call can no longer be ignored as I stroll towards the opening that I am sure wants me to approach.  A crunching sound underfoot breaks the silence momentarily as small twigs snap with each step I take.  As I approach, the smell of the ancient rich, stone structure is evident and is worthy of closer inspection, the need to feel and touch and see.  I ask myself why it is here, was it made for a reason, a monument perhaps, or is it a partial ruin of some kind?  Was it placed here to intrigue or delight; perhaps it is magical?  It feels as if it belongs and was set here with intention and purpose.  But was it put here, or did it just appear from another world?  

The neatly stacked, large, round smooth rocks used to create the archway have been positioned into place by a careful, skilled hand.  They are held together with a mortar of thick, dark green, moss which gathers and grows amongst the exposed gaps and crevices.  The structure is solid and holds a presence of strength.  The stones’ many hues jump out to please the eye but equally blend, and shine, so well in the muted golden light. The soft ground, covered in a thick, pillowy bed of fresh yellow-orange foliage, appears undisturbed.   I wonder for a second how I found myself in this place.  Was someone here before me?  

As I step through the opening, a small clearing is ahead of me.  The stubby grass blades underfoot soften my step.  The trees are slightly sparser here.  Looking up, the colours have altered slightly.  I see deeper shades of red hugging tree limbs, painted with warm, vibrant swathes of terracotta orange and mustard yellow.  A touch of green dots the landscape completing the palette.  I glance back to the doorway to nowhere, or is it to somewhere?   

I wonder what this place is and why I am here.  As I turn to retrace my steps back through the doorway, there is nothing there - the structure is gone.  The soft, spongy leaves cover the ground with ever increasing layers and give no sign that a structure ever existed here.  I stand looking around for a while, feeling puzzled but not panicked; a serene quietude enveloping my space.


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## Philosophocles (Nov 25, 2011)

*Love, Hate, Dichotomy (634)*
When Pastor Jameson finished his sermon everyone stood and praised God. There were countless shouts of “amen” and even some tears. Pastor Jameson always got everyone riled up before the annual picnic down by the lake. Karen looked up at the pulpit. Light from the colored glass behind the pastor fell across his head so that it appeared as if he were crowned in God’s glory. There was a look of divine pleasure on his face. Her husband had his eyes closed and his head raised towards the wooden ceiling. Karen hoped one of the birds that nested up on the crossbeams would drop shit right on his forehead. She smiled at the thought of it.
Her daughter Stacy tugged at her shirt sleeve. “Mommy, I’m hungry. When do we get to eat?”
Karen looked down at her. “Soon, love, just be patient. We’ll be leaving very soon.”
Stacy crossed her arms over little chest and scrunched her face up, one foot tapping the floor. Karen rubbed her head affectionately. She had not lied to her daughter, the people of the Lovington Christian Church were beginning to file out of the pews and head outside. Everyone was dressed casually for the walk through the woods to the lake. 
“Come on you two. We’re about to go the lake. Let’s go.” Harry, her husband, said as he took hold of one of Stacy’s hands.
_God finally told you to move did he? Well, it’s a start. _She grasped her daughter’s other hand and they filed out of the church and into the crisp October air. They walked quietly behind the big brick church, passing by the parking lot and their car. _What I wouldn’t do to just drive home and leave this damn place. _Harry looked back at her and smiled. She could barely hide her disgust. Stacy was bouncing on her toes between them, suddenly happy to be outside and doing something rather than being stuck in church. Karen could not help but smile. _She’s just like me. She understands. _
Though she hated going to church-Harry insisted they go several times a week with Sunday being her least favorite day- the land around it was beautiful. Red, russet, orange, and yellow leaves painted the forest floor, covering the path and clinging to their gym shoes. Karen thought it looked like a picture from some nature magazine come alive. Stacy giggled as she kicked up the leaves around her. Karen quickly snatched up a handful and dropped them over her daughter’s head. Stacy’s mouth dropped open in amazement as the leaves washed over her. Karen laughed aloud and then her breath caught.
She could see the broken brick structure around the bend through the trees. She could see him. He leaned against the front of the old structure to the right of the portal where the path went through. A cigarette hung from his mouth and his arms were crossed. His face was screwed up into an ugly sneer and one boot tapped the ground impatiently. “Shit,” she heard herself say.
Harry turned around. “Sharon!” he hissed. “Not in front of our daughter.”
“Who-sorry, I-”she stopped speaking. He had seen her and was coming up the path. He was calling her name.
“Karen! Karen, it’s me!” He shouted, shoving people out of his way. The pastor tried to stop him but he struck the older man, knocking him into a group of trees.
She gasped.
“Who the heck is this guy?” Harry said angrily. “Sharon, honey, call the police. This is completely ridiculous.” 
But Karen did not hear him. She picked up Stacy and began to run back the way they had come. 
“Sharon? Sharon!” 
“Karen!”
“Mommy, where are we going?” Stacy asked as she bounced around in her arms.
“Somewhere else, love, somewhere else.”


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## Anna Buttons (Nov 25, 2011)

IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD, DEAR (650 words)


“What was going on in your head yesterday, Daisy?”

“Why do people so often assume insanity is confined to the cranium? She’s not right in the head they say; she’s a full-on head case or it’s all in your head, dear. Even when we were kids, we’d call someone a spaz and  rotate our index fingers in big circles around one ear. The very idea that insanity could be confined is utterly contradictory; it is the ultimate _lack_ of confinement. As if it doesn’t run rampant through the entire body, stretching the fingers towards the sun at inappropriate moments and running the feet around on crazy adventures. As if it doesn’t break free in a tumultuous sneeze and infect someone else on the bus. Everyone knows it’s contagious, everyone knows shrinks eventually go nuts. If that’s not something being contagious then I’ll eat my hat! I will eat it right up!”

“Where were you yesterday, Daisy? After Cameron left?”

“Why, I don’t think it’s prudent to talk about him, Doctor.”

“You don’t have to talk about him, Daisy... Just tell me about where you went.”

“Oh, it was lovely! Like the cover of a book. It was autumn and there were parchment-crunchy leaves everywhere and this grand statuesque doorway that looked like it came from a movie set. It was too perfect to be real, like you could push it over with your little pinky. Oh it was divine! The romance of it; I kept imagining a couple getting married under it, and walking through it as they finished their vows. You just got this feeling Doctor, this feeling something magical would happen if you walked through it. Like you would become immortal or come out in Narnia!”

“Did you want to walk through the doorway?”

“Want to? Of course I wanted to! You’d be mad if you didn’t! Only the most boring soul the angels ever thrust breath into wouldn’t _want_ to walk through it! But I couldn’t of course; I wasn’t properly dressed. You wouldn’t want to meet your destiny looking like someone the Krishnas would invite in for a feed!”

“What made you come back, Daisy?”

“The flood... I could feel it coming. Like Noah’s flood, only this time it would be a flood of tears. My tears. They would gush out my eyes and turn the autumn into a salty sea. The leaves would float, and that would be pretty I guess, but my eyes would be too blurry to see, so no one would get to see it. I’d have no pairs of animals trooping up to keep me company, no Sir. No one would come. I would be by myself, so I came back.”

“Have you been taking your medication, Daisy?”

“Why of course I’ve been _taking_ it!”

“And have you been swallowing it?”

“Well now, that’s not the same question! It’s not like I’m throwing it back at the nurse’s like some Neanderthal! It’s not like I’m uncivilised!”
“Daisy, I think it’s very important you swallow your medication.”

“I know you do, and I’ve taken your opinion into consideration, I really have... Doctor?”

“Yes Daisy?”

“I just want to ask you something. In your expert opinion, why do you think it is, that I find, well...existence so difficult? Do you think I create my problems? Do you think there is something inherently wrong with me? Or am I a product of a mess of neglect and abandonment punctuated by the occasional newsworthy tragedy? Do you fall on the side of nature or nurture? And Doctor, do you think there is a fundamental difference between good and bad people? Are some people so sociopathic that they can’t be helped? Or do you believe we’re all balancing on a giant sliding scale and constantly shimmying up and down based on our actions or, better yet, our intentions? Do you think I’ll find a magical doorway?"


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## BabaYaga (Nov 25, 2011)

*A Different Kind of Magic- 609 words*

How old were we when we first found it? That place we called ‘our castle’? Five… maybe six? Long enough ago that new strip malls, parking lots and office buildings have since narrowed that glorious vastness of forest to little more than a large park surrounding the decrepit old stone arch. Looking at it now, with adult eyes, it looks little more than a sad ruin, a small, an insignificant chunk of something bigger and more impressive, unfortunate enough to have been built strong, and doomed to watch its entire reason for being fall and rot into the earth around it. A little like me, then.

When we first found it though, it was nothing short of magical. It looked like our own, child-scale version of the castles we had read in storybooks. We argued about who would have to be the evil witch and who would get to be the trapped princess, swimming in a stolen shirt dress from our mother’s cupboard. I was always the princess. Maybe it was because you were so down on yourself, maybe it was because I bullied you into it. Maybe it was because you felt sorry for me and knew how desperately I needed to pretend to be special. But there’s no doubt about who the evil witch is now. 

Do you remember how, as we got older, we still used to come here? We’d pack our gym bags with herbs plucked from neighbours’ gardens and an odd assortment of esoteric paraphernalia, some items bought with saved-up pocket money, some ‘borrowed’ from our parents and a few stolen from slow-eyed hippies at the flea market. We’d cast love spells on the boys at school who refused to look at us, revenge spells on the girls who refused to speak to us and luck spells on our geometry-failing friends. None of them worked. Well, not entirely. There was that straw doll we made of Andrea Day. The one we threw down the stairs after she stole my lunch and called you a ‘slut’? She fell off a horse and broke her arm a week later. We secretly celebrated, but wondered why her neck remained unharmed when that had so clearly been our target.  

You didn’t get to do much growing up, so you don’t know this, but growing up is about putting aside the childish obsessions of one’s youth, about ‘taking responsibility’, ‘stepping up’, and other euphemisms about exchanging individual beliefs for the ‘good’ of society. But what does the good of society matter when society itself is so infrequently good? 

It’s a question I asked myself a lot over the years, and it’s probably why I haven’t made a very good grown up. I still have the herbs and the paraphernalia, and I still believe in magic. But it’s not the gentle, hopeful magic we used to practice. This is a different kind of magic. This is the kind of magic that broke Andrea Day’s arm and would have broken her neck- hell, would have twisted her spiteful little head right off her shoulders- if we’d known how. It’s the kind of magic that uses blood and bone as often as it uses poultices and incantations. It’s the kind of magic that demands _sacrifice_. 

Speaking of sacrifices, he’ll get out this Tuesday, that man, the one who postponed my adulthood and put a permanent end to yours. He’ll be free of the bars, the walls of cement and the miles that have confined him. That have protected him. I’ll be out too, out by our castle, and I’m going to cast a spell on him for you. One of my new spells.


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## InsanityStrickenWriter (Nov 25, 2011)

Standing Amidst Golden Trees
(557 words)​
Standing amidst golden trees, leaves aflutter in the breeze, was... an old archway; which really ought to have had the common sense to crumble away quite a while ago. The old dear was rather silly. Wouldn’t leave and make way for younger archways. No. That was her home. If other archways wanted, they could always move beside her to keep her company and share in the sights. They didn’t though, unfortunately.

She had the children though. Never called her, of course, but they came to visit every year, in the beauty of autumn, resting in the trees and dancing around her in the wind. Very small things; her children. And how they ever came to grow wings was quite a mystery to her. It was actually quite odd how an archway could give birth to them. But they had come out of her, so there could be no debate that they were hers, really. 

They didn’t like to speak to her much. She’d always ask about their day; very elusive. You’d think among a hundred children at least one would want to share. They left her no choice but to eavesdrop really... she only wanted to know how her little ones were faring. She’d stop listening immediately if it were anything private. Theoretically. 

In practice, she’d heard her children talk about all sorts, from their secret recipes for mushroom soup, (she didn’t quite get the purpose of eating), to their miserable love-lives, (better off without, she thought. She’d managed to give birth to children perfectly fine without a male archway anyway).

Occasionally, she’d pick up things rather more concerning. Her little ones, it seemed, were getting up to a lot of things during the rest of the year when they were away from her. It was difficult to pick up their voices though, so she couldn’t be sure. Difficult to hear her children; small things. If she was hearing right though... somehow, they must’ve been given the idea that it was okay to make a nuisance of themselves with the giants. It was quite upsetting, hearing the things they did. 

But it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t understand their actions. They were just being little scamps, really. Perfectly normal for children to make mistakes. Life’s a learning process. They’d know better in future. Her children kept doing wrong though, and the more she eavesdropped, the more moss fell out of her head. She almost lost the lot one day, when one of her children was describing, quite cheerfully, how he'd set fire to one of the giant’s houses... it had little giants inside it at the time, too. She imagined their archway would’ve been devastated. A stone fell off from her side.

They were small things; her children. It wasn’t their fault. She should’ve brought them up right. Shouldn’t have let them get into the habit of running off for so much of the year. She tried to get them to stay with her that year. She gave them a right telling off too. They didn’t seem to pay her much attention though. And when the gold had rotted to brown and the trees lay bare, they left her, as usual. To stand alone amidst the trees, waiting for the golden leaves to be aflutter in the breeze. Perhaps best not to eavesdrop next year, she thought.


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## Jon M (Nov 25, 2011)

*FALL*


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## moderan (Nov 27, 2011)

Okay. Judges, your scores are due in my pm queue by midnight EST 12/09/11. I'll collate and post them the next day.
Thanks all for your fine work! This has been a good round...


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## Gardening Girl (Dec 13, 2011)

Would someone be able to please tell me where I can find the results of this contest? I was under the impression that they would be available on Sat. Dec. 10th.  Perhaps I'm missing something here but I cannot find them?  Thank you!


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## KarlR (Dec 13, 2011)

It'll be here under a new post:  "Fall In--Scores" or something like that.  Obviously moderan is dealing with some Real-Life issues and can't afford the time for posting right at the moment.  Here's hoping that his car is clear of the ditch and the swelling is going down (or something).  Hang in there.  They'll show up!


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## Gardening Girl (Dec 13, 2011)

Thanks KarlR I appreciate the response.  Obviously?  Sorry it wasn't obvious to me that something was amiss (again, not sure if something was posted elsewhere but I couldn't find anything when I searched).  This is my first contest so I wasn't sure what the normal routine is.  I'm very sorry to hear that modern was in some kind of accident and is out of commission - I wish him well soon.  I'll be patient!  Thanks again.


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