# July 2015 - LM - Shadows



## J Anfinson (Jul 3, 2015)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*
*Shadows*
​
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.

Have the prompt included in some way into your story.

*The judges for this round are:*
*
Folcro; Bevo; joshybo; shinyford*

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

All Judges scores will be PMed to Folcro.

All anonymous entries will be PMed to J Anfinson

*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.
*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.*
*No liking entries until the scores go up.*
*The word limit is 650 words not including the title.* If you go over - Your story will not be counted. Microsoft Word and Google Drive are the standard for checking this. If you feel it’s incorrect, send it to the host of the competition and we’ll check it for you and add our approval upon acceptance.


*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.

*This competition will close on:*

Wednesday, the 15th of July at 11:59 PM, GMT time.
Click here for the current time.


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## Dubhthaigh (Jul 4, 2015)

*A Shy Shadow - 649 words*

The sunlight fell on Layal’s face and woke her with a caress of warmth. She opened her eyes and gazed through the gap in the bolts of cloth which constituted the roof of her tent. A bottle of water lay to her left; she quickly unscrewed the lid and splashed some of its contents on her face. Layal turn over her pillow  and retrieved a small brown envelop, which she stuffed into the front of her pink blouse.  She emerged from her tent into the baking Turkish heat and saw the now familiar sprawl of haphazard tents and children running with bare feet after a battered leather ball.

Layal walked towards the eastern end of the camp, taking in the mingled depravity and sense of hope for what she prayed was the last time.  Layal side stepped an aid worker laden with water bottles and in so doing caught a glimpse of a little brown face some ten paces behind her, disappearing behind a news crew’s van.  Layal smiled softly and continued on her journey. _Who will little Mira follow tomorrow? _ Layal thought, and not for the first time wondered what the little girl’s real name was.

 Since layal’s first week in the camp the little girl could more often than not be found at her back, and like a timid kitten _Mira_ always ran for cover when she noticed that her target had spotted her. _Mira, _Layal wondered, _what’s to become of you, my shy shadow?_  Layal had never seen _Mira _with an adult and had never noticed her at any of the camp assemblies. _How did you end up here? Were your parents killed in the unrest? _Layal had a million questions for the little girl, but had not gotten close enough to ask.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky when Layal reached the cove, 8 miles from the camp. She looked around again for _Mira, _as she had been doing periodically since noticing her that morning, but hide nor hair of the timid kitten could not be seen.  Layal walked the coast for ten minutes and was getting nervous when she heard a whistle. She peered down the sloping cliff and sure enough, barley visible beneath an outcrop of rock there was a modest fishing vessel moored. All that was required was a short abseil and then Layal would be on a boat, to Italy and safety.  Layal offered a prayer to Muhammad  (_may peace be upon him) _and turned around to begin her dissent.

“Are you leaning?” Layla looked up and saw _Mira_ standing before her. “Y-Yes, darling, I’m leaving”, Layla felt a hundred words scramble to get to the tip of her tongue and in so doing block the exit. _Mira’s _brown eyes filled with silvery tears. “Everyone goes” she said, more to herself than to Layal. “Do you have anyone, in the camp I mean?” Layal heard herself ask. “No”, replied _Mira. _Layal looked at the scratched and skinny girl and in one fluid motion brought the brown envelope out of the front of her blouse and put it into the waistband of _Mira’s _shorts. Layal then turned, leaned over the cliff and shouted “ Ammar! You’re to take this girl in my place”. Layal waited for an affirmative response and then turned to her shy shadow. “Climb down that cliff wall, it’s only a few feet, and then drop onto the boat. Give that envelope to the captain of the ship”. Layal bent down to _Mira’s _level and the girl kissed her on the forehead. “Will you come on the next boat?” _Mira _asked. “Maybe” said Layal, “now go”. Just as the little girl was about to begin her climb Layal cried suddenly, “What’s your name?!”. “Layal” came the response, “my name is Layal”.  Layal’s last image of the little girl was her back, framed by the sunlight.


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## Allysan (Jul 4, 2015)

*The Shadow of Loss (521 words)*

I remember the day I waddled into the ER, forty-two weeks pregnant and in active labor. The sun was low in the sky, splaying my swollen silhouette against the brick wall of the hospital. My husband's shadow trailed along behind me, slightly hunched over with the weight of our luggage. 


    Leaving the hospital, I noted how drastically our shadows had changed. In place of my swollen belly was a swaddled coccoon of a baby. My husband stood tall now, a proud father. 


    The first night with Nathan, our son, in the house, we plugged in the night light next to the crib. The halo of light wasn't bright enough. Nathan was shrouded in dark shadows. We brought him to bed with us. The next day, we purchased a lamp and tossed the nightlight in the trash. 


    Two years later, we trudged side by side through the sand along the gulf coast, basking in the mid day sun. We were having too much fun to acknowledge our own living portraits, etched in grey in the sand behind us; a mother and father holding the hands of their curly headed son, his little legs struggling to keep up and failing just a bit. A dark reflection of the seemingly perfect family.


    On his fifth birthday, Nathan made his wish and blew out the candles. The room went pitch black until my husband struck a match, illuminating the dark streak of blood that had begun to trickle from Nathan's nose. At first, I'd thought it was just a trick of the light. 


    After three months in the hospital, our son was but a shadow of his old self. Dark, puffy bags formed under his eyes and bit by bit, his strength waned. 


    After his funeral my husband and I stayed with Nathan, clinging to eachother. We watched the oblong shadow of his tombstone creep and stretch along the grass until the night swallowed it whole. 


    Sometimes,even now, when I walk down the street, I see my Nathan in boys his age. A face partly obscured by the bill of a baseball cap, his true features concealed by shadow, it is easy to imagine him here. When the boy lifts his hat, exposing his face to clear the sweat from his brow, the loss hits me again, fresh as a day old cut. 


    The memory of my son is an elusive shadow and I am the sun. I chase the shadow, struggling to keep his memory alive, but the sun can never truly catch the dark. 

    My son has been reduced to the shadow of a tombstone in a lonely graveyard. The shadow of a curly headed little boy bouncing along between my husband and I has been replaced. Our new shadow is, in fact,the absence of his shadow; a presence far darker than a simple silhouette trailing along behind us.


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## Kepharel (Jul 4, 2015)

*The Last Obligation.

by Kepharel......Edited and withdrawn because I was too impatient to submit....let it be a lesson to you all 
*


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## KnightPlutonian (Jul 6, 2015)

*Shadow of the Light - 636 Words
*
http://www.writingforums.com/thread...ows-Workshop?p=1877267&viewfull=1#post1877267

Writing several hours after you should have gone to bed makes some weird stuff, eh?


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## rcallaci (Jul 6, 2015)

*Shadow Rising (650 words)*

_
“You shadow bastards will not defeat us, we will block the light from the sun and turn off all the lights and live in total darkness rather than seeing you slither about. Melt back into the void from whence you came and as long as we still breathe you will never see the light or feast on us again”.  _(World Council Proclamation issued by Lord Ramadas – 2065)

The world we now live in is a black pit of despair. The little humanity that survived after the defeat of the Shadow Wraiths lives in underground bunkers and man-made caves. The cities, towns and villages that once dotted the world have been abandoned except for those few hardy souls who are willing to live in perpetual twilight. Our ecosystems have collapsed for without light very little can thrive and survive. We made the world a desolate wasteland in order to keep out the Shadow Wraiths but many of us, including myself, are wondering if it was worth it. 

My name is Zebidiah Kalso, Commander of the Twilight Project. Deep in an underground fortress located somewhere in the once sovereign state of Nevada, myself and a squad of solders and scientists numbering around one hundred and twenty souls, are responsible for maintaining the integrity  and continued function of the force field that blocks 75% of the visible  light rays of the sun. As the 21st century comes to a close many of us are thinking, so should the project as well.

Dr Prescott Beaman was shocked by my command and with an incredulous tone said,_”You can’t be serious Commander, if we shut down the shield the shadows will leak out of the void. We will be overrun by those shadow beasts and cease to exist as free spirit entities.” 
_
_“Don’t you want to feel the sun against your skin, to see the world thrive again,”_ I said. _“This time we’ll try to accommodate their needs in a way that will benefit us both.”_

_“This is madness; I in good conscience will not be a part of this obscene plan that you intend to follow. We turned it down in “65” due to its evil and hideous nature. We sacrificed much ---half of humanity and the health of the world. We are not cattle ---we are human.” _Said--- an angry and frightened Prescott. 

_“Sergeant, remove Dr Beaman from his station. Put him in the holding cells. I’m truly sorry my dear friend that you’ll not enjoy the fruits of the New Age.” _

….

 As Overlords go the Shadow Wraiths weren’t that bad. As a matter of fact they were quite accommodating to my demands and appreciative to me and my command for shutting down the force field.  They allowed us our individuality and promised to never posses or use us as an energy source. They allowed us to choose which race would be left to remain totally human to rebuild the world and help the Shadow Wraiths with their needs. Being that I was an American Indian I chose them to be, the last true Humans left on this earth. It was a kind of Poetic justice, the white man who has been a bane to us for centuries was now the defeated race.  

I know many of you hiding from the shadow wraiths hunger see me and my group as traitors and abominations. I understand your anguish but if we kept things the way they were the human race and the world would have eventually been destroyed. I had to choose the few over the many.

The world is again full of light, the ecosystems’ are coming back to life and Humanity is once again on the rise.  I know being, yellow, brown or black has it’s setbacks but at least you get to live and become shadow puppets. It’s the whites who are the Wraiths culinary delight. Isn’t life good…?


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## TKent (Jul 6, 2015)

My Sorry Excuse of a Shadow

T. Kent


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## QDOS (Jul 8, 2015)

*Shadow the Ultimate Prophesy (642words)*

The door bell rang. Morris took just a few moments before opening the door to his old friend Dan Chapman. It was late evening cold and damp, the rain had been falling since mid afternoon.   

“Ah! Come in old friend let me take your coat.”

“Your message sounded urgent so I came as soon as I could.” Dan said slipping off his dripping overcoat. “A bit wet I’m afraid, had to walk no cabs.”

Hanging his coat on a hall peg Morris ushered Dan into the lounge. Warming himself by the roaring fire Dan watched Morris pour them both a drink. They settled themselves in the armchairs as was their custom. Morris watched as Dan took a sip of his whiskey sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Nostradamus.” Morris then announced. 

“You what!” Dan replied somewhat startled, then quickly realised the significance of the conversation to follow. “You deciphered the last quatrains.”    

“Strange isn’t it that we review history so very differently today. We look at social and economic development, population explosions and migrations, influence of international companies, investigations of radical factions by our security forces, and not forgetting climate change. Yet sometimes I wonder if the movement of the planets and the changes in our society are not all linked. It’s not so long ago that those in high office would not undertake any major decision before consulting their astrologer.”

“Ah! Do I sense a rejection of modern scientific study?” Dan smiled to himself. “Nostradamus it was said used magic in his prognostications.”  

“If you’d introduce medieval man to the mysteries of the electric light bulb, he would have thought it magic.”

“OK I concede. So what have you discovered in this last set of Nostradamus quatrains.”

“I once believed Nostradamus presented his prophecies on the understanding that forewarned the danger might be avoided. A fatal encounter could at least be postponed. Clearly great upheavals might not be stopped, but at least modified to something far less dramatic.”

“I guess the way you’re speaking you’ve uncovered another cataclysmic event.”

“I wonder, let’s consider certain aspects of the human psyche. The things we don’t like about ourselves living in a modern society like those primordial instincts in a Darwinian world of survival of the fittest. Of course they have to be suppressed otherwise a society would self destruct. Nostradamus eludes to these aspect as a darkness of the soul, the shadow that seeks us out and that will finally engulf us.”

“Ah! You’re referring to the human fear of annihilation. What about Nuclear weapons we’ve managed to evade that precipice of total destruction. A thousand years from now we’ll still be here.”

“Except this time the planetary movements don’t lie. Take a look at this.” 

Morris passed across some printouts. As Dan read through the sheets of information the frown on his face became deeper and deeper. Having read the last line he paused before turning to face Morris. He was looking for some sort of reassurance, but Morris felt compelled to give him the undisputed truth.

“That’s the latest from Jodrell Bank and confirmed by half a dozen other observatories around the globe.”

“Total Sunlight obliteration are you sure.” Dan queried.

“There are so many variables there’s no way of calculating it with any great certainty. Yet as the solar system moves through the path of the interstellar cloud the duration will last decades possibly even centuries. Long enough I suspect to wipe out all higher life forms, maybe even down to simple single-celled microorganisms.”

“Not the sort of news I need to hear right now.” Dan said looking into the fire.

“Quite appt calling it The Shadow don’t you think. The ultimate prophesy of Nostradamus. The final test as to whether the human race can forget its petty differences and prepare, I personally doubt if we have enough time?


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## Harper J. Cole (Jul 8, 2015)

Double Date (650 words, language)

Reading on a park bench one fine April morning, I became aware that Cynthia was trying to tell me something. She wasn’t exactly subtle about it, waving her arms in wide circles at the periphery of my vision.


‘Not now.’ I held the book – a snappily written history of milk cartons – closer to my face, blocking her out.


Our relationship had been going downhill for some time. It had been fine in the old days, when she was content to lie on the ground or rest against a wall, faithfully copying my movements. But a few years back, she started getting her own ideas.


It was subtle at first, differences of pose and posture so small I could half convince myself I was imagining them. Then she started doing that obscene, hip-swinging walk of hers. No denying it then – it was HCA Syndrome.


I tried to get on with her, reading all the best literature on the subject, but we’re fundamentally different people: I like reading, sewing and other dignified pursuits; she’s all about debasing herself to get attention. I guess I might too, if I looked like her; no blotchy skin or crooked teeth to worry about. Still, ours was a loveless marriage.


She seldom backed off when I asked her to, and today was no exception. Her dark hands waved back and forth over the page, making concentration impossible.


‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! What is it?’


Cynthia pointed to the lake. A man was standing there, looking out over the waters. Tall, bespectacled, finely chiselled arse … very much my type.


‘Are you playing matchmaker? God, I wouldn’t have the nerve …’ But she went on pointing, quite insistent.


_  Cynthia gives me an excuse to start a conversation, _I realised_. I can say I’m talking to him because of her. He’ll probably be interested, ask me questions … one thing will lead to another …

_
_  I wonder whether he’s interested in dairy products?

_
Before I could chicken out, I was up and moving, Cynthia stretching eagerly ahead of me. My heart lurched as I drew up beside him, book held before me like a shield.


‘Hi there, I’m Molly.’ He looked up and back, sucking away my resolve with a single indifferent glance.


‘John.’


‘Yeah, uh, my shadow seemed interested in you, so -’


He laughed. ‘I don’t think it’s me she’s interested in.’


I followed his eyeline and gasped. Cynthia, that brazen slut, was snogging John’s shadow with gay abandon. And the other shadow was responding, their bodies mingling on the gently lapping water.


I immediately took a step back, dragging her out of range. Ignoring her middle finger response, I looked at John, mouth open. ‘You have HCA too? I’ve never met another sufferer, outside of group therapy.’


He smiled, his gaze still upon Cynthia. ‘Duncan’s been sentient since I was a child. Fortunately, we get on pretty well. Both got an eye for the ladies.’ He edged towards me, trying to get our shadows close enough for them to interact, but I kept my distance. ‘What’s her name?’


‘Cynthia. So, I wonder what else we’ve got in common. Do you -’


‘Nice name. Hey, Dunc, imagine her on floral wallpaper.’ Duncan flashed a thumbs up and Cynthia blew a kiss.


‘I was just reading about John Van Wormer. Not a household name, but it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that he changed the way we think about milk. I wonder -’


‘Say, would you like to go somewhere together? The four of us, it could be fun.’


He still wasn’t looking at me. A sciophilic perv, plainly. He was only interested in watching our shadows banging each other.


‘Yeah, alright.’


_  Just give me time, I’ll make him forget about those silly silhouettes. Charisma. You’ve either got it or you haven’t._


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## Ephemeral_One (Jul 8, 2015)

*Inside the Mask*



 	“Excuse me, sir.” Demanded the haughty woman half my size. Her thick perfume forcing me to take shallow breaths as the reflection off her gaudy jewelry caught the sunlight. Averting my gaze from her grotesquely rotund body, she continued, “I just moved and need the best TV you have. I don't know much about TVs so I just need one.”


 	“Oh, shut it you self serving harlot! You pathetic, simpering waste of noble gases! I should rend the flesh from your throat and if there was one ounce of justice in this waste dump of a world my name would be shouted from the rooftops for a decade! Virgins daughters and money would be mine just for snapping that bulging mass of fat you call a neck!”
 	Instead, my traitorous lips said neutrally, “About what size were you looking for?”


 	“I don't know. What's the most popular size?” Said the woman placing nails encrusted with some expensive, flowery design on her cheek. Her smartphone began to emit a throbbing buzz. Immediately her grubby fingers reached into the bright pink handbag and retrieved it. She holds up the painted digit to me while she ignores my presence to go on a tirade about the person on the other line.


 	“Are you serious? You are this uncivil with everyone? Your phone is capable of registering a regular speaking voice, you shrill chicken-harpy! There are wailing spawns that should have never left the womb in the background who would be drowned out by your belching speech! And yet, you come out in public, announce your ignorance and expect others to do all the thinking for you? How repugnant can people get? Forget justice, you could make one deny the very existence of any higher power by virtue of simply being as you are.”


 	Instead, my lips remained shut and I waited until she finished. Once she put the overpriced device back into its nest, she nodded to me. Picking the closest model, I explain, “What size would fit is usually based on how big the room is.”


 	“Oh, well, this is too complicated for me. I'll just go ask my husband to get it. Thank you anyway,” The woman said placing her greasy fingers on my shoulder. Smothering every bit of revulsion, my lips parted on their own, “If you ever have questions, feel free to ask.” The woman waddled away then.


 	“Complicated? Complicated? The internal workings of an OLED monitor are complicated. The political situation of the European Union is complicated. How you reached adulthood as you are is a complicated question. I've done nothing but strip the process to its barest minimum parts. If you are such an indecisive and halfhearted fool as to consider what I've asked of you as complicated, then you stand as a testament to humanity's failings.”


 	As I went to take a step, a voice called out to me, “Terrence, we've talked about this. You need to ask everyone who comes in about the credit card.” Without looking, I knew behind me stood the middle aged, beer bellied manager whose eyes were aimed at the top of the store.


 	“Yes, the same credit card that no one who works here can afford. The credit card that causes people to stop talking to me because they're tired of hearing about it. The same credit card that benefits only you group of fat bastards on top.”


 	Instead, my words flowed out, “I'm taking my fifteen.” As quick as I could, I slipped the small buds on the end of cords from my pocket to slip into my ears. With the press of a button, the strumming of electric guitars and raging screams drowned out the world around me. The loud music raised the stifling mask from my countenance so I could smile sincerely. I reminded myself joylessly, “Only three more hours to go.”


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## musichal (Jul 10, 2015)

*On the Prowl [Lang, Mature]*

*


On the Prowl
*_
by musichal_​


I first saw her walking past my favorite bar, a grubby dive on Tenth Street where no one spoke much, merely sat on high stools sipping snake bite medicine as immunization against whatever hell life held for tomorrow. Early twenties, Latino, wearing a dazzling white dress that accentuated her voluptuous curves, and her dark, flawless skin. I wanted to taste her like an ice cream cone. So beautiful.

I slapped a twenty on the bar and hurried to follow her, uncharacteristically leaving a tip in my rush to the street. I followed at a discrete distance, hoping she was going home because tonight that was all I wanted – to find her place.

She walked with a city pace, striding purposefully, watching traffic and other pedestrians. A few times she glanced back, but I was certain she didn't spot me as kept to the shadows. I enjoyed watching her dress flip up as she stepped on and off curbs; fantastic legs, the thighs just a bit heavy - the way I liked them. She excited me alright.

As she neared a five-story, multi-unit, brick conversion, she pulled keys from her purse. My heartbeat thudded heavily as she climbed steps to the front stoop, my lust growing with each step. She entered, and I stood waiting for a couple minutes until reflected light appeared at the other end of the building. I prowled that direction and noted she was on the third floor.

Then I realized the building next to hers was condemned. Ten minutes later I stood at a window just eight feet from her own, gazing into her bedroom and waiting, but not for long. She had completely disrobed, and I actually gasped at the sight, my very breath constricted and I felt throbbing pressure with each beat of my heart. I ached for her.

Before it was simply infatuation, but that was then, before I really saw her. Before I knew her. Now was different. Not like those other girls when I just thought it was real. No. This was true love, which I experienced for the first time as I looked upon her glorious nakedness. I wanted to shout for joy, to sing – yes! - to serenade her under her window. For the first time in my life I was in love – those other ones had been mistakes.

What if she didn't feel the same? No, she had to, this was too real for it to be just one way, wasn't it? Surely she would feel it, too... she had to! I could not imagine her not feeling the same, could I? What if she were seeing someone else already? As gorgeous as she was, she could take her pick. She might have several boyfriends, hooking up with everyone she pleased.

I thought about it. Yeah, she might be into some kinky group stuff, getting it on with all her little buddies, the slut! Yeah, she was probably doing every guy in town but me! What a whore! I just wanted to slap the shit out of her. Like that kinky sex, huh? Well, see how you like this! Slap!

I could just see my hand print on her cheek! You really think you can treat me like this and get away with it, bitch? I won't be your cuckold. You chose the wrong man! I won't allow you to continue! You should have thought before you enticed me with your sinful body of putrid decay, looking all desirable on the outside! Liar!

Lying with your shapely legs and stupendous ass. Lying with that silken skin and long, glistening hair. Telling me lies with those full lips, promising me your love which you spread for anyone, and everyone – not thinking of the consequences. But I will be back – before you – tomorrow night, and you will suffer them then!


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## pink lemonade (Jul 11, 2015)

*Holly*

Holly.  It’s about her golden blonde hair and her porcelain face.  Holly.  It’s about her straight A’s and her sweet eloquent voice.  Holly.  It’s about her beautiful sundresses, her mini-skirts, or the jeans that shape her figure into a goddess.

Holly.  It’s about how she came home on the last day of school, screaming “I got all A’s,” and our parents threw her a party with a cake, and gave her a crisp fifty dollar bill, while I sit across the table, getting nothing, and looking on through my rimmed glasses and telling myself not to barf at her smile and her goodie goodie expression and when she says “Aww, thank you mommy and daddy, you’re the best.”

Holly.  It’s about how my parents don’t even notice me anymore. 

Holly.  It’s about how much I hate her, even if she is my sister.  I hate how she doesn’t have any zits on her face, or how she doesn’t need glasses, or how her teeth avoided the preteen braces phase.  I hate how she’s my twin, and I hate how she’s the perfect twin, a Barbie doll, while I’m just Raggedy Ann, the ugly stepsister.  And I hate when she told me "that I'm the butt ugly twin with a face that looks like an elephant sat on it."

Holly.  I hate her for the time she made out with Jimmy Sanders, the boy I had a crush on, even though she hated him, and then dumped him the next day and told him that I said he was as ugly and gross.  I hated her for the time she beat me up and tore off my dress in the middle of the school hallway, just because I was wearing the same dress as she was, and then her and her friends laughed and jeered at me while I stood red-faced in my underwear.  I hated that she was a smiling cheerleader, waving her pom poms at everyone, and waltzing the hallways at school, while everyone praised her, clapped for her, and she concealed the evil deep inside of her.  I hate how I was to blame for everything _she_ did.

Holly.  I wish my parents knew the real Holly.  I wish they knew what a backstabbing bitch she was.  I wish they knew about all the times she got me in trouble.  I wish my parents didn’t turn a blind eye to her beautiful, smiling, prissy faced perkiness.  I wish my parents knew how fake she was beneath her perfection.

I wish my parents knew my name.  I wish my parents knew I exist.  I wish they knew the real me, not the “me” that Holly created.  I wish they didn’t see me as the problem of all problems, next to Holly, the perfect princess who could do no wrong. 

I wish my parents would know who their daughter really is.


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## Saeria (Jul 13, 2015)

Black Dog (647 words)

May sighed. Whatever it took to get this dumb dog to quit crapping on the bath mat and go outside was well worth the effort. May glanced over at her dog and sighed again. Godzirra had been a gift to help her get over a particularly nasty divorce, and admittedly the first couple of months were pretty great. She was all floppy ears and stubby daschund  but something changef She hid her food, shivered at the smallest sounds, and worst of all she refused to housebreak.
    Godzirra shivered in the adjacent kennel, turning slow circles in an effort to find just the right spot to sit. 
   “Just sit down, will you?” May glared at the dog. Godzirra bowed her head and obeyed slowly, whining again once her rump was firmly planted. The vet rushed in.
   “May Arnold, right?” He asked, but he directed his question to Godzirra. The dog looked up piteously and shivered. “Good."
   The tech checked the monitors, scribbled a few numbers the made a hasty retreat, the vet on her heels. The chamber door shut with a great slam. The lights dimmed, and a low hum hung in the air, raising the hairs on the back of Mays neck. She wanted to escape but she was strapped in.
“It’s no big deal.” She whispered to herself, “I just peek in Godzirra thoughts and be out of here by lunch.” The ceiling began to rattle ominously, and she shut her eyes. The pain was sudden, jarring . She felt like she was being ripped apart limb from limb. Just as it began it stopped. All she felt was aching cold underneath her. She tried to call out but all that escaped was a stuttering whine. She opened her eyes very slowly, shocked to see just how big the chamber had become. The vet rushed in, looking not at her but the woman in the chair… wait. 
“I’m the woman in the chair!" She wasn’t seeing Godzirra thoughts, she became Godzirra. She instantly began scrambling in the kennel. Tiny claws struggled to find traction on the cold, slick steel.
“Mama needs out.” The woman in the chair said sweetly. 
“Of course.” The vet smiled. “Shall I call you a cab?”
“That won’t be necessary, sir.” The woman said. “I think we will walk.”
May felt huge hands grasp around her ribs, ripping her out of the kennel and depositing her all the way down on the floor. The smell of old urine and disinfectant was maddening. The woman clipped a leash on her collar and tugged until she followed. 
   Outside the chamber was even worse. Rows of feet, smells of hundreds of dogs cats and even a few long gone rodents hung thick in the air. The door was near. Thank God, May thought as they made their way outside. Once clear of the building she suddenly wished she were back inside.
   “By the time we make it home you will understand. Just watch out for the black dog. It followed me everywhere!”  The woman laughed gently and tugged for her to keep walking. May struggled to keep up. It was 8 quick step to the woman’s one. Her ears itched but any attempt to stop and scratch illicited more tugging. 
   She was beginning to tire. She could barely recognize where they were from this vantage point. Her ears began to burn they itched so badly. Something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Suddenly there was a black dog running beside her, matching her every step. The black dog was truly frightening, silent, malevolent. It said nothing, yet she just knew it was after her. 
    This isn’t another dog, she thought to herself, this is my shadow. Nonetheless each passing block made her crave the safety of home. It was going to be a long walk, especially with the black dog following close at her heels.


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## Meteli (Jul 13, 2015)

Crashing Against the Shadows


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## bazz cargo (Jul 13, 2015)

A Blood Sucking Bodice Ripper​ by​ Bazz Cargo (531)​ It was a traditional dark and stormy night, and just as the  lightning and thunder clashed together, The Dark Overlord of Melksham ( Doom to his friends ) burst open the balcony door. There she lay,  the object of his passion, Amber, a twenty seven year old busty blond beauty.Her life force was so rich, and so powerful, pulsing through her body, making the vein in her neck throb like a Deep Purple bass riff. Singing to the lust in the very fabric of Derek's being. His dusty, desiccated, undead husk of a body feeling the electric ringing of a mighty bell, desire.
​ Slowly her fulsome bosom rose and fell. The frilly white nightdress could barely contain the over abundance of nature.
​ To Derek, her calmly beating  heart was like a tattoo from the very depths of the earth. She slept through the storm, and through his entry, but as he approached the bed, a small white terrier emerged from a fold in the duvet and started to bark at him, she did not sleep through that.     
​ As Amber was dragged from the arms of Morpheus and into consciousness, Derek faded into shadows.
​ The little dog jumped  off the bed and ran to the wall barking at the shadow.
​ “ Minnie, stop that, you will wake mother. “
​ In a cloud of soft perfume, blond hair and frilly night dress, Amber partially, deliciously  dishabille slid from the bed and picked up the ferocious canine. Minnie stopped barking but kept up a continuous low growl.
​ “ Don't be a silly Minnie, it's just the storm.”​ ​ There came a peremptory knock on the door, which did not wait for a reply before opening.
​ “ What's going on ?” Asked the older, less well endowed, more brunette figure that stood in the doorway.
​ “ It's Minnie,she seems to be frightened by the storm.”
​ “ That might be, but she don't half  have a very piercing bark, I suggest you take her for a titbit in the kitchen, see if you can quieten her down.”
​ “ Yes mother.”
​ Amber carried Minnie from the room.​ ​ “ Hello Derek,” said Mother. “ I know you are here, I can smell you. The place reeks of vampire.”
​ Derek said nothing, just danced with the shadows cast by the lightning.
​ Mother lifted her hands, left outstretched, right above the palm, she clicked her right hand fingers, a small flame appeared on her left palm, she blew gently on the flame, and it grew to a foot tall. As she walked towards the wall Derek danced on, all the other shadows fled.
​ “ Well well, here you are, and I must say what a lovely little mover you are. Now I want you to listen very carefully, Amber is not for you. If you so much as set foot inside this house again, I will spend my time finding more and more creative ways to make you suffer.”
​ Mother put her right hand on the wall, and pinched hold of one of Derek the shadow's ears, dragging him across the wall to the balcony door, then she threw him out.​ ​


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## AtleanWordsmith (Jul 13, 2015)

*MOONLIT SHADOW*

The full moon bathed the grounds of the Green Court of Drae'mor in silver light.  Deep shadows extended from the bases of the statues that lined the path, and the guards of House Cael'ean patrolled carefully.  They were on high alert--a stranger, a suspected assassin, had been seen earlier that day, and they didn't want to catch a blade.

The stranger hadn't bothered with the shadows in the courtyard, however.  He'd long since slipped in through an open window.  Inside, the lay of the land was different.  Elves had never felt comfortable in cramped spaces, and the Green Court boasted marvelous vaulted ceilings.  Silver moonlight flooded the halls, cut neatly by deep gashes of darkness.

There was nowhere to hide, but, as it turned out, he encountered no one.  The halls were silent and the air was still.  A shadow of doubt flickered across the stranger's mind.  This had to be a trap, but he was too far in.  If he returned without completing his task, he would never live down the shame.  His best bet, he decided, would be to continue cautiously in the hope that he was being paranoid.

_Hope for the best, prepare for the worst._

He didn't remember where he had come across that, but it had stuck with him.  It was a simple instruction, but a useful one.  He would continue armed.  It would be sloppy, he knew, to leave too many bodies, and would likely affect the judgment passed down on him, but he would be alive.

The dagger should have shined in the moonlight--it would have, except that it had been painted black in preparation for a moonlight night.  The steel blade was a mere shadow in the stranger's hand.

The stranger had studied the Green Court carefully before entering.  He had developed a wonderful spatial awareness.  Even now, he came to his first corner, which, unfortunately, was going to be the most challenging part of his journey so far.  He eyed the last moonlit window, which was no doubt casting a pillar of moonlight down the length of the hallway.  As soon as he turned the corner, he'd be exposed.

He had been right, it _was_ a trap.  He was dead either way.  He flung himself around the corner, dagger up, and encountered--nothing.  There was nobody waiting for him around the corner.  He stepped aside so that his shadow wouldn't interfere with the moonlight, and saw nothing in the corridor.  He exhaled with relief and gathered himself.  The difficult part was over.

The next few twists and turns took him to the doors of a chamber which would overlook the southern half of Drae'mor.  It was one of many, but unique.  It would hold the target.

The stranger waited in the darkness, and listened.  He heard nothing, and wondered if the Lord Cael'ean slept lightly.  There was no snoring, no heavy breathing... just silence.  The stranger reached out and tugged lightly at the door, which opened easily.  A sliver of moonlight spilled out of the room, cutting across the hall.  The stranger moved with the door as he opened it the rest of the way, and waited.

Nothing.  He stepped into the room.

The moonlight chased the shadows from his face and revealed angular features and wide eyes.  The figure silhouetted in the window took no notice of him until he was well into the room.

"Well, well... Gaeril Darkthorn, I presume?"

The stranger didn't speak.  He was confused.  This wasn't the way things were supposed to go.  He heard the door close behind him and turned.  A tall figure, identical to him in every way, stood between him and the only means of escape.

A single word escaped his lips as he was pierced by a dagger not unlike his own.

"Brother...?"

He felt white-hot pain, then the shadows raced in to claim him as their own.


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## Issachar (Jul 14, 2015)

The Burden of Duty

William was an old man with an unruly son. Edward had always been wild, furious even. Growing up he had severely wounded three of his fencing teachers, broken his step brother’s arm, and set fire to a merchant ship, just to watch it burn. At seventeen he had killed a man for leering at his sister. He was muscular, handsome, and the people loved him. And now he wanted the throne.

That morning William had announced that Simon, his younger son would take the throne. Now Edward stood before him in the throne room with a naked sword in his hand.
“Why do you hate me father? What have I done to earn your contempt?” he roared.

The courtroom was silent. The guards all knew the kings orders that Edward was not to be harmed or restrained, now they weighed the cost of disobedience against the life of their king.

“I don’t hate you son, but I cannot leave my kingdom in your hands, this wasn’t easy..”

“Shut up you old fool! You judge me, say that I don’t measure up, look at yourself you adulterous cad! You aren’t a father, you’re a figurehead! Your consorts rule while you go off to war and who do you think keeps order in this kingdom? You say I am not fit to rule, I have been ruling for years.”
William looked around and could see sympathy in the assembled nobles. Edward had many powerful supporters.

“My son speaks the truth, I have been a poor king, and a poorer father. Yet the crown is still mine, and I will give it to whom I choose.”

At this Edward snapped, lunging onto the dais that supported the throne and placing his sword across the king’s throat.
“Who do you choose now, Father?” he snarled.

Silence ruled in the throne room, all eyes watching the two men. Only one soul moved. From the shadows at the end of the hall came an old man. He was short, thin as a rail, and wore a cavalryman’s uniform. In one hand he held a sabre, in the other a goblet of wine. Nobles and guards moved aside to let him pass, they all knew better than to obstruct his path. His name was Field Marshall Irving, and he had no fear of the king.

At the throne Edward spoke, murderous venom filled his voice.
“Kneel before your god, whimper to him, perhaps he will forgive you. I will not.”

As he spoke Marshall Irving quietly stepped onto the dais. He paused for a moment, took a sip of wine, and ran the young man through.

Edward gasped and dropped his sword. William grabbed his son’s arms and screamed for a doctor. As he watched Edward’s eyes slowly widened, the clear blue iris of each eye relaxing beyond what it ever could in life. The king slumped to the ground, holding the body of his dead son. 

“What have you done!” he bellowed at Irving, tears flowing down his face.

Field Marshall Irving took another sip of wine, and looked down on the now blood soaked king.
“Your majesty has a duty to rule. I have a duty to kill his enemies. One of us fulfilled his duty today.”

Irving then wiped his bloody sword on the king’s banner, sheathed it, and walked back to the shadows from which he came. His accusation still echoed through the hallway, an accusation William knew to be true.


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## sirmirror (Jul 14, 2015)

*The Light of Dawn*

The sky was growing pink with the break of dawn. Little specks of the clouds' underbellies lightening up and glowing a pale, fresh gold.
The scent of dew lingered in the air and she could taste the salt in her sweat and the morning mist descending upon the ground.
'What a night!' She thought, exhilarated. 'Two hours just on a long, winding lane, with him.'
He was just close behind, hustling along as she zapped ahead. 
They had ridden at least 40 miles in the last and she had salvaged the bonding in every moment of it-the punctured tires, the wrong turning, the little fall he had and how they laughed about it. Everything.
The subtle smile that had refused to leave her lips since they had set out grew large and beaming as she looked back at him, suddenly reminded of the day they first met.
They were going to the top of a hill to watch the rising sun(the epitome of a romantic date). With a surge of enthusiasm she bent down to streamline her body and shouted, "Come along. Woohoo!" Pushing her legs as fast as they could go.
The sun was closing in now.
There they were the two little insects pushing wheels with their legs, racing against the fiery magnitude of the superficially calm sun.
In spurts they sweat their way up the hill in two minutes. 
"The sun! It's almost up already."
She threw herself off the bike and quickly lay it down with the bare minimum care for it getting scratched. He pulled in soon after her and followed her to the steep cliff that served as the sunrise spot. 
She had sit herself down on the edge of the cliff, fearless of the oblivion below. She saw him sit down beside her in her periphery
In that moment, it rose, like a phoenix finally bursting out of the ashes from it's death, relentlessly resurrecting itself. 
It was orange tinged with red and emanated a pink glow which struck metallic shades of gold and silver on the clouds about it.
"Light," she said as she felt the nascent rays touch her skin. In her romantic little escapade, she looked back at their shadows, looking out for the long figures with intertwined arms in the infant sunlight.
But there was only one shadow. 
Only one shadow.
Her eyes sprang open wide and her arms panicked. She looked around. 'Was he there? 
Who was that? Is there someone next to me?'
An image of him flickered off and on in her eyes between blinks. She tried to rush herself to stand up in her spurt of panic.

*****

_*Corpse at Calour Hill Cliff*_
A dead body was found just under the cliff at Calour Hill on Saturday. The body seems to be dead for 3 months. Authorities say that all evidence points to a suicide. The corpse has not yet been recognized and the Missing Persons department is hard at work on the matter...


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## J Anfinson (Jul 14, 2015)

*The Curse That Flew Right By You*

By: Anonymous


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## rockoo315 (Jul 15, 2015)

Disregard...


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## Foxee (Jul 15, 2015)

*Wanted: A Friend for Remembering*


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## godofwine (Jul 15, 2015)

Vietnam Woods - By Godofwine (650 Words)


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## Ibb (Jul 15, 2015)

*On the Off-Chance of an Asswhuppin'(PG-13 Content W/ R-Rated Language)650BillionWords*

Imagine then that you’re walking down the street (or maybe, you fucking pessimist, it’s _up the street_ that you’re walking, eh?) minding your own, when out of the blue, emerging from perhaps your left or perhaps your right, a stranger--nondescript, nothing special, he can be anyone--steps into your path and plants himself directly in front of you. What the fuck?, you think, and just before you’re able to puff out your chest, upturn your hands, maybe tilt slightly skywards the tough blunt edge of your chin, all to precede deployment of that modern-day thought into modern-day proclamation, _What the fuck, man?_, this stranger, nonplussed, in fact non-moved, delivers closed-knuckled and fast-(Where am I? _Who_ am I?)-fisted a single walloping haymaker into your nose, splintering the thing however many fractured whichways and propelling your ass backwards onto the pavement in a foamy red sputtering cloud of nostril-goo and blood.  
 
So down you go, flailing all the while, entombed within yourself alongside that horrid vertigo that comes from the sudden jettison into a downward, backwards-facing plummet, screaming inwardly at your assailant a long crude litany of _What-the-fuck!?_isms, some of these metamorphosing before you’ve hit the ground into _Fuck-you-you-fucking-assholes_sults, and _Get-a-real-job-you-fucking-crackhead_lumnies, just about to veer off and change shape again when they are cut short, expunged to cerebral winds, by the anticipated but never quite readied-for collision of the pavement rushing up (so it feels) into the back of your skull, obliterating current thought and crumpling further attempt.

And now a strange though slightly pleasant warmth and spinning take hold as you regard the sky, the clouds, the previously unnoticed blinding whiteness of it all, while besides you, occurring at perhaps your right or perhaps your left(who can say?), this unnamed assailant, still not quite perceptible despite his proximity—his black hat and hoodie and white skin and scraggly goatee all readily available to observation but never, really, congealing into anything resembling a face—pats you down in a flurry of such enviable speedwork that you wonder, distantly, if he hasn’t taken a typist class somewhere before, wondering even more distantly if that’s Even A Thing, and continuing to wonder, underneath the receding clomping patter of his foot(run?)steps, why he hasn’t put his typist skills to better use, like what with one of those Youtube stars, doing something really fast with their hands, such as stacking plates really fast, or making pizza boxes (but that was a commercial), or like that Asian kid who took down a tower of red plastic cups in half a second and sent the world into a brief then forgotten Featured-Tonight-on-Ellen-DeGeneres frenzy (it might have been on Youtube _before_ it was a commercial—because that, you know, is definitely A Thing).

    And you might even go on wondering about these things, entertaining the myriad fascinating angles of all the world’s enthrallingly stupid shit, if not for a darkening shadow, then the same blinding light, and at last, not a spinning, but a propulsion forward, steady and comforting, what must be an agony subdued beneath clouds inside you and outside, and you come to just long enough to wonder why it is you keep thinking about Ellen fucking DeGeneres, whose show you’ve never even watched, and then, there she is--above you, asking you questions, behind her and above her a smooth passing pattern of bright travelling lights, Ellen DeGeneres herself, you tell her you love her show and someone else, a black guy, he tries not to laugh but you see him smile, also looking down at you, and now here you are crying, sobbing, looking like a stupid child, and they ask you again, and the clouds break and now there is reason for crying, Ellen asks you again and briefly you don’t know, you cannot even comprehend the question, you cannot and you are crying, and she is beautiful, saying
 
What is your name?


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